From Courtrooms to Classrooms to Crisis Zones: Gilgit-Baltistan Shuts Down

Gilgit-Baltistan is now in the grip of a paralyzing crisis—one born of both political neglect and environmental disaster—that has effectively shut down the region. On August 13, 2025, protests across every major sector collided with the aftermath of devastating glacial lake outburst floods, leaving public life suspended and faith in the federal system hanging by a thread. Police, lawyers, traders, revenue officials, and teachers are on strike. Entire villages have been swept away by floods. Volunteers have died in the line of duty. Yet Islamabad has offered little more than ceremonial appearances and hollow assurances.

The unrest began with police constables across Gilgit, Hunza, Diamer, and other districts staging sit-ins for an increase in their daily allowance—already approved by the GB Assembly months ago but still not implemented. Instead of dialogue, authorities responded with mass suspensions. On August 12, 26 officers in Gilgit and nine in Hunza were terminated for “grave misconduct,” their salaries frozen. Social media posts and local unions say the total number of dismissed personnel has reached at least 63. The demands go beyond pay: officers are pressing for permanent status for Special Protection Units, scholarships for their children, a dedicated police hospital on par with the CMH, and subsidised schooling—requests they say are rooted in survival, not luxury.

In the legal sector, the region’s lawyers have extended a months-long boycott, demanding judicial independence and structural reform. They oppose the parachuting in of retired judges from outside GB, calling instead for local appointments, the creation of Labour, Consumer, and Family Courts, separation of the Attorney General and Prosecutor General offices, and the enactment of a Lawyers’ Protection Act. The strike has already frozen hearings in inheritance, property, and commercial cases, compounding the paralysis in governance.

At Sost Dry Port, traders are on the 23rd consecutive day of a complete shutdown, blocking the Karakoram Highway and halting all cross-border trade with China. They denounce what they describe as “illegal” federal taxes imposed despite GB’s constitutional limbo, demand compliance with a court order halting such taxation, and seek a 10 percent share of trade revenue for local development. More than 280 consignments sit stranded, goods spoil in transit, and billions of rupees are being lost. Revenue officials have joined the unrest with a pen-down strike, further freezing customs clearance and enforcement.

Government schoolteachers have also walked out—now into a sixth day of protests—demanding overdue promotions to Grade 16 for B.Ed holders and Grade 14 for certificate holders, in line with a court order that has yet to be honoured. In districts from Skardu to Ghanche and from Ghizer to Nagar, classrooms remain empty.

While the human-made governance crisis deepens, nature has delivered its own blows. This week, a series of glacial lake outburst floods and monsoon-driven landslides struck across GB, devastating communities already on edge. In Haldi village of Ghanche District, torrents swept away dozens of homes, fruit trees, and agricultural land. Kondus in Ghanche, Shigar, Rgayul in Skardu, and Gojal in Hunza have suffered similar destruction. The losses are irreplaceable in a region where land is livelihood.

In Gilgit’s Danyor Nullah, tragedy struck when a mudslide engulfed volunteer workers repairing a damaged water channel. Eight of them were killed—most in their twenties and thirties—while three others were injured. They died attempting to restore a lifeline for their community. The Chief Minister praised them as heroes, but their families now face both grief and economic ruin.

Yet despite the scale of devastation and the breadth of protests, the federal government has offered no comprehensive plan. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s recent visit to Gilgit—ostensibly to distribute flood-relief cheques and announce a Rs 4 billion rehabilitation package—was perceived by many locals as little more than political theatre. No structural commitments were made on judicial reform, police welfare, or trade revenue sharing; no detailed GLOF mitigation strategy was unveiled; and no acknowledgment was given to the reality that GB’s governance is dominated by non-locals appointed from Islamabad.

From the bazaar to the bench, from classrooms to police barracks, from fertile valleys to flood-ravaged slopes, Gilgit-Baltistan is speaking with one voice: enough. The protests are not isolated—they are a unified stand against a system that treats the region as a strategic colony rather than a partner in the federation. Federal silence in the face of this simultaneous political and climate emergency is not just a policy gap; it is a breach of trust that risks pushing GB’s disenfranchisement into outright disaffection.

For now, the mountains stand still, but the people do not. Their protests are the clearest signal yet that without meaningful inclusion, equitable resources, and climate resilience, the crisis in Gilgit-Baltistan will only deepen—and the cost will not be measured in rupees alone.