The recent conviction of Aijaz Sheikh marks a significant milestone in pursuit of justice for survivors of child sex abuse. However, it also exposes glaring gaps in how survivors of abuse are expected to navigate a justice system that remains indifferent to their trauma.
While the Honorable Chief Judicial Magistrate (CJM), Mir Wajahat, rightly urged other survivors in the case to come forward by filing fresh FIRs, this directive, although well-intentioned, ignores the practical realities faced by those living outside Kashmir or grappling with the demands of survival.
For survivors, who have rebuilt lives far from the site of our abuse, the idea of traveling repeatedly to Kashmir to file an FIR, attend court hearings, and endure cross-examination is not just daunting, it is often impossible.
How can we reconcile the judiciary’s call for accountability with a process that erects barriers instead of dismantling them?
Legal barriers and procedural hurdles re-traumatize survivors
We live in an era where entire industries operate remotely, yet our legal system clings to archaic, geography-bound procedures. Why can’t the process proceed digitally?
Why must survivors physically visit police stations or courts to recount trauma, knowing the stigma and scrutiny that awaits?
In Kashmir, where communities are tightly knit, survivors risk exposure simply by entering a courtroom. Even if hearings are held ‘in camera’, the act of appearing in person forces survivors to relive their pain publicly.
The fear of being recognised, judged, or shamed silences many before they even begin.
The solution is not just possible, it is overdue.
Remote mechanisms, secure online portals for testimonies, and virtual proceedings democratise access to justice.
Survivors could submit evidence electronically, testify via video conferencing, and participate in cross-examination without derailing their lives or facing re-traumatization.
This is not a radical ask; it is a necessary evolution. If the pandemic taught us anything, it is that institutions can adapt to remote processes when urgency demands it.
Why, then, is the urgency of protecting survivors not met with similar innovation?
The 9-year long legal battle to get conviction against Sheikh reveals another painful truth: justice delayed is justice denied. For survivors, prolonged trials mean years of disrupted lives, retriggered trauma, and financial strain. Remote participation would not only ease this burden but also expedite proceedings.
Defence counsel can virtually still challenge evidence and cross-examine witnesses. The law need not sacrifice rigour for accessibility.
Sheikh’s conviction sets a precedent, but it must also serve as a wake-up call.
If institutions truly want to prioritise children’s safety over reputation, they must dismantle the procedural indifference that protects abusers.
Let survivors record testimonies in safe, private settings. Let courts leverage technology to ensure no survivor is forced to choose between their livelihood and their right to justice.
The fight against abuse is not just about punishing predators, it is about transforming systems that still prioritise convenience over compassion, bureaucracy over bravery.
Until then, the silence of survivors will remain a symptom of systemic failure, not personal weakness.
Institutional complicity and societal reputation trumps accountability
The real fight is not just against one abuser. It’s against a culture that protects them, because when our society prioritises the reputation of our institutions over our children’s safety, abusers like Aijaz Sheikh are bound to thrive and commit more such heinous crimes without any fear of repercussions for their actions.
For decades, Sheikh carried out horrific sexual and psychological abuse against children, moving from one institution to another, protected not by the silence of the victims but by the deliberate inaction of our society.
Each time he was caught, the institutions that employed him, whether religious or educational, chose to safeguard their own reputation instead of protecting the children under their care.
His journey began in a Madrassa in Gujarat, where he was caught abusing a child.
Instead of facing legal consequences, he was simply beaten and expelled from the Madrassa and as such given a free license to continue his crimes elsewhere.
Back in Kashmir, he worked as an Imam in a Masjid in Pohrupeth, Handwara. Once again, he abused children sexually.
But again, the institution’s response was to kick him out without filing a case, ensuring he could move on and sexually abuse children elsewhere.
He found his next position as a school teacher in a private school in Brath, Sopore.
The same cycle repeated—abuse, silence, expulsion. The school authorities chose to protect their name rather than the children who suffered at his hands.
With each expulsion, Sheikh grew more and more confident for he felt untouchable.
He was right in thinking that the institutions will always choose to protect themselves, not the children victimised under their watch.
And so, he finally became a faith healer in his native village Mundji, no longer bound by any institution but still shielded by fear and silence. He ensured that his victims remained unheard, until the day someone shot him in the leg for revenge.
Even then, the system failed to act.
After recovering from his injuries, he relocated to Gurez for three years, where we can only assume his abusive behaviour continued.
In around 2008, he returned to Mundji, where he resumed his crimes for another eight years, preying on children with impunity.
It took until March 2016 for a survivor to rise from the ashes and break this cycle of silence. A brave boy filed a case against Sheikh, igniting a painful and long legal battle that lasted nine years.
Today, finally, Sheikh is behind bars.
But this victory raises an urgent question: How many children could have been saved if one of these institutions had prioritised justice over their reputation?
Every institution that harboured Sheikh and expelled him without legal action is complicit in his crimes.
Until we hold institutions accountable for covering up child sexual abuse, we will continue to create more child predators like Sheikh, who will exploit silence, fear, and institutional self-preservation.
Musab Omer is a researcher and child rights activist, who has been organising awareness programmes on child sexual abuse in Jammu and Kashmir.
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