Two Crises, One Verdict, Manipur’s Fragile Peace and Aviation’s Unanswered Questions
On the surface, the northeastern state of Manipur and the cockpit of a Boeing Dreamliner have nothing in common. One is a terrain of hills and valleys, scarred by over two years of ethnic violence that has claimed more than 250 lives, displaced tens of thousands, and reduced homes, schools, and places of worship to ashes. The other is a controlled environment of switches, sensors, and software, designed to transport passengers safely across continents at 35,000 feet. One crisis is managed by governors, chief ministers, and security forces; the other by regulators, manufacturers, and pilots. One demands reconciliation between communities that have lived in suspicion since a tribal inclusion trigger unleashed mayhem in May 2023; the other demands technical clarity about a fuel control switch that moved inexplicably from ‘run’ to ‘cutoff’ on an aircraft departing Ahmedabad.
Yet Manipur and the Dreamliner are connected by a common thread of institutional failure. In both cases, the institutions charged with prevention and response—the Manipur administration and the Union government in the first; the Directorate General of Civil Aviation (DGCA) and Boeing in the second—have exhibited the same pathology: the tendency to look the other way when doing so is convenient, to assume rather than investigate, to prioritise institutional reputation over public safety and public trust.
In Manipur, the administration “looked the other way” when rioters attacked tribal communities. The chief minister is accused of providing not protection but “clandestine support” to the violence. The Centre, for over eighteen months, similarly looked the other way, allowing the crisis to fester until President’s Rule became unavoidable. In aviation, the regulator appears to have adopted a parallel posture: when a fuel control switch moves inexplicably, the default assumption is crew error, not design flaw. Boeing, which has not yet fully recovered trust after the 737 MAX disasters, is presumed infallible. The field data that might suggest otherwise is brushed aside. Investigation timelines stretch to a year or more. Closure remains elusive.
Both crises have now arrived at critical junctures. In Manipur, the revocation of President’s Rule, the installation of a popular government under Chief Minister Yumnam Khemchand Singh, and the unprecedented inclusion of Kuki and Naga deputy chief ministers offer the best opportunity for peace the state has seen in three years. In aviation, the recurrence of the fuel switch anomaly on a London-bound Dreamliner has revived questions that should have been settled months ago. The verdict on both will be delivered not by press releases or political appointments but by the quality of execution that follows.
Manipur: The Opportunity and the Peril
The decision to revoke President’s Rule and install a popular government in Manipur is, on its face, a gamble. President’s Rule, imposed in February 2025 following the resignation of N. Birendra Singh, provided a 364-day interregnum during which Governor Ajay Kumar Bhalla and his team, with the aid of security forces, stabilised a state that had been bleeding since May 2023. The wounds were—and remain—deep. Over 250 dead. Hundreds of dwellings incinerated. Schools and churches and temples reduced to rubble. Thousands still living in relief camps, uncertain whether they will ever reclaim their homes or their lives.
Complete normalcy has not returned. It cannot, not in one year, not when the trauma is so recent and the perpetrators of violence remain unpunished. But the Governor’s administration achieved something essential: it restored a measure of trust in the state’s capacity to maintain order. It demonstrated that the apparatus of governance, when directed with impartiality and resolve, can protect citizens regardless of their ethnic identity. It created the precondition for political normalisation: a security environment in which a popular government could function without being immediately overwhelmed by resumed violence.
Chief Minister Yumnam Khemchand Singh inherits this fragile stabilisation. His appointment is itself a statement: he belongs to the Meitei community, the majority group whose Scheduled Tribe inclusion demand triggered the Kuki-Zo backlash that exploded in May 2023. Yet he is also reported to have already “launched a mission to reach out to the Kuki-Zo community and started the process of reconciliation.” His deputies—one Kuki, one Naga—are not ceremonial appointees but operational partners in an administration that must demonstrate, daily and visibly, that it serves all Manipuris equally.
The peril is as evident as the opportunity. The same Centre that “refused to intervene in the riots and violence” for eighteen months now expects the new government to succeed. The same political class that presided over the initial failure now anticipates credit for the recovery. The same security forces that were deployed to restore order must now be deployed to sustain order without being seen as occupiers. The same tribal communities that have “a legitimate complaint that they face discrimination within the state” are being asked to trust that this government will be different from its predecessors.
