Why has no one demanded Mehbooba Mufti's resignation?

In any other state, the death of 81 people in two months would have triggered an outpouring of demands for the resignation of its chief minister. But Kashmir might be another country – life here appears to be collateral for democracy, presumably to be forfeited every time there are street protests. Or otherwise, India’s security would be imperilled, so the logic goes.

This is why the Indian political class has largely desisted from holding Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti to account for the civilian deaths.

This exceptional treatment of Mufti is not only unjustifiable, but also raises the question: In Kashmir’s democracy, don’t its people matter, especially given the celebration over the rising voter turnout in elections there since 2002?

To this question, some might point to the lack of vociferous demand even among Kashmiris for Mufti’s resignation. From this, they draw two conclusions: One, Kashmiris primarily blame the Centre – and not the state government – for their woes. Two, they feel a J&K chief minister enjoys little autonomy in functioning and is compelled to act at the Centre’s behest.

Can there be a bigger indictment of democracy in Kashmir than that?

Losing credibility

This question apart, it is on these twin conclusions that Mufti presumably banks upon to continue in office, believing she has to merely sit tight and tide over the current crisis. Once the people tire of expressing their fury, she and her party, the Peoples Democratic Party, can lash out against the Centre for letting the Kashmir problem fester. This would have the people perceive the PDP as voicing their sentiments – and they would, therefore, forgive it for its palpably insensitive administration of today.

That this is likely to be the PDP’s strategy was evident in the recent statement of its senior leader, Muzaffar Hussain Baig, who said Mufti should resign if the common minimum programme of the coalition government with the Bharatiya Janata Party isn’t implemented within six months. The common minimum programme promises, among other things, dialogue with “all stakeholders, irrespective of their ideological views” to resolve the Kashmir problem, and to examine the possibility of de-notifying disturbed areas from where the Armed Forces Special Powers Act can be withdrawn.

On the face of it, Baig’s statement is a threat to the BJP that it must give the PDP political comfort or else the coalition is destined to collapse. After all, as Baig argued, the PDP can’t watch with equanimity the erosion in its support base in the Valley even as the BJP retains its grip over the Jammu region.

Yet, it is debatable whether Mufti will have any political equity left over the next six months, even to dare to resign from the coalition government and return to the people to win their mandate. With every day she stays in power, she and her party lose their credibility a little bit. Every death in police firing tears apart her persona of being a compassionate politician. And the more weakened she is, the greater will be her dependence on the BJP – and the Central government.

People's politician?

The crisis that looms before Mufti is her forfeiture of moral authority, without which no politician can hope to reverse his or her downslide. This is even truer for Mufti, for moral authority was an essential element of the narrative built around her.

For nearly two decades, she diligently built a persona of the politician who cared, who had empathy for the people, as she rushed from one place to another to condole the civilians killed in security operations, or lamented the violation of human rights, or spoke of self-rule, however nebulous the concept, or underscored the need for engaging the separatists in finding a political solution to the Kashmir problem.

Her politics accepted, and articulated, the dominant sentiments in the Valley even though it was recognised that she, like all politicians in Kashmir, couldn’t possibly execute the popular will without the Centre’s approval and initiatives. Yet, her politics had purchase in the Valley because it expanded the meaning of democracy in Kashmir to give centrality to the political aspirations of the people.

Indeed, elections no longer had to be a cosmetic exercise undertaken to turn international opinion in India’s favour. The PDP’s supposedly “soft-separatist” position weaned the people away from the idea that placed primacy on resolving the Kashmir problem first before they were to participate in elections. It was now accepted that both the processes could take place simultaneously – an extremely important factor behind the increase in voter turnout from 2002.

All these gains are likely to get squandered as Mufti ignores the necessity of accepting her moral responsibility for the spiralling death toll in the Valley – and atoning for it. The only way a chief minister can expiate is to resign from office.

But her resignation isn’t just about keeping the credibility of the democratic process in Kashmir intact. It is also about the narrative built around Mufti as a politician who has empathy for the people.

As such, the narrative was strained when the PDP decided to cobble together a coalition government with the BJP’s support. It was a brazen flouting of the popular will as the PDP had been the principal beneficiary of the fear in the Valley that the BJP could sweep Jammu and then form a government with Independents and free-floaters.

The PDP-BJP alliance began to unravel her moral authority, which has been speeded up by the strife in the Valley over the last two months. Worse, Mufti has struck a pathetic, even tragic, pose as she has alternated between expressing sorrow over the deaths in police firing and suggesting that only 5% of the Valley’s population are participants in the unrest – and that even their discontent is manufactured as a result of the conspiracy hatched by the separatist Hurriyat group and Pakistan.

This may or may not be the complete story. Nevertheless, Mufti’s confused spin on the two-month-long unrest not only belies her image as a leader with empathy for the people, but also clubs her among all those Kashmiri politicians whose wont is to become Delhi’s lackey once in power.

Her continuation in office is, therefore, a blow to Kashmir, India, and, obviously, to herself as well.

It is conceivable her resignation could split the PDP and a rag-tag coalition could replace the current dispensation. Yet, it seems unlikely the Centre will endorse such a misstep, as it would roil Kashmir further. It is most likely to prefer a spell of governor’s rule before calling for a fresh election. Even this scenario ought to be preferable to Mufti than to watch her moral authority erode. This loss will hollow out her credibility – and that of the democratic process in Kashmir.

This is also why the Indian political class should ask her to go because its own silence overturns the very principle of democracy that accords primacy to people and their opinions. Kashmir, otherwise, will likely return to the days when its people boycotted polls and security forces compelled them to vote to save India’s face.

Ajaz Ashraf is a journalist in Delhi. His novel, The Hour Before Dawn – which has the demolition of the Babri Masjid as its backdrop – is available in bookstores.