The Indian government’s decision to ban two moderate Hurriyat organisations – the Awami Action Committee (AAC), led by Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, and Jammu and Kashmir Ittihadul Muslimeen (JKIM), headed by Shia leader, Masroor Abbas Ansari - under a stringent anti-terror law, has come as a surprise. Yet, in many ways, it fits. Unexpected though it may be, the move slots in like a missing piece in the larger puzzle of New Delhi’s evolving Kashmir strategy.

If it was simply a fresh crackdown on Kashmiri organisations, the appropriate question to ask would be, why now?

Pro-independence politics in Jammu and Kashmir has already been muted since India stripped the region’s autonomy in 2019, hacked the erstwhile state into two creating two splinter Union Territories, and established direct rule from New Delhi’s control.

Soon after the dismantling of the region, the government outlawed the Jamaat-e-Islami, JKLF, Muslim League, Democratic Freedom Party and Dukhtaran-e-Millat, arresting key activists and leaders. More recently, authorities cracked down on Jamaat literature and banned over 600 books.

Since 2019, the political activities of both AAC and JKIM have been severely curtailed. The Mirwaiz, for instance, has spent most of the past five years under house arrest, prevented even from delivering his Friday sermons at Srinagar’s Jamia Masjid. In recent months, he has made occasional and muted appeals to revive a political dialogue. JKIM, meanwhile, has remained virtually silent, especially after the death of its founder, Maulana Abbas Ansari, in 2022. There is no public evidence linking the group to any recent secessionist discourse.

Unjustified ban?

Both the JKIM and AAC share common ground. As moderate factions within the Hurriyat, they have engaged in political and socio-religious activism for over six decades. 

Since 2019, the government has claimed a substantial decline in militancy, recently estimating the number of active militants at 76—of whom 59 are said to be foreigners. If these claims are accurate, and the political activities of overground Kashmiri leaders had already been effectively neutralised, what pressing security concern necessitated this ban?

The March 11 order declaring AAC an unlawful organisation, primarily cites decade-old cases—dating back to 2008-2011. It offers little evidence of recent offences. Instead, the justification relies on vague allegations of anti-national activity, rather than any demonstrable pattern of current or ongoing illegality. 

The move appears to be speculative—based on assumptions about what the AAC might do, rather than any proven violations in the current political landscape.  

The ban also disregards a critical aspect of the Mirwaiz’s history—he is not only a Kashmiri leader, but also a victim of militancy. His father, Mirwaiz Moulvi Farooq, was assassinated by unidentified gunmen on May 21, 1990. A day later, security forces opened fire on his funeral procession, killing scores of mourners. The younger Mirwaiz inherited both his father’s spiritual legacy and his political mantle, eventually becoming one of the founding members of the Hurriyat Conference – an amalgam of pro-independence political organisations.

Conflicting signals

The recent developments leading up to the ban add another layer of mystification. In 2017, the Mirwaiz’s Z-category security cover— a high-level government-provided security detail — was revoked after a police officer was lynched at the Jamia Masjid. However, this protection was recently reinstated, prompting Chief Minister Omar Abdullah to suggest that the security situation in the Valley was improving. His remark, however, sparked a public backlash.

Further complicating matters, in January, Mirwaiz Umar Farooq led a delegation to New Delhi, and presented a six-point memorandum to the Joint Parliamentary Committee on the Waqf Bill. The memorandum expressed concern over the government’s potential takeover of Waqf properties and reduced Muslim representation in proposed amendments.

At about the same time, news reports in a section of the Indian media, quoting unnamed ‘highly placed sources’ claimed that the Indian government was considering to reengage the Hurriyat in a dialogue for enlarging the constituency of peace.

However, seasoned Kashmir observers took these reports with scepticism, given that Narendra Modi’s government has pursued a hardline approach in the region since 2019—silencing dissent through media crackdowns, civil society restrictions, arrests, and intimidation tactics.

Against this backdrop, the timing of the ban raises questions. Was it a pre-emptive move to shut down the possibility of renewed political dialogue? Or part of a broader strategy to consolidate power in Kashmir by eliminating even the most moderate non-state voice?

Omar Abdullah

The ban has drawn sharp criticism from several political figures, including Omar Abdullah. While earlier reports about a possible revival of dialogue with the Hurriyat did not gain much traction. The recent sequence of events has prompted fresh speculation. 

Multiple theories are now in circulation: One suggests that Omar Abdullah may have quietly lobbied for the ban to block any outreach to the Hurriyat that could encroach on his own political space. Another suggests a bureaucratic tussle—implying that while the National Security Advisor’s office reinstated Z-security for the Mirwaiz, the Home Ministry moved ahead with the ban.

But the most plausible explanation is also the simplest: the ban aligns with the central government’s broader agenda of weakening institutions, silencing dissent, and consolidating control.

While the first two theories remain speculative, the third fits neatly within the Modi government’s post-2019 playbook.

Casting Omar Abdullah as a spoiler, however, doesn’t quite align with the current ground realities. His party governs in name only, with real authority resting in New Delhi and exercised through the Centre-appointed Lieutenant Governor.

Having chosen a cautious, non-confrontational stance toward the Modi government, Abdullah is likely to be selective about the battles he picks. In any case, under the prevailing Centre–state power dynamic, his recommendations are unlikely to carry much weight.

Killing two birds with one stone?

More than simply cutting the Kashmiri rights groups down to size, the Centre’s deeper interest may lie in further incapacitating Omar Abdullah and his National Conference — to directly occupy the political vacuum that follows. This has been an ongoing project, systemically executed through a governance structure that renders the local leadership powerless. Publicly unpopular actions — such as mass civilians arrests and the proliferation of liquor vends — leave Abdullah red-faced and discredited.

Equally important, the entire theory of an Indian outreach to the Hurriyat rests on flimsy foundations — a case study of lazy or embedded journalism. A tacit understanding between the National Conference and New Delhi cannot be entirely ruled out either, but there is no concrete evidence to support either claim.

If this ban is just the latest step in the government’s strategy to hollow out Kashmir’s political landscape, it is unlikely to be the last. The weakening of institutions—be they pro-independence, pro-India, or religious—has been a consistent trend since 2019. While both ACC and JKIM were already politically diminished, they still held religious and social sway. The potential to revive or expand that influence poses a challenge to the Centre’s ambition: to fully disempower Kashmir – politically, socially and economically.

But does this ban serve only that purpose? Or is it a more calculated manoeuvre — one that aims to weaken the Hurriyat while simultaneously discrediting pro-India Kashmiri leadership? If the latter, Omar Abdullah may have unwittingly played into the Modi government’s hands, with his ill-judged comments on Z-security and a strategy of quiet surrender that has only further eroded his standing.

Either way, Kashmir’s political landscape continues to be reshaped—not by its own leaders, but by forces determined to control it from afar.