Insight from Azad Jammu and Kashmir.

In October 2005, an earthquake altered the landscape of Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK), a region administered by Pakistan and claimed by India. As efforts shifted from rescue and relief to long-term reconstruction, it became clear that the earthquake had transformed the social, economic, and political landscapes of AJK, too. For the international community, AJK became an acceptable terrain of engagement because the disaster was “natural.” The initial emergency response was followed by a designated post-disaster reconstruction period that began in 2006 and is slated to end in March 2014.¹ Reconstruction projects funded an array of economic, social-development, and scientific initiatives, and supported an emergent private sector. However, the reconstruction addressed neither the longstanding issues that have brought the region to war repeatedly nor the impact that over seventy years as a disputed region and high-security area has had on the sociopolitical systems and legal regimes under which people in AJK live. Now, at the close of the reconstruction period, the unsustainability of an apolitical peace is becoming visible.

Before 2005, Kashmiri refugees and human-rights activists had lobbied the international community for decades to turn its attention to the human impact of the Kashmir conflict. But international humanitarian organizations (with the exception of Islamic Relief) had avoided becoming directly involved with people who were displaced in AJK, because they considered their forced displacement a political issue. Four years into the War on Terror, however, international organizations saw offering aid to earthquake-affected people as an opportunity to demonstrate their will to care for Muslim victims in a time of crisis, as several aid workers told me. Formal humanitarian organizations, such as the UNHCR, ICRC, Mercy Corps, and Save the Children, arrived along with military-relief missions deployed by Turkey, China, Cuba, and the U.S.²

Within Pakistan, AJK became a place where Pakistani society’s capacity for self-organization and self-care were mobilized to counter images of Pakistan as a place of perpetual institutional disorder or as the object of military interventions. Activists and student volunteers organized charity drives, which brought in donations from across Pakistan and diaspora communities to support small-scale relief initiatives. Also, members of Kashmiri militant groups had declared a temporary stop to their armed activities on the Indian side of the LoC in order to engage in the labor of relief and social welfare work—what they called “humanitarian jihad” (Robinson 2013). Their relief projects were supported by Islamic charities that competed with international aid agencies for philanthropic donations from Muslim communities around the world. Over the years, many of these workers, without renouncing the possibility of return to militant politics, continued to work as social-welfare volunteers and eventually secured employment in local development NGOs.

As foreign aid workers came to live in places like Muzaffarabad, providing them with secure and comfortable living quarters became integral to reconstruction. Private firms repurposed residences as guesthouses—with “international standard” communications and backup power—in sectors of the city targeted for governance-building development.³ After international organizations began downsizing their missions in 2010, this network of luxury accommodations served a domestic clientele in the emergence of a local tourist industry. Pakistani aid volunteers who had first come to AJK after the earthquake organized college trips from Lahore and Karachi, or brought their families on vacation to see the positive results of Pakistani aid to Kashmiri rehabilitation projects. The Pearl Continental became a destination for Pakistani corporate retreats as well as for U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) training workshops, and students traveled to the northern valleys for adventure retreats. In response, the AJK Tourism Department staged cultural exhibitions and paragliding festivals. In fact, promoting tourism became a development goal; with the support of international non-governmental organization (INGO) livelihood grants and training conferences, over a hundred registered guesthouses opened in the Neelum Valley between 2010 and 2013. The media is framing tourism as a priority in stabilizing AJK as a transitionally post-conflict area, including crediting the tourist industry for a protest in Neelum Valley in August of 2013 in which locals objected to the threat that Punjabi militants posed to the ceasefire on the LoC.

What the coverage missed was that the protesters were also marching in support of local (Kashmiri) militants and protesting against Pakistan for its failure to include Kashmiris in negotiations about Kashmir’s future. It also missed an embedded language of rights in people’s demands for a permanent solution to what Kashmiris call the “Kashmir Problem”:⁴ right of self-determination, protections against human rights violations, and the right of forcibly displaced people to return to their homes in Indian Kashmir. In fact, all of these old demands have been a part of new protests that have emerged among displaced-person advocate groups in AJK since 2010. In the words of one young refugee woman who joined a protest in Muzaffarabad, “Until the Kashmir Problem is solved for the Kashmiri people, there will be no lasting peace.” Such protests intensified after January 2013, when LoC violations seemed likely to derail the 2003 Ceasefire Agreement. Indeed, Kashmiris, who have lived for more than three generations between the guns of two opposing national armies, have known for years that the so-called ceasefire is measured best not in the relative paucity of army deaths but in the numbers of continuing civilian casualties.