The article’s prescription is unambiguous: the tribal demand for “a separate mechanism to administer the hill areas where they live” must be seriously considered. This is not a concession to separatism; it is a recognition of institutional failure. The existing administrative structures have not protected tribal citizens from discrimination. They have not delivered equitable development. They have not inspired confidence that majority-dominated institutions will protect minority rights. If a separate mechanism—whether an autonomous council, a special development authority, or constitutionally guaranteed reservation in hill area administration—can address these deficits, it should be implemented not as a reward for past violence but as insurance against future conflict.
The Centre’s role in this process must be carefully calibrated. It cannot “withdraw completely,” as the article warns, because the wounds of 2023-2025 were inflicted not only by Manipur’s failures but by the Centre’s complicity in those failures through prolonged inaction. Yet it cannot revert to the discredited posture of the Biren Singh era, when the chief minister’s office was alleged to be coordinating with rioters rather than restraining them. The Union government must now become what it refused to be during the violence: an impartial guarantor of constitutional rights, equally protective of all communities, and willing to use its constitutional authority to ensure that the new Manipur government delivers on its reconciliation commitments.
Aviation: The Recurring Anomaly and the Regulatory Deficit
The Ahmedabad crash of an Air India Dreamliner on June 12, 2025, was a catastrophic event that, mercifully, did not result in mass fatalities. But the question that emerged from that crash—what caused the fuel control switches to move from ‘run’ to ‘cutoff’ in flight? —has not been answered. Instead, it has been deferred, buried in the protracted timelines of a probe whose final report remains months away.
Now the same anomaly has reappeared. A Dreamliner operating from India to London experienced “involuntary movement of fuel control switches.” The pilots reported it. The regulator, DGCA, has responded with its default posture: assume crew error. The switches, the regulator appears to suggest, were moved by the pilots themselves, inadvertently or otherwise. Boeing’s recommended procedure for operating the switches has been circulated to crew members. The implication is unmistakable: the manufacturer is presumed infallible; the problem, if any, lies with the humans operating the machine.
This is not investigation; it is deflection. An investigation seeks to determine what happened, without presupposing the answer. A regulatory response that defaults to pilot error before examining design, software, or maintenance possibilities is not a serious inquiry; it is reputational protection for the manufacturer at the expense of safety.
The article’s critique is precise and devastating: “Assuming pilot error before thoroughly probing each unusual incident in aviation is an error that must not be allowed to creep in because that would undermine safety, which is the manufacturers’ responsibility first.” The sequence matters. The default assumption matters. When regulators instinctively blame operators, they shield manufacturers from accountability and deprive themselves of the field data needed to identify design flaws. The 737 MAX disasters were the catastrophic consequence of precisely this regulatory posture: a manufacturer that prioritised speed over safety, a regulator that delegated certification authority, and a culture that resisted acknowledging design defects until after hundreds died.
The Dreamliner’s fuel switch anomaly may not be another 737 MAX. It may, upon genuine investigation, prove to be a rare combination of crew error and unusual circumstances. But we do not know this, because the investigation has not concluded. And now that the anomaly has recurred, the assumption of crew error becomes even less tenable. Once is anomaly; twice is pattern. A pattern demands systemic investigation, not repeated circulars reminding pilots how to operate switches.
The Common Pathology: Looking the Other Way
What connects the Manipur crisis and the aviation crisis is not their substantive content but the institutional response pattern they have elicited. In both cases, the authorities responsible for prevention and response have demonstrated a consistent tendency to look the other way when doing so serves institutional convenience.
In Manipur, the state administration looked the other way when Meitei rioters attacked Kuki-Zo villages. The chief minister, according to credible allegations, did not merely fail to stop the violence but actively supported it. The Centre, for eighteen months, looked the other way, refusing to intervene even as the death toll mounted and displaced populations filled relief camps. President’s Rule was imposed not when the violence began but when the chief minister’s position became untenable—a decision driven by political calculus, not constitutional obligation.
In aviation, the regulator looks the other way when design anomalies surface. The default assumption of pilot error shields Boeing from uncomfortable questions about its fly-by-wire software, its fuel control system architecture, or its quality control processes. The protracted investigation timeline—”several months” for a report on a June 2025 crash—serves institutional convenience: by the time findings are released, public attention has shifted, and regulatory accountability can be managed through carefully worded statements and incremental corrective actions.
