About Manipur’s Internal Politics

By Thangkhanlal Ngaihte

It has always been a hard task trying to explain Manipur’s political and ethnic dynamics to outsiders. Given its small size in terms of area and population and its insignificance in terms of economic output and political impact, it is natural for outsiders to imagine that Manipur constitutes a single unified unit. But that’s a false picture.

Not only is there no sense of a shared identity among the communities inhabiting the state, there is not even a sense of shared interests. To simplify and make sense of the complex internal dynamics, there could be no better way than to study the occasions when Manipur has been in the news in the national media.

Let’s start from 2001. The big news then was the violent mass protests that followed the extension of the Nagaland ceasefire “without territorial limits” on 15 June. The next big event, if one may say so, was the macabre spectacle of elderly women protesting naked outside Kangla Fort, Assam Rifles’ headquarters in Imphal, following the killing of Manorama Devi by security forces on 11 July 2004.

Then there was news (which hardly found mention in the national media) about landmines in the hill areas that together claimed around 60 victims during 2003 and 2007, and the alleged mass rape of tribal women in Tipaimukh subdivision by an armed group in January 2006. Recently, there was the 68-day NH 39 blockade.

A close look at the above situations would shed some light on the internal, political and ethnic fissures in Manipur that often get overlooked by even the media. In the aftermath of the violent 18 June 2001 protests over the Nagaland ceasefire, newspaper headlines screamed “Manipur Burning”. It was actually Imphal and its vicinity that burned, literally and figuratively. The popular anger, and the protests, were confined to the Valley (read Meitei) areas. While the Naga tribes who formed the majority in the hill districts of Senapati, Tamenglong, Ukhrul and Chandel generally supported the ceasefire extension to their areas, Churachandpur district —  dominated by Zomi-Kuki tribes — remained indifferent.

The same can be said about the outrage over the killing of Manorama Devi. While the naked protests rightly shamed the Indian intelligentsia, if not the Indian state, and shocked the world, Manipuris in the hills were hardly impressed.

To some of them, it simply represented symbolic Meitei politics at its best. The findings and report of the Justice Jeevan Reddy Commission on the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, which was commissioned in the aftermath of the popular outrage, further bears this out. While the AF(SP)A is no doubt draconian and repressive, there were tribal groups, especially in Churachandpur district, who actually wanted  the Act to stay. 

The reason was simple. If central forces like the Army or BSF were to be withdrawn from these areas, their place would have to be filled by state forces that the tribals did not trust. The tribal groups consider central forces their friend and savior from the ravages of Meitei-dominated state forces or Meitei armed groups.

Whenever central forces were to be shifted out, tribal groups would routinely petition the government to keep them back. Of course, these forces respond to attacks on them with indiscriminate shooting and resort to counter-killings with impunity.

But they are considered the lesser evil compared to elements from the Valley. If this trend was not so visible in the Naga-dominated areas, it was at least partly due to the fact that Meitei groups had not succeeded in penetrating their areas.

No surprise then that the Jeevan Reddy Commission, while recommending the repeal of the AF(SP)A, was emphatic that the Army continue to be deployed in these areas which, it said, was “the overwhelming desire of the overwhelming majority of the region”.

The roles are reversed in the case of landmine deaths. Tribal groups would invariably allege that Valley militants penetrated deep into their areas, especially in the aftermath of the Army’s Sajik Tampak operations in 2004, and planted those bombs around their makeshift camps and villages. Whoever planted those bombs did not care to dispose of them afterwards. These landmines eventually claimed some 60 unsuspecting tribals in Chandel and Churachandpur districts.
Only after the issue was raised in Parliament by Mani Charenamei and HT Sangliana did the Centre take measures to de-mine the affected area. Even in this case, as also the alleged mass rape of tribal women in Tipaimukh area by Valley-based militants, the contrasting reactions of “civil society” organisations in the valley and the hills are instructive. While tribal groups invariably assumed the truth of the allegations and demanded “vacation” of tribal land by Meitei militants, Meitei civil groups would either deny or demand a “proper inquiry” and verification of the allegations, which was, given the inflamed situation, well nigh impossible. The Justice Rajkhowa Commission of Inquiry set up to enquire into the mass rape allegations never submitted its report.

Finally, there is the politics of blockade. This time, it justifiably hit the headlines. The newsworthiness of the situation was helped by Th Muivah’s proposed visit to Somdal, his ancestral village in Manipur, which resulted in an unprecedented tussle between that state government (with full support from Meitei society) and Naga groups (supported by the Nagaland government), and culminated in the shootings at Mao Gate. We know very well now how much a litre of petrol was selling for during the blockade and newspaper editorials sympathised with the state’s plight.

What about the outlying districts? The extent of the ethnic divide is highlighted by the counter-blockade imposed by Meitei groups on Naga-dominated districts within Manipur itself. In Churachandpur, I was told that life goes on as usual, with Church conferences, concerts and marriages being a daily schedule. One can even sense an amused indifference to the plight of the Valley people. It’s understandable. It’s not as if the blockade did not affect them, though.

Those in Churachandpur (locals prefer the name Lamka) have become accustomed to bandhs and blockades along the 66-km stretch of Tiddim Road that connects the second largest town with Imphal. Over the years, Meitei organisations have blocked this road at the drop of a hat, deeply inconveniencing the townspeople. It is common practice for those who have a flight or a train to catch to camp in Imphal the day before just in case a bandh is called. Many job aspirants who have to write their examinations at Imphal lose out at the last moment due to these bandhs, which can happen any time and for any reason. But such instances never make it to the front page.

Politically too, the hill-plain divide has been wide and deep. While the Naga case is well known, the Zomi-Kuki people have also long dreamed of some sort of unification with their ethnic brethren in Mizoram and even Myanmar. The longstanding demand for extension of the Sixth Schedule to Manipur’s hills has not been met. While all political parties supported the demand at one time or another, high level panels like the Constitution Review Commission (2002) had also recommended such extension.

However, the anxiety about “integrity” and the siege mentality that has gripped the Meitei community since the Nagaland ceasefire agreement has been such that they will not brook any demand that sounds like “autonomy” emanating from the hills. If the Autonomous District Council elections, which have been held up since 1984 as part of demand for Sixth Schedule status in the hill districts, were allowed to be held recently, it was only due to frustration and desperation.

If the Sixth Schedule is never going to fructify, goes the reasoning, why not make use of whatever little benefits the existing ADC may yield.

**The writer is a UGC Junior Research Fellow at Jawaharlal Nehru University, Centre for Political Studies