Sam James | The Garrison City | EXPOSURE-VII workshop in Kashmir

 EXPOSURE-VII workshop in Kashmir | Photo Gallery

Sam James

Naka Nights

Brick bunkers turn dark crimson. Streetlights cast razor wire shadows across the road. Soldier silhouettes glow in passing headlights. There is no longer an official citywide curfew, but Srinagar nights remain under military monopoly.

Through a bunker slit, an Indian security officer trains his rifle on passing crowds. The busy Neralimosque intersection in central Srinagar quickly empties out as civilians rush home to avoid the treacherous labyrinth of nighttime checkpoint navigation.

Across the street, roughly a dozen soldiers man a roadblock, ushering vehicles through a narrow path lined with spiked metal barricades. This is a naka checkpoint, a standard Indian paramilitary operation set up to intercept weapons and explosives, and protect the nearby base camp from fiyadeen attacks.

For most Kashmiri civilians, the naka is an everyday routine. Step out of the vehicle. Arms up. Spread legs. Present identification. Empty pockets. Open bags. Pop the hood. Pop the trunk. Wait. Slow movements. Expressionless faces.

One cyclist chuckles as officers scrupulously examine his dilapidated tire spokes for suspicious materials. Most maintain blank stares, but few can mask the wrenching frustration. Each person will likely repeat this process several more times before they reach home.

Despite government claims of normalcy in Kashmir, tension at the night naka remains palpable. According to the on-site commander, Officer Deepak Thakur of India’s Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), four cars transporting weapons and explosives were recently intercepted at this site. One IED was detected under an engine, presumably headed towards the CRPF base camp several hundred yards down the street.

Tightening the leash of his explosive-sniffing German shepherd from the hood of his convoy, Officer Deepak explains, “The most important thing is for my men to keep focus. While on duty, anything can happen at any time. We must look out for one another.”

In the bunker, an officer has been standing alone for several hours, surveying the junction for suspicious activity. The room is pitch black save for three small slits covered in wire netting. His standard issue INSAS 5.56 mm rifle rests on the center opening.

“To focus, I try not to think of family. I think about my duties. It can be hard; it is easy to let the mind drift. Anything can happen at any time. We don’t know who the enemy is. You must maintain discipline. I watch faces, you can see everything in the eyes.”

This is a town where so much depends on the corneal spark. However, fear and mistrust often lead to blurred vision. For many Indian soldiers stationed in Kashmir, the average civilian face has been reduced to that of a featureless suspect. An indiscriminate threat. A terrorist. A traitor. The enemy.

But perhaps the soldier’s insight applies more directly to himself. As his own eyes clearly indicate, the fight he is waging is not against militants, but exhaustion. With heavy eyelids, he surveys faceless crowds for a faceless enemy.

This is Indian-administered Kashmir, a place where 700,000 soldiers aim their weapons on a population of nine million; where misdirected glares lead to impulsive trigger fingers; where fear, frustration and fatigue have been forcefully etched into the collective psyche.

Blanket Repression

In 1989, simmering tensions within Indian-administered Kashmir reached a critical boiling point. In response to the separatist insurgency, hundreds of thousands of troops were deployed to the Kashmir valley. With overwhelming numbers and special legal jurisdiction, the Indian military was given one objective: quell the insurgency by any means necessary.

Professor Sumantra Bose of the University of Indiana uses the term “blanket repression” to describe the non-surgical, anti-democratic and authoritarian policies of successive New Delhi governments towards Kashmir. Rigged elections, forced disappearances and unwarranted arrests he said were common.

Under the Armed Forces Special Powers Act, in an area proclaimed as ‘disturbed,’ the Indian armed forces have the right to use force to the extent of death against any “person who is acting in contravention of any law or order for the time being in force in the disturbed area.” The act further states that no legal action can be taken against anyone acting under this act unless permission is secured from the state. Because it is nearly impossible to secure permission from the state to prosecute security forces, Indian soldiers essentially have the right to shoot and kill civilians without cause and without any legal repercussions. Consequently, most cases are never reported.

Such policies have solidified a bitter divide between the Indian State and the Kashmiri population, prompting many to perceive an occupier-occupied relationship. Per capita, Indian-Administered Kashmir remains the most militarized zone on earth.

Though no efforts have been made to reduce the number of troops in Kashmir, slight changes have recently been made in the structure of military control. As fighting relented in 2004, a governmental claim to normalcy prompted the removal of the Indian Border Security Force (BSF) from control of the valley’s largest city, Srinagar. The BSF, whose principal function deals with border security, had led a notoriously brutal reign over Srinagar since 1993. In 2004, the BSF were replaced by the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), an Indian paramilitary security agency dedicated to internal affairs.

