For a government that repeatedly speaks of restoring normalcy and rebuilding public confidence in Manipur, justice remains its weakest promise. Eighty-four days after the abduction and killing of six Liangmai Naga men at Leilon Vaiphei village, the most basic questions remain unanswered. Who killed them? Why has no one been arrested? Why do the victims still await justice while their bodies continue to lie in the mortuary?
These are not merely procedural lapses. They represent a profound failure of governance.
The Working Committee of the Joint Tribes Council Manipur’s decision to oppose Chief Minister Yumnam Khemchand Singh’s proposed visit to the Makhan Relief Camp is therefore not simply a political protest. It is an indictment of a government that appears more eager to project concern than to confront the unresolved crimes that continue to haunt affected communities.
Relief camps are symbols of displacement. They deserve the attention of the Chief Minister. But official visits, photographs and assurances cannot substitute for justice. A government cannot expect victims’ families to welcome its leaders while those responsible for murdering their loved ones remain free.
The tragedy of the six Liangmai men has become a test of the state’s credibility. Despite the passage of nearly three months, there has been no publicly known breakthrough in the investigation. The absence of visible progress has fuelled frustration, deepened mistrust and strengthened the perception that justice is selective and delayed.
This case is not isolated. Since ethnic violence engulfed Manipur in May 2023, numerous killings, disappearances, arson attacks and acts of violence have remained unresolved. Families across communities—Meitei, Kuki-Zo and Naga alike—continue to wait for answers. While governments change, committees are formed and officials hold review meetings, victims continue to wait for what should have been the state’s first priority: accountability.
Justice is not merely about prosecuting offenders. It is about assuring citizens that the rule of law still functions irrespective of ethnicity, geography or political sensitivity. Every unresolved murder sends the opposite message—that justice depends on circumstances rather than constitutional guarantees.
The government’s repeated emphasis on peace-building also rings hollow when investigations fail to inspire confidence. Peace cannot be negotiated over the graves of victims whose families are still denied truth and accountability. Reconciliation without justice is fragile; it asks the bereaved to forget before the state has fulfilled its legal and moral obligations.
The boycott call issued by the WC-JTCM reflects more than political dissatisfaction. It reflects a crisis of trust. Whether one agrees with the organisation’s methods or not, its central demand—that justice precede official ceremonies—cannot be dismissed as unreasonable.
The Chief Minister still has an opportunity to change the narrative. Instead of merely proceeding with symbolic visits, his government must demonstrate measurable progress in the investigation. The public deserves regular updates, transparency in the investigative process and assurance that no perpetrator, regardless of affiliation or influence, will escape the law.
The people of Manipur have heard enough promises. What they seek now is evidence that the government is capable of delivering justice. Until that happens, every official outreach programme risks being overshadowed by a single, uncomfortable question: If the state cannot secure justice for six murdered citizens, what confidence can any victim have in the rule of law?
