Politics and Predicaments of Omar Abdullah
Democracies rarely collapse overnight; they wither when the will of the people is replaced by the will of the powerful. Jammu and Kashmir today stands as a mirror to that erosion — a land where elections have returned, but authority has not; where an elected chief minister watches from the margins as unelected voices decide the fate of millions. In that quiet sidelining lies not only his diminishment but that of the people themselves.
There comes a point in politics when silence stops being strategic and begins to look like surrender. In Kashmir today, that silence wears the face of power — a chief minister hemmed in by unelected authority, while citizens wonder whether the vote they cast in defiance of despair has already been undone. Omar Abdullah’s predicament is not just political; it is existential — for himself, for his party, and for the very possibility of democratic participation in Jammu and Kashmir.
It has been a year since the National Conference returned to power with a resounding mandate — a rare show of faith from a population long alienated from the political process. That victory carried more than electoral numbers; it carried emotional weight. People who had stayed away from ballot boxes for years stepped out again, not for development agendas, but to reclaim a fragment of agency. They voted to end a vacuum, to find a voice that would speak for them, not merely to them. But as months pass, that hope has begun to blur into disillusionment.
The structure of governance in Jammu and Kashmir remains deeply asymmetric. Real power still flows through the Lieutenant Governor and his circle of bureaucrats. Files travel corridors unanswerable to the elected cabinet. Decisions emerge from meetings where the chief minister’s role is sometimes symbolic, sometimes unnecessary. One instance stands out — during a flood review, the Home Minister’s visit saw the chief minister positioned behind even the opposition leader, a telling image of where authority truly resides. It was not merely a protocol oversight; it was a reflection of political subordination — a visual metaphor for a mandate reduced to ceremony.
Yet to judge Omar Abdullah only by helplessness would be unkind. He inherited a machinery designed to neutralise him. The administrative and security apparatus remains structurally aligned with the Lieutenant Governor, while intelligence and police channels report directly to the Centre. In such a system, confrontation with Delhi can easily turn suicidal. But the alternative — quiet compliance disguised as pragmatism — carries a heavier moral cost. For a people who voted not for efficiency but for dignity, this passivity feels like betrayal.
The National Conference had promised restoration — of statehood, of voice, of honour. It spoke of reviving Kashmir’s presence in the national conversation, reclaiming what was taken without consent. Instead, what citizens now see is a government that governs under supervision and speaks only in murmurs. The fear of antagonising Delhi appears to have paralysed its imagination. Every move seems calibrated to avoid conflict, even when leadership demands engagement. Omar Abdullah’s politics thus resembles a careful balancing act — one that satisfies neither the Centre’s desire for submission nor Kashmir’s yearning for assertion.
This is not only a political problem; it is a moral one. When those who once shunned elections returned to vote, they did so not for prosperity but for purpose. They voted not for roads or jobs, but for dignity. And dignity, unlike development, cannot be outsourced to bureaucrats. When that faith is met with silence, it does more than stall administration; it corrodes belief itself — belief that democracy can still serve as a vehicle for justice in Kashmir.
Inside the system, too, cracks show. Bureaucrats and party functionaries whisper about the government’s inability to meet expectations. The long-pending issue of rationalising reservations has deepened discontent. Many believe that a small section continues to corner disproportionate benefits while merit and participation suffer. No one questions the logic of affirmative action, but when it erodes institutional competence, resentment multiplies — particularly among younger voters. This disaffection, coupled with a sense of helplessness at the top, amplifies the perception of paralysis.
To be fair, few expected Omar Abdullah to transform the system overnight. Everyone knew the ground was uneven and the odds heavily stacked. But people did expect resistance — not rebellion, but resistance. They expected him to hold his ground, to remind Delhi that autonomy cannot mean subordination. Instead, the emerging image is of a leader more anxious to prove loyalty than leadership, more eager to avoid conflict than to assert purpose. That, more than any administrative lapse, is what risks alienating even his most steadfast supporters.
The deeper irony is that, by some measures, the Lieutenant Governor’s regime appeared more efficient — and therein lies the real danger. If elected governments begin to look weaker and slower than bureaucratic regimes, the moral argument for democracy itself begins to erode. The people of Kashmir did not vote for a bureaucratic model with a new face; they voted for the restoration of consent as the source of governance.
The recent announcement Rajya Sabha elections has further exposed this fragility. By denying the Congress a winnable seat and offering instead an uncertain one, the National Conference fractured its own coalition and weakened the only meaningful counterweight to the BJP. This misstep was not just tactical; it was symbolic. For a regional party that claims to speak for Kashmir, severing ties with a national ally that can voice its concerns in Parliament may prove self-defeating. At a moment when unity was its sole strength, the NC chose isolation — a decision that could narrow both its influence and its moral standing.
Omar Abdullah still has time to alter this trajectory, but that window is closing. To do so, he must rediscover what this moment demands — not meek accommodation, but moral courage. He must remember that he was elected not to manage Delhi’s priorities but to articulate Kashmir’s anxieties. The system will keep testing him, absorbing him, and diminishing him. His only defence is to refuse absorption, to reclaim confrontation as a legitimate democratic act — not as defiance, but as dignity.
If he continues along the present course — cautious, muted, invisible — he risks more than his political legacy. He risks the credibility of the entire mainstream project in Jammu and Kashmir. Once faith in democratic politics collapses, the void it leaves is rarely peaceful.
The people of Kashmir have already done their part. For the first time in years, they placed trust in the ballot, not the boycott; in participation, not protest. Now, it is Omar Abdullah’s turn to honour that trust. He cannot appear smaller than the mandate he carries. The office he holds draws its legitimacy not from Delhi’s tolerance but from Kashmir’s trust — and that, in the end, is the only source of power that endures.
