Kashmir Through a 17-Year-Old's Eyes

Between school bells, poplar stumps, and a greying river, a young Kashmiri girl decides what she refuses to forget.

- Aana Shabir Gojwari

I grew up hearing Kashmir called “Paradise on Earth.” Mountains rise like white crowns, glaciers melt into rivers that rush past villages, forests stretch as far as the eye can see, and the Hangul moves silently through the trees.

These images shaped my idea of home. They were a promise of peace, a reflection of something eternal, something sacred that belonged to all of us.

But every day, on my way home from school, I see my homeland change. Trees that once shaded narrow streets shrink under pollution. Water bodies that once sparkled carry a bitter taste. Stray animals roam sick and hungry. Faces around me look tired, hearts heavy.

We argue over whose fault it is, but the truth is simple. We all share this responsibility.

We are the valley's guardians. We have watched it slip away and allowed it.

The forces shaping this loss are many, but one stands above the rest: influence.