Introduction: The Silent Mountains Speak
Ladakh, also known as the “roof of the world,” is more than a high-desert landscape bounded on either side by the Himalayas and Karakoram ranges—it’s a civilisational borderland where geography, culture, and politics meet. For centuries, its isolation forged an identity separate from the Kashmir Valley to the west and the Tibetan plateau to the east. Buddhist monasteries sitting atop barren cliffs, syncretic traditions blending Buddhists and Muslims, and sensitive ecology have collectively created a sense of identity with deep ties to both earth and spirit. Isolation was both protection and muteness: Ladakhis weathered extreme climates and sparse state attention, developing fortitude while disturbing the political mainstream of India all too infrequently.
However, silence must never equal acquiescence. The repeal of Article 370 in 2019 and the making of Ladakh a Union Territory were first welcomed with elation, proclaimed as a long-awaited recognition of its singularity. But the initial euphoria has since turned into deep unease. The absence of legislative voice, fears about demographic changes, and a lack of adequate constitutional guarantees have sparked protests with shockwaves extending far beyond the Himalayan expanse. Once regarded as a quiet periphery, it has been transfigured as a platform of opposition, with the cry of identity and rights over the land pointing to the vulnerabilities in frontier rule.
However, groups of disillusioned youth broke away from the nonviolent protests, according to Sonam Wangchuk, an educator who has spearheaded a series of hunger strikes.
“It was an expression of youth, a sort of Gen-Z revolution, that drove them onto the streets,” Wangchuk explained in a video message, referencing past insurrections in South Asian countries, including Nepal last month, which culminated in the fall of Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli’s government. At its root lies a great question: does Ladakh’s dispute merely relate to the protection of regional culture and assets, or does it reflect a deeper questioning of India’s federal setup—maintaining central power amidst regional autonomy, and national defense with grass-roots democracy? Ladakh forces India to ask, in answering this question, not just how it manages its borders but also what it does to sustain the spirit of constitutional equality across its diverse union.
Background
Ladakh, a high-desert territory in northwestern India, has approximately 300,000 inhabitants, of whom 97% are tribal communities divided equally between the Buddhist-majority district of Leh and the Muslim-majority district of Kargil. Since Ladakh was downgraded from State to Union Territory status in 2019, which took away its elected assembly, it has been a hot spot of agitation for greater autonomy and statehood. 4 The native population, who are worried about the erosion of their culture and demographic shift, is advocating to fall within the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution of India to have greater autonomy over their self-governance, their lands, and their natural resources. Ladakh also has immediate environmental challenges posed by climate change and rising industrial activity, so there is greater urgency about native control over ecological issues. These complex challenges mean Ladakh’s struggle with autonomy is more than a political movement, but equally a struggle to maintain its culture and its environment.
Colonial interventions also changed the area further. British cartography during the “Great Game” enforced stiff borders, terminated trans-Himalayan trade, and forged legacies continuing to influence Sino-Indian rivalries. Following 1947, Ladakh’s integration with India through J&K entrenched dependence further on faraway state capitals. Sporadic reforms, such as the Hill Development Councils in the 1990s, never fulfilled complaints of neglect and marginalisation.
Since its independence from India, Ladakh has managed regional and national disputes. At first led by Buddhist leader Kushok Bakula, Ladakh positioned itself with India, in contrast with separatist Kashmir movements. Grievances increased over time, particularly following Ladakh’s creation as a separate Union Territory without a legislature in 2019. This increased fears of demographic alteration, loss of employment, and loss of rights to lands among the locals, stoking continuous protests. Demands for increased autonomy or full statehood gained strength, spearheaded through groups such as the Apex Body of Leh (ABL) and the Kargil Democratic Alliance (KDA). Frustrations increased despite attempts at discussions, coming to a head in environmental activist Sonam So Ladakh’s path—kingdom, princely subordinance, colonial frontier, Union Territory—maps out a history of externally imposed rule with restricted autonomy. Protests now are not spontaneous outbursts but the eventual fruit of ongoing struggles over representation, territory, environment, and selfhood within the federal structure of India.
