A caustic local quip lays bare Gilgit-Baltistan’s democratic illusion; “Which snowfall happens in FCNA Jutial? The real election happens there.” This is not satire—it is political instinct. Ballots may be cast in snowbound villages, but outcomes, many believe, are settled elsewhere—where authority never faces the weather, or the people.
Yash Khajuria
When Pakistan announces elections in territories it occupies but does not constitutionally own, the act is never politically neutral. President Asif Ali Zardari’s declaration that elections to the Gilgit-Baltistan (GB) Legislative Assembly will be held on January 24, 2026, must therefore be read not merely as a domestic administrative decision, but as a deliberate political signal. For India, which has consistently maintained that Gilgit-Baltistan forms an integral part of the former princely State of Jammu and Kashmir, such announcements reinforce a familiar pattern i.e. the use of electoral rituals to normalise Pakistan’s control over a disputed region without addressing its unresolved legal status or the democratic deficit experienced by its people.
Against this backdrop, the timing of the elections is striking. For the first time, GB is being pushed to the polls in the heart of winter—a season when snow buries roads, villages are cut off for weeks, and mobility becomes a privilege rather than a right. In a region where weather dictates life itself, scheduling elections in January appears less a logistical oversight and more a calculated gamble. Unsurprisingly, the move has generated unease not only in New Delhi, but also among sections of Gilgit-Baltistan’s own civil society.
From India’s standpoint, a foundational position bears reiteration: Gilgit-Baltistan remains under Pakistan’s illegal occupation. Administrative measures, including elections, do not confer legitimacy on that control. Nor do they alter the core dispute. The limited powers of the GB Legislative Assembly, operating under the Gilgit-Baltistan Order 2018, ensure that real authority continues to reside in Islamabad, with the military exercising decisive influence. Elections held within such a framework risk becoming exercises in form over substance—democratic in appearance, constrained in reality.
It is this gap between optics and outcomes that fuels local scepticism. Elections conducted in the absence of genuine autonomy are, at best, cosmetic. The familiar metaphor applies: a cage painted gold remains a cage.
The choice of January has sharpened these concerns. Local activist Syed Imtiyaz has described the move as a “sure-shot fix game,” arguing that low voter turnout—almost inevitable in winter—creates conditions ripe for manipulation. “Lesser the election turnout is directly proportional to the greater scope for rigging,” he notes, capturing a sentiment widely shared across the region. His demand to reschedule the polls to March or April is not simply about weather, but about safeguarding the minimal credibility such elections can claim.
Abdul Basit Khawaja, a social activist and volunteer, has similarly urged Pakistan’s mainstream parties to agree on a predictable election cycle. Voters in Gilgit-Baltistan, he argues, are repeatedly asked to participate in democratic processes at the most inhospitable time of the year, when roads are blocked and temperatures are brutal. His appeal to Nawaz Sharif to take “urgent cognisance” is rooted in administrative logic—alignment with the fiscal year, better preparedness for the Election Commission of Pakistan, and a stable democratic calendar. Yet Islamabad’s engagement with its peripheries has seldom been guided by such pragmatism.
Beneath the debate on dates lies a deeper and older suspicion. Gilgit-Baltistan’s elections have long carried the stigma of “selection” rather than choice. While proof is often circumstantial, the perception of military influence is pervasive. A sardonic local remark captures this unease: “Which snowfall happens in FCNA Jutial? The real election happens there.” The reference to the headquarters of the Pakistan Army’s Force Command Northern Areas is telling. Snow may paralyse villages, but it does not disrupt centres of power.
The structural limitations of the political process only deepen this distrust. The 33-member Gilgit-Baltistan Assembly has little say over critical matters such as land rights, mineral resources, security, or constitutional status. Nationalist and progressive groups argue that participating in such elections is akin to debating the arrangement of furniture in a house whose ownership is disputed. As Asghar Shah of the Awami Action Committee points out, the right to self-determination cannot be reduced to parliamentary debate within a powerless assembly—particularly when dissent is met with enforced disappearances, sectarian divisions are exacerbated, and local resources are extracted without consent.
Winter elections further tilt the field. Heavy snowfall and blocked highways will disproportionately affect remote constituencies, effectively muting marginal voices. Lower turnout is likely to favour well-organised mainstream parties such as the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) and the PML-N, both of which are actively mobilising. Even Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), which swept the 2020 elections amid allegations of rigging by its rivals, now demands postponement—an irony that underscores the transactional nature of electoral politics in the region.
From an Indian perspective, these developments reinforce a long-standing assessment: elections in Pakistan-occupied territories are structured to project normalcy while preserving entrenched control. They serve as instruments of political management rather than genuine expressions of popular will. In this sense, winter is not merely a season—it becomes a tool.
Democracy cannot meaningfully function where participation is curtailed by geography, climate, and coercion. Holding elections in the harshest month of the year risks reducing a constitutional exercise to a symbolic gesture. Ballots cast under duress—whether of fear, force, or frost—rarely translate into authentic mandates.
Gilgit-Baltistan today reflects a frozen democracy: active in procedure, constrained in substance. Until its people are allowed to participate freely and fully, without environmental or political barriers, such elections will continue to be viewed—both locally and in India—not as steps towards empowerment, but as carefully managed performances in a region still searching for a genuine voice.
(The Author is a Journalist based in Jammu and Kashmir and reports on Jammu-Kashmir & Ladakh and territory under illegal occupation of Pakistan. Views expressed are his own and not necessarily endorsed by The Earth News.)
