Society
Sonam Wangchuk and the Long Story of Starving for a Cause
Sonam Wangchuk hunger strike has reignited debate over fasting as political protest, tracing a tradition from ancient Ireland and Gandhi to modern India.
Sonam Wangchuk hunger strike became one of India’s defining protests of 2026, but its significance extends far beyond a single political moment. This feature journeys through centuries of hunger strikes—from ancient Ireland to Gandhi and modern India—to understand why the human body continues to be used as the ultimate instrument of democratic dissent.
Sonam Wangchuk gave up food at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar in June 2026, protesting more than just another exam paper leak controversy. The fast was a response to a crisis that had shattered the confidence of millions of Indian students, and it also brought back one of the oldest and most ethically disturbing forms of political protest: the hunger strike. For 26 days, the 59-year-old engineer, school reformer, and climate innovator made his own body a place of protest. The simple demand: India’s education minister should resign after multiple exam paper leaks put countless academic futures at risk. But the outcome was not a quiet one. Days went by, supporters gathered round him, political leaders begged him to end the protest, and eventually Delhi Police physically removed him from the protest site and took him to hospital, acting on Delhi High Court orders issued on medical advice. Organisers said it was done against his will; police said it was necessary for his safety. Either way, the decision was taken out of his hands.
The movement did not end with him. In the days after his removal, police used tear gas to disperse students marching toward Parliament, several protesters were injured, and public anger only hardened. On 25 July, Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan announced his resignation, writing that he was “pained to see the events of the past 10 days.” The Cockroach Janta Party, the youth movement that had organised the sit-in, declared its demands met and called off the protest. Wangchuk had set the demand in motion and paid the heaviest personal cost for it, but the concession itself came four days after he had already been carried out of the square — a reminder that a hunger strike’s power often lies less in the faster’s endurance than in what it makes everyone else unable to look away from. As with previous hunger strikes, the political result was only half the story. The act itself launched a national conversation that routine petitions, speeches, and marches had failed to keep alive.
The Family Legacy Behind Sonam Wangchuk Hunger Strike
For Wangchuk, fasting has become a regular tool of his political resistance, and not always a peaceful one in its consequences. Two years earlier, he had survived for twenty-one days without food in the freezing temperatures of Leh, demanding constitutional safeguards for Ladakh through inclusion in the Sixth Schedule and a renewed dialogue on statehood. He fasted again that October. Then, in September 2025, he began another hunger strike in Leh over the same demand — one that ended very differently from the others. Days into the fast, clashes broke out elsewhere in the city; buildings and police vehicles were burned, and four people were killed.
The federal government said Wangchuk’s rhetoric had contributed to the violence and detained him without trial under India’s National Security Act, a law that permits custody for up to a year without formal charge. He spent nearly six months in a jail more than a thousand kilometres from home before the detention was revoked in March 2026. Wangchuk denied inciting the violence and asked for an independent inquiry into the deaths; his wife challenged the detention before the Supreme Court, arguing it relied on complaints that predated the unrest. The matter remains legally unresolved.
The topics have shifted, from environmental governance to educational reform, but the approach has remained remarkably consistent. Each fast is a statement of the same principle: that when the institutions won’t listen, voluntary suffering can make society listen. What the September 2025 episode adds, uncomfortably, is a reminder that the state can respond to that suffering with force rather than dialogue — and that the person fasting bears that risk alone. Sonam Wangchuk’s conviction is rooted far beyond himself.
A Hunger-Torn Legacy
Long before Sonam became an internationally renowned innovator, his father Sonam Wangyal had already used fasting as a political tool. Wangyal, a prominent leader in the former state of Jammu and Kashmir, fought for Scheduled Tribe status and constitutional protections for Ladakh’s tribal communities. He, like his son, came to see that traditional political negotiations often didn’t work. In 1984, his hunger strike drew the personal intervention of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, who travelled to Leh, met him, and persuaded him to end the fast with an assurance that the demand would be addressed. The image is still powerfully significant. It represents not only the moral force that fasting can sometimes generate but also an older political culture in which governments felt it necessary to publicly respond when citizens are willing to risk their own lives for a public cause.