Identity at Stake: Culture, Language, and Faith
The Ladakhi identity springs from centuries of cultural syncretism conditioned upon Himalayan ecological characteristics, religious foundations, and community norms. Although fundamentally marked by Tibetan Buddhism, Ladakh has significant enclaves of Shia and Sunni Muslims, above all in the area of Kargil. The rich tapestry of the territory is preserved through monastic establishments, village assemblies, and customary lands that simultaneously oversee elements of ritual, tongue, and community well-being. These establishments are custodians of identity, exercising tasks more commonly found with state apparatuses.
These protests are, then, not merely about attaining certain political objectives, but also defensive reactions to potential threats to a distinct way of life. The demand for Sixth Schedule protections — which provides autonomy over territory, forests, and demographic management — bespeaks an underlying anxiety: that outside investment, deregulated land laws, and high-profile development schemes would put livelihoods at risk, disperse linguistic and religious equilibrium, and diminish the power of monasteries and regional governing councils. In Ladakh’s delicate ecological setting, in which subsistence agriculture and pastoralism are ingrained with cultural heritage, land is an economic resource but also an identifier of identity.
Ritual and religion still comprise the core of identity reproduction. Monastic festival and material culture (stupas, thangkas) are symbolic but also accumulations of knowledge and moral order. But they are vulnerable to pressure from commodification because of tourism, militarisation, and marketisation, with the danger of converting heritage to entertainment. Youth and women are reconstituting identity politics back: younger generations articulate demands about employment, climate justice, and self-determination with digital finesse, while women, central to households and cultural reproduction, are confronted with shifting labour markets because of militarisation and tourism.
The escalation of protests in 2024–2025 — from hunger strikes to violent clashes — underscores the material stakes of identity claims. What began as calls for representation and safeguards has morphed into confrontations that politicise cultural survival against state-centric strategies of integration and security.
Analytical significance: Institutional changes require the protection of both territory and the cultural structures underlying a sense of belonging. Development programs must respect ecological and social limits to prevent assimilation by attrition. Next, it is critical that communication links youthful aspirations with the advice of elders and religious establishments. As such, Ladakh demonstrates how border area struggles over identity are deeply connected with questions of democracy, resource management, and the future of peripheries in India.
Property Rights and Financial Instability
In Ladakh, land is more than an economic resource: it is the source of livelihood, identity, and ecological subsistence. The post-2019 political reorganization has provoked passionate fears over dispossession, demographic shift, and loss of traditional tenure. There are four interconnected facets to such a debate.
First is the fear of dispossession. The delinking of Article 370 reduced external intervention barriers, raising fears of takeover or renting out of familial lands by business houses and external investors. Mass movement directly links Sixth Schedule protection demands with avoiding commodification and demographic changes—tendencies following a pattern in other frontiers.
Second, ecological fragility. Ladakh’s glaciers and hydrological systems are acutely climate-sensitive, with scientific studies documenting accelerated melt and water scarcity. Combined with waste and resource pressures from mass tourism, these changes threaten traditional irrigation, agriculture, and pastoral livelihoods, turning land from a secure asset into a precarious liability.
Third, the political economy of militarisation and tourism. Military strategic presence and tourist-led development reshape land markets. Although both are revenue-generators, benefits tend to accrue to better-financed players, with environmental costs, seasonal vulnerabilities, and rising inequalities among locals and external actors.
Fourth, land as identity. Monasteries, pastoral tracks, and village commons mark social memory and ritual life onto the landscape. Insecurity of tenure circumscribes these infrastructures of culture, so the case for legal protection is also about preserving identity as much as livelihoods.
Policy implications. Successful reform must marry legal tenure security with environmental constraints and sustainable livelihood options. Instruments like statute-based land protection, climate-responsive land-use planning, tourist carrying-capacity standards, and low-impact guidelines for defence undertakings are necessary. Absent such integrated rule-making, land fears will continue to act as causes of disturbance — highlighting the fact that border stability has as much to do with land equity as with national security.
Article 370, Status of Union Territories, and Sixth Schedule Demand
The current union territory of Jammu & Kashmir and the area of Ladakh were one state before the repeal of Article 370. Since Ladakh was not given the center’s attention, the majority of the funds allocated to the J&K state were previously used on security-related purposes in Kashmir. Since Ladakh was excluded from government policies, it was falling behind.
