Farooq Abdullah’s Unanswered Questions

Two recent interviews given by Dr Farooq Abdullah to New Delhi-based prominent journalist Shahid Siddiqui deserve more than a passing glance. They offer an opportunity to revisit not merely the former Chief Minister’s political career, but the larger legacy of a family that has dominated Kashmir’s politics for generations.

In the first interview, Farooq Abdullah recalls his intervention at the United Nations Human Rights Commission in Geneva in 1994, where he says he defended New Delhi after Atal Bihari Vajpayee and I K Gujral declined to respond to Benazir Bhutto’s criticism of India. He describes how he narrated the events of 1947, particularly the violence in Baramulla, and how his account was received by diplomats.

In the second interview, he says he opposed the release of prisoners during both the 1989 kidnapping of Rubaiya Sayeed and the 1999 hijacking of Indian Airlines flight IC-814. He presents these positions as evidence of his consistency and commitment to national security.

These recollections raise a more fundamental question. Should the political legacy of the Abdullah family be judged by its willingness to defend New Delhi, or by its responsibility to the people of Jammu and Kashmir?

This is not an attempt to diminish Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah’s contribution to Kashmir’s political awakening. His role in mobilising people against Dogra autocracy was substantial. But historical recognition cannot become a licence to avoid scrutiny of the decisions that followed.

Nor can the political conduct of his successors be separated from the aspirations of those who once regarded the Abdullah leadership as the embodiment of their struggle.

The story of the Abdullah family is, in many ways, the story of a movement for political rights gradually transformed into the politics of power.

Kashmir’s political awakening did not begin with the events unfolding in October 1947. Its roots lay in the struggle against an autocratic regime.

The events of 1931 marked a decisive turning point. The grievances of the Muslim majority, denial of political rights, economic discrimination, and absence of representative government had created widespread discontent. Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah emerged as one of the most prominent voices of this awakening.

The Muslim Conference, established in 1932, gave organised political expression to the aspirations of a large section of the population. In 1939, it was transformed into the National Conference, adopting a more inclusive political identity and seeking to build a common platform across religious communities.

The National Conference’s 1944 programme, Naya Kashmir, promised democratic government, social and economic reforms, land redistribution, workers’ rights and a more equitable society. The Quit Kashmir movement of 1946 directly challenged the legitimacy of Maharaja Hari Singh’s rule.

Sheikh Abdullah’s Political Authority

Sheikh Abdullah’s imprisonment during this movement strengthened his standing as a popular leader. His political authority was not merely inherited or bestowed by a government. It was built through mobilisation, organisation and confrontation with an autocratic state.

That history deserves recognition. But it also makes the subsequent transformation of his politics all the more important to examine.

What happened to that movement when the crisis of 1947 changed the State’s political future?

The events of October 1947 are frequently presented through a narrow narrative, ignoring the events in Poonch that had preceded over several months. The communal riots in Jammu and mass displacement of Muslims were documented by veteran writers like Ved Bhasin and Krishan Dev Sethi accelerated the arrival of tribal groups in the state, which was already in crisis.

That context, however, does not excuse the atrocities committed by tribal forces, including killings, looting, abductions and attacks on civilians. Those crimes must be acknowledged and condemned.

The purpose of revisiting this history is not to replace one selective narrative with another. It is to insist that all victims and all those responsible for violence must find a place in the historical record.

At a time when the State’s future was being shaped by military intervention and international controversy, Sheikh Abdullah became the most influential local political partner for New Delhi. How did a leader who had mobilised people against autocratic rule become the principal local political face of denying people’s right to choose their future?

My father was a sugar wholesaler in 1947 and travelled by goods train to Pathankot. He later witnessed the aftermath in Muslim localities, including abandoned homes where food had been left in cooking pots.

For him, these were not abstract political arguments. They were the remains of interrupted lives and uprooted families.

Sheikh Abdullah’s leadership must also be examined against this background.

Did the National Conference leadership do everything within its influence to speak for the victims, demand accountability, and ensure that Jammu’s suffering became central to the political settlement?

A leader claiming to represent the entire State cannot confine his responsibility to the Valley or to the community from which he draws his immediate political support.

The victims of Jammu deserved the same attention as those of Baramulla. The suffering of one population cannot be used to silence the suffering of another.

Sheikh Abdullah’s dismissal and arrest in August 1953 marked another turning point.

The man who had once been India’s principal political ally in Kashmir was removed from office and detained. His differences with the Indian leadership over the constitutional and political future of the State had become irreconcilable. The episode exposed the fragility of the political arrangement that had emerged after 1947.

The Plebiscite Front, formed in 1955 under Mirza Mohammad Afzal Beg, kept the demand for a plebiscite alive.

Then came the 1975 Indira-Sheikh Accord.

After more than two decades of political estrangement, imprisonment and agitation, Sheikh Abdullah returned to office as Chief Minister. The Plebiscite Front was dissolved and the National Conference political structure restored.

The accord did not restore the constitutional position that had existed in 1953. It accepted the framework that had developed in the intervening years, while allowing for the review of certain central laws and constitutional matters.

The issue is not whether Sheikh Abdullah had the right to negotiate. Negotiations are essential in prolonged political conflicts. The question is whether he possessed the mandate to abandon the central demand that had sustained his politics for two decades.

The accord brought Sheikh Abdullah back to power but did not settle the aspirations of the people. A movement was redirected into electoral politics under an arrangement accepted by New Delhi.

What I Witnessed in 1977

I remember the 1977 election campaign vividly.

Some fellow medical students and I had just completed our final examinations, among the toughest examinations of our lives. We were holidaying in Pahalgam when we learned that Mirza Mohammad Afzal Beg was addressing an election meeting.

