I’ve followed Sahasranshu Dash for some time—initially through his public posts and online commentary. What drew me in was his clarity: sharp, unapologetic, and willing to cut through ideological noise. But it was after the April 22, 2025, suicide attack in Kashmir that his reflections began to carry a heavier weight. His words didn’t just critique—they unsettled. That shift is what compelled me to reach out for this interview.
Dash is an economist and business intelligence consultant, currently a research partner at the South Asia Institute of Research and Development in Kathmandu, Nepal. He also contributes to journals like Modern Diplomacy, writing on macroeconomics, geopolitics, and the intersection of ideology and power. But what matters more than his credentials is his trajectory—a path marked by deep political engagement, self-critique, and disillusionment.
As an Indian activist, Dash spent years supporting the Palestinian cause and campaigning against Islamophobia in India. His voice was once embraced by global solidarity networks. But after April, something shifted. “I used to be very strongly in favor of Hamas, the Houthis, and the Iranian regime,” he tells me. “But I now see the logic behind pointing out the toxic nature of these groups.”
This article traces Dash’s evolving political stance—his reckoning with the Kashmir attack, his re-evaluation of the left’s relationship to armed resistance, and his critique of how certain global narratives flatten or distort local struggles. His questions are not rhetorical; they demand serious attention. Why are some atrocities consistently ignored? Why is Kashmir so readily equated with Palestine, and what does that comparison obscure? What happens when the language of resistance is used to justify authoritarianism?
These are not easy questions. But they are urgent ones—and Dash, for all his contradictions, insists we face them head-on.
A Chilling Attack and a Turning Point
On April 22, 2025, a brutal and targeted act of violence took place in Pahalgam, Indian-administered Kashmir. Dash describes it as a “classic fidayeen attack”—but one of the most disturbing he has ever seen.
“Jihadists came to Pahalgam… checked the IDs of some tourists and made them stand separately from the women in a spot,” he recounts. “Then they were asked to recite the Shahadah: if they couldn’t, they were shot… if not circumcised, they were shot point blank.”
The method was chilling. The death toll stood at 26, but the psychological and political impact was deeper. “It was easily the most chilling and disturbing attack since 1990,” Dash says, referring to the ethnic cleansing of Kashmiri Hindus that decade.
What surprised him most was the response from local Kashmiri Muslims. For the first time, the population reacted not with silence, but with open protest.
“Kashmiris lined the streets protesting this attack… partly because such an attack on Hindu tourists (their main source of income and livelihoods) was a catastrophe for them and partly because it felt like a loss of face.”
The violence, once framed by some as part of a resistance struggle, now looked like something else. Even local political parties like Mehbooba Mufti’s PDP, often critical of the Indian state, condemned the killings.
This, Dash says, marked a turning point. “This is no longer the Kashmir of old, where terrorists were often celebrated as martyrs.”
Media Silence and Misrepresentation
Despite the gravity of the April 22 attack, much of the Western media and even some pro-Palestinian voices remained notably quiet. For Sahasranshu Dash, the silence was not a surprise—but it was still painful.
“That is largely because of lazy stereotypes and a false equivalence made between India and Pakistan,” he argues. “It would be like discussing South and North Korea in the same light.”
Dash believes that many in the Muslim world—and by extension parts of the pro-Palestinian left—view Hindu-majority India through a deeply religious lens, rather than a political one.
“There’s a deep anti-Hindu hatred in the Muslim world, as deep as the all-pervasive anti-Semitism… Hindus are polytheists, which to all three Abrahamic religions is a symbol of pure evil.”
He notes the hypocrisy in global coverage. While Indian Islamophobia is rightly criticised, the atrocities committed against Hindus in Pakistan and Bangladesh—such as forced conversions and mass displacement—rarely receive attention.
According to Dash, this bias goes back decades. “India’s Islamophobia… is no more than European Islamophobia… but massacres of Hindus in Pakistan and Bangladesh are never given much importance.”
