Manipur crisis is a national failure—a scar on India’s conscience as govt chose to look away

Manipur has been witnessing a series of violent incidents since 1 September | Representational image | Suraj Singh Bisht | ThePrint

For over 560 days, communal violence has ravaged Manipur, a remote frontier territory ignored by the Indian government. Lives have been shattered, families torn apart, and communities destroyed. Amid this seemingly insurmountable chasm of suffering, the government’s silence speaks louder than the explosions, gunfire, and screams that fill the night in Manipur. Those in power regard the state and its people as expendable.

On 7 November, the horrors escalated to an even darker level, as if the painful memories of past atrocities against the Hmar, Kuki, and Zomi communities were not harrowing enough.

Zosangkim Hmar, a 31-year-old mother of three, was among those killed in the attack on the Zairawn tribal village, where houses were set ablaze under the cover of night. Hmar was allegedly sexually assaulted and tortured before being burned. Such attacks carry a clear necropolitical message: the lives of Manipur’s people are less valuable than those in the power centres.

Fractured citizenship: the ‘Other India’ redefined

The recent violence against the Hmar, Kuki, and Zomi communities is more than a series of clashes among village volunteers. It represents an existential struggle for identity, land, and heritage. For these ethnic groups, the violence goes beyond territorial disputes—it is a systematic attempt to erase their existence. As the assaults on their lives, homes, and culture continues, their right to live with dignity as Indian citizens is systematically undermined, leaving them questioning their very place and belonging in the country.

People in remote frontier regions such as Manipur are denied the protections that those closer to the seats of power may take for granted. For much of India, Manipur is a distant dot on the map, largely absent from the national consciousness. The government’s indifference to Manipur’s plight is reinforcing this narrative.

In Manipur—and much of the Northeast—the Indian government’s authority appears tenuous. Here, ‘belonging’ to India is more than a birthright; it is a status that must be fought for and defended in the face of violence and marginalisation. Manipur’s sense of Indian identity is contested and fragile, shaped as much by neglect as by belonging. It is held together only through the tenacity of its people who refuse to be forgotten.

But what does it take for India’s Northeast to capture the Centre’s attention? How many lives must be sacrificed before India turns its gaze toward this region? How many women must be raped, mutilated, and subjected to the most inhumane violence before the country truly grapples with the suffering inflicted upon its own citizens? Manipur is not an isolated tragedy—it is a measure of the nation’s conscience. Yet, the government’s silence leaves those on the periphery to wonder if their precarious existence will ever be valued as fully Indian.

Violence, State, and media—dehumanisation narrative 

The government’s deployment of 20 additional Central Armed Police Forces (CAPF) companies in Manipur—15 from the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) and five from the Border Security Force (BSF), bringing the total to 218—strengthens the message that the response to the region’s crisis is one of containment, not resolution. This militarised approach, conceived in distant bureaucratic AC offices in Delhi, ignores the lived realities of Manipur’s people, particularly the Hmar, Kuki, and Zomi communities, reducing the region’s complexities to problems manageable through brute force.

When CRPF forces allegedly shot and mutilated ten Hmar village volunteers, claiming them to be militants, it sent a clear message about the perceived disposability of life in Manipur, emphasising that these communities are mere obstacles to the state administration rather than citizens with rights.

The dehumanising narratives from both state machinery and the media, which portray these ethnic groups as “uncivilised,” effectively justify neglect and violence in the name of “maintaining order.” Such language not only undermines these communities’ humanity but also serves as a tool of “state simplification”—a process that reduces Manipur’s diverse, historically rich societies to simplistic, criminalised categories to fit bureaucratic agendas.

History has repeatedly demonstrated that military force cannot resolve deeply entrenched ethnic and identity conflicts. Instead, it exacerbates tensions, fosters resentment, and reinforces the view of the state as an occupying power. 

Only by addressing Manipur’s complex and long-standing grievances can a meaningful path to peace be found. However, as long as the government relies on top-down, militarised strategies to address social divisions, the conflict will not be resolved, and the human toll will continue to rise.