It's crucial to keep in mind that outsiders were not allowed to conduct business or purchase real estate in Ladakh during 370. Ladakh residents’ reactions to the article’s removal were divided; some were ecstatic since they hoped to draw attention to the centers, while others weren’t. The people of Ladakh are now protesting to be included in the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution in order to ensure general economic development and autonomy, following the abolition of Article 370 a few years ago. In order to ascertain what is occurring in Ladakh and whether or not it should be included in the Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution, this article delves into the aspirations of the people of Ladakh and interprets them in light of the Sixth Schedule.
Objectives behind the Ladakh Clash. The immediate cause of the Ladakh clashes was the long-running hunger strike of the Ladakh Apex Body (LAB), which was on its 15th day when two aged activists were hospitalized. As a response, organisers imposed a shutdown, reflecting anger over the Modi government’s delays in talks. Rising frustration, above all among the youth who saw “peace is not working,” compelled protestors to march from Leh’s Martyrs’ Memorial Park towards government offices and a BJP office, leading to violent clashes with police forces. The violence resulted in the death of four protestors, with one critical, and dozens wounded, making it the bloodiest Ladakh had seen in recent history. LAB leaders held the government responsible for betraying locals with five years of broken promises, while the Ministry of Home reportedly dubbed the protest an “unruly mob” attack, injuring more than 30 personnel and compelling police forces to resort to firing in self-defence. The government also alleged that Sonam Wangchuk provoked the violence while evoking Arab Spring–style revolt and Gen Z protests in Nepal, but Wangchuk refuted fomenting violence, averring he only threatened possible youth frustration should demands go unabated.
Constitutional Projections: Rights in Text vs. Rights in Reality
Ladakh’s dilemma is the mismatch between constitutional precepts and operational democracy. Since Article 1 grants the power to Parliament to reorganise states, the 2019 revocation of J&K statehood and conversion into Union Territory status deprived Ladakh of a legislative assembly — constitutionally proper but politically disenfranchising.
The necessity for Sixth Schedule protections arises due to fears of land dispossession and cultural erosion. These provisions, applicable in parts of the North-East through Article 244, allow local self-rule over land, forests, and customary administration. Ladakhis argue that these protections are essential for autonomy, but New Delhi is hesitant on the basis of precedent, strategic rationale, and administrative complexity.
By contrast, Articles 371–371J illustrate the Constitution’s flexibility in devising asymmetric structures (Nagaland, Maharashtra, etc.). Yet, as the examination observes, special provisions also generate governance frictions and thus Ladakh’s plea would require sensitive institutional engineering to reconcile autonomy with good administration.
The Supreme Court remains an overarching umpire, for when it examined the revocation of Article 370. While it may impose process and determine limits of executive power, courts cannot do away with the need for negotiated political accommodations or generate Centre and border community trust.
In synthesis, Ladakh illustrates that paper rights must be complemented by democratic representation (elected assembly or more robust councils), shields attuned to socio-ecological contexts, and political debate that anchors legal guarantees in reality. The constitutional question, therefore, is not whether differences may be acknowledged, but whether India’s federal order can convert recognition into effective autonomy on the ground.
The Protest Movements: Voice of the Margins
The political activism in Ladakh since 2019 exhibits a spectacular turnabout, from initial celebration of Union Territory status to militant agitation. The abrogation of Article 370 was first welcomed as freedom from Kashmiri politics, but by 2023–25, absence of a legislature, weak local engagement, and fears regarding land and cultural dilution propelled protests in Leh and Kargil.
At the forefront is Sonam Wangchuk, whose Gandhian civil disobedience and hunger fasts frame the requirements for Sixth Schedule safeguards, environmental preservation, and grassroots empowerment in ethical and moral terms. Political parties—the Leh Apex Body (LAB) and Kargil Democratic Alliance (KDA)—have forged a rare consensus between Buddhist-majority Leh and Muslim-majority Kargil, highlighting a shared fear of exclusion.