This is not conspiracy; it is institutional pathology. Organisations develop routines for managing inconvenient information. They learn that acknowledging problems invites scrutiny; that admitting uncertainty complicates relationships with powerful stakeholders; that deferring difficult decisions allows problems to be redefined or forgotten. These routines become embedded in organisational culture, transmitted through training and reinforced by incentives. They are not the product of malevolent individuals but of systematic failures of institutional design.
The Imperative of Follow-Through
Both crises have now reached inflection points where follow-through will determine outcomes.
In Manipur, the installation of a popular government with cross-community representation is a necessary condition for reconciliation but not a sufficient one. The new administration must now convert political symbolism into administrative reality. The outreach to Kuki-Zo communities initiated by Chief Minister Singh must be sustained through visible, verifiable actions: the return of displaced persons to their homes, the reconstruction of destroyed property, the prosecution of those responsible for violence regardless of community affiliation, and equitable distribution of development resources across hills and valley. The demand for a separate hill area administration mechanism must be addressed not as a threat to state integrity but as a legitimate institutional reform to address long-standing grievances.
The Centre must support this process without dominating it. Its role is to provide resources, security, and constitutional cover for difficult decisions, not to dictate outcomes or reclaim political credit. The complicity of 2023-2025 cannot be undone, but it can be compensated through sustained, impartial engagement in the reconciliation process.
In aviation, the recurrence of the fuel switch anomaly imposes an obligation of timely, transparent investigation. The DGCA must resist the default assumption of crew error and pursue all possible causes—design, software, maintenance, human factors—with equal rigour. Boeing must be required to produce all relevant data on fuel switch performance across its Dreamliner fleet, not merely to recirculate operating procedures. If a design flaw is identified, mandatory modifications must be implemented without the delays that have characterised previous regulatory responses. If no flaw is found, the finding must be documented and communicated with sufficient detail to restore confidence.
The passengers who board Dreamliners daily are entitled to more than statistical reassurance about the “astronomical odds against dying in an air crash.” They are entitled to confidence that every reasonable precaution has been taken, that anomalies are investigated seriously, and that manufacturers and regulators share their commitment to safety. That confidence has been eroded by the pattern of deflection and delay. It can only be restored through demonstrated institutional integrity.
Conclusion: The Neglected Labour of Accountability
The best thing to have happened in Manipur in three years is also the most fragile. A chief minister committed to reconciliation, deputies representing previously antagonised communities, a security environment stabilised by impartial governance—these are precious assets, accumulated through the difficult labour of Governor Bhalla’s year-long administration. They can be squandered as easily as they were accumulated, through the same combination of political convenience and institutional neglect that produced the original catastrophe.
The recurrence of an unexplained aviation anomaly is also a warning. The fuel switch that moved inexplicably over Ahmedabad and again over the Atlantic is not merely a technical problem to be resolved through circulars and assumption. It is a test of whether the regulator has learned the lessons of Boeing’s previous failures—whether it understands that defaulting to crew error is not investigation but abdication, and that the trust of passengers is earned not through statistical reassurance but through demonstrated commitment to uncovering the truth.
Both crises, in their different domains, point to the same conclusion: institutions must be held to account not only for their actions but for their inactions. The administration that looked the other way during ethnic cleansing is morally indistinguishable from the rioters it failed to restrain. The regulator that defaults to pilot error without investigating design flaws is functionally indistinguishable from the manufacturer it is supposed to oversee. Accountability is not a ritual to be performed after failure; it is a continuous discipline that must be exercised before, during, and after every decision.
Manipur’s new government deserves a helping hand from every stakeholder. The aviation regulator deserves nothing less than rigorous scrutiny of its investigative processes. And the citizens of both domains—the displaced families in Manipur’s relief camps, the passengers boarding Dreamliners at Mumbai and Delhi and Bengaluru—deserve institutions that have finally learned to stop looking the other way.
Q&A Section
Q1: Why does the article describe the new Manipur government as “the best opportunity for peace the state has seen in three years”?