Wangchuk usually describes his own movement as his father’s unfinished business. Though the constitutional demands may have been different over the years, the fundamental fight for recognition, dignity, and political voice has persisted through generations. And that continuity is an unnerving concern as well. Is the hunger strike political success or democratic failure if every generation has to use the same tactic for the same recognition?
Ancient Form of Protest
The hunger strike is often linked to Gandhi or modern India, but its roots go far deeper. Troscadh, a practice acknowledged by early Irish legal traditions, was in place centuries before constitutional democracies. If a person felt that they had been wronged, they could fast outside the offender’s house. The aim was not violence or coercion in the traditional sense of the word. Instead, it used public shaming. There was considerable social stigma associated with allowing another person to suffer openly at one’s doorstep, often demanding settlement if legal procedures failed. The premise was simple and deceptively so.
A person with little institutional power was able to turn private suffering into public accountability. With time, this moral reasoning grew to a wide range of political circumstances. Marion Wallace Dunlop was a British suffragette who refused to eat after being jailed for campaigning for women’s right to vote. Her protest inspired dozens of other activists, eventually prompting British officials to resort to force-feeding, a barbaric procedure that drew more sympathy for the suffrage cause than imprisonment itself. Terence MacSwiney, an Irish republican leader, died in British custody after a 74-day hunger strike. His death reverberated around the world and spurred international support for Irish independence. Six decades later, Bobby Sands and nine other prisoners would make the same sacrifice inside the Maze Prison, turning the prison walls into one of the most important political battlegrounds of twentieth-century Northern Ireland.
In India, fasting has traditionally been a form of resistance. Jatin Das, who was jailed with Bhagat Singh, died in Lahore Central Jail after fasting for 63 days to protest the treatment of political prisoners under British rule. His funeral attracted massive crowds all over northern India, transforming a private act of suffering into a public expression of anti-colonial sentiment. These incidents, split by country and generation, reveal a startling connectedness. Hunger strikes rarely succeed, because governments don’t suddenly develop empathy. They work because visible suffering raises the political cost of staying apathetic. No one understands this dynamic better than Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.
Gandhi never used fasting to wring concessions from his opponents. It was an exhibition of satyagraha — the search for truth through self-discipline and self-suffering rather than through violence against others. For Gandhi, voluntary suffering was a moral appeal not just to rulers but to society, whether to oppose communal violence, caste discrimination, or to seek reconciliation after Partition. The protester did not seek to defeat an opponent in his worldview. Instead, they wanted to awaken the conscience of all. This moral insight into political resistance would have an immense impact on later movements in India and elsewhere. But the hunger strike is not only a historical custom. It also surfaces long-standing questions about the connection between power, the human body, and democratic accountability — questions that reverberate every time a protester refuses to eat in the name of justice.
When Democracy Stops Listening
Hunger strikes continue because they occupy a special niche in democratic politics: they are not violent acts or ordinary expressions of discontent but moral appeals that force communities to confront hard questions. They demonstrate the limits of institutional responses by transforming the human body into the ultimate vehicle of political communication. This method has stood the test of time, from the doorsteps of ancient Ireland to Gandhi’s satyagraha, from Jatin Das’s martyrdom to Sonam Wangchuk’s repeated fasts, not for its ability to bring political victory but for its ability to expose the moral price of official indifference. Its effectiveness has always been hit or miss. Hunger strikes have sometimes changed laws and institutions and sometimes brought only silence, jail, or death — in the space of a single year, Wangchuk’s own record now contains all three: a minister’s resignation, and, five months earlier, a detention without trial. Even if they don’t succeed in forcing instant policy change, they often succeed in changing public perception and reminding voters that democracy is as much about listening as it is about governance.
Wangchuk’s strikes raise a question that extends beyond Ladakh or exam reforms: why do citizens in the world’s largest democracy still believe the best way to be heard is by starving themselves? A healthy democracy has no business asking the people to risk their lives before their grievances are rectified. If peaceful self-sacrifice remains one of the most powerful forms of political expression, the real problem is not with those who fast, but with the institutions that make them feel they have no choice.
About the authors:
Pratyusha Pan is an English literature researcher whose work explores memory, history, and political thought.
