In the complex and often painful story of Kashmir, a peculiar and widespread trend has emerged, one that replaces critical thinking with cacophonous applause.
This trend is the culture of the cheerleader, a metaphor for a dominant attitude that has seeped into the public discourse, especially in the media and public life. It is a culture where even the smallest action from a person of power, position, or prosperity gets an over-the-top response. Instead of a thoughtful reaction, there is a competition to laud, to celebrate the mundane as if it were extraordinary.
In this frantic scramble for validation as opposed to measured assessment, we Kashmiris seem to have lost the very skills that could lead us to real progress: clear thinking, analysing different viewpoints, and knowing when to cheer and, more importantly, when to hold back.
The digital age has turned into a grand stage for this performance. The moment a politician, or a senior bureaucrat, uploads a photograph of a newly paved road, or a business magnate announces a modest investment, a wave of applause follows on social media and news outlets. A minor achievement, usually part of the designated responsibilities, is inflated into an act of revolutionary benevolence.
The complex, multifaceted challenges that define life in Kashmir are political instability, economic fragility, psychological distress, which are reduced to a binary. One is either a cheerleader for these approved "successes" or is branded a pessimist, a "cheerleader of grief," an ‘enemy’ of a hazy "new Kashmir."
The phrase “cheerleaders of grief” appeared in a thoughtful article in one of the Srinagar dailies, correctly questioning a passive response to a tragedy. Yet, the threat lies in how such labels are weaponised to create a false binary. The choice is presented as one between perpetual mourning and blind celebration.
This black-and-white thinking smothers the middle ground where rational societies exist: the space for careful assessment, constructive feedback, and accountable governance. By presenting any challenge to the official or popular narrative as wallowing in grief, the cheerleaders effectively silence necessary voices of dissent and inquiry. They create an atmosphere where the only permissible emotion is a forced, jingoistic optimism.
The consequence of this is a profound and collective self-deception. We cheer the opening of a shopping mall as a sign of "normalcy" while ignoring conversations about the economic precarity that makes such luxury inaccessible to the majority. We celebrate the influx of tourists as a return to peace, even as the underlying political tensions remain unaddressed and simmer beneath the surface.
In this race to prove to the world, and perhaps to us, that we are moving on, we have forgotten to ask: moving on to what? And at what cost? The honour and dignity we aspire to, the profound resolution we seek, has never been accomplished through these superficial celebrations. Instead, these cheers often feel like a desperate attempt to drown out the echoes of our unresolved past.
This cheerleading culture is particularly damaging when it comes from those whose primary duty is to question, not to applaud, namely, the so-called journalists. When journalism discards its role as the fourth estate and becomes a jingoistic cheerleader, it betrays its mandate. Its core role is to interrogate power, to deconstruct narratives, and to give voice to the voiceless.
This is not journalism; it represents a surrender of intellect. It swaps the tough work of investigation for the easy pleasure of promotion. In doing this, it deprives the public of the information needed for informed citizenship.
However, a growing segment of journalists has become a public relations arm for the powerful, transforming news reports into press releases and analysis into advertisements. They report the announcement of a development project with an adrenaline rush but fail to follow up on its execution, its cost overruns, or its actual impact on the community it was meant to serve.
This is not journalism. It is intellectual surrender. It replaces the hard work of investigation with the easy gratification of promotion. In doing so, it robs the public of the information necessary for informed citizenship.
How can a society make rational choices about its future if its primary sources of information are dedicated to selling a sanitised version of the present? This cheerleading creates a hall of mirrors where every reflection is distorted to appear positive, where failures are repackaged as "learning experiences" and modest, routine administrative actions are heralded as historic breakthroughs. The public is left navigating a landscape without a reliable map, guided only by the misleading cheers of those who have abandoned their posts as guides.
The motivation for this cheerleading is a tangled web. For some in positions of influence, it is a transactional relationship, a way to curry favour with the powerful in exchange for access or privilege. For the burgeoning business class, it is a strategy to build brand value by aligning themselves with a narrative of progress and positivity.
For many ordinary citizens, it is a psychological coping mechanism—a way to assert agency in a situation where they often feel powerless. By embracing and amplifying every positive signal, no matter how small, they attempt to construct a reality that is more palatable than the complex, often grim, one they inhabit.
But this coping mechanism is ultimately a Faustian bargain. By refusing to engage with our reality in all its messy complexity, we mortgage our long-term future for short-term emotional relief. The problems that are swept under the rug of celebratory tweets do not disappear; they fester.
The infrastructure built without robust oversight will crumble, the economic policies crafted without critical input will fail, and the common man’s grievances left unaddressed will continue to breed resentment. The cheers of today will do little to stem the crises of tomorrow.
What Kashmir needs, desperately, is not more cheerleaders. It needs critics. It needs analysts. It needs journalists who are unafraid to ask the uncomfortable question, to publish the inconvenient fact, to hold the powerful to account rather than holding their coats while they take a victory lap for simply doing their job. It needs a public discourse that values truth over triumph, substance over spectacle.
We must reclaim the courage to be silent when silence is warranted, to question when questioning is necessary, and to withhold our cheers for achievements that are truly worthy of them. The path to genuine “izzat and abroo” (honour and dignity) is paved not with the hollow sound of applause, but with the quiet, determined pursuit of truth, ground realities, and rational thought. Until we learn that discernment, we remain a society cheering in the stands, oblivious to the fact that the game we are celebrating is one we are steadily losing.
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