Beyond the emotional and economic carnage, there lies an even darker truth — the failure of our national security apparatus. If terrorists can access such high-powered weapons, plan coordinated attacks, and operate with such precision in a zone like Pahalgam, what confidence should any citizen have in the capability of our intelligence and border control systems? If one of the most closely monitored areas in India can be infiltrated so easily, where else are we vulnerable?
We are informed that the government has it under control. That our surveillance technology is advanced. That the intelligence grid is tight. Yet time and again, we see these horrifying lapses. Let us not forget, this is a region under immense strategic and military scrutiny. The presence of security forces, check-posts, and drone surveillance is high. And yet, terrorists walked in, identified targets, and carried out their agenda. If this can happen in Pahalgam, what’s stopping it from happening in the heart of Delhi, Mumbai, or Bangalore?
Where are the so-called legends of security and intelligence? What happened to the promises of zero tolerance to terror? Every time an attack like this occurs, we see a series of ritualistic condemnations, high-level meetings, and then silence. The cycle repeats until the next tragedy. It is not enough to arrest or neutralize a few foot soldiers. The state must dismantle the ideological networks and logistical ecosystems that enable such attacks. Anything less is complicity by negligence.
Speechless. That’s all one can be after witnessing the horror that unfolded in Pahalgam, Kashmir—a place known not just for its breathtaking beauty, but for the untiring hope of its people who’ve worked for decades to cleanse the valley’s image and revive its soul through peace and tourism. But all of that was shattered in a moment of blood-soaked terror when innocent tourists were hunted down and killed—not for who they were as individuals, but for their faith. Their ID cards were checked, their humanity disregarded, and their lives stolen based on whether or not they could recite a religious verse. This wasn’t just a terror attack. It was an act of ideological cleansing. It was a hate crime. It was a slaughter of dreams.
This attack must force us to ask: how secure are our borders, really? What are the loopholes in our counter-terrorism framework? How is radicalization still finding fertile ground within and across our borders? Are we doing enough to monitor and shut down online propaganda? Is our human intelligence network active and empowered, or have we reduced security to just optics and posturing?
Make no mistake: this wasn’t just an attack on the tourists. It was a stab in the back of every Kashmiri, who has spent years—no, decades—trying to bring life back to a land too long associated with violence. The shikara boatman, the homestay owner, the trekking guide, the tea stall vendor—each one of them has been building bridges with outsiders, urging people to see Kashmir not through the lens of fear, but of beauty and belonging. That trust, that fragile hope, has now been assaulted.
And we must ask: Where is the government in all of this? How does a heavily guarded, strategically sensitive place like Pahalgam allow entry to terrorists armed with weapons and religious hatred? If Prime Minister, Home Minister, and NSA can’t secure one of the most monitored tourist hubs in the country, what should the rest of us expect? That terrorists could just “get on a bus and come straight to Delhi”? If that’s the case, then every city, every festival, every family gathering in India is a potential target.
We have been sold a myth—of muscular nationalism, of unshakeable security, of masterful intelligence. But where was this intelligence when murderers infiltrated Pahalgam? Where was the iron wall of defence when hate knocked on Kashmir’s door and opened fire on unarmed, unsuspecting guests?
This is not just a failure of security. It’s a failure of will. This is not the moment for resolute condemnations followed by inaction. This is a moment that demands accountability, demands outrage, and demands action. Because when we fail to act against such hate, we are not just failing the victims—we are failing the very idea of India.
This hate is not just imported across the border. It lives and breathes in poisonous ideologies that transcend borders. The guns may be smuggled, but the venom that fuels them often thrives within, fed by narratives, propaganda, and silence. You cannot fight terror with hypocrisy. You cannot fight hate with appeasement. And you cannot protect the soul of Kashmir if you ignore the blood on its soil. Because despite it all, the people of Kashmir will rise again. They always do. But this time, they should not rise alone. They deserve a nation that stands by them, not just in mourning, but in justice, reform, and protection.
To the victims: we owe you more than candles and condolences.
To the locals: we see your pain, and we share your fury.
To the terrorists: you did not just attack people—you attacked the idea of a peaceful Kashmir.
And to the state: do your job, or make way for someone who will.
If Pahalgam isn’t safe, nowhere is. And if this doesn’t wake us up, nothing will.
#PahalgamTerrorAttack
Law And Policy 