Underground, but not discouraged: why Kashmir rappers sing in secret

Almost ten years ago, Rumi saw a bullet fired by an Indian soldier hit a passerby.

The man “died in an instant, killed as collateral damage”, explains the artist, who uses a pseudonym to protect his identity. The experience triggered something in Rumi. As soon as he got home, he recorded the whole incident in rap form, creating the first of many songs.

Like other young Kashmiri, Rumi turned to rap to address and protest the violence he saw living in one of the world’s most volatile places. But he and other artists have struggled to make music since 2019, when India revoked Kashmir’s special autonomous status and imposed a six-month media ban. The subsequent crackdown on free speech pushed many Kashmiri rappers out of the music industry, but the art form survived by moving underground.

Today, artists organize secret ciphers and upload anonymous music online. It’s risky work, they say, but worth it to preserve Kashmir’s experiences.

“I have a strong feeling that times will change and our raps will be considered the history of Kashmir,” Rumi says. “Until then, we must wait and continue to resist.”

Srinagar, India

In the shadow of a antiquing tree standing next to the famous Zero Bridge in Srinagar, India, Rumi* tells how his music was born from the death of a stranger.

*The rappers in this story are in hiding due to threats from the Kashmir authorities. Due to the danger they face, we have agreed to use pseudonyms in this story.

Nearly a decade ago, while walking to work, Rumi says he noticed a group of young boys throwing rocks at an army bunker – a not unusual scene in heavily militarized Kashmir. After a few minutes, a soldier fired a bullet which hit a passerby. The man died on the spot, Rumi recalls.

“He was just walking, like me, and he died in an instant, killed as collateral damage,” he says, as the Jhelum River quietly flows nearby. The incident sparked something in Rumi, who is now 30 and has several Kashmir protest anthems to his name. “As soon as I got home, I rapped the whole incident and recorded it.”

Like many young Kashmiri – especially males – Rumi turned to rap to address and protest the violence he saw living in one of the most volatile places in the world. But he has struggled to make music since 2019, when the Indian government unilaterally revoked Kashmir’s special self-governing status and imposed a six-month media blackout in the region. The subsequent crackdown on free speech pushed many Kashmiri rappers out of the music industry, but the art form survived by moving underground. Artists say rapping is worth the risk to ensure Kashmir’s experiences aren’t erased.

Ruth Susan Mathew, who studies rap music from Kerala in southern India, says hip-hop and rap have always focused on marginalized communities, citing the genre’s roots in black communities in the US .

“Rap music itself is a political art form,” says Ms. Mathew, who is currently pursuing her doctorate. at Christ University in Bangalore. “That’s why it has a global reach and many companies around the world are using it. Similarly, Kashmiris use it to express their concerns [about] what is happening on the street.

Rumi’s music explores themes of militarization, political self-determination and loss of culture in Kashmir, a predominantly Muslim region that has also been home to Pandits (Hindu priests and scholars) and Sikh communities across the story. The rapper, who grew up in a Kashmiri Pandit family, counts Sufism and spiritual poetry as major artistic influences. These days, Rumi keeps most of his music hidden, to protect himself and his work.

“I have a strong feeling that times are going to change and our raps will be considered the history of Kashmir,” he says. “Until then, we must wait and continue to resist.”

History of the protest

Kashmir came under Indian rule in October 1947, on the condition that the state retain some autonomy and possibly hold a vote to determine whether it would remain with India, join neighboring Pakistan or regain independence. This vote did not take place; instead, the region has faced almost constant conflict between armed insurgent groups and Indian security forces. Human Rights Watch reports that since 1990, Indian forces “have engaged in massive human rights violations, including extrajudicial executions, rape, [and] torture.”

Eventually, rap emerged as a form of peaceful resistance in Kashmir. The trend accelerated after Kashmir’s first hip-hop star Roshan Illahi aka MC Kash released his hit song “I protest” in September 2010.

Since then, many young musicians have turned to rap to criticize the government and regain control of their stories, says Mohamad Junaid, assistant professor of anthropology at the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts. He grew up in Kashmir and has written extensively about the region’s militarization and its portrayal in mainstream media.

“No Kashmiri have been presented as a person who has aspirations and is able to explain or show what they are going through,” he said, adding, “The rap music these boys make is a way to ‘to evacuate their pain.’

Even those who previously devoted themselves to religious songs have found emotional release in the genre. Ahmed* grew up reciting Naats (praises sung in honor of the Prophet Muhammad) and verses from the Quran, but found himself drawn to resistance music – especially rap – whenever things got worse in Kashmir . He wrote his first song in 2014, following a series of devastating floods.

“The Jhelum got bigger and flooded the whole valley,” he says. “I couldn’t help but think the Jhelum was swollen with pain from all the things it witnessed.”

August 2019 brought more difficulties. Since the media blackout, the Indian government has used sweeping public safety laws to detain thousands of critics and journalists. New policies give authorities freedom to define ‘anti-national activities’ and arrest individuals they deem ‘likely to commit terrorist acts’ – rules that effectively criminalize political dissent, rights advocates say civics. But that hasn’t stopped rappers like Rumi and Ahmed from making music.

Adaptation

Today, Kashmiri hip-hop artists hold secret cyphers – freestyle rap events – at undisclosed locations. After removing names and other identifying details from recordings, rappers then upload their music online. Lyrical themes still include hope for peace and an end to censorship and militarization, but with the regular detention of local journalists and the disappearance of newspaper archives, rappers feel even more compelled to document daily events. in Kashmir, including human rights violations.

Whether or not artists are consciously trying to create a historic record, Dr. Junaid says that’s what happens in underground cyphers and studios alike. “These [songs] are cultural artifacts,” he says.

Ahmed knew he had to continue his music as other forms of documentation of oppression slowly slipped away. “After 100 years, when people come back to my songs, they will learn what happened in Kashmir and maybe feel what we are feeling right now. This is the only purpose of doing what I do”, he said.

It’s risky work, and the young rapper says he relies on imagery and symbolism to evade censorship. “I word the sentences in such a way that no one is offended, protecting my work and myself,” he says.

Despite his carefully constructed words, Ahmed was summoned and questioned by the police. Fellow rapper Dayaan* felt compelled to remove all traces of his art from the internet after his songs went viral and he received a call from security forces.

“I became very popular because the lyrics were written in such a way that everyone could relate to them. But I had to delete everything from my YouTube channel for my own safety,” he says. Eventually he discovered the underground ciphers and found a community of other Kashmiri rappers.

“It makes me happy to be able to do something for Kashmir,” says Dayaan. “I think it’s better to work for the community and shine a light on its plight than to sit idly by and wonder what may happen in the future.”