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In India's strategic Ladakh region, demands for jobs and more autonomy risk boiling over

LEH, India - In Leh, the largest city of Ladakh, a high-altitude border region bounded by Pakistan and China, the presence of the Indian military is unmissable - from shops selling military fatigues to army barracks and memorials to fallen soldiers. A statue of Colonel Chhewang Rinchen, a highly-decorated Ladakhi officer who helped repel incursions into India from Pakistan in the 1940s among other brave deeds, is just one among many memorials that are testament to the deep heritage of locals working with the Indian military to guard the country's contested borders. Unlike in other parts where the presence of the military might cause unease among the local populace, the memorials and army shops here blend seamlessly into shops selling souvenirs to tourists and cafes serving up steaming cups of coffee. But trouble is brewing. And for a change not along the contested border areas of this 60,000 sq km region. Tensions are bubbling within as demands grow louder for greater political representation, demographic protection for the local tribes and cultural safeguards and jobs for its youth. Those tensions exploded on Sept 24 when a peaceful protest for these longstanding demands turned violent. Four people, including a retired soldier, were killed as police opened fire and more than 70 injured in Leh, with dozens detained. A charge of anti-nationalism, levelled by some sections of the media and commentators, further dispirited the close-knit community. The crisis is more than about a violent protest. It throws up a key challenge for the government in a critical border frontier and heightens the urgency to address the demands of the people in Ladakh. "It is very precious and sacred for us to save our own land, traditions and culture. But never in my wildest dream did I think something like this (violence) could happen, and four of our people getting killed," said Ms Ladol, a local musician who took part in the protests and who gave only one name. "And then to call us anti-nationalists..." Ladakh's borders are disputed by China to the east and by Pakistan to the north and west. Sandwiched between India's two biggest rivals in the region, it is critical to India's national security. In 2020, Indian and Chinese troops clashed, leading to casualties , at a height of 14,000 feet (4,267 metres) in the Galwan Valley, 230 km north-east of Leh, bringing a freeze in ties that has only recently started to thaw. Still, the threat of a border flare-up remains undiminished and Indian defence forces remain on a heightened state of alert. On Ladakh's northern border is the Siachen Glacier, called the world's highest battlefield between India and Pakistan, and in its west is Kargil, where the two countries fought a limited war in 1999. Almost every family in Ladakh has helped the armed forces in some form -- from joining the army to helping soldiers carry weapons and supplies as porters in high-altitude terrain. Locals living close to the border often provide intelligence, alerting the army to any incursions. The help of the local populace is seen to be critical to guarding the borders and aiding soldiers unused to high-altitude warfare. "This narrative of Ladakhis being anti-nationalists needs to be nipped in the bud. It is absolutely incorrect, particularly for a population that has been solidly behind the nation," said former head of the Army's Northern Command and retired Lieutenant General Deependra Singh Hooda. He said that given the sensitivities along the border, the government needed to quickly address local demands. "Where there are challenges along the border, you don't want to be looking over your shoulder internally," he told The Straits Times. "So it is important for the government to take action and to look at what the demands of the people are and how much can be met. You don't want this thing to simmer on in what is a strategically important area." The roots of the current anger go back to 2019, when the Indian government revoked Article 370 of the Constitution , stripping Jammu and Kashmir of its autonomy and creating the Union Territory of Ladakh. This move meant that Ladakh was no longer a part of the state of Jammu and Kashmir. Initially, locals in Buddhist-majority Leh celebrated. Many felt the region, with its unique culture and geography, had finally emerged from the shadows of Hindu-majority Jammu and Muslim-majority Kashmir. But that excitement soon gave way to disillusionment as locals felt their rights were further eroded. The new union territory was placed, with no legislature of its own, under the control of a Lieutenant-Governor appointed by New Delhi. "We don't have any legislative power now. We have our hill councils, which control only 10 per cent of the total budget of the union territory," said Mr Chering Dorjay Lakrook, president of the Ladakh Buddhist Association, a non-political socio-religious group. When it was part of Jammu and Kashmir, Ladakh had representation in the state legislature. Now, its population of 274,289, according to the last population count in 2011, divided mainly between Muslim-majority Kargil and Leh, has one MP. "The safeguards for land, culture and demography are important because 97 per cent of the population of Ladakh is tribal," added Mr Dorjay. At the heart of the local demands is statehood with an assembly and inclusion of Ladakh under the Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution - a provision granting special autonomy to tribal areas, allowing them to control land, forests