Mir Gowhar
“This is not ordinary drug abuse driven by social decay alone. Organised, cross-border narcotics networks are flooding Kashmir with heroin and synthetic drugs with strategic intent. By targeting youth, this form of warfare aims at long-term paralysis rather than immediate chaos.”
For decades, Kashmir’s youth were the primary targets of violence engineered from across the border. Guns, grenades, and incendiary slogans were placed in young hands, while false narratives glorified death as resistance. Thousands of families paid the price. When sustained security measures, intelligence operations, and public fatigue with violence began to close that chapter, the strategy did not end—it mutated. The weapon changed. The objective remained the same.
Today, narcotics have emerged as one of the most insidious tools being used to hollow out Kashmiri society from within. Where weapons once sought instant destruction, drugs now work slowly, invisibly, and with devastating permanence. Addiction achieves what bullets often could not: it erodes ambition, fractures families, and leaves behind a generation too weakened to dream, resist exploitation, or rebuild.
This is not ordinary drug abuse driven solely by social factors. Security agencies and law enforcement authorities have repeatedly flagged the existence of organised, cross-border narcotics networks feeding Kashmir’s illegal drug market. These networks exploit porous routes, online coordination, and local intermediaries to flood the Valley with heroin, brown sugar, and synthetic substances. The intent is strategic. By targeting the youth—the social, economic, and intellectual backbone of any society—this form of warfare aims to ensure long-term paralysis rather than immediate chaos.
The contradiction in Pakistan’s long-standing claims of being a “well-wisher” of Kashmir stands fully exposed. A state that once armed teenagers under the banner of ideology is now enabling the flow of substances that destroy minds, bodies, and futures. The shift from militancy to narcotics is not a retreat; it is a recalibration. Drug dependency is easier to deny, harder to detect, and far more corrosive than open conflict.
The consequences are increasingly visible across Kashmir’s towns and villages. Teenagers barely out of school are falling prey to addiction. Playgrounds that once echoed with laughter now reflect withdrawal and apathy. Classrooms are witnessing declining concentration, absenteeism, and dropouts. Careers are being destroyed before they begin, while families endure the pain quietly, burdened by shame, fear, and lack of access to support systems. Unlike gun violence, addiction does not announce itself with sirens. It unfolds behind closed doors, often unnoticed until the damage is irreversible.
Recognising the scale of the threat, the government has intensified its response through a multi-pronged strategy. Law enforcement agencies have stepped up surveillance, strengthened border vigilance, and carried out frequent seizures of narcotics. Special task forces have disrupted several trafficking networks, while stringent action under the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (NDPS) Act has led to arrests and prosecutions. These measures have sent a clear signal that the state views drug trafficking not as a minor criminal offence, but as a serious threat to internal security.
At the same time, efforts have expanded beyond policing. Awareness campaigns in schools, colleges, and universities now address the dangers of substance abuse. De-addiction centres, counselling services, and community outreach programmes aim to reduce demand and provide pathways to recovery. This dual approach—cutting supply while addressing addiction—acknowledges a critical reality: repression alone cannot solve a problem that feeds on despair, unemployment, and psychological trauma.
Yet, the fight against this menace cannot be outsourced entirely to security forces or government departments. Drug terrorism thrives in silence and denial. Society itself must become the first line of defence. Parents must overcome stigma and speak openly. Teachers must identify early warning signs. Religious leaders and community elders must use their moral authority to condemn drug peddling unequivocally. Those who profit from poisoning the youth must face not only legal consequences but also complete social isolation.
Kashmir’s young generation has already borne the cost of decades of conflict, uncertainty, and lost opportunities. Allowing another generation to be destroyed—this time quietly, through addiction—would be a collective moral failure. The threat today is not confined to individual households; it endangers social stability, public health, and the future workforce of the region.
This is not merely a social problem or a law-and-order issue. It is a form of asymmetric warfare aimed at eroding Kashmir’s future from within. Calling it what it is—drug terrorism—is the first step toward confronting it honestly. Defeating it will require unity, vigilance, compassion for those trapped in addiction, and zero tolerance for those who traffic in despair.
The weapon has changed. Our resolve must be stronger than ever.
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