The Spectre of Normalcy, Manipur’s New Government and the Unresolved Arithmetic of Conflict

The Spectre of Normalcy, Manipur’s New Government and the Unresolved Arithmetic of Conflict

The imminent formation of a “popular government” in Manipur, with BJP’s Yumnam Khemchand Singh set to become Chief Minister after nearly a year of President’s Rule, presents not a resolution, but a profound and dangerous paradox. In Delhi, the move is framed through the cold, hard logic of constitutional necessity and numerical alignment—a step towards normalising democratic governance. Yet, in the scarred landscapes of Manipur, particularly across the Kuki and Zomi hill districts, this “normalcy” feels like a veneer, a political and administrative formality that paper-cracks over a gaping chasm of unresolved ethnic conflict, deep-seated distrust, and a humanitarian crisis of displacement. The current affair, therefore, is not simply a change of guard in Imphal; it is a critical test of whether India’s democratic institutions can address wounds inflicted not by their absence, but by their prolonged and partisan failure. It asks whether the restoration of an elected government can catalyse genuine political repair, or if it merely institutionalises a partitioned status quo, moving forward without the essential reckoning that true peace demands.

The Anatomy of a Stalemate: From Political Violence to Political Paralysis

To understand the gravity of this moment, one must revisit the genesis of the crisis. The violence that erupted on May 3, 2023, was not a spontaneous outbreak. As the article notes, it “did not arise from the absence of institutions. It grew out of a prolonged failure of leadership.” For years, politics in Manipur had taken a “coercive turn,” with the administrative authority of the valley-centric government “drifting away from the hill districts on decisions affecting land, identity, and belonging.” The Meitei demand for Scheduled Tribe (ST) status, perceived land tensions, and historical grievances over political autonomy and resource allocation created a tinderbox. By the time violence ignited, “trust in the state had already thinned.”

The ten months of President’s Rule that followed did little to rebuild that trust or address these root causes. Instead, as the analysis suggests, it served to “tighten administrative control and centralise security decisions, even as relief, rehabilitation, and political dialogue stalled.” The period became one of managed containment rather than active reconciliation. The real paralysis, however, was revealed to be within the ruling party itself. The prolonged delay in government formation was “not driven by conditions on the ground or by the concerns of displaced communities,” but by the BJP’s internal inability to agree on leadership. This is a crucial revelation: the constitutional instrument of President’s Rule was extended not due to the intractability of Manipur’s conflict, but due to intra-party political indecision in Delhi and Imphal. The “path to a popular government cleared quickly” once this internal calculus was settled, starkly exposing the earlier justifications for delay as hollow.

The Burden of a Hollow Mandate: Governing a Physically and Psychologically Segmented State

The government that Yumnam Khemchand Singh inherits is, thus, born from this compromised genesis. It assumes office not on a wave of popular optimism for peace, but under a cloud of profound scepticism. Its mandate is the arithmetic of the Assembly floor, not the moral authority required to heal a fractured society. It will preside over a state that remains, in stark physical and psychological terms, segmented.

As the writer from Manipur observes, free movement across ethnic lines “still depends on negotiation and informal permission.” The once-interwoven social and economic fabric of the state is now torn, with checkpoints manned by central forces and community volunteers defining the new, unspoken borders. Thousands of citizens, predominantly Kukis and Zomis from the valley and Meiteis from the hills, remain in relief camps that have “quietly turned into long-term addresses,” unable to return to their homes safely. The landscape is one of burnt villages, fractured roads, and a deep, pervasive fear.

In this context, the new government’s power is severely circumscribed. The Centre, by “restoring a government first and postponing political settlement,” has strategically shifted the immediate, day-to-day burden of governance—and the blame for its inevitable failures—onto the state leadership. However, the levers of real power and the keys to any lasting solution remain firmly in Delhi. “Negotiations with armed groups, decisions around administrative reinforcement, and questions of territorial security remain tightly held elsewhere.” The state government may manage the optics of normalcy—reopening schools, disbursing salaries, holding municipal meetings—but it will “operate within boundaries it did not draw.” Its room for bold political outreach or confidence-building measures across the ethnic divide is minimal without explicit central backing and a coherent political roadmap.