Tourism promotion has become an explicit policy recommendation for future peacemaking efforts in Kashmir (Chari, Chandran, and Akhtar 2011). But tourism doesn’t make Kashmir safer for Kashmiris. It makes it possible for Pakistanis, especially the urban middle classes, to imagine Kashmir as a place where a longstanding conflict has ended and where demands for justice, reconciliation, and family reunification are already resolved. It makes it possible for members of the international community, be they state representatives or aid workers, to ignore Kashmiri people’s desire to be included in shaping their own political futures by conflating it with their desire for economic development. The recent reemergence of explicitly political and militant activisms should remind us that, in the end, there are no apolitical solutions to political problems.

References Cited

Chari, P.R., D. Suba Chandran, and Shaheen Akhtar. 2011. “Tourism and Peacebuilding in Jammu and Kashmir.” United States Institute for Peace, Special Report 281.

Hofmann, Charles-Antoine and Laura Hudson. September 2009. “Military Responses to Natural Disasters: Last Resort or Inevitable Trend?” In, Humanitarian Exchange Magazine, No. 44.

Robinson, Cabeiri. 2013. “Postscript: And, Humanitarian Jihad.” In Body of Victim, Body of Warrior, Refugee Families and the Making of Kashmiri Jihadists. Berkeley: University of California Press. 237–242.

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Cabeiri Robinson is an Associate Professor of International Studies & South Asian Studies in the University of Washington ‘s Henry M. Jackson School of International Studies.

Insight from Nagano, Japan.

In the summer of 2009, I had the opportunity to  intern for two weeks with the campaign office of Representative Shinohara Takashi, then the proportional representative for Nagano District 1 in Japan’s Lower House. Rep. Shinohara is a graduate of the UW Law School and graciously allows students from the Japan Studies Program to work as summer interns in his Nagano and Tokyo offices. He is a member of the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) and a former official in the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries. At the time, the DPJ was the opposition party, although the writing was on the wall for the probable exit of the ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP).

During the week I was in Nagano, the inevitable Lower House election date had not yet been set, but everyone knew it was coming and campaign activities were fully underway. Japan is a Parliamentary Democracy, which means that the government is structured more like the United Kingdom or Canada, rather than a Presidential system as in the US. The Diet is bicameral, though most power resides with the Lower House. (Again, similar to the UK.) Whichever party controls the Lower House selects the Prime Minister, with elections coming at irregular times within a five year term limit. Japan also uses a Proportional Representation system much different from the US.[1] Constituents cast two votes, one for a candidate and one for a party, with some portions of the seats awarded to parties based on how many votes they received. The LDP had exercised almost unbroken control of Japan since 1952, an electoral run of staggering length. Opposition parties came and went; at present, most non-LDP politicians have coalesced around the DPJ.

Rep. Shinohara faced a unique set of challenges in this election. Some of these I expected going in, but others took me completely by surprise. Campaigns in Japan bear only a superficial resemblance to their US counterparts. Some differences can be written off as “cultural differences,” but most result from the structure of Japanese campaign and finance laws.

Even within the Japanese system though, Rep. Shinohara’s plight was notable. The DPJ draws enough votes in the area and Rep. Shinohara had enough seniority in the party to feel relatively safe as the proportional representative, but there was a noticeable drop in prestige for those that must take the perceived back door into the Diet. His opponent for the electoral seat in Nagano 1 was among the most entrenched Japanese politicians in recent history, leaving an uphill battle for any challenger. This remained true even in a year when the LDP appeared poised, at long last, to fall from power.

