More than two years into the ongoing crisis in Manipur, the silence and inaction from the corridors of power in New Delhi have become deafening. What is unfolding in the state is not just a local law and order problem—it is a humanitarian catastrophe, an erosion of trust in the Union, and a glaring reflection of how national interest is still defined by geography, ethnicity, and vote bank politics in India.
Despite the magnitude of the violence, displacement, and communal divide that has gripped the state since May 2023, the crisis in Manipur remains conspicuously absent from the priority list of India’s mainstream political parties. The mainland media barely offers more than occasional coverage. Parliament rarely deliberates on it. National leaders offer ritualistic statements, but no concrete roadmap to peace has been laid out.
This lack of urgency, this calculated indifference, has not gone unnoticed by the people of Manipur. Across hills and valleys, among Meiteis, Nagas, Kukis, and others, a chilling realization has taken root: the state’s agony does not register in the nation’s conscience. When the people cry for peace, they are met with silence. When homes are burned, temples destroyed, churches razed, or women humiliated, there is no collective national mourning. Instead, there is policy paralysis and an inexplicable tolerance for impunity.
To understand this apathy, one must revisit history. The merger of Manipur with the Indian Union in 1949, under circumstances still widely debated and resented, laid the foundation for decades of mistrust. The once-sovereign kingdom was reduced to a Part C state, then a Union Territory, and only much later granted statehood in 1972. Throughout this journey, Delhi’s engagement with Manipur was administrative, not emotional; transactional, not transformational.
The imposition of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), the perpetual militarization of civil spaces, and the continued denial of justice for excesses committed under its shadow are symbolic of a deeper malaise—India’s failure to embrace the Northeast as an integral and equal part of its body politic. In Manipur’s case, the current crisis has only amplified these wounds.
Today, when a state remains in limbo—divided, bloodied, and broken—New Delhi’s most tangible response has been the continuation of the Suspension of Operation (SoO) agreement with armed Kuki groups. Instead of acting as an arbiter of peace, the Centre appears to have taken sides, allowing one section to retain arms under a ceasefire while another bleeds. This perceived bias has further alienated the people and intensified the conflict.
Imposing President’s Rule, or deploying more forces may appear as solutions on paper, but without a clear political will and moral compass, they amount to nothing. The crisis in Manipur is not just about governance; it is about identity, trust, and dignity.
The Indian state must now answer a fundamental question: What does Manipur mean to India? Is it merely a strategic borderland, or is it a living, breathing part of this union, entitled to the same rights, justice, and compassion as any other Indian state?
If India wants to heal Manipur, it must first acknowledge its pain—not as a peripheral problem, but as a national emergency. It must initiate an inclusive peace process, end the selective application of ceasefire agreements, dismantle armed encampments, and prosecute those who incite or enable violence.
History cannot be rewritten, but it can be corrected. The Indian Union must demonstrate that it values every citizen, not just those in electorally significant regions.
If it fails to act now, the idea of India—diverse, united, and just—will lose its moral ground, and the people of Manipur will be left to conclude that they were never truly part of that idea.