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Crosscut: kashmir and memory

15/11/2026
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A ledger of lobbying payments in Washington sits in sharp contrast to quiet mourning in Kashmir. Oishika Neogi opens the books on foreign influence, showing how the Indian government pays American insiders to manage news coverage of its military actions. It is an expensive effort to control the story from afar. Then, the lens pulls in tight. Ashwaq Masoodi mourns the death of her best friend, realizing how this single loss erases a vital witness to her personal history. Placing these side by side reveals a strange tension. While a state spends millions to shape an official geopolitical record, a local writer struggles to hold onto the intimate memories of a life that is rapidly disappearing.

Ashwaq Masoodi leaves you sitting on a bus in 2005, looking at a white crewneck sweater, trying to hold onto the memory of a single friend who anchored her reality. When a government shuts down phone lines and the postal service, keeping a grip on personal history becomes a quiet struggle. Turning to Oishika Neogi’s report next offers a jarring shift in scale. Where Masoodi writes about the fragile effort to remember one life during a communications blackout, Neogi tracks the millions of dollars spent to manufacture a completely different kind of memory. Neogi looks at lobbying records to show how the Indian government pays Washington insiders to manage its image on American television and social media. Read alongside Masoodi, Neogi’s findings look less like standard political public relations and more like an organized effort to overwrite the lived reality of people on the ground. The contrast points to a massive gap in power. On one side, a writer mourns the loss of the only person who could witness her history. On the other, a state apparatus buys access to Fox News to make sure its own version of events is the only one the world actually hears.

A government cuts a check to a Washington lobbying firm, buying the power to write history from the top down. Half a world away, a writer loses the only friend who remembers what her neighborhood felt like before the military arrived. The scale of this contrast is hard to shake. Millions of dollars go into managing the official record of a conflict, while the actual, lived history of a place vanishes quietly with a single death. When the people who hold the everyday memories are gone, what is left to challenge the official story?

Sources:
Psyche: My friend, my witness
Scroll.in: In filings by US lobbying firm, a glimpse of Modi government’s strategy to engage with Trump

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