Noor e Sehar
For weeks, the JAAC protests have dominated the political landscape of Azad Kashmir. Blocked roads, hunger strikes, and ultimatums have become routine.
But beneath the noise, a quieter story has been unfolding, one that rarely makes it to the headlines. The government claims that out of 38 formal demands, 35 have already been accepted. Compensation has been paid to the families of those who lost their lives. Injured citizens have received their cheques. Wheat distribution has been settled on a 50:50 ratio. Open merit has been introduced in educational institutions. Property taxes have been reduced to 8.5 percent, court fees lowered, and a monitoring and implementation committee is actually at work. So the natural question arises: if 35 demands are already met, why are the roads still blocked?
This is not a rhetorical question. A genuine public movement knows when to declare victory. When most of your demands have been accepted, the responsible path is to move from the street to the implementation room. But what we are seeing instead suggests that keeping the protest alive has become more important than solving the problem. The government says it never closed the door to dialogue, it offered negotiation, relief, and a high-level committee. JAAC, according to official statements, responded with deadlines, pressure tactics, and confrontation. Whether one accepts that framing fully or not, the core dilemma remains: what exactly is being fought for when most of the battle has already been won?
Then there is the financial reality that no one wants to discuss publicly. Azad Kashmir’s own annual income is roughly 60 billion rupees, while its total expenditure exceeds 300 billion rupees. That means the federal government of Pakistan quietly carries a burden of nearly 240 to 250 billion rupees every single year. One of the remaining JAAC demands involves abolishing a specific tax. But if that tax is removed, AJK’s own income would drop from 60 billion to about 15 billion rupees, leaving a staggering 45 billion rupee hole. Where will that money come from? From development projects? From hospitals and schools? Or will it once again fall on the Pakistani taxpayer? A slogan on a stage is easy. A credible financial plan for 45 billion rupees has not been presented. That is not leadership; it is irresponsibility dressed up as defiance.
The issue of migrant seats adds another layer of confusion. JAAC has demanded the abolition of quotas for migrant students in AJK’s educational institutions. But here is the inconsistency that cannot be ignored: Kashmiri students have long benefited from open merit and reserved seats in Pakistani universities. To turn around and deny the same right to migrant Kashmiri students inside Azad Kashmir is not public welfare, it is educational injustice. Migrant students are not enemies. They are a living reality of Kashmir’s history. Targeting them does not signal strength. It signals weak and selective politics.
The same contradiction applies to legislative seats reserved for migrants. If the right to special representation is accepted and respected in occupied Kashmir for displaced Kashmiris, why is it suddenly controversial in Azad Kashmir? What is fair on one side of the Line of Control should not become unfair on the other. Those who want to abolish these seats are not fixing any genuine problem. They are silencing a legitimate political voice, a voice that has every right to exist in a democratic setup.
This leads to a larger and more uncomfortable question that JAAC’s leadership has not adequately answered. If the fight is genuinely about Kashmiri rights, why is all the anger directed only at Azad Kashmir? Where is the equivalent outrage against the systematic oppression, the daily humiliation, the human rights violations, and the brutal military occupation across the LoC? Where are the long marches for the people of Srinagar and other parts of occupied Kashmir? That silence is not accidental. It reveals a troubling inconsistency. A leadership that shouts about justice in Muzaffarabad but whispers about the actual occupation is not fighting for Kashmir, it is using Kashmir for other purposes.
The timing of the current agitation also raises serious concerns. Elections have been officially announced for July 27, 2026. Candidates are scheduled to file their nomination papers from June 9 to June 19. Calling for a strike on June 9, right as the democratic process begins, is not an act of public service. It is an obstacle placed directly in the path of democracy. If you believe in public representation, then you believe in the ballot box. Blocking roads and shutting down cities does not strengthen the voice of the people. It weakens it. It forces ordinary citizens to choose between their livelihood and someone else’s political pressure campaign.
There is also a strategic danger that cannot be ignored. Azad Kashmir is not an ordinary region. It is a sensitive, contested territory with a complex history. Any image of chaos, any roadblock, any prolonged instability becomes immediate material for anti-Pakistan elements. It becomes footage for narratives designed to show AJK as ungovernable, disconnected, and in turmoil. So when protests block roads and create uncertainty, a legitimate question arises: whose interest is truly being served? The common Kashmiri family trying to earn a living, or those forces, both internal and external, that would love to see this region descend into permanent conflict?
None of this is to say that protest has no place in a democracy. It absolutely does. Peaceful demonstration is a democratic right, and no serious person disputes that. But there is a difference between a genuine movement and a manufactured crisis. When most demands have already been accepted, when a monitoring committee is actively working, when negotiations remain possible, and when elections are just weeks away, continuing to shut down cities is no longer about justice. It begins to look like a political addiction. Real leadership finds a way forward. It does not keep closing doors. Real leadership offers solutions, not just slogans. It brings a financial plan, a legal draft, and a timeline alongside every demand. A long march and an ultimatum is not a policy. It is an escape from responsibility.
So the public is left with a few simple but uncomfortable questions. If 35 out of 38 demands are already accepted, whose interest is served by a June 9 strike? If the goal is public relief, why is the most visible result public inconvenience? If the cause is Kashmiri rights, why is the loudest voice silent about the actual occupation across the border? And if a 45 billion rupee hole is created, who fills it, the people of Azad Kashmir through their own development budget, or the already burdened Pakistani taxpayer? Until these questions receive honest, detailed answers, the people of Azad Kashmir have every right to wonder whether this movement is truly about their welfare or whether it has quietly become something else entirely.
The difference between a public servant and a professional protester is simply this: one opens roads, the other blocks them. One builds consensus, the other thrives on confrontation. And in a democracy, the public eventually learns to tell the difference.
