The Himalayan region of Ladakh, a remote territory nestled between China and Pakistan, has been shaken by its most violent unrest in decades. On September 24, 2025, what began as passionate demonstrations by Gen Z activists demanding statehood, constitutional protections, and jobs spiraled into deadly chaos across Leh and Kargil, the region’s two main districts. By the next day, at least four protesters were dead, dozens injured—including security personnel—and the streets were under a strict curfew as authorities scrambled to regain control.
According to BBC News, the protests had been brewing for months, with Ladakh’s youth and local leaders increasingly frustrated by the central government’s reluctance to address their demands. The flashpoint came as hundreds took to the streets, torching vehicles, government buildings, and even the local office of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). Police responded with force, firing bullets and tear gas. The government confirmed that four protesters died from their injuries, while at least 30 police and paramilitary personnel were also hurt in the melee.
By September 25, Ladakh’s major towns were under heavy security lockdown. Paramilitary patrols and police vehicles, their loudspeakers blaring warnings, kept residents indoors. The city of Kargil, as reported by Press TV, observed a total shutdown—a response to the previous day’s violence and a show of solidarity with the protestors’ demands for statehood. Local organizations called for a strike, with businesses and schools voluntarily closing their doors.
The administration’s reaction was swift and uncompromising. Lieutenant Governor Kavinder Gupta, the federally appointed head of Ladakh, described the deaths as “tragic and shocking,” while justifying the curfew as essential to prevent further bloodshed. He didn’t stop there. In a statement to NDTV, Gupta characterized the protests as a “conspiracy” influenced by foreign powers, referencing comparisons made to youth-led uprisings in Bangladesh and Nepal. “For the past two days, attempts have been made to incite the people of Ladakh... and the protest held here was compared to those held in Bangladesh and Nepal. This smells of a conspiracy,” he said. Gupta insisted that Ladakh would not be allowed to become a place of violence, warning, “Those who resorted to violence will not be spared.”
Authorities wasted no time in launching a crackdown. According to The Hindu, dozens of suspected participants were detained, with the police confirming the arrest of at least 42 people by Thursday. The crackdown extended to both Leh and Kargil, where the Kargil Democratic Alliance—a coalition of social, political, and religious organizations—called for a general shutdown to express solidarity with Leh and reinforce their shared demands.
At the heart of the unrest lies a deep-seated mistrust toward direct federal rule imposed in 2019, when the Indian government revoked Article 370 of the constitution. This controversial move stripped Jammu and Kashmir—including Ladakh—of its semi-autonomous status, splitting the region into two federally administered territories. Initially, some Ladakhis welcomed the change, hoping for greater development and security. But as time wore on, disillusionment set in. Locals soon feared losing control over their land, culture, and economic opportunities. Many say that since the change, Ladakh has been ruled by distant bureaucrats, with no real authority to elect their own representatives or safeguard their unique identity.
“There was a general feeling that the federal government was not hearing our voices… [But] we had no idea that it would turn out like this,” Padma Stanzin, one of the hunger strike organizers, told BBC News. The movement for statehood and constitutional safeguards has united Ladakh’s diverse communities. Leh is predominantly Buddhist, while Kargil is mostly Muslim—two groups with historically different aspirations. Yet both now demand the restoration of statehood, local job and land quotas, and greater autonomy.
Prominent climate activist and engineer Sonam Wangchuk, who has been at the forefront of peaceful protests, was singled out by the federal home ministry for allegedly inciting violence. The ministry accused him of “misleading the people through provocative mention of Arab Spring-style protest and references to Gen-Z protests in Nepal.” Wangchuk, who had been on a hunger strike since September 12, called off his fast after the violence and appealed for calm, saying, “Violence only damages our cause.” He firmly denied any role in the unrest, arguing that it was mounting frustration and years of unemployment among young people that drove them to the streets.
As the dust settled, the human toll became painfully clear. The bodies of the four deceased—Tsewang Tharchin, Jigmet Dorjay, Stanzin Namgyal, and Rinchen Dadul—were handed over to their families for cremation in Leh, as reported by The Hindu. The Ladakh Buddhist Association, a prominent religious and social group, was engaged to perform the last rites. “The bodies were handed over to the families. As per the family wish, all the four, who belong to different villages, will be cremated in Leh with all respect,” said Chering Dorjey Lakrook, president of the association.
There are growing calls for accountability. Ladakh’s Member of Parliament, Haji Hanifa, demanded a judicial inquiry into the deaths, arguing, “We are of the opinion that extreme force should not have been used against a population widely known as peace-loving people. Whether bullets or pellets were fired, the incident requires an investigation. Action should be taken against those who resorted to force.” Local leaders and activists echoed this sentiment, alleging that security forces responded with disproportionate force. Mr. Lakrook stated, “Several people had bullet wounds, many had pellet gun injuries.”
The violence has also become a flashpoint in India’s national politics. The BJP accused a Congress party councillor of playing a role in the clashes, while Wangchuk dismissed the notion that any political party could have mobilized such a large turnout of young people. The government’s response has included a major crackdown, with at least 50 people arrested, though it remains unclear if the Congress councillor was among them.
Meanwhile, the region’s strategic and environmental vulnerabilities remain acute. Ladakh, with a population of about 300,000, sits at a crossroads of geopolitical tension. Since a deadly 2020 clash in the Galwan valley left at least 20 Indian and four Chinese soldiers dead, India has maintained a large troop presence in the area. Climate change adds another layer of uncertainty, as Ladakh’s glaciers melt at alarming rates, threatening water supplies for its people.
Despite the turmoil, dialogue has not ceased entirely. Multiple rounds of talks between Ladakhi representatives and New Delhi have so far failed to produce a breakthrough. Another round is scheduled for October 6, 2025. Local leaders say the government’s decision to delay negotiations, even as people were on hunger strike, only deepened the sense of betrayal and anger.
As Ladakh mourns its dead and contemplates an uncertain future, the region stands at a crossroads. Will the government heed the calls for statehood and meaningful autonomy, or will the cycle of unrest and repression continue? For now, one thing is clear: the voices of Ladakh’s youth and communities, united in their demands, are unlikely to fade into silence.