Like other campaigns in Japan, Rep. Shinohara didn’t rely on a media presence. Little if any political communication effort goes into TV, radio, or newspaper ads, because of highly restrictive campaign laws. Instead, most Japanese politicians take barnstorming speech tours and trucks equipped with speakers that my friend calls “Shouty Trucks.” Anyone who has been in Japan during election season will recognize the sight of politicians giving speeches at train stations or the sound of Shouty Trucks blasting candidates’ names at painfully loud volumes. I was too early to ride in the Shouty Truck, to my great disappointment, but did spend time handing out fliers at Nagano Station while Rep. Shinohara exhorted commuters from a makeshift podium.

Most of our time in Nagano was spent canvassing door to door. This is where Rep. Shinohara’s particular disadvantages started to appear. His opponent was Kosaka Kenji, the fourth generation of the Kosaka family to hold the seat. In fact, no politician not named Kosaka had ever won in Nagano 1. This is an incumbent advantage almost unimaginable to US voters, as loyalty to the Kosaka family has been passed down since the Meiji Era, in ways both personal and professional. The clan also has significant business interests in construction and media. (I don’t believe that any of this influence was used in illegal or unethical ways per se, but after 100 years, the Kosaka position was almost impregnable.) In addition to explaining his positions and seeking support, the Shinohara campaign would often ask to place signs on people’s property. I was consistently surprised by the number of responses that were some variation of, “I don’t like the LDP, I’m planning on voting for you, but I just can’t support you publicly. What would the neighbors think?”

At that time, the LDP approval ratings were abysmal. Nobody expected them to win the upcoming election, and everybody knew that everybody else would vote for the DPJ. Even then, the perceived social pressure that buoyed Rep. Kosaka, at least superficially, was too much to overcome. Clandestine DPJ support abounded, but few were willing to go public with it. We didn’t even bother with houses clearly attached to the construction industry, knowing the close ties most held with the Kosaka family.

Throughout my internships, Rep. Shinohara explained more of the challenges to me and his constituents. He received little, if any, coverage in the local media. Again, nothing nefarious or libelous, just a quiet neglect. When school children visited the Diet building on their field trips to Tokyo, Kosaka saw to it that the students were only shown his office. School officials acquiesced, because Kosaka allies controlled much of local politics. Rep. Shinohara had a solid base of support within the region, but nothing to compare with many decades of Kosaka prominence. He had run against Rep. Kosaka before, but still trailed far behind in name recognition with no easy way boost his signal.

There are some analogues to US politics, but far more differences. Campaign laws in the US prohibit obnoxious sound trucks (fortunately), but any candidate with money can buy up unlimited media time, billboards, or print ads to get the word out. Certain districts have gone reliably to a single party for decades, but the loyalty in the United States seems much more party- than personality-based. Long tenured politicians have extensive networks of backers that place obstacles in the path of upstarts, but very few families manage to create a multi-generation dynasty.

Finally, the biggest differences lie with Americans themselves. I have lived as part of both a persecuted political minority and an overwhelming majority, and in both cases, the opposition was loud and proud. Indeed, the smaller a political faction, the more insistent it often becomes. Rep. Shinohara would have no trouble hanging signs in this country.

For those wishing for some spoilers, I will skip ahead a few months. I spent a week in Nagano, then a week in Tokyo (stories for another post!), then bequeathed the intern position to other JSIS students. In late summer, Prime Minister Aso finally bowed to the inevitable and called for a Lower House election. The DPJ hammered the LDP at the polls. Most observers predicted the victory, but it was a tidal wave beyond expectation.

Rep. Shinohara rode the anti-LDP sentiment to a comfortable victory in Nagano 1, unseating a Kosaka incumbent for the first time in modern history. The regional polling was so bad for the LDP that Kosaka couldn’t even get on the proportional ballot. In a normal election year, I’m not certain that Rep. Shinohara could have won, despite a disciplined, enthusiastic campaign. In 2009, however, the overall disgust with the LDP after years of scandal and economic blundering  was finally enough to overpower whatever personal loyalty many voters felt for the Kosaka family.

