What happens when the land that feeds you is taken away? When the soil that your ancestors tilled, the trees they planted, and the fields they nurtured for generations are turned into lifeless plots of concrete and steel? In our part of the world, this is not a hypothetical question. It is an unfolding tragedy.

The Indian government’s plan to seize 600 acres of prime karewa land in Parigam for a new National Institute of Technology (NIT) campus raises questions that cut to the heart of survival, identity, and justice. Why does an engineering college need land nine times the size of its current campus? Why must it come at the cost of destroying orchards that produce some of the world’s finest apples, almonds, and saffron? And most importantly, what does this say about the intentions of those who govern? Perhaps the intentions of any military occupation are not so enigmatic; even the simplest observer can discern their appetite for control and erasure.

Kashmir’s karewa plateaus are treasures of heritage, lifelines for families, and anchors of an economy that sustains millions. These elevated terrains have shaped the rhythm of life in the region for centuries. Yet, they are now being carved up and handed over, not for the benefit of the people but for a vision that commodifies Kashmir.

The pattern is chillingly clear. Highways have already sliced through villages, displacing thousands. Rail tracks and satellite townships loom on the horizon, threatening to devour what remains of Kashmir’s cultivable land. Public properties have been bulldozed under one pretext or another. Every action seems to push Kashmiris further into dependency and force them to beg for what was once their own.

What kind of future are we being prepared for? A future where every Kashmiri farmer, stripped of his land, becomes a laborer on the same soil he once owned? A future where orchards give way to industrial parks, and centuries-old traditions are buried under layers of asphalt? This is not development. It is the methodical severance of a people from their roots and their land.

Some might argue that the government’s plans are for the greater good. But who’s good, exactly? When the livelihoods of thousands are sacrificed, when food security is endangered, and when the very fabric of society is unraveled, what good can possibly emerge? The truth lies in their motives—control, domination, and a deliberate attempt to reshape the region to serve the occupier’s agenda.

Kashmir’s land policies are acts of war—a war fought without bullets but with bulldozers and land deeds. By seizing farmland and displacing its people, the occupiers aim to rewrite the demographics, economics, and identity of the region. This is settler colonialism in action, designed to weaken the spirit and will of the Kashmiri people.

So what can be done? The answer is not simple, nor is it comfortable. It requires asking hard questions about what we are willing to face and how far we are willing to go to protect what is ours. This is not a call to awareness only but a call to resist by whatever means possible. Understand what is at stake: not just the loss of land but the obliteration of dignity and freedom.

Resistance can take many forms, but it begins with clarity of purpose. Recognize that every orchard preserved, every field defended, and every family that remains rooted is an act of defiance against those who seek to erase us. This is more than survival; it is a refusal to be rewritten.

The land they want to seize carries with it generations of labor, history, and identity. It is the ground beneath our feet and the canopy of our future. To allow it to slip away is to surrender ourselves to oblivion. And that is a surrender no Kashmiri can afford to make.