Deferred Nationhood under Article 370 and the Long Journey to Constitutional Integration

To understand why Article 370 became so contentious, one must return to 1947, the year of partition and armed incursion. During this time, princely states were given the choice to accede to either dominion. The Maharaja of Jammu & Kashmir, Hari Singh, initially opted for independence. That changed swiftly in October 1947 when tribal forces from Pakistan invaded Kashmir. Faced with an existential threat, the Maharaja turned to India for help, signing the Instrument of Accession on 26 October 1947. India agreed to intervene militarily, but the accession came with clear boundaries; New Delhi would govern defence, external affairs, and communications, nothing more.

There is no debate that the Indian leadership was aware of the complex and volatile backdrop and offered reassurances to Kashmir. Eventually, these were codified in Article 370 drafted by Gopalaswami Ayyangar and adopted on 17 October 1949. Speaking to the Constituent Assembly, Ayyangar described it as a temporary arrangement crafted to respect Kashmir's unique status, while allowing time for political normalisation.

However, the “temporary” clause proved to be anything but. Article 370 laid out that the Indian Constitution would apply to Jammu & Kashmir only with the state government's concurrence. Furthermore, it empowered the state’s Constituent Assembly to define the terms of its relationship with the Union. Yet the special status calcified when that assembly dissolved itself in 1957, having framed a separate state constitution but never recommending the removal of Article 370. What was meant as a bridge soon became a wall.

Over the decades, this exceptionalism took many forms. Jammu & Kashmir had its own constitution. Until 2019, it even had its own flag. Laws related to property ownership, public employment, and fundamental rights operated under separate rules, often with discriminatory consequences. While the Indian Constitution’s reach expanded into the state through a series of Presidential Orders under Article 370(1)(d), over 45 in total between 1950 and 2019, these extensions were piecemeal and politically fraught. Each of them was a fresh negotiation, a reminder of the state’s separateness rather than belonging.

This way of separation over time did not just have a legal effect but a psychological impact as well. Initially, Kashmiris saw Article 370 as a bulwark and a promise that their cultural land and identity would not be subsumed. Local leaders, on the other hand, used this as a rallying cry and bargaining chip to take concessions from the centre. Outside of Kashmir, however, the article was seen as a barrier that allowed alienation to fester and the ossification of separatism. Many argued that this provision entrenched a sense of otherness, hindered investment, limited the reach of social justice, and contradicted the very notion of constitutional equality.

Women and Dalits, in particular, bore the brunt of this asymmetry. Until specific amendments were pushed through, state laws often discriminated against women who married outside Jammu & Kashmir and denied protections to marginalised communities available elsewhere in India. Article 370, in effect, allowed an unequal citizenship to persist within a democratic republic that otherwise prided itself on legal uniformity.

Article 370 was more than simply a constitutional clause it was a defining reality for generations of Jammu and Kashmir residents. For more than 70 years, it served as a framework that kept integration in limbo rather than a symbol of autonomy. While the rest of India adopted a common constitutional framework, Jammu and Kashmir remained divided, characterised by a distinct legal lexicon and a sense of isolation.

The ramifications were not hypothetical. With the addition of Article 35A in 1954, the state legislature gained the right to define who qualified as a "permanent resident," which included the power to decide who was eligible for government employment, land ownership, and educational privileges. These rights were ring-fenced, often arbitrarily. Women who married outside the state were stripped of residency. Dalits, brought in as manual workers, had no path to dignity or enfranchisement. Young people in the region found themselves locked out of national opportunities, not because of ability, but because of a boundary drawn by constitutional exception.

Key central laws meant to protect the vulnerable or improve the quality of life did not apply. Laws like the Right to Education or the Forest Rights Act had to be introduced manually, each time requiring the state government’s agreement. That agreement was not always forthcoming. Integration became a matter of bureaucratic negotiation rather than national belonging.

Then came August 2019. The government’s move to abrogate Article 370, through Presidential Orders C.O. 272 and 273, signalled a break. It was not just a legal manoeuvre. It was a statement that conditional integration was no longer acceptable. By invoking Article 367 to reinterpret the state’s Constituent Assembly role replaced by the Governor due to President’s Rule the government eliminated the legal shield that had long kept Jammu & Kashmir apart.

The state was also split into two Union Territories. Jammu & Kashmir has a legislature. Ladakh did not. The implications were profound, politically, and psychologically. For some, it was the long-awaited completion of India’s post-independence map. For others, it was a unilateral decision that ignored the most affected people's aspirations.

In December 2023, the Supreme Court affirmed the abrogation and acknowledged that Article 370 was always just transitory. However, permitted legality differs from observed reality. On the ground, change has been unequal. There has been less violence. Tourism is increasing. Government projects are more apparent. Centralised welfare law is being implemented. However, there have been some criticisms that the elected government still needs to address. Unemployment remains high. Independent media struggles due to limits. The domicile legislation, which enables long-term residents from other areas to claim local identity, has raised worries about demographic trends. Many viewed the 2022 delimitation as politically motivated, as it increased Jammu's legislative weight compared to Kashmir.

Despite all its criticisms, the 2019 decision ended a long period of uncertainty. Article 370 did not preserve dignity or empower governance. It delayed justice. It put the brakes on development. It created two classes of citizens under one flag. Its removal was a statement not just about the structure of Indian federalism, but about the idea of India itself. What comes next will depend not on what the Constitution permits, but on what the state delivers, and how honestly it does so for every citizen, regardless of region or past.

The story of Article 370 is not simply about special status, it is about a state suspended in constitutional uncertainty, where full citizenship was promised but postponed. For more than seventy years, Jammu & Kashmir existed in the Republic’s shadow: governed by an arrangement born of caution, sustained by inertia, and resistant to reform. Ultimately, the consequence was not autonomy with dignity, but autonomy that reduced rights, increased alienation, and delayed the sense of belonging. Repealing Article 370 in 2019 marked the end of this postponement. It was about more than just integrating a region; it was about mending the infrastructure of nationhood. For too long, India had accepted the idea that equal citizenship could wait—that development, democracy, and dignity could arrive later. That fiction has now ended.

However, the removal of legal barriers does not by itself create political belonging. That will depend on what replaces the silence including credible elections like the recent one, restored statehood, accountable governance, and policies that are not merely extended to J&K, but embedded in its realities. This anniversary, then, is not just a milestone in constitutional history, it is a reminder that nationhood cannot be deferred again, not in law, policy, or spirit.