Travelling in these parts and speaking with people who hold no power — farmers, teachers, shopkeepers, even a low-brow, hard-working bureaucrat — makes it clear that ordinary people are conscious that a partial roll-back of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act would, in effect, mean the Army having to pack its bags from specified areas in the state.
Isn’t that a good thing since “militancy”, the omnibus term here for the politics of extremism which hosts terrorist violence, is down?
The people appear not so sure. Many worry that if the Army leaves, “they” might slowly make their way back. The reference is to terrorists, who have been forced on the back foot after years of hard work.
While discussing the issue, people are aware that the real point is the going away of the Army, the AFSPA only being a provision that gives it extraordinary powers when it is serving in the state as a counter-insurgency force in response to terrorism that was rampant.
So, when will be a good time for the Army to leave, if not now? This begets a counter-question. If the Army goes and the militants are back, will the Army have to claw its way back? Not many are paying attention to the drop in numbers of violent incidents.
Nearly everyone I have met while travelling in the rural belt around Sangrama and Kreeri — both hot-beds of militancy once — near the towns of Baramula and Sopore in North Kashmir, says that the Army is around, but it is all but invisible. Sopore is the home base of the famous pro-Pakistan separatist leader Syed Ali Shah Geelani and has the reputation of harbouring militants.
There is no aggressive patrolling now, no stopping and searching, or piling up of vehicles behind Army convoys which used to be such an irritant not so long ago. “They give us a sense of protection,” a young boy said.
An engineer said only a week earlier he had to rush his daughter to the hospital in Baramula — about twenty kilometers away — around midnight, but wasn’t stopped anywhere by the men in uniform though they were around.
A friend recounted a recent car journey from Banihal to Baramula through Srinagar, virtually the entire length of the Kashmir Valley. To his pleasant surprise, he said there was not a single stop-search. “Let them have their legal power. How does it matter? They don’t bother us any more,” he said.
Last week, I was in Sopore with a friend’s family. We had gone out for the evening. It was after eight, and we had a flat tyre. I was apprehensive. He asked me not to worry. We found a repair-wallah after going through several lanes and by-lanes. The man was from far-away Bihar. By the time we were back in the village, it was well after nine. Everything seemed normal.
“No crack-downs now, no cordon and search?” I asked. “No, not really,” he said.
It was time to leave the following morning. The twelve-year old in the house came to me excitedly and said the Army had come into the village. Thinking about my flight out of Srinagar, I wondered if there would be any serious trouble. But my host was unperturbed.
“It must be some specific intelligence they have, not to worry,” he reassured me.
We came out of the house sitting in the car. An Army cluster was barely 20 yards away. I saw some more men further up. But they might not even have noticed us. The village was going about its business.