The air in Jammu and Kashmir thickened with tension today as Peoples’ Democratic Party (PDP) chief Mehbooba Mufti unleashed a scathing attack on Chief Minister Omar Abdullah and his National Conference (NC) government. The trigger? The Jammu and Kashmir Assembly’s rejection of an adjournment motion to debate the contentious Waqf Amendment Act—a move Mufti branded as a shameful surrender to the BJP’s “anti-Muslim” agenda.
Speaking to reporters in Srinagar, Mufti didn’t mince words. “I feel ashamed today,” she declared, her voice laced with frustration. “Muslims across India looked to a Muslim chief minister, leading the only Muslim-majority state with 50 seats, to raise his voice—or at least say J-K won’t enforce this law. But nothing. Not a whisper.” For Mufti, this silence isn’t just a letdown—it’s a betrayal of a community that expected its leader to stand tall.
The Waqf Amendment Act, passed by Parliament earlier this year, has sparked a firestorm. Critics, including Mufti, see it as a power grab, centralizing control over Muslim endowment properties and diluting community rights. In J-K, where secularism and Muslim identity intertwine, the stakes feel personal. Yet, when PDP MLA Waheed Para tabled a resolution to challenge the bill in the Assembly, Speaker Abdul Rahim Rather shot it down, citing a sub-judice status—a claim Mufti dismissed outright. “The Supreme Court hasn’t even taken notice. How is this sub-judice?” she snapped. “There was no reason to stifle debate.”
Mufti’s ire didn’t stop at procedure. She painted a vivid picture of NC’s leaders—Omar and his father, Farooq Abdullah—strolling through Srinagar’s Tulip Garden with Union Minority Affairs Minister Kiren Rijiju, the bill’s architect, while the Assembly session burned. “The tulips will bloom for a month,” she quipped. “Where’s the rush? We thought Omar would stay in the Assembly, reject the bill outright. Instead, he’s playing host.” For Mufti, the optics were a gut punch to Muslims nationwide—a “sword” wielded by Rijiju, met with smiles rather than steel.
She didn’t spare Farooq either, a towering figure in Indian politics. “He’s one of the tallest leaders we have,” she said. “He could’ve rallied the nation—called us to Delhi, protested at Jantar Mantar. Instead, Sher-e-Kashmir’s son and grandson walked hand-in-hand with the man who brought this black law.” The sting of that image, she argued, would wound every Muslim who saw it—a legacy tarnished by a garden jaunt.
On X, Mufti doubled down: “It’s profoundly disappointing that the Speaker rejected the motion. Despite a strong mandate, this government’s cynically appeasing both sides, yielding to the BJP’s anti-Muslim agenda.” She pointed to Tamil Nadu, where the state government has dug in its heels against the bill, as a model NC could’ve followed. “In J-K, the only Muslim-majority region, a supposedly people-centric government lacks the guts even to discuss it,” she fumed.
The PDP chief’s critique wasn’t just about policy—it was personal. “NC disrespected the people who voted for them,” she charged. “The BJP respects those who stand for themselves. Omar didn’t just fail to stand—he rubbed salt in our wounds.” Her unsolicited advice to NC? “Respect yourselves, and others might too.”
The Waqf row isn’t new to J-K’s political cauldron. The bill’s passage in Parliament—288 to 232 in the Lok Sabha, 128 to 95 in the Rajya Sabha—split the region’s parties. NC vowed to fight it, yet today’s Assembly dodge has Mufti crying foul. For her, it’s not just about a law; it’s about identity, voice, and the courage to defy Delhi’s tide. “People expected NC to take this to the Supreme Court or pass a resolution,” she said. “Instead, they’ve left us helpless.”