In Mexico, over 116,000 people are registered as missing, many due to violence linked to the war on drugs. In the absence of timely support from the authorities, relatives of the missing are forced to create their own missing person posters, which serve as vital tools to mobilize local communities and gain leads, though they come with risks, such as extortion by criminals. With thousands of disappearances unresolved, unofficial, family-led searches for missing individuals continue, highlighting a broken system and the desperate need for more effective responses to the crisis. In Mexico, over 116,000 people are registered as missing, many due to violence linked to the war on drugs. In the absence of timely support from the authorities, relatives of the missing are forced to create their own missing person posters, which serve as vital tools to mobilize local communities and gain leads, though they come with risks, such as extortion by criminals. With thousands of disappearances unresolved, unofficial, family-led searches for missing individuals continue, highlighting a broken system and the desperate need for more effective responses to the crisis. Soumya Dhulekar, Untitled (2024). Digital collage. Artist Mexico Chantal Flores 31 Jan 2025 st · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION The Faces of Mexico's Disappeared On the afternoon of July 19, 2023, Abraham Flores and his wife, Beatriz Cárdenas, celebrated their daughter’s first birthday with a rainbow cake and a small family gathering at Flores’s parents’ house in northern Mexico. Around 10:30 pm, Flores dropped Cárdenas and their child off at their home. Flores, a 32-year-old ride-hailing driver, then went to pick up a passenger outside of the application. He assured his family he would be back soon. At 12:30 am, Cárdenas, 28 years old, warned her husband via WhatsApp about a shooting that had occurred a few blocks from their home in the municipality of Santa Catarina, Nuevo León. Flores didn’t respond. She messaged him an hour later and then fell asleep. Early in the morning, she tried to contact him once more and saw that his last connection was at 4:15 am. Since then, Cárdenas has been searching for him. “Hours passed. It was 5 p.m. and I couldn’t take it anymore. I went straight to my in-laws, and they said, ‘Maybe he went out with friends.’ But I knew it wasn’t normal,” Cárdenas asserted. “He could go out drinking or with friends, but he would always come back. I mean, he always came back. And now, he hasn’t.” Across Mexico, there are over 116,000 people officially registered as missing or disappeared, primarily since 2006 when the government launched the “war on drugs” and began militarizing the streets as part of its strategy. Families of the disappeared have united in search collectives , often risking their safety and facing numerous obstacles such as a lack of resources and information, physical threats, and a slow, negligent response from authorities. The missing person poster has emerged as a vital and accessible tool during the crucial early days of a disappearance, though it has its limitations. All images courtesy of the author (2024). Since the General Law on the Forced Disappearance of Persons was approved in 2017–following the intensive work and advocacy of families of the disappeared–the National Search Commission, the General Prosecutor’s Office, and their state counterparts have been responsible for investigating disappearances. However, the implementation of the law has been hampered by a lack of political will from authorities and insufficient human and material resources. The law mandates immediate searches, but authorities often refuse to file reports in the initial hours, despite the increased likelihood of finding a person alive during this critical period. Without a filed report, the official missing person poster, known as “ficha de búsqueda” (search form), cannot be issued. May-ek Querales, an anthropologist with the Social and Forensic Anthropology Research Group (GIASF) , explained that issuing a missing person poster also means that an investigation is officially opened. "Therefore it [authorities] will always have it on its agenda and will not stop looking for your loved one, in theory. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case,” Querales added. Despite official protocols, authorities told Cárdenas that they needed to wait at least 24 hours before filing a disappearance report. Many families are forced to create their own posters and distribute them through personal networks, such as WhatsApp chats, Facebook neighborhood groups, and word-of-mouth, in order to initiate the search for their missing loved ones. María de la Luz López Castruita, who has been searching for her daughter Irma Claribel since 2008 in the northern state of Coahuila, highlights the importance of the poster as an accessible search tool for families, but also as a communication tool to engage with society and ask for help. “It's a huge support for us because we think if more people spread it, the more likely it is that it will reach people who have seen our loved ones,” she said. Despite the limitations that the poster may encounter in its circulation, it can also become a valuable emotional object for families experiencing the pain and uncertainty of a disappearance for the first time. Faced with the overwhelming prospect of beginning the search for a loved one in a country with thousands upon thousands of missing people, the poster can be the first step that a family member takes to proactively search without depending on the authorities. “It also has a symbolic function so that people do not go crazy in the process of not having an answer from their loved one,” Querales said. In the initial hours after her husband’s disappearance, Cárdenas felt she couldn’t wait any longer. She created a missing person poster in Word, using a photo from their daughter’s birthday celebration. “It was literally the photo we had taken of him that night,” explained Cárdenas. “It was that photo, with red letters saying ‘MISSING,’ a description of what he looked like, what he was wearing…exactly as he appears in the photo is what he was wearing [at the time he disappeared].” The lack of immediate institutional support often makes families more vulnerable. Cárdenas used her personal phone number in that initial poster she created herself, a common practice among families hoping that a relative’s number will ensure more attention to any leads via incoming calls. Querales warned that this can put families at risk of extortion by organized crime , who are always looking for opportunities to profit. Cárdenas and her in-laws were extorted for about $600 dollars. “In their desperation, when someone tells them that they have information about their loved one, families are often overwhelmed and begin to share personal information that can include transferring money,” Querales said. “The non-institutional missing person poster has that risk because you do not have a phone, separate from your personal ties, that can provide you with protection.” Disappearances in Mexico are perpetrated by various actors with diverse motivations. Mónica Meltis, founder of Data Cívica , an organization using data to support victims of human rights violations, explained that Mexico had a history of enforced disappearances from the 1960s to the 1980s —a period known as the ‘Dirty War’ — primarily used to target political dissidents . While enforced disappearances perpetrated by state agents have not ceased, various actors, mainly linked to organized crime , now carry out disappearances, often with the complicity of, or permission from, state agents. “Forced disappearance continues to exist, although in reality it is now more complex because there is not only disappearance by the State, but now something called ‘disappearance by individuals’,” Meltis added. Starting the Search It was not until three days after Flores’s disappearance that the official missing person poster began to circulate. Despite how recently the photograph used in the poster was taken, the Nuevo León Search Commission made two mistakes in the details. They incorrectly stated that Flores was wearing a white hat (it was black) and black pants (they were blue jeans). To date, the commission has only corrected the color of the pants. Often, families do not have a recent or updated photo, and sometimes the shock of the events they are experiencing causes memory lapses. It becomes difficult to remember the physical features of their loved one, their particularities, or the details of the clothes they were wearing. This cannot only take a great emotional toll on them, but can also make the search much harder. López, who also leads “ Voz que Claman Justicia ,” one of hundreds of search collectives led by families of the disappeared, said she has seen this frustration in family members who are unable to remember. That’s why she often suggests being accompanied by someone close when filing the report. “We often make the mistake of giving incorrect information because of the pain that it brings. It is a lot of pain,” she said. In many of these cases, having a distinctive feature that truly differentiates the person can be a significant advantage when filing a report. López explains how tattoos, for example, can help to further individualize the person, or even make visual identification easier if a body is found. “When there are scars or tattoos, it’s easier. [Previously] I used to be critical when someone got a tattoo, but now I say how important it is to have one. That way, when bodies are found, they can identify them easily. Or, not only bodies, but homeless people too,” López said. “When I see my compañeras immediately looking for the tattoo, it leaves me feeling helpless because my [missing] daughter didn’t have any.” Families, mostly mothers, lead local search groups and offer guidance about the steps to follow after a disappearance as institutions often don’t provide necessary information, or fail to coordinate or collaborate with other authorities. “If someone disappears, the recommendation is to look for the collectives. They are the ones who will truly help you search, not the State,” said Meltis. Séverine Durin, an anthropologist and researcher at the Center for Research and Higher Studies in Social Anthropology (CIESAS) , explained that families often find a lack of coordination among the institutions officially responsible for supporting them, which can be confusing and make the search process much more exhausting. If there is evidence that the person could have disappeared in a different state than the one in which they reside, it can be even more complicated. Frustrated by the inefficiency of the authorities and their slow response, Cárdenas decided to join a collective of families of the disappeared in Nuevo León a month after her husband went missing. “To see the inefficiency of the authorities, and then experience the advice, support, or guidance [the families] give you,” Cárdenas said. “It's such a different experience to be with them.” After a disappearance, most families go from government institution to government institution without finding any answers, impacting their job security or livelihood. Beyond sharing the pain of not knowing the whereabouts of a loved one, Durin explained that collectives of families offer mutual support, and are able to exert stronger pressure on authorities than a single person. “Definitely, they [collectives] will support you and you are going to be able to put pressure on the institutions to fulfill their duty of searching,” Durin added. "They can create search plans and agreements and obtain resources and security [for the searches].” Victims’ families primarily conduct two types of searches. One, where the search efforts are focused on finding their loved ones alive, involves roaming the streets, hospitals, prisons, and other such locations where someone under peril may find themselves. Although authorities must always act under the principle of presumption of life as mandated by the general law on disappearances, in practice authorities often suggest that the person might be dead, directing relatives to the Forensic Medical Service. This often revictimizes family members already contending with the trauma of losing a loved one in this manner. On the other hand, visits to the Forensic Medical Service have become increasingly important due to the country’s backlog of unidentified remains. "When the report is filed, the institutions immediately orient the search toward death,” explained Querales. “In other words, they talk about a field search, but in reality, it is already assumed that the person who disappeared has lost their life… the authorities themselves thus rule out the activation of immediate search protocols.” The other type of search involves hundreds of victims’ collectives combing through fields, hills, deserts, and vacant lots across the country to search for human remains, often in clandestine graves. According to local prosecutors, between 2006 and June 2023, 4,565 clandestine graves were identified, as reported by the Citizen Platform for Graves, a database created by Data Cívica and other organizations. At least 6,253 human bodies and 4,662 fragments were found during this period. Family members of the disappeared have learned about forensics to identify soil types, smells, and the proper care of human remains. They mobilize to obtain more detailed information for the missing person poster, and then circulate it to receive tips. They then start their own investigations, following the trail, and often putting their well-being at risk, to find any indication of clandestine burials. “They search in the mountains, or in other areas where they have information that there could be missing people,” explained Durin. “It’s difficult to understand for relatives of missing people, but it is important to find them, regardless of whether they are alive or not.” López, who focuses on both types of searches, emphasized the importance of sustaining searches under the presumption of life. While the official discourse often links disappearances to organized crime, the vast majority of cases suggest a complex web of factors, including militarization, corruption, impunity, and other forms of violence that disproportionately affect vulnerable populations. The search brigades that López carries out along with other families have found people who were reported as missing, incarcerated under a different name, or on the streets dealing with substance abuse. “We know that the searches of clandestine graves are there, and we cannot keep piling up so many remains and so many bodies. We know that there are many missing persons alive who want to be found, but nobody looks for them alive,” said López. “If we have seen that kind of search yields results, why not do it?” Information gap and Added Pressure on Families More than a year after her husband’s disappearance, Cárdenas still has no answers. At one point, authorities told her they had already identified two suspects but lacked enough evidence for an arrest. While balancing work and being a single parent to her now two-year-old daughter, Cárdenas also makes frequent efforts to review her case. Although the investigation is the duty of the prosecutors, families are often obliged to find the information on their own and deliver it to authorities in charge of the case. In most cases, if families do not provide the information, the authorities neglect the case. Being part of a collective helps, as there’s constant collective pressure to review the cases of all group members or pursue search actions. Additionally, authorities often warn families against making their case public, claiming it could jeopardize the investigation. However, in effect, this is likely to prevent any progress in the investigation. In fact, this tactic incites even more fear in families. Authorities also often suggest not publishing the search form or discussing the cases on social media or in the media. This is not in fact meant to aid the victim, but a method of subterfuge to downplay the growing numbers of disappearances. Although Cárdenas saw the poster she created immediately being shared on social media and in her group chats, she said that one of the challenges she encountered was social indifference. “The truth is, myself included, we don't really pay attention to other people's faces, you know? That's why I don't see much of a case for making a poster. In other words, people don’t take the time to observe the people around them,” Cárdenas said. While many families mobilize across Mexico and put up posters in public spaces, over 116,000 people remain missing. Querales explained that the collectives organize awareness brigades in different parts of the country, filling the streets or central plazas with missing person posters. However, the sheer number of posters can be overwhelming for people transiting through these public spaces. “Confronted with so many faces, how many people really stop to pay attention to those individualizing features?” Querales asked. “How are they to determine that perhaps that young boy in a street situation that they saw on the corner, or that person they crossed paths with on the metro, or someone who they ran into on any street, could be a face on a search poster?” Every day, new search posters are added to those already circulating in public and digital spaces as resistance against the state’s insistence on silence. The faces of Mexico’s disappeared are exposed over and over again in every place [that] families can access, defying government efforts to downplay the crisis. Families struggling in the wake of disappearances use the posters not only to mobilize the search, but also as daily reminders that their struggle will continue until all their loved ones are found. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 CHANTAL FLORES is a Mexican freelance journalist who investigates the impact of forced disappearances. She also covers migration, gender violence and human rights, in addition to other issues. She has worked with media such as Al Jazeera , The Los Angeles Times , The New York Times , The Verge , MIT Tech Review , Yes! Magazine , Rest of World , Vice , among others. Dharma Books published her book, Huecos: Retazos de la vida ante la desaparición forzada, which is a multi-voiced account of the experience of families of disappeared persons in Latin America and the Balkans. SOUMYA DHULEKAR is an award-winning illustrator, designer, and author of the experimental art newsletter House Party . She is based in Brooklyn. Reportage Mexico Missing Person Disappearance Extortion Criminality Government Safety War on drugs Militarism Negligence General Law on the Forced Disappearances of Persons Forced Disappearance National Search Commission Political Will Search and Rescue Emergency Response Human Security Anthropology Social and Forensic Anthropology Research Group GIASF Missing Person Poster Social Media WhatsApp Facebook Community Collective Accessibility Vulnerable Populations Protection Data Civica Dirty War Political Dissidents Organized Crime Disappeared by individuals Nuevo Leon Search Commission Misinformation Missing Information Voz que Claman Justicia Memory Local search groups Center for Research and Higher Studies in Social Anthropology CIESAS Institutional Forgetfulness Citizen Platform for Graves Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

