The rape and murder of a minor child in Galwanpora is not merely another crime report to be discussed for a day and forgotten with the next news cycle. 

It is a wound on the conscience of Kashmir. It is horrifying in its brutality, unbearable in its cruelty, and devastating in what it reveals about the failures of the institutions and communities meant to protect the most vulnerable among us.

When a child is violated and killed, something fundamental has broken. It is not only the failure of one criminal mind; it is a collective collapse – of awareness, of vigilance, of moral responsibility, and of public accountability.

At a moment like this, the silence of those who shape public thought becomes impossible to ignore.

Clerics in Kashmir occupy an influential place in society. Their words reach homes, neighbourhoods and hearts every Friday and often every day. Mosques are not only spaces of worship; they are spaces of instruction, moral guidance and social correction. That responsibility cannot remain limited to ritual. It must extend to confronting the realities destroying our communities.

The menace of sexual violence against children must be spoken about openly from the pulpit. Clerics must educate communities about the sanctity of children’s rights, the grave moral and legal consequences of abuse, and the punishments awaiting perpetrators both under the law and before God. Too often, crimes like these remain hidden behind shame, fear or family pressure. Religious leaders can help break that silence. They can encourage reporting. They can urge parents to be vigilant. They can teach boys respect, boundaries and accountability from a young age. They can help remove the stigma victims’ families often face when they seek justice.

But sermons alone will not stop crime.

The government carries the primary responsibility of ensuring that citizens – especially children – are safe. Public outrage after every brutal incident is not enough. Condemnation statements are not enough. Visits, compensation announcements and promises of “strict action” are not enough unless they translate into visible, measurable prevention.

Safety must be built into governance.

That means stronger policing on the ground, especially in vulnerable localities. It means visible patrols around schools, residential lanes and isolated areas. It means functioning streetlights, active surveillance where appropriate, quicker emergency response, and a policing model rooted in prevention rather than reaction. Communities must feel the presence of law enforcement before a crime occurs—not only after a tragedy.

Law and order agencies must also strengthen investigative efficiency. Swift identification of offenders, professional forensic work, timely arrests and prosecution are essential not just for justice, but for deterrence. Criminals must know that the state is watching, capable and relentless. Impunity feeds crime. Certainty of detection reduces it.

There are examples across the country where increased beat policing, women’s help desks, community liaison officers, child protection monitoring, and rapid complaint mechanisms have made vulnerable populations safer. Kashmir does not lack police infrastructure or personnel; what is needed is consistent prioritisation of child safety as a law-and-order priority, not merely a social issue.

And yet, even the state cannot do this alone.

Civil society must confront its own responsibility with honesty.

Every neighbourhood knows more than it admits. Suspicious behaviour is noticed. Troubling patterns are seen. Children’s distress is often visible. But too often, people choose silence—because “it is not our matter,” because they fear confrontation, because reputation is valued above truth.

That silence becomes complicity.

Parents, teachers, neighbours, traders, religious institutions, youth groups, local committees and social organisations all form the first protective circle around a child. If that circle fails, the consequences can be irreversible. Child safety cannot be outsourced entirely to police stations or courts. It begins at home, in schools, in mohallas, in conversations adults have with children about safety, trust and speaking up.

Children must be taught that they can say no, that they can report inappropriate behaviour, and that they will be believed. Families must learn to listen without judgment. Communities must learn to intervene before warning signs become headlines.

The child of Galwanpora should have been protected. That she was not is a painful indictment of all of us.

Justice for her demands more than arresting the perpetrator. It demands introspection from the pulpit, action from the government, vigilance from law enforcement, and courage from society.

If Kashmir wishes to call itself a compassionate society, then compassion must be visible not only in grief after tragedy – but in the systems we build to prevent it.

A society is ultimately judged by how it protects its children.

And on that measure, after Galwanpora, we must ask ourselves the hardest question of all: did we do enough?

The answer today is heartbreaking.

Tomorrow must be different.