I may be physically in Europe, but my heart and mind are consumed by the turbulence gripping Azad Jammu & Kashmir (AJK). Over the past week, as I sit at my desk in Milan, far from Muzaffarabad’s mountains and rivers, I have been inundated with messages-some reaching me before the blackout, others through whispers carried by diaspora networks. The valley I call home is once again burning with unrest, silenced by an internet blackout and scarred by violent protests.
From afar, the distance feels unbearable. I cannot call my brothers in Trarkhel , nor confirm if my journalist friends in Muzaffarabad are safe. Like thousands in the Kashmiri diaspora, I refresh international media outlets, scroll through fragmented WhatsApp forwards, and wait desperately for a line of communication to reopen. This disconnection is not only physical-it is emotional, too.
The Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC)’s strike has paralysed AJK: shuttered markets, blocked roads, closed schools. Their demands may seem political on paper-abolition of refugee seats in the assembly, reduction of perks for politicians, reforms in health and education-but when I listen to voices on the ground, I hear desperation, not ideology.
A trader told me, before communications went dark: “We are not asking for luxury. We are asking for survival.” His words echo across the valleys.
But the strikes have escalated. The death toll has crossed nine-civilians and police alike-while over 200 are injured. For me, as a journalist, numbers never tell the whole story. Behind each statistic is a mother waiting by the phone that no longer rings, a young man bleeding on a stretcher, a policeman torn between orders and conscience.
As someone reporting from Europe, the blackout cuts me as deeply as it cuts those in AJK. My role depends on communication-on verifying facts, connecting with sources, and telling the world what is happening. Without internet, the truth is buried under layers of rumour.
In Milan, I meet Kashmiri expatriates every week-students, workers, businesspeople. Since the blackout, they come to me with the same haunted question: “Have you heard from home?” Some break down in tears, others vent in anger. They feel helpless, watching their homeland descend into chaos while sitting thousands of miles away.
In Europe, international media has begun to pick up the story. Reuters, Al Jazeera, and AP have reported on the deaths, the protests, and the government’s response. Yet the coverage remains fragmented, often reduced to a few paragraphs buried beneath other global crises.
Among human rights organisations, however, there is concern. Advocacy groups in Brussels and Geneva are questioning Pakistan’s decision to impose a communication blackout, drawing parallels with restrictions in Indian-administered Kashmir. European parliamentarians from the Green and Socialist blocs have quietly raised the issue, stressing that AJK’s people must not be denied freedom of expression.
Here in Italy, I have spoken with academics and journalists who compare AJK’s unrest to other suppressed movements. Their concern is real, but their knowledge of the ground is thin. This is where the diaspora must step in-amplifying the voices of the voiceless.
From conversations with analysts here, it is clear that Pakistan faces a difficult balancing act. On one hand, it cannot afford prolonged unrest in AJK, given the region’s sensitive geopolitical position. On the other hand, a heavy-handed response risks drawing sharp criticism from Europe and the wider international community.
Already, whispers in diplomatic circles suggest that Islamabad’s allies in Brussels and Berlin are “monitoring the situation closely.” If the violence worsens or if reports of abuses emerge, Pakistan may face uncomfortable questions in forums like the EU Parliament and the UN Human Rights Council.
As I sit in Milan, I realise this crisis is not just AJK’s alone-it is a diaspora crisis, too. Our lives are split between continents, but our roots remain in Kashmir’s soil. Every bullet fired in Muzaffarabad sends shockwaves through Kashmiri families in London, Paris, Berlin, and Milan.
I recently attended a small vigil in front of Milan’s Duomo. Young Kashmiris lit candles and held placards: “Restore Communication,” “Stop the Killings,” “Listen to AJK.” Tourists passed by, curious but unaware of what the slogans meant. One student whispered to me: “This is the only way we can speak for our people back home.”
The international community must not treat this as a passing headline. Pakistan’s federal government claims it has accepted “90 percent of JAAC’s demands,” but the people need more than promises-they need trust, transparency, and reforms that touch their daily lives. The blackout must end, dialogue must be genuine, and accountability for casualties must be ensured.
As a journalist, I see my duty not only to report but also to connect worlds-to tell Europe what AJK is going through, and to remind Pakistan’s policymakers that the world is watching.
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