The bloody and intractable issue of Kashmir has flared up once again

Why is Kashmir important?
Nestling at the point where the borders of India and Pakistan meet in the Himalayas, Jammu and Kashmir is the only Muslim-majority state or territory in Hindu-majority India (excepting the tiny Lakshadweep archipelago). It has been a flashpoint between India and Pakistan since Partition in 1947, partly because of its geo-strategic importance. The glacial waters flowing through Kashmir provide water and electricity to tens of millions of people in India; Pakistan's biggest river, the Indus, also passes through it. But to both sides it is also a symbol of pride, a land famed for its beauty. "If there is a heaven on Earth," the Mughal emperor Jahangir once remarked, "it's here, it's here, it's here." Its mountainous landscape appears often in Bollywood films and on restaurant walls across the subcontinent. There are also significant Muslim and Hindu shrines in Kashmir.

How did Kashmir end up largely under Indian control?
In the mid-19th century, Kashmir's Sikh rulers ceded the Valley of Kashmir to the British, who in turn sold it to the Hindu rajah of neighbouring Jammu. Srinagar, Kashmir's summer capital, became a holiday resort for the British. Upon independence a century later, the princely states in theory had the right to choose whether to join India or Pakistan, but the decision was largely determined by religious demographics and geographical location. Kashmir's playboy maharaja, Hari Singh, could not decide, as his state adjoined both nations; he pondered turning it into an independent "Switzerland of Asia". But his hand was forced when, after Partition, Muslims in northwest Kashmir, backed by a Pakistani tribal army, rose up against the Hindu population and massacred them. Independent India's new PM, Jawaharlal Nehru, a Kashmiri Hindu by descent, sent in troops to quash the revolt – in return, Singh ceded Kashmir to India, in October 1947.

How did Pakistan react?
Pakistan has (like India) always claimed the whole of Kashmir, and its regular forces entered the conflict soon after. The resulting First Indo-Pakistani War ended in 1949, with a UN-brokered ceasefire. Most of the region was left under Indian control, except the northwestern third, including Gilgit-Baltistan and Azad ("Free") Kashmir, which is controlled by Pakistan. In 1948, the UN called for both sides to withdraw troops and let the people of Kashmir vote on their future status. This referendum never took place, essentially because Nehru realised that it would not be decided in India's favour. Instead, the countries went to war over Kashmir again, first in 1965 and then in 1971. The ceasefire line agreed in the Simla Agreement in 1972 became the de facto border, known as the "Line of Control".

How did the Kashmiris react?
From the 1950s on, popular movements emerged in Kashmir demanding either independence or a merger with Pakistan. India responded with repression, while Pakistan provided support for militant groups. In the late 1980s, growing opposition to Indian rule was fuelled by a rigged election and the killing of peaceful protesters. The Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front, a pro-independence group backed by Pakistan, launched an insurgency against the Indian authorities. India responded with a massive counter-insurgency operation, flooding the region with troops, and making Kashmir one of the most highly militarised areas in the world. About 41,000 people were killed over the following 27 years. Extrajudicial military killings were rife; at least 8,000 Kashmiris "disappeared". Nearly all the Hindus in the Valley of Kashmir, known as the Pandits – about 100,000 – left following a series of terrorist killings.

What has happened since?
The insurgency was largely brought under control by the early 2000s, but there have been regular eruptions of violence since. Pakistan's military intelligence service, the ISI, has encouraged the growth of radical Islamist groups that focus on the Kashmir issue, though their members are often not Kashmiris. The usual pattern is that an atrocity takes place (the killing of 40 paramilitary police by a car bomb in 2019, for example); India then holds Pakistan responsible, and attacks alleged terrorist camps in Pakistan, which denies responsibility and counter-attacks. But the latest atrocity was different, since it hit tourists, not a military target.

What is PM Narendra Modi's policy on Kashmir?
All Indian governments since 1947 have taken a hard line on Kashmir, but Modi's Hindu nationalist BJP has been particularly unyielding. In 2019, it revoked Article 370 of India's constitution, dating from 1949, which had guaranteed Kashmir a degree of autonomy, and restricted property rights to "permanent residents". Instead, Jammu and Kashmir is now ruled directly from Delhi. His government had also claimed that militancy in the region was in check, and encouraged the resumption of tourism.

What do Kashmiris want?
This is hotly contested, and there is no simple answer. An authoritative poll, conducted by Chatham House and Mori in 2010, found that in India-administered Jammu and Kashmir, 43% said they would vote for independence, while 28% would vote to stay with India, and only 2% to join Pakistan. However, this varied strongly by region: of some 13 million people in the state, eight million live in the Kashmir Valley, which is now over 95% Muslim; upwards of 74% there supported independence. But in Jammu, where five million people live, 68% of them Hindu, support for independence was only 1%. In Azad (Pakistani) Kashmir, 50% thought Kashmir as a whole should be part of Pakistan, and 45% thought it should be independent. Robert Bradnock, who ran the poll, concluded that the referendum envisaged by the UN would now fail to resolve the conflict.