Anusreeta Dutta is a columnist and climate researcher with experience in political research analysis, ESG research, and energy policy.
Society
79 Years After Independence: Is India Investing Enough in Science and Technology?
India’s R&D spending remains below 1% of GDP despite rising research output and patents. Is the country investing enough to achieve technological independence by 2047?
India’s research and development (R & D) spending has more than doubled in absolute terms, but R&D intensity remains below 1% of GDP. As India approaches 2047, the bigger question is whether its investment in science is sufficient to build the technologies and industries needed for technological independence.
When India became independent in 1947, the country had only 17 universities and 636 colleges serving about 2.38 lakh students. Literacy was around 14%. Nearly eight decades later, India has built a vastly larger education and research system. The country had 1,168 universities, 45,473 colleges and 12,002 standalone higher-education institutions in 2021–22, according to the All India Survey on Higher Education.
But as India looks towards its centenary of Independence in 2047, its scientific ambitions are running into a persistent question: is the country investing enough in research and development to build the technologies it will need? India’s R&D spending has increased sharply in absolute terms. Yet as a share of the economy, it has remained below 1%.
India’s R&D Spending Remains Below 1% of GDP
India’s gross expenditure on research and development rose from ₹60,197 crore in 2010–11 to ₹1,27,381 crore in 2020–21, according to the Department of Science and Technology. However, R&D expenditure as a share of GDP was 0.64% in 2020–21. The corresponding figure was 0.66% in both 2018–19 and 2019–20.
This means that while India’s research spending more than doubled over the decade, R&D intensity remained at roughly two-thirds of 1% of GDP. The latest detailed official figure available for India is therefore 0.64% for 2020–21. WIPO’s Global Innovation Index 2025 uses an R&D intensity figure of 0.65%, based on 2020 data. One of the most commonly used measures of a country’s research effort is R&D intensity—the amount a country spends on research and development as a percentage of its gross domestic product (GDP). It allows researchers to compare the relative priority given to R&D across economies of very different sizes.
There is currently no single internationally comparable R&D figure for every country for 2026. UNESCO’s new global R&D data collection is still underway, with the resulting data scheduled for release in November 2026.
Government Still Funds the Larger Share
The issue is not only how much India spends on R&D, but who pays for it. Government accounted for 59.2% of India’s gross expenditure on R&D in 2020–21, while business enterprises accounted for 40.8%, according to DST data.
The figures point to India’s continuing dependence on public funding for research. That becomes significant as research moves into areas such as semiconductors, biotechnology, artificial intelligence, quantum technologies, advanced materials and clean energy. These fields can require expensive infrastructure, specialised equipment and long development cycles before research produces commercially viable technologies.
Increasing private-sector participation is therefore likely to be as important as increasing the overall R&D budget.
India is Producing More Patents and Research
Despite its relatively low R&D intensity, India has become a significant contributor to global research and innovation. The latest Nature Index data, covering April 2025 to March 2026, records 3,565 research articles from India in the journals tracked by the index.
Patent activity has also grown rapidly. Indian applicants filed 76,470 patent applications worldwide in 2024, according to the World Intellectual Property Organization. This was a 19.2% increase over 2023 and placed India sixth among origins for worldwide patent applications.
The growth marks the sixth consecutive year of double-digit growth in patent applications from India-based applicants, according to WIPO. But patent filings do not necessarily mean that inventions reach the market.
A patent can protect an invention without it becoming a commercially manufactured product. For research to generate wider economic value, it has to move through several stages—from discovery to patent, prototype, product and eventually large-scale deployment. That transition remains one of the important challenges for India’s innovation ecosystem.
India Ranks Higher on Innovation Than Its R&D Spending Suggests
India’s relatively low R&D intensity has not prevented it from performing strongly on broader measures of innovation. WIPO’s Global Innovation Index 2025 ranked India 38th among 139 economies. India was also ranked first among lower-middle-income economies and first in Central and Southern Asia.
WIPO identifies India as an innovation overperformer, citing strengths including ICT services exports, venture-capital activity and the country’s ability to translate scientific knowledge into commercial impact. The contrast is significant.
