A sharp burst of violence in Ladakh late last month has once again thrown vexing questions around autonomy, development and identity in India’s frontiers into sharp relief. The region being where it is -- India and China almost went to war over its de facto border five years ago – these doubts are being refracted through Delhi’s geopolitical anxieties.
On 24 September, a public demonstration in Leh – capital of the centrally-administered “union territory” – suddenly got out of hand. Protestors demanding statehood and other concessions for Ladakh torched the local office of the Bharatiya Janata Party, the ruling party of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, and attacked police vehicles and public establishments in a manner that was uncomfortably similar to the youth unrest in Nepal earlier in the month. The police shot four protestors dead, three of them in their 20s.
The government has accused climate activist Sonam Wangchuk of instigating the violence, and has detained him under a stringent law. Renowned innovator and apparent inspiration behind the lead character in a popular Bollywood film about three young slackers, Wangchuk has, over the past four years, emerged as the most recognisable face in Ladakhi politics. While his description of the 24 September outburst as a “Gen Z revolution” undoubtedly ruffled more than a few feathers in Delhi, his on-ground cachet has since increased considerably.
The irony of course is unmissable.
Ladakh was part of Jammu and Kashmir until August 2019 when the Indian government decided to revoke the state’s autonomy and carve out two union territories from it. The decision paved the way for outsiders to acquire commercial interests in the region. At the time, Ladakhis, Wangchuk included, cheered the move. For decades prior, many Ladakhis had maintained that their fate was tethered to political and geopolitical vagaries of the restive region. Kashmir’s cynical, dynastic politics – fuelled by a combustible mix of institutionalised rent-seeking, instrumental secessionism and ideological acrobatics – was getting in the way of jobs, opportunities and fair treatment, they held.
Ladakh had aspired to union-territory status since the early 1950s. But once Modi made it one, “[reality started] sinking in – what will happen to the safeguards for the population, landholdings, nature and environment, and so on,” as Wangchuk put it in an October 2019 interview. Joining hands with Ladakh’s Muslims – it is important to keep in mind the region has a large Shia population, in the Kargil district – Ladakhi Buddhists now want restoration of statehood, within India’s federal structure, alongside considerable sub-regional autonomy, albeit on their own terms. Hence protests since 2021.
It is the degree to, and manner in, which Ladakh is to be granted legislative authority and autonomy that is the subject of ongoing parleys between the region’s representatives and the central government. Ladakhis are pushing for an arrangement akin to those provided to Assam, Meghalaya, Tripura, and Mizoram through the Sixth Schedule of the Indian constitution. Such an arrangement would, among other things, allow local tribal councils within Ladakh to make laws about commercial land allocation and use. Arunachal Pradesh – which saw India-China border clashes less than three years ago – has also demanded inclusion in the Sixth Schedule in the past.
As many other parts of India have learnt over the past three decades, sometimes the hard way, nativism gets in the way of prosperity.
Were the Modi government to give in to Ladakhi demands, it would appear to have buckled under pressure. With crucial state elections looming in the background, the ensuing political cost for the BJP and its allies could be high.
Ladakhis fear without significant autonomy, their region will be flooded by outsiders, resulting in disruption of traditional ways of life. Lack of steady employment prospects remain a persistent worry too. On top of that, many apprehend large-scale industrial activity, including military infrastructure development, will upend Ladakh’s delicate environmental balance.
Each concern taken in isolation is valid. As a package, they cancel each other out.
Consider employment. As with the rest of India, unless Ladakh sees a major industrial push, good jobs are unlikely to come, especially as climate change disrupts traditional economic activities. And that investment can only happen if capital flows freely to the region. It would necessarily mean Ladakhis welcoming major corporate players. It would also, sadly, mean accepting the marginal cultural change that engenders. As many other parts of India have learnt over the past three decades, sometimes the hard way, nativism gets in the way of prosperity. And that culture-economy trade-offs are rarely pleasant.
As far as environmentally-responsible growth is concerned, it is a serious, pan-India challenge. But linking sustainability to autonomy demands, as Wangchuk has explicitly done, is a dangerous gambit. Falling for it would set a problematic precedent. Nevertheless, Ladakhis must be empowered to have a significant say in what happens on their land.
Meanwhile, Delhi’s dilemma is largely geopolitical. Concessions, say on military infrastructure growth, risks reversion to days of benign neglect of the frontiers, where they were left to their picturesque devices, often to the detriment of all parties involved. At the same time, the Modi government can scarcely afford to snub Ladakhis completely. After all, Ladakh’s locals have, time and again, served as the first line of defence in face of Pakistani and Chinese thrusts.
Just how Modi threads the Ladakh needle will be interesting to watch.