Cry from Manipur: how long will India’s silence last?

For Manipur, the central government’s silence is as powerful as its military weapons. To exist on India’s periphery is to be geographically distant and politically invisible. While much of the country progresses, Manipur’s daily harrowing realities are dismissed as “local” issues. 

Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s response—or lack thereof—amplifies this silence. Although over a year and a half has passed since the violence began, PM Modi has yet to visit Manipur or directly address the full scope of the crisis. His only public acknowledgement came on 20 July 2023 following a viral video of assault on two women in the Thoubal district. He expressed “anguish and anger,” deeming the act “unforgivable” and promising swift justice. Yet, in the same breath, Modi invoked similar concerns in then-opposition ruled Rajasthan and Chhattisgarh, effectively sidestepping the unique gravity of the ethnic violence tearing Manipur apart.

Despite opposition leaders pressing for a comprehensive statement on Manipur in Parliament, this brief, partial response—delivered 479 days into the crisis—remains PM Modi’s only public comment. By casting his remarks in the broader context of violence elsewhere, he diminished the specific, severe suffering of the Kuki, Zomi, and Hmar communities in Manipur.

The autopsy report of Zosangkim Hmar and the brutality inflicted on David Thiek Hmar emphasise the horrors being endured by the people of Manipur. The forensic details reveal a calculated and sadistic assault: torture and mutilation followed by immolation. These murders are grotesque acts of dehumanisation.

As losses continue to mount, the people of Manipur are left questioning whether their suffering is too minor to demand attention. Yet, history in neighbouring Mizoram shows that communities abandoned in times of crisis will eventually forge their own paths to resilience. Even if India’s neglect aims to erase Manipur’s cultural memory, these stories may resurface in quieter but enduring forms. For now, however, the tragedy in Manipur stands as a glaring national failure—a scar on India’s conscience, a testament to lives and legacies lost because the State chose to look away.

Manipur is a litmus test for a unified India

On 12 November, the Union Home Ministry cited data to claim an 82 per cent decrease in civilian deaths in the Northeast between 2014 and 2023, with 38 civilian deaths reported in 2023. However, the presentation made no mention of the ongoing ethnic violence in Manipur, where more than 250 people have been killed since 3 May, with a schoolteacher and a woman farmer being the most recent victims of the conflict.

The Kuki Students’ Organization reported in its newsletter Thingkho Le Malcha that over 41,425 people have been displaced, over 200 villages and 7,000 homes burned, more than 360 churches and places of worship destroyed, and 207 members of the Kuki, Zomi, and Hmar communities killed. These numbers highlight the stark discrepancy between the government records and the ground reality.

Every day that passes in Manipur without the government’s intervention moves the Hmar, Zomi and Kuki closer to eradication. Their suffering is a responsibility all Indians share, particularly those whose voices can be heard in the corridors of power. While marginalised communities of the Northeast have long been on the fringes, Manipur’s struggle is a wake-up call for India. By ignoring Manipur, the government demonstrates its inability to govern the country’s periphery with compassion and accountability. On the other hand, standing with Manipur allows Indians to affirm that the so-called “other India” is just as important to the country’s identity as any other region.

The Northeast represents India’s new frontier in various ways. It is strategically important as a gateway to Southeast Asia, a link to the Act East policy, and an under-appreciated climate action and biodiversity leader. It is critical to global success as a region with abundant natural resources, indigenous knowledge, and cultural resilience. Maintaining Manipur’s stability is an ethical and strategic imperative. If Manipur is allowed to fall, the government will lose a community, a pillar of its humanity, and an essential part of its strategic future.

A true democracy cannot thrive on selective participation. Manipur’s crisis is a moral litmus test for the country, requiring introspection and reform. Recognising and addressing the systemic neglect of regions such as Manipur allows India to reaffirm its commitment to a democracy in which all citizens are valued equally. Only then can the country hope to bridge the gap between the “other India” and its core, ensuring that democracy is not just a title but a lived reality for all.

Sangmuan Hangsing is a public policy student at the Kautilya School of Public Policy. Views are personal.

(Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)