Ladakh protests highlight demands for Sixth Schedule protections and local governance.
Outlook’s March 2024 issue documented tribal struggles over land, water, and identity across India.
Young Adivasis lead the fight for dignity, survival, and constitutional safeguards.
When Outlook brought out its special issue on Adivasis in March 2024, it tried to break the silence around India’s indigenous communities.
The cover story, “Adivasis in India Continue Their Fight for Jal, Jungle, Jameen”, showed how access to water, forest and land remains central to their survival, and how those rights are chipped away despite constitutional promises. The issue carried reports from across the country: “Despite Mega Outreach, Tribals in Andhra-Telangana Region Have No Place to Call Home” documented sudden evictions in Meduvai village, exposing the gap between state promises and lived reality; “Manipur Deaths Pile On Amid Tribal and Indigenous Identity Politics, But Who Gains” asked who benefits when indigenous identities are turned into weapons in violent conflicts; and “Ladakh Battles for Identity More Than 4 Years After Abrogation of Article 370” described people gathering in freezing cold to demand Sixth Schedule protections, fearing cultural and political erasure.
Revisiting that issue today feels urgent. Ladakh is again on the boil, and the themes of land, identity, dispossession and dignity are at the heart of it.
Broken promises and rising anger
For weeks now, people have been on the streets in Leh and Kargil. Their call is simple: protect Ladakh with constitutional safeguards so that decisions about land, jobs, and culture are not taken over their heads. This demand is not new, it was raised soon after the abrogation of Article 370 and Ladakh’s conversion into a Union Territory in 2019. Then, many hoped direct rule from Delhi would bring development. Instead, the absence of local political voice has deepened mistrust.
The protests turned violent this week. Four people were killed and dozens injured, with curfews and internet bans followed. Sonam Wangchuk, who had been on a long hunger strike for statehood and Sixth Schedule status, called off his fast after the violence and was arrested soon after under National Security Act. His NGO’s FCRA licence was cancelled by the Ministry of Home Affairs, citing alleged violations.
Echoes of Adivasi struggles
The demand for Sixth Schedule protections is not accidental. In the Northeast, the Sixth Schedule gave tribal councils the power to protect land and culture. In Ladakh, people see it as the only safeguard against land grabs, ecological destruction and joblessness. This is the same terrain as the Adivasi movements elsewhere: struggles over jal, jungle, jameen are always about more than resources. They are about dignity and survival.
The Andhra-Telangana story in the Adivasi issue showed tribal families thrown out overnight despite “mega outreach” schemes. The Manipur report showed how questions of “indigenous” status can spiral into deadly violence. These cases are not distant from Ladakh. They show how fragile promises of protection are, and how easily they can be overturned by state power or political manoeuvre.
What gives the Ladakh protests their sharp edge is the anger of the young. Many feel betrayed. They were told that Union Territory status would mean more jobs, more representation, better governance. Instead, they face unemployment, cultural insecurity, and a sense that they are being governed from afar. Their protests, hunger strikes, rallies in subzero temperatures, online campaigns, carry the same urgency that young Adivasis elsewhere have shown: we cannot wait for distant governments to decide our future.
Ladakh is a unique tribal region, marked by fragile ecosystems and strategic borders. Glaciers are retreating, water cycles are changing, military infrastructure grows each year, and villages near the Line of Actual Control face ongoing uncertainty. These conditions underscore the importance of local autonomy, which is as much about sustaining livelihoods and communities as it is about preserving culture.
Whether in Meduvai, Manipur, Jharkhand or Ladakh, communities closest to the land are the first to lose it and the last to be heard. The language of national interest and security often silences those who live in the margins. But democracy cannot mean dispossession.
In Ladakh, the demand for Sixth Schedule status is not about separation from India, but about securing a measure of self-protection; a way for local communities to have a say in decisions that affect their land and lives.
To replug the Adivasi issue now is to recognise continuity. The fights over land, water, forests and dignity described in those pages are not past stories. They continue, in central India, the Northeast, Andhra, and now in Ladakh. What sets Ladakh apart is the added weight of borders, glaciers, and the unsettled promises since 2019. The questions raised in March 2024, about who controls the commons and who decides the future of those tied to the land, remain open.
And as these struggles continue, one is left to ask: if Adivasis exist at all, are they truly being seen and accepted by the nation?