He also points to a historical shift: “India was very, very strongly pro-Palestine… the first non-Arab country to recognise Palestine and give it embassy status since 1975.” But since the rise of Hamas, he says, “India’s earlier, socialist support for Palestine could no longer fit.”
That transformation has created a political rift, where Indian voices—even those sympathetic to Palestine—are often sidelined or misrepresented in global forums.
The Misguided Boycott and Its Local Costs
One of the more controversial consequences of the April 22 attack was the renewed call for a tourism boycott in Kashmir—from both the Hindu right-wing and segments of the Western and Middle Eastern left. To Sahasranshu Dash, this alignment is as bizarre as it is harmful.
“The Western and Middle Eastern left sees tourism in Kashmir as Indian colonialism and they oppose tourism there. The Hindutva right-wing hate Kashmiris for being mostly Muslim, so they want a boycott against ‘traitors’,” he explains. “This is because both of these groups are largely fanatical extremists who do not care about the well-being of locals.”
For working-class Kashmiris, tourism is not just seasonal business—it is survival. In 2024 alone, Kashmir saw a record 23.6 million tourist arrivals, including 65,000 foreign visitors. In the first 26 days of the 2025 season, 814,000 people visited Srinagar’s Tulip Garden.
“The annual value of tourism for Kashmir is estimated in the range of €203 million to €233 million,” Dash notes. These figures are not abstract: they translate into food, rent, and education for thousands of families.
But for Dash, the deeper issue lies in who benefits from boycotts and who suffers. He points out a stark class divide within the Kashmiri independence movement itself.
“The most affluent Kashmiris are from the families of landlords… they see that unlike in India, where Nehru and socialists enforced land reform, Pakistan remains a feudal society where landlords call all the shots.”
In his view, the Kashmiri ‘azadi’ (independence) movement is dominated by conservative upper-class Sunni Muslims who historically opposed education in the Kashmiri language and the region’s Sufi traditions.
“The deeply Islamist and upper-class nature of the Kashmiri azadi movement—with its Salafism, repression of women, and ethnic cleansing of Hindus, Buddhists, Shias, and Ahmedis—was being bypassed by working-class Kashmiris benefiting from 350,000 tourists from mainland India.”
In short, while boycotts may feel like symbolic resistance to some, they are deeply disconnected from the economic reality faced by most Kashmiris.
Kashmir ≠ Palestine — Why Comparisons Fail
Many activists and commentators—especially in the West—continue to compare Kashmir with Palestine. But Sahasranshu Dash finds this comparison misleading, even harmful.
“It is not just wrong—it is stupid and hysterical,” he says bluntly.
He explains that, unlike in Palestine, Kashmiris vote in Indian elections, have representation in parliament, and their chief minister is democratically elected. “Kashmir’s chief minister Omar Abdullah is duly elected by the Kashmiri people and Kashmiris can move anywhere within India with no checkpoints or restrictions.”
But Dash doesn’t downplay India’s failures in Kashmir. “Yes, India’s heavy security presence and the highly militarised situation is extremely anti-democratic,” he admits. “While it is not Palestine, it is still a very bad situation.”
He also points to unhealed wounds: Kashmiri Hindus still haven’t returned, political activism remains restricted, and full statehood has not been restored. “At the moment Kashmir is run directly by the federal government in a way that only the national capital region of Delhi is run.”
So why the persistence of this comparison?
Part of it, Dash suggests, is nostalgia. In the 1990s, Kashmir and Palestine may have looked more alike—both regions marked by mass displacement, military crackdowns, and civil unrest. He reminds us that the Indian army committed atrocities too, including “the mass rape of the entire village of Kunan Poshpora in 1991.”
Dash also criticizes what he calls the “strategic amnesia” surrounding Pakistan-administered and Chinese-controlled Kashmir. “Azad Kashmir,” he notes, “is a tragic misnomer—its human rights situation is appalling.” He further points out that any UN referendum, as per Resolution 47, would apply to the entire region of Jammu and Kashmir as it existed before August 1947—not just Indian-administered Kashmir.
