Unrest in Leh reflects a deepening sense of alienation and anger in Ladakh

By Jag Jivan 

Leh in Ladakh witnessed one of its most violent episodes in recent memory on September 24 as thousands of young people poured into the streets in protest, clashing fiercely with security forces. According to reports, five people were killed and nearly 80 injured, several of them critically with bullet wounds. Around 30 security personnel were also hurt. The unrest escalated into arson and vandalism, with the local Bharatiya Janata Party office set on fire, the council building damaged, and a CRPF vehicle torched. Sporadic incidents of violence were reported from other parts of the town as well.

Authorities imposed curfew in Leh late last night, while Kargil district observed a complete shutdown today in solidarity. The Kargil Democratic Front had called for the bandh to support the Leh agitation. The turmoil came just a day after climate activist and educationist Sonam Wangchuk and his colleagues ended their 35-day hunger strike, urging youth to maintain peace. The strike, which began on September 10, reached its fifteenth day on September 24 when two elderly participants, aged 72 and 62, were rushed to hospital in critical condition. Student and youth organizations had simultaneously called for a Leh bandh, which set the stage for the mass protests.

The movement, now being described as a “Gen-Z style uprising” akin to recent upheavals in Nepal, has been brewing for years. At the heart of Ladakhis’ discontent is the central government’s refusal to grant the region protection under the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution—a promise they say was made when Article 370 was revoked in 2019 and Ladakh was carved out as a Union Territory. Ladakh’s demands include an elected assembly, inclusion under the Sixth Schedule to safeguard land and resources, a separate Public Service Commission, and greater parliamentary representation.

Wangchuk, who rose to prominence as the symbolic face of the struggle, had launched his hunger strike last year after the Union Home Ministry categorically ruled out Sixth Schedule status, despite earlier assurances. His campaign drew tens of thousands of Ladakhis, who braved freezing temperatures to sit in protest. As part of his activism, Wangchuk also proposed the “Pashmina March,” a symbolic journey through traditional grazing lands that have been restricted in recent years, to highlight both local economic dependence on Pashmina production and government restrictions on access to border areas. The march, which faced official resistance, became a rallying point for Ladakhis concerned about their livelihood, heritage, and land rights.

The issue has united Leh and Kargil—two districts often divided along religious and political lines—under a single banner of safeguarding Ladakh’s identity, land, and fragile environment. Ladakhis accuse the government of betrayal, alleging that promises of autonomy have been replaced with bureaucratic control from Delhi through the office of the Lieutenant Governor. They also voice fears of corporate land grabs in the name of development, threats to traditional grazing lands essential for Pashmina production, and denial of access to border areas where herders once grazed livestock before Chinese incursions in 2020.

The unrest in Leh reflects a deepening sense of alienation and anger in Ladakh, where many feel that their demands for constitutional protection and democratic rights have been ignored. As protests intensify, the region stands at a crossroads between continued confrontation and the possibility of dialogue with New Delhi. For now, however, Ladakh remains tense, its streets under curfew and its future uncertain.