On 22 April 2025, a devastating terrorist attack occurred in Baisaran Valley near Pahalgam, Jammu and Kashmir, resulting in the deaths of at least 26 tourists and injuries to over 20 others. This incident, the deadliest of its kind in India since the 2008 Mumbai attacks, specifically targeted male Hindu tourists and was reportedly aimed at resisting alleged demographic changes in the Kashmir Valley.

The attack was claimed by The Resistance Front (TRF), an offshoot of the Pakistan-based, UN-designated terrorist organisation Lashkar-e-Taiba. The assailants, dressed in military-style uniforms, opened fire on the tourists, leading to a tragic loss of life.

In response to the attack, Indian authorities launched extensive security operations, including combing homes and forests for suspects. The Indian government accused Pakistan of supporting terrorism in the region, a claim that Pakistan denies. The incident has led to heightened tensions between the two countries, with measures such as the suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty and increased military readiness.

But also in the aftermath, the expected chorus of blame began: apart from the terrorists’ religion, on the government and even the victimised tourists. News channels erupted with opinions; social media buzzed with anger, shock, and polarising narratives. Everyone had something to say — yet the deeper rot continues to go unnoticed.

I kept silent until today because, by default, I see the sides that many do not. I see how swiftly the blame game spirals out of control, and with it, the rise of hate crimes — doctors turning away Muslim patients, Muslims losing their jobs, and some even losing their lives to vigilantism! An entire community being vilified for the crimes of a few. The old, tired claim resurfaces: “All Muslims are not terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslims.” It is a statement so easily flung about, but one that is fundamentally untrue.

History tells a different story. Terrorism is not the property of any one faith. Violence has found vessels in every ideology and in every people. Yet, when fear rises, generalisations flourish, and nuance dies. I’d like to cite as examples, the Oklahoma City Bombings (1995), the Norway Attacks by Anders Behring Breivik (2011), Knoxville Unitarian Universalist Church Shooting (2008, USA), London Nail Bombings by David Copeland (1999, UK), Tokyo Subway Sarin Attack (1995, Japan), Eric Rudolph’s Bombings (1996–1998, USA), Ku Klux Klan (KKK) Activities (USA)… need I go on?

Today, a friend — a doctor — shared that while terror has no religion, “most terrorists are from one.” I had to speak, because this blindness is dangerous. It dehumanises millions who have never lifted a weapon nor harboured hate in their hearts. Extremism is not confined to any one religion or ideology. In India alone, we’ve witnessed violence perpetrated by various groups across the religious and political spectrum. To highlight one form while ignoring others is not only intellectually dishonest but also fuels the very divisiveness we seek to overcome.

Since a while now, we have been told that Kashmir is safe, that normalcy has returned. But Pahalgam tells us otherwise. The attack exposes glaring lapses in security and intelligence, yet few dare to directly question the government. The primary issue is not the religion of the attacker, but rather the systemic failures that allowed the attack to occur. Security lapses, intelligence failures, and policy shortcomings are complex issues that require nuanced analysis, not simplistic metaphors. Conveniently, the national gaze remains fixed on Pakistan — the familiar enemy — but we ignore China’s growing occupation into Jammu and Kashmir, Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh, Sikkim, and Arunachal Pradesh. We never look east; we have been taught only to look west. And it is costing us.

A few days ago, I remembered Mahmoud Darwish’s words:
“After the war, the leaders will shake hands. The old woman will wait for her martyred son. And the girl will wait for her beloved husband. And those children will wait for their hero father. I do not know who sold our homeland. But I saw who paid the price.”

I thought of the COVID-19 Delta wave in India in 2021 — a biological terror that ravaged thousands of homes while the government remained helpless, silent, or worse, indifferent. The COVID-19 Delta wave that struck India between April and June 2021 resulted in approximately 240,000 deaths, as reported by the United Nations. This period was marked by severe shortages of medical supplies, including oxygen, and overwhelmed healthcare facilities, leading to a significant loss of life.

My own family mourned the loss of an aunt, just as countless others buried their loved ones, gasping for oxygen in a country they had trusted. There was no blame game then, no 24-hour news cycle wailing about government failure. But when a terror attack strikes — when religion is involved — blame erupts instantly, and hatred finds easy targets.

Governments everywhere — in India, America, Europe — have always profited from division. Hindu vs Muslim. White vs Black. Men vs Women. Rich vs Poor. Straight vs LGBT+. Divisions keep them powerful; divisions keep the people distracted and weakened. It has been thus throughout history. In our history, the classic example of Imperialism using it against us is not even a century old!

When people are silent, dictators rise. When hatred is fed to children in schools, an entire generation grows up poisoned. The world once watched Hitler demonise Jews, and today we watch Israel commit atrocities in Gaza — and the cycle of hypocrisy continues.

Yes, the Pahalgam attack was horrific. Twenty-six lives lost in a targeted assault against Hindu tourists in Kashmir . It is natural to grieve, to rage, to demand accountability. But when that grief morphs into a sweeping indictment of an entire faith community, we must pause. We must ask: are we seeking justice, or simply a scapegoat?

Muslim scholars, activists, and everyday citizens have long been engaged in efforts to promote peace and counter extremism. Their work is often overlooked or dismissed, yet it is crucial to building a more inclusive and understanding society. No one talks of Syed Adil Hussain Shah, a 28-year-old Muslim pony ride operator, who laid down his life to protect a group of Hindu tourists during this brutal terror attack or of Sajjad Ahmed Bhatt who carried an injured boy.

We write. We speak. We bear witness. And we hope that one day, people will realise they have been made fools of — divided, manipulated, and made to suffer for agendas that are never their own. Until then, innocent lives will continue to be lost. The poor will continue to be brainwashed. And those who pay taxes and trust in their governments will continue to find themselves unprotected — even from those who claim to serve them.