The demand for special protection of the Himalayan states has a long history—stretching from Ladakh to Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, and the seven sisters of the Northeast. Across these regions, native communities face an existential threat as outsiders buy up land and gain control over natural resources. While the Constitution created the Sixth Schedule to safeguard tribal interests through autonomous councils, this protection was limited to the Northeast, leaving the Himalayan belt vulnerable.
The exploitation of the northern Himalayan states has been particularly severe. Ladakh’s unique culture and identity were long subsumed under the larger Jammu and Kashmir issue, leaving little recognition that Ladakhis live with a distinct lifestyle and worldview. Himachal Pradesh, carved out of Punjab, continues to face domination by Chandigarh’s political and business elite. In Uttarakhand, decades of neglect under Uttar Pradesh rule left the region starved of infrastructure and basic services. While leaders like Govind Ballabh Pant, H. N. Bahuguna, and N. D. Tiwari rose to prominence, they did little to secure a special status for the hills. Unlike Madhya Pradesh, which designated tribal areas under the Fifth Schedule, Uttar Pradesh deliberately avoided such recognition.
For years, these regions languished without schools, hospitals, or basic amenities. But with the economic liberalisation of the 1990s, the very areas once dismissed as “backward” suddenly became lucrative for corporate interests. As powerful lobbies began eyeing their resources, governments shed all hesitation. Today, with the corporate-political nexus firmly in place and a pliant media amplifying their agenda, dissent is swiftly branded “anti-national.” Those who challenge cronyism or demand jobs and ecological safeguards are vilified, while those enriching corporate monopolies are hailed as patriots.
The case of Sonam Wangchuk illustrates this distortion. One may debate his methods, but his commitment to Ladakh and to protecting the fragile Himalayan ecosystem is beyond dispute. Wangchuk is respected in the region, yet the national media—what I call lala media—seeks to discredit him by framing his advocacy as subversive. Instead of listening to Ladakhis, they interview a handful of voices in Delhi’s elite neighbourhoods and construct narratives that delegitimize local struggles. This is not journalism but propaganda.
Yes, Wangchuk may run an organisation and be accountable under the law for its funding, but he is first and foremost a citizen of India. Every citizen has the right—and the duty—to defend their language, culture, environment, and homeland. To label such voices “anti-national” is not only unjust but also absurd, especially when the real threat in Ladakh comes not from Pakistan, as authorities hastily allege, but from China across our borders.
The time has come for the government to take the Himalayan question seriously. Ladakh, Himachal, and Uttarakhand are not just picturesque landscapes; they are border states whose ecological stability and native communities are vital to India’s security. The army draws immense strength from the support of these very people. To undermine their rights in the name of reckless “development” is to weaken the very foundations of national security.
Protecting the Himalayas means protecting India’s future. The government must stop mindless excavation of mountains, end the handover of resources to cronies, and instead engage meaningfully with local communities. The demand is simple and just: safeguard the ecology, protect the rights of the natives, and recognise these regions as special zones critical to the survival of both democracy and the nation.
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*Human rights defender
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