India is generating considerable innovation despite spending a relatively small share of its GDP on R&D. But that does not necessarily mean that the existing level of investment is enough to support the next generation of technologies. As research becomes more capital-intensive, countries seeking technological leadership require sustained investment in infrastructure, specialised researchers and long-term development.
China Spends Four Times India’s Share
The gap becomes clearer when India is compared with major research economies. WIPO’s latest internationally comparable estimates for 2024 put R&D intensity at 6.33% of GDP in Israel and 5.32% in South Korea. Japan and the United States were both at 3.45%, while Germany stood at 3.11%.
China’s R&D intensity reached 2.65%. By comparison, India’s latest available figure is about 0.65%. China therefore spends roughly four times India’s share of GDP on R&D. Other emerging economies also show different levels of research intensity. WIPO estimates Brazil at 1.15%, Thailand at 1.16%, Türkiye at 1.42%, Vietnam at 0.42%, the Philippines at 0.32% and Indonesia at 0.28%.
The figures are not all based on the same data year, making direct comparisons imperfect. However, the broad difference between India and the world’s leading research economies remains clear.
Government Changing The Funding Model
India has begun introducing policies aimed at expanding research funding and encouraging greater industry participation. The Anusandhan National Research Foundation was established through legislation in 2023, with a planned five-year outlay of ₹50,000 crore for 2023–28.
The foundation is intended to strengthen research across universities, colleges and research institutions and encourage collaboration between academia, industry and government.
In July 2025, the government also approved a ₹1 lakh crore Research, Development and Innovation Scheme. The scheme is intended to encourage private-sector investment in high-risk and high-impact R&D, particularly in strategic and emerging areas.
The initiatives reflect an attempt to address a longstanding problem: India’s research system needs greater private-sector participation if overall R&D investment is to rise substantially.
What Would Higher R&D Spending Change?
There is no fixed relationship between R&D spending and the number of patents, papers or technologies a country will produce. Reaching a particular percentage of GDP cannot guarantee scientific breakthroughs.
But higher sustained investment could expand the country’s research capacity. Moving from 0.64% to 1% of GDP would represent an increase of about 56% relative to India’s current R&D intensity. It could provide greater resources for research grants, laboratory infrastructure, doctoral training and advanced equipment.
At 2%, India would move much closer to China’s current R&D intensity and have a substantially larger pool of resources for research in areas such as biotechnology, advanced manufacturing, AI, semiconductors and clean energy. At 3%, India would enter the range of several major research economies. The outcome, however, would depend on how effectively that money is used.
From Research Papers to Technologies
For India, the next phase of science policy may therefore need to focus as much on the movement of research into the economy as on increasing research output. Universities need stronger research infrastructure and stable funding. Public laboratories need effective technology-transfer mechanisms. Companies need stronger incentives to conduct R&D domestically. Researchers need access to advanced equipment and long-term funding.
Success could also be measured through indicators beyond publications and patents: technologies licensed to companies, university spin-offs, industry-funded research, prototypes entering production and revenue generated from publicly supported research. This is particularly important for technologies that could shape India’s economic future.
A semiconductor process developed in an Indian laboratory, a new pharmaceutical platform, an energy-storage technology or an agricultural innovation can have an economic impact far beyond the research paper that first describes it. At the same time, basic research cannot be judged only by immediate commercial returns. Some of the technologies that eventually transform economies begin as discoveries with no obvious market.
India therefore faces a two-part challenge: expand research that pushes scientific boundaries while building the institutions and industrial capacity needed to convert discoveries into technologies.
The Science Challenge India Faces in 2047
The scientific challenge India faced in 1947 was largely about building capacity. The country needed universities, laboratories, trained researchers and institutions capable of supporting scientific inquiry. Much of that foundation now exists.
The challenge approaching 2047 is different. India is no longer simply trying to establish a scientific system. It is trying to use that system to compete in technologies that will determine economic and strategic strength. That will require more sustained investment, greater participation from industry and stronger links between research institutions and the market.
As India approaches 100 years of Independence, the question is therefore no longer only how much science the country produces. It is whether India can invest enough in that science—and build the systems around it—to turn research into technologies, technologies into industries and scientific capability into technological independence.
