July 13, Kashmir Martyrs’ Day: Memory Deinstitutionalised

Some described Abdul Qadir as a Pathan; others claimed he was a Punjabi servant employed by a European visitor in Kashmir. Conceivably historians will never know for certain who he truly was. But one fact remains—93 years ago, he committed what was deemed an unforgivable crime, the aftershocks of which are felt even today—every year on July 13.

“13th July massacre is our Jallianwala Bagh.” said Jammu and Kashmir’s Chief Minister Omar Abdullah. 

What happened on July 13, 1931? Was it an uprising against the British Empire, a revolt against the local monarchy, a moment of reckoning—or all of these at once?

Kashmir’s Martyrs’ Day stands etched in history as the day 22 Kashmiri Muslims stormed the walls of Srinagar Central Jail as the authorities opened fire at them during Qadir’s trial. They fell to the bullets of the Dogra rule. 

Almost a century later, Jammu and Kashmir has perhaps become one of corners of the world most marked by conflict—a land where trauma is passed down like an heirloom, leaving you to wonder how generations learn to carry so much weight.

For decades, tall claims have echoed from the leaders of two nations in the global south, as the world looks on.

Wars are waged. Ceasefires declared. Rules are rewritten—again and again.

Development is promised. Trains are launched. “No more stone pelting,” they say.

Detention. Sedition. Demolition. Militancy. Arrests. These are the words that resound through Kashmir. 

But what remains unsaid? Suffering. Loss. Memory.

There are plenty of important days that have reshaped the course of the Union Territory’s history. July 13 is one of them, and so is August 5, 2019, when the Government of India revoked Jammu and Kashmir’s special status. With immediate effect, July 13—Kashmir Martyrs’ Day—was also struck from the list of public holidays.

The sensitivity of July 13 is evident in the vigilance that surrounds it. On the Friday two days ago, ahead of Martyrs’ Day, authorities disallowed congregational prayers at the historic Jama Masjid in Srinagar. Visiting the Mazaar-e-Shuhada—the ‘martyrs’ cemetery’—has also been prohibited. Political leaders have been placed under house arrest. A temporary partial lockdown in central Srinagar was enforced on Sunday.

“Any violation shall invite strict legal action,” J&K police reportedly said in a statement.

Why take this extra step in a region already so heavily militarised? 

Back in the 1930s, Qadir had openly condemned the conditions endured by Muslim subjects during the reign of the last Dogra ruler of Jammu and Kashmir, Maharaja Hari Singh. Consequently, he was accused of inciting violence against the state and was charged under sedition laws. 

As his trial processed, Kashmiris gathered outside in his support, but it was not to be.

That day was more than a trial—it was the spark that ignited a collective political awakening, the first act of defiance against the Dogra government’s orders.

The 1931 protests set in motion a tide of transformation: the birth of the Muslim Conference in 1932, the first arrest of Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah, and the swelling momentum of an anti-Dogra revolt that would shape the region’s destiny.

July 13 became a catalyst. While the deaths of 22 may not seem significant when measured against the larger struggles of British India’s freedom movement, this act of state retaliation marked the beginning of a new movement against subjugation in Kashmir.

After independence, the National Conference led by Sheikh Abdullah declared July 13 a national holiday, a symbol of resistance against tyranny. For decades, leaders and civilians alike have gathered at the graveyard where the 22 were buried to pay their respects. 

As they lay at rest, the questions around them would never die down. Earlier this year, a BJP minister not only blocked the bid to restore July 13 as a holiday but branded the martyrs “traitors.” Outraged Kashmir parties demanded action, requesting the Speaker to erase his words from the record. 

But the controversies never end in the valley. 

In Outlook Magazine’s June 11, 2024 issue titled ‘The Silence of Kashmir’, the Editor-in-Chief Chinki Sinha writes about ‘Naya Kashmir’ in the ‘Letter From The Editor’.

There are no more protests. No more cases of stone pelting. No more expression of any dissatisfaction, she says.

“There is Naya Kashmir and there is that other Kashmir lurking in the shadows. People in Kashmir said the gunshots are no longer keeping them awake in the nights. No more children and young boys are getting killed. That’s good and the rest of it is their fate to be borne in silence.”

In Resistance Is Another Name For Kashmir we read about where does resistance live amidst such silencing?

“Mostly alive in all hearts. Dissent is not dead but kept well-guarded. Often heard, bloody in jungles and ravines. Over centuries of subjugation, Kashmiris have grown ghost chambers in their hearts. The regular ones have the physical function of pumping blood to the body, while the phantom ones safeguard the spirit of resistance against hegemonic powers,” Ather Zia writes.

In Unspoken Realities: Kashmir's Quiet Resilience This Election Season, Naseer Ganai writes about the general election in Kashmir last year.

“Silence gives you power when you know you’re powerless and can do nothing. People might attribute your silence to something potent; they think the silence is simmering like lava. They don’t realise it is not a spark anymore, but has transcended into a state of nirvana, where one is content in every state. One doesn’t complain. One just shuts one’s eyes, focuses on the good things and moves on.”

Waheed-ur-Rehman Parra explains what happened in Kashmir after Article 370 was abrogated in Emotional Cost Of ‘Peace’.

“Kashmiris weren’t allowed to even mourn. There have been incidents where people were prohibited from crying, and mourning over a loved one became an act of sedition. This still continues. Even if something is happening to you at a political or personal level, maintaining complete silence over the loss or the issue seems to be the accepted norm,” he writes. 

Gradually, silence also became an act of self-defence. People started avoiding attention. They thought getting noticed would cause problems. This ended discussions and discourse, he added. 

In Kashmir, nothing ever truly ends. Like folklore and urban myth, anecdotes here sour into tales that linger, even if never spoken of again. They are remembered silently. After all, no one can stand trial for a quiet thought.