Sangai Festival: A Celebration without Peace

Even in dark times, music plays-but when Manipur sings today, the tune carries the deep melancholy of pain and loss. It is not the song of celebration but that of survival. Manipur is a wounded land, its people reeling from the most violent and divisive period in living memory. Beneath the claims of “peace restored” lies a reality far different: a society fractured, families displaced, and thousands struggling to live amid despair.
Over two years and six months have gone by since bloodshed started on May 3, 2023, killing hundreds and uprooting tens of thousands. Yet, the tears have not dried. Many still mourn those killed; others wait in anguish for the return of loved ones who disappeared during the unrest. For the displaced, life inside relief camps remains uncertain-their homes destroyed, their livelihoods gone, their children growing up behind tarpaulin walls.
It is against this grim background that the government has announced, with much fanfare, the grand return of Manipur’s biggest annual event, the Sangai Festival. Marketed as a symbol of unity and a showcase of Manipur’s rich cultural tapestry, this festival is essentially about projecting an image of normalcy to the outside world. But one must ask-for whom and for what is this celebration being held?
The truth is that this year’s Sangai Festival is less about culture and more about optics. It is an attempt to display “peace and stability” before the world while concealing the state’s deep wounds. Thousands still live in relief camps-families that once had homes, fields, and small businesses survive on rations and handouts. The announcement of a grand festival feels like an insult to injury.
The CSOs, women’s groups, and the IDPs have all come out against this. They have said it is immoral to host such a tourism extravaganza when its people are in misery. To them, the Sangai Festival is not an occasion to celebrate resilience but a political performance: one that trivializes the sufferings of those who lost everything.
The government insists that the festival will boost the economy and project Manipur as a peaceful destination. But the reality on the ground contradicts that narrative. The state’s economy is in shambles. Daily wage earners, small traders, and local artisans — the backbone of the economy — are struggling. Markets that once bustled with life are now subdued. Transport and inter-community trade remain disrupted, with Meiteis and Kukis still unable to cross into each other’s territories. Tourism, which thrives on harmony and free movement, cannot flourish in isolation and fear.
Even as the employees of the government continue to receive their salaries, the rest of the population suffers from growing uncertainty and the loss of livelihood. The holding of an expensive state festival in these circumstances seems to be in utter disregard for realities-a misplaced priority that underlines the alienation of the government from the concerns of ordinary people.
True peace cannot be declared through press releases or public events. It must be built from the ground-up: through justice, dialogue, and reconciliation. Restoring trust, ensuring safety, rebuilding lives-are far more important things for the government to attend to before celebrating. The Sangai Festival, if it is truly to live up to its spirit, is one that celebrates the harmonious coexistence of the different communities in Manipur-the Meitei, the Naga, the Kuki, the Pangal, and others. But today, that spirit is broken.
Manipur cannot claim normalcy until families that have been displaced go back home, until mothers stop waiting for their missing children, and people can cross the state without fear. No festival, no matter how grand, will mask the pain of a bleeding state.
If the government really wants to celebrate Manipur, it must heal its wounds — not mask them with colourful lights and cultural shows. Manipur’s song will rise again one day, but as a song of peace born of justice, not as a celebration of silence and suffering.