Epilogue: Despite the DPJ’s grand triumph, persistent incompetence, a shotgun approach to untenable campaign promises, and finally the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami doomed them to a single term. In the next Lower House election, the LDP regained control of the government as voters rejected a DPJ now seen as unprepared to run a country. Nevertheless, Rep. Shinohara maintained control of his seat, while Rep. Kosaka joined the Upper House in a proportional seat. Rep. Shinohara has by now largely erased his previous disadvantages (helped, no doubt, by Rep. Kosaka’s jump to the Upper House) and seems fairly entrenched. If he survived the last election, he may prove difficult to unseat without the benefit of a big name from the LDP. Nagano 1 appears to be safely in the DPJ’s hands for the foreseeable future.

Brittain Barber graduated with his MA in Japan Studies in 2008, returning to the States after many years in Kyoto. He has remained in Seattle, working in IT and staying involved with the regional Japanese community. He can also be found working the local music scene, writing about science fiction, and coaching youth soccer.

Insight from Moscow, Russia.

My last day in Moscow was supposed to be a fun tour around the beautiful city by myself, since the entire delegation left the day earlier. I was hoping to finally get some rest and catch a little tourist fever.

The day started off well, as planned. I slept until 9:30 a.m. and skipped breakfast so I could eat my fill at multiple restaurants in Arbat District over lunch. After leaving the hotel, I took the Metro to the Kremlin. Even though it was my second time seeing it, I still found it magnificent. St. Basil’s Cathedral was just as breathtaking as every tourist review said it would be. It was a lot colder than the previous days. Snow was beginning to stick, but everyone there seemed not to care. Maybe that’s because snow is nothing new in Moscow.

Right across the famous Red Square, there is a big department store called “Gum.” It took me nearly two hours to tour that place, an entire hour spent at the grocery section. It was so much fun peeking at the ordinary lives of Russian people. The food court was fantastic even though I think I was ripped off. I ordered one dish, and the bill was 900 rubles or about $30. Are you kidding me? ONE DISH WITH PEPSI WAS GOING TO COST ME $30? I was pretty bummed to pay that much. But, the food was good and I told myself it was better than if I had to pay $30 for a McDonald’s meal in Russia.

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I left Gum and headed towards Manezhnaya and found myself surrounded by a few dozen anti-war protesters. The protesters were holding a demonstration against Russia’s “illegal” military intervention into Crimea. It was a very short-lived protest, as 50 or so people were detained on the spot. I was among the few people who immediately pulled out their phones and began to take pictures of the protest. It didn’t go as planned, and the Russian police came shouting to not take pictures. One of them tried to knock my phone out of my hand, but failed to do so, and I didn’t take my phone out again.

Despite the brevity of the protest, I was shocked for many reasons, primarily because I had just witnessed a moment of Russian civil society in action that completely changed my perception towards a former Soviet country.  Most of my perceptions were derived from a preconceived notion of an underdeveloped or lagging civil society in a post-Soviet space. I suppose the methods, the size, and the degree of the protest was not like that of the Occupy movements or the ones I have seen and been a part of in Seoul and the United States. Nonetheless, I was able to connect with the people’s cry for peace.

I don’t know how many of you have watched someone being detained in Moscow before, but it’s not a pretty scene. After seeing people’s rights to free speech and gather be crushed, I lost all my appetite to tour. I headed to the airport to catch my 21:15 flight home. What a gloomy Sunday and end to my visit.

My first trip to Moscow yielded only two memorable accounts worthy enough to share on Facebook, but it was a great success because I had a chance to reconfirm why I go through the seemingly meaningless hours and trouble of being in graduate school.  I want to better understand the significance of those cries for peace, rights and more rights.  I’ve heard them in Russia, the U.S. and Seoul.  They are global in nature and express a universal yearning for social change.  This leaves me with one answer: keep going. I’m back in Seoul now, ready to embark on another adventurous semester full of work and sleepless nights. It’s weird coming back home to a bed that doesn’t feel like it’s mine because I can’t remember the last time I had a good night sleep on it.

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Jaisang Sun is an alumnus of the B.A. in International Studies Program. He is currently an MA candidate in the Department of Political Science and International Relations at Seoul National University, where he is also a teaching assistant to Dr. Shin Beom-Shik and Dr. Chun Chae-Sung for an education exchange program sponsored by the Korea Foundation. Jaisang traveled to Moscow as part of a delegation representing the Asia Center at Seoul National University to visit universities in Moscow.