By admin 
In the embattled city of Rawalakot, nestled within Pakistan-administered Kashmir (PAK), a makeshift clinic operates in the shadow of escalating conflict. Dr. Anwar, whose name, like many others in this report, has been anonymized to protect contributors, presides over a scene of desperate medical care. A spare bedroom serves as a rudimentary pharmacy, while a bed, draped under a red tarpaulin, lies exposed to the elements. On this bed rests Shafqat Hussain, his chest a grim testament to the violence, his life ebbing away, the sheet beneath him already bearing the crimson stains of previous casualties.
For the past two months, Rawalakot and the surrounding region, home to approximately 4.5 million people, has been gripped by a wave of deadly clashes. Protests organized by the Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC) have repeatedly met with fierce opposition from security forces, resulting in dozens of fatalities. This unrest unfolds against the backdrop of ongoing elections across the region, adding a layer of political tension to an already volatile situation. The BBC has gained unprecedented access to Rawalakot, providing a rare glimpse into the heart of these protests and the human cost they exact.
Dr. Anwar’s clinic, while offering a lifeline, is severely constrained. "We have enough supplies to provide first aid," he explains, his voice weary. "We can stop bleeding, clean and dress wounds, and remove superficial bullets. But patients with serious injuries to the chest, abdomen, head, or other vital organs need advanced hospitals. Even major hospitals would struggle if many such patients arrived at the same time." Since July 27th, the clinic has treated an estimated 50 to 60 critically injured patients, with Dr. Anwar personally attending to 15 to 20 cases of gunshot wounds. The fear of arrest or being shot prevents many injured protesters from seeking treatment at the main hospital, a claim the authorities deny. The doctor notes a disturbing trend: "Most of those who have been killed or seriously injured are young people between about 15-16 years old and 32-35 years old. I have seen very few patients over the age of 40."
At Shafqat Hussain’s bedside, his friend Ali weeps, his shawl a meager attempt to wipe away his tears. "We only asked for affordable flour, electricity and our basic rights," he says, his voice choked with emotion. "Instead, our brothers are being killed. What was our crime? Why are live bullets being fired at us?" The JAAC asserts that their demonstrations are a peaceful plea for fundamental rights, encompassing issues such as the cost of electricity, access to education, and healthcare. A pact signed with the Pakistan and PAK governments in October was intended to address these grievances, but the JAAC claims it has not been implemented.
The local government, however, presents a starkly different narrative. They allege that the JAAC is an armed group seeking to disrupt the ongoing elections and are determined to prevent any marches towards the regional capital, Muzaffarabad. The JAAC, banned in June and labeled as foreign-funded terrorists, vehemently rejects these accusations. They maintain their commitment to peaceful protest and, while acknowledging funding from the overseas PAK community, deny any sponsorship from India. They position themselves as victims, asserting that Pakistan’s security forces are the aggressors, firing upon unarmed civilians.
Access to information in Rawalakot has been severely hampered by internet blackouts and the blocking or heavy guarding of roads. Despite these obstacles, the BBC spoke with numerous families in the city who have tragically lost loved ones to protest-related violence. Asma, who was present at a protest when she learned her only son had been shot, recounted her grief. "We were only asking for our rights. We are not terrorists," she stated, her voice filled with a mother’s pride and sorrow. "No mother could ask for a better son." She continued, "He knew there were risks, but he believed standing up for justice was important. He used to say that dying for a just cause was an honour."
Salman, who lost his brother, echoed these sentiments. "He was the youngest in the family and was loved by everyone. It is a great loss for us," he said, a mix of pain and pride in his voice. "At the same time I feel proud that he gave his life while standing up for the rights of the people. He was not fighting or attacking anyone." Ayub, a retired soldier who lost his son, refrained from directly blaming the Pakistan government or military. Instead, he pointed the finger at the PAK government, stating they were responsible for calling in paramilitary forces. "I am a retired soldier. I lived through the martial law periods of General Zia-ul-Haq and General Pervez Musharraf," he stated. "But I have never seen anything like what is happening now. In my opinion, it is extreme injustice." He concluded, "My son had done nothing wrong. None of the protesters had done anything wrong."
The PAK government, in response to these allegations, has vehemently denied that its security forces fired indiscriminately upon peaceful protesters. They maintain that law enforcement acted against individuals involved in attacks on security personnel, posing threats to public safety, or obstructing lawful authority.
The economic hardship in Rawalakot is palpable. The BBC observed severe food shortages, with protesters sharing meager provisions amongst themselves. Most shops remain shuttered, and some residents spoke of desperate efforts to smuggle bags of rice into the city on motorbikes. Roads leading into the city have been barricaded with felled trees, an act the authorities attribute to the JAAC. Security checkpoints now control other entry points on the main road. The PAK government insists it is facilitating the entry of food and medical supplies, refuting claims that they are hindering their passage.
The authorities have consistently portrayed the JAAC as a violent organization, releasing drone footage that they claim shows JAAC members armed on rooftops. At press conferences, police officials have displayed weapons allegedly seized from the group, reporting casualties among security personnel. One man, under interrogation, reportedly confessed to being promised a reward of 10 million rupees (approximately £26,700) for each paramilitary officer killed.
Umar Nazir, a core committee member of the JAAC currently in Rawalakot, denies such claims but acknowledges the possibility of security force casualties. "Look, perhaps such deaths did occur – I will not comment on that," he stated. "However, I believe that certain elements, who are under their control, were infiltrated into our ranks. Such people were certainly present among us. I believe they may have carried out such actions themselves in order to justify their own narrative. I am not making a definitive claim, but there is no evidence whatsoever that any such violence came from our side." Nazir provided no substantiation for his claim of infiltration, while authorities accuse the JAAC of engaging in a disinformation campaign, particularly on social media.
During BBC’s attendance at JAAC protests, no weaponry or signs of shooting were observed, although intermittent gunfire was heard overnight, the source and target of which remained unclear. The atmosphere in Rawalakot is one of palpable tension and pervasive uncertainty, with the ever-present threat of escalation hanging heavy in the air. Nazir maintains that the JAAC is open to dialogue, but for the immediate future, further protests are planned. The situation remains a complex and deeply troubling intersection of political grievances, security crackdowns, and the tragic human cost of a conflict unfolding in the shadow of an election.
