The Independent People’s Tribunal (IPT) on Manipur has released its report, demanding a Supreme Court–monitored Special Investigation Team (SIT) into the ongoing ethnic conflict. The IPT claims to speak for truth, accountability, and justice. Yet when one reads between the lines, what emerges is not a complete picture but a selective narrative, one that risks deepening divides rather than bridging them.
The tribunal focuses extensively on ethnic polarisation, hate campaigns, sexual violence, and state failure. These are indeed grave and undeniable realities. But glaringly absent from its analysis is the elephant in the room: illegal immigration and cross-border dynamics. Any honest observer knows that the unrest in Manipur cannot be understood without confronting the destabilising impact of unchecked migration from Myanmar after the 2021 coup, and the shadow networks of arms, drugs, and insurgent logistics tied to it. Jagdamba Mall’s Manipur in Flames may be polemical in tone, but it at least forces this uncomfortable question into the open. The IPT, by contrast, sidesteps it altogether.
This omission is not minor—it is fatal to credibility. If the tribunal wants to claim neutrality, why has it failed to spell out what demographic and border-security data it examined, or why it dismissed claims of mass illegal settlement? Where is the methodology to test these contested but central assertions? By reducing migration to background noise, the IPT ends up producing a half-truth disguised as a full account. And half-truths are as dangerous as outright lies.
The tribunal also recommends a Supreme Court–monitored SIT drawn from outside the state. On paper, this sounds robust. In practice, it is hollow unless it integrates border governance, immigration screening, and intelligence records into its scope. Otherwise, the SIT risks replicating the tribunal’s own selective blindness—probing atrocities but ignoring the pipelines that fuel them. A probe without breadth is nothing but a gesture.
Even more worrying is the imbalance in the way testimonies are presented. The IPT has highlighted atrocities against women and children—a necessary step—but has it been equally transparent about its selection process, cross-examination protocols, and criteria for weighing contradictory claims? A tribunal that claims moral authority must show how it grappled with clashing narratives, not just amplify one. Without this, its recommendations are bound to be dismissed by one side and weaponised by the other.
The Editors Guild of India (EGI) also deserves scrutiny here. Its earlier fact-finding report on Manipur’s media was protected under free speech by the Supreme Court, but that does not absolve it of responsibility for its own blind spots. By underplaying the migration factor and generalising about “bias” in local reportage, the Guild misled the national discourse, turning the focus away from the roots of the crisis. Free speech is essential, but accuracy and rigour are non-negotiable. In a fragile state like Manipur, partial truth is as destabilising as propaganda.
Let us be clear: Manipur in Flames is not gospel. Its ideological thrust demands scepticism. But unlike the IPT, it refuses to pretend that the migration-security question does not exist. A tribunal that ignores this axis cannot claim to be independent. It risks being seen as partisan advocacy dressed up in judicial language.
Manipur’s agony demands courage—not comfort. The IPT has amplified horrific violations, and that contribution matters. But unless it finds the courage to test the migration question with the same seriousness as institutional bias and hate speech, it will remain trapped in one-sided advocacy. If the tribunal truly seeks reconciliation and justice, it must expand its lens. Otherwise, history will record its effort not as truth-seeking, but as selective storytelling in service of a narrative.
In the end, what Manipur needs is not sympathy cloaked as inquiry, but honesty brutal enough to confront all sides of the truth. The IPT, in its current form, falls short.