But that period has passed. “In the 1990s, the total death toll… would be between 4,500–5,000 every year. In 2023, that was 46. This year, despite the gruesome nature of April 22, it is 34.”
Economic change has reshaped the region. Since the revocation of Article 370 in 2019, the region’s GDP has grown steadily. “Between 2019 and 2025… per capita income marked a 10.6% year-on-year increase,” Dash explains. “Terror incidents dropped from 228 in 2018 to just 46 in 2023.”
Tourism, infrastructure, and investment have all played a role. But Dash warns that the peace is fragile and not necessarily permanent. “None of this implies that the Kashmir issue… has been permanently resolved. That may never happen.”
Yet the shift is undeniable. “It’s clear that a corner has been turned. Tangible gains are visible, and they can be further built upon—especially if the local government is allowed to function unhindered.”
The only Nakba in Kashmir,” Dash argues, “was the forced displacement of 250,000 Kashmiri Pandits in the 1990s.” He also calls attention to the broader regional pattern: while India’s Muslim population has remained steady, non-Muslim populations in Pakistan and Bangladesh have declined sharply. “The 1971 genocide in Bangladesh,” he adds, “initially targeted Bengali Hindus specifically—something few remember.
For Dash, the identity of Kashmir cannot be reduced to either Hindutva caricatures or Islamist fantasies. “This is the land of Rishi Kashyap and Nund Rishi, of Sufi mysticism and magical realism,” he says, citing figures like Nehru, a Kashmiri Hindu; Rushdie, who explored the region in Shalimar the Clown; and poets like Agha Shahid Ali. “It’s not just Geelani’s Salafist dream,” he adds. “It’s also Rushdie’s lyrical tragedy.”
Growth and Inequality — A Fragile Peace
Kashmir’s post-2019 economic statistics show remarkable progress. The region’s GDP stood at around $24 billion in 2023, with annual growth rates estimated between 8–10%. Investments in tourism, agriculture, horticulture, and public infrastructure have injected billions into the economy.
“Cumulative spending on Indian Kashmir since 2019… exceeds $15 billion out of a budgeted $25 billion,” says Sahasranshu Dash.
Yet despite the growth, structural problems remain—particularly high unemployment. While tourism has brought jobs, many are low-skilled and seasonal. For young, educated Kashmiris, the prospects are limited.
“According to estimates… the unemployment rate in Kashmir has fluctuated between 20% to 24% over the past year,” Dash notes. “Engineering graduates running tour buses instead of coding on SQL is a shame.”
Kashmir’s youth, he says, are still vulnerable to radicalisation, especially when opportunities remain scarce. Though tourism is booming, the apple industry—which brings in double the revenue of tourism—has been struggling.
And while Dash criticises parts of the old ‘azadi’ movement, he also acknowledges a real and growing demand among Kashmiris for sustainable, skilled employment—not just temporary relief through tourism.
“Despite all the noise internationally about Article 370 and Kashmiri statehood, Kashmiris voted in large numbers in 2024 citing unemployment as their most significant concern.”
Economic development has become both a stabilising force and a pressure point. The Indian government’s $10 billion investment plan, along with promises of Saudi and Emirati funds, could reshape the region. But the outcomes remain uncertain.
“The peace is fragile,” Dash warns. “Massive youth unemployment could easily disrupt what is now a fragile peace.”
The Politics of Solidarity and Misrecognition
Sahasranshu Dash’s support for Palestinian rights has long been part of his activism. But in recent months, he has publicly pulled back from speaking about the issue—an emotional decision shaped by personal experience.
“At this point, the whole pro-Palestine ecosystem is convinced I am a Zionist fascist simply on account of my Hindu and Indian name,” he says. “There is a lot of blatantly genocidal anti-Hindu discourse in the pro-Palestine movement now.”
His commitment to Palestinian liberation, he insists, has not changed. What has changed is his view of the global left’s reluctance to confront the violent ideologies within its own ranks.
