The Great Eviction Drive: Now You See It, Now You Don’t

The great eviction drive of the valley began with all the familiar ingredients of administrative enthusiasm: urgency, visibility, and a sudden rediscovery of rules that had apparently been misplaced for years. Bulldozers rolled, notices were issued, and for a brief, shining moment during the PR-friendly phase, it seemed that order was finally reclaiming its long-lost territory from the chaos of “temporary” encroachments that had quietly turned permanent.
Across much of the Imphal Valley, district administrations sprang into action. Roadside obstructions—those charming little extensions of private ambition into public space—were dismantled. Illegal constructions that had grown with the confidence of banyan trees were trimmed back. Makeshift sunshades, stairs protruding onto public roads, and generous piles of sand, stone, and chips that had been “temporarily” resting for years were politely but firmly told to vacate. Citizens applauded. Social media found its favorite new content. Governance, it appeared, had finally woken up from its long nap.
Credit where it is due: the initiative was commendable. It takes a certain level of courage—or at least momentum—to confront a culture where encroachment is less an exception and more a lifestyle choice. For once, the law seemed to be applied with a degree of uniformity. The message was clear: public space is public, not a convenient extension of private enterprise.
And then, just as the narrative was building towards a satisfying conclusion, the story took a familiar turn.
The eviction drive reached the doorstep of the valley’s commercial heart—Thangal Bazar and Paona Bazar. These are not just markets; they are the economic arteries of the state, pulsing with commerce, congestion, and, as it turns out, a remarkable degree of encroachment. Even officials acknowledged the scale of the issue. The District Commissioner, in media interactions, spoke candidly about how extensively public spaces had been occupied in these areas.
It was the perfect setup for the grand finale—the moment where the state would demonstrate that rules apply equally, whether in a quiet locality or the busiest marketplace.
The eviction drive, so energetic in its earlier phases, seemed to develop a sudden and mysterious fatigue. The JCBs, once symbols of decisive action, appeared to have found more restful engagements elsewhere. The urgency dissipated. The campaign paused. Or perhaps it simply decided that discretion is the better part of valor—especially when the stakes are higher and the resistance potentially louder.
The reasons, we are told, are best known to those who made the decision. For the rest of us, speculation fills the vacuum. Was it logistical complexity? Political sensitivity? Economic considerations? Or simply the realization that enforcing rules in the most visible and influential areas is significantly more inconvenient than doing so in less contested spaces?
This, unfortunately, is not an unfamiliar pattern. In Manipur, as in many places, initiatives often begin with great fanfare and end with quiet ambiguity. On paper, everything aligns perfectly—policies are sound, intentions are noble, and outcomes are optimistic. On the ground, however, reality has a way of introducing its own edits to the script.
The result is a peculiar form of governance theatre. The first act is always impressive—decisive actions, visible enforcement, and widespread approval. The second act introduces complexity. By the third act, the plot quietly dissolves, leaving behind a sense of unfinished business and a public that has seen this performance before.
It is tempting to point fingers at the government or the implementing agencies. After all, consistency is the cornerstone of credibility. Selective enforcement, however well-intentioned, risks undermining the very principles it seeks to uphold. If rules are applied vigorously in some areas and cautiously in others, the message becomes less about legality and more about convenience.
But the story does not end there. There is also the uncomfortable role of the public. Encroachments do not appear overnight without collective participation or, at the very least, collective indifference. The normalization of such practices is not just an administrative failure; it is a societal one. Silence, after all, is a form of consent—especially when it is sustained over years.
Perhaps the real issue is not the start or the stop of the eviction drive, but the gap between intent and follow-through. Governance is not measured by how loudly it begins, but by how consistently it proceeds, especially when the path becomes less convenient.
For now, the valley has witnessed yet another chapter in its ongoing saga of partial solutions. The roads are a little clearer in some places, just as crowded as ever in others, and the promise of uniform enforcement remains, as always, a work in progress.
One can only hope that the next phase of this story, whenever it begins, remembers that credibility, much like public space, cannot be selectively occupied.