Ahmed Farooq Nabi
In the wake of the Pahalgam attack in Indian-occupied Jammu and Kashmir, which tragically took the lives of several tourists, the Indian government has responded with a predictable yet disturbing strategy: clamp down on dissent, suppress critical voices, and weaponize culture and sport to deflect from its own internal failures. Instead of addressing the glaring questions around security lapses or offering transparency into its investigation, India has chosen censorship over accountability, turning its frustration into a campaign of bans and blame directed at Pakistan.
One of the most glaring actions has been the ban on 16 Pakistani YouTube channels, including well-established platforms like Geo News and respected journalists such as Asma Shirazi and Umar Cheema. Branded as sources of “communal misinformation,” these bans are clearly not about preventing hate speech or maintaining peace; they are about shutting out any narrative that challenges New Delhi’s tightly controlled version of events. This isn’t about misinformation—it’s about information control. When journalism doesn’t conform to the state’s narrative, it becomes a target.
What’s particularly telling is the contrast between Pakistani and Indian media in the aftermath of the attack. While Indian outlets immediately rushed to lay blame on Pakistan—without any investigation, evidence, or restraint—Pakistani media largely remained calm, measured, and professional. Even critics of Pakistani news coverage acknowledged this maturity. Rather than fanning the flames of war hysteria, Pakistani outlets chose to report responsibly, a decision that has stood in stark contrast to the hyper-nationalism and sensationalism dominating Indian airwaves.
But the assault on expression hasn’t stopped with the media. India’s cultural censorship has also reared its head. The much-anticipated film Abir Gulaal, starring Pakistani actor Fawad Khan, has now been shelved in India. Two of its songs were pulled from YouTube, and the film’s release, initially scheduled for May 9, has been abruptly canceled. There was no credible explanation—only vague insinuations that the film, or its actors, were somehow inappropriate in light of the national mood. It’s yet another example of how India uses culture as a political battleground, where artists are punished for their nationality, not their actions.
Even the sporting world hasn’t been spared. Following the attack, BCCI Vice-President Rajeev Shukla reiterated India’s refusal to play bilateral cricket with Pakistan—a policy that’s already been in place for over a decade. India had already rejected the idea of playing any matches in Pakistan for the 2025 ICC Champions Trophy, insisting on neutral venues instead. This isn’t diplomacy; it’s performative isolationism, using cricket as a proxy for political posturing. Sports, which have long been a bridge between estranged nations, are now reduced to tools of nationalist messaging.
These actions may be framed by Indian authorities as demonstrations of strength, but they reveal the opposite. This sweeping crackdown on Pakistani media, culture, and sport betrays a deep-rooted insecurity. India is facing an uncomfortable truth: the international community is no longer blindly echoing its accusations. Following the Pahalgam incident, key global powers—the US, UK, EU, Russia, China, and Turkey—have not supported India’s claims of Pakistani involvement, simply because no credible evidence has been presented.
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Why would they? India’s track record is increasingly under scrutiny. The assassination of a Sikh activist in Canada, alleged plots uncovered in the US, and ongoing espionage activities in Pakistan, including the case of RAW agent Kulbhushan Jadhav, have all dented India’s moral standing. When a state is implicated in international wrongdoing, its credibility inevitably falters. Finger-pointing without transparency or accountability no longer works, especially when the accuser is facing serious allegations of its own.
The real danger here is how India is using the Pahalgam attack to justify tightening its grip on freedom of expression and dissent—both within India and in how it engages with Pakistan. Banning journalists and blacklisting actors doesn’t protect national security; it erodes democratic norms and isolates the country culturally and diplomatically. When truth becomes inconvenient, it is easier for the state to ban the messenger than to face the message.
Moreover, this pattern isn’t new. Since the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, Indian authorities have routinely silenced Kashmiri voices, detained activists, restricted local media, and created a suffocating environment for civil liberties. The post-attack response seems like a continuation of this strategy, now extended across the border to silence Pakistani narratives as well.
This moment could have been an opportunity for introspection. It could have been a time to evaluate how security vulnerabilities continue to plague a region under one of the world’s most intense militarised occupations. Instead, India is choosing to burn bridges, isolate artists, attack free press, and escalate tensions. This isn’t national security—it’s national theatre, performed for domestic audiences and fuelled by media-fanned war hysteria.
India must realise that muting Pakistan’s voices—in newsrooms, cinemas, or cricket fields—will not fix its credibility crisis. If anything, it deepens international scepticism. Responsible states don’t respond to tragedy with censorship; they respond with transparency, dialogue, and measured action. The global community sees the contrast clearly: while Pakistan’s media exercises restraint, India bans journalists; while Pakistan allows cultural exchange, India cancels films; while Pakistan continues to express willingness for cricket diplomacy, India slams the door shut.
At its core, this moment lays bare the cracks in India’s global narrative. Censorship, bans, and boycotts may suppress symptoms, but they won’t cure the disease—a growing loss of credibility and trust on the world stage. If India truly seeks regional peace, it must abandon the politics of censorship and embrace open dialogue. Anything less only isolates the country further and escalates tensions in an already volatile region.
It’s not just about media freedom or artistic expression—it’s about the future of regional stability. India’s current path undermines both.
