The message going around recently from a respected former state functionary strikes a painful chord-a confession of shock that there are Manipuris, even among the Meiteis, who appear to support the balkanization of Manipur. His words are not born of rumor or fear mongering but from the realization of what he saw after access was given to the inner workings of power. His disbelief is justified. For generations, our forefathers protected this land with their sweat, blood, and spirit. To now see fissures within the very heart of Manipur’s majority community is tragic and alarming.
Almost three years have passed since the May 2023 crisis broke out, and those were days of unutterable pain, displacement, and loss of faith. However, even after that, peace is still some distance away. Thousands are still waiting in relief camps and have not been able to go back to their homes. Families are torn apart, and villages are divided by invisible boundaries of fear. This is a state that used to pride itself on its shared heritage and now stands divided among communities that don’t even see each other as neighbours anymore.
What has deepened this crisis is not merely the violence, but the dangerous narrative being constructed around it. The government’s claim that peace has been restored because the sound of gunfire has subsided is a gross misrepresentation of reality. Peace is not the absence of bullets; it is the presence of justice, trust, and dignity. Today, none of these exist in Manipur. The fear that grips both Meiteis and Kukis is real. People still cannot travel freely across districts nor can they return to their fields or homes. The constitutional rights to movement, livelihood, and security remain distant promises.
In such a context, this decision of the government to conduct colourful festivals and cultural events is insensitive and disconnected. The Sangai Festival—light, music, and laughter—might be a spectacle for a visitor, but the lights cast a long shadow over the suffering of those who still slept under tarpaulin roofs. This attempt at projecting “normalcy” to the outside world is not only a political miscalculation but even more so a moral failure. Peace cannot be manufactured through public relations exercises. It must be earned through reconciliation, accountability, and empathy.
Equally distressing is the silence of those in power. The Governor’s subdued presence in the continuing crisis raises some uncomfortable questions. Where is the moral guidance that would lead the state through its darkest hour? Why is there no visible effort to initiate genuine dialogue between warring sides, to rebuild broken trust between the hills and the valley? At a time like this, silence is not neutrality but complicity.
There are whispers that Manipur’s turmoil is not an accident, that the chaos is being manipulated by unseen hands within and outside the state for political or economic gain. Whether this is true or not, one thing is clear: the beneficiaries of Manipur’s suffering are not its ordinary people. The Meitei farmer who cannot harvest his paddy, the Kuki widow struggling to feed her children in a relief camp, the students whose education has been disrupted-they all bear the cost of a conflict they did not create.
What Manipur needs today is not festivals, not silence, not denial — but courage. The courage to tell the truth, to acknowledge failures, to stand up against those who benefit from division, and to start the long, painful process of healing. Rebuilding peace in Manipur requires honesty, not propaganda; compassion, not complacency.
The more the authorities continue to camouflage injuries with jubilation, the deeper the scars will be. The longer this deception continues, the further Manipur will drift from the harmony its ancestors fought to preserve. Manipur doesn’t need a festival of peace; it needs the restoration of peace per se.