Sardar Nouman, a Kashmiri human rights advocate, was kidnapped and tortured for speaking out against corruption, yet continues to demand justice despite ongoing threats and official silence.

Sardar Nouman, the son of Sardar Mohammad Umrao Khan, hails from Azad Jammu and Kashmir and traces his lineage to the Mughal dynasty—once rulers of the Indian subcontinent. His family has held sway over the region for centuries, and their legacy, marked by service and stewardship, lives on through him.

Sardar himself is a figure of uncommon charisma and resolve. Straightforward and humble, yet intellectually sharp and emotionally astute, he has become a rare voice for the voiceless in Kashmir. As a youth advocate and a committed humanitarian, his influence extends well beyond local borders. He previously served as the Coordinator for Azad Jammu and Kashmir at the International Human Rights Commission in New York. Domestically, he was appointed as a coordinator in the Azad Jammu and Kashmir government under the Ministry of State Disaster Management, Rehabilitation, and Civil Defense.

During the devastating floods that swept through Kashmir in 2022, Sardar played a leading role in coordinating rescue and rehabilitation efforts. Working with UN agencies, international donors, and Pakistan’s National Disaster Management Authority, he helped mobilize resources and respond to the crisis. In doing so, he lived up to the legacy of his forefathers—who served humanity irrespective of race, caste, or creed. That spirit of service, of unflinching solidarity with the marginalized, defines his life’s work.

But such resolve has come at a cost.

On January 7, 2024, Sardar was kidnapped at Neelum Bridge in Muzaffarabad. He was later found in Sahiwal, Punjab, brutalized and disoriented. His phone, wallet, and personal documents were seized. The abduction, by all indications, was not a random act—it was a calculated attempt to silence a man seen as a threat by those he describes as “anti-state elements.”

Upon his return to Muzaffarabad, he immediately approached the Inspector General of Police for Azad Jammu and Kashmir and filed an official appeal demanding the registration of an FIR against the unidentified individuals behind the attack. The motive, he asserted, was assassination.

Instead of receiving justice, Sardar found himself ensnared in a Kafkaesque ordeal. Rather than launching a formal investigation into his kidnapping and attempted murder, local authorities filed fabricated charges against him. A school janitor and a known scam artist were allegedly recruited to participate in a smear campaign, designed to discredit him and strip him of the credibility he has earned.

But Sardar remains undeterred. With a calm tenacity, he has refused to bow to the pressure of corrupt local institutions that, he claims, are under the influence of a deeply entrenched political and administrative mafia. He continues to face a barrage of baseless legal proceedings. His character has been vilified. His life has been threatened. His family, too, has not been spared intimidation.

Still, he stands firm.

“I ask myself, if I don’t fight for my people, who will?” he said in a phone call. “How can I abandon my community when they are locked in an uneven struggle—on one side, a mafia built on lies; on the other, the nameless, faceless, impoverished, and disabled?”

Sardar speaks in stark moral terms, invoking a principle that echoes the great civil resistance movements of the past: “Whenever there is a clash between morality and materialism, morality always wins. Even if it appears weak at first, moral truth ultimately prevails.”

His case raises serious questions: If he has done nothing wrong, why was he abducted and tortured? Where were Pakistan’s law enforcement agencies when a former government coordinator was nearly smuggled into Afghanistan via Balochistan? Why has the prime minister not provided him protection? Why has Sardar been effectively marooned in Azad Jammu and Kashmir for nearly two years, with no institutional support or security?

In private conversations, some colleagues have urged him to leave Pakistan altogether. They point to the growing instability and shrinking space for democratic dissent. But Sardar has refused.

“Fear is not a policy. Surrender is not an option,” he insists.

Despite receiving credible threats to his life, he has chosen to remain in Azad Jammu and Kashmir—a territory long contested on the international stage, and now, increasingly, a crucible of repression for dissenters. He has vowed to bring his case before international human rights bodies, including the United Nations Human Rights Council. “Justice delayed is justice denied,” he says, repeating a refrain that has become his personal anthem.

Colleagues and friends have spoken to Pakistani officials, including the Secretary of Foreign Affairs and members of Parliament, but have yet to receive a meaningful response. The silence from higher authorities is beginning to sound, they say, less like inaction and more like complicity.

And still, Sardar does not flinch.

His story—of resistance, of dignity, of unyielding moral conviction—demands the world’s attention. International human rights observers, including the UNHRC, must take urgent notice of his case. For in the silencing of one voice, entire communities are muted. And in the failure to deliver justice to one man, the promise of justice for all is imperiled.