Whispers at the check posts in Manipur

As ethnic leaders and stakeholders sat across negotiating tables in Delhi discussing a road map for peace in Manipur, I chose to travel in the opposite direction — into the heart of the troubled State. I needed to see for myself what the numbers, the reports, and the headlines could not convey. What I witnessed was a land fractured not just by violence, but by silence — a silence that screamed of distrust, despair, and deep wounds. A stark contrast between high-level deliberations and the deepening scars within the State’s fractured society.

After spending time in Imphal, I headed to Churachandpur. The road, once a vital lifeline of commerce and mobility, has become a militarised corridor lined with suspicion. Within just one kilometre around the so-called “buffer zone”, I counted no fewer than 11 check gates. They were manned variously by the Assam Rifles, Border Security Force, Central Reserve Police Force, Indian Army, Manipur Police Commandos, India Reserve Battalion, and State Police, with one gate manned by Meitei personnel, other by tribal personnel. It was as though the very landscape had been dissected, not just by ethnicity but by uniform and gun.

At every checkpoint, my identity card issued by the Government of India was inspected, my details noted down. I asked one officer why there were so many barriers. His reply, whispered under his breath, was chilling: “We are here to stop people from each side from crossing to the other.”

These “sides” are not borders between nations. They are internal barricades within India — separating Meitei-majority valley areas from Kuki-Zo-dominated hill districts. Communities once intertwined now stand estranged, watching each other through barbed wire and suspicion.

Deepening divide

The roots of Manipur’s crisis run deep, fed by decades of unresolved tensions around land rights, demographic pressures, and ethnic identity. The spark in 2023 came from a court ruling. On April 19, 2023, the Manipur High Court directed the State to consider granting Scheduled Tribe (ST) status to the Meiteis. This rekindled an old and volatile debate. The Meiteis, forming around 53% of the population and largely confined to the Imphal valley, cited cultural uniqueness and shrinking land access. The tribal communities of Kukis, Zomis, and Nagas who already enjoy ST status and constitutional protections under Article 371C, saw this as a direct threat to their protected lands, rights and cultural autonomy.

On May 3, 2023, a Tribal Solidarity March organised by the All Tribal Students’ Union Manipur turned into a flashpoint. What followed was months of horrific ethnic violence. Over 200 lives had been lost and more than 60,000 displaced so far.

Today, Manipur is one of India’s most militarised regions with even civilians armed. The valley-based outfits such as Arambai Tenggol and Meitei Leepun and Kuki-Zo insurgent groups once under Suspension of Operations (SoO) have resurfaced with renewed vengeance. The SoO framework has collapsed. Trust between state and citizen is broken.

Yet this militarisation has not brought peace. One sees guns, but hears only silence.

At Martyrs Park at Churachandpur, I stood amid 126 graves of young men and women, many of them barely in their twenties. The silence was heartbreaking, like a scream that had forgotten how to leave the body.

Glimmer of dignity

Relief camps now dot the State like islands of survival. As of March 2025, there are 283 relief camps across Manipur, housing 58,244 displaced persons. The State provides rice, dal, oil, chana, onion, salt, and tin fish, but little else.

In one camp, I visited a room where four families, each with four or five members, shared a single space. They cook in turns, sleep in shifts, and store their few belongings in cardboard boxes. Some families have started rearing livestock on the premises to generate income; others go to town daily for wage labour to feed their children.

When I asked a woman what she felt about those from the other community in her old village, now reduced to ashes, she looked down and said: “I feel angry. There’s hurt inside us. But not against the people we lived with. It’s an unexplainable anger… a frustration with everything.”

Another man, when I asked if he ever spoke to his old friends on the phone, nodded quietly: “Yes, once in a while. We talk.” What would he do if they met again? His answer floored me: “I will hug them… and cry. I am sure when we meet face to face, they will not kill me. Nor will I.”

There is more humanity in these words than in a hundred government circulars.

Beyond ethnicity

Beneath the surface of ethnic hatred lies a deeper churn — Manipur’s location in the Golden Triangle has made it a hotbed of drug trafficking, with reports of rising poppy cultivation. Crackdowns in tribal areas are seen as biased, inflaming anger.

Meanwhile, the porous Myanmar border, and influx of undocumented migrants, have fuelled valley anxieties over cultural dilution. Every side has its own fear narrative. Every side feels unheard.

Delusions of dialogue?

The recent tripartite talks in Delhi have failed to inspire public trust. While representatives met under the watch of the Union Home Ministry, the Coordinating Committee on Manipur Integrity (COCOMI), a major Meitei civil society platform, rejected the process, stating that it “distorts the conflict”. In a sharply worded statement, COCOMI alleged that the government had reduced the crisis to ethnic violence, while ignoring concerns of narco-terrorism, illegal immigration from Myanmar, and the erosion of valley land rights.

The Kukis, in turn, accuse the government of enabling Meitei majoritarian aggression and turning a blind eye to attacks on tribal villages and churches. Many now demand a separate administrative arrangement, a proposal that is fiercely opposed by valley groups.

With mutual distrust at its peak, the Delhi talks appear to be more about political optics than genuine reconciliation.

What peace requires

Manipur’s crisis is no longer just about identity. It is about dignity, justice, and a future worth rebuilding. It is time to move beyond platitudes of peace and address the deeper pathologies of the conflict. A few critical steps can serve as entry points.

First, neutral mediation: peace talks must be facilitated by neutral, credible mediators, possibly including non-governmental actors or retired judges or international peacebuilders trusted by both communities.

Second, autonomous governance models: exploring a semi-autonomous administrative framework for hill regions may allow both groups to coexist with dignity and autonomy, protecting cultural identities while preserving the State’s unity.

Third, Truth and Reconciliation Commission: an independent body to document atrocities, ensure accountability, and create a space for public testimony, to hear every voice, and offer a chance at healing.

Fourth, demilitarisation and economic reintegration: a phased withdrawal of armed civilian groups, accompanied by skill development, livelihood support, and psychological healing.

Last, inter-community youth engagement: Initiatives such as inter-community sports, education exchange, and joint cultural festivals can slowly rebuild trust and replant the seeds of friendship.

Test for the nation

The tragedy of Manipur is not just a local problem — it is a national test. It is a mirror. It shows us the cost of delayed justice, unhealed wounds, and performative politics. It challenges India’s constitutional promise of justice, equality, and fraternity. The excessive use of force, biased narratives, and bureaucratic indifference only deepen the wounds.

At a time when the rest of the country is moving ahead, Manipur stands still, grieving, waiting, resisting. The soldiers at the buffer zone may keep people physically apart, but only political courage and moral imagination can bring hearts together again.

As I left Churachandpur, one weary officer at a check post said: “We are not peacekeepers any more. We are just holding the silence.” That silence must not become our collective national conscience.

(The author is a development strategist and public affairs commentator with over three decades of experience in leadership roles, contributing to thought leadership in public policy and social transformation across Acia-Pacific including conflict zones; view are personal)