Kashmiri homes and livelihoods are disintegrating, with major infrastructural developments and mining projects inducing landslides, disrupting water and electrical channels, and destroying agricultural trade in the region–all in the name of increasing Kashmir's connectivity. Impractical in scope, these infrastructural projects defy all recommendations geological researchers have urged developers to consider for decades: and the government is content leaving Kashmiris in unlivable conditions, so long as the homes are not yet one with the earth. Kashmiri homes and livelihoods are disintegrating, with major infrastructural developments and mining projects inducing landslides, disrupting water and electrical channels, and destroying agricultural trade in the region–all in the name of increasing Kashmir's connectivity. Impractical in scope, these infrastructural projects defy all recommendations geological researchers have urged developers to consider for decades: and the government is content leaving Kashmiris in unlivable conditions, so long as the homes are not yet one with the earth. Asif in front of the ruins of his home (2024). Photograph courtesy of the authors. Artist Ramban AUTHOR · AUTHOR · AUTHOR 2 Dec 2024 nd · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION Cracks in Pernote When Aasif Katoch returned home from work in the evening of April 25, he heard a loud voice from his cousin’s house, just over 100 metres away. “They were calling us urgently,” he recalled. “When we arrived, we saw cracks had developed in their house.” But before Katoch could begin to do anything about it, his children began frantically calling out to him from his house. He rushed back, only to see cracks starting to appear there too. “Within minutes,” he said, recounting the scenes of his house sinking, “we watched in horror as our homes which we built with hard work were damaged in front of our own eyes.” Katoch’s family isn‘t alone. Pernote village, seven kilometres from Ramban district in Jammu and Kashmir, became a disaster zone in April when 28 houses, including Katoch’s, were destroyed completely by land subsidence, affecting around 500 people . The road linking to Pernote village was severely damaged, cutting off connectivity. Cracks stretched several kilometres, disrupted electricity and water supply, adding more difficulties to the affected residents. Unmitigated Development is to Blame Since 2010, there has been an unprecedented rise in land sinking incidents near the national highway and railway tracks in Kashmir. Many attribute this increase to the rise in large-scale developmental projects , such as railway construction , widening of roads like the National highway , which links Ramban with Banihal, tunnel digging in the mountains , and hydro power projects, all constructed without proper precautions. For instance, around 12 hydropower projects are either constructed or are under construction in the Chenab region of Jammu. “One of the main causes of the increasing landslides in the region is unregulated developmental activity,” G.M Bhat, a Kashmir-based geologist, explained to us. “While landslides due to natural conditions existed before, human activities like mining have accelerated the frequency and severity of these incidents. The fragile nature of these mountains demands careful handling, yet we are doing the exact opposite.” For Bhat, the collapse of an 800-metre tunnel in Ramban on 19 May 2022, in which ten people died, should raise serious concerns. Recent land sinkings, like those in Pernote , he reasoned, are clearly the result of human activities, specifically poorly planned developmental projects. “We have been raising these issues for the last 30 years,” Bhat said, “with reports filed repeatedly. I can’t understand why the government continues to ignore our warnings.” The portion of a road in Pernote damaged after land subsidence. Courtesy of the authors. He blamed authorities for not involving experts and ignoring their warnings before starting work, saying the region has now become vulnerable to disasters due to excessive constructions. The residents also blame the construction agencies for land sinkage. “Since we live in a hilly area, rainwater used to flow naturally through canals and streams, eventually reaching the river at the bottom of the hill,” said Akther, a local resident of Ramban. Moreover, he added, during the extensive drilling for the national highway and tunnels, agency workers dumped tunnel waste near Chenab river banks, blocking these natural water channels. Despite raising concerns with the authorities, the residents were ignored. “As the waste blocked the streams,” Akther shared, “water began accumulating, saturating the land, making it unstable and unable to bear the weight of the mountain, which led to the sinking.” The situation worsened with the frequent blasts carried out during tunnel construction. The explosions were so loud that residents’ houses would shake, resembling powerful earthquakes. “We often rushed outside in fear that our homes might collapse,” Akther said. “The blasts were terrifying, and our children were left crying, traumatised by the repeated tremors.” In response to these concerns, the residents wrote to the District Magistrate (DM) in 2014, 2022, and 2023, highlighting that the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) was violating environmental norms by improperly dumping waste, blocking canals, and having a poor drainage system. Despite assurances of action from the DM, no visible steps have been taken. Now, the residents are taking the matter to court. “We feel neglected and unheard,” Akther expressed. “We want the authorities to fully compensate us for our losses and provide immediate rehabilitation, but they continue to ignore us.” Why is unprecedented development happening? Jammu and Kashmir has long been viewed as a region in need of better infrastructure. Poor road connectivity, especially in mountain areas like Pir Panjal and Chenab, has hindered trade and access to services for decades. Both these regions have undergone several development projects over the last decade, which includes tunnelling, road widening of NH 44 , construction of bridges, dams and railway lines to improve connectivity with the rest of India. For example, the new Katra-Banihal railway line and the widening of National highway 244 from two to four lanes is expected to be a game changer for the region's economy, as it will reduce travel time from Jammu to Srinagar and improve transportation for both locals and businesses. In 1999, Bhat explained that the local government invited a team of experts––including geologists, geographers, and landslide specialists from various countries––to Kashmir to study the Himalayas. “They warned that large-scale projects in the region would be extremely dangerous,” he said. A collapsed transmission tower damaged after land sinkage in Pernote. Courtesy of the authors. Since then, however, “massive developmental projects have been undertaken,” Bhat added, “with post-1999 projects being far larger in scale compared to those before that time.” According to Dr. D.P Kanungo, engineering geologist and landslide expert from Delhi, the “lithotectonic setup, rocks, and tectonics of the Pir Panjal range are extremely sensitive.” Any development in this region, therefore, must follow proper technical and scientific guidelines. “While I’m not opposed to development,” he clarified, “it’s clear that projects in the Pir Panjal region have not been carried out in a technically sound or scientific manner.” “Disrupting its fragile ecosystems can have fatal consequences,” Dr. Kanungo added, explaining why the excessive blasting for tunnelling is dangerous, particularly in these areas where the mountain range is young, still rising, and undergoing significant neo-tectonic activity. “When I visited the area, I saw that the work was being done in an unplanned way,” he noted. “Incidents like the land sinking in Pernote and cracks in nearby village homes could have been avoided.” The Detailed Project Report (DPR) outlines the scientific and technical methods to be followed, including when and how to support a cut slope. It also specifies where and how to cut particular rocks. However, our investigation revealed that the DPR is frequently violated and scientific techniques are often not followed on the ground, especially in the Himalayan regions. The Dangers of Improving Road Connectivity to Cut Travel Time The challenging terrains of the ecologically sensitive Chenab and Pir Panjal regions make travel difficult on the Jammu-Srinagar Highway, especially in the harsh winter months when snow and landslides frequently block the road. With the aim to decrease travel time on the Jammu-Srinagar Highway and increase connectivity to the Kashmir region, the government has spent almost 16000 crore INR to widen the two lane highway into four lanes. To date, 210 kilometres, including 10 tunnels, have been finished. The project, which will decrease travel time from 8 hours to 4-5 hours, is set for completion by 2025. Between 2010 and 2020, around 1750 people have died and more than 12,000 people have been injured in over 8,000 accidents on Jammu-Srinagar highway. “The construction of a four-lane highway on the Srinagar-Jammu route, in fragile areas, would be dangerous in coming years,” according to Bhat. “A two-lane road in sensitive zones, with four lanes only in the plains, would have been far more appropriate. Instead, we’ve made the mistake of widening roads and toe-cutting mountains, which has triggered land sinking.” As Raja Muzaffar Bhat, a social activist, noted, “construction in the Himalayas is incredibly challenging, hazardous, and complex.” For him, “building large four-lane highways and similar projects in such mountainous regions might be impractical and could have serious long-term consequences.” “The extensive tunnelling and mountain cutting required could lead to more frequent landslides and sinkholes, as well as negatively impact water systems,” Muzaffar Bhat warned. “These areas have unique geological and ecological characteristics, with intricate rock formations and small water channels that are easily disrupted.” Additionally, constructing very high pillars for bridges in earthquake-prone regions poses significant risks of natural disasters. In the last 10 years, the pace of construction of four lane highways, bridges, and tunnels has increased which has also increased landslides on the Jammu-Srinagar highway. According to the last data available, over 4,200 people lost their lives on Jammu-Srinagar national highway from 2018-2022 in the Kashmir valley. Locals are Losing Both Homes and Work Opportunities As construction continues, it is the locals living in these terrains who are paying the price for this development. Tunnelling through the mountainous areas of Pir Panjal and blasting for road expansions has led to the increase in landslides and land subsidence in these areas. The land subsidence of villages like Pernote is attributable to excavation of highways and other developmental projects. For residents of Pernote and several other adjoining villages, this development has come at a great personal cost. Families who lived in these areas for generations are now forced to abandon their homes and move to safer ground where they pay rent. “Where are we supposed to go?” asked Beer Singh, a Pernote resident. “We don't have any other lands and the government has not given us any answers.” Many families have been forced to live in nearby government buildings, rent out temporary shelters, or move in with relatives. “Our homes were everything we worked for,” Singh stated. “My whole earning was in that house.” As families grapple with the loss of their homes, the emotional toll is palpable. “I do not sleep properly at night,” Singh shared. “I keep thinking the wall will crack again and we won’t be able to escape.” Cracks visible in the house damaged after land subsidence in Pernote. Courtesy of the authors. Beer Singh is one of five brothers, whose parents are no longer alive. “We were doing well in life,” he said, recalling his land where he and his brothers cultivated pomegranates, tomatoes, and peanuts. “Farming was our livelihood throughout the year, and we sold our produce at good prices.” Living in a hilly area with a favourable climate, their crops were of high quality. "In our village, only a few people had government jobs,” he noted. “The rest relied on farming because it was profitable.” However, since the tragedy, only two or three families remain, and they live far from Singh and his family. “Now, no one comes to my shop because hardly anyone is left,” he said. “I sit here all day, unable to make sense of what happened.” The biggest issue, for Singh, is his loan repayments. He no longer receives any income and doesn’t have the money to repay his loan. After the land sinkage, many officials visited the area and promised compensation to residents of Pernote. Till date, however, these people have gotten nothing. "We were denied the initial compensation of 1,30,000 INR that others received, with the reasoning that our house had only developed cracks and hadn't collapsed entirely,” Singh shared. “However, the cracks are so severe that it's unsafe to live in, as no one can predict when it might fall.” The authorities initially issued a notice stating that the villagers would be given 10 marlas each and compensated for all damages caused by the disaster. However, the order was later changed, and they were told they’d receive only 5 lakhs INR and 1 kanal of land. As of September this year, it has been five additional months, and they still haven't received any compensation. Land sinking and landslides are not new The land sinking and landslide in these regions is not new; several incidents have been reported in the last decade. On February 1, 2023, for instance, a landslide hit Nai Basit hamlet in Doda district of Jammu and Kashmir, causing land subsidence that geologists attributed to the poor drainage system and continuous seepage from households and the movement of geological fault zones. The incident damaged 19 houses and caused a mosque with several structures to develop cracks. It forced many families to leave their homes and relocate to temporary shelters in a local government school. It also created panic in nearby villages of Ramban, where many houses had developed cracks. “It was all good until these projects started,” said Saqib, a local student. “We were living our life happily in these mountains. The government may increase the connectivity through these projects but it will make life miserable for thousands of villagers living in these mountains.” The unchecked development to increase connectivity within the Kashmir region has left residents like those in Pernote village devastated. With homes collapsing and lives uprooted, locals blame reckless infrastructure projects for these disasters. “I’m not opposed to developmental projects,” Bhat said, “but they must be carried out with proper environmental precautions and procedures.” For Muzaffar Bhat, too, it is necessary to follow sustainable development practices. “Unfortunately,” he noted, “recent political manifestos have largely ignored these environmental concerns.” Bhat suggested that if major development projects stop now, the Himalayas will likely stabilise in the next 50-60 years. “However, if these projects continue,” he warned, “the impending disaster will be unimaginable.” Specifically, the area falls in seismic zones 4 and 5, which are highly earthquake-prone. “If these projects continue and the mountains weaken further,” Bhat added, “even minor earthquakes could devastate the entire region, posing a severe threat to those living on the mountain slopes.” ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Reportage Ramban Demolition Kashmir Urbanization Development Connectivity Pir Panjal Infrastructure National highway Pernote village Pernote tunnel waste Border Roads Organization National Highway 44 National Highway 244 Katra-Banihal railway line Srinagar lithotectonic lithotectonic sensitivity Detailed Project Report Climate Change rock fracturing land subsidence Jammu-Srinagar Highway mountain toe-cutting forced migration forced displacement ecological displacement hill farming terrace farming Nai Basit Colonialism Colonization Gentrification Urban Development environmental decay environmental hazard Seismic zone 4 Seismic zone 5 earthquake Himalayas ecological disaster Cosmopolitanism Construction Colonial Boundaries Displacement Geology Mining Chenab River Chenab Valley Ramban District Jammu Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