“I now understand for the first time why Hamas and Islamofascism within the pro-Palestine movement has to also be criticised,” he explains. “I used to be very strongly in favour of Hamas, the Houthis and the Iranian regime… but I now see the toxic nature of these groups.”
The shift, he says, is not a betrayal of Palestinian people—but a recognition that solidarity must be rooted in mutual respect, not ideological tribalism.
“I am not distancing myself from the Palestinian cause. I just understand that this is a group that by and large wants me dead, regardless of my political opinions, simply on the basis of what they assume is my identity.”
His critique touches a wider nerve in global activism: how identity and assumptions can override substance. Dash refers to an earlier article of his advocating a one-state solution grounded in equal rights, empathy for Palestinian suffering, and acknowledgment of Israeli insecurity—a liberal Zionist stance he has since evolved from. ‘It wasn’t about Shireen Abu Akleh per se,’ he clarifies.
“When we die, who speaks for us?”—connecting it to his critique of how both Hindutva and Zionism exploit the vulnerability of Hindus and Jews.
In a world where activists often face pressure to align unquestioningly, Dash’s decision to speak out against both Islamophobia and Islamist extremism has placed him in a complicated—and often lonely—position.
Iran’s Silence on Kashmir and the Politics of Caution
Iran has long positioned itself as a vocal champion of the Palestinian cause, funding groups like Hamas and speaking out regularly against Israeli actions. But on Kashmir, the silence is striking. For Sahasranshu Dash, this silence is not accidental—it is strategic.
“The Palestine movement is mostly funded by Iran and the Kashmir movement mostly funded by Pakistan. It’s just that simple,” he states.
Unlike Pakistan, Dash points out, Iran lacks deliverable nuclear weapons and cannot afford to provoke India directly.
“Iran is probably a lot more careful about upsetting India… any Iran-based terror group attacking Indian Kashmir or India would be met with devastating retaliation by a far superior military.”
Beyond deterrence, Dash suggests there’s a quieter foundation of mutual respect between the two nations—especially among their people.
“There may just be large reservoirs of genuine goodwill and affection between Indian and Persian people, regardless of ideology.”
This is one reason why, despite the shared features of militarisation, religious tension, and human rights concerns in both Palestine and Kashmir, Iranian officials have avoided drawing attention to the latter. For Tehran, siding with Pakistan on Kashmir could complicate its broader diplomatic and economic interests.
At the same time, the selective outrage raises serious questions about what kinds of resistance get global attention—and what kinds are politically inconvenient.
“Why does no one talk about the secular, democratic (and socialist) movement for Balochistan, led by a 32-year-old woman, Dr. Mahrang Baloch?” Dash asks. “Is it simply because it doesn’t fit into the geopolitical script?”
Indian and Iranian Activism — Parallel Struggles, Silent Distance
For activists like Sahasranshu Dash, the silence between Indian and Iranian progressive movements is more than a missed opportunity—it’s a symptom of deeper ideological confusion.
“Activists in India like me fight Islamophobia,” Dash explains. “We fight to ensure Muslim women CAN wear hijabs, we fight to ensure Muslims are not disrespected… but posing with The Satanic Verses is problematic.”
He highlights a key contradiction. While Indian progressives push back against rising Hindu majoritarianism and defend Muslim rights, they often avoid criticism of religious extremism within Islam—out of fear of appearing Islamophobic. This dynamic, he says, creates a cultural and political gulf between Indian activists and Iranian dissidents, especially those opposing the Islamic Republic.
“Iranian activists (like Hindu right-wing moderates) are interested in combating Islamofascism,” Dash says. “That’s not a language most Indian leftists speak.”
This disconnection extends to forms of solidarity. Dash notes that he can openly wear a T-shirt with “F*** Hinduism” in India, or chant slogans in Urdu in support of Palestinians. But the inverse—open criticism of Islamist repression, particularly in Iran or Palestine—is far more fraught.
He believes the result is not only a lack of honest engagement, but also the isolation of those voices who try to speak across these contradictions.
