When one kilometer of road becomes a showpiece of governance in J&K.It is like a doctor throwing a party every time he prescribes paracetamol.
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi
On a quiet morning in a Kashmiri village, an entire entourage of officials, photographers, and local leaders gathered to witness an MLA cut a ribbon. The object of celebration was not the inauguration or the foundation of a university, nor even the opening of a bridge that could ease lives in a flood-prone valley. It was simply the macadamization of a one-kilometer stretch of road. Posters were hung, slogans shouted, cameras clicked, and speeches delivered. And just like that, what should have been routine maintenance work of the Public Works Department was elevated to the level of a grand political achievement.If this is not a new low in Kashmir’s governance, then what is? Governance at its best is supposed to be visionary, transformative, and rooted in public good. But governance at its worst is reduced to symbolic tokenism, where elected representatives glorify what should be the bare minimum of state responsibility. When politicians start cutting ribbons for macadamizing one kilometer of road, it signals the bankruptcy of governance imagination. It tells the people that their leaders have little to offer beyond superficial shows of presence.
Road macadamization is not development—it is maintenance. Roads are meant to be constructed, repaired, and upgraded as part of a continuous process. The Public Works Department exists precisely to carry out such tasks. To convert that into a political spectacle is to trivialize governance. The irony deepens when one realizes the scale of Kashmir’s actual challenges: unemployment is choking the youth, environmental degradation is destroying wetlands and lakes, healthcare infrastructure struggles with shortages, schools lack modern facilities, and villages still wait for potable water. Yet, an MLA finds it worthy to summon attention for a one-kilometer patch of blacktop. This is not development—it is mockery disguised as governance. This trend is not accidental. It reflects a larger culture of political smallness that has taken deep roots in Kashmir.
Instead of debating policy, MLAs compete over ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Instead of drafting visions for industrial growth, they rush to claim credit for repairing drains or laying tiles in a marketplace. Instead of demanding structural reforms in education or healthcare, they are satisfied with announcing the macadamization of a lane. This obsession with petty projects comes from a politics that thrives on visibility rather than impact. The goal is not to change lives but to show up with scissors in hand, get photographed, and flood social media with images captioned “delivering development.” It is the politics of optics—short-lived, shallow, and ultimately corrosive to democratic dignity. For the common Kashmiri, such spectacles feel insulting. People vote for MLAs not to see them preside over routine repairs but to legislate, to bring policies that address unemployment, industry, agriculture, education, and environment. They expect their representatives to raise questions in the Assembly, to hold the bureaucracy accountable, and to fight for the larger developmental share of their constituencies. Instead, they serve to cut ribbon for one kilometer of road macadam. It is not merely disappointing—it is a betrayal of expectations. When politics is reduced to photo-ops, governance loses meaning. The ordinary citizen who walks miles to fetch water or who spends hours in traffic jams on broken highways knows that these ceremonies are little more than cosmetic. The macadam may cover a pothole, but it cannot cover the hollowness of a governance that has lost its purpose. Elsewhere in the world, leaders measure their achievements not by kilometers of road macadamized but by transformative policies—renewable energy transitions, universal healthcare systems, affordable education, urban planning, and environmental protection.
“Kashmir desperately needs substantive, transformative leadership that prioritizes tackling deep-rooted problems like corruption, inefficiency, and narrow-mindedness. It argues for a shift in focus from mere spectacle to policies that genuinely benefit the populace by creating jobs, protecting the environment, and preparing the youth for the future. The author suggests that the current emphasis on symbolic gestures is actually detrimental to the dignity and effectiveness of governance, ultimately harming the citizens it claims to serve.”
In India itself, chief ministers compete to attract industries, build smart cities, or design social security schemes. Against that backdrop, an MLA in Kashmir cutting ribbons for a single kilometer of road looks not just small but pitiful. It exposes how shrunken our standards of governance have become. Where others speak of revolutions in technology or agriculture, we settle for potholes filled and blacktop laid. This is not progress—it is stagnation dressed up as progress. Such acts also reveal political bankruptcy. When leaders have no vision, no agenda, and no courage to confront the real issues, they hide behind tokenistic gestures. It is easier to cut ribbons than to address the unemployment crisis. It is easier to pose for photographs than to draft a policy for harnessing Kashmir’s hydropower potential. It is easier to announce macadamization than to confront corruption in the works department. This bankruptcy is dangerous because it lowers the bar of accountability. If people are made to believe that one kilometer of macadam is development, then leaders can escape the responsibility of providing real solutions. A society that celebrates the trivial loses the capacity to demand the substantial. There is also a deeper psychological damage. When leadership itself becomes a theatre of smallness, society’s imagination shrinks.
Youth grow up thinking that politics is about ribbon-cutting, not policymaking. Governance is seen not as planning but as event management. The culture of mediocrity seeps in, and once entrenched, it becomes hard to uproot. Kashmir, with its vast potential in tourism, agriculture, water resources, and human capital, deserves leaders who dream big, not those who settle for potholes. The valley needs visionaries who can transform it into a hub of knowledge, entrepreneurship, and sustainable growth. Instead, it is cursed with leaders who are content with inaugurating a one-kilometer strip of asphalt. But the blame does not rest solely on politicians. The public, too, must introspect. Why do we allow ourselves to be herded into such spectacles? Why do we clap when leaders cut ribbons for what should be basic duties? Why do we share their pictures on social media, adding to the illusion of development? If citizens continue to normalize such tokenism, then leaders will never be forced to rise above it.
Democracy thrives when people demand substance, not symbolism. If the people of Kashmir want leaders who can genuinely deliver, they must reject the culture of ribbon-cutting and insist on policies that transform lives. They must hold MLAs accountable for jobs, industries, healthcare, and education—not for the macadam on a patch of road. The inauguration of macadamization of a one-kilometer road by MLAs is not just a laughable event; it is a tragic commentary on the state of governance in Kashmir. It shows how low the standards have fallen, how politics has become a circus of optics, and how leaders have lost sight of their real responsibilities. Kashmir does not need leaders who cut ribbons—it needs leaders who cut through corruption, inefficiency, and small-mindedness. It does not need the spectacle of road macadam—it needs the substance of policies that generate jobs, protect the environment, and prepare the next generation for the future. Until then, every ribbon cut on a one-kilometer macadam will stand as a ribbon tied around the neck of governance itself—choking its dignity, shrinking its vision, and mocking the very people it claims to serve.
(The author is a teacher and a researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora of Central Kashmir’s Budgam district. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
