About a Man Who Threw a Shoe

Abdul Ahad Jan, who flung a shoe at J&K Chief Minister Omar Abdullah, is believed to be like many other shoe-throwers—sane and honest.

Having been at its receiving end himself not very long ago, perhaps no one but Union Home Minister P Chidambaram knows what a solitary shoe can do. A day after J&K policeman Abdul Ahad Jan hurled his standard-issue shoe at Chief Minister Omar Abdullah, Chidambaram informed members of the Congress Working Committee in New Delhi that the current situation in Kashmir was unlike earlier periods’. The current unrest, he said, was indeed spontaneous. This is certainly a U-turn, given the Union Home Ministry’s stance until a few weeks ago, when it seemed hellbent on establishing that the Valley’s mass protests were being puppeteered by separatists at the behest of troublemakers across the border.

Chidambaram’s realisation has come rather late in the day, though. The death toll of the recent unrest is touching 60 now. Had it come earlier, New Delhi might have been able to come up with a face-saving arrangement. But now that the fateful shoe has been flung, Kashmiris have found themselves a new folk hero, an unlikely one too—a man in uniform. “Teri jaan, meri jaan, Ahad Jan Ahad Jan” has become the new protest anthem in Kashmir. On social networking sites, Ahad Jan’s surprise volley is being hailed as an act of heroism akin to that of an Iraqi journalist who hurled his footwear at George W Bush. On the streets of Kashmir, people are shouting slogans and praying for Ahad Jan’s long life. The other day, in Jan’s hometown Bandipore in north Kashmir, flowers and sugar candy were showered on his wife amidst celebratory drumbeats. 

So, who is Ahad Jan? Deputed as a security officer at the residence of the local Communist Party of India-Marxist (CPM) leader MY Tarigami, Jan is said to have a heroic job record. He is believed to have saved the life of the then Director General of Police JN Saxena in 1992, when a bomb placed in a drawer exploded at the Kashmir Police Headquarters in the midst of a high-level meeting. Saxena is said to have promised him a double promotion in reward, but was only promoted once, according to his son Showkat Jan. “He challenged it in the court and became a sore for many police officers,” claims Showkat. 

Jan’s neighbours have other tales of his bravery to tell. Once in 1996, when renegade militants—Ikhwanis—killed five people in Bandipore, Jan confronted them with a boldness that resulted in their setting his house afire and firing at his son Showkat, disabling the boy’s left arm. That was not the end of the family’s travails. Soon afterwards, Showkat joined the ranks of Kashmiri militants, and was later imprisoned for two years. Another close relative, Ahad Jan’s nephew, has been under arrest for eight years after the Uttar Pradesh Police charged him with involvement in militancy. Open tried speaking to JN Saxena, who has retired and lives in Delhi. “This is a sensitive issue,” he says, tightlipped, “I’ll have to check the records and get back.” 

Ahad Jan himself, though, always did his duty in uniform with due diligence, says one of his colleagues in the police who does not wish to be named. “He was emotional, but I can tell you very clearly that he had no mental disorder,” he says. “He is completely alright,” affirms his brother Sanaullah Jan, “A day before, he came home to give us his salary.” 

A folk hero he may well have become, but the way the J&K Police has handled Jan’s case so far is ridiculous at best. On one hand, they have been trying to prove that he suffered from some psychiatric condition, and on the other, they claim that he had been prompted by separatists to chuck his shoe and had even sneaked into the VIP lounge during the Independence Day celebrations on a politician’s pass. But so far, the police haven’t named either the party or politician whose pass was allegedly misused. “Do you really think if they had it, they would have kept mum?” asks a local journalist. “If that was indeed the case, the government would not have lost the opportunity to highlight it.” 

Meanwhile, the political opposition in J&K can scarcely conceal its glee at the incident. “It is a natural reaction to the injustice done to Kashmiris, but if the Omar Abdullah government had its way, it would blame the opposition even for flash floods in Leh,” in the words of Mehbooba Mufti, leader of the People’s Democratic Party. 

Sportingly, or perhaps in an attempt to win local hearts, Chief Minister Omar Abdullah has ordered Jan’s release, since—on 17 August. He also called Jan to his residence and gave him a patient hearing. Jan, who had been taken into custody for sedition after he flung the shoe, had been a noisy captive—shouting slogans in favour of azaadi, complaining of torture in the lockup, and demanding a meeting with the CM and Director General of Police to expose “certain police officers”. 

The police, Jan claims, had tried pressuring him to implicate separatist leaders for his act of defiance. Observers vouch for the fact that the police have sought to portray him as a villain, even besmirching his record as a policeman by saying he had a case lodged against him for indiscipline and drinking on duty. The police also claim that in May this year, he had been suspended from duty on charges of extortion. 

Kashmir’s separatists, meanwhile, have jumped into the fray, hoping to ride common Kashmiri sentiment on the issue. Separatist leader Aasiya Andrabi, for example, issued a stern warning against torturing Ahad Jan. “If anything untoward happens to Jan,” she has said in a statement, “the government will be responsible for the consequences.”

Amidst all the drum beats and chest thumps, it is New Delhi that has emerged clueless from the episode. To his credit, Chief Minister Omar Abdullah has taken the shoe assault rather well. But the Centre, no matter how hard it tries now, cannot shoo the message away.

With inputs from Tahir Syeed in Kashmir

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