A1: The article identifies three specific factors that make the current configuration uniquely promising. First, the new Chief Minister, Yumnam Khemchand Singh, though from the Meitei community whose Scheduled Tribe demand triggered the 2023 violence, has reportedly already “launched a mission to reach out to the Kuki-Zo community and started the process of reconciliation.” Second, the unprecedented inclusion of one Kuki and one Naga deputy chief minister provides visible, operational representation at the highest level of decision-making, not merely ceremonial consultation. Third, the year-long President’s Rule under Governor Ajay Kumar Bhalla, while not restoring complete normalcy, “helped the state stabilise after the bloodshed” and “restored a measure of trust in the administration’s capacity to maintain order.” This combination—a willing chief minister, cross-community deputies, and a stabilised security environment—creates conditions for reconciliation that did not exist under the previous administration, which was itself allegedly complicit in the violence.
Q2: What is the “legitimate complaint” of tribal citizens in Manipur, and what solution does the article propose?
A2: Tribal citizens, primarily from Kuki-Zo and Naga communities, have a “legitimate complaint that they face discrimination within the state.” This discrimination is not merely perceived; it is evidenced by the state administration’s conduct during the 2023-2025 violence, during which it allegedly “looked the other way when rioters belonging to the Meitei community attacked the tribals” and the chief minister is accused of providing “clandestine support” to the rioters. The article proposes serious consideration of tribal demands for “a separate mechanism to administer the hill areas where they live.” This is not a concession to separatism but recognition that existing administrative structures have failed to protect tribal citizens, deliver equitable development, or inspire confidence in majority-dominated institutions. The mechanism could take various forms—autonomous council, special development authority, constitutionally guaranteed reservation in hill area administration—but its purpose is insurance against future conflict, not reward for past violence.
Q3: What is the “common pathology” the article identifies in the Manipur administration’s and the aviation regulator’s responses to crisis?
A3: The common pathology is the institutional tendency to “look the other way” when doing so serves organisational convenience. In Manipur, the state administration looked the other way during ethnic violence; the Centre looked the other way for eighteen months, refusing intervention until the chief minister’s position became politically untenable. In aviation, the DGCA looks the other way when design anomalies surface, defaulting to the assumption of crew error rather than investigating potential design or software flaws. This default shields Boeing from accountability, defers difficult questions, and allows investigation timelines to stretch until public attention shifts. In both cases, the pattern is not conspiracy but institutional pathology: organisations develop routines for managing inconvenient information, learning that acknowledging problems invites scrutiny, admitting uncertainty complicates stakeholder relationships, and deferring decisions allows problems to be redefined or forgotten.
Q4: Why does the article criticise the DGCA’s response to the recurring fuel switch anomaly, and what would constitute a proper investigation?
A4: The article criticises the DGCA for its default assumption of crew error and its apparent presumption that “the manufacturer is always right.” When the fuel switch anomaly recurred on a London-bound Dreamliner, the regulator’s response was to circulate Boeing’s recommended operating procedure to pilots—implicitly suggesting that pilots had failed to follow proper procedure. This is not investigation but deflection. A proper investigation would: (1) resist presuming any single cause before evidence is gathered; (2) pursue all possible causal pathways with equal rigour—design, software, maintenance, human factors, environmental conditions; (3) require Boeing to produce comprehensive field data on fuel switch performance across its Dreamliner fleet; (4) complete its work within a reasonable timeframe (not “several months” for an incident occurring in June 2025); and (5) communicate findings transparently, including any design modifications mandated. The article’s principle is precise: “Assuming pilot error before thoroughly probing each unusual incident in aviation is an error that must not be allowed to creep in because that would undermine safety, which is the manufacturers’ responsibility first.”
Q5: What role does the article prescribe for the Centre in Manipur’s reconciliation process, and why is this role described as difficult to calibrate?
A5: The article prescribes that the Centre cannot “withdraw completely” but also cannot revert to its discredited pre-President’s Rule posture. Its role must be that of an impartial guarantor of constitutional rights, equally protective of all communities, willing to use its constitutional authority to support difficult decisions without dictating them. This calibration is difficult because the Centre is not a neutral party: its eighteen-month inaction during the 2023-2025 violence, when it “refused to intervene in the riots and violence” despite mounting deaths and displacement, makes it complicit in the very failures the new government must now address. It cannot credibly claim clean hands. Yet it cannot abdicate responsibility, because the constitutional order and security of Manipur remain Union responsibilities. The prescription is therefore one of compensatory engagement: the Centre must provide resources, security, and constitutional cover for reconciliation without claiming political credit or imposing predetermined outcomes. It must become what it refused to be during the violence—an impartial protector of all Manipuri citizens.
