In the tranquil surroundings of Pahalgam, Kashmir, the afternoon of 22nd April 2025 turned into a nightmare as a brutal terror attack unfolded. Civilians targeted based on religious identity, is yet another grim reminder of the dangerous intersections between violence, identity, and ideology. The assailants, reportedly belonging to an extremist Muslim group, identified and killed civilians because they were Hindus. In the aftermath, a predictable pattern has emerged: the act of a few is quickly attributed to an entire community, and public discourse spirals into blame, fear, and retaliation.
But does terror truly have a religion? Does the origin of violence lie in belief systems, or in the structural and political conditions that shape how people act in its name? To truly understand such events and to prevent their recurrence we must step back and examine them through a sociological lens.
The attack in Pahalgam, a scenic valley known for its tranquil beauty unfolded in horrifying detail. Tourists and families, including newlyweds and foreign nationals, found themselves caught in a nightmare. According to reports, the attackers asked people their religion, even resorting to physical checks to verify identity, before executing them at point-blank range. The violence was not just brutal, it was symbolic. It turned identity into a death sentence.
This event is not isolated. It is part of a wider, historical pattern where terrorism exploits social divisions. It does not emerge from faith, but from extremism that cloaks itself in the language of religion, nationalism, or ideology. And here lies the core of the issue: the threat is not in a religion, ethnicity, or nation, but in any extremist ideology, religious or political, that demands blind loyalty, suppresses dissent, and justifies violence. The individuals who adopt and act upon such ideologies become agents of division and fear, regardless of the community they belong to.
Groups like the Taliban and ISIS have killed countless Muslims who did not conform to their rigid codes. In Pakistan, the school massacre in Peshawar claimed the lives of children, most of them Muslims. In Afghanistan, Shia mosques have been bombed by Sunni extremist factions. These acts of terror do not defend religion, they defile it. Likewise, violent extremist groups claiming to act in the name of Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism, or Buddhism have targeted other communities, sometimes each other across history. The Crusades, anti-Sikh riots, attacks on Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar, and the persecution of Jews during the Holocaust all stand as painful examples of how no major religion, be it Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, or Judaism has remained untouched by those who twist its teachings for violent ends.
Yet, each time such violence occurs, societies around the world fall into the same trap. They begin to view entire communities with suspicion. Hate speech surfaces. Innocent people are judged by the actions of those who represent no one but their own radical beliefs. It becomes socially acceptable to question the loyalty of someone based on their name, dress, or the prayer they offer. The cycle of suspicion deepens, and trust erodes.
This reaction, while emotionally understandable, is sociologically dangerous. Collective blame mirrors the logic of the terrorist, it erases the individual in favour of a fixed, threatening identity. But just as one cannot conclude that all men are violent because most terrorists have been male, one cannot associate an entire religion with the actions of a few extremists born into it. Identity is not guilt. Belonging is not complicity.
Historical memory offers many such lessons. During British colonial rule, the strategy of “divide and rule” hardened communal lines, institutionalizing mistrust. The Partition of 1947 was the tragic outcome of years of this division, where neighbours who had coexisted for centuries were suddenly torn apart by fear and political manipulation. Hatred does not stop to verify facts. It looks for a target, and in doing so, it risks becoming indistinguishable from the ideology it claims to oppose.
If this cycle of hate continues, if society continues to respond to terror with generalized suspicion, and if the dignity of innocent people is sacrificed for the satisfaction of collective vengeance then what sets us apart from those we condemn? The endpoint of this path is not justice, but endless violence, mistrust, and fear. Communities will grow apart, and the social contract that holds a diverse society together will weaken to the point of collapse.
Terrorism must be condemned without hesitation. But the response must be rooted in justice, not vengeance. Condemnation of an act should never morph into condemnation of an entire people. The task before society is not just to defeat terror physically, but to dismantle the social conditions that allow hate to flourish – alienation, propaganda, politicized religion, and economic marginalization.
No one chooses the religion or family into which they are born. Individuals cannot be held accountable for the choices of others who happen to share their identity. The problem lies not in identity, but in the refusal to recognize the individual beyond that identity. To defend humanity, we must resist the urge to paint entire communities with the brush of fear. Because if we fail to ask different questions, history has already shown us the answers, and they are written in blood.
And as the world continues to navigate through fractured identities and rising polarizations, one must ask: Will we allow terror to dictate our humanity, or will we choose to rise above it?