Though most Kashmiris will quickly concede that the current CRPF military presence is a dramatic improvement from the BSF, the fact remains that there is hardly a single Kashmiri civilian in the valley who has not suffered directly at the hands of the security forces. A simple walk through the busy Lal Chowk district in downtown Srinagar reinforces the collective civilian resentment towards the Indian military.

According to one electronics clerk, “Last week, I was trying to fill my car with goods to take home after work when the soldiers told me to move my car out of the street. I said I would only need 10 minutes to load up. They abused me verbally, and said I had to leave immediately. I became frustrated and insisted they allow me pack my goods and leave peacefully. Soon they started beating me with their rifles. I have many bruises. I thought I broke a rib. Mostly, I was publicly embarrassed.”

Across the street, another man recalled, “Because of my beard they thought I was a militant. They would ask if I knew people. They would give false accusations. I have been interrogated more than 10 times. They used electric current. They stripped me naked. All because of my beard and my clothes.” A wry smile revealed two missing front teeth, kicked out by BSF forces in the mid nineties.
Another particularly outspoken store clerk proclaimed, “India are dictators! The soldiers can go to any extent. I have suffered. We have all suffered. We do not want them here. They have spoiled everything for us.”

Architecture of Fear

The process of militarization has had a profound effect on both natural and built environments in Kashmir. Srinagar, the largest city and summer capital of the valley, has undergone particularly drastic transformations. Today, instead of the self-proclaimed paradise on earth, Srinagar more accurately resembles a garrison.

Thousands of bunkers, surrounded by sand bags and wire netting, line the city’s winding lanes. Armed soldiers survey crowds from rooftops and street corners. Roads are a maze of Naka checkpoints. Patrol squads scour neighborhoods on foot or in convoys. Razor wire has long surpassed the city’s hand-carved wooden architecture as the city’s most decisive visual feature. Throughout the Srinagar sprawl, hardly a single street escapes the somber gaze of the rifle muzzle.

There are over one hundred CRPF bases strategically scattered throughout the city. Heavily fortified with metal spikes, barbed wire, concrete walls, sniper lookouts and armed guards, these bases contain 58 Battalions and house roughly 55,000 soldiers. Though physically incorporated into the city’s architectural makeup, the base camps exist as military off worlds, entirely disconnected from the social fabric of their surroundings.

Accordingly, CRPF soldier’s lives are confined solely to camp and street patrol. Entering and leaving any of the camps involves intricate protocol. Soldiers are not permitted to leave base camps unless they are on patrol duty. No soldier is allowed to leave camp in a group of less than six. Transport requires strict formation.

Despite the lull in militant activity, soldiers on the street remain principle targets. Officer VSR Doss, of the 18th Battalion explained, “We don’t know who the enemy is, he can shake hands with us or shoot us. We always live in fear. The streets are crowded, anything can happen at any time.”

Base camps also remain susceptible to attacks, particularly in the face of the fiyadeen (literally, life-daring) onslaught among militant factions. With the mission to maximize the psychological fear factor on the enemy, "penetrate-and-kill’ attacks are usually carried out by two-man teams that seek to penetrate police, paramilitary and army camps and inflict as much damage as possible. Since the emergence of this tactic in 1999, fiyadeen attacks have been a principle militant tactic, killing hundreds of soldiers and raising intractable problems of security, particularly amongst urban base camps. Soldiers run Naka checkpoints around the clock near base camps in order to check vehicles before they pass, while armed lookouts watch over base perimeters.

Major Youyan Singh of the 18th Battalion explained, “the militants are constantly evolving. Back seat explosives, explosives in fuel tanks. However, they now mostly resort to cowardice. They pay drug addicts Rs 2000 to throw a grenade. Most of the ‘militants’ are normal chaps doing it for the money, they have no concept of jihad. It is very difficult to keep up with them. Thus, we must be vigilant, maintain a disciplined life. We train so that a level of automatic reaction is achieved.”

In a Nereiggah base camp, a map of the city illuminates the sites of the four most recent fiyadeens attacks carried out against CRPF soldiers. Two of these cars made it through naka checkpoints.

Peons of Power

Both on the streets and within the camps, CRPF soldiers are forced to deal with life under constant threat. However, the plight of the jawan stranded in Srinagar extends well beyond the constant threat of violence. For most soldiers, militant attacks in fact ranks low on the list of grievances.

The average jawan, the lowest ranking officers in the CRPF, earns only Rs 6,500 per month, with two-months paid-leave per year. They work seven days a week, with ten to twelve hour shifts. Base camps are cramped, and without space for physical recreation. Corruption pervades the ranks and hinders mobility.
In the concrete barracks of a base camp in central Srinagar, a group of jawans voiced their common discontents. One Officer and father of three from Uttar Predesh explained, “Family tensions are very high. I try to call home everyday but the cell phone bills are expensive, It is difficult when you can only see your family two months out of a year”

Others chimed in, “Soldiers salaries are much higher in other countries, we are not paid enough, the state is of no help.”

