India-China Border Dispute: RTI Responses Shroud Territorial Truths

The India-China border dispute remains a persistent scar on India’s sovereignty, a six-decade struggle spanning the stark, windswept plateaus of Aksai Chin and the lush, misty ridges of Arunachal Pradesh along the Line of Actual Control (LAC). The LAC, a sprawling 3,488-kilometer frontier, remains a contested boundary where national honour collides with territorial ambiguity, military might, and diplomatic deadlock. 

When Bengaluru-based lawyer and RTI activist Ajay Kumar sought precise, year-wise data on Chinese occupation of Indian territory, he expected transparency from a government tasked with defending the nation’s borders. Instead, he encountered a chilling wall of evasion and secrecy. Responses from the Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) and Ministry of Defence (MoD) to his Right to Information (RTI) queries—one claiming no records exist, the other shrouded in security exemptions—reveal a profound betrayal of accountability. 

This story unravels the government’s obfuscation, traces the deep historical roots of India’s border struggle from its own perspective, examines the undeniable right of voting, tax-paying citizens to know the truth, and probes the stakes of silence in the ongoing India-China standoff.

Kumar’s pursuit was both straightforward and critical: to map the extent of Chinese control over Indian land across nine pivotal dates, from the 1962 Sino-Indian War to the present. His RTIs, filed with the MEA on February 6, 2025, and the MoD shortly thereafter, aimed to pierce the fog enveloping the LAC—a line neither India nor China fully agrees upon, its contours shifting with each clash and negotiation. What he uncovered was not data but a disturbing pattern: the MEA dodged with vague denials, while the MoD retreated behind legal barriers. As China fortifies its presence with roads, villages, and outposts, and India scrambles to counter, these responses raise a haunting question: does the government know—or dare to admit—how much of India’s territory has been lost to its northern neighbour?

The MEA’s Evasive Retreat: A Ministry Without Answers

Kumar’s first RTI, submitted to the MEA, demanded a granular timeline of Chinese occupation across key moments in the India-China border dispute. He specified nine dates: October 19, 1962 (the eve of the 1962 war), November 21, 1962 (its conclusion), May 4, 2020 (the prelude to the Galwan Valley clash), and annual markers from January 21, 2020, through 2024, culminating with the present day. His request sought the “total amount of Sovereign Indian Territory under military occupation or otherwise by the People’s Republic of China” at each point, aiming to uncover whether India has ceded or reclaimed ground over six decades of tension.

The MEA’s reply, dated February 27, 2025, from Dr. Vikram Krisnamoorthy, Deputy Secretary (China) and Central Public Information Officer, was a textbook case of bureaucratic sidestepping. Lumping all nine questions into a single, cursory response, Krisnamoorthy pointed to two Lok Sabha statements: one from February 4, 2022, asserting that China has illegally occupied approximately 38,000 square kilometers in Ladakh since the 1960s, and another from March 11, 2020, noting China’s claim to roughly 90,000 square kilometers in Arunachal Pradesh. Beyond these static figures, the reply states, “The CPIO is not in possession of any further information on these,” adding that the CPIO is “under obligation to provide an applicant only that information which exists in records.”

Kumar was stunned by the response. “The MEA’s vague response signals a reluctance to disclose detailed, time-specific information about Chinese occupation,” he told The Probe. “If the MEA cannot quantify occupation over time, it suggests a weak grasp of the LAC’s status—potentially emboldening China, which has aggressively built infrastructure in disputed areas.” 

He pressed further with a barrage of questions: “The problem is that we don’t know where India’s current operational border is with China. There is no border treaty and there is no agreed line. There is the Line of Actual Control, but the LAC only exists in certain places. We don’t know whether the LAC has changed. It’s a very simple question: what has been the extent of Chinese occupation over time? Have we been able to take back territories in some sectors, or have we lost territory? Who holds the information? If not the MEA, does the Ministry of Defence or intelligence agencies have the answers, and why wasn’t the RTI redirected? Are losses being concealed? Is the government hiding post-Galwan encroachments to avoid political backlash?”

The implications of this evasiveness are profound. The MEA’s reliance on outdated parliamentary replies—neither of which address developments since 2020—sidesteps Kumar’s demand for a year-by-year accounting of territorial control. If such records are not maintained, it represents a staggering failure for a ministry responsible for India’s diplomatic relations and border negotiations. If the data exists elsewhere, such as with the MoD or intelligence agencies, Section 6(3) of the RTI Act mandates that the query be transferred to the appropriate authority—a step the MEA conspicuously ignored. This refusal to provide clarity hints at a troubling possibility: either the government lacks the capacity to track changes along the LAC, or it is deliberately withholding information, perhaps to mask incremental losses that could spark public outrage or weaken its diplomatic stance with China.

