The story of Government Medical College (GMC) Handwara is one of dashed hopes, wasted resources, and political opportunism. What should have been a landmark in north Kashmir’s healthcare infrastructure has instead become a battleground of competing interests. The people of Handwara had pinned their hopes on this institution, not only for advanced medical treatment but also for the educational opportunities, economic activity, and jobs it promised to bring. Instead, they are forced to watch as politics, poor planning, and administrative negligence turn their aspirations into endless uncertainty.

Approximately 20 crores have already been spent at the Chowgal site, where basements and columns were raised, signalling progress and fuelling optimism. Yet that optimism was soon washed away when floods submerged the site and raised doubts about its safety. The administration, which had all the time and resources to conduct thorough feasibility studies before selecting Chowgal, now seeks to abandon it in favour of Natnussa. The question that troubles many is simple: why was the site declared fit earlier, why was public money sunk into half-built structures, and why has it suddenly become unsafe? If Chowgal was indeed flood-prone, why were safeguards not built into the project design, as is done elsewhere in India where major institutions have been constructed in challenging terrains but with adequate planning?
The pain of the people of Handwara lies in this betrayal. They see a project that should have been functional by now reduced to a tug-of-war between politicians trying to please their vote banks. For them, GMC Handwara was not just another building—it symbolised access to quality healthcare, reduced travel to Srinagar for emergencies, and the dignity of having a premier institution in their region. To watch it stall, shift, or become hostage to narrow interests feels like a cruel joke. At the same time, the people of Natnussa now see the possibility of progress coming their way, which further complicates the situation. Two communities, both deserving of development, are set against each other because of the administration’s initial failure to plan carefully.
The shifting of GMC from Chowgal to Natnussa also raises an uncomfortable question: what will happen to the existing structure where crores of public funds have already been spent? Will it be abandoned to rust, like so many other incomplete projects in Kashmir that stand as silent monuments to mismanagement? Or will the government repurpose it, and if so, for what? Without a clear answer, people cannot help but feel that their hard-earned money, collected through taxes, is being wasted without accountability.
The issue here is not whether Natnussa is a better site than Chowgal. The issue is why the project began without rigorous flood risk assessments, without environmental impact studies, and without a transparent plan. In 2014, Kashmir witnessed one of its worst floods, where hospitals like SKIMS, Lal Ded, and even major public buildings in Srinagar were inundated. If those experiences did not push the administration to rethink site selection and flood mitigation strategies, what will? Today, the government speaks of Chowgal’s flood vulnerability, but it never shared any prior study with the people. To build public trust, the least that should be done now is to prepare a detailed report on past flood studies and the site’s vulnerability, and place it before the public. Only then can decisions carry credibility.
Equally concerning is the environmental destruction being carried out in the name of development. In Kashmir, fragile ecosystems are sacrificed for projects that often lack sustainability. GMC Handwara is only the latest example. Instead of blending development with ecological preservation, we continue to follow a reckless path where construction begins first, and planning comes later. The Chowgal site itself could have been made viable had there been proper flood management strategies: embankments, diversion channels, or elevated construction models. Across India, many medical colleges and hospitals have been successfully built in flood-prone areas by designing structures that can withstand such risks. From Assam to Bihar, institutions exist in challenging floodplains but function effectively because they were backed by foresight and engineering solutions. Why could the same not have been applied in Handwara?
The answer lies in the intersection of politics and governance. Politicians, irrespective of party lines, are using GMC Handwara as a stage to strengthen their vote banks. Some demand its continuation at Chowgal to please one section, others push for Natnussa to woo another. Press conferences are called, promises are made, and accusations are traded. Yet, the central question—what serves the public interest—remains unanswered. The institution is reduced to a pawn in a larger power game, where the health and dignity of ordinary people carry little weight.
This raises the issue of accountability. Who will be held responsible for the crores already spent? Who will answer for the lack of planning that has caused this crisis? Who will take responsibility for the pain of Handwara residents, who see their hopes slipping away day by day? Accountability in Kashmir’s development projects is often a missing. Reports are buried, blame is shifted, and files gather dust. But without fixing accountability, the same mistakes will continue to be repeated, and public funds will continue to be squandered.
Where do we go from here? First, the government must make public a comprehensive report of previous flood studies, risk assessments, and site evaluations. Let the people see the facts, not just political claims. Second, accountability must be fixed for the poor planning and premature expenditure at Chowgal. Third, if the project must shift, the government must declare a concrete plan for the existing structures so that public money is not left to rot. They could be repurposed into a nursing college, a paramedical institute, or any facility that complements the GMC. Fourth, the administration must adopt modern planning practices: flood-resilient infrastructure, scientific feasibility studies, and transparent site selection. And lastly, politics must step aside. Healthcare is too vital a need to be treated as a bargaining tool for votes.
The people of Handwara deserve better than being caught between broken promises and political calculations. They deserve a medical college that addresses their needs, built on sound planning and ecological responsibility. And they deserve leaders who put public health above personal power. Until that happens, the tale of GMC Handwara will remain less about healing bodies and more about exposing the sickness of our governance.

Email:-------------- naseerbita@yahoo.com