I understand people mourning other people's loss, whether individual or collective. Be it a loss of a known one or a stranger. Be it life, wealth, identity, relationships or cultural belonging. What I struggle to comprehend is how the same people can applaud acts of killing, especially when such state violence is glamorised and framed as justice.

It's not as though the consequences of such pursuits have not been evident in the past. History, it seems, has repeatedly borne witness to these cycles of violence, with humanity seemingly condemned to repeat the same errors without learning from them. Whether in the Israeli-Palestinian, US-Afghanistan, or Ukraine-Russia conflict, it has always been this perpetual loop in which false notions of national dignity are glorified, while human suffering intensifies, and the arms industry thrives. In this never-ending loop, agreements are forged to secure more advanced weaponry; hence, more international loans are taken, national budgets are compromised, yet the outcomes remain unchanged. The pattern persists, marked by brief, fleeting moments of unrest followed by the same, recycled justifications and geopolitical narratives about strengthening and safeguarding nations, ultimately achieving little of lasting significance. 

Furthering political narrative

Let us assume, however unlikely, but let's assume for the sake of argument that our decision makers, those who claim moral burden of delivering justice, were genuinely compelled to act in the wake of national mourning following the Pahalgam tragedy. Even if such accountability is rarely evident, suppose this time they were moved by public grief. But should we then silence our mourning to avoid making those in power uncomfortable or simply to preserve their comfort? Must we withhold our collective grief to reassure political elites that their electoral strongholds remain secure, vote banks intact, and thrones of power unchallenged?

Is it the incompetence of these leaders that drives them to construct a chain of causality so absurd that lives were lost because some terrorists, of some religious faction, targeted some tourists, presumably due to religious associations? Or, worse still, are we complicit, having internalised the narrative that those killed were targeted simply because they did not share the religion of the assailants? Or perhaps, the truth lies elsewhere, in the gaping holes of a failing system, the persistent lapses in security, intelligence and governance. One that our so-called protectors (leaders) neither identified nor corrected. And this, despite allocating billions in public funds, our money, our labour, to national security year after year. And yet, it is ordinary citizens who remain vulnerable, targeted again and again.

One must ask, how difficult is it? What element of rocket science does it involve to recognise that the actions of a few terrorists have resulted in the deaths of countless individuals on both sides? And what assurance do we have that our response will not merely serve as a pretext for Pakistan to further its own political narrative through retaliatory violence? And yet, as the adage goes, 'all is fair in love and war.' But what kind of war are we engaged in, and what kind of shallow love (patriotism) do we invoke in its name? It becomes imperative to ask what a nation is, if not its people. How can we deem it 'fair' that some of our own are lost, so long as we have exacted revenge? Is restoring national dignity truly achieved by reciprocating in kind by taking innocent lives? Which aspect of such actions aligns with the principles of justice?

Civilians bear the brunt

It's a fool's errand to imagine that rules govern war. Consider, for instance, the strategic calculation, targeting terrorist hideouts in the disputed India-Pakistan border regions, based on the assumption that such elements seek refuge in the Pakistan-occupied territory of Kashmir. As a tactical move, it may seem justified. But when the cycle turns and retaliation follows, where within our borders do these adversaries find comparable 'hideouts'? Where do their missiles fall, if not on civilian lives? And that's what has been unfurling in Poonch, Amritsar and the villages adjacent to the border regions. Who absorbs the consequences of this dog-cat-mouse chase? Who, if anyone, emerges victorious?

The losses of the victims in the Pahalgam tragedy are unmistakably human and irreparable. But what have they gained from these retaliatory actions? An abstract sense of justice. Have the actual perpetrators been brought to justice? The answer remains a resounding no. Instead, the bereaved are expected to find closure in the vague assurance that a military operation sugarcoated in the nationalism and patriarchal narrative, namely, 'Sindoor', hit a terrorist enclave, that among the many dead, perhaps their assailant was one of them. 

This abstract justice is offered as their consolation. Meanwhile, the civilians who bear the brunt of the retaliatory strikes across borders are handed token gestures, state compensation (as has always been), symbolic honours, framed as their indirect contribution to defending national honour. Their deaths, too, are folded into the narrative of nation-building and security, casualties of a war we initiated but refuse to claim ownership of. So, the question remains, who lost what, who gained anything at all?

I do not know whether I am truly speechless, or whether it is in that very state of speechlessness that silence has become my refuge.

The author is an Assistant Professor, Centre for Gender Studies, Institute for Development and Communication, Chandigarh, India. Views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at amitchauhanfbi@gmail.com )