Waheed Para on UAPA, Dispossession, and the Cost of ‘Normalcy’ in Kashmir

Waheed Para on UAPA, Dispossession, and the Cost of “Normalcy” in Kashmir

Waheed Para on UAPA and the Cost of Normalcy in Kashmir | Dispossession, Detention, and Democratic Erosion

By: Javid Amin | 18 December 2025

When Accusation Becomes Punishment and Peace Is Reduced to a Statistic

The Paradox of ‘Normal’ Kashmir

In official briefings, Kashmir is often described through numbers: declining militancy incidents, reduced protests, increased tourism, fewer shutdowns, improved law and order metrics. These figures are presented as evidence of “normalcy”—a return to peace after decades of conflict.

But for Waheed Ur Rehman Para, a People’s Democratic Party (PDP) leader from Pulwama and a former detainee under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA), this narrative conceals more than it reveals.

Para argues that behind the statistics lies a deeper, quieter crisis—one of legal limbo, dispossession, psychological erosion, and democratic hollowing. In his articulation, the most damaging consequence of the current security-centric governance model in Kashmir is not violence, but the normalization of exception: where accusation itself becomes punishment, and participation in democracy becomes an act of endurance rather than empowerment.

His critique is not merely personal. It is structural, philosophical, and political—challenging how the Indian state defines peace, justice, and citizenship in Kashmir.

UAPA: When Accusation Becomes the Sentence

At the heart of Para’s argument lies a sharp indictment of the UAPA, India’s primary anti-terror law.

“Under UAPA, accusation itself becomes punishment,” Para has said repeatedly.

A Law of Endless Time

Unlike ordinary criminal statutes, UAPA cases are defined by:

  • Extended pre-trial detention

  • Extremely stringent bail conditions

  • Slow, often stalled trials

  • Low conviction rates but high incarceration periods

For Para, the cruelty of UAPA is not only in its text, but in its temporal design. Time itself becomes the weapon.

He cites his own experience:

  • Nearly four years in incarceration

  • Over 60 court hearings

  • Only five witnesses examined

  • No conviction during prolonged custody

In such cases, the trial does not function as a pathway to justice but as a mechanism of exhaustion—financial, emotional, psychological, and political.

Punishment Without Verdict

Para’s critique echoes a broader concern raised by jurists and civil liberties groups: that UAPA reverses the presumption of innocence in practice, if not in law.

  • Bail becomes the exception.

  • Liberty is postponed indefinitely.

  • Acquittal, when it comes, arrives after years of irreparable damage.

For young Kashmiris, Para warns, this creates a chilling message: you may be innocent, but you will still lose years of your life.

Dispossession Beyond Land: Losing Dignity, Trust, and Political Agency

While dispossession in Kashmir is often discussed in terms of land, jobs, or demography, Para introduces a more intimate and devastating frame: dispossession of dignity and agency.

Custody as Humiliation

He links incarceration and preventive detention not just to physical confinement, but to social and psychological rupture:

  • Families marked by stigma

  • Parents aging in anxiety

  • Children growing up with absence normalized

  • Communities learning silence as survival

Custody, in this sense, becomes collective punishment, extending far beyond the individual accused.

Surveillance as Social Control

Para also connects UAPA to a broader architecture of surveillance:

  • Repeated summons

  • Police verifications

  • Informal monitoring

  • Fear of association

This environment, he argues, reshapes social behavior. Conversations become cautious. Political engagement becomes risky. Even grief becomes guarded.

“You may be free physically, but you are never unobserved.”

Dispossession, therefore, is not only about what is taken away—but about what people stop daring to claim.

The Narrative of Normalcy: Peace Reduced to Numbers

One of Para’s most pointed critiques is directed at the state’s narrative of normalcy.

Statistics as Substitutes for Justice

In official discourse, peace is often quantified through:

  • Fewer militant attacks

  • Higher tourist footfall

  • More elections held

  • Reduced street protests

Para argues that this statistical framing reduces Kashmiris to data points, erasing lived experiences of fear, grief, and uncertainty.

“Normalcy is presented as absence of noise, not presence of justice.”

The Violence of Silence

According to Para, the most dangerous outcome of this framing is that trauma becomes invisible.

  • No protest does not mean consent.

  • No violence does not mean healing.

  • No resistance does not mean reconciliation.

Instead, he argues, silence often reflects fatigue, fear, and futility—especially among young people who see institutions as distant and unresponsive.

Psychological Costs: A Generation in Legal Limbo

Beyond politics and law, Para places strong emphasis on the psychological consequences of prolonged detention regimes.

The Making of Alienation

Extended legal uncertainty produces:

  • Chronic anxiety

  • Depression

  • Loss of ambition

  • Deep mistrust of institutions

For young Kashmiris, Para suggests, UAPA becomes a formative experience—not of justice, but of alienation.

The message internalized is simple and devastating:

“The system does not need to prove you guilty to take your future.”

From Hope to Survival Mode

Where previous generations might have debated politics passionately, Para observes that many young people today focus simply on avoiding attention—not on participation, reform, or dissent.

This, he warns, is the quiet erosion of democratic culture.

Mainstream Politics as Resistance, Not Reward

Perhaps the most striking element of Para’s position is his insistence on remaining within mainstream politics, despite personal incarceration and repeated legal battles.

Why Stay in a System That Punishes You?

For Para, participating in electoral politics is not an endorsement of the system—it is an act of refusal.

Refusal to:

  • Be erased

  • Be radicalized into silence or extremism

  • Abandon constitutional engagement

“Mainstream politics is the only space where our existence is still acknowledged.”

This choice, however, comes at a cost.

Fragile Democracy

Para points out that even elected representatives in Kashmir have faced:

  • Detention

  • Disqualification

  • Surveillance

  • Legal harassment

This raises uncomfortable questions:

  • What does representation mean if representatives can be jailed indefinitely?

  • How democratic is a system where participation carries existential risk?

Yet, Para insists that abandoning this space would mean ceding the narrative entirely.

Comparison of Core Themes

Theme Waheed Para’s View Broader Implication
UAPA Accusation becomes punishment Justice delayed becomes justice denied
Dispossession Loss of dignity and agency Social trust collapses
Normalcy Reduced to statistics Trauma rendered invisible
Mainstream politics Participation despite repression Democracy survives, but barely

The Larger Paradox of Kashmir

Waheed Para’s reflections expose a central paradox:

  • The state speaks the language of peace.

  • The people live the reality of uncertainty.

  • Institutions promise order.

  • Individuals experience erosion.

  • Elections are held.

  • Democracy feels suspended.

In this paradox, “normalcy” becomes less a destination and more a narrative strategy—one that prioritizes stability over justice, silence over healing.

Conclusion: The Price of Quiet

Waheed Para does not deny the need for security. He does not romanticize unrest. Nor does he reject constitutional frameworks.

What he challenges is the idea that peace can be measured without dignity, and that democracy can survive when time itself is weaponized against citizens.

His critique is unsettling precisely because it is not revolutionary—it is constitutional, ethical, and deeply human.

In Kashmir today, Para suggests, the most urgent question is not whether there is peace, but who pays for it—and for how long.

Editor’s Note

This piece is written as an analytical political feature, grounded in public statements, lived experiences, and broader legal-political debates. It does not assert guilt or innocence in any legal case and adheres to journalistic standards of fairness and public interest.