Reflections from a Peacebuilder’s Journal Sohini Jana (India

Reflections from a Peacebuilder’s Journal

Sohini Jana Editor’s Note: Sohini is an extraordinary peacebuilder who offers a glimpse into her personal reflections and internal processes from the frontline of peacebuilding and conflict transformation in Kashmir. Author’s Note: This article is derived from my journal that I maintained while working in Kashmir. I hope this account adds value to your understanding of the journey into conscious peacebuilding as I continue to live it to this day.

February 2020

“I don’t have a lot to offer you at this moment. It is barely what you deserve. But you already know that. Don’t you?” He paused.

“All I can offer though is a great opportunity to work with us in Kashmir. Do you think you would like that?”

He looked me straight in the eye with at once a piercing and openly probing look as if he was willing himself to believe that he already knew the answer that was framing itself inside my head.

“I just want you to know that I trust you to lead the team and build this with us. Together, we will work it out.” He added.

“Say yes. Please?” he pressed on.

I was quiet. “Is this how peacebuilding works?” I recall wondering. “But Touseef, I am not Kashmiri you know. What makes you think I can help? What if they don’t trust me?” I hesitated, voicing my fears exasperatedly.

It was one of those moments when I was feeling ecstatic about the opportunity and its prospects but also felt paralyzed by fear, indecision and self-doubt like never before. I suppose this is what we understand as the “cold-feet” moment. You may experience a few of these moments before taking up exciting field opportunities.

“I trust you. I am Kashmiri. Javaid trusts you. He is also Kashmiri. You will build trust gradually with the others too. Give yourself a chance. I am sure you will do just fine!” Touseef affirmed. His face was beaming with excitement, hope and determined sincerity.

“Hmm. I can give it a try but you have to give me some time to prepare before I move to Kashmir. I don’t know enough about the conflict.” I mumbled. I was already making mental notes about all the books and papers I needed to read for the preparation.

Touseef smiled knowingly. “Do I have permission to offer my two cents on your preparation madam?”

“Books won’t help in Kashmir. Well, for facts you can rely on them to some extent. But Kashmir is an experience. Allow the conflict to teach you what it has to.

I will call Javaid now, and prepare for your visit. Don’t forget to pack some warm clothes. For everything else, be open to surprises.” He scuttled off to speak with the other co-founder Javaid. Touseef was meticulous about preparations and could hardly contain his excitement.

October 2020

I travelled to Kashmir in the middle of the pandemic, sometime in October 2020 when domestic travel opened up. I had asked Touseef, my colleague and the co-founder of Jammu and Kashmir Policy Institute for some time to prepare myself to work on the conflict before my visit. I sincerely believed that preparation was important before I took the plunge and committed to building an organization in Kashmir. Despite utilizing the lockdown period well to read up on everything to do with the conflict that I could lay my hands on, I remember feeling utterly unprepared when my plane touched down for the first time at Srinagar airport. I had gotten to know the team I would be working with over the past few months since February 2020. However, my prejudices kicked in faster than expected despite all my preparations.

“I am Indian and Hindu. I hail from a certain privileged section of society. And, I have zero experience in a conflict zone, leave alone a university degree in conflict transformation. Was I being too ambitious venturing straight into Kashmir, having simply read up a few books and listened to Kashmiris from different walks of life, speak about life in the valley? What was I really hoping to accomplish? What proof did I have that the Kashmiris I would meet would trust me? Will they believe that I want the best for them and that I am here to help? Will the identity labels work against me even before I can build relationships in the valley?” These were a few of the thoughts that my journal captured as I waited at the airport lounge for my colleagues to pick me up. Dragging one large suitcase with everything to keep me warm and wearing my laptop bag like a shield of armor on my back, I remember finally stepping out of the airport after about half an hour, looking around hesitatingly for Touseef.

The sight that met my eyes was not common. Touseef was standing outside the arrival area with four of his uniformed personal security officers. Each officer held a weapon, alert and flanking the young man in the pheran. Somehow, I hadn’t expected Touseef to turn up with security officials. “Was he really at threat?” It was an uneasy feeling that did not quite help me feel welcome. Soon I was in the car with the men, heading towards the office and attached quarters where I would be staying. Despite being conscious of four uniformed men sitting in the car with heavy rifles, the mood was kept deliberately light. Touseef was cracking jokes like any other friend of mine, pointing out to specific details along the road as he drove on.

I realized over the short journey to the office that my colleague had lived with a certain “threat to his life” that I would probably not be able to empathize with, completely. It was probably normal for him as his role of a youth leader and activist in Kashmir caused him security concerns. I made a mental note to become more alert and conscious of the needs of my hosts from the community. My first lesson even before I had entered the office was to “intuitively sense” and seek clarity and guidance from my hosts about what was needed from me in terms of a code of conduct. I knew, I didn’t know enough. The books indeed had not prepared me for Kashmir.

October 2020-November 2020

Over the weeks, I found myself travelling to different locations, different homes, visiting friends and relatives of my team mates living in distant villages, small towns in different districts. From enjoying the local cuisine to spending evenings listening to local musicians sing locally popular songs, I was growing to appreciate the culture that the locals held so close to their hearts despite the disruptive realities that marked their experience of the conflict. My colleagues and peers were always excited to show me around and emphasized how “safe” Kashmir was and how they could never imagine having to choose to find home anywhere else in the world. I understood what a sense of rootedness to one’s own culture and home felt like but for Kashmiris, “belonging to Kashmir” spelt a different kind of safety that they probably held on to with quiet determination more than any other experience of living other identities. I learnt my second lesson at this point. I had to be conscious of “not being Kashmiri”, “not belonging to Kashmir” but finding a safe space amongst the community nonetheless, by building trust beyond the identity that they associated with safety.

I was conscious of the curious eyes that followed me around everywhere. The warmth of the tourism culture and world-renowned hospitality was underpinned by a stoic sense of skepticism that I could hardly shake off. I remember asking myself every day, “Did I manage to come across as trust worthy today? Or did I say anything that could have possibly hurt anyone because I don’t share the sensibilities of growing up in this land?” My intention to be cautious and mindful of my speech, code of conduct, cultural expectations led me to take to listening more. It was an interesting transition for me. Touseef’s advice came back to me every day. “Kashmir is an experience. Allow the conflict to teach you what it has to.” And so, it did. I listened.

November 2020

I had come to Kashmir to help Touseef and his local team to build and run a youth led local think tank in Jammu and Kashmir. When my colleague and friend handed me the Directorship of the organization, the organization was merely a name and a logo. A few calls with Javaid and Touseef, the co-founders, provided me with some context and insights on why such an organization was needed and what their vision for the local youth was that they hoped to cater to through the organization. But the “how” part was still unclear. There was no precedent that I could rely on. I had my task cut out for me. I needed a nudge, a sense of direction. I needed something that would tell me that I was looking to move in the right direction.

The more I thought about direction, the more I felt I had more to learn. I spent hours listening to my colleagues, common men and women who I met along the way, stakeholders and people who had a lot of ideas to offer. The more I listened the more I found myself floating on a sea of narratives and different motives. I decided to use my intuition to discern which ideas or suggestions to heed while designing the organization and which ones to ignore. My journal helped me to keep my intentions aligned to the way I engaged with possibilities and guided the team to make the most of the same.

Over the months, we found ourselves creating a platform to integrate peacebuilding and public policy to support social inclusion and sustainable development in Jammu and Kashmir. The excitement of my colleagues, their stories and hopes, the persistent efforts of the co-founders to engage and share with stakeholders supplied to me the much-needed fuel of hope amidst the global crisis of the pandemic. Even when I felt that we were hitting a dead end, someone or the other from the team would show up to remind me how they trusted me to trust my intuition about things. As Executive authority and a mentor for the team, I grew to trust myself and my intuitive judgement about the dream we were all co-creating. I didn’t know I was conscious as a peacebuilder before my intuition grew into my strongest reflex, an inexplicable source of guidance, an internal moral compass that kept me grounded in my purpose. We all have it. We simply need a community that can remind us of the compass when we lose sight of it or doubt it. Sometimes this trust in our sense of inner guidance brings forth the courageous space to birth creativity together. This was one of the most important lessons I took away from my time in Kashmir. I came back to my home town in Kolkata just as the second wave of the pandemic was hitting its peak. Since my departure in April 2021, I have not had the chance to go back. As much as it pained me to settle into a long-distance relationship with Kashmir, I knew that disruptions and obstacles would come in my way no matter how hard I tried to be there for the team and the people I met in Kashmir. Planning a sustainable approach to further the larger cause that the organization was built to serve became the highlight for my efforts even as I started managing operations from afar. It was time for me to trust the team to be guided by the shared vision and moral compass that we had evolved over the one year of our work together.

I stepped down and handed over the reigns to the leadership that had evolved over the year in October 2021. My intuition guided me to take the step. It is important to know when to let go if our intention is towards sustaining a vision that has true potential. I did my part when the time came for me. To be conscious is to know when you have served your purpose and to relinquish control such that the creative flow of possibilities can flow on uninterrupted.

As a facilitator of relationships, community and creative engagements for the purpose of inclusion and diversity, I left Kashmir with a heart full of gratitude, a journal full of memories and a place within families where I was practically adopted as a daughter. To my understanding, conscious peacebuilding helps us to integrate our own individual growth with the possibilities we create and that we step into for moving closer to our purpose of bringing people together to live more sustainably with each other and for the planet. By being the midwife for the facilitation process of a youth led initiative in Jammu and Kashmir, I believe that I moved one step closer to being who I am meant to be. As Touseef rightly said, “Trust the conflict to teach you what it has to.” And so, it did. ²

Sohini Jana is an experienced and trained dialogue facilitator, communication specialist and leadership/career coach. She has worked widely with multiple stakeholders including activists, journalists, academicians, students and peacebuilders. Her core competencies include facilitating and designing dialogue-based trauma care and conflict transformation projects, organization development( not for profit sector), project development for community development goals and policy research with a focus on mainstreaming inter-religious and inter-cultural dialogue, faith based reconciliation and trauma care tools into social policy. Sohini is the acting Chapter President for the India chapter of a nonprofit organization based in the United States called the Euphrates Institute. Recently, she had also delivered a live session training to students of the Institute of Management Sciences in Peshawar, Pakistan on Interfaith Harmony. She has won the Euphrates Institute scholarship for her service in the field of interfaith harmony targeted towards “turning the other into a brother”. Her motto remains to bring the world one step closer to witnessing the unity of all existence.