Kashmir Self-Determination Day is often wrapped in slogans, speeches, and symbolic gestures. But for the people who actually live in Kashmir, self-determination is not an abstract idea. It is felt in the warmth of a lit home during winter, in the road that connects a village to a hospital, in the ability to speak without fear, and in the quiet dignity of knowing that tomorrow may be better than today. When we strip away propaganda and look at real lives, the contrast between Indian-administered Jammu & Kashmir and Pakistan-Occupied Jammu & Kashmir (PoJK) and Gilgit-Baltistan is impossible to ignore.
Life in Jammu & Kashmir has never been easy. Decades of terrorism, border tensions, and political uncertainty have left deep scars. Families have lost loved ones. Generations have grown up with anxiety and interrupted normalcy. The psychological stress is real and undeniable. Yet even under this pressure, the people of J&K live within a constitutional framework that recognizes their rights, gives them a voice, and steadily expands opportunities. That difference between struggle with rights and struggle without them defines everything.
In J&K, people vote. Their representatives sit in legislatures. Courts function, media operates, civil society exists, and public criticism though sometimes contentious is part of daily life. A shopkeeper in Srinagar can complain about governance without disappearing. A student in Jammu can argue politics openly. A farmer in Kupwara can demand roads, electricity, and compensation. This is not theoretical freedom. It is lived, argued, demanded, and defended every day. Across the Line of Control, in PoJK and Gilgit-Baltistan, life is far more constrained. Political space is narrow.
Speaking against the Pakistani establishment, the military’s control, or Islamabad’s policies is risky. Local governments operate with limited power, while key decisions are taken far away. People live with the knowledge that dissent can invite surveillance, arrests, or worse. This absence of genuine autonomy is the quiet truth behind Pakistan’s loud slogans about Kashmir. Development tells the same story only louder. In Jammu & Kashmir, electricity reaches almost every household. Even in remote mountain villages, homes glow at night. Power supply is not perfect, but access is nearly universal. Mobile networks cover most regions, internet connectivity is widespread, and digital services have become part of daily life. Students attend online classes, businesses operate digitally, and government services increasingly move online. Roads connect villages that were once isolated for months. Railways are stitching the region into the national network. Airports handle growing traffic. Tourism, once battered by violence, has revived dramatically, creating jobs and confidence. In PoJK, electricity shortages are a daily reality a bitter irony in a region rich in hydropower.
Large sections of the population face frequent outages, unreliable supply, and limited coverage in rural areas. Internet penetration remains low. Many villages remain physically and digitally cut off. Roads are poor, healthcare access is limited, and higher education opportunities are scarce. Development here is not slow — it is systematically starved.
Healthcare exposes the divide in the most human way. In J&K, district hospitals, medical colleges, and specialized centers serve millions. Emergency care, maternal health services, and vaccination programs have expanded steadily. People can travel for advanced treatment within the region or to other Indian cities. Life expectancy has risen. Infant mortality has fallen. Clean drinking water and sanitation have reached a growing majority of households. In PoJK and Gilgit-Baltistan, hospitals are few and under-equipped. Doctors are scarce. Specialized care is often unavailable. Many patients are forced to travel long distances — sometimes outside the region — for basic treatment, if they can afford it at all. Health outcomes lag behind sharply, not because people deserve less, but because governance delivers less.
Education paints an equally stark picture. Jammu & Kashmir has thousands of schools, colleges, universities, and professional institutes. Literacy rates have climbed steadily. Young people pursue careers in medicine, engineering, research, business, and the arts. Scholarships, skill programs, and national-level opportunities are accessible. There is aspiration — a belief that effort can translate into progress. In PoJK, education systems struggle with funding, infrastructure, and access. Literacy rates remain lower. Universities are few. Career pathways are limited. For many young people, ambition hits a ceiling early, not due to lack of talent, but lack of opportunity. Economically, the contrast deepens. Jammu & Kashmir’s per-capita income is significantly higher. The economy is diversified — tourism, agriculture, horticulture, handicrafts, services, and trade all contribute. Jobs are not abundant enough, but they exist. Markets are connected. Growth is uneven, but visible. PoJK’s economy, by comparison, remains narrow and stagnant. Despite vast natural resources, ordinary people see little benefit. Hydropower profits flow outward, while locals face high electricity bills. Employment options are limited. Migration is common — not out of choice, but necessity. And then there is the question of protest — the truest test of freedom.
In Indian-administered J&K, protests happen regularly. They are messy, emotional, sometimes confrontational — but they exist. People march, demand, criticize, organize, and negotiate. Security responses may be strict at times, but the right to protest is acknowledged, debated, and defended in courts and public discourse. In Pakistan-controlled regions, protests have taken a darker turn this year. Across Azad Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan, widespread demonstrations erupted over rising electricity prices, inflation, lack of political rights, and economic exploitation. Traders, students, lawyers, and ordinary citizens poured into the streets. What followed was not dialogue, but force. Clashes left multiple people dead. Hundreds were injured. Communication networks were shut down. Entire regions were digitally silenced to control the narrative. These protests were not about ideology. They were about survival. About families unable to pay power bills. About young people with no jobs. About communities watching their resources enrich others while they remain poor. The anger was raw because it was rooted in lived injustice.
The irony is painful. Pakistan claims to champion Kashmir’s self-determination, yet denies it in the territories it controls. It speaks of freedom while suppressing dissent. It speaks of rights while enforcing silence. It speaks of justice while extracting resources without accountability. Meanwhile, the people of Jammu & Kashmir, despite enduring decades of trauma and uncertainty, live in a system that — however imperfect — allows growth, debate, and progress. They experience stress, yes. They carry grief. But they also carry agency. They can demand more, criticize power, and imagine a future within a democratic framework. Self-determination is not just about borders. It is about who controls your voice, your resources, and your destiny. By that measure, the difference between the two Kashmirs is not a matter of opinion — it is a matter of daily lived reality.
On Kashmir Self-Determination Day, the truth deserves to be spoken plainly. Freedom cannot exist where people are silenced. Development cannot flourish where governance fears its own citizens. And dignity cannot survive where rights are conditional. Jammu & Kashmir is not perfect. But it is moving forward. PoJK remains trapped — not by geography, but by the very state that claims to liberate it. And that is the most uncomfortable truth of all.
Mudassir Bhat is a freelance commentator on South Asian politics.