“I can easily connect you to many on the moderate right who are happy to support ‘Women, Life, Freedom’ and love the likes of Masih Alinejad,” Dash says. “Funnily enough, quite a few Indian Muslim women vote for the Hindu right-wing for this reason.”
Modi’s ban on triple talaq—a form of instant Islamic divorce—was a key moment, Dash argues, in which gender rights and state power unexpectedly aligned. “He ensured Muslim women divorce and claim alimony under secular common law.”
In his view, such cases reveal the difficulty of applying Western activist templates onto complex local struggles. The binary of oppressor and oppressed, or secular and fundamentalist, simply doesn’t fit.
Can Shared Resistance Be Reclaimed?
Despite the deep divides and frustrations, Sahasranshu Dash still believes in the possibility of a different kind of solidarity—one that is honest, self-critical, and rooted in shared experience rather than slogans.
“It is possible,” he says. “Indian Muslim women who oppose Islamism are the most ardent, diehard supporters of Zan, Zendegi, Azadi,” referring to Iran’s feminist protest movement.
Dash sees hope not in the mainstream left or in entrenched ideological camps, but in those who live contradictions and refuse to be silenced by them.
“There are many moderate Hindu right-wingers who are not motivated by hate so much as a genuine fear of Islamic extremism and the global left’s obsession with normalising Islamism,” he adds.
He envisions dialogue—not between elites or governments—but between independent voices: between Indian Muslims who defend their faith against both Hindu nationalism and jihadism, and Iranian women who resist both dictatorship and patriarchal religious control.
That conversation, Dash argues, has not yet begun. But it could.
Because behind the media narratives, the hashtags, and the geopolitical calculations are ordinary people—tour guides in Kashmir, bloggers in Tehran, students in Hyderabad and Mashhad—who all know what it feels like to live under the weight of imposed identities and silenced pain.
“We fight to protect Muslims and India’s Islamic/Persianate heritage,” he says. “Iranian activists fight to resist religious tyranny. That doesn’t make us enemies. It makes us overdue for a conversation.”
Iranian activists miss crucial alliances,” Dash notes, “by ignoring moderate conservatives—those who support religious freedom, women’s rights, and liberal democracy, even if they’re not anti-capitalist or part of protest culture.” He names figures like Arshia Malik and Shehla Rashid—Kashmiri Muslim women with diverse political affiliations—as potential bridges.
After our conversation with Sahasranshu, I find myself both challenged and affirmed. Challenged—because the contradictions he raises between identity, solidarity, and ideology are not just intellectual—they’re lived, emotional, and often painful. Affirmed—because his discomfort with easy slogans and false binaries confirms something I’ve long sensed: we need a different language for solidarity. One that doesn’t begin with purity, but with confrontation—of ourselves, of each other, of the histories we inherit and the realities we ignore.
These are exactly the kinds of conversations I want to continue exploring—both for my own understanding and for the readers of my blog. This kind of dialogue is not about agreeing or approving everything. It’s about creating space to think and speak honestly, especially in areas that may be our blind spots. I hope to continue these discussions more regularly from now on, and I invite anyone who is willing to join and expand this type of exchange.
The global left has often failed to name the violence that festers in its blind spots—whether that’s religious fundamentalism masquerading as resistance, or cultural relativism used to justify patriarchy, repression, or the denial of individual rights. Too often, critique stops at empire and forgets the people crushed by the regimes that claim to fight it. But freedom does not belong to the right, and the language of liberation must not be outsourced to those who use it to justify new forms of domination.
True internationalism is not built on shared hashtags or performative outrage. It begins when we listen across difference—not to flatter, not to agree, but to stretch the limits of our own frameworks. It begins when we defend the dignity of those who disrupt our ideologies, not just those who confirm them.
As Sahasranshu Dash reminds us, that conversation hasn’t really started yet—not in a serious, organized way. But perhaps now, in the wreckage of so many failed solidarities, is exactly the right time to begin.