Youths and women have achieved unprecedented prominence: students align Ladakh’s struggles with global discourses on climate justice and indigenous rights, and women frame protests as survival issues of food, water, and family survival. Monasteries and religious leaders provide legitimacy, augmenting the moral gravity of the movement.
Adopting non-violent Gandhian tactics—hunger fasts, peace marches, silent vigils—the protests reaffirm commitment to constitutional norms while demanding dignity. But the Centre has responded only to developmental and jobs assurances, sidelining structural demands such as Sixth Schedule status or statehood, which enhance alienation.
In essence, Ladakh’s protests are not separatist but a constitutional plea from the margins—one for recognition, autonomy, and sustainability. Their tenacity speaks to the disconnect between state rhetoric and grassroots expectation, making Ladakh a test case for India’s frontier governance.
What Do Protesters Want?
In 2019, the Modi government revoked the semi-autonomous state of Jammu and Kashmir and divided it into two Union Territories: J&K with a legislature and Ladakh without a legislature. Whereas J&K can elect its local representatives, Ladakhis cannot, and they are governed directly by the bureaucracy. With over 90% of Ladakh’s population being Scheduled Tribes, agitators demand to be brought under the Sixth Schedule to secure land, cultural, and employment protections.
The region has pulled apart employment opportunities, where Ladakhis lost access to J&K’s job markets and experienced uncertain recruitment practices. Despite a 97% literacy rate, unemployment remains high: 26.5% graduates are unemployed in 2023, double the national average. Youth leaders like Sonam Wangchuk assert that five years of unemployment, combined with the denial of democratic rights, have spelled a recipe for restlessness.
Experts caution that the Ladakhis, whose hopes had been raised high, now feel their identity threatened and are keen to recover rights “grabbed away” in 2019. The rising indignation of unemployed youth, eager for a settlement, has made the situation especially explosive.
Solutions: From Protest to Partnership
Ladakh’s unrest highlights that protests can be platforms for reform, if only responses are tempered with constitutional safeguards, democratic participation, ecological sustainability, and inclusive dialogue.
First, the Sixth Schedule protections—or the like legislative safeguards—remain at the center, providing self-governance, land rights, and cultural preservation. These would protect Ladakh from the unbridled market forces and demographic pressures.
Second, institutions must be empowered: the Leh and Kargil Hill Development Councils must have more legislative and financial powers, while a legislative assembly can institutionalize local representation and end the democratic deficit.
Third, growth must adopt eco-sensitive models—community-based eco-tourism, renewable energy, and water security initiatives—based on indigenous knowledge systems, thereby linking economic growth to ecological resilience.
Fourth, solutions over the long term need structured dialogue. A sustained Centre–Ladakh Advisory Forum can institutionalize consultation with the local leadership, young people, and civil society, thereby making negotiation a policymaking inclusion.
Finally, a Frontier Development Policy for Ladakh has to balance security imperatives and autonomy by learning from international best practices to merge strategic stability with local empowerment and cultural identity.
In all, cooperation, not paternalism, can transform Ladakh into a model of frontier governance that is a combination of constitutional justice and sustainable development.
Conclusion: The Frontier as India’s Mirror
Ladakh is more than a far-off borderland; it is a faithful prism of India’s democratic and federal ethos. Demonstrations in the region highlight the transmogrifying tension between centralisation and local self-rule, and the nuanced balance required to govern a disparate, strategically important frontier.
Handled with foresight, conversation, and constitutional guarantees, Ladakh can become a model of inclusive governance, demonstrating how remote populations can thrive while reinforcing national cohesion. Empowering local institutions, safeguarding cultural and environmental heritage, and facilitating sustainable development has the capacity to transform conflict into partnership, resilience, and trust.
Conversely, abandonment or top-down diktat risks turning Ladakh into a zone of alienation, where grievance festers and strategic vulnerabilities deepen. The implications are greater than neighborhood politics—they affect India’s promise to minority rights, federal precepts, and democratic legitimacy. Ultimately, Ladakh poses a basic question to the nation: Will India hear the voice of its border people, nurturing their aspirations in the democratic and constitutional order, or will silence and resentment make its mountains walls of alienation? The answer will decide Ladakh’s fate but will also serve as a mirror to India’s ability to harmonize diversity, democracy, and development on its fringes.