[ Ripi Bagra ]
Manipur has been burning since 3 May, 2023, when ethnic clashes broke out between the Meiteis and the Kuki-Zo tribal groups. What began as anger over the Meitei demand for scheduled tribe status quickly spiralled into one of the worst internal conflicts the state has seen in decades.
More than two years later, there is no peace. The divide has only deepened. Tens of thousands remain displaced, and the state has slipped into paralysis. It feels as if the violence has been allowed to continue, with no roadmap for resolution.
At the centre of it all are ordinary people. Families who once had homes, land, neighbours, and schools are now living in makeshift relief camps. What was meant to be temporary has turned into something close to permanent: 58,000 people stuck in limbo, waiting for a return that is yet to come. The camps have poor sanitation, little access to healthcare, and schools that barely function. Children have lost not just classrooms but the rhythm of a normal childhood. For the elderly, there is the deeper pain of knowing they may never see their homes again. How long can people live with such uncertainty? How long can ‘temporary’ last?
This is the part of the crisis that rarely makes it into government briefings or political speeches. The displaced are invisible until their suffering becomes impossible to ignore. Yet they carry the heaviest burden of a conflict they neither started nor control. Their stories of broken homes, interrupted lives, and everyday survival speak louder than the silence of those in power.
Security, too, remains fragile. Soldiers are deployed across the state, but attacks keep happening. On 19 September, 2025, a convoy of the Assam Rifles was ambushed in Bishnupur district. Two soldiers, Naib Subedar Shyam Gurung (58) and Rifleman GD Kashav (29) lost their lives. Five others were injured. The forces are not only up against armed groups but also against a hostile environment where civilians are often uncooperative or openly antagonistic. Every checkpoint, every patrol becomes a risk. For civilians, the presence of forces is a reminder of both safety and fear. For the soldiers, it is a reminder that they are seen as outsiders, operating in a place that does not welcome them. Peace, under such conditions, feels painfully fragile.
And what about politics? Manipur today is under President’s Rule, a blunt reminder that its political machinery has collapsed. Elected leaders failed to rise above divisions, failed to reassure the people, and failed to act. The Centre, meanwhile, has intervened just enough to be seen doing something but not nearly enough to chart out a long-term solution. In this vacuum, armed groups and vigilante actors have filled the space, while faith in institutions has further eroded.
The larger tragedy is how normalised this violence has become. Across the rest of India, Manipur has slipped out of conversation. Burnt homes, displaced families, children growing up in camps – these horrors have become background noise, overshadowed by other political dramas. But for those living it, there is no ‘moving on’. Every single day in a relief camp, every night filled with fear, is a reminder of abandonment.
Reconciliation, at this point, feels far away. Dialogue has not taken root. Trust is missing. Communities that once lived side by side now see each other as enemies. Even those who desperately want to return to their homes can’t, because the sense of security they once had is gone. Displacement has hardened into a new normal, one where living apart feels safer than trying to live together.
But must it stay this way? The Manipur crisis is not unsolvable. What it needs is political courage – a rare thing these days. Peace cannot be built through temporary ceasefires or military patrols alone. It means rebuilding trust between communities. It means holding those who committed violence accountable. It means giving displaced families a real chance to go back home. Above all, it means leaders must stop treating Manipur as a political headache and start treating it as a human tragedy.
The question is simple: does the will to act exist? India cannot afford to leave Manipur in a state of permanent exile inside its own borders. The longer this conflict drags on, the harder reconciliation will become. Children growing up in camps today will carry these memories into adulthood. Whole generations will be shaped by displacement, anger, and fear. And then what kind of future will Manipur have?
For now, the state is stuck. People are trapped between violence and neglect, between the ruins of their homes and the half-life of camps. The conflict has stolen their present and clouded their future. What Manipur needs is not another round of promises or half-measures. It needs decisive action. It needs solutions, not speeches. Until then, Manipur will remain what it has become today: an endless deadlock, where silence and inaction destroy lives as surely as bullets and fire. (The contributor is an independent researcher. The views expressed are personal)