I remember Beg displaying green handkerchiefs and telling the assembled villagers that they had to vote for Kashmir. The symbolism was unmistakable. The election was being presented not merely as a contest for political office but as a vote for Kashmir itself.

For ordinary people, the National Conference still carried the legacy of the movement. Many regarded their vote as an affirmation of their political identity and the aspirations articulated over decades.

But what did that vote actually deliver? The 1977 election was widely regarded as a significant democratic exercise. It gave Sheikh Abdullah a popular mandate to govern.

Farooq Abdullah inherited far more than his father’s political organisation and office.  His career, however, became increasingly defined by electoral politics, the exercise of power and the management of relations with Delhi.

The 1987 Assembly election represented a devastating blow to democratic credibility in Kashmir.

Widespread allegations of rigging and manipulation undermined public confidence in the electoral process. The Muslim United Front had mobilised significant support, but the outcome was widely perceived as having been engineered.

For many young Kashmiris, the experience shattered their faith in democratic participation. The consequences were immense. The collapse of electoral credibility contributed to the conditions in which armed militancy subsequently grew.

The National Conference was not merely an observer. It was the governing party, and its leadership must answer for its role in that political environment.

Farooq Abdullah’s recent recollections about the release of prisoners in 1989 and 1999 do not resolve this larger question.

He says he opposed the release of five prisoners in exchange for Rubaiya Sayeed in December 1989 and three prisoners during the IC-814 hijacking in December 1999.

The releases took place. His account of personal opposition remains his own recollection and should be assessed accordingly.

Even if accepted in full, however, it demonstrates a position on hostage negotiations and security policy. It does not explain what he did to address the political grievances that had brought Kashmir to such a dangerous point.

A leader cannot define his legacy solely by claiming that he opposed the release of prisoners.

The more important questions concern democratic legitimacy, political rights and the unresolved aspirations of the people.

Farooq Abdullah’s account of his intervention at Geneva in 1994 is particularly revealing.

According to his interview, Benazir Bhutto criticised India at the international gathering. Vajpayee and Gujral declined to respond, and Farooq Abdullah took the floor.

He says he narrated the violence of October 1947, particularly the events in Baramulla, to defend India’s position.

He recalls that diplomats were impressed and that Vajpayee later praised him for having saved India’s dignity.

There is no reason to diminish the importance of condemning the atrocities committed in Baramulla.  Did he speak about the Jammu massacre and the mass displacement of Muslims? Did he explain the political history of the State before October 1947? Did he refer to the Quit Kashmir movement, Sheikh Abdullah’s dismissal in 1953, the erosion of autonomy, and the unfulfilled promise?

Did he raise the 1975 Accord and the absence of a popular mandate to abandon the demand for self-determination?

From his own account, the emphasis was on defending New Delhi’s record of human rights.

His return to office in 1996, after years of direct central rule and intense conflict, also needs to be viewed in the broader context of his relationship with Delhi.

It is legitimate to examine the Geneva intervention within that political setting. It would, however, be wrong to claim without documentary evidence that the speech formed part of a formal bargain for his return.

A leader’s international conduct should be judged not merely by the applause it receives from governments, but by the interests and aspirations it represents.

The events of August 2019 exposed the limitations of the political strategy pursued by the Abdullah family and other established parties.

The Central government revoked the special constitutional status associated with Article 370, rendered Article 35A inoperative, and divided the former State into two Union Territories.

Farooq Abdullah, Omar Abdullah and other political leaders were detained.

For decades, the National Conference had participated in the Indian constitutional and electoral framework. Its leaders had served as Chief Ministers and Members of Parliament, negotiated with successive governments in Delhi and sought political space within the existing constitutional structure.

Yet when the government decided to fundamentally alter Jammu and Kashmir’s constitutional position, it did not seek the consent of its people or elected political leadership.

The detentions of Farooq and Omar Abdullah, alongside the dismantling of the State’s constitutional position, demonstrated that decades of political accommodation had not secured Kashmir’s future.

Omar Abdullah had declared that he would not contest elections while Jammu and Kashmir remained a Union Territory.

Yet the National Conference subsequently contested the 2024 Assembly elections and formed the government without restoration of statehood.

The Abdullah family cannot invoke Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah’s political legacy only when it is convenient.

If his contribution to Kashmir’s awakening is celebrated, the promises made in the name of that movement must also be examined.

If Farooq Abdullah takes pride in defending India at Geneva, he must explain why he did not use that opportunity to present the complete history of the political rights of its people.

If he recalls opposing prisoner releases in 1989 and 1999, he must also address the failures of a political system in which his party was a central participant.

Sheikh Abdullah was dismissed and imprisoned. Farooq and Omar Abdullah were detained in 2019. Their political grievances and personal experiences cannot be denied. But those experiences cannot substitute for accountability to the people.

The National Conference has governed Jammu and Kashmir for substantial periods. It has had opportunities to strengthen democratic institutions, protect civil liberties, defend representative government and insist that the political dispute be addressed honestly.

Its record must be judged against those responsibilities, not merely its electoral victories or confrontations with Delhi. Above all, the family must recognise that political leadership does not confer hereditary ownership of a people’s aspirations.

The Abdullah family bears a historic responsibility to explain the journey from the Quit Kashmir movement to the 1975 Accord, from the Plebiscite Front to electoral politics, from the 1987 election to the Geneva intervention, and from decades of accommodation to the events of 2019.

Several questions remain unanswered.

Farooq Abdullah’s recollections do not answer larger questions. The people of Kashmir do not owe their political future to any family, party or government. Their aspirations cannot be inherited, negotiated away, or confined to electoral politics.

The Abdullah family must answer to history and, more importantly, to the people.