“We must learn to live with 3 hours of sleep”

“I worry about my children’s education, this is the most important thing to me.”

“Sometimes we are not in a position to diffuse a situation at home.” Added another father of three from Bihar. “My father died, I could not make it home until four days after the funeral, this was deeply disturbing to me”

When asked if they would want their children enlisted in the service, most squarely answered, “No.”

One high-ranking officer admitted, despite the initial excitement of serving, “My decision to join was an impulse. My father thought it would be good given the ranking. Perhaps it was a mistake. My life was good before all of this.”

Even the CRPF’s notoriously close-mouthed Chief Public Relations Officer, Mr. Tripathi recognized the various pressures faced by soldiers, “the grand family system has failed. Soldiers worry about their children’s education, property disputes, domestic pressures, economic crises. In many cases the expectations are too high.”

Suicide within the ranks is a growing issue. Although suicide rates within the CRPF are lower than the BSF and Regular Army, at least one hundred soldiers commit suicide every year. In response to this trend, several mental health facilities have been set up, including a counseling service, and a 24-hour hotline; however, most soldiers doubt the impact of such initiatives.

In Kashmir, the Indian military are the villains. They have carried out a reign of unspeakable brutality upon innumerable victims. However, as in any conflict, the soldiers themselves are merely the grunt men, the messengers, the expendables. Soldiers hail from the poorest sates in India. They leave their families. They are overworked and underpaid. They are the peons of power, sent to perform New Delhi’s dirty work.

According to official military estimates, there are only 1,500 active militants currently operating in the valley. India has made no efforts, however, to reduce the overwhelming military presence. Thus, incidents occur.

On March 10th, 2006 a grenade was hurled from a back alley into a CRPF 18th Battalion base camp courtyard. Pointing to the newly installed netting, placed where the grenade was initially thrown. Officer Deepak explained, “Two men were hit. One was killed. He was only 24 years old, and recently married.” The militant group Hizbul Mujahideen claimed responsibility for paying a student to throw the grenade.

As of mid-August 2007, according to official CRPF records, 71 CRPF soldiers have been killed and 223 injured since 2004. Most deaths were caused by fiyadeen attacks, grenades, snipers and IEDs. 22 CRPF soldiers had died by August in 2007.

Civilian casualties, however, are more common.

On July 1, 2006, Inayatullah Bhat, a 31-year music composer and cripple was shot and killed by CRPF soldiers in Srinagar. According to his brother Reyaz Bhat, Inayatullah was going on his daily doctor-instructed walk outside their home and bakery when shots were fired from the Ikhwan Hotel, a CRPF lookout located directly across the street from their home and the family bakery.

According to Bhat, the soldiers had an ongoing feud with the family. “They would come in to our bakery and refuse to pay the full amount. After a while, we refused them service. This generated animosity; this is why they killed my brother. There could be no other reason.”

Two soldiers were charged with the murder, but per usual, neither faced punishment. One soldier, a Sikh, was found completely innocent. The other soldier, a Muslim, was released after two weeks in police custody.

A family member who wishes to remain nameless recalled, “We went to the Human Rights Commission, but we knew they could do nothing for us. They are a lion without teeth. There is nowhere for us to go.”

“Our mother took it the hardest, she has hallucinations of him in the corner where he used to sleep. She still cries every day. We are in a situation of eternal shock; we can never come out of this. We feel rejected, desperate, lost.”

Tragic as they may be, stories like this rarely reach newspaper headlines. Over time, violence has become normalized, and small street sagas such as this have become routine. The point, however, is that such incidents are inevitable within a society so heavily militarized and so deeply alienated.

A City Turned Garrison

In the psychiatric hospital in Srinagar, doctors registered 63,000 patients in 2006, as opposed to 1,700 in 1989. Of these patients, doctors estimate more than one third of them are trauma cases directly related to the conflict. However, as medical consultant Dr. Arshid Hussein argues, such statistics do little to assess the resonant psychological effects of conflict on Kashmir.

“Many have suffered direct psychological trauma. We receive more and more cases each day. However, the fear of authority is so great, most traumas go unreported. Most people don’t speak out, due to fear.”
For both soldiers and civilians, a general level of paranoia permeates the streets of Srinagar. Many have suffered traumatic events, but, how does one assess the psychological impact of razor wire?

Since 1989, between 40,000 and 80,000 killed from the conflict in Kashmir. Thousands more remain missing. However, as Dr. Hussein simply reasons, “The principal casualty of conflict is trust.”

From the Bhat family bakery to the jawan on bunker naka duty, fear and alienation penetrate all levels of life in the Srinagar. Such is the legacy of militarization in Kashmir. Such is the human tragedy of a city turned garrison.