The Khulmi Bridge controversy has ceased to be merely a dispute over an allegedly unauthorised bridge. It has become a mirror reflecting the disturbing state of governance in Manipur. More alarming than the construction of the bridge itself is the deafening silence that has followed—from the Government, from political parties, and from many civil society organisations that have traditionally been vocal on issues concerning the state’s integrity, rule of law and public accountability.
Silence, in this case, is not neutrality. It is acquiescence.
The facts already in the public domain are troubling enough. The Chief Minister has stated that he had no knowledge of the bridge’s construction or inauguration. A ruling party MLA, who attended the inauguration, publicly described it as an achievement of the “Government of Khulmigam” rather than the Government of Manipur and even called upon the State Government to reimburse the cost of construction. Earlier in 2024, Deputy Commissioner of Chandel district had issued a written order directing to stop construction of a Bridge near Serou be stopped immediately, citing the absence of official permission and the security sensitivity of the location. That order has never been publicly withdrawn or declared void.
These are not minor procedural lapses. They raise fundamental constitutional questions.
If the bridge was constructed after obtaining all necessary approvals, why has the Government not simply produced the documents and put the controversy to rest? If no approvals existed, why has no action been taken against those who ignored an official prohibitory order? If the Deputy Commissioner’s order has ceased to have effect, where is the subsequent notification rescinding it?
In any functioning democracy governed by the rule of law, such questions would trigger immediate explanations, administrative inquiries and, if necessary, criminal investigations. Instead, Manipur has witnessed only silence.
That silence becomes even more unsettling when viewed against the political symbolism surrounding the bridge. A sitting legislator publicly attributing a public infrastructure project to the “Government of Khulmigam” is not an ordinary political remark. Whether intended rhetorically or otherwise, it inevitably invites questions about the authority under which the project was executed and whether parallel centres of decision-making are emerging in conflict-affected areas.
The Constitution recognises only one Government of Manipur. If another entity is publicly credited with constructing public infrastructure without governmental sanction, the constitutional government cannot simply look away.
Equally disappointing has been the muted response of civil society organisations. For decades, these organisations have positioned themselves as guardians of Manipur’s territorial integrity, constitutional rights and democratic values. Many have organised protests, issued statements and mobilised public opinion over issues perceived to threaten the state’s interests.
Yet on an issue that directly concerns governmental authority, administrative accountability and the enforcement of official orders, their voices have largely been absent.
If civil society chooses to remain silent because the issue carries uncomfortable political implications, it risks sending a dangerous message—that principles matter only when they are politically convenient. Democracy cannot survive on selective outrage. The rule of law cannot depend upon who benefits from its enforcement.
This is not an argument against connectivity or development. Remote communities deserve roads and bridges. But development cannot become a justification for bypassing the law, that too during crisis time. If infrastructure can be built first and legalised later simply because it is politically expedient, then planning laws, environmental regulations, engineering standards and administrative procedures become meaningless.
The Government still has an opportunity to restore public confidence. It should immediately place before the public all approvals relating to the bridge, if such approvals exist. If they do not, it must institute an independent inquiry into the circumstances that allowed the construction to proceed.
The issue is no longer about concrete and steel. It is about whether official orders mean anything, whether constitutional authority still commands respect, and whether the Government is prepared to defend the rule of law without fear or favour.
History teaches that governments rarely lose authority overnight. They lose it gradually—each time unlawful acts go unanswered, each time official directives are ignored without consequence, and each time silence replaces accountability.
The Khulmi Bridge controversy is therefore not merely about a bridge across the Manipur River. It is about whether Manipur is prepared to defend the authority of its own institutions before that authority quietly slips away.