SAMAN KIYANI
At the core of any democracy lies a delicate balance: the responsibility of the state to ensure security and the equally important duty to protect basic freedoms, the right to speak, organise and take part in public life. A recent decision by a Delhi court on 24 March 2026 brings this tension into sharp focus. Asiya Andrabi, founder of the all-women Kashmiri group Dukhtaran-e-Millat, was sentenced to life imprisonment under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA), while her associates, Sofi Fehmeeda and Nahida Nasreen, were each sentenced to 30 years in prison.
This judgment comes after nearly eight years of detention since their arrest in 2018, raising difficult but necessary questions. Is the UAPA being used solely to address genuine security concerns, or has it also become a tool to curb dissent, particularly the voices of women who organise, speak and advocate for what they see as their legitimate political rights, including self-determination?
Asiya Andrabi is not an anonymous figure. Educated in biochemistry and Islamic studies, she founded Dukhtaran-e-Millat in 1987 as a platform for women. The organisation conducted study circles, supported widows and orphans affected by prolonged conflict and created space for women to come together, learn and speak. Over time, its work became more political, reflecting the realities around it. For many women, it was one of the few spaces where they could move beyond social constraints and participate in shaping conversations about their future.
The UAPA, introduced in 1967 and expanded over time, grants the state wide powers. It allows for prolonged detention, makes bail extremely difficult and defines “unlawful activity” in broad terms, often including speech, association and communication. While such provisions are justified by authorities as necessary to maintain order, their application raises concerns when individuals are punished not for acts of violence, but for ideas, affiliations, or expressions.
In Andrabi’s case, public accounts indicate that the charges relied heavily on speeches, organisational links and electronic communication rather than clear evidence of direct involvement in violent acts. The years spent in detention before conviction already carried a heavy cost. The sentence now formalises that cost, but the impact goes far beyond the individuals involved.
When women leaders face such severe consequences, it sends a powerful message to others. It tells young women that speaking, organising, or even associating with certain ideas can come at a price they may not be able to bear. Gradually, participation gives way to silence. This is how a “chilling effect” takes hold, not through dramatic moments, but through quiet, everyday fear.
The state, of course, has its perspective. It argues that maintaining stability and unity requires firm action, especially in sensitive regions. No government can ignore its responsibility to protect its people. Yet the question is not whether security matters, it clearly does. The question is how far the state can go in its name without eroding the very freedoms that define a democratic society.
The story of Asiya Andrabi reflects more than a single case. It reveals how powerful laws can shape the boundaries of public life, especially for women who choose to step beyond traditional roles and speak on political issues. It also highlights a deeper tension: when laws meant to protect begin to silence, the line between security and suppression becomes increasingly blurred.
Lasting peace cannot be built on silence alone. It requires space for voices, even uncomfortable ones, to be heard. It requires trust that grows not from fear, but from a sense of fairness and inclusion. Without that balance, stability may appear on the surface, but beneath it, discontent continues to grow.
The author is a student of International Relations at the International Islamic University, Islamabad. Currently, she is serving as an intern at the Kashmir Institute of International Relations Islamabad.