The Demand for Assurance, Not Just Administration

This is why the protests by student organisations in Churachandpur and the conditional willingness of Kuki-Zomi groups to engage are so significant. The response from the affected communities is not a rejection of democracy per se, but a rejection of a democracy that is merely procedural and not substantive. As the article poignantly states, people are asking, “what exactly is being restored — an elected government, or the belief that politics can still offer protection.” After experiencing state failure and months of central rule that prioritised control over dialogue, their faith in the protective capacity of any government is shattered.

Their demands, therefore, have moved beyond the symbolic. They seek written commitments, defined timelines, and concrete movement on a political arrangement—likely involving some form of enhanced administrative autonomy or separate administration for the hill areas—within the life of the current Assembly. They are not asking for an “instant resolution,” an impossibility given the depth of trauma. They are asking for “direction and clarity.” They seek assurance that this government is the beginning of a negotiated political process, not its substitute. The absence of such a framework turns the “popular government” into a mere administrative caretaker for a divided territory, lacking the legitimacy to broker peace.

The Central Government’s Calculus: Normalisation Over Reconciliation

The Centre’s strategy appears clear: to replace the visible crisis of President’s Rule with the appearance of normal democratic functioning. The urgency to form a government stemmed from the “pressure to normalise governance,” which finally “outweighed the temptation to confront deeper political questions.” This is a risk-laden approach. It bets that the slow grind of everyday governance, under an elected facade, will lower temperatures, create a new status quo, and eventually make the thorny political questions seem less urgent.

The danger is that this “normalisation” may simply freeze the conflict, not resolve it. It risks institutionalising the current ethnic geography of separation. Without a parallel, high-stakes, and inclusive political dialogue—involving not just the state government but the Centre as a principal negotiator with all ethnic stakeholders—distrust will fester. The state government, lacking the authority to make grand bargains, will be left managing symptoms: distributing relief, appealing for peace, and navigating a security apparatus it does not fully command. This could lead to a brittle, armed peace, where elections are held but cannot be freely contested across regions, and where economic activity remains stunted by insecurity.

A Fork in the Road: Repair or Repeat?

The installation of the new Chief Minister is thus a moment of intense scrutiny. It will be read as a signal. Does it mark the “beginning of political repair, or another exercise in moving forward without reckoning?”

For it to be the former, several steps are imperative, stretching beyond the capabilities of the state government alone:

1. A Clear Central Roadmap: The Union Government must immediately couple the state government’s formation with the announcement of a credible, time-bound framework for political dialogue. This needs a senior, empowered interlocutor reporting directly to the Prime Minister’s Office.

2. Humanitarian Imperative: A massive, transparent, and accelerated effort for dignified, voluntary, and safe return and rehabilitation of all displaced persons must begin, guaranteed by neutral security forces.

3. Empowering the State Government: For the state government to be a credible partner in peace, the Centre must devolve genuine negotiating space and political backing to it, allowing it to reach out across divides without fear of undermining its own base.

4. Justice and Accountability: A credible process to address acts of violence and hate speech from all sides is essential to prevent the conflict from being perpetuated by a cycle of impunity.

The people of Manipur, as the writer concludes, understand that healing “may take a long time.” Their patience, however, is not infinite, nor is it a license for political procrastination. They have endured a year of suspended animation under central rule, only to see a government formed primarily due to the ruling party solving its internal leadership puzzle. The new government in Imphal walks a tightrope without a safety net, tasked with administering a broken state while the architects of its repair remain distant and disengaged. The spectre of normalcy now descends upon Manipur. Whether it becomes a bridge to a shared future or merely a curtain hiding an unhealed wound will be the defining political affair of the state, and a sobering lesson for Indian federalism, in the years to come.

Q&A on Manipur’s New Government and the Unresolved Crisis

Q1: The article argues that the prolonged President’s Rule was due more to the BJP’s internal leadership disputes than the ground situation. What evidence or dynamic does this suggest about how the Centre manages ethnic conflicts in states?