Editor’s Note
Dipin Damodharan, Co-founder & Editor-in-Chief, EdPublica
South Korea offers an instructive comparison. R&D intensity—the share of a country’s GDP devoted to research and development—is not, by itself, a guarantee of economic transformation. But South Korea’s experience shows what sustained investment can achieve when it is accompanied by strong university research, private-sector participation and technological development.
UNESCO’s Institute for Statistics reported that South Korea’s R&D expenditure had reached 4.03% of GDP in 2011, compared with 0.81% for India at the time. The private sector accounted for a substantial share of South Korea’s R&D expenditure, highlighting the importance of industry participation alongside public investment.
The lesson for India is therefore not simply to spend more. It is to build an ecosystem in which increased R&D funding translates into research capacity, technologies, companies and productive industries.
Climate
From Fighting Water to Saving It: The Netherlands Faces a Growing Drought Challenge
A land built to keep water out is now struggling to keep enough of it in — forcing a world leader in water management to rethink its infrastructure
The Netherlands built its global reputation by keeping water out. Now, longer dry spells and intensifying heatwaves are forcing the country to confront a very different problem: how to keep enough fresh water in the landscape. From greenhouse agriculture to homes built on wooden foundation piles, the Netherlands drought challenge is exposing the limits of infrastructure designed primarily for flood protection.
When people think of the Netherlands, the images that come to mind are windmills, tulip fields and the great sea walls that have kept the ocean at bay for centuries. The Dutch built their reputation, and much of their nation, on mastering water — pumping it away, holding it back, and reclaiming land from the sea to build a prosperous country on ground that, by rights, shouldn’t exist. Yet beneath that carefully engineered landscape, the Netherlands is now facing an unfamiliar problem: it is running out of fresh water.
As repeated summer heatwaves sweep across Western Europe, Dutch water authorities say they have reached the limit of what engineering can do. In several regions, officials have exhausted every standard measure available to them and are left with what amounts to a last resort — waiting, and hoping, for rain.
Netherlands Drought Challenge: From Floods to Water Scarcity
To understand how a country famous for its rainfall and rivers has arrived at this point, it helps to look at how the land itself was designed. For generations, the Dutch water system had one job: get excess water out to sea as fast as possible, to prevent flooding. That same efficiency has become a liability as weather patterns shift towards longer dry spells and more intense heat. The pressure peaks in late summer, when temperatures regularly cross 35°C and water evaporates faster than rainfall can replace it.
The consequences of shrinking water reserves go well beyond the daily weather report. They are already reaching into the economy, and into the foundations — quite literally — of Dutch homes.
Thousands of historic Dutch houses stand on wooden foundation piles. When groundwater levels drop, those piles are exposed to air and begin to rot. On clay and peat soils, the ground shrinks unevenly, pulling foundations down and cracking brick walls
Economic Strain and Sinking Homes
In Westland, the heart of Dutch greenhouse horticulture, the Delfland water authority has banned growers from drawing irrigation water from local ditches and canals — the first such ban in its history. According to the growers’ umbrella body Glastuinbouw Nederland, the ban affects around 150 commercial growers, with potential damages running as high as €150 million.
At the same time, a quieter crisis is unfolding beneath people’s homes. Thousands of historic Dutch houses stand on wooden foundation piles. When groundwater levels drop, those piles are exposed to air and begin to rot. On clay and peat soils, the ground shrinks unevenly, pulling foundations down and cracking brick walls. The Council for the Living Environment and Infrastructure estimates that close to half a million buildings across the country could show foundation damage by 2035, with repair costs reaching as much as €54 billion.
From Water Battle to Water Sponge
This reality is forcing a fundamental shift in how the Netherlands manages its resources. For centuries, Dutch policy was simple: fight the water, and push it away. Today, water authorities are engaged in a delicate balancing act, trying to save every drop using canal locks and storage basins. But holding onto existing water can only do so much once the rain stops altogether.
Long-term resilience will require redesigning the landscape itself. Rather than treating rainwater as a threat to be flushed out to sea, experts increasingly argue that the Netherlands needs to function more like a giant sponge — capturing heavy winter rain and storing it safely to survive the dry summer months that are becoming the norm.