The MoD’s Wall of Secrecy: Hiding Behind Exemptions

Undeterred by the MEA’s non-answer, Kumar filed an identical RTI with the Ministry of Defence (MoD), seeking the same year-wise data on Chinese occupation. The response, received in March 2025, took a sharply different approach: invoking Section 8(1)(a) of the RTI Act—which exempts information that could prejudice India’s sovereignty, integrity, or security—the MoD refused to disclose any details. Unlike the MEA’s claim of ignorance, the MoD suggested it possesses the requested information but considers it too sensitive for public release, offering no specific justification beyond the boilerplate legal citation.

“I was shocked to receive the response from the Ministry of Defence,” Kumar said. “What I have asked is only the extent of Chinese occupation. I have not asked any operational details. My question is, does a citizen not have the right to know how much of our country has been occupied by an enemy country? I will be going for a first appeal under the RTI Act. How are two arms of the government of India giving me two different pieces of information on the same matter?”

The MoD’s position, while legally permissible, raises serious questions about its application. Section 8(1)(a) requires that exemptions be justified with specificity—why, exactly, does disclosing the extent of Chinese occupation threaten national security? Is it tied to ongoing military operations, sensitive intelligence, or delicate diplomatic talks with China? Without such an explanation, the refusal smacks of a convenient shield for concealment. “Without knowing where India’s operational border stands with China, how can citizens hold the government accountable? Have we lost ground since Galwan? Have we regained territory through diplomacy? The silence on India-China border dispute is deafening,” Kumar argued.

The stark contrast between the MEA’s “we don’t know” and the MoD’s “we won’t tell” exposes a troubling disconnect within the government. If the MEA truly lacks detailed records, how can the MoD justify withholding what it presumably holds? This inconsistency suggests either a lack of coordination between two critical ministries or a deliberate strategy to obscure the truth about the LAC’s status. For a nation locked in a protracted territorial standoff with a formidable adversary, such secrecy undermines the RTI Act’s promise of transparency, leaving citizens—whose taxes fund the military defending these borders—without the basic facts they deserve.

Historical Fault Lines: A Saga of Lost Ground

The India-China border dispute is a wound etched deep into India’s national consciousness, a six-decade tale of betrayal, loss, and unrelenting resolve shaped by its historical struggle. India’s claim to its northern frontier traces back to the colonial era, forged by treaties and surveys that delineated its boundaries with Tibet, then a buffer state between British India and a fading Qing China. The 1914 Simla Conference gave birth to the McMahon Line, a boundary separating Arunachal Pradesh from Tibet, agreed upon by British and Tibetan representatives in a bilateral accord, though rejected by China, which refused to recognise Tibet’s authority to negotiate.

China, under a faltering republican government in 1914, rejected the McMahon Line as an imperialist imposition, laying the groundwork for decades of discord. When India gained independence in 1947, it inherited this line as its northeastern border, viewing Arunachal Pradesh as an integral part of its sovereign territory—a stance later challenged by China’s communist regime. Similarly, Aksai Chin—a desolate, high-altitude expanse in Ladakh—was claimed as part of Jammu and Kashmir, based on 19th-century surveys like those of W.H. Johnson, which placed it within British India’s domain.

Tensions simmered in the 1950s as China, under Mao Zedong’s communist regime, built a strategic road through Aksai Chin to connect Xinjiang and Tibet. India confirmed this incursion in 1957 through aerial reconnaissance and patrols, igniting diplomatic protests and public outrage. From India’s vantage, it was a flagrant breach of sovereignty; China insisted Aksai Chin had long been its territory—a claim India deemed baseless. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, once a fervent advocate of Sino-Indian friendship through the 1954 Panchsheel Agreement, shifted course by the early 1960s, adopting the ‘forward policy’ to establish outposts and assert control. This collided with China’s territorial ambitions, paving the way for the 1962 Sino-Indian War.

On October 20, 1962, China launched a coordinated assault across the LAC, overwhelming India’s thinly stretched defenses in the western sector (Aksai Chin) and the eastern sector (Arunachal Pradesh). By November 20–21, when China declared a unilateral ceasefire, it had secured Aksai Chin—approximately 38,000 square kilometers—cementing its hold over territory India claimed, leaving the nation reeling from a humiliating defeat. From India’s standpoint, this was a betrayal of trust, a stark violation of the Panchsheel principles of mutual respect and non-aggression that Nehru had championed. The war laid bare India’s military unpreparedness, shattered the dream of peaceful coexistence, and left a scar on the nation’s psyche that endures to this day.

The aftermath deepened India’s sense of loss. In 1963, China signed a border pact with Pakistan, ceding 5,180 square kilometers of the Shaksgam Valley—claimed by India as part of Kashmir—to Chinese control, further eroding India’s territorial integrity in the years following 1962. Over the decades, intermittent clashes kept the dispute alive. In 1975, a Chinese ambush at Tulung La in Arunachal Pradesh killed four Indian soldiers, serving as a grim reminder of unresolved tensions. A decade later, the 1987 Sumdorong Chu standoff saw India deploy troops to counter Chinese incursions near the McMahon Line, prompting China’s de-escalation after months of brinkmanship—an episode India regards as a rare assertion of resolve.

