'Jail is Like Living in a Grave': Kashmiri UAPA Detainee Responds to Umar Khalid
"I used to pray and wait for every Mulaqat," writes activist Raqif Makhdoomi, who was jailed under UAPA and PSA.
advertisement
(Publishing politically suppressed voices requires editorial independence and often comes at great personal risk to us. We need your support as we continue to bring out more such voices. Please BECOME A MEMBER and support us.)
Recently, I came across Umar Khalid’s article in The Quint. I wanted to skip it, but my eyes caught the line “Umar Khalid writes from jail”. And I couldn’t resist myself. I clicked on the link and started to read it. His line "Nurturing hope in prison is risky," which was used as the headline of the article, made me recall what I felt when I was in prison.
It took me back to how I used to pray and wait for every Mulaqat (meet up with family), because that was the only way to find out about the progress in the case. For most of the prisoners, conversations in the Mulaqat Room mainly centered around the progress of their respective cases and when bail could be expected.
Two emotions weighed heavy in the meeting room - eagerness of the families and the hope of the prisoners. No family member wants to leave and no prisoner wants to go back to the barracks, but jail rules provide for a very small window of time.
Returning to prison after a meeting feels like walking into a grave alive. The emotional weight is hard to bear. Some people are strong enough to control their feelings, while others let their tears speak. Those who cry are consoled, and those who stay composed are gently asked how their families are doing. But deep down, everyone knows the emotional toll.
'We Aren't Alive, Though We are Living'
In the beginning of his article, Umar Khalid mentions Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The House of the Dead, which he had just finished reading. The title itself encapsulates the idea of prison. In a real sense, prison is a place where the living feel dead. People behave like humans, but inside, they’re hollow. The dead have a house and that house is prison.
Though initially released, he was later detained again on false charges of espionage. In his book, he describes being tortured not only physically, but also emotionally. The US government even attempted to use a "honey trap" on him, but his faith helped him resist. He was deprived of prayer, denied proper food, and kept in unsanitary conditions. When I read that book in prison, I thanked Allah for sparing me from such horrors.
Umar Khalid quotes a line from Dostoevsky’s book: “We aren’t alive though we are living, and we are not in our graves though we are dead.” To understand that, one must live the prison life. Having spent a significant time in jail, I understand exactly what the author means.
When Getting Bail Becomes an Ordeal
Later in the article, Umar writes about a prisoner sentenced to "imprisonment till last breath"- a life term following a presidential pardon after being given the death penalty. There seems to be no way out for him, yet he still clings to hope. That’s how hope works in jail.
I met people convicted of serious crimes- murder, POCSO, NDPS, rape - and yet they were full of optimism about being released. Their hope became my hope.
People like Umar Khalid, Sharjeel Imam, Gulfisha Fatima, Khurram Parvez, and many others remain behind bars- not for any heinous crime, but for speaking truths the government finds uncomfortable.
The judiciary has played its part in keeping them there. In the cases of Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid, judges “recused” themselves from certain hearings. When judges recuse themselves, who ensures justice? There have been hundreds of hearings, but no decisions on bail. The Supreme Court has repeatedly stated that “bail is the rule, jail is the exception.” Yet, for many, this “exception” has become the norm.
For them, even bail now would mean little. They’ve already lost significant years of their lives. Justice delayed is justice denied. And justice has been denied to every one of them.
Fortunately, people like Umar have found ways to share their stories. But many others remain unheard.
Advocate Shahid Azmi once gave a powerful lecture on UAPA cases. He explained how the system works, how the real perpetrators walk free while scapegoats are trapped.
Let us all hope against hope and pray for their release, so that they may begin to live again.
(Raqif Makhdoomi is a law student and a human rights activist based in Kashmir. He spent over two years in prison under UAPA and PSA charges. This is an opinion piece, and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)