When Ladakh was separated as a Union Territory in 2019, the Modi government celebrated it as a historic triumph. The revocation of Article 370 was marketed to Indians as a success of national integration and a new era of development. But six years down the line, the streets of Leh are not full of hope, but fire and rage. Four protesters were killed, dozens injured, security personnel battered, government buildings trashed, and the internet suspended.
The BJP government, which came to power on the promise of empowerment, brought disempowerment instead. By depriving Ladakh of a legislature and concentrating power in Delhi, the government has made its people feel alienated, voiceless, and betrayed. The most recent bloodshed is not a coincidence— it is the consequence of years of neglect, arrogance, and superficial concessions that did not touch the fundamental demands of the people of Ladakh.
A Protest Years in the Making:Â Ladakhis have been crying for years for just two things: statehood and constitutional protection. The call for statehood is for self-rule. Being a Union Territory with no assembly, the Ladakhis are basically governed by bureaucrats parachuted in from Delhi. Land, employment, and development decisions are being taken by foreigners who have no idea of the region’s sensitive ecology or its distinctive cultural identity.
The second call— for protection under the Sixth Schedule— is not extreme. Similar northeastern states already benefit from this protection, which safeguards their land, employment, and way of life from exploitation. Ladakhis, whose way of life and means of sustenance are equally at risk, demand the same protection.
Add to this increasing worries over climate change, mining, and uncontrolled tourism, and it is easy to see why environmental campaigner Sonam Wangchuk’s September hunger strike resonated so deeply. He wasn’t fanning unrest; he was articulating deeply held fears long bubbling beneath the surface.
The bloodshed in Leh must be a wake-up call. It has taken too long for the Modi government to trust majoritarian politics, media spin, and raw power to shut down dissent. But Ladakh is demonstrating that India’s forgotten frontiers cannot be placated with slogans. They crave dignity, autonomy, and respect. And if the ruling BJP doesn’t grasp this lesson soon, Ladakh’s anger will only intensify —until Delhi itself is left feeling the heat.
For years, Ladakh’s protests were peaceful— demonstrations, sit-ins, hunger strikes. To this day, the protesters are youth-dominated, organized by the Leh Apex Body (LAB) and the Kargil Democratic Alliance (KDA). They are educated and articulate and determined. But on September 24, something went horribly wrong.
The administration faults the protesters, accusing Wangchuk of inciting them with “Arab Spring” metaphors and claiming opposition parties plotted to destabilize the volatile border area. But that is a handy diversion. The reality is simpler, and it’s damning: when citizens are ignored long enough, anger turns to fury.
The Ministry of Home Affairs boasts about its so-called “concessions” —increasing employment reservations in favor of Scheduled Tribes, women’s quotas, acceptances of regional languages. These are band-aids, not remedies. They do not touch the core problem of representation and self-rule. Delhi has perfected the game of declaring token gestures while blocking genuine dialogue.
Again, the Modi government reached for its go-to tool: violence. Tear gas, lathi charges, firing in public. More than 100 protesters were arrested. The Internet was shut down, as if turning off mobile data can turn off rage. The playbook is excruciatingly well known —repeat in Kashmir, repeat in Manipur, repeat now in Ladakh.
Rather than hearing, the government attempts to brand every protest as a conspiracy. Every complaint is “anti-national.” Every critic is branded as an agent of Pakistan, China, or the Congress party. This tactic might be winning TV debates, but it merely increases alienation on the ground.
The tragedy is that Ladakhis are not demanding separation from India. They are not shouting secessionist slogans. Their demands —for statehood, safeguards, jobs, and environmental protection —fall within India’s constitutional framework. But the government is treating them as threats instead of stakeholders.
This conceit comes at a price. Ladakh is no ordinary place—it straddles India’s most vulnerable border, where Chinese soldiers wait across the Line of Actual Control. Alienating Ladakhis, India’s first line of defence, is foolhardy. Inciting calm youth into fury is risky. Bypassing real grievances until they burst into bloodshed is irresponsible.
Sonam Wangchuk has already urged the youth to stop the violence, warning that destruction only weakens their cause. His words reflect the maturity of civil society in Ladakh. But the bigger question is whether the Modi government is capable of the same maturity.
If Delhi persists in brushing Ladakh’s demands aside with platitudes and propaganda, unrest will only intensify. What took place on September 24 is not the culmination —it is the beginning of a new stage of confrontation. The Centre still has an opportunity to turn around: by making Ladakh a state, implementing Sixth Schedule protections, and treating its people as equal citizens and not as colonial subjects.
The bloodshed in Leh must be a wake-up call. It has taken too long for the Modi government to trust majoritarian politics, media spin, and raw power to shut down dissent. But Ladakh is demonstrating that India’s forgotten frontiers cannot be placated with slogans. They crave dignity, autonomy, and respect. And if the ruling BJP doesn’t grasp this lesson soon, Ladakh’s anger will only intensify —until Delhi itself is left feeling the heat.
