When the Government of India recently banned 25 books for allegedly “glorifying terrorism” and “ inciting secessionism” in Jammu and Kashmir, reactions followed familiar script : charge of censorship, fears of silence and dissent, and concern about erasing uncomfortable histories. But beyond the slogans lies a deeper question—what role does literature play in a conflict where narratives themselves have long been a weapon? The roots of this contest stretch back to 1947.
Pakistan’s official histories downplay the tribal invasion backed by Pakistani forces that preceded Jammu and Kashmir’s accession to India. Since then , a stream of state -supported messaging — from Radio Pakistan’s broadcasts in the 1990s lauding slain militants, to ISI – funds edsocial media campaigns in recent years — has sought to present Kashmir as an “unfinished” issue of Partition. Investigations by India’s National Investigation Agency (NIA) have traced flows of Pakistani funding to separatist groups in Kashmir, used for protests, publications, and mobilisation campaigns.
Much of this material has been circulated in the guise of scholarship or cultural work, forming the backdrop against which the current book bans have been justified. Among the 25 works banned are titles by internationally recognised writers. Arundhati Roy’s Azadi casts India’s security presence in Kashmir as colonial but rarely addresses Pakistan’s role in sustaining armed militancy. Hafsa Kanjwal’s Colonizing Kashmir frames Kashmir within the “settler colonial” paradigm, drawing analogies with Israel and Palestine, while critics argue it overlooks the legal basis of accession in 1947 and the absence of mass state-sponsored settlement.
Christopher Snedden’s Independent Kashmir explores secession as a political option, which Indian officials argue lends intellectual credibility to separatist rhetoric. These works, cited in academic and policy debates abroad, help reinforce a global narrative in which India is cast as aggressor, Pakistan as victim, and armed groups as freedom fighters. India is hardly alone in drawing boundaries around speech when it comes to security. In the United Kingdom, the Terrorism Act 2006 makes it a crime to distribute or even possess material deemed to glorify terrorism. Germany prohibits dissemination of Nazi ideology or Holocaust denial.
France criminalises denial of genocide as a safeguard against historical falsification. Officials point out that India’s decision, taken under Section 98 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita 2023, operates within the same logic: words can radicalise, and when they do, states often intervene. The risks of unchallenged propaganda are not abstract. Kashmir has lost more than 40,000 lives since 1989, with militant recruitment frequently linked to ideological material. A stark example came in 2016. After Hizbul Mujahideen commander Burhan Wani was killed, a booklet titled Shaheed ka Safar (“A Martyr’s Journey”) circulated in south Kashmir. It recast Wani as a folk hero, sparking months of unrest that left more than 90 dead and thousands injured.
The lesson, officials argue, is clear: narratives matter as much as weapons. Experts warn, however, that ban salone may not suffice . Suppressing one set of books without offering alternatives risks ceding the intellectual ground. Scholars of counter-terrorism point to the post-9/11 experience, where Western states learned that dismantling extremist propaganda required not just law enforcement, but credible counter-narratives. For India, that could mean: Documenting the 1947 tribal invasion subsequent accession to India with academic rigour. Producing works that give voice to victims of militant violence across communities. Encouraging research collaborations that challenge selective or distorted portrayals of Kashmir.
The central dilemma remains: when does scholarship become propaganda? And who decides? While critics view the bans as an overreach, supporters see them as new guardrails in a decades-long information war waged over Kashmir. What is clear is that Kashmir’s story has never been fought on battlefields alone. It has unfolded in textbooks, pamphlets, radio waves, and now in bookshelves and libraries. In such a landscape, India’s latest move marks not an end to debate, but the continuation of a struggle where words themselves are seen as weapons.
(The writer is a Kashmir-based political commentator and analyst. The views expressed are personal.)