Every Kashmiri family knows someone from that generation. A cousin who never came back from across the Line of Control. A classmate who put down his books, picked up a rifle, and disappeared into the haze of militancy. In the 1990s, Yasin Malik and the JKLF gave those boys a cause that looked like honour but turned out to be a dead end.

The Cult of the Gun

Malik was young, fiery, and persuasive. He had the defiance of a street fighter and the swagger of a man convinced history was on his side. In crowded mohallas and on college steps, his words carried weight. He told teenagers they could achieve freedom faster with a gun than with a degree. For a boy restless with anger, that message was intoxicating.
The result? A wave of young Kashmiris who traded classrooms for Kalashnikovs. They crossed into training camps in Pakistan, many never to return. And those who did often came back in coffins.

Parents Left Behind

It is the mothers who still carry the grief. They remember pleading with their sons to stay in school, to finish exams, to think of the future. They remember the knock at the door, or the silence when a child never came home. Fathers speak with bitterness too — of a leader who promised glory but left families broken and empty.
Malik never bore that cost. He remained the figurehead while ordinary Kashmiris buried their children.

When Schools Fell Silent

Those years gutted the Valley’s education system. Schools shut for months, universities became unsafe, and whole batches of students lost out on years of learning. Some call the 1990s Kashmir’s “wasted decade” — when pens were replaced by weapons and classrooms by bunkers.
Meanwhile, the families of separatist leaders made sure their children were safe, often educated in Delhi or abroad. It’s a contrast ordinary Kashmiris noticed, even if it wasn’t always spoken aloud.

The Long Shadow of Unemployment

By the 2000s, the consequences were visible everywhere. A generation that had once been promised liberation had little to show for it. Many lacked education, skills or stable work. The anger curdled into frustration. The slogans of the 1990s had left only unemployment lines and lost opportunities.
Malik’s words had promised empowerment. Instead, they delivered dependency, poverty and despair.

A Different Course Today

The story is shifting now. Kashmir’s new generation is choosing a different path. They are sitting for UPSC exams, building start-ups, moving into IT jobs and entrepreneurship. Where Malik told youth to leave books for bullets, today’s achievers show that books were the only real weapon worth carrying.
It is not easy — violence still simmers at the edges, and disinformation campaigns continue — but the choices being made now reject the false promises of the past.

A Legacy of Betrayal

Yasin Malik’s legacy is not of leadership but of loss. He robbed Kashmir of its brightest years by steering youth toward violence. He left behind grieving parents and wasted potential — the very definition of betrayal.
For the Valley, the lesson is written in the stories of that lost generation: no leader who demands blood in the name of politics can ever deliver a future worth having.