In the usually tranquil Himalayan region of Ladakh, rare and deadly protests have erupted, shaking the high-altitude territory and drawing the attention of the entire nation. On September 24, 2025, what began as a peaceful demonstration over demands for statehood and job quotas quickly spiraled into chaos, leaving at least five people dead and nearly 100 injured, including more than 30 police officers, according to multiple reports from The Independent and UCAN News.
The unrest marks a significant departure from Ladakh’s reputation for calm, even amid its strategic importance on India’s northern border with China. For two days, the city of Leh, typically bustling with tourists, transformed into a virtual ghost town. Security forces imposed a strict curfew, blocking main roads with coils of razor wire and deploying officers in riot gear. Businesses and shops shuttered their doors, and authorities prohibited gatherings of more than five people in both Leh and Kargil, the region’s other major population center.
The immediate spark for the violence was the deteriorating health of hunger-striking protesters demanding full statehood and constitutional protections for Ladakh’s tribal communities, land, and fragile environment. As several activists were hospitalized in Leh, public anger over what was seen as government inaction boiled over. Protesters torched vehicles and set fire to the local office of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the party of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Clashes with security forces followed, with police firing tear gas, wielding batons, and, in what authorities described as "self-defence firing," opening fire on demonstrators.
According to The Independent, Chering Dorjay, co-chairman of the Leh Apex Body—Ladakh’s main group advocating for regional autonomy—confirmed that five protesters had lost their lives and many others were critically injured. The Indian Home Ministry stated that "self-defence firing" had led to "some civilian casualties," and reported that more than 30 police and military personnel were hurt in the violence. A doctor at Leh’s SNM Hospital told UCAN News that around 100 injured people had been treated since the protests began, with six requiring operations for bullet wounds, internal bleeding, and broken ribs.
Personal stories from the ground paint a picture of a community in shock and distress. Thinley, a 33-year-old shopkeeper, was shot in the leg and spoke from his hospital bed: "We are exhausted by the government by not listening to our demands." Another protester, 23-year-old Jigmet Stanzin, recounted how he was injured while attempting to throw back what he thought was a tear gas canister: "It exploded and shattered my hand." Meanwhile, tourists like Paras Pandey found themselves stranded amid the chaos, with Pandey describing the city as a scene of "chaos, smoke, and broken vehicles."
Ladakh, home to some 300,000 people—about half Muslim and 40 percent Buddhist—has been a focal point of political tension since 2019. That year, the Modi government split Ladakh from the former state of Jammu and Kashmir, stripping both of their semi-autonomous status and imposing direct rule from New Delhi. While some in Ladakh initially welcomed the separation, hoping for increased attention and development, the mood soon shifted. Fears of land grabs, economic marginalization, and environmental degradation began to surface, with many residents feeling betrayed by unfulfilled promises of greater autonomy.
One of the central demands of the protesters is inclusion in the Sixth Schedule of India’s constitution, which would grant Ladakh significant political autonomy—its own elected assembly and the power to enact local laws and policies. Despite several rounds of talks between Ladakhi representatives and Indian officials, no agreement has been reached. Another meeting is scheduled for October 6, 2025, but patience is wearing thin. As Omar Abdullah, chief minister of Jammu and Kashmir, told UCAN News, people in Ladakh feel "betrayed and angry."
The demonstrations were organized in solidarity with Sonam Wangchuk, a prominent climate activist and engineer who had been on a 15-day hunger strike. Wangchuk’s protest called for either full federal statehood for Ladakh or constitutional protections for its unique communities and environment. The Indian government, however, accused Wangchuk of inciting violence through "provocative speeches," referencing his mentions of Arab Spring-style protests and youth movements in Nepal. In a statement, the Home Ministry claimed, "A mob motivated by his provocative speeches left the venue of the hunger strike and attacked a political party office as well as the government office... It is clear the mob was guided by Sonam Wangchuk through his provocative statements."
Wangchuk, for his part, has urged restraint. In a video message on September 24, he called on his supporters to "stop the violence forthwith as it only causes harm to our cause and further deteriorates the situation." He emphasized, "We do not want instability in Ladakh and the country," and announced the end of his hunger strike. Despite his appeal, the violence had already marked the worst unrest in Ladakh in decades.
Underlying the political turmoil are Ladakh’s unique environmental and geopolitical challenges. The region’s villages, scattered across a high-altitude cold desert, have long been caught in the crossfire of India’s territorial disputes with China and Pakistan. In 2020, deadly clashes between Indian and Chinese troops along the disputed border left at least 20 Indian and four Chinese soldiers dead. Since then, militarization in the region has intensified, contributing to pollution that accelerates the melting of Ladakh’s thousands of glaciers—an existential threat to its water supply and way of life.
The protests have also highlighted the complex social fabric of Ladakh, where Buddhist and Muslim communities coexist and share concerns over cultural preservation, land rights, and environmental stewardship. While the region’s strategic location has made it a priority for India’s military, many locals feel that their voices are being drowned out by distant decision-makers in New Delhi.
As the dust settles and the curfew continues, the people of Ladakh are left grappling with grief, uncertainty, and a growing sense of urgency. Their demands for autonomy and protection of their homeland have reached a critical juncture, and all eyes are now on the upcoming talks with the central government. Whether these negotiations will bring meaningful change or further frustration remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: Ladakh’s call for self-determination can no longer be ignored.
For now, Ladakh stands at a crossroads—caught between the promise of autonomy and the reality of unrest, its future hanging in the balance as the world watches closely.