The Sky Breaks, the State Breaks Down: Summer in Manipur Is All About the Unbearable Political Climate

Some places have winters of discontent; Manipur, it seems, has summers of despair. The recent total shutdown, endorsed by Arambai Tengol, was met with the government’s familiar response: an internet blackout. Even as time moves forward, Manipur remains trapped in a cruel seasonal loop—part history, part present, entirely unresolved.

Arambai Tengol has called a 10-day total shutdown, starting from 8 June midnight in protest against the arrest of (its commander-in-chief) Asem Kanan, by security personnel yesterday. In the ensuing street protests, 21 people have been hospitalised with tear gas shelling injuries so far, while shops, “passenger” vehicles and offices are closed and the streets are empty. 

In the wake of the prevailing law and order situation, district magistrates have imposed restrictions under Section 163 of the BNSS (formerly CrPC 144 in the Indian Penal Code) and cut off internet and mobile data services in the five valley districts of Imphal East, Imