By Zara Kainat.
Today, Kashmir speaks.
It speaks through school assemblies, awareness workshops, social media campaigns, and carefully worded messages that echo across timelines. Students sit in rows and listen. Teachers repeat familiar warnings. Influencers post the right captions. The message is clear, consistent, and everywhere: drugs are dangerous.
And yet, despite all this, something feels unchanged. Because beneath the surface of this collective awareness lies a quieter, more unsettling reality—one that does not trend, does not get posted, and often does not get discussed at all. The reality is that awareness, by itself, is not stopping the problem. It is merely surrounding it.
This is where the conversation needs to shift.
For years, drug abuse has been treated as a topic that demands attention on specific days. It becomes a subject of urgency for a few hours, perhaps a few days, before gradually fading back into the background of everyday life. But the issue itself does not follow this schedule. It does not pause when the campaigns end or disappear when the speeches conclude. It continues—quietly, steadily, and often invisibly.
In Jammu and Kashmir, this is no longer a distant concern. It is no longer something that can be dismissed as rare or exaggerated. It is closer than many are willing to admit. It exists in classrooms where students struggle to stay present, in friend circles where subtle changes go unnoticed, and in homes where silence replaces difficult conversations.
What makes this situation particularly complex is that the problem is not rooted in a lack of information.
Young people today are more informed than ever. They know the risks. They understand the consequences. They have heard the warnings countless times. The idea that drug abuse persists because of ignorance is no longer convincing. The reasons run deeper.
The real question is not what drugs do. The real question is why they are being chosen in the first place.
For many young individuals, the answer does not lie in rebellion or thrill-seeking. It lies in something far less visible and far more difficult to address—escape.
Escape from pressure that feels constant and overwhelming.
Escape from expectations that seem impossible to meet.
Escape from emotions that have no clear outlet or language.
In a region where conversations around mental health are still evolving, many young people find themselves navigating their struggles alone. They are expected to perform, to succeed, to appear stable—often without being given the space to express vulnerability. Over time, this silence builds. It becomes heavy. And when it becomes too heavy, the search for relief begins.
This is where the danger lies.
Drugs, in such moments, do not always appear as a destructive choice. They appear as a temporary solution—a way to feel less, to escape for a while, to quiet what feels overwhelming. The relief is short-lived, but it is enough to create a pattern. And that pattern, once formed, becomes increasingly difficult to break.
What begins as an escape gradually turns into dependence.
What feels like control slowly becomes loss of control.
And often, by the time it is visible to others, the struggle has already deepened.
Adding to this complexity is the role of the digital environment. Social media, while powerful as a tool for awareness, does not always function in a straightforward way. It informs, but it also influences. It warns, but it sometimes normalizes. It creates conversations, but it can also blur boundaries.
Exposure to certain lifestyles, behaviors, or narratives can shape perception in subtle ways. What once seemed unacceptable can begin to appear less serious. What once felt risky can begin to look common. Over time, the line between awareness and normalization becomes increasingly thin.
But perhaps the most significant challenge lies not in awareness or exposure, but in response.
As a society, there is a tendency to react to drug abuse with judgment rather than understanding. The focus often shifts to blame—on the individual, on their choices, on their environment—without fully acknowledging the underlying factors that contributed to those choices.
This approach creates distance instead of connection.
Young people who are struggling become less likely to speak. They become more cautious, more guarded, and more isolated. The fear of being judged or misunderstood outweighs the possibility of receiving support. As a result, the problem becomes hidden—not solved.
We talk, but we do not always listen.
We warn, but we do not always understand.
We respond, but often only when the issue becomes visible.
By then, the solutions are no longer simple.
It is important to recognize that drug abuse is not just a legal issue or a social concern. It is deeply connected to emotional and psychological well-being. It reflects gaps in communication, in support systems, and in the way society engages with its youth.
Addressing it requires more than awareness campaigns. It requires a shift in mindset.
Parents, for instance, play a crucial role—not just as authority figures, but as listeners. Creating an environment where children feel safe enough to express themselves without fear of immediate judgment can make a significant difference. Conversations that are open, consistent, and empathetic are far more effective than one-time warnings.
Educational institutions also carry responsibility. While workshops and seminars are important, they should not be the only approach. Schools and colleges must focus on building supportive environments where students feel seen and heard. This includes accessible counseling, peer support systems, and a culture that prioritizes well-being alongside academic performance.
At the community level, there is a need to move away from stigma. Viewing drug abuse solely as a failure or a flaw limits the possibility of recovery and support. Understanding it as a complex issue—one that involves emotional, social, and environmental factors—allows for more meaningful intervention.
Equally important is the role of everyday conversations.
Change does not begin with large campaigns alone. It begins with small, consistent actions—checking in on a friend, listening without interrupting, creating spaces where honesty is not met with immediate criticism. These moments may seem insignificant, but they have the potential to prevent isolation.
Because at its core, this issue is not just about substances. It is about silence.
Silence in homes where difficult topics are avoided.
Silence in classrooms where struggles are hidden behind performance.
Silence in social spaces where vulnerability is mistaken for weakness.
Breaking this silence is not easy. It requires discomfort. It requires patience. It requires a willingness to listen without rushing to respond.
But it is necessary.
Kashmir does not lack awareness. It does not lack information. What it needs is something far more challenging honest engagement.
It needs conversations that go beyond surface-level messaging.
It needs support systems that are accessible and trusted.
It needs a shift from reaction to prevention.
Because no awareness day, no matter how well-intentioned, can address a problem that is built over time through everyday experiences.
If the goal is real change, then the focus must move from visibility to understanding.
We must begin to ask different questions.
Not just what is happening, but why is it happening.
Not just who is responsible, but who is being unheard.
Only then can the response become meaningful.
Until that happens, awareness will continue to exist—visible, vocal, and widespread.
And the crisis will continue to exist alongside it—quiet, complex, and unresolved.
Because the real issue is not that people do not know.
It is that too many are struggling in ways that remain unseen.
And until those struggles are acknowledged, understood, and addressed with empathy rather than judgment, the problem will not disappear.
It will simply become better at hiding.
“The real danger isn’t that drugs exist-it’s that too many struggles remain unheard.”