and local customs through elected councils. Such protections, Ladakh's leaders argue, are essential not just for the tribal culture but also for preserving Ladakh's fragile ecosystem by gaining approval from local stakeholder for large projects, like large solar energy projects, amid climate change. The violence on Sept 24 erupted after two weeks of peaceful demonstrations led by a hunger strike by Mr Sonam Wangchuk , the well-known climate campaigner and educationist whose life inspired a character in the Bollywood film Three Idiots. He is currently in jail under the National Security Act, accused of inciting violence - a charge he denies. Thousands turned up that day, and witnesses told The Straits Times that a section of the crowd, particularly a section of the youth, grew increasingly agitated and started throwing stones targeted at the police who responded with tear gas and gunfire. The local office of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party and a government building were set on fire in the chaos. While locals saw the gunfire as excessive and blamed the police and Central Reserve Police Force for not acting speedily to stem the violence, the Ministry of Home Affairs said in a statement that the crowd had turned violent and firing was "unavoidable". And while the protests may be about political representation and cultural protection for older sections of the population, for the young people, they are also about their worries over unemployment. The promise of jobs following the creation of the union territory has not materialised. Tourism, the backbone of the local economy, continues to provide income, but government jobs, the only other source of employment, remain scarce, maintained locals. According to official data, the rate for graduate unemployment increased to 26.5 per cent in 2022-2023, which was double India's national average, from 9.8 per cent the preceding year (2021-2022). "This violence has happened out of pure frustration and had been building up. The unemployment rate of graduates in Ladakh is the highest in the country. There are graduates and those with PhDs who came back after studying in other parts of India but aren't able to find any job," said Mr Tsering Stobgyal, a member of the youth wing of the Leh Apex Body (LAB), an apolitical, religious group. Still, many locals bristle at comparisons of what is happening in Ladakh with Gen Z protests in Nepal in September and more recently in Madagascar. They maintain that their demands are not just restricted to the youth. But Mr Stobgyal noted: "Youngsters are very unhappy with the current situation." The Ministry of Home Affairs has said it remains open to dialogue with the groups spearheading the protests, including on the Sixth Schedule. The statehood demand is aimed at providing political representation for Ladakh while the Sixth Schedule demand is aimed at providing an extra layer of autonomy for Ladakh by empowering local autonomous bodies to protect land and water resources among other things. In September 2025, amid the peaceful protests, authorities the federal government announced recruitment for 1,800 government posts in Ladakh had already started and earlier in the year recognised Bhoti and Purgi, spoken in Ladakh, as official languages. Ladakh's Lieutenant-Governor, Mr Kavinder Gupta, in an interview on Oct 3 with private Indian news agency Indo-Asian News Service, maintained that "those who didn't want a peaceful Ladakh had instigated the youth", and that authorities must "identify and isolate" those responsible for the violence. But civil society leaders insist that the protests were spontaneous and that the youth are being targeted, creating an atmosphere of fear. Mr Asgar Ali Karbalai, leader of the Kargil Democratic Alliance (KDA), a political and civil society coalition, warned at a press conference on Oct 14 that the government should "come out of the illusion" that normalcy had returned. The KDA and LAB have now announced a silent peace march in Leh and a three-hour power blackout accross Ladakh starting at 6 pm (local time) on Oct 18. "It is the lull before the storm," said Mr Karbalai of the relative peace in the streets now, as demands continue for a judicial probe into the Sept 24 deaths. Indeed, two weeks after the unrest, life in Leh appeared normal. Curfew restrictions were lifted and mobile internet -- suspended after the clashes -- was restored. A few tourists -- Indians and foreigners -- strolled through the bazaars as the tourist season tapered off. "It's so beautiful and so different from Vietnam," said MsTran Hoai Thu, 30, who was visiting with a group of 17 people and sipping coffee in a local bakery. "The rivers, the mountains, the Himalayas... it feels spiritual. People are so kind and friendly." But that surface calm masks the deeper unease. In the orthopaedic ward of SNM Hospital, 48-year-old Stanzin Otsal, a protester shot in the leg during the Sept 24 protests, lay recovering. A retired soldier from the Ladakh Scouts, the elite high-altitude regiment known as the "Snow Warriors", Mr Otsal spent two decades serving, including near the India-Pakistan border. "During my years in service, I took part in counter-terror operations but never ate a bullet. But I got shot by police during a peace protest," he said with incredulity. "But this," he said, pointing to his leg, which is in a cast with pins sticking out with months of recovery ahead, "will not stop our demands to protect Ladakh." He added: "Once I am able, I will rejoin the peaceful protests whenever it resumes. We are just demanding our rights."

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