A Lesson Beyond Borders
What is unfolding in the Netherlands carries a lesson well beyond it. If a nation this experienced in water engineering is struggling to keep pace with a changing climate, it says something about how quickly conditions can outrun even the most sophisticated infrastructure. As riverbeds stay low and the dry spells drag on, the Dutch find themselves in an unfamiliar position for a country built on water: waiting for the skies to open.
Society
Urban Women Hit by a Stark 8.7% Unemployment Rate
India’s unemployment rate rose to 5.4% in April–June 2026, but the sharpest divide was among urban workers: women faced 8.7% unemployment, while only 22.8% were employed compared with 70.7% of men.
India’s urban labour market continues to show a persistent gender imbalance, even as overall employment trends remain relatively stable. While unemployment rates are often used as the primary indicator of job stress, they do not fully capture who is able to access work in the first place.
India’s latest employment data reveal a divide larger than the headline unemployment rate. In April–June 2026, 8.7% of urban women aged 15 years and above who were in the labour force were unemployed, compared with 6.1% of urban men. But the sharper gap lies in employment itself: only 22.8% of urban women were working, compared with 70.7% of urban men.
The figures come as India’s overall unemployment rate rose to 5.4%, from 5.0% in January–March, according to the latest Periodic Labour Force Survey (PLFS) Quarterly Bulletin released by the Ministry of Statistics and Programme Implementation. Rural unemployment rose from 4.3% to 4.8%, while urban unemployment remained almost unchanged at 6.7%.
For urban women, unemployment actually fell from 9.1% to 8.7% over the quarter. Yet it remains considerably higher than the rate for men.
That makes the story less about a sudden rise in female unemployment and more about a persistent question: why are so few urban women participating in paid work?
The Bigger Divide is Participation
The unemployment rate counts people who are working or actively seeking and available for work. Those outside the labour force are not counted as unemployed.
That distinction is crucial. The urban Worker Population Ratio (WPR) stood at 46.8% overall in April–June. But the gender gap was stark: 70.7% for men and just 22.8% for women.
The nearly 48-percentage-point difference means that looking only at the 8.7% female unemployment rate captures only part of the employment problem. India can therefore have a relatively stable urban unemployment rate while still having a large pool of women who are not participating in the labour market.
Urban Jobs are Changing, But the Gender Gap Remains
The urban labour market itself is not showing signs of a broad collapse. Urban unemployment edged up only marginally from 6.6% to 6.7% during the quarter. At the same time, the share of urban workers in regular wage or salaried employment increased from 48.9% to 49.3%.
Urban employment is also dominated by services. The tertiary sector accounted for 62% of urban employment in April–June, compared with 61.7% a year earlier.
Yet these shifts have not translated into comparable employment outcomes for women.
Rural Unemployment Rose Faster
The national increase in unemployment was partly driven by rural India. Rural unemployment rose by 0.5 percentage points, compared with a 0.1-point increase in urban areas. At the same time, rural employment continued to shift away from agriculture: agriculture’s share fell from 55.8% to 52.9%, while the secondary sector rose from 22.6% to 24.4%.
The figures point to an economy undergoing changes in where and how people work, even as access to employment remains uneven.
Women’s Participation Also Fell
The gender gap extends beyond cities. Overall female labour-force participation declined from 34.7% in January–March to 33.2% in April–June. The overall LFPR for people aged 15 and above also fell, from 55.5% to 54.6%.
The latest figures should not be interpreted as proof that women simply lost jobs. LFPR measures participation in the labour force, while WPR measures actual employment.
But together, the indicators highlight a persistent challenge: India’s employment story cannot be understood through unemployment alone.
The Question of Gender Gap
The PLFS does not establish why urban women participate in the labour market at much lower rates than men. Factors such as childcare, household responsibilities, transport, workplace conditions, safety and access to suitable jobs require separate evidence and reporting.
What the data do establish is the scale of the divide. Urban female unemployment is 8.7%, compared with 6.1% for men. But the much larger gap is in actual employment: 22.8% of urban women were working, against 70.7% of urban men.
As India’s urban economy becomes increasingly service-led and regular salaried employment expands, the central employment question is no longer only how many jobs are being created. It is also who is able to enter the workforce and stay in it.
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