Tens of thousands of Roman Catholics had gathered last week in St Peter's Square, to await the signal that the cardinals sequestered in the Sistine Chapel had elected a successor to Pope Francis, said The Tablet. And it turned out that they didn't have to wait very long. At 6.08pm on Thursday, the second day of the conclave, white smoke rose from the building's chimney – sparking an exodus from nearby offices and shops as Romans raced to the Vatican to learn the identity of the 267th Bishop of Rome. An hour later, to the sound of pealing bells, Cardinal Protodeacon Mamberti emerged to announce: "Habemus Papam!" – We have a Pope! – and the faithful roared back in approval, said CNN. The former Pope had been the first from South America. The man who appeared on the balcony of St Peter's Basilica to deliver his inaugural Urbi et Orbi address – "to the city and the world" – marked another major milestone for the Vatican: the former Robert Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, is the first American ever to lead the world's 1.4 billion Catholics.

Although his name had appeared on lists of the papabili – possible popes – his election came as a surprise to many. For one thing, it had always been said that the pope could never be American, said Francis X. Rocca in The Atlantic: for a citizen of the world's biggest superpower to head its biggest religious organisation would be too much – or so the thinking went. But while Donald Trump was quick to welcome his election, Pope Leo is not as American as all that. Born into a family of French, Italian, Spanish and Creole heritage, he was raised in a modest home in a suburb of Chicago (and has the accent to show it), but after being ordained into the Augustinian order aged 27, he spent decades working in Peru; he has a Peruvian passport and, from 2015 to 2023, he was the Bishop of Chiclayo. Addressing the crowds last Thursday, he spoke briefly in Spanish. He did not speak in English. Some may regard him not as the first American pope, but the second from Latin America.

The cardinals have cleverly chosen a man who spans different worlds, said Alexander Lucie-Smith on UnHerd. Robert Prevost (Rob to his family) is American and Peruvian. He is a former missionary who has lived and worked with the world's poor – there are countless photos of him wading through floods and helping at soup kitchens – and a skilled administrator. Fluent in five languages, he travelled the world as the head of his order; more recently, he worked at the Vatican, running the dicastery that appoints and manages bishops – experience that will have left him well placed to drive through needed reforms to the Roman Curia.

In many ways he is a continuity candidate, said The Economist: on social media, he has appeared to criticise Trump's migration policies; he cares about the environment; and he supported Francis' efforts to decentralise the Church. But he also represents change: unlike Francis, he is unlikely to push the needle on gay rights (in 2012, he voiced concern about the promotion of the "homosexual lifestyle"); and is firmly opposed to female deacons. It was notable, said Finn McRedmond in The New Statesman, that in his address last week, Pope Leo repeatedly mentioned Francis, and called for peace, but he did not opt to dress in simple white robes, as Francis had: he wore the conventional scarlet mozzetta and stole. "I sound like Francis," he seemed to be saying; "I look like Benedict." The cardinals have sought out a man who can at once soothe the disquiet of those traditionalists who'd clashed bitterly with the disruptive and sometimes spiky Francis, and retain the "happier" aspects of Francis' leadership – "his ability to reach out to those in the margins, his concern for the poor".

His name drops the biggest hint about his style of papacy, said Christopher Akers in The Spectator. The last Pope Leo issued the 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, which discussed the plight of working people in a time of rapid industrialisation and revolutionary politics, and which formed the basis of what is known as Catholic social teaching. In it, Leo XIII denounced both untrammelled capitalism and socialist class warfare. By calling himself Leo, the new pope is highlighting the parallels with our own turbulent era – he has already spoken of the threat posed by AI – and indicating the kind of "pragmatic" course he'll aim to steer on issues such as wealth inequality. In the modern Church, it is hard to find a path that is neither left nor right, but simply Catholic, said Ross Douthat in The New York Times. But even in polarised America, conservatives may be relieved, after the Francis years, to have a pope who "isn't exactly on their side", but who doesn't push so hard as to risk schism, nor extract petty victories, such as Francis' snuffing out of the Latin Mass. In a period of great uncertainty, Pope Leo promises to rise above the Catholic culture wars, and give the Church's different factions some much-needed breathing space.

The artist Nadya Tolokonnikova made headlines worldwide in 2012, when the group she had co-founded, Pussy Riot, staged a "punk prayer" at a cathedral in Moscow, said Philip Oltermann in The Guardian. The protest electrified Europe and beyond: the balaclavas associated with the group appeared on the runway at New York Fashion Week; The Guardian declared that Pussy Riot were "a reminder that revolution always begins in culture". But of course, that revolution never came. In fact, Tolokonnikova now accepts that Pussy Riot's boldness may have inadvertently led the world to view Russian society as more courageous – more primed for revolt – than it was. Today, Putin is still firmly in power; and Tolokonnikova has had to flee into exile abroad. She is still working as an artist, but she supplements her income with an account on OnlyFans, the online platform where creators offer adult content to paying subscribers. "One needs to eat and pay the bills and pay for the kids' education and that's how I do it," she says. "Political art is not a good business strategy." She still has hope, but it's not unalloyed. "I still do what I do. I still believe in the power of art. But these days, I feel like the musician from the movie 'Titanic', who was playing the violin. He can't stop the ship from sinking, but he can lift the spirits of people while they are going down."