Zara’s poem moves through the swagger, danger, and bruised glamour of urban Pakistan to show that being both woman and legend can make you a spectacle, a liability, and a survivor all at once. Zara’s poem moves through the swagger, danger, and bruised glamour of urban Pakistan to show that being both woman and legend can make you a spectacle, a liability, and a survivor all at once. Untitled (2025), digital illustration, courtesy of Mahnoor Azeem. Artist Lahore AUTHOR · AUTHOR · AUTHOR 24 Oct 2025 th · BOOKS & ARTS REPORTAGE · LOCATION To be Woman and Hip in Dunya I learned how to be hip from girls who sat at dhabas – It was 2018; I was nothing and no one, And shudh desi leftism was still a dream the kids had. I waded through the decay of urban Pakistan - The waterless boat basin - In my white platform boots. I was not the only girl who figured out life so. This is the manifesto of hip woman Who ate the apple, and risked jihad Baadalon se giri, bijli ki tarhan Bazaar-e-aam main — afwah uthi Ye kesi mystical saazish hai! Issey dewaar main chunwa diya jaye Jahanpana! Shehenshah: My only weapon is my poetry. When your soldiers visit the marketplace Encroachment notice and batons in hand I see them at the gate, While in the midst of my dance — I am not a dancer so I entertain children. Meanwhile, jesters, poets, and ustads Grace the King’s colony! For my own safety, I am not invited. Hip woman is: She’s got the law cowered Her gait relaxed, magnificent night suit chic Fists up, she raises a new independence slogan: Yeh jo dehshatgardi hai, Isske peeche wardi hai. How everything is metaphor! Last Friday, when I dressed up as girl I bruised myself to win a race Now, it hurts to be teased and caressed Waisay masoom banti hun magar pata hai mujhey — Hot boys are dangerous to me This is not the first time I have hurt myself so. To be woman and hip: Is to be okay not being woman at all, To be unafraid of androgyny Allow yourself all the ugly of humanity I am maila like my city. Meri shalwar key paainchon per Meri mitti ka daagh hai: The beggar’s pleading, My daddy’s corruption Let the truth slap the princess out of me For to not be woman and hip Is to be dream deferred, girl interrupted. Aik naya pollution metric propose karti hun: Khwabon ki kirchian kitnay gigaton carbon emit karti hain? When they make a liar out of a girl, I want you to kill me as tribute. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Poetry Lahore Karachi Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In Mizoram, new geopolitical and security measures are dismantling long-standing community bonds and obstructing essential trade in a region accustomed to fluid boundaries. These controls lay bare the disruptions to daily life wrought by political decisions on both sides of the Indo-Myanmar border. In Mizoram, new geopolitical and security measures are dismantling long-standing community bonds and obstructing essential trade in a region accustomed to fluid boundaries. These controls lay bare the disruptions to daily life wrought by political decisions on both sides of the Indo-Myanmar border. Manglien Gangte, Untitled (2021). Digital collage. Artist Indo-Myanmar Border Arshad Ahmed · Chanchinmawia 14 Oct 2024 th · FEATURES REPORTAGE · LOCATION Crossing Lines of Connection In April, C. Lalpekmuana, a 58-year-old resident of Zokhawthar on the Indo-Myanmar border in Mizoram, was grieving the death of his grandmother, Lianthluaii. The 91-year-old, who suffered from asthma, had succumbed to asphyxiation the day before. She had been a resident of Thingchang village in Myanmar’s Chin State. Lalpekmuana believes her death could have been avoided if the Assam Rifles, responsible for overseeing India’s border with Myanmar, had allowed her to cross and access medical treatment in India. However, she was denied entry following the Indian government’s decision, under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, to scrap the Free Movement Regime (FMR) in February. According to India’s Home Minister, Amit Shah, this was done to “ensure the internal security of the country” and “maintain the demographic structure of India’s North Eastern States bordering Myanmar.” The FMR had previously allowed cross-border movement without a visa for up to 16 kilometres for communities living on either side. It also permitted those near the border to stay in the neighbouring country for up to two weeks with a year-long border permit. In 2018, the Modi government renewed this arrangement in a cross-border movement agreement with Myanmar, recognising the historical ties among these communities—only to revoke it earlier this year. Besides Mizoram, the 1,643 kilometre Indo-Myanmar border extends through three other northeastern Indian states: Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur, and Nagaland. For centuries, communities on both sides have maintained deep ethnic and familial ties. The Chins in Myanmar are ethnically related to the Mizos in Mizoram and the Kuki-Zo in Manipur, a state currently embroiled in ethnic conflict between the Kuki-Zo and Meitei tribes. Across the border, many residents of Zokhawthar have immediate and extended family in the villages of Khawmawi and Thingchang, located 1.7 and 22 kilometres away, respectively. The people in these villages share the same myths, legends, and folklore that fill the air in Zokhawthar. “A mother in Khawmawi and Thingchang most likely sings the same lullaby to her child as a mother does in Zokhawthar,” says Lalrawngbawla, a member of a Mizo volunteer group. “We are so close that most people on the other side know those from Zokhawthar by name and face.” The lore and camaraderie extend along the Tiau River, which snakes through both India and Myanmar. Lalrawngbawla, whose house overlooks the shallow Tiau flanked by the green foothills of the Chin and Lushai hills, affirms that while the river has served as a de facto border between the two nations, it has always united the Chins and Mizos. “Children on either side would make paper boats with enclosed messages and let the river carry them to their friends,” he mentions, smiling. “This has been a favourite pastime since childhood.” The recent development, however, has alarmed locals, with tribal communities voicing that the termination of the FMR is hurting them. It was this arrangement that allowed Lalpekmuana and other Mizos to visit Rih Lake, a pilgrimage site about five kilometres into Myanmar from Zokhawthar. “With the FMR scrapped, we are now barred from visiting our holy lake which binds the Kuki-Chins and Mizos together,” Lalpekmuana laments. Locals are also troubled by New Delhi’s plan to construct a USD 3.7 billion fence along the Indo-Myanmar border. Many we spoke to fear that this proposed fence could further cripple the local economy, which relies on cross-border trade. In Zokhawthar, over 400 of the town’s 501 families are directly involved in cross-border commerce and labour for their livelihoods, according to a trade union leader. Any disruption to trade across the Tiau bridge and river would plunge them into a financial crisis. “After the Lok Sabha election this year, the Assam Rifles sealed the border for a while . No goods were allowed in or out,” states 24-year-old Lalhnehzova, a Mizo labourer in Zokhawthar who spends the better part of his day unloading trucks arriving from Myanmar. “Fencing means starvation to us.” Courtesy of the authors. A Lasting Colonial Legacy After the defeat of the Burmese army in their first war with the British in 1826, the regime was forced to sign the Treaty of Yandabo with the British East India Company. This pact ended the Burmese occupation of much of the northeastern region, including Assam, which then included present-day Nagaland, Arunachal Pradesh, and Mizoram, leading to their annexation by British India. Almost a decade later, in 1834, British officer Captain R. Boileu Pemberton drew a line to separate colonial India from Myanmar, now known as the Pemberton Line. However, the Chin-Kuki-Zo and Mizo tribes, who predominantly live in the hills of northeastern India and present-day Bangladesh, were not consulted during the demarcation. This line has since caused distress for these tribes that share connections and links that traverse the "imaginary border" and reject the idea of “colonial boundaries,” according to stakeholders from the tribal communities. During an interview, Lalmuanpuia, president of Zokhawthar’s village council, explains to us how the Mizo and the Chins have suffered since the colonial boundaries were drawn. “Our people were not given the option to choose between the countries, nor were we consulted before the demarcation,” he comments with emotion. “The issue has remained at a stalemate ever since.” His views are echoed by the chief of the Longwa village in Nagaland, which is also split between India and Myanmar. The first breakthrough in resolving the colonial border issue came after both India and Myanmar gained independence from British colonial rule. In 1948, Myanmar’s first Prime Minister, U Nu, introduced the Burma Passport Rules , allowing passport and permit-free entry for indigenous nationals of neighbouring countries up to 40 kilometres from the border. Two years later, Jawaharlal Nehru’s government responded by amending India’s passport rules , allowing similar cross-border movement for tribes along the Indo-Myanmar border. Since then, cross-border movement between the ethnic tribes of the two nations—which later formed the basis for the FMR—has continued, albeit with occasional suspensions due to the rise of militancy and multiple revisions, the latest being in 2016 . However, these measures have not dispelled the sense of coloniality associated with the border among locals. “A border demarcation that split communities on both sides was a part of colonial cruelty by the British,” explains Jangkhongam Doungel, who teaches political science at Mizoram University. “The scrapping of the FMR and the fencing are extensions of that colonialism for these communities.” Courtesy of the authors A Counterproductive Measure Soon after Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government announced the abolition of the FMR, the governments of Mizoram and Nagaland quickly passed resolutions against the suspension in their assemblies. However, the Indian government upheld its decision, citing reasons such as safeguarding internal security and managing the influx of Myanmarese refugees into India to justify freezing the FMR. Moreover, while India’s northeast may be prone to security concerns from insurgent groups in Myanmar, experts argue that fencing the entire border will be costly and “counterproductive,” given the security forces' dependence on the locals living along the border. Angshuman Choudhary, an associate fellow specialising in Myanmar and northeast India at the Centre for Policy Research (CPR) in New Delhi, tells us that the army relies on ethnic communities living along the border for various military arrangements, including cooperation to manage the border and intelligence gathering against insurgents. “Such a move may alienate these communities from the army,” he observes, noting that the fencing could cause “significant social and political turbulence along the border, leading to new forms of discontent that might escalate into anti-state violence.” Another challenge to erecting a fence along the border is the region’s hilly terrain. “Unlike India’s frontiers with Pakistan and Bangladesh, the Indo-Myanmar border region is mountainous and forested,” Choudhary adds. The decision to erect the border fence has met with stiff opposition from hill-dwelling indigenous communities and insurgent groups . Zo Reunification (ZoRO), a Mizoram-based civil society group advocating for a unified Chin-Kuki-Mizo region, has even taken their protest to the United Nations. An Empty Response to Meitei Demands Kuki-Zo civil society groups, as well as experts we spoke to, contend that the actual motivation for ending the FMR was to satisfy the demands of the Meitei political class in Manipur. According to the narrative popular among Meitei nationalists, the “illegal immigration” of the minority Kuki-Zo community from Myanmar has been the flashpoint driving the ethnic crisis in Manipur. Since violence erupted between the Kuki-Zo and Meiteis on May 3, 2023, the state has reported over 225 deaths, most of them Kuki-Zos, and approximately 60,000 people have been internally displaced. The BJP-led N. Biren Singh government in Manipur has long advocated for freezing the FMR as part of its efforts to curb immigration . Since the Tatmadaw seized power in Myanmar in 2021, more than three million Myanmarese have fled to neighbouring countries, according to the United Nations. India has also seen an influx of Myanmarese refugees, including Rohingyas . At least 70,000 refugees from the Junta are now living in India, with over 36,500 granted asylum in Mizoram. However, Singh’s government has taken a hostile stance towards these refugees. India’s former ambassador to Myanmar, Gautam Mukhopadhaya, challenges the justification of eliminating the FMR over the refugee crisis, stating that it “creates the very conditions it purports to counter.” “In fact, the state government has exploited the presence of a small group of refugees to brand the entire Kuki-Zo population in Manipur as ‘illegal migrants,’ and the centre has tacitly followed suit.” Mukhopadhaya’s concern resonates with many refugees we met at a camp in Zokhawthar. For 42-year-old Zarzokimi, the suspension of the FMR is undoubtedly a result of Meitei supremacism. She recounts how Singh’s government “cruelly deported” her family members who sought asylum in a Manipur border town after the coup. “If Mizoram can take us in, why can’t Manipur?” she asks. “The FMR removal is just another way to divide the Kuk-Chins from the Mizos.” Meanwhile, as India’s Home Ministry pushes forward with fencing in Manipur and Arunachal, communities along the border are confronted with the brutal imposition of a frontier designed to fracture the ties they have held close for generations. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 ARSHAD AHMED is an independent journalist and photographer based in Assam, covering human rights, politics, marginalised communities, and the environment in India's northeast. His work has been published in Article-14, Maktoob Media, TwoCirles.net, EastMojo , and others. CHANCHINMAWLA is a journalist based in an Indo-Myanmar border town in India's Mizoram. He has previously contributed to Al Jazeera , Reuters , etc. MANGLIEN GANGTE is a self-stylist and image-maker whose work navigates the intersection of diaspora, femininity, and identity through fashion. He has contributed to titles such as AnOther Magazine , Luncheon Magazine , British Vogue , Vogue India , and Grazia India . He is based in Delhi. Reportage Indo-Myanmar Border Mizoram Free Movement Regime (FMR) Settler Colonialism Colonialism India Myanmar Northeast India Manipur Assam Rifles Thingchang Meitei Kuki Modi Mizos Tribes Indigeneity Terrain Centre for Policy Research CPR Zo Reunification State & Media Majoritarianism Tribal Conflict Kuki-Zo Scheduled Tribes Politics of Ethnic Identity Refugees Insurgency Civil Society State Government Narrative AFSPA Indigenous Spaces Ethnically Divided Politics Sister States Local vs. National Politics Precarity Zokhawthar Tiau River De Facto Border Rih Lake Commerce Arunachal Pradesh Nagaland Colonial Boundaries Displacement Internally Displaced Persons Mizoram University Chin-Kuki-Mizo region Rohingya Asylum Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

A great debate is raging between progressives and the Democratic establishment in public autopsies of Election 2024. Pundits and politicians alike call the results from November 5th an indictment of the Democratic Party's anti-politics. While critiques of the centre are now ubiquitous, what of the left? A great debate is raging between progressives and the Democratic establishment in public autopsies of Election 2024. Pundits and politicians alike call the results from November 5th an indictment of the Democratic Party's anti-politics. While critiques of the centre are now ubiquitous, what of the left? Nazish Chunara Untitled (2018) watercolor and ink on paper Artist United States Aisha Ahmad 15 Nov 2024 th · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION Coalition of the Willing In an election that has left the American commentariat reeling, perhaps the most significant voice in the chorus of criticism faced by Kamala Harris and the Democratic Party this week has been none other than Senator Bernie Sanders, once regarded as the left’s answer to Donald Trump. Sanders does not mince his words in a statement published to X, asking, “will (the Democratic Party) understand the pain and political alienation that tens of millions of Americans are experiencing?” He answers a sentence later, “probably not.” Other voices on the ‘Bernie left’—a broad church coalition of disaffected Democrats and frustrated independents, fed up with America’s political duopoly and interested in progressive socio-economic policy—have echoed Sanders’ cynicism. These voices, ranging from prominent alternative media figures to former Sanders aides, place the blame squarely on the Democratic establishment whose antipathy towards their ‘political revolution’ foreclosed any chance of a populist challenge to Trump. The problem, however, is that this very coalition has been at the helm of enthusiastic support for Democratic candidates, year after year. Bernie himself recently referred to Biden as “the strongest, most progressive President in my lifetime.” Members of the “ squad ” echoed the sentiment, with Rep. Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez referring to Biden as “one of the most successful presidents in modern American history” while Rep. Ilhan Omar called him “the best president of my lifetime.” This occurred after both women accused Biden of complicity in genocide. Prominent voices in left media have also repeated the "best president of my lifetime" trope, operating on a hermeneutics of faith, quick to find silver lines and disburse credit. YouTubers like Krystal Ball and Kyle Kulinski , both of whom command subscriptions of over 1 million respectively, have frequently commented on how Biden has “ surprised ” them and that, between Barack Obama and Biden, it isn't even close—“Biden is way better. ” American progressives and self-proclaimed socialists continue to do and say things that leave fellow travellers scratching their heads. Progressives are correct to say that the Democratic Party is out of touch with everyday Americans. However, the Bernie left is similarly out of touch with the rich and longstanding political tradition it purports to subscribe to. Many on the left in the United States unwittingly perpetuate the American exceptionalism they claim to denounce. This version of American exceptionalism involves the practice of a de-linked progressive politics, existing outside the historical context and cultural milieu of international socialist struggle. Whether it be former Sanders’ surrogate, Ro Khanna’s vote on a bill “ denouncing the horrors of socialism,” Jamaal Bowman’s vote to fund Israel’s Iron Dome, or Ilhan Omar calling Margaret Thatcher a role model for her “internal sense of equality” (whatever that means), American progressives and self-proclaimed socialists continue to do and say things that leave fellow travellers scratching their heads. There are several foundational principles that any genuinely left political formation or movement should adhere to in its struggle to change the status quo, principles many members of the Bernie left actively ignored or carelessly dismissed. For the purposes of provoking reflection and debate, I will highlight three. First, a recognition that the push and pull of antagonistic class forces moves history, rendering any snapshot of the present an illustration of the prevailing balance of class forces. Barack Obama and Joe Biden were presidents of two very different countries. One led a country that choked on the very word “ socialist, ” and the other was almost dethroned by one. Biden’s policies should be framed by the left not as “ surprising victories ” but as fragments of a weak class compromise, token gestures to placate post-Occupy Movement progressives while continuing to serve the interests of big donors. Like Kamala Harris herself said , “you exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.” Biden was, in many ways, the first Democratic president after the end of the long 1990s. To judge his record against politicians basking in the glory of the fall of the Berlin Wall is disingenuous at worst, misleading at best. Second, the necessity of a ruthless critique of imperialism. It is true that left media and members of The squad have been the more outspoken critics of Biden’s complicity in Gaza. This has been positive to see. But the criticism led nowhere: verbal condemnations were followed briskly by pledges of allegiance. A large contingent of the Bernie coalition has treated genocide and other policy issues as equal considerations amongst many, conducting cost-benefit analyses with wonky incrementalism on one side and crimes against humanity on the other. The only red lines are those drawn by Republicans—everything else goes. You cannot trade the lives of innocents for personal freedoms and leave with your political conscience intact. Third, a clear understanding of the role of electoral politics in pushing a left agenda. Winning an election is not the only goal when the left decides to partake in the electoral process. Elections act as venues for cementing working-class consciousness, building broader-based coalitions, pushing class struggle and popularising left platforms. Imagine if Sanders had published his statement critiquing the Democratic establishment before campaigning began for 2024. Think of the debates it would have engendered, the demystification of political rhetoric it could have produced, the birth or consolidation of left formations it could have inspired. Rather, we saw Bernie, the squad, and much of the left media clamouring to back Harris hours after she announced her run. And as quickly as the endorsements came, so did promises to “push Kamala left” once she was elected. This approach of delaying politics means forsaking the opportunities elections provide to highlight ideological alternatives to the political duopolies that litter liberal democracies around the world. A mass party of labour, a genuine left political program, is put off to tomorrow—but tomorrow never comes. Of course, there are those rooted in radical political traditions who made political calculations to support Sanders as a speedbump for neoliberalism and imperialism. Had progressives been clearer about the principles above, we may have had an election that actually mattered. Some may argue that the “the Bernie left” is too vague a construction to conduct a robust postmortem, to which I say, you know exactly who I am talking about . Of course, there are those rooted in radical political traditions who made political calculations to support Sanders as a speedbump for neoliberalism and imperialism. They are mostly excluded from the critique. And if there is still confusion about who, or what, the Bernie left is—well, therein lies the problem. In Sanders’ post-election statement, he concludes, “in the coming weeks and months, those of us concerned about grassroots democracy and economic justice need to have some very serious political discussions.” I agree and can only hope that critical questions will be asked of him and the movement he has spearheaded for nearly a decade. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 AISHA AHMAD is Assistant Professor at the Shaikh Ahmad Hassan School of Law at LUMS in Lahore, Pakistan. She has a PhD in international development from the University of Oxford and has studied law at LUMS and Harvard Law School. Her work pertains to law and development, marxist legal theory and urban governance in cities of the global south. Nazish Chunara is a painter, installation artist, and aerodynamicist currently based in Los Angeles. Opinion United States Elections Electoral Politics Progressivism Progressive Politics Democratic Party Leftism The Disillusionment of the Left Socialism Democracy Bernie Sanders The Squad Status Quo Imperialism Policy Republican Party Foreign Policy Marxism Radical Politics Grassroots Movements Coalition Neoliberalism Working Class Culture American Exceptionalism Independent Media Democratic Establishment Democratic Elites Liberalism Joe Biden Kamala Harris Ilhan Omar Jamaal Brown Ro Khanna Barack Obama Gaza Israel Krystal Ball Kyle Kulinski Populism Donald Trump Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez Electioneering Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In New Caledonia, a collectivity of the French Republic, a mainland political ploy to subvert the indigenous Kanak people’s right to self-determination faced waves of protest in the summer of 2024. With liberal international institutions failing to enforce meaningful solutions, the Melanesian island’s struggle for liberation parallels global indigenous movements for sovereignty and exposes the settler-colonial logic of displacement and democratic dilution. · FEATURES Essay · New Caledonia In New Caledonia, a collectivity of the French Republic, a mainland political ploy to subvert the indigenous Kanak people’s right to self-determination faced waves of protest in the summer of 2024. With liberal international institutions failing to enforce meaningful solutions, the Melanesian island’s struggle for liberation parallels global indigenous movements for sovereignty and exposes the settler-colonial logic of displacement and democratic dilution. Mahnoor Azeem, Untitled (2025). Digital illustration. Dissipated Self-Determination In 1853, the French established the Saint-Denis Church of Balade, the first Catholic church in the small archipelago of Kanaky, known more widely today by its colonial name, New Caledonia . Ten years later, France seized control of the land and began to subtly but substantially desecrate the identity of the indigenous Melanesian Kanak people for imperial gain. On September 10, 2024, more than 160 years later, the Church became the fifth Catholic mission to be burned in response to the ongoing political violence and electoral erasure waged against the Kanak people by the French government. “Some elements of the Catholic Church are regarded by some younger Kanak militants as being symbolic of French state repression,” said David Robie, a New Zealand author and founder of the Asia Pacific Media Network, in an interview with SAAG . He noted, however, that Protestant Christian denominations in the Pacific have been found to support Kanak freedom. This repression was never more evident in New Caledonia—so marked in its démodé political approach—than in May 2024, when the French government weakened the pro-Kanaky voter base beyond any point of electoral voice. A proposed constitutional amendment, approved by the French National Assembly that month, sought to alter voting rights in a way many indigenous Kanak people feared would further diminish their political representation. In response, mass demonstrations erupted in frustration and protest. The unrest resulted in a revised death toll of 14, alongside hundreds of injuries. Numerous businesses and vehicles were destroyed, with the looting and damage on May 16 alone amounting to at least 200 million euros . In response to the escalating violence, France declared a state of emergency in New Caledonia, laying the ground for a brutal deployment of additional police and military forces to restore order. Many movement leaders, including the notable Christian Tien, were extradited to France under charges of “ organized crime .” Ultimately, the French government postponed the provincial elections scheduled for December 2024 to December 2025, aiming to address the underlying issues and restore stability. But this was a clear act of democratic erasure, aimed at further denigrating the humanity of the island’s Kanak people. “Sadly, three decades of goodwill and apparent goodwill from Paris and all sides have dissipated unjustly,” Robie added, “flaunting the United Nations Decolonization Committee provisions.” This ideological reversion to the fundamentals of neoliberal democracy has enraged the indigenous Kanak people of New Caledonia. It also raises questions about whether France ever intended to grant them sovereignty. It has further highlighted the historical deception that undergirds the self-sustenance of settler-colonies in the modern world, perpetuating disappearance under the guise of citizenship and electoral democracy. Kanaky Remains A French Colony After nearly a century of French colonization, Kanak populations were granted citizenship and the right to vote after 1946. This granting is a turning point in every colonial enterprise’s teleology to clinch onto their sovereignty. Following a feigned investment in the population of the exploitee, a colonizer must decide what tools of population disappearance will be most palatable to the populations’ particular land and labor context. New Caledonia was essentially an autonomously governed territory for a generation after World War II—until another war spotlighted the strategic value of the archipelago’s nickel resources. The Vietnam War, an imperialist venture in its own right, brought the small island back into focus, and Charles De Gaulle decided the nickel profits were too lucrative an exploit to pass up. The Union Calédonienne lost its majority voter base in the years surrounding the Vietnam War, as an influx of mainland French citizens arrived to disenfranchise the Kanak by shifting the weight of the body politic towards mainland sympathy. In the company of the U.S. Virgin Islands, Western Sahara, Gibraltar, and other de jure-occupied “territories” throughout Oceania, New Caledonia remains one of the last standing administrative colonies in the world. It also shares with states like Algeria a history of exploitation characteristic of French colonial enterprises. The French overseas department-turned-collectivity is now at a political standstill, partially because the indigenous people placed faith in France’s supposed goodwill efforts in the 1990s to pave the way for Kanak self-determination. The culmination of those efforts—the Nouméa Accord of 1998 —then enshrined into the French constitution a purportedly pragmatic approach to Kanak self-determination and the eventual establishment of New Caledonia as Kanaky. The accord stipulated that after 20 years, the people of New Caledonia would have three opportunities to vote for independence via referendum. David Chappell, a scholar on the modern revolutionary history of the Kanak people and Professor Emeritus at the University of Hawaii, told SAAG that while the Nouméa accord may be viewed as a successful negotiation following a period of intense Kanak rebellion, it was likely only ever an attempt to “delay decolonization.” In 2018 and 2020, the Kanak population, currently comprising around 40% of New Caledonia, fell just short of their goal. Between the first and the second referendums, their base grew by enough percentage points that movement leaders were optimistic about their imminent third chance at independence. “It was supposed to be held in 2022, but Macron moved it up [to 2021] at the last minute,” Chappell told SAAG . In response to concerns regarding a COVID-19 outbreak that had struck the island, particularly the Kanak community leading up to the vote, and given the mourning procedures of the Kanak people that often lasted up to a year, movement leaders demanded the referendum be postponed. None of these demands were taken seriously. An active Kanak boycott of the vote in tandem with many abstentions based on COVID-19 cautiousness thus manifested in low voter turnout. The election results, where only 43% of all voting-eligible New Caledonians participated and voted overwhelmingly in favor of staying with France, were immediately—and naturally—called into question. “The last [two and a half] decades had allowed pacification and progress on the path to decolonization,” French New Caledonian organizer Francis Sitel wrote to SAAG . “This is what was spoiled by the government's power grabs.” Beyond rejecting calls for a revote on the grounds of unfair voting circumstances, in May 2024, the French government decided the moment was opportune for a constitutional amendment granting voting rights to New Caledonians who arrived in the past two decades—in other words, those with weakest historical claim to the land. This decision, coming on the heels of the boycotted referendum that had already left the Kanak people scorned by France, has triggered a dramatic response—protests that have escalated to the brink of insurrection. This sequence of events has been entirely predictable and preventable,” Robie detailed. “However, the French state (under Macron) is completely tone-deaf and dogmatic in its responses to the indigenous Kanaks’ aspirations for independence.” New Leader, Same Strategy Today, New Caledonia remains one of the world’s top five nickel producers . The industry is crucial to the Kanak people’s future self-governance and sustenance, but it is clear that France is unwilling to relinquish control easily. According to Robie, Macron’s “rescue” initiative for the nickel industry was staunchly contested by the Kanak people, as it “favor[ed] the incumbent industry players and [did little] to spread the economy to support Kanaks.” However, South Africa has shown interest in reviving the nickel industry—what Robie called a “glimmer of hope—while France has seemingly taken the cue to venture for capital elsewhere. “France is interested in the 200-mile maritime Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ),” Robie explained. An EEZ grants a country exclusive rights to exploit natural resources within 200 miles of its shores. Due to the former empire’s vast ownership of islands territories globally, France possesses the world’s second-largest EEZ. The same colonial strategy of buying time endures. Former Prime Minister Michel Barnier behaved in the same fashion: on 1 October , he announced that elections in New Caledonia would be postponed for a year while also halting the progression of Macron’s controversial constitutional amendment, which sought to grant voting rights to newly resident French nationals in New Caledonia. Superficial gestures of good faith towards self-determination continue to be paired with the deliberate stalling of liberatory legal processes, inevitably leading to repression and violence. “France seems to be hellbent on a militarist and repressive response to the unrest in New Caledonia,” Robbie added, “instead of a negotiated, peaceful attempt to build a consensus.” He denounced the French government’s cruelty in deporting and jailing pro-independence leaders accused of incitement, forcing them to await trial in metropolitan France—over 10,000 miles away from the support of their families and communities. “It is reminiscent of some of the worst excesses of French 19th-century colonialism,” Robbie noted, “and has severely damaged French credibility in the South Pacific region at a time when it is pursuing an Indo-Pacific security strategy.” Are there any liberatory legal procedures in a settler colony that can legislate independence amicably, in something like an electoral handshake? Colonial Anachronism Robie called the state-sponsored violence a “colonial anachronism” of this day and age. Yet this reality persists across countless other regions of the world, where dispossessed peoples must overcome endless obstacles to prove their voices deserve legitimacy in the democratic process—even as they are actively erased from claiming authority over their indigenous identity. Perhaps most relevantly, Zionism stands as a prime example of a revisionist historical enterprise that simultaneously operates as a democratic ethnostate—one that, through violence and displacement, diminishes an indigenous population to render it democratically negligible. For there to be a Jewish democracy in the land of historic Palestine, the Palestinians there must cease to exist. The initial mechanisms of this disappearance were manifest in the atrocities of the Nakba. But later, throughout the 1950s and 1960s, a heavier emphasis was placed on the suppression of Palestinian political and social organizing. For example, Al-Ard , the first Palestinian party to attempt participation in the Israeli parliament (Knesset), was outlawed within years on fabricated and unfounded grounds. There could never be a fair playing field if democratically warranted self-determination is what one was after. It is even harder to accuse a state of engaging in the logic of elimination endemic to settler colonialism when it simply appears as though there are not enough indigenous people on this island in the Pacific—seldom making international headlines—for it to be a worthwhile pursuit. But proximity to the metropole should not be the criterion for concern over an indigenous group’s right to self-determination, or the pressure placed on the neocolonial state to secure that right—especially when it was, in effect, promised mere decades ago. As Dr. Chappell posed in conversation, “What if almost half the population of the United States, Canada, Australia, or New Zealand were indigenous? What kind of politics might result?” The logic of democracy—”one person, one vote”—negates the inviolable right of the colonized indigenous Kanak people to self-determination. Robie elaborates, “It merely ensures that the 'tyranny of the majority'—mostly imported French settlers—imposes its will over the Indigenous Kanak minority. French colonial policy has deliberately encouraged settlers from the metropole to migrate to New Caledonia to ensure the electoral disenfranchisement of the Kanaks.” Interestingly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, when it comes time to imagine solutions, few arise that are not at the behest of international institutions that have, in the context of the Kanaks, the Palestinians, and indigenous people around the world, fallen short in their ability to enforce international law or solidify paths towards self-determination. In Chappell’s words, “The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People gave them more ideas, but it allows only autonomy over resources and cultural rights for indigenous minorities—not independence from the territorial state.” Robie anticipated progress from a more localized approach of institutional action within the Pacific Island region. “The Pacific Islands Forum, Melanesian Spearhead Group, and the United Nations need to step up diplomatic and political pressure on France to change its course of action,” he said. "It is imperative," he argued, "for Paris to step back from its militarist approach and make a commitment to seeking a pathway for the Kanak self-determination aspirations.” The question remains: how much longer can France suppress Kanak self-determination before the façade of democracy collapses entirely?∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Essay New Caledonia French Republic Indigenous Kanak Indigenous self-governance Protest Liberation Sovereignty Colonialism Displacement Kanaky Melanesia Imperialism Political Violence Violence Identity Catholicism Church Electoral Politics Erasure French State Erasure State Sanctioned Violence Repression Militarism Militant David Robie Freedom Civilian Unrest Mass Protests Organized Crime Movements Neoliberalism Disappearance Administrative Colony Exploitation Oceania Self-determination David Chappell Revolutionary Revolution 17th Century Decolonization Independence Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 26th Mar 2025 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. · FEATURES Photo Essay · Kashmir In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. "The Long Bloom (the figure in white)" (2020), graphite on watercolour paper, courtesy of Moses Tan. Existing in Kashmir T he sun has disappeared behind the Pir Panjal range of the Himalayas, which encircles the Kashmir Valley. Administered under the Indian union territory of Jammu and Kashmir, the Valley is a Muslim-majority region, situated on the border with Pakistan. It has remained at the heart of a territorial conflict since 1947. At night, Suthsoo—a rural village near Srinagar, the summer state capital—is alive with men advancing along the main street, chanting slogans and religious hymns while rhythmically beating their chests. It is Eid al-Ghadir, a Shia festival commemorating Prophet Muhammad’s appointment of his son-in-law Ali as his successor in 632 AD, a moment that began the ongoing split between Sunni and Shia Muslims. The men gather in front of the mosque, raising their voices before entering; the women take a staircase to observe the celebrations from the first floor, which is reserved for them. Songs and speeches follow one another under a portrait of Ayatollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Rohan, a young queer influencer, is one of the performers that evening, singing under the eyes of his family who have come to listen to him. The 29-year-old TikToker regularly visits a "cruising park" in central Srinagar to meet his partners. With its 1.7 million inhabitants, Srinagar is often seen as a more liberal space compared to the rest of the valley, offering sexual minorities a partial escape from cultural and religious pressures. "My village is very conservative," Rohan laments. "That's why I prefer the city centre." In Srinagar, Rohan enjoys the relative anonymity of urban areas. Members of the LGBTQ community interviewed by The Vertical regularly visit mosques and the sacred sites of Kashmir, such as the Hazratbal Shrine, which houses a relic of the Prophet Muhammad. "At the mosque, you pray for yourself," explains Zia*, a bisexual son of a police officer, "no one pays attention to us or judges us." Mahnoor*, 21, who identifies as a transgender woman and works part-time at a beauty salon in Srinagar, adds: "Allah gave me a body that I respect. I won't undergo gender reassignment surgery." Like her, many transgender women in Kashmir choose not to undergo surgery, partly to ensure they can have Muslim funeral rites. "Living in a region under Indian military occupation—where Kashmiri identity is constantly challenged—triggers a defensive reaction that leads sexual minorities to prioritise their Kashmiri and Muslim identities," explains Sadiya, a queer activist from New Delhi and a transgender woman. "Similarly, local politicians often subordinate all other demands to the cause of Azadi , seen as the absolute priority over social and individual issues." In this region, one of the most militarised in the world with nearly half a million Indian soldiers stationed, minority identities can sometimes be overshadowed by the independence movement, often viewed as the primary collective cause. Furthermore, Kashmiri society places great value on marriage and family formation, making the acceptance of relationships outside of marriage, whether heterosexual or homosexual, difficult. Under a chinar tree, a symbol of the region, Rohan shares: "My family is putting a lot of pressure on me to marry soon." Although the colonial-era law criminalising homosexuality was repealed in 2018, the subject remains taboo in the valley, as does transgender identity, despite the Indian Supreme Court’s official recognition of a third gender in 2014. Queer and transgender individuals are often forced to hide their sexual and gender identities from their families to protect their reputations. "In New Delhi, I wear crop tops and get compliments every day. In Srinagar, I don't dare dress as a woman or shave my beard," reveals Mahnoor*. Discrimination against sexual minorities sometimes takes tragic turns. Sadiya explains: “Sexual minorities live in constant fear in the Kashmir Valley. Some parents do not hesitate to resort to violence, even murder, when they discover that their child is queer. For lesbian women, the situation is even more distressing, as they face both homophobia and misogyny.” Faisal*, a 17-year-old gay man, was raped by two police officers in a police station in Srinagar. "Making a complaint would be pointless," he confides. Zia* speaks of the pervasive denial that exists within families: "My family does not want to acknowledge my sexuality. We never talk about it." In 2015, he received threats from masked and armed men who burst into his home. Following this incident, he decided to give up dancing, which he had pursued at a professional level. He now resides in New Delhi, where it is easier to perform his sexuality and find job opportunities, which have become even scarcer since the abrogation of the state's autonomy in 2019. Sadiya, who dreams of one day opening a queer artist residency in Srinagar, laments: "There is still much to be done regarding the rights of sexual minorities in Kashmir, where the queer community is poorly structured. Those who can leave the valley, where they suffocate." Furthermore, the revocation of Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, combined with the internet shutdowns and mobility restrictions that followed, has further intensified the isolation of sexual minority members, depriving them of essential means of communication and support networks. Additionally, some local activists denounce the Indian state’s "pinkwashing," accusing New Delhi of instrumentalising the rights of sexual minorities to position itself as a defender against a Muslim population perceived as homophobic. The discourse from New Delhi, highlighting the defence of LGBTQ rights in Kashmir to justify the abrogation of Article 370, has generated increasing distrust towards local LGBTQ activists, who are sometimes seen as colluding with the central government. Similarly, New Delhi seeks to exploit religious divides. LIVING AS A SHIITE IN KASHMIR At the Zadibaal Imambara, preparations for the evening majlis are in full swing. In front of the building, shop stalls overflow with various items related to Shia rituals, alongside flags bearing the image of Ibrahim Raisi, the former Iranian president who tragically died in a helicopter crash last May. Inside the Imambara, workers hang red and black banners. Women come to pray. On a patchwork of multicoloured carpets, idle workers sip their noon chai , the traditional Kashmiri tea, which is pink and salty. The papier-mâché ceiling fans, a source of pride for the faithful, help to dispel the heat. Daylight filters through the stained-glass windows made of wood. A devotee tests the microphone: "Ya Ali, ya Hussain." The Zadibal Imambara houses a relic: a hair of the third Imam, Hussain. According to legend, this hair turns red during Ashura, the day of commemoration of Imam Hussain’s martyrdom at the Battle of Karbala in 680. Located in a predominantly Shia neighbourhood of Srinagar, it has suffered no fewer than twelve arson attacks since its construction in the 16th century, reflecting the recurring outbreaks of intercommunal violence. Nevertheless, the imambara has not been set on fire since 1872 and intercommunal relations have improved. Author and art historian Hakim Sameer Hamdani attributes the easing of intercommunal tensions to two events. Firstly, a 1907 memorandum addressed to the Viceroy of India, Lord Minto, signed by leaders of both sects, presenting their traditions as part of a single integrated Muslim community. Secondly, the Ashura processions of 1923, which took place for the first time during the day, defying established routines. The Twelver Shiite minority constitutes about 10% of the population of Kashmir, which has been predominantly Sunni since its Islamisation in the 14th century. They are spread throughout the region, primarily in Srinagar, as well as in the districts of Baramulla and Budgam. This community has long remained marginalised from local political life. Kashmiri academic Dr. Siddiq Wahid, an expert in international relations and governance issues, explains that the limited involvement of Shiites in the armed movement of the 1990s, which was largely dominated by Sunni Islam, may have led to a certain mistrust towards them. Sameera, a seventy-year-old resident of the affluent Rajbagh neighbourhood, offers a nuanced perspective, recalling that many Shiites supported the independence cause by hiding militants and taking up arms. “In the valley, identities intertwine and overlap like Russian dolls,” explains Dr. Siddiq Wahid, highlighting a complexity that goes beyond apparent divides. During the recent Indian general elections, the first since the revocation of Kashmir's autonomy in 2019, one of the strategies employed by the Indian central government was to exploit divisions between Sunnis and Shiites. However, this strategy did not succeed in Kashmir, where the population remains united against New Delhi: the residents of the valley came together against the local parties allied with the BJP. Cleric Agha Rahullah, from the influential Shiite Agha clan of Budgam, even won one of the seats in Srinagar on the National Conference ticket, a historic local party that secured two of the three seats in the Kashmir district. This victory has instilled pride within the Shiite community. Enayat, a Shiite resident of Srinagar, expressed his "great pride in seeing a member of his community represent Kashmir as a whole," noting that his election would not have been possible without the support of Sunni voters. CONNECTING MINORITIES BEYOND ETHNIC OR RELIGIOUS BOUNDARIES Despite the challenges of breaking the taboo around sexual minorities and advancing their rights — issues often overshadowed by the region’s political uncertainty — some NGOs are engaging in grassroots efforts. The People's Social and Cultural Society (PSCS), active since 2008, is dedicated to the sexual health of transgender individuals and men who have sex with men (MSM). It provides HIV testing, distributes condoms, lubricants, and antibiotics free of charge. A true "safe place" in the heart of Srinagar, the PSCS premises offer a refuge where everyone is welcome. "The people who come here feel supported and find a haven here. Many things have changed in the valley. Ignorance about HIV was once widespread, but thanks to nurse training nurses and prevention campaigns, attitudes have evolved," explains Dr. Rafi Razaqi, the director of PSCS. In this building, tucked away at the end of a quiet courtyard, bonds of solidarity transcend divisions, and struggles intersect. A visibly religious man jokes with visitors and social workers at the centre. This is Mustafa*, who works in the NGO’s branch that provides support for drug users. Sadiya, who also works as a tour guide, is organising an upcoming five-day inclusive trip to Srinagar for members of the LGBTQ community from New Delhi. She intends to take the group to PSCS to help them build networks with the local LGBTQ community and to meet a Kashmiri Hijra guru, who will share personal experience from the 1990s insurgency. “This programme aims to raise awareness about the realities faced by sexual minorities in Kashmir while showcasing the rich Islamic heritage of Srinagar, including its Shiite legacy, and fostering connections across ethnic and religious boundaries,” she explains. “The goal is to challenge the Kashmiriphobia and Islamophobia that persist among some queer activists in India,” she adds, referring to the controversy during Mumbai Pride 2020, where certain members of the organising committee distanced themselves from slogans supporting Kashmiri independence. She concludes: “this trip offers a unique opportunity to engage directly with Kashmiris. After all, isn’t it the essence of humanity to seek understanding of what is unfamiliar?”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Photo Essay Kashmir Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 24th Oct 2025 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

For decades, Kashmiri women have charted holy ground in the hidden crannies of otherwise patriarchal spaces of worship. As verandas sit bare and prostrations disappear, their presence teeters on the edge of erasure, vulnerable to the slow forgetting of time. Yet many women remain resolute: as long as memory endures, so too will the spaces they carved that never called for recognition. · FEATURES Photo Essay · Kashmir For decades, Kashmiri women have charted holy ground in the hidden crannies of otherwise patriarchal spaces of worship. As verandas sit bare and prostrations disappear, their presence teeters on the edge of erasure, vulnerable to the slow forgetting of time. Yet many women remain resolute: as long as memory endures, so too will the spaces they carved that never called for recognition. Untitled (2025), photograph, courtesy of Zainab. Devotion by Design Just before the adhan , the Jamia Masjid in Srinagar falls silent. It’s a kind of alive stillness: dust caught in thin shafts of light, pigeons tracing circles above carved wooden beams, the scent of rosewater clinging to the air. A grandmother slips off her shoes, adjusts her scarf, and finds her place behind a screen. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t need to. She is present. There are corners few will notice—small, improvised spaces, where women have long made room for their faith. A balcony, a stairwell, a curtained-off alcove. Not designed officially for them, but quietly claimed. Presence is shown in the architecture: evidence in memory, use, and need. Often engulfed in enforced silence. Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Now, many of those spaces are dissipating. Not with drama, but with a quiet inevitability. They are being renovated, restricted, and forgotten. As they go, much more goes with them: a sacred closeness, a map of devotion embedded into spaces that never needed to be drawn. What happens when these corners vanish—slowly, without notice? What remains, and what do we lose, when the unseen are no longer there to hold us? For generations, women in Kashmir have prayed in spaces not exactly meant for them. There are no signs pointing the way. No architectural plans name them. And yet, they have existed: a narrow balcony overlooking the men’s hall, a partitioned corner behind a curtain, a small side room warmed by years of whispered prayer. These spaces emerged out of necessity, shaped by repetition, softened by devotion. A woman stepping quietly into the same corner her mother once did. A rug folded and stored in the same place. There is a lingering scent of attar left behind after someone leaves. To call these spaces makeshift misses the point. They were not oversights or design flaws. They were formed as quiet forms of agency. Women marking sacred ground where none had been offered. Through repetitive use, these praying women carved out a spiritual geography in physical presence, even if it was never named on paper. This “soft architecture”—made of cloth, memory, and movement—held emotion, belonging, and belief. It was never grand yet it was deeply felt, and that made it sacred. “I’ve been coming here since I was a girl,” Khalida, 62, says, settling her shawl as she looks toward the old wooden veranda. “We didn’t ask where to go. We just came, Taeher hot-pot in one hand and prayer in the other.” Women in prayer, Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Prayers at Khanqah-e Moula, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. She remembers the quiet corner where women sat, shaded and separate, behind a rug gently hung like a veil. They would whisper duas , share warmth, and provide a hot-pot of yellow rice to men and women emerging from the prayer hall. This is no duty, but an offering, as presence. “They knew we were there.” Now, she says, the rug is gone. The veranda feels emptier. “I still bring the Taeher sometimes. But fewer women join. Fewer remember. And the ones who come now… no one tells them where we used to sit.” Her voice lowers. “It’s like the prayer still wants to happen, but the place for it has been folded away.” Women in prayer, Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. What Was Quietly Taken In recent years, something has quietly shifted in Kashmir’s mosques and shrines. Renovations arrive with good intentions—modern tiles, repainted walls, new security protocols. But somewhere in that process, the delicate architecture of women’s prayer has begun to disappear. Spaces that were never formally named are now unwittingly removed. A balcony closed. A staircase sealed. A corner now considered “not appropriate .” The change didn’t come from malice. Many men don’t even know what’s been lost. These spaces were inherited, almost invisible. And that’s exactly why they vanished so easily. In the name of order, safety, or religious propriety, these deeply intimate spaces and all they hold continue to slip away. This isn’t just about bricks or curtains. It’s about memory, and how softly it can be erased when decisions are made from above, by institutions that speak of faith but forget the textures of it. In Kashmir, where both men and women carry centuries of devotion, such forgetting doesn’t feel neutral. It feels like an inflicted absence. An empty silence that once held meaning. Outside the city, in the shrines of Kashmir’s valleys and hills, something still lingers. At Baba Reshi, the mood is less structured, less policed. Here, women walk freely, light lamps, tie threads to latticework, and stir food in sacred kitchens. Their presence is visible—not formal, but felt. There’s a small, designated space marked “for women,” in which they move with familiarity. Women sweep the floors, offer prayers aloud, and tend to the rituals that anchor belief. These gestures are often seen as care rather than acts of worship, but it is worship too. Unlike the city’s polished mosques, rural shrines seem to breathe with memory. The freedom they offer, however, is fragile. It survives because it is overlooked, rather than because it has been protected. Space for women’s religious practice can be claimed, precisely because it remains informal, invisible, almost domestic. The erosion is uneven. In these peripheral places, the edge holds on to what the center forgets. And yet, even here, one wonders—what happens when these quiet practices no longer go unacknowledged, but become regulated? Echoes of a time gone by. Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Sadiya, 27, walks through the narrow lane leading to Jamia Masjid with ease. She has been coming here since she was a child, led by her mother’s hand. She doesn’t pray in the main courtyard, but she doesn’t mind. The women’s section—tucked to the side, with the mounted TV broadcasting the Mirwaiz’s sermon—still feels sacred to her. “It’s quiet. Sometimes too quiet,” she says with a small smile, “but when the waaz begins, something shifts. It feels like we’re part of it, even if we’re not seen.” She acknowledges that the space isn’t perfect. It’s separate. Small. Often unseen. But she doesn’t see it as absence. “We’re still here,” she says. “We still listen. We still feel.” What keeps her coming is the sense of continuity. Her mother sat here, and maybe one day, her daughter will too. “I know it could be better. But I also know it’s not lost. Not yet. And as long as we come, it won’t be.” At the Threshold of Memory I have never stepped into these rooms. Not because I wasn’t curious, but because I know I shouldn’t. My place, as a man, is not inside. Listening, watching, remembering what is said and what is not. These spaces—drawn in cloth, carved into routine—were never mine. And yet they’ve shaped the way I understand prayer, presence, and the politics of space. I have learned to read absence, to hear what disappears without announcement. In a culture where so much is held in gesture, to stand at the threshold is not passive. It’s a kind of responsibility. In the shadowed alcove of a shrine, a woman lights a stick of incense. The smoke rises slowly, curling into the dimness. Its scent—rose, ash, something older—fills the air. Behind her, a small child leans against her mother’s shoulder, half-asleep, her breath matching the rhythm of the prayer whispered beside her. Nothing is said aloud. But something sacred passes between them: tender, private, deeply alive. These are not moments most people would record. They don’t fit neatly into architectural plans or ideological doctrines. Instead they carry what no institution can replace: faith that lives in touch, in memory, in the soft persistence of presence. Even as walls are rebuilt and policies redraw the shape of sacred life, these quiet devotions continue. A rug tucked behind a staircase. A prayer whispered behind a curtain. What disappears from sight won’t always vanish. Some spaces move inward. Into memory, into gesture, into breath. Writing may be a way to resist forgetting. Because even when a room is gone, what it once held can still remain—in scent, in story, in the hush that follows prayer. I write about these corners with careful attention. To me, this means knowing the difference between witnessing and claiming. I carry these stories not as evidence, but as echoes of things fading not yet gone. In Kashmir, where so much has already been taken, documenting is more than just recording. In writing, I honour what remains, to make space for memory when physical space no longer allows it. … Every Friday, Shabir takes a break from his carpenter work—like many self-employed men in Kashmir—and drives with his wife and two daughters, Azra and Ajwa, to the Baba Reshi shrine on his scooter. It’s not just routine; it’s a rhythm of devotion, held in the quiet folds of family life. “Friday is for slowing down,” he says. “For prayer. For being together.” When they arrive, Shabir takes Azra, the younger one, with him into the shrine. “She’s still small,” he smiles. “She watches me closely, tries to copy every movement.” Ajwa, now nine, goes with her mother to the courtyard, to tie threads, to pray, to go into the small women’s prayer room when they find it open. “I’ve never gone in, and I won’t. But I know it’s a place of peace…for them.” He doesn’t speak of fairness or rights. Just presence, and memory. “My daughters will remember this. That they belonged here. That faith wasn’t something they had to find. It was already waiting for them.” ∎ Woman with a Tasbeeh , Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Shared faith, Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Friday prayers, Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Making presence, Babareshi, Baramullah. Courtesy of Zainab. At Khanqah Urs, Khanqah-e Moula, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. A child’s whisper, Aishmuqam Shrine, Islamabad. Courtesy of Zainab. Woman praying at Chrar, Budgam. Courtesy of Zainab. Daan Levun, Babareshi, Baramullah. Devotees perform age-old ritual of coating a stone oven with clay soil, believing that their prayers shall be fulfilled. Courtesy of Zainab. Making presence II, Babareshi, Baramullah. Courtesy of Zainab. The walls that stood the testament of time. Courtesy of Zainab. Walk by faith, Hazratbal Shrine, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. Testament of a collective history, Charar-i Sharif, Budgam. Courtesy of Zainab. Inherited resilience. Zoya with a friend, Jamia Masjid, Srinagar. Courtesy of Zainab. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Photo Essay Kashmir Mosque Worship Devotion Femininity Prayer Ritual Sacred Space Future Generations Generational Legacy Memory Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 9th Oct 2025 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

The Awami League’s think tank, the Center for Research Information, had a “flagship publication”: WhiteBoard magazine. Projecting a modern, Anglophone, elite identity, WhiteBoard was part of a small media ecosystem that helped to whitewash a despotic power, with youthful figures deploying their credentials in international academic and publishing circles. What to make of WhiteBoard’s advisory board members who distance themselves from the Awami League now? · THE VERTICAL Opinion · Dhaka The Awami League’s think tank, the Center for Research Information, had a “flagship publication”: WhiteBoard magazine. Projecting a modern, Anglophone, elite identity, WhiteBoard was part of a small media ecosystem that helped to whitewash a despotic power, with youthful figures deploying their credentials in international academic and publishing circles. What to make of WhiteBoard’s advisory board members who distance themselves from the Awami League now? Kamil Ahsan, Untitled (2024). Digital collage. The WhiteBoard Board ! It’s been three weeks since the mass uprising in Bangladesh ousted the Awami League regime of Sheikh Hasina, and I remain glued to social media. Morning, noon, and night. One morning, eyes barely open, I wake up to several Facebook posts up in arms over an article in the Dhaka newspaper Bonik Barta, titled “CRI and WhiteBoard: Radwan Mujib Siddiq Bobby and his advisory board.” I see a screenshot from Bonik Barta with the faces of ten people. I recognize five. A few of them I have called my friends in the past, although distance crept in during the final years of the Hasina regime. Two have now shared Facebook posts denying they were ever a part of the advisory board of the Center for Research and Information (CRI). They say they had only been members of the editorial advisory board for CRI’s magazine, WhiteBoard, and had no association with CRI. Radwan Mujib Siddiq is the Editor-in-Chief of WhiteBoard and a trustee of CRI. He happens to be Sheikh Hasina’s nephew, the son of Sheikh Rehana, sometimes mentioned as Hasina’s successor. The CRI was the Awami League ’s think tank, the creator of projects such as the Sheikh Mujib comic book series, a volume of quotations from Sheikh Mujib , and, of course, WhiteBoard magazine. Earlier this year, the CRI came under scrutiny when news reports published some alarming information about the organization's activities. Meta had just published, in its Adversarial Threat Report for the first quarter of 2024, a section on Bangladesh that mentioned they had removed 50 Facebook accounts and 98 pages related to the Awami League (AL) and the CRI for “violating our policy against coordinated inauthentic behavior”: specifically the use of fake pages masquerading as real news outlets that spread pro-government propaganda. I am not surprised by the board members’ objections and disavowals. We are prone to compiling lists of “traitors” to be shunned and there’s a whiff of guilt by association. But the defensive explanations hardly seem adequate either. The websites for the CRI and WhiteBoard are no longer available. Thanks to the Wayback Machine, I’m able to read archived articles. I find some old press coverage of their activities from Netra News . It’s plainly stated that the CRI was considered the “research wing” of the AL, and WhiteBoard proudly declared itself as the CRI’s “flagship publication.” From the names of the editorial advisory board and other contributors, it’s clear they tried to rope in academic and civil society personalities. They also claim that WhiteBoard was “the first policy magazine in Bangladesh.” I doubt that. The AL has long tended to deny achievements in Bangladesh’s history not directly spearheaded by them. I read some of WhiteBoard ’'s old articles. They generally avoided issues of power and politics. I find two notable exceptions, however, that sing the glories of BaKSAL , the Bangladesh Krishak Sramik Awami League, the “one” party spearheaded by Sheikh Mujib when he established a one-party state in 1974, banning all opposition, and silencing all but four newspapers . One of the articles by Syed Badrul Ahsan, a well-known apologist for the AL, contains this delightful sentence: “When BaKSAL came in, the government approved four newspapers, two Bengali and two English. It would be simplistic to suggest that this was a measure to curb dissent. No, I would say it was a measure to bring about discipline in journalism.” Remember that the next time someone bans freedom of expression. It’s not meant to silence speech. Just to bring about some discipline . Of course, BaKSAL has long had a sordid reputation in Bangladesh, but during its latest rule, the AL—in creating the second edition of its authoritarian rule—was eager to rehabilitate its legacy, and WhiteBoard was eager to join in. Indeed, during the last fifteen years, the Awami League became well-known for crude remarks from its ministers and party leaders and the thuggery of its student and youth wings in the media. This was often embarrassing to the more suave apologists of the regime. I get the impression that WhiteBoard was aimed at projecting a smart, youthful, modern, and Westernized look for the AL regime. It was published in English. The board’s membership, dominated by people from the English-fluent posh neighborhoods of Dhaka, seemed geared towards gathering goodwill from the West and courting a younger elite within Bangladesh. The board includes figures involved in the corporate and tech sectors, private universities, the biggest NGO in the country, and the English-oriented literary and publishing spheres. The CRI was only one arm of the regime’s soft power projection. It also used other platforms managed by WhiteBoard advisors. The board member Kazi Anis Ahmed wears multiple hats, diverting “thousands of dollars…into a years-long covert lobbying effort in Washington DC” on behalf of AL, according to a recent report, which details Ahmed’s shadowy dealings with groups that lobbied for Tulsi Gabbard and conservative think tanks. Ahmed directs a family corporate group, publishes the Dhaka Tribune and Bangla Tribune newspapers, heads up a major private university, and runs the Dhaka Litfest . Through the festival, he cultivated connections in global literary and media circles that helped create goodwill towards the Hasina regime. He also penned op-eds locally and in the foreign press defending stolen elections. Unlike the Awami League’s central command, which claims that there was no rigging, Ahmed’s editorials took a different line—one for a “sophisticated” global audience. One example : “While their elections have been heavily questioned for their credibility, election interference is hardly unique to the Awami League.” He hammered home the regime’s appeal to India and the West–Hasina was the last line of defense against an Islamist takeover of Bangladesh. Some on the editorial advisory board are known AL supporters; others don’t have such clear affiliations. The upper class in Bangladesh is entangled in multiple webs of family and social ties. Some on the board joined because of such social connections, others perhaps because after a decade of entrenched power, the idea was simply: “the Awami League regime is the only game going, and if I want to get access to realize my policy ideas, how else do I get that?” Yet others signed up to get their photos and names in a slick-looking publication with clout. But when you put it all together, you can’t avoid the conclusion that no matter why each person joined—their intentions really don’t matter—they became part of a machine to promote the Hasina regime and bolster her cult of personality, as well as that of her father. After all, this was a regime that passed legislation outlawing any criticism of Mujib. The CRI and WhiteBoard helped provide an intellectual veneer to the Awami League’s rule. They deployed resources to boost Mujib and Hasina’s “thought” in recent years. WhiteBoard articles continually hammered in the theme of “development through political stability,” but they kept silent about the other side of the coin: the regime’s terror-fascistic methods of ruling, the disappearances, torture, extra-judicial executions, secret jails, and censorship. And in perfect nepotistic tradition, the CRI and the WhiteBoard ’s leadership teams included four members of the first family. The Awami League rigged three elections and dreamed of ruling forever. They truly believed that, by birthright, as the party that led the movement for independence, they had the sole right to rule. A regime like Hasina's rested on many legs. You cannot build an authoritarian regime with bullets, digital surveillance, security forces, and goondafied youth alone. You need compliant media and other ways to build up soft power. Whenever protests emerged on the streets, the youth squads were sent out to pummel and even shoot protesters. These squads wearing motorcycle helmets became popularly known as the Helmet League. Those intellectuals who supported or justified the AL’s power might claim that their role was different. But then, I recall a distasteful conversation in 2008 with a university professor in Dhaka lecturing me on the importance of a party having peshi shakti, muscle power. For many intellectuals, the lure of closeness to power and the rewards were seductive. And even for those journalists, NGO wallahs, and academics who wanted to preserve some independence but avoid marginalization, it wasn’t easy. I bet each editor, professor, reporter, talk show host, or NGO director who agreed to join the conveyor belts of the ruling power has a story to tell. Most won’t. But might some? Like those who wrote the Facebook posts claiming distance from the CRI and WhiteBoard ? Bring out the details, I say. At a time when much is being revealed about how this regime functioned, I wish some would be brave enough to spell out how the daily cultural and academic life worked under the now-departed regime. It would be far more enlightening than weak justifications about why we only did this much and not more. Open air, too, can be a robust disinfectant. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Opinion Dhaka Bangladesh Awami League WhiteBoard CRI Sheikh Hasina Bonik Bharta Center for Research and Information Association Complicity Radwan Mujib Siddiq Sheikh Mujibur Rahman Student Protests Fascism Police Action Police Brutality Mass Protests Torture Enforced Disappearances Extrajudicial Killings Despotism Clientelism Chhatra League Dissent Bengali Nationalism Adversarial Threat Report Think Tank Meta Flagship Publication State & Media Bangladesh Krishak Sramik Awami League BaKSAL Media Crackdown Newspapers Board of Directors Free Speech Censorship One-Party State Authoritarianism Postcolonialism Postcolonial State 1971 Liberation of Bangladesh State Modernization Narratives Corporate Power Corporate Media Kazi Anis Ahmed Bengali Dhaka Tribune Bangla Tribune Dhaka Litfest Bonik Barta Netra News Modernization Islamism Cult of Personality Dynastic Politics Career Politicians Cosmopolitanism Electioneering Rigging Elections Secret Prisons Surveillance Nepotism NGOs Literary Activism Literary Spheres Publishing Literary Complicity NY Times Peshi Shakti Youth Squads Movements The Guise of Democracy BSF Surveillance Regimes Quota Movement Student-People's Uprising July Revolution Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 20th Oct 2024 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. "The Long Bloom (the figure in white)" (2020), graphite on watercolour paper, courtesy of Moses Tan. Artist Kashmir Ondine de Gaulle · Paul Mesnager 24 Oct 2025 th · FEATURES REPORTAGE · LOCATION Existing in Kashmir T he sun has disappeared behind the Pir Panjal range of the Himalayas, which encircles the Kashmir Valley. Administered under the Indian union territory of Jammu and Kashmir, the Valley is a Muslim-majority region, situated on the border with Pakistan. It has remained at the heart of a territorial conflict since 1947. At night, Suthsoo—a rural village near Srinagar, the summer state capital—is alive with men advancing along the main street, chanting slogans and religious hymns while rhythmically beating their chests. It is Eid al-Ghadir, a Shia festival commemorating Prophet Muhammad’s appointment of his son-in-law Ali as his successor in 632 AD, a moment that began the ongoing split between Sunni and Shia Muslims. The men gather in front of the mosque, raising their voices before entering; the women take a staircase to observe the celebrations from the first floor, which is reserved for them. Songs and speeches follow one another under a portrait of Ayatollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Rohan, a young queer influencer, is one of the performers that evening, singing under the eyes of his family who have come to listen to him. The 29-year-old TikToker regularly visits a "cruising park" in central Srinagar to meet his partners. With its 1.7 million inhabitants, Srinagar is often seen as a more liberal space compared to the rest of the valley, offering sexual minorities a partial escape from cultural and religious pressures. "My village is very conservative," Rohan laments. "That's why I prefer the city centre." In Srinagar, Rohan enjoys the relative anonymity of urban areas. Members of the LGBTQ community interviewed by The Vertical regularly visit mosques and the sacred sites of Kashmir, such as the Hazratbal Shrine, which houses a relic of the Prophet Muhammad. "At the mosque, you pray for yourself," explains Zia*, a bisexual son of a police officer, "no one pays attention to us or judges us." Mahnoor*, 21, who identifies as a transgender woman and works part-time at a beauty salon in Srinagar, adds: "Allah gave me a body that I respect. I won't undergo gender reassignment surgery." Like her, many transgender women in Kashmir choose not to undergo surgery, partly to ensure they can have Muslim funeral rites. "Living in a region under Indian military occupation—where Kashmiri identity is constantly challenged—triggers a defensive reaction that leads sexual minorities to prioritise their Kashmiri and Muslim identities," explains Sadiya, a queer activist from New Delhi and a transgender woman. "Similarly, local politicians often subordinate all other demands to the cause of Azadi , seen as the absolute priority over social and individual issues." In this region, one of the most militarised in the world with nearly half a million Indian soldiers stationed, minority identities can sometimes be overshadowed by the independence movement, often viewed as the primary collective cause. Furthermore, Kashmiri society places great value on marriage and family formation, making the acceptance of relationships outside of marriage, whether heterosexual or homosexual, difficult. Under a chinar tree, a symbol of the region, Rohan shares: "My family is putting a lot of pressure on me to marry soon." Although the colonial-era law criminalising homosexuality was repealed in 2018, the subject remains taboo in the valley, as does transgender identity, despite the Indian Supreme Court’s official recognition of a third gender in 2014. Queer and transgender individuals are often forced to hide their sexual and gender identities from their families to protect their reputations. "In New Delhi, I wear crop tops and get compliments every day. In Srinagar, I don't dare dress as a woman or shave my beard," reveals Mahnoor*. Discrimination against sexual minorities sometimes takes tragic turns. Sadiya explains: “Sexual minorities live in constant fear in the Kashmir Valley. Some parents do not hesitate to resort to violence, even murder, when they discover that their child is queer. For lesbian women, the situation is even more distressing, as they face both homophobia and misogyny.” Faisal*, a 17-year-old gay man, was raped by two police officers in a police station in Srinagar. "Making a complaint would be pointless," he confides. Zia* speaks of the pervasive denial that exists within families: "My family does not want to acknowledge my sexuality. We never talk about it." In 2015, he received threats from masked and armed men who burst into his home. Following this incident, he decided to give up dancing, which he had pursued at a professional level. He now resides in New Delhi, where it is easier to perform his sexuality and find job opportunities, which have become even scarcer since the abrogation of the state's autonomy in 2019. Sadiya, who dreams of one day opening a queer artist residency in Srinagar, laments: "There is still much to be done regarding the rights of sexual minorities in Kashmir, where the queer community is poorly structured. Those who can leave the valley, where they suffocate." Furthermore, the revocation of Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, combined with the internet shutdowns and mobility restrictions that followed, has further intensified the isolation of sexual minority members, depriving them of essential means of communication and support networks. Additionally, some local activists denounce the Indian state’s "pinkwashing," accusing New Delhi of instrumentalising the rights of sexual minorities to position itself as a defender against a Muslim population perceived as homophobic. The discourse from New Delhi, highlighting the defence of LGBTQ rights in Kashmir to justify the abrogation of Article 370, has generated increasing distrust towards local LGBTQ activists, who are sometimes seen as colluding with the central government. Similarly, New Delhi seeks to exploit religious divides. LIVING AS A SHIITE IN KASHMIR At the Zadibaal Imambara, preparations for the evening majlis are in full swing. In front of the building, shop stalls overflow with various items related to Shia rituals, alongside flags bearing the image of Ibrahim Raisi, the former Iranian president who tragically died in a helicopter crash last May. Inside the Imambara, workers hang red and black banners. Women come to pray. On a patchwork of multicoloured carpets, idle workers sip their noon chai , the traditional Kashmiri tea, which is pink and salty. The papier-mâché ceiling fans, a source of pride for the faithful, help to dispel the heat. Daylight filters through the stained-glass windows made of wood. A devotee tests the microphone: "Ya Ali, ya Hussain." The Zadibal Imambara houses a relic: a hair of the third Imam, Hussain. According to legend, this hair turns red during Ashura, the day of commemoration of Imam Hussain’s martyrdom at the Battle of Karbala in 680. Located in a predominantly Shia neighbourhood of Srinagar, it has suffered no fewer than twelve arson attacks since its construction in the 16th century, reflecting the recurring outbreaks of intercommunal violence. Nevertheless, the imambara has not been set on fire since 1872 and intercommunal relations have improved. Author and art historian Hakim Sameer Hamdani attributes the easing of intercommunal tensions to two events. Firstly, a 1907 memorandum addressed to the Viceroy of India, Lord Minto, signed by leaders of both sects, presenting their traditions as part of a single integrated Muslim community. Secondly, the Ashura processions of 1923, which took place for the first time during the day, defying established routines. The Twelver Shiite minority constitutes about 10% of the population of Kashmir, which has been predominantly Sunni since its Islamisation in the 14th century. They are spread throughout the region, primarily in Srinagar, as well as in the districts of Baramulla and Budgam. This community has long remained marginalised from local political life. Kashmiri academic Dr. Siddiq Wahid, an expert in international relations and governance issues, explains that the limited involvement of Shiites in the armed movement of the 1990s, which was largely dominated by Sunni Islam, may have led to a certain mistrust towards them. Sameera, a seventy-year-old resident of the affluent Rajbagh neighbourhood, offers a nuanced perspective, recalling that many Shiites supported the independence cause by hiding militants and taking up arms. “In the valley, identities intertwine and overlap like Russian dolls,” explains Dr. Siddiq Wahid, highlighting a complexity that goes beyond apparent divides. During the recent Indian general elections, the first since the revocation of Kashmir's autonomy in 2019, one of the strategies employed by the Indian central government was to exploit divisions between Sunnis and Shiites. However, this strategy did not succeed in Kashmir, where the population remains united against New Delhi: the residents of the valley came together against the local parties allied with the BJP. Cleric Agha Rahullah, from the influential Shiite Agha clan of Budgam, even won one of the seats in Srinagar on the National Conference ticket, a historic local party that secured two of the three seats in the Kashmir district. This victory has instilled pride within the Shiite community. Enayat, a Shiite resident of Srinagar, expressed his "great pride in seeing a member of his community represent Kashmir as a whole," noting that his election would not have been possible without the support of Sunni voters. CONNECTING MINORITIES BEYOND ETHNIC OR RELIGIOUS BOUNDARIES Despite the challenges of breaking the taboo around sexual minorities and advancing their rights — issues often overshadowed by the region’s political uncertainty — some NGOs are engaging in grassroots efforts. The People's Social and Cultural Society (PSCS), active since 2008, is dedicated to the sexual health of transgender individuals and men who have sex with men (MSM). It provides HIV testing, distributes condoms, lubricants, and antibiotics free of charge. A true "safe place" in the heart of Srinagar, the PSCS premises offer a refuge where everyone is welcome. "The people who come here feel supported and find a haven here. Many things have changed in the valley. Ignorance about HIV was once widespread, but thanks to nurse training nurses and prevention campaigns, attitudes have evolved," explains Dr. Rafi Razaqi, the director of PSCS. In this building, tucked away at the end of a quiet courtyard, bonds of solidarity transcend divisions, and struggles intersect. A visibly religious man jokes with visitors and social workers at the centre. This is Mustafa*, who works in the NGO’s branch that provides support for drug users. Sadiya, who also works as a tour guide, is organising an upcoming five-day inclusive trip to Srinagar for members of the LGBTQ community from New Delhi. She intends to take the group to PSCS to help them build networks with the local LGBTQ community and to meet a Kashmiri Hijra guru, who will share personal experience from the 1990s insurgency. “This programme aims to raise awareness about the realities faced by sexual minorities in Kashmir while showcasing the rich Islamic heritage of Srinagar, including its Shiite legacy, and fostering connections across ethnic and religious boundaries,” she explains. “The goal is to challenge the Kashmiriphobia and Islamophobia that persist among some queer activists in India,” she adds, referring to the controversy during Mumbai Pride 2020, where certain members of the organising committee distanced themselves from slogans supporting Kashmiri independence. She concludes: “this trip offers a unique opportunity to engage directly with Kashmiris. After all, isn’t it the essence of humanity to seek understanding of what is unfamiliar?”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 ONDINE DE GAULLE holds degrees from Sciences Po Grenoble and SOAS, University of London, in Middle Eastern Studies and Comparative Literature with a focus on South Asia. Her work explores topics related to minority identities in the Middle East and the Indian subcontinent and Urdu literature. PAUL MESNAGER is a photographer, graphic designer, and journalist with a background in geopolitics, whose work often explores themes of social and political domination, repression, and exile, with a focus on minority communities and the materiality of power, using various media including satellite imagery. He is based between Tunis and Marseille. MOSES TAN is an artist and curator from Singapore who is interested in the intersections of queer theory, the decolonial turn, autotheory, and politics. They are currently a candidate at the MFA Fine Arts program at Goldsmiths University of London. Photo Essay Kashmir Trans Counterpublics Larayb Abrar · Anamitra Bora 24th Oct Devotion by Design Huzaiful Reyaz 9th Oct The Artisan Labor Crisis of Ladakh Mir Seeneen 3rd May Kashmiri ProgRock and Experimentation as Privilege Zeeshaan Nabi 21st Dec Discourses on Kashmir Huma Dar · Hilal Mir · Ather Zia 24th Oct On That Note:

This essay traces the afterlife of queer activist Xulhaz Mannan’s words: once hidden in a drawer, now scrawled on Dhaka’s walls amid mass uprising. Through the collapse of Hasina’s regime, the co-option of gender rights, and the violent silencing of queer life, it asks: can a new Bangladesh truly emerge if it continues to deny the existence of those it has consistently tried to erase? This essay traces the afterlife of queer activist Xulhaz Mannan’s words: once hidden in a drawer, now scrawled on Dhaka’s walls amid mass uprising. Through the collapse of Hasina’s regime, the co-option of gender rights, and the violent silencing of queer life, it asks: can a new Bangladesh truly emerge if it continues to deny the existence of those it has consistently tried to erase? “Phobia Ends Here” (2023), acrylic in canvas, courtesy of Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin. Artist Dhaka AUTHOR · AUTHOR · AUTHOR 24 Oct 2025 th · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION A Grammar of Disappearance Authors' Note: We wrote this article in the hopeful aftermath of the July 2024 uprising last year. But since then, we have witnessed a troubling resurgence of attacks on the trans and queer community in Bangladesh, some even led by organizers in the uprising. “ W hy would the ones—those I cannot stop thinking about—forget me? Why cannot I live out my love freely? This is so unfair. ” In 1994, gay rights activist Xulhaz Mannan wrote the above in a letter, possibly addressed to his lover. Twenty years later, Mannan was murdered for publishing Roopbaan , Bangladesh's first LGBT+ magazine. Since then, his letters have remained stashed away in a closet in his residence. Last year, two queer archivists, including the authors of this op-ed, retrieved and digitized them. Excerpts from Mannan’s letters now appear on one of Dhaka’s freshly graffitied walls. On 28 July 2024, Bangladesh’s then Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina imposed a curfew , issued a shoot-on-sight order, and cut off telecommunications in an attempt to suppress a student uprising. In response, coordinators of the student movement turned to guerrilla art. Armed with spray cans, they scrawled messages like "Hasina is a killer" on walls, streets, and riot vehicles before disappearing. People across the country joined in. The Hasina regime fell on 5 August 2024. Street art now covers the city. But Mannan’s graffiti stands apart—it is not a demand, nor a slogan, nor a call for justice. What does it mean to find a love letter rendered as political graffiti? In a country where homosexuality remains criminalized and queer lives are violently erased, this graffiti blends love and mass uprising. It now sits beside an image of the disappeared adibashi activist Kalpana Chakma . Together, they reveal the interwoven violences inflicted on queer people and dissenters under Hasina’s ultra-nationalist rule. “Phobia Ends Here ” (2023), acrylic on canvas, courtesy of Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin. Mannan was murdered in 2016, during Hasina’s tenure. The Home Minister at the time condemned the victims: “Our society does not allow any movement that promotes unnatural sex.” Hasina herself repeatedly denied the existence of queer people in Bangladesh. In a 2023 interview, when asked about the criminalization of homosexuality in the country’s constitution, she responded , “That is not a problem in our country.” The Hasina regime also attempted to co-opt the gender rights movement. A 2013 government gazette recognized hijra as a gender category, allowing inclusion in official documents and transgender women to run for reserved parliamentary seats . But instead of expanding public understanding, the policy collapsed hijra, intersex, and trans identities into a single vague category that enabled abuse. In 2015, hijras applying for government jobs were forcibly subjected to medical examinations . This flattening of gender identity eroded organizing efforts. In the years that followed, state-aligned gender activists and NGOs gained prominence. They argued that Hasina’s authoritarianism was necessary to protect gender rights from Islamist groups. But their fear-mongering proved hollow. Violence against gender and sexual minorities only intensified under Hasina, whose politics local organizers now describe as “hijra-washed.” “Phobia Ends Here ” (2023), acrylic on canvas, courtesy of Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin. One telling example came when progressive organisers included a subsection on trans rights in a school textbook. Islamist groups led by Asif Mahtab Utsho mobilised violently, forcing sexual and reproductive health NGOs to shut down. The Hasina regime offered no protection. The trans content was officially removed in June 2024. Queer people were targeted not only in public but also in digital spaces. The regime’s Cyber Security Act 2023 severely restricted internet freedom , forcing queer Bangladeshis into online silence. From dating to organizing, their digital presence was strangled. As the Hasina regime collapses and new proposals for justice emerge, we must remember that the freedom of queer Bangladeshis is linked with the liberation of all marginalized groups. Mannan’s murder, the co-optation of gender rights, and the crackdown on queer life were all part of a broader regime—one marked by extrajudicial killings , the repression of journalists , activists, artists, and human rights defenders under the guise of digital security, and the systematic violation of women and girls, particularly in indigenous areas , in the name of development. Hasina's ouster does not mark the end of authoritarianism. When the dust settles, we may once again see the rule of Bengali Muslim cis-men. In such a moment, Mannan’s graffiti offers a sharp reminder that Bangladesh is made up of many communities. If queerness continues to be criminalized, denied, and erased, the country will simply reproduce the same systems of violence. Queer people in Bangladesh have always fought for collective liberation—including in this very uprising. The question now is not whether they exist. It is whether the new Bangladesh is willing to coexist with them. ∎ “Phobia Ends Here ” (2023), acrylic on canvas, courtesy of Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Opinion Dhaka Xulhaz Mannan Roopbaan Bangladesh Queerness Queer Life Gender Violence Gender Rights Queer Activism Magazine Culture Sheikh Hasina Mass Protests Movement Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In New Caledonia, a collectivity of the French Republic, a mainland political ploy to subvert the indigenous Kanak people’s right to self-determination faced waves of protest in the summer of 2024. With liberal international institutions failing to enforce meaningful solutions, the Melanesian island’s struggle for liberation parallels global indigenous movements for sovereignty and exposes the settler-colonial logic of displacement and democratic dilution. In New Caledonia, a collectivity of the French Republic, a mainland political ploy to subvert the indigenous Kanak people’s right to self-determination faced waves of protest in the summer of 2024. With liberal international institutions failing to enforce meaningful solutions, the Melanesian island’s struggle for liberation parallels global indigenous movements for sovereignty and exposes the settler-colonial logic of displacement and democratic dilution. Mahnoor Azeem, Untitled (2025). Digital illustration. Artist New Caledonia AUTHOR · AUTHOR · AUTHOR 26 Mar 2025 th · FEATURES REPORTAGE · LOCATION Dissipated Self-Determination In 1853, the French established the Saint-Denis Church of Balade, the first Catholic church in the small archipelago of Kanaky, known more widely today by its colonial name, New Caledonia . Ten years later, France seized control of the land and began to subtly but substantially desecrate the identity of the indigenous Melanesian Kanak people for imperial gain. On September 10, 2024, more than 160 years later, the Church became the fifth Catholic mission to be burned in response to the ongoing political violence and electoral erasure waged against the Kanak people by the French government. “Some elements of the Catholic Church are regarded by some younger Kanak militants as being symbolic of French state repression,” said David Robie, a New Zealand author and founder of the Asia Pacific Media Network, in an interview with SAAG . He noted, however, that Protestant Christian denominations in the Pacific have been found to support Kanak freedom. This repression was never more evident in New Caledonia—so marked in its démodé political approach—than in May 2024, when the French government weakened the pro-Kanaky voter base beyond any point of electoral voice. A proposed constitutional amendment, approved by the French National Assembly that month, sought to alter voting rights in a way many indigenous Kanak people feared would further diminish their political representation. In response, mass demonstrations erupted in frustration and protest. The unrest resulted in a revised death toll of 14, alongside hundreds of injuries. Numerous businesses and vehicles were destroyed, with the looting and damage on May 16 alone amounting to at least 200 million euros . In response to the escalating violence, France declared a state of emergency in New Caledonia, laying the ground for a brutal deployment of additional police and military forces to restore order. Many movement leaders, including the notable Christian Tien, were extradited to France under charges of “ organized crime .” Ultimately, the French government postponed the provincial elections scheduled for December 2024 to December 2025, aiming to address the underlying issues and restore stability. But this was a clear act of democratic erasure, aimed at further denigrating the humanity of the island’s Kanak people. “Sadly, three decades of goodwill and apparent goodwill from Paris and all sides have dissipated unjustly,” Robie added, “flaunting the United Nations Decolonization Committee provisions.” This ideological reversion to the fundamentals of neoliberal democracy has enraged the indigenous Kanak people of New Caledonia. It also raises questions about whether France ever intended to grant them sovereignty. It has further highlighted the historical deception that undergirds the self-sustenance of settler-colonies in the modern world, perpetuating disappearance under the guise of citizenship and electoral democracy. Kanaky Remains A French Colony After nearly a century of French colonization, Kanak populations were granted citizenship and the right to vote after 1946. This granting is a turning point in every colonial enterprise’s teleology to clinch onto their sovereignty. Following a feigned investment in the population of the exploitee, a colonizer must decide what tools of population disappearance will be most palatable to the populations’ particular land and labor context. New Caledonia was essentially an autonomously governed territory for a generation after World War II—until another war spotlighted the strategic value of the archipelago’s nickel resources. The Vietnam War, an imperialist venture in its own right, brought the small island back into focus, and Charles De Gaulle decided the nickel profits were too lucrative an exploit to pass up. The Union Calédonienne lost its majority voter base in the years surrounding the Vietnam War, as an influx of mainland French citizens arrived to disenfranchise the Kanak by shifting the weight of the body politic towards mainland sympathy. In the company of the U.S. Virgin Islands, Western Sahara, Gibraltar, and other de jure-occupied “territories” throughout Oceania, New Caledonia remains one of the last standing administrative colonies in the world. It also shares with states like Algeria a history of exploitation characteristic of French colonial enterprises. The French overseas department-turned-collectivity is now at a political standstill, partially because the indigenous people placed faith in France’s supposed goodwill efforts in the 1990s to pave the way for Kanak self-determination. The culmination of those efforts—the Nouméa Accord of 1998 —then enshrined into the French constitution a purportedly pragmatic approach to Kanak self-determination and the eventual establishment of New Caledonia as Kanaky. The accord stipulated that after 20 years, the people of New Caledonia would have three opportunities to vote for independence via referendum. David Chappell, a scholar on the modern revolutionary history of the Kanak people and Professor Emeritus at the University of Hawaii, told SAAG that while the Nouméa accord may be viewed as a successful negotiation following a period of intense Kanak rebellion, it was likely only ever an attempt to “delay decolonization.” In 2018 and 2020, the Kanak population, currently comprising around 40% of New Caledonia, fell just short of their goal. Between the first and the second referendums, their base grew by enough percentage points that movement leaders were optimistic about their imminent third chance at independence. “It was supposed to be held in 2022, but Macron moved it up [to 2021] at the last minute,” Chappell told SAAG . In response to concerns regarding a COVID-19 outbreak that had struck the island, particularly the Kanak community leading up to the vote, and given the mourning procedures of the Kanak people that often lasted up to a year, movement leaders demanded the referendum be postponed. None of these demands were taken seriously. An active Kanak boycott of the vote in tandem with many abstentions based on COVID-19 cautiousness thus manifested in low voter turnout. The election results, where only 43% of all voting-eligible New Caledonians participated and voted overwhelmingly in favor of staying with France, were immediately—and naturally—called into question. “The last [two and a half] decades had allowed pacification and progress on the path to decolonization,” French New Caledonian organizer Francis Sitel wrote to SAAG . “This is what was spoiled by the government's power grabs.” Beyond rejecting calls for a revote on the grounds of unfair voting circumstances, in May 2024, the French government decided the moment was opportune for a constitutional amendment granting voting rights to New Caledonians who arrived in the past two decades—in other words, those with weakest historical claim to the land. This decision, coming on the heels of the boycotted referendum that had already left the Kanak people scorned by France, has triggered a dramatic response—protests that have escalated to the brink of insurrection. This sequence of events has been entirely predictable and preventable,” Robie detailed. “However, the French state (under Macron) is completely tone-deaf and dogmatic in its responses to the indigenous Kanaks’ aspirations for independence.” New Leader, Same Strategy Today, New Caledonia remains one of the world’s top five nickel producers . The industry is crucial to the Kanak people’s future self-governance and sustenance, but it is clear that France is unwilling to relinquish control easily. According to Robie, Macron’s “rescue” initiative for the nickel industry was staunchly contested by the Kanak people, as it “favor[ed] the incumbent industry players and [did little] to spread the economy to support Kanaks.” However, South Africa has shown interest in reviving the nickel industry—what Robie called a “glimmer of hope—while France has seemingly taken the cue to venture for capital elsewhere. “France is interested in the 200-mile maritime Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ),” Robie explained. An EEZ grants a country exclusive rights to exploit natural resources within 200 miles of its shores. Due to the former empire’s vast ownership of islands territories globally, France possesses the world’s second-largest EEZ. The same colonial strategy of buying time endures. Former Prime Minister Michel Barnier behaved in the same fashion: on 1 October , he announced that elections in New Caledonia would be postponed for a year while also halting the progression of Macron’s controversial constitutional amendment, which sought to grant voting rights to newly resident French nationals in New Caledonia. Superficial gestures of good faith towards self-determination continue to be paired with the deliberate stalling of liberatory legal processes, inevitably leading to repression and violence. “France seems to be hellbent on a militarist and repressive response to the unrest in New Caledonia,” Robbie added, “instead of a negotiated, peaceful attempt to build a consensus.” He denounced the French government’s cruelty in deporting and jailing pro-independence leaders accused of incitement, forcing them to await trial in metropolitan France—over 10,000 miles away from the support of their families and communities. “It is reminiscent of some of the worst excesses of French 19th-century colonialism,” Robbie noted, “and has severely damaged French credibility in the South Pacific region at a time when it is pursuing an Indo-Pacific security strategy.” Are there any liberatory legal procedures in a settler colony that can legislate independence amicably, in something like an electoral handshake? Colonial Anachronism Robie called the state-sponsored violence a “colonial anachronism” of this day and age. Yet this reality persists across countless other regions of the world, where dispossessed peoples must overcome endless obstacles to prove their voices deserve legitimacy in the democratic process—even as they are actively erased from claiming authority over their indigenous identity. Perhaps most relevantly, Zionism stands as a prime example of a revisionist historical enterprise that simultaneously operates as a democratic ethnostate—one that, through violence and displacement, diminishes an indigenous population to render it democratically negligible. For there to be a Jewish democracy in the land of historic Palestine, the Palestinians there must cease to exist. The initial mechanisms of this disappearance were manifest in the atrocities of the Nakba. But later, throughout the 1950s and 1960s, a heavier emphasis was placed on the suppression of Palestinian political and social organizing. For example, Al-Ard , the first Palestinian party to attempt participation in the Israeli parliament (Knesset), was outlawed within years on fabricated and unfounded grounds. There could never be a fair playing field if democratically warranted self-determination is what one was after. It is even harder to accuse a state of engaging in the logic of elimination endemic to settler colonialism when it simply appears as though there are not enough indigenous people on this island in the Pacific—seldom making international headlines—for it to be a worthwhile pursuit. But proximity to the metropole should not be the criterion for concern over an indigenous group’s right to self-determination, or the pressure placed on the neocolonial state to secure that right—especially when it was, in effect, promised mere decades ago. As Dr. Chappell posed in conversation, “What if almost half the population of the United States, Canada, Australia, or New Zealand were indigenous? What kind of politics might result?” The logic of democracy—”one person, one vote”—negates the inviolable right of the colonized indigenous Kanak people to self-determination. Robie elaborates, “It merely ensures that the 'tyranny of the majority'—mostly imported French settlers—imposes its will over the Indigenous Kanak minority. French colonial policy has deliberately encouraged settlers from the metropole to migrate to New Caledonia to ensure the electoral disenfranchisement of the Kanaks.” Interestingly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, when it comes time to imagine solutions, few arise that are not at the behest of international institutions that have, in the context of the Kanaks, the Palestinians, and indigenous people around the world, fallen short in their ability to enforce international law or solidify paths towards self-determination. In Chappell’s words, “The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People gave them more ideas, but it allows only autonomy over resources and cultural rights for indigenous minorities—not independence from the territorial state.” Robie anticipated progress from a more localized approach of institutional action within the Pacific Island region. “The Pacific Islands Forum, Melanesian Spearhead Group, and the United Nations need to step up diplomatic and political pressure on France to change its course of action,” he said. "It is imperative," he argued, "for Paris to step back from its militarist approach and make a commitment to seeking a pathway for the Kanak self-determination aspirations.” The question remains: how much longer can France suppress Kanak self-determination before the façade of democracy collapses entirely?∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 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Essay New Caledonia French Republic Indigenous Kanak Indigenous self-governance Protest Liberation Sovereignty Colonialism Displacement Kanaky Melanesia Imperialism Political Violence Violence Identity Catholicism Church Electoral Politics Erasure French State Erasure State Sanctioned Violence Repression Militarism Militant David Robie Freedom Civilian Unrest Mass Protests Organized Crime Movements Neoliberalism Disappearance Administrative Colony Exploitation Oceania Self-determination David Chappell Revolutionary Revolution 17th Century Decolonization Independence Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note: