‘They Brainwash Our Children’: Locals Rise Against Terror Syndicate
KD NEWS SERVICE
SRINAGAR, Aug 2: A silent shift is sweeping across Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK), where for decades, terror networks have operated with impunity, using fear, propaganda, and religion to turn poor boys into cannon fodder. But now, for the first time in years, a new force is rising against them — the people.
This resistance did not begin with weapons or slogans. It began with a funeral.
In Kuiyaan village, 23-year-old Habib Tahir, alias Chotoo — a Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) recruit — was killed by Indian forces during Operation Mahadev in Harwan, Srinagar. The expectation was that his funeral would be converted into another propaganda event, a stage for terrorist recruitment and glorification of so-called martyrdom. But the villagers had other plans.
Chotoo’s family, in an unprecedented move, barred LeT and its affiliate group, Jammu and Kashmir United Movement (JKUM), from attending the funeral. When senior LeT commander Rizwan Hanif arrived armed with guards to defy the family’s wishes, the mourners resisted. Eyewitnesses say Hanif’s nephew brandished a weapon to intimidate the crowd — but instead of scattering in fear, the people pushed back. The terrorists were forced to flee.
In a region long silenced by the gun, this act of defiance marked a turning point. The terrorist funeral, once a recruiting ground, turned into a public rejection of the terror syndicate that has loomed over PoK for decades.
And then came the voice that would resonate far beyond Kuiyaan — the voice of a teacher.
Shortly after the funeral, a powerful eight-minute video surfaced on social media. It featured Liyaqat Ali, also known as Sardar Bilal, a schoolteacher who once taught Chotoo. Speaking calmly but firmly, Ali took direct aim at Pakistan’s terror groups.
“Who are these people sending our children to Kashmir to die?” he asked. “Your own children are in America and Britain. And you send the poor to their deaths in the name of jihad? Don’t abuse me — I am speaking the truth.”
Ali’s voice pierced through decades of fear and manipulation. He directly named Jamaat-ud-Dawa and other terror outfits, accusing them of sacrificing the children of the poor while protecting their own families. His message quickly spread across PoK through encrypted chat apps, WhatsApp groups, and Facebook.
His videos can be viewed at:
đź”— https://www.facebook.com/laiqat.ali.112156/videos/756567813635621/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v
đź”— https://www.facebook.com/share/v/18zfYANNxG/
Ali’s outrage was not political. It was personal, and profoundly moral. It echoed what many families in PoK have long whispered — that their children were being brainwashed and sent to die in someone else’s war.
Across the villages of Kuiyaan, Khayala, and parts of Bagh district, this video became a spark. Villagers began organizing to hold a Jirga — a traditional council — to collectively denounce terrorist recruitment. In PoK’s heavily surveilled and censored environment, even planning such an event amounts to rebellion.
“We’ve watched too many young men leave and never return,” one villager said. “We are not sending any more. This is not jihad. This is cruelty.”
The resistance is now also visible in administrative decisions. In Khurahat, when a resident sought permission to organize a community gathering reportedly involving radical speakers, the district authorities stepped in — and denied it. Citing “public safety” and “prevailing circumstances,” they imposed a ban, and officials like SDM Hari Ghel and SHO City Bagh were ordered to ensure compliance.
It was a rare act of administrative backbone in a region where, for decades, the state itself had acted as a facilitator for such gatherings under the guise of “religious education.”
But the pushback hasn’t come without threats. Journalists and local reporters who covered the funeral backlash and shared Ali’s video have received warnings and online threats from pro-terrorist sympathisers. Despite this, the resolve is hardening. People are finding courage not in arms, but in each other — and in truth.
In New Delhi, the rising civilian resistance in PoK has been interpreted as proof that Pakistan’s terror architecture is fracturing. Union Home Minister Amit Shah, speaking in Parliament, declared: “PoK was given away by Congress. Only BJP will bring it back.” He credited India’s precision strikes like Operation Sindoor and Mahadev with exposing the true face of Pakistan’s terror machine and creating space for resistance.
Defence Minister Rajnath Singh followed with stronger words: “Pakistan is the father of global terrorism. The day is not far when PoK’s people will themselves wish to rejoin India.”
Prime Minister Narendra Modi had already drawn the line months ago: “If we ever talk to Pakistan, it will be about terror and PoK. Nothing else.”
Yet while India tightens its military posture and PoK’s people continue to find their voice, Pakistan’s deep state is not backing off — it is evolving. Recent intelligence assessments reveal the construction of smaller, radar-evading terrorist camps across PoK, including in Athmuqam, Kotli, Kahuta, Lipa, and Chamankot. These sites are harder to detect and host fewer recruits, but their objective remains the same — to sustain the terror network.
What has changed, however, is public tolerance. The glorification of “martyrdom” is fading. What was once pride has turned into pain. In Chotoo’s village, what could have become a terrorist recruitment rally became a moment of reckoning — a declaration that PoK’s people are no longer willing to pay with their sons’ lives.
This uprising is not formal. It is not political. But it is dangerous for Pakistan’s terror syndicate because it is real — and growing.
The rejection of Rizwan Hanif at a funeral. The courage of Liyaqat Ali in a video. The organization of a Jirga. The quiet denial of permission for radical events. These may seem small — but together, they signal a fundamental shift in the moral and emotional ground beneath Pakistan’s terror narrative.
This is not yet a movement. But it is the beginning of something Pakistan never expected: PoK turning against it.
And if this voice — of mothers, teachers, villagers, and mourners — continues to grow, Pakistan may soon face a war not just at its borders, but in the hearts of its own occupied territory.
