The comfort of corruption and the collapse of accountability in Manipur

The Governor of Manipur appears to have mastered the art of selective blindness. From the multi-crore Jal Jeevan Mission (JJM) scam and the grand Oil Palm Mission debacle to the Rs. 34-lakh salt scandal meant for internally displaced persons (IDPs), the evidence of corruption lies bare, yet the corridors of power remain curiously silent. Even the historic Red Land building in Shillong has disappeared, along with a piece of Manipur’s heritage, and no official seems to notice or care. Meanwhile, highways remain blocked, IDPs wait endlessly for resettlement, and the state administration continues to function in a vacuum of accountability. The Governor and Chief Secretary, the highest authorities in the state, seem to be on a well-deserved vacation from responsibility while the people of Manipur bear the cost of inaction.
Corruption, along with favoritism, has long been embedded in the political discourse of post-Independence Manipur. In the first three decades after the merger with India, anti-establishment groups consistently exposed corrupt practices, often branding them as an inherent flaw of Indian administration in the state. The exposure of misappropriation, favoritism, and nepotism became a defining feature of the anti-corruption consciousness that drove revolutionary and social movements across Manipur. During this period, even armed groups took direct action against officials accused of corruption; some were killed in the late 1990s for alleged misdeeds, underscoring the intensity of public outrage against unethical governance.
Yet, if corruption can be said to reside in the DNA of state administration, anti-corruption has historically been in the spirit of revolution. The forms of corruption are wide-ranging: manipulation of recruitment processes, interference in results, posting and transfer scams, irregularities in contract works (locally called Thika-gi thabak), and misuse of funds. Politicians, across party lines, regularly deliver impassioned speeches condemning corruption, but these often remain rhetorical. When punitive action is reported, it almost invariably targets lower-ranking officials while senior administrators remain untouched. Whether this reflects legal loopholes or deliberate design is unclear, but the result is a culture of impunity for those at the top.
In the past, revolutionary movements occasionally punished corrupt officers, engineers, and thikadars (contractors), though these actions lacked formal procedural grounding. They were largely determined by the perceived value of armed propaganda rather than a systematic effort to cleanse the administration. The goal was not always to expose corruption as an institutional failure but to signal moral authority.
In contemporary times, student organizations and some newspapers have discreetly taken up the fight against corruption, but their reports often vanish into the noise of daily news. Only a few cases result in any visible action. Recent allegations at Manipur University, for instance, reveal systematic mishandling in recruitment criteria, manipulation in selection committees, and general administrative interference. Student groups have exposed cases of nepotism, including teachers appointing relatives to positions within the university system despite conflicting obligations elsewhere. Yet, no substantial action has followed. The public, conditioned by years of inaction, consumes these reports as mere news items. Corruption persists because memory is short and accountability is weaker still.
Similar patterns emerge across other sectors. Imphal Times and other media outlets have repeatedly reported these issues, but tangible follow-up remains absent. The normalization of corruption raises a critical question: Has corruption become part of the political culture, replacing anti-corruption initiatives as the guiding ethos of governance?
The consequences of this normalization are far-reaching. Beyond the immediate loss of resources and administrative inefficiency, corruption demoralizes youth. Young people, who should be the moral and social backbone of the state, find themselves disillusioned. They witness merit sidelined, integrity unrewarded, and systems rigged to favor connections over competence.
Manipur’s crisis is not a lack of awareness — the people know what is happening — but a lack of will among those entrusted with responsibility. Until the state confronts its corrupt structures decisively and consistently, accountability will remain a hollow concept, and the youth of Manipur will continue to inherit a system that punishes integrity and rewards complicity. The time for speeches has long passed; it is now the era for action, transparency, and the restoration of public faith in governance.