When a conflict endures this long under the watch of both state and central authority, it ceases to be defined only by its origins. It begins to be defined by the response to it.
Three years into the crisis, Manipur no longer burns in isolation — it breathes unrest across a widening and uneasy landscape. What began in May 2023 as a violent rupture has not settled into memory; it has instead evolved, spreading across districts and drawing in new layers of tension. The ongoing clashes in Ukhrul between Kuki and Tangkhul Naga groups that recently began are not merely local disturbances — they signal a conflict that is no longer contained but transforming.
Ukhrul, once distant from the central theatre of violence, now stands as a measure of how far instability travels. Its growing isolation — physical and psychological alike — mirrors a broader fragmentation within the state. National highways, which should function as shared arteries of movement and exchange, remain inaccessible to the Meetei community. In addition, the NH 202, Imphal Ukhrul highway is also practically closed effectively cutting off Ukhrul from the rest of the state. When roads close, they do more than disrupt transport; they quietly sever the threads that hold a society together.
The humanitarian dimension continues to deepen. Tens of thousands remain displaced, unable to return to homes that now exist across hardened lines of separation. Entire localities have become zones of guarded existence, where proximity no longer guarantees familiarity. Time has not softened but calcified the conflict; it has allowed its contours to embed more firmly into everyday life.
Governance over these three years has shifted in structure, but not in outcome. The imposition of President’s Rule in February 2025 placed Manipur under direct central control, carrying with it an expectation of decisive intervention. When it ended in February 2026 and a new government assumed office, the essential realities remained largely unchanged. The persistence of blocked highways, recurring violence, and the absence of any clear pathway to resolution have fostered a widening sense of stagnation.
This continuity raises a difficult question. When the full institutional weight of the Union government is deployed and the crisis remains unresolved, how is that to be read? For many, it produces not only frustration but a perception — whether entirely justified or not — of insufficient urgency. The measure of a state is not only its capacity to intervene, but its willingness to resolve.
Alongside these structural concerns lies a subtler but equally significant challenge: the shaping of public perception. Among sections of the hill communities, longstanding grievances are frequently directed toward the valley — and particularly toward the Meetei population. Yet such framing risks flattening a far more complex reality.
Many grievances expressed today — especially those concerning uneven development and infrastructure — did not originate with the current conflict. They are long-standing systemic concerns, rooted in decades of policy choices by the Central Government, and uneven implementation. The present crisis has not created these issues; it has amplified them.
At the same time, these structural imbalances have not translated into universal advantage for the valley’s ordinary population. Corruption has been a shared burden, cutting across hills and valley alike, distorting development and limiting equitable access. The common citizen — irrespective of identity — has often stood at the receiving end of these failures.
The concentration of infrastructure in Imphal and its surrounding areas has long symbolised this imbalance. Yet even within the valley, that concentration is contested. Many Meetei residents express dissatisfaction with the centralisation of resources within the capital, where benefits remain confined to limited pockets and how it reduces the land resources for the people, forces families to relocate.
Yet the structural logic of a capital city cannot be entirely set aside. Administrative and economic gravity naturally draws infrastructure toward such centres — a pattern not unique to Manipur. But perception frequently overrides structure, especially in a landscape already shaped by historical grievance.
Private enterprise adds another layer of complexity. Investments in malls, hospitals, and commercial spaces have largely gravitated toward Imphal — and notably, many of these ventures are owned by individuals from tribal communities themselves. Yet their presence in the valley inadvertently reinforce perceptions of geographic bias, as visible infrastructure becomes associated with regional favouritism rather than economic logic. In this process, ordinary valley residents become symbolic targets of criticism despite having little influence over these dynamics. In this too, the Meetei community is singled out in the perception blame given their majority status even though the valley areas of Manipur has been a shared space for all communities.
Such layered misunderstandings have made reconciliation harder. Narratives have hardened, often reducing a complex and historically rooted issue into simplified binaries — when the underlying realities are deeply interconnected.
Meanwhile, the broader administrative response continues to navigate uncertainty. The resumption of talks with Kuki armed groups under the Suspension of Operation (SoO) agreement on May 1, 2026 — just days before the third anniversary of the conflict — reflects an attempt at dialogue given the allegations the truce faces and the visual proofs of ground rules violation without any visible action. But without a comprehensive and transparent framework, such steps risk being interpreted unevenly, deepening suspicion rather than building trust.
What Manipur confronts today is not only a crisis of governance or security — it is a crisis of interpretation. Roads are blocked, but so too are shared understandings. Each community carries its own narrative of grievance, often shaped in isolation from the others. At the same time, the growing slogan for a united Manipur amid the unrelenting demand for a separate administration remains the primary roadblock to reconciliation.
It is here that the responsibility of the state — both at the Centre and within Manipur — must become clearer, firmer, and more visible.
A conflict of this scale cannot be managed through intermittent intervention or selective dialogue. It requires a defined, time-bound roadmap addressing four essential pillars simultaneously: restoration of free movement across highways; safe and dignified rehabilitation of displaced populations; credible and transparent engagement with all stakeholders, not limited to armed groups; and a clear accountability mechanism for governance failures at every level.
Equally important is visible leadership. The crisis demands not only administrative action but sustained political presence — communication that reassures, acknowledges, and seeks to unify. Silence, in prolonged conflicts, is rarely neutral; it is almost always interpreted.
The prolonged absence and relative silence of Prime Minister Narendra Modi on the Manipur crisis have taken on a significance beyond protocol. In conflicts of this depth, leadership is measured not only in policy decisions but in presence—both physical and rhetorical. When the highest office remains largely distant, it creates a vacuum that is quickly filled by uncertainty, speculation, and a growing sense of neglect among affected communities. For many, the issue is not merely about statements or visits, but about acknowledgment—the reassurance that the crisis is seen, heard, and prioritized at the national level. In the absence of that visible engagement, silence begins to carry its own weight, shaping perception as much as any action taken on the ground.
Three years is not a pause — it is a verdict on intent. When a conflict endures this long under the watch of both state and central authority, it ceases to be defined only by its origins. It begins to be defined by the response to it.
The Government of India must move beyond managing optics and demonstrate measurable progress toward resolution. Anything less will not be read as limitation — but as unwillingness. And history, when it looks back at Manipur, will not ask what was difficult. It will ask what was done.