A1: This revelation suggests a tendency to manage political crises within states through a lens of partisan and administrative convenience rather than through a principled, conflict-resolution-focused approach. The evidence lies in the abrupt end to the impasse once the BJP settled its internal leadership question. It implies that the constitutional tool of President’s Rule, intended for breakdown of constitutional machinery, was used as a holding pattern while the ruling party resolved its internal politics. This dynamic risks treating serious humanitarian and ethnic crises as secondary to party management, undermining confidence in the Centre’s role as a neutral arbiter. It signals that political normalization for the ruling party at the state and central level can take precedence over the urgent need for political dialogue with all stakeholders in a conflict zone.

Q2: What does the term “popular government” mean in the context of Manipur today, and why does it “sit uneasily” in the Kuki and Zomi areas?

A2: In the constitutional sense, a “popular government” simply means an elected government formed by the majority in the legislative assembly. However, in Manipur’s current reality, this term carries a heavy irony for the Kuki and Zomi communities. To them, a government formed by a majority derived primarily from the Meitei-dominated valley areas, without a prior political settlement addressing their core demands for safety, autonomy, and justice, cannot be truly “popular” or representative of their will or interests. It “sits uneasily” because it represents the restoration of the very political structure whose failures and perceived majoritarian bias contributed to the conflict. For displaced communities living in relief camps, fearing to return home, an election-based majority feels meaningless if it does not translate into a government that can actively protect them and address their political aspirations.

Q3: The writer states the new government will “operate within boundaries it did not draw.” What are these boundaries, and how do they limit its effectiveness in bringing peace?

A3: The “boundaries” are both physical and political.

• Physical/Security Boundaries: The state is effectively partitioned, with free movement restricted by community checkpoints and a heavy central security presence. The state government does not have direct operational control over central armed police forces and the army, which manage these boundaries.

• Political Boundaries: The Centre retains exclusive control over key conflict-resolution levers: negotiations with armed ethnic groups, major decisions on security deployment, and the authority to enact constitutional or administrative arrangements (like those under the Sixth Schedule or for separate administration). The state government’s mandate is limited to day-to-day administration within this rigid framework.
  These boundaries severely limit its effectiveness. It cannot broker a ceasefire with armed groups, redesign the administrative map of the state, or guarantee security arrangements for returns without central approval. This makes it a weak vehicle for building the cross-ethnic trust necessary for peace, as communities see it as lacking the power to deliver on any major promises.

Q4: Kuki and Zomi groups have demanded written commitments and a timeline for a political settlement. Why are these specific demands crucial, and what might they fear in the absence of such guarantees?

A4: These demands are crucial because they seek to convert vague political assurances into accountable, measurable action. After a year of stalled dialogue under President’s Rule, communities have lost trust in verbal promises. A written commitment creates a document of political accountability. A defined timeline prevents the issue from being deferred indefinitely into the future, a common tactic in protracted conflicts.
In the absence of such guarantees, they fear several outcomes:

1. Endless Delay: The new government gets bogged down in daily governance, and the political settlement is perpetually described as a “long-term process” while the current segregated reality becomes permanent.

2. Demographic & Political Consolidation: They fear that the valley-dominated government will use its restored authority to further consolidate its position—through delimitation, land policies, or development funds—making their goal of greater administrative autonomy harder to achieve.

3. Erosion of Leverage: They worry that once a government is in place, the Centre will declare the crisis “managed,” and their political demands will lose urgency in the national discourse, leaving them in a perpetual state of insecure limbo.

Q5: Supporters of government formation argue democratic life cannot remain suspended. How does the article counter this argument in the specific context of Manipur?

A5: The article counters this by arguing that in Manipur’s context, the mere “presence” of an elected government is not synonymous with a functioning democratic life. It points to the state’s recent history showing “how little mere presence can achieve.” True democratic life requires more than just legislators in an assembly; it requires security for all citizens to participate freely, freedom of movement, the ability to return home, and faith that the state protects all communities equally. Currently, these prerequisites are absent for a significant portion of Manipur’s population. Forming a government without first creating a pathway to restore these basic conditions risks creating a hollow, exclusionary democracy—one that operates in parts of the state but remains irrelevant or hostile to citizens in other parts. The article implies that a hurried return to procedural democracy, while ignoring the substantive collapse of the social contract, may actually deepen alienation and prolong the conflict, making a genuinely inclusive democratic life even more distant.