Mental Health Is Not a Privilege It’s a Right.

What the Future Demands:- From Sympathy to Systemic Change

Mental Health Is Not a Privilege It’s a Right.

In the valley of breathtaking beauty, where the snow kisses the cedar trees and rivers whisper ancient songs, a silent storm brews in the minds of Kashmir’s youth. Their childhoods have been haunted by sirens and shadows, their dreams shelved between shutdowns and surveillance. For decades, the young hearts of Kashmir have grown up under the grim shadow of conflict and now, many are not just wounded, but broken.

A staggering number of young Kashmiris suffer in silence, grappling with the invisible wounds of depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). A 2022 study conducted by Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) in collaboration with the Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS), Srinagar, found that over 45% of adults in Kashmir show symptoms of significant psychological distress, with about 26% meeting the criteria for depression, and 20% suffering from anxiety disorders. PTSD, once associated with war veterans, has become an everyday diagnosis for teenagers in this embattled land.

But statistics, while sobering, barely scratch the surface. The real story lies in the eyes of a 19-year-old who hasn’t stepped out of his home in weeks. In the silence of schools turned into bunkers. In the notes left behind by students who found suicide less terrifying than survival.

Years of militarization, frequent lockdowns, and the suffocating unpredictability of life in a conflict zone have deeply disrupted the mental landscape of Kashmir’s youth. Curfews are not just a restriction of movement they are a confinement of spirit. Schools are not just institutions they are memories of a normalcy that rarely lasts. The internet, often their only window to the world, is snapped off at will, leaving a generation in digital darkness. In such a reality, how can hope survive?

Unemployment, too, gnaws at their minds. Despite high literacy rates, Kashmir's youth unemployment rate hovers around 25%, nearly double the national average. For a young graduate in Srinagar or Anantnag, job applications become rituals of despair. With limited industries, crumbling tourism, and a frozen private sector, thousands of educated youth find themselves idle fertile ground for hopelessness to take root. A sense of purposelessness creeps in, and many begin to question their own worth in a world that offers them no place.

But unemployment is only one thread in a tangled web. At the heart of this catastrophe is a society overwhelmed but under equipped. Mental health, still cloaked in stigma, is rarely discussed in households. There are only a handful of clinical psychologists and psychiatrists available for a population of millions. Most young people never seek help either because they can’t afford it, or because they fear being labeled as “mad” in a society where vulnerability is taboo.

There is a devastating irony here. A land where poetry once flowed like spring water is now choking on its own silence. A people known for their resilience are now crumbling under weight they can no longer carry. The tragedy is not just that Kashmir’s youth are suffering it is that they are suffering alone.

And yet, all is not lost. Brave conversations are beginning to emerge. Local NGOs and young mental health advocates are trying to create safe spaces, peer networks, and online therapy circles. Art, music, and storytelling have become lifelines. Some schools have begun integrating mental health sessions into their curriculum. The valley may be wounded, but it is not without its healers.

Still, unless there is a systemic intervention one that includes policy change, community based mental health programs, economic opportunities, and above all, the return of peace the damage could be generational. The youth of Kashmir do not need pity; they need platforms. They do not seek sympathy; they deserve systems that see them, hear them, and help them heal.

Until then, the mountains will echo not with laughter, but with the quiet ache of dreams deferred.

~BY ADIL HUSSAIN