Dr. Shaikh Ghulam Rasool
Kashmir—where rivers breathe life into the land and meadows whisper tales of harmony—a profound struggle for justice and dignity is quietly raging. This is not merely a battle over environmental stewardship but a fight for survival waged by indigenous communities—the true custodians of these natural treasures—against forces of greed and exploitation.
The intertwined sagas of the Sukhnag River and Tosamaidan meadow highlight the devastating impacts of a new and insidious weapon of oppression: litigation, wielded by capitalist entities to dismantle grassroots livelihoods and consolidate control.
The Sukhnag River, coursing through the lush terrains of Budgam district in the Pirpanchal range, is far more than a water source; it is the beating heart of local life. For generations, its waters have nourished the fields and orchards that sustain entire communities.
Every year, after the rains, the river brings down rocks and silt, blocking the irrigation canals vital to agriculture. Yet, the people—farmers, laborers, and their families—take it upon themselves to clear these canals, ensuring the steady flow of water that feeds their crops and supports their existence. This intimate relationship between the community and the river has been nurtured over centuries, binding the two in an unbreakable bond.
Molvi Maqbool, a prominent socio-political leader in Sukhnag, says, “Community members used to earn an honest living transporting sand and stones from the river, ensuring their families had enough to eat. Now, the same work makes them criminals. Meanwhile, wealthy contractors cause a hundred times more damage with their machines and are hailed as innovators. This isn’t justice; it’s punishment for being poor.”
However, the river’s abundant resources have also become a target for exploitation. Powerful contractors, driven by profit, have turned what was once a shared natural resource into a battleground for industrial extraction.
These entities, shielded by influence and wealth, began plundering the river’s materials on a massive scale, disrupting ecological balance and robbing the local community of its traditional rights and livelihoods.
When the burden of exploitation became unbearable, the community rose in defiance. At the forefront of this resistance was the Tosamaidan Bachav Front (TBF), a grassroots movement that united people to reclaim their rights over the Sukhnag’s resources.
Through relentless advocacy, the TBF successfully halted the rampant plundering of the river. This was more than a victory; it was a moment of collective empowerment, a reclaiming of agency, and a celebration of indigenous resilience.
But victory proved fleeting.
The machinery of exploitation adapted, weaponizing the legal system against the very people who had safeguarded the river for generations. What followed was an onslaught of Public Interest Litigations (PILs) and cases filed with the National Green Tribunal (NGT).
These legal maneuvers, ostensibly for environmental protection, masked a sinister agenda: to strip small communities of their ability to access natural resources and pave the way for monopolistic control by big businesses.
Small-scale operators, such as local tractor owners who transported river materials, bore the brunt of these litigations. Stripped of their small livelihoods by bans on local extraction, they were forced to buy materials at inflated prices from the same contractors who had once been barred.
The irony was galling: under the pretext of conservation, those who lived in harmony with the environment were penalized, while large-scale profiteers reaped the benefits.
This orchestrated assault revealed an unsettling reality: the legal system, instead of serving as a bulwark of justice, has become a tool for consolidating capitalist dominance. Behind these lawsuits lay powerful lobbies and influential networks intent on rewriting the narrative.
Community members are framed as obstacles to progress, while corporations responsible for environmental degradation positioned themselves as saviors of nature. The hypocrisy is glaring, and the consequences for indigenous communities were devastating.
The story of Tosamaidan meadow mirrors this grim reality.
For decades, Tosamaidan was scarred by its use as a military firing range, its pristine beauty marred by unexploded ordnance. When the military ceded control due to a community campaign led by TBF and declared it safe after cleansing operations, it marked a new chapter for the region.
The community, under the guidance of the TBF, transformed the meadow into a vibrant hub of community-driven eco-tourism and cultural renewal. Festivals and community-driven tourism initiatives brought hope, jobs, and sustainable opportunities to the people.
But this progress, too, faced fierce resistance. Unexplained explosions years later claimed lives, raising fears of sabotage and rekindling concerns about the meadow’s safety.
Concurrently, litigations emerged, allegedly fueled by powerful tourism lobbies seeking to undermine grassroots initiatives and replace them with corporate ventures. Once again, the livelihoods of local families were sacrificed at the altar of profit, their achievements diminished by a system that prioritized capital over community.
Ghulam Mohiuddin, a TBF leader, says, “Such conspiracies have plagued our community for far too long, but we remain united in our resolve to fight back. We have already apprised the government of the anti-people and anti-environment activities being carried out in this area under the guise of justice, demanding accountability for the perpetrators. Tosa-Maidan belongs to the people, and we will ensure it remains a symbol of hope and sustainability, not greed and exploitation.”
These battles are deeply personal, defined by the human cost of systemic injustice. Bashir Ahmed, a tractor driver who once supported his family by transporting river materials, now struggles to make ends meet. Countless farmers, laborers, and artisans face similar struggles, their lives upended by forces beyond their control.
These are not nameless victims and mere data; they are humans whose stories of resilience and suffering deserve to be heard. Surviving each day without a meal is also their resilience and resistance.
Adding to their plight is the influence of external actors with hidden agendas.
Self-styled activists, often backed by powerful networks, have hijacked grassroots movements to advance their own interests. By leveraging media and publications, they distort ground realities, portraying indigenous resistance as regressive and outmoded. Their narratives, steeped in bias, often prioritize political gain and corporate alliances over the well-being of the communities they claim to represent.
This co-opting of social movements underscores a dangerous trend. Indigenous and local voices are being drowned out by those who claim to champion their cause but act against their interests.
The result is a silencing of the very communities that have lived in harmony with their environment for generations, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation and marginalization.
The intertwined stories of Sukhnag and Tosamaidan demand urgent action and systemic change. Justice for these communities requires more than lip service; it demands that they are placed at the center of decision-making processes.
Participatory governance models, where decisions are made collectively and transparently, must replace top-down structures that prioritize profits over people.
Investigative journalism and grassroots advocacy are critical tools in exposing the nexus between capitalist lobbies, political entities, and fraudulent litigants.
By shining a light on these injustices, we can galvanize public support and hold perpetrators accountable. Policies governing resource management must strike a delicate balance between environmental conservation and the economic needs of local communities, ensuring that livelihoods are protected without compromising ecological integrity.
An informed and empowered community is the most formidable defense against exploitation. Education campaigns that equip locals with the knowledge to challenge misinformation and resist oppression are vital.
By fostering awareness and solidarity, we can ensure that indigenous voices remain central to conversations about environmental justice.
The fight for the Sukhnag River and Tosamaidan is a battle for dignity, survival, and the right to thrive. It is a testament to the resilience of communities that refuse to be silenced or displaced, even in the face of systemic oppression.
Their struggle is a reminder that environmental conservation and human rights are not mutually exclusive but interconnected imperatives.
As we amplify the voices of the people of Sukhnag and Tosamaidan, let us remember that their fight is not just theirs—it is ours. It reflects a universal truth: the earth and its resources belong not to corporations or governments but to the communities who nurture and depend on them. This is their story—a story of hope, strength, and an unyielding demand for justice.
The writer is a renowned environmental campaigner and founder of the J&K RTI Movement. Opinions expressed are his own.