Where were your tears, shutdowns, black flags, candle marches, and protests when We bled?
Asks the victim exiled Kashmiri Pandit community to Kashmir-centric leaders, their majority community followers, and others.

By: Kundan Kashmiri
Kashmir Watcher & President, Kashmiri Pandit Conference (KPC)

Though we appreciate the recent visible expressions of grief, condemnation, and solidarity shown by the Kashmiri leadership and general public in response to the brutal killing of 28 innocent Indian tourists in Baisaran, Pahalgam on April 22, 2025—believing such unity is crucial for peace and the betterment of the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir—we, the exiled and victimized Kashmiri Pandit community, are compelled to ask: Where was this empathy when we bled?

Indeed, following the Pahalgam tragedy, the Valley witnessed an emotional outpouring. Shops shut in protest, black flags were hoisted, candlelight marches were held across mohallas, and political parties like PDP led by Mehbooba Mufti and NC led by Omar Abdullah voiced their anguish. The streets echoed with condemnation, and many Kashmiri Muslims called the massacre “an attack on all Kashmiris.” We do not question the genuineness of these actions, and we wholeheartedly acknowledge and appreciate such gestures.

But a haunting question continues to burn within us: Why was this moral awakening missing when we, the Kashmiri Pandits, were butchered, terrorized, and exiled from our own homeland?

Where were the candlelight marches, the black flags, and the shut-downs when 23 Kashmiri Pandits—including women, children, and the elderly—were mercilessly killed in Wandhama on the night of January 25, 1998?

Where was the outrage when 24 members of our community were massacred in Nadimarg on March 23, 2003—many of them innocent children riddled with bullets?

Why was there no protest when seven Pandits were gunned down in Sangrampora on March 21, 1997, or when 35 Sikhs were slaughtered in Chattisinghpora on March 20, 2000?

Where was the solidarity when 40 security personnel were martyred in Pulwama on February 14, 2019?

Why did none of these heinous crimes against humanity move the political parties, the religious leaders, and the civil society of the Valley to act or speak?

Had the same passion, unity, and condemnation been shown by Kashmir-centric leaders and the majority community back then—perhaps the plague of terrorism would not have swallowed our land. Perhaps, we Kashmiri Pandits would still be in our homes, still living among our Muslim brethren. Perhaps thousands of lives—Pandits, Muslims, Sikhs, and security personnel—could have been saved.

The bitter truth is: You were silent.
Not because you didn’t know. But because, somewhere, the violence and terror against us was either ignored or silently approved. Some coveted our homes, orchards, temples, businesses, government jobs—even our furniture, utensils, and carpets. Our displacement became your opportunity. Our tragedy, your gain.

We, the Kashmiri Pandits, were not seen as tourists or temporary contributors to your economy and business—we were not “milk cows” to be cherished for revenue. We were your neighbors, your teachers, your well-wishers—the ones who never hurt your religious sentiments, who stood by you even in difficult times. And yet, when we were slaughtered, raped, looted, and thrown into exile—your streets remained quiet, your leaders remained absent, and your outrage disappeared.
Your silence during our massacres…
Your indifference during our exile…
Is the loudest answer.
Today, we see your tears and solidarity for the victims of Pahalgam—and we acknowledge and appreciate them.

But we ask:
Where were those candles when our temples were burnt?
Where were your protests when our daughters were violated?
Where were your black flags when our brothers were shot dead?

You now call this latest attack an assault on all Kashmiris.
We ask: Was our genocide not an attack on humanity? Or do we no longer qualify as part of Kashmir?
The response to the Baisaran massacre has shown that you do know how to feel, how to act, how to protest.
And that makes your silence during our tragedies all the more painful, all the more damning.
It is time for truth. Time for introspection.
We do not need your delayed sympathy or selective tears.
We need acknowledgment.
We need justice.
We need honesty.
Until then, your selective outrage stands exposed.
We hope your conscience will awaken—not only just for tourists, but for your own displaced brethren too.
Only then can real healing begin.
Only then can Kashmir truly reclaim its soul.