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In moments of civilizational crisis, history does not always judge leaders by the risks they avoid, but by the betrayals they enable in the name of prudence. Philippe Pétain- once the hero of Verdun – became, in the annals of France, the face of collaboration; not because he lacked credentials or eloquence, but because when the nation demanded resistance, he offered managed submission. There is something disturbingly familiar in the political evolution of Omar Abdullah. Like Pétain, Omar too wraps retreat in the language of realism, and complicity in the garb of statesmanship.
To invoke Pétain in Kashmir is not to indulge in rhetorical overreach. It is to ask: what do we call a politics that neither opposes nor governs, that neither resists nor reconciles, but persists — quietly lubricating the machinery of control while claiming the moral capital of past resistance? The National Conference, under Omar’s leadership, has come to embody that ambiguity. But ambiguity, in the shadow of abrogation, detention, demographic anxiety, and judicial betrayal, is no longer tenable. Kashmir today demands not just nuance, but conviction. And nuance without courage is simply capitulation by another name.
Omar’s politics has always postured itself as the politics of dignity— constitutionalist, secular, federalist. But dignity cannot exist without confrontation. Since August 2019, the promise of that confrontation has steadily withered. The National Conference’s response to the dissolution of Jammu and Kashmir’s statehood, the erasure of Article 370, the targeted demographic engineering, and the encroachments into Waqf and religious institutions, has been staggeringly tepid. At a time when even the Centre’s more peripheral experiments in Kashmir have become transparent in their majoritarian logic, Omar insists on political relevance through silence, not stance.
What explains this studied muteness? The answer, perhaps, lies not in his words, but in his structure of interests. The Abdullahs, like the Bourbons in post-revolutionary France, have long occupied a peculiar space in Kashmir’s imagination — simultaneously insiders and outsiders, resisters and enablers. They ruled not through mass legitimacy but through the Centre’s selective indulgence and set discourse. Their politics was one of brokerage — trading autonomy for administration, dissent for development, resistance for respectability. That formula, broken in 2019, no longer holds. And yet, Omar continues to perform as if the old rules still apply—as if Delhi can still be navigated, not confronted.
It is in this context that his obsessive emphasis on statehood must be read —not as a substantive demand, but as a strategic alibi. By making statehood the precondition for meaningful politics, Omar rewrites incapacity as structural helplessness. It is a convenient fiction. India has several Union Territories; none is paralyzed by its constitutional status. Delhi, despite the Centre’s iron grip, still offered models of defiance. Ladakh has mobilized in extraordinary ways. Even in Jammu, local actors resist what they perceive as cultural and economic marginalisation. Only in the Valley is inaction romanticised as realism. This selective helplessness does not reflect the impossibility of politics- it reflects a conscious refusal to embrace the cost of resistance.
This is where the analogy with Petain deepens. Pétain did not think he was betraying France. He believed he was saving what remained, preserving order in the face of annihilation. But history judged otherwise, because preservation without dignity is not patriotism — it is surrender. Omar too believes he is playing the long game — waiting out Delhi’s hubris, preserving his party’s space, retaining channels of negotiation. But in doing so, he legitimizes the architecture of the very regime he claims to oppose. His silence during the delimitation exercise, his silence during the Supreme Court verdict, his party’s readiness to shield itself in Jammu and Ladakh with informal alignments — these are not political calculations; they are structural accommodations.
The irony is painful. The man who once invoked the Constitution as Kashmir’s moral shield now stands voiceless as that Constitution is emptied of meaning. The leader who once demanded the restoration of dignity now offers only legalistic whimpers. The politician who accuses others of being “BJP’s A-team, B-team” now finds himself indistinguishable from them in consequence, if not in intent.
And yet, the spectacle continues. Tulip garden photo-ops, selective indignation, symbolic walkouts —each crafted to sustain the illusion of opposition. But symbolism is not substance. Kashmir’s young are not looking for choreography; they are looking for courage. And that is the tragic denouement of Omar Abdullah: that a figure raised in the vocabulary of resistance now finds solace in the grammar of compliance.
History is merciless with those who mistake preservation for leadership. In the end, Pétain was not condemned for losing to Germany; he was condemned for collaborating under the pretext of survival. Omar Abdullah still has time to rewrite his legacy. But time, like trust, is not infinite. The question is no longer whether he is a collaborator in the formal sense. The question is: can anyone who refuses to speak clearly, act boldly, and resist visibly in times of humiliation, still claim the right to lead?
If he cannot answer that — then perhaps history already has.
In moments of civilizational crisis, history does not always judge leaders by the risks they avoid, but by the betrayals they enable in the name of prudence. Philippe Pétain- once the hero of Verdun – became, in the annals of France, the face of collaboration; not because he lacked credentials or eloquence, but because when the nation demanded resistance, he offered managed submission. There is something disturbingly familiar in the political evolution of Omar Abdullah. Like Pétain, Omar too wraps retreat in the language of realism, and complicity in the garb of statesmanship.
To invoke Pétain in Kashmir is not to indulge in rhetorical overreach. It is to ask: what do we call a politics that neither opposes nor governs, that neither resists nor reconciles, but persists — quietly lubricating the machinery of control while claiming the moral capital of past resistance? The National Conference, under Omar’s leadership, has come to embody that ambiguity. But ambiguity, in the shadow of abrogation, detention, demographic anxiety, and judicial betrayal, is no longer tenable. Kashmir today demands not just nuance, but conviction. And nuance without courage is simply capitulation by another name.
Omar’s politics has always postured itself as the politics of dignity— constitutionalist, secular, federalist. But dignity cannot exist without confrontation. Since August 2019, the promise of that confrontation has steadily withered. The National Conference’s response to the dissolution of Jammu and Kashmir’s statehood, the erasure of Article 370, the targeted demographic engineering, and the encroachments into Waqf and religious institutions, has been staggeringly tepid. At a time when even the Centre’s more peripheral experiments in Kashmir have become transparent in their majoritarian logic, Omar insists on political relevance through silence, not stance.
What explains this studied muteness? The answer, perhaps, lies not in his words, but in his structure of interests. The Abdullahs, like the Bourbons in post-revolutionary France, have long occupied a peculiar space in Kashmir’s imagination — simultaneously insiders and outsiders, resisters and enablers. They ruled not through mass legitimacy but through the Centre’s selective indulgence and set discourse. Their politics was one of brokerage — trading autonomy for administration, dissent for development, resistance for respectability. That formula, broken in 2019, no longer holds. And yet, Omar continues to perform as if the old rules still apply—as if Delhi can still be navigated, not confronted.
It is in this context that his obsessive emphasis on statehood must be read —not as a substantive demand, but as a strategic alibi. By making statehood the precondition for meaningful politics, Omar rewrites incapacity as structural helplessness. It is a convenient fiction. India has several Union Territories; none is paralyzed by its constitutional status. Delhi, despite the Centre’s iron grip, still offered models of defiance. Ladakh has mobilized in extraordinary ways. Even in Jammu, local actors resist what they perceive as cultural and economic marginalisation. Only in the Valley is inaction romanticised as realism. This selective helplessness does not reflect the impossibility of politics- it reflects a conscious refusal to embrace the cost of resistance.
This is where the analogy with Petain deepens. Pétain did not think he was betraying France. He believed he was saving what remained, preserving order in the face of annihilation. But history judged otherwise, because preservation without dignity is not patriotism — it is surrender. Omar too believes he is playing the long game — waiting out Delhi’s hubris, preserving his party’s space, retaining channels of negotiation. But in doing so, he legitimizes the architecture of the very regime he claims to oppose. His silence during the delimitation exercise, his silence during the Supreme Court verdict, his party’s readiness to shield itself in Jammu and Ladakh with informal alignments — these are not political calculations; they are structural accommodations.
The irony is painful. The man who once invoked the Constitution as Kashmir’s moral shield now stands voiceless as that Constitution is emptied of meaning. The leader who once demanded the restoration of dignity now offers only legalistic whimpers. The politician who accuses others of being “BJP’s A-team, B-team” now finds himself indistinguishable from them in consequence, if not in intent.
And yet, the spectacle continues. Tulip garden photo-ops, selective indignation, symbolic walkouts —each crafted to sustain the illusion of opposition. But symbolism is not substance. Kashmir’s young are not looking for choreography; they are looking for courage. And that is the tragic denouement of Omar Abdullah: that a figure raised in the vocabulary of resistance now finds solace in the grammar of compliance.
History is merciless with those who mistake preservation for leadership. In the end, Pétain was not condemned for losing to Germany; he was condemned for collaborating under the pretext of survival. Omar Abdullah still has time to rewrite his legacy. But time, like trust, is not infinite. The question is no longer whether he is a collaborator in the formal sense. The question is: can anyone who refuses to speak clearly, act boldly, and resist visibly in times of humiliation, still claim the right to lead?
If he cannot answer that — then perhaps history already has.
These pieces are being published as they have been received – they have not been edited/fact-checked by ThePrint.