Pakistan-occupied Kashmir is burning again—not with the usual border gunfire, but with the anger of its own people. In towns and cities across the so-called “Azad” Jammu and Kashmir, ordinary men and women have poured into the streets. Their slogans aren’t aimed at Delhi this time. They’re aimed at Islamabad. And for that, they’ve been met not with dialogue, but with bullets.

The spark came in late September when the Jammu Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee (JKJAAC) renewed its agitation against skyrocketing prices, unjust resource allocation, and decades of neglect. This wasn’t a fringe movement. Shopkeepers, students, farmers, teachers—people who usually stay clear of politics—joined the rallies. The slogan was simple and raw: roti, bijli, izzat — bread, power, dignity.

For weeks, Islamabad tried to brush it off as “manageable.” But as the rallies swelled into tens of thousands, and the 38-point charter of demands went viral on social media, the Pakistani state resorted to what it knows best: suppression.

Then came the breaking point. In Muzaffarabad, Rawalakot, and several smaller towns, protesters marched towards administrative buildings and army checkpoints. Videos, shaky but raw, show troops opening fire to disperse the crowd. Not rubber bullets. Real bullets.

More than 12 people are confirmed dead, according to hospital and civil society sources on the ground. Over 200 are wounded, many with gunshot injuries to the legs, chest, and abdomen. Some remain in critical condition. Eyewitnesses speak of panic and chaos—of men dropping beside them, of blood on the steps of government buildings, of ambulances stopped at checkpoints. “They weren’t dispersing us,” said one protester. “They were shooting at us.”

The violence didn’t end with the gunfire. Entire neighborhoods were sealed under an undeclared curfew. Roads in and out of Muzaffarabad were barricaded by military trucks. In several districts, mobile networks and the internet were cut off, an old, familiar tactic meant to choke the movement in silence. But the silence cracked. Footage slipped out. The world saw what was happening.

The irony isn’t lost on anyone in the Valley. For decades, Islamabad has projected PoK as a “model of freedom” for Kashmiris—a carefully polished narrative designed for international consumption. But when its own citizens demand lower wheat prices, affordable electricity, and an end to political patronage, the same state that claims to champion “self-determination” answers them with automatic rifles.

This is not about separatism or geopolitics anymore. It’s about basic survival. AJK has long been treated as a colony, not a partner. Land and water are exploited; voices are muted. Local assemblies exist, but only to rubber-stamp decisions made elsewhere. CPEC corridors and hydropower projects run through the region, but the benefits don’t. And when people finally say “enough,” the soldiers are sent in.

The government claims it is “restoring order.” But order imposed through fear is not stability—it’s a fuse waiting to burn down. Even after the partial deal with protest leaders—which includes maintaining subsidies and token reforms—the rage in the streets hasn’t fully subsided. It won’t, because the grievances run deeper than bread prices. The anger isn’t about one policy. It’s about being ruled, ignored, and silenced.

The faces of the dead are everywhere now: on posters, in whispers, on the walls of homes in Muzaffarabad’s narrow lanes. They were students, drivers, fathers. They weren’t insurgents. They were citizens who asked their government for flour and electricity, and got gunfire in reply.

In the coming weeks, the world may again turn its gaze to the Line of Control, to missile tests, to diplomatic statements between Delhi and Islamabad. But the real story is on the other side of the fence, where Pakistan’s own guns are pointed at Pakistan’s own people.

For the young men who carried the wounded on their shoulders, for the women who screamed at the armored vehicles rolling past their homes, this is no longer about politics. This is about dignity.

And dignity, once demanded, doesn’t go back into silence.