“Heaven and hell are no geographical locations, our thoughts, actions and character create the situation of heaven or hell for us,” wrote Judge Dr. Tejwinder Singh at the outset of his 432-page judgment in the Kathua rape case—a statement that resonates far beyond the walls of any courtroom. It is a reminder that justice and inhumanity are not distant realms, but outcomes shaped by the moral spine of a society. In the heart of Srinagar, a brutal crime was committed — a nomadic woman, mother of five, voiceless and vulnerable, was raped. The act itself is a monstrous violation of humanity, but what followed was equally damning: silence. No protests erupted in Lal Chowk, no candlelight vigils lit the evenings, no hashtags trended. The city — usually quick to rise in outrage — chose silence. Why? Compare this to the immediate and widespread condemnation that followed the recent killing of tourists in Pahalgam. Rightly so, Kashmir stood united in grief and horror, demanding justice, expressing solidarity, and making clear that such violence has no place in our land. But the question that now hangs heavy is: why does our conscience respond so selectively? The woman was not just a victim of a heinous crime — she was a victim of our apathy. Her identity as a nomad, a member of a marginalized community, rendered her invisible. Had she belonged to a more ‘mainstream’ section of society, would the reaction have been different? The bitter truth is: yes.This double standard exposes a disturbing hierarchy of empathy. It tells us that some lives stir outrages, while others are conveniently ignored. It reflects a collective failure of our civil society, of our leaders, and of each one of us who did not speak out. From the corridors of power to the dusty courtrooms and panchayat benches, Kashmiris have witnessed a justice system that bends according to influence, identity, and alignment. Victims from marginalized communities often find doors slammed on their faces, while the powerful walk free with impunity. These communities are victims of social stigma and prejudice for centuries. Women of these communities are not only the victims of neglect and exploitation by people from outside community, but also suffer tremendous pain and agony inflicted by their own people within the family. They often met with stigma and disbelief when reporting sexual violence, and are rarely informed about the state resources available to rape survivors.
“It is high time to introspect, not as Kashmiris alone, but as human beings. Are we truly a society if we choose who deserves our empathy based on their background? Or are we merely a crowd that shouts when convenient and vanishes when it’s uncomfortable? The city must wake up. The same streets that echoed with chants for justice just days ago must now carry the name of this lady too. Justice is not a seasonal sentiment — it must be an unwavering principle. Until then, we are not a society seeking justice.”
The worth of a human life cannot be weighed by social status, ethnicity, or economic background. Justice should never be selective, and grief must not discriminate. If we march for some victims and ignore others, we are complicit in deepening the divides we claim to oppose. It is time we ask ourselves uncomfortable questions. Why do we look away when the victims are poor, nomadic, or otherwise marginalized? Why do media houses not give the same coverage to such crimes? Why do rights groups go silent when the victim doesn’t belong to a particular demographic? Worse still, we watched as leaders and influencers took to social media with half-hearted tweets from their cozy drawing rooms, believing that a few words online could wash away their responsibility. There were no visits to the victim’s family, no efforts to mobilize justice on the ground. Class, caste, and social identity frequently serve as filters for our collective morality. It’s the hypocrisy, not just the silence. The Valley’s open wine shops are watched with passive indifference by the same society that professes to be governed by the virtues of modesty and faith. Real harm within their own neighbourhoods causes the same voices who protest perceived cultural incursion to suddenly become mute. Although we denounce the West for its moral decline, we permit predators to flourish among us because of our own apathy. What does our selective anger say about us as a people? When is it convenient for us to be moral? Awoman’s suffering is insufficient to move us to speak since she comes from a marginalized community. It is high time to introspect, not as Kashmiris alone, but as human beings. Are we truly a society if we choose who deserves our empathy based on their background? Or are we merely a crowd that shouts when convenient and vanishes when it’s uncomfortable? The city must wake up. The same streets that echoed with chants for justice just days ago must now carry the name of this lady too. Justice is not a seasonal sentiment — it must be an unwavering principle. Until then, we are not a society seeking justice. We are just a society performing outrage — and failing those who need us the most.“The human conscience does not perish; it lives where we let it, and fades where we refuse to hear its voice.”
(The author is a Student at Kashmir University Srinagar. 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”)
Mahnaz Ajaz