The 1993 Agreement on Maintenance of Peace and Tranquility sought to stabilise the LAC, but its refusal to fix a clear boundary preserved a breeding ground for disputes. India sees China’s moves as calculated expansionism—encroaching on contested zones, erecting infrastructure, and exploiting ambiguity to dominate—while casting its own stance as a defense of rightful inheritance against a neighbour’s aggression. Decades later, the 2020 Galwan Valley clash, where 20 Indian soldiers fell in brutal hand-to-hand combat, rekindled this historical grievance. 

From India’s view, it violated the spirit of bilateral pacts, like the 1996 accord banning firearms at the LAC, laying bare China’s disregard for trust. The dispute endures as a battle to reclaim lost honour and territory, a struggle against a neighbour wielding stealth and force to reshape borders. Yet, the government’s refusal to release clear, current data—evident in responses to activist Ajay Kumar’s RTIs—leaves this story unfinished: how much more has India lost since 1962, and why is this truth concealed?

The Right to Know: Voting, Tax-Paying Citizens Deserve Clarity

At the heart of Kumar’s RTIs lies a fundamental democratic principle: the right of voting, tax-paying citizens to know the truth about their nation’s sovereignty. India’s democracy thrives on its people—citizens who cast ballots to shape national policy and pay taxes to fund the military that guards the LAC. The RTI Act of 2005 was a landmark in this covenant, empowering every Indian to demand accountability from a government often cloaked in bureaucratic opacity. Kumar’s queries—how much territory has China occupied, and when?—strike at the core of this right. 

Sovereignty is not an abstract concept; it is the land the citizens live on, defend, and sustain through their contributions. A voting citizen’s ballot influences decisions on war, peace, and border security; a taxpayer’s money equips the soldiers patrolling Ladakh’s frozen heights or Arunachal’s rugged terrain. Yet, the MEA’s claim of “no further information” and the MoD’s security exemption deny them the facts needed to judge their government’s stewardship. 

“Without updated data, lawmakers and citizens cannot assess whether diplomatic or military efforts have reclaimed territory or ceded more ground, hampering informed policy debates,” Kumar noted. This is not about sensitive operational details—troop movements or weapon placements—but the basic reality of territorial control, a truth every citizen has a stake in understanding.

India’s Constitution enshrines equality, justice, and the right to information—bolstered by the RTI Act—as pillars of governance, principles that ring hollow when the state withholds vital truths. The late October 2024 disengagement in Depsang and Demchok, announced before the BRICS Summit and hailed by Foreign Minister S. Jaishankar in early 2025 as a step toward de-escalation, loses its weight without data on what India lost or regained. China’s relentless buildup—roads, villages like those near Pangong Tso, and outposts along the LAC—casts a shadow over India’s countermeasures, such as the Vibrant Villages Program to strengthen border hamlets. Yet, without clear metrics, citizens remain powerless to judge their effectiveness or hold leaders accountable for triumphs or setbacks.

This opacity carries high stakes. India’s role in global alliances, such as the Quad with the U.S., Japan, and Australia, hinges on its ability to counter China—a role undermined if its border status remains a mystery. Domestically, the government’s silence risks political fallout, especially with state elections or future national polls on the horizon, as citizens question whether territorial losses are being concealed to deflect criticism. Kumar’s frustration is visceral: “The problem is that we don’t know where India’s current operational border is with China.” For a voting, tax-paying citizen, this uncertainty is intolerable—knowledge of their nation’s boundaries is not a privilege to be doled out by officials but a right inherent to their citizenship.

The RTI Act was designed to bridge this gap, ensuring that national security does not become a blanket excuse for secrecy. Yet, the government’s responses tip the scales toward concealment, eroding trust. Citizens who fund and elect their leaders deserve to know if the LAC has shrunk, if Galwan’s scars linger in lost ground, or if diplomacy has clawed back what war stole. Without this, democracy falters, and the India-China border dispute becomes not just a military challenge but a test of governance itself—a test India’s leaders are failing by keeping their people in the dark.

A Frontier Shrouded in Secrecy

The India-China border dispute is a saga of historical betrayals, modern clashes, and a government unwilling to face its citizens with the truth. Kumar’s RTIs sought a simple, vital answer: how much of India has China taken, and when? The MEA’s evasiveness and the MoD’s secrecy don’t merely dodge the question—they betray the trust of voting, tax-paying Indians who sustain this nation. As China fortifies its grip with infrastructure and India counters in shadows, the LAC’s shifts remain hidden, a frontier lost not just to an adversary but to a government’s refusal to disclose. In the India-China standoff, transparency is the first casualty, and the Indian people—whose votes and taxes uphold the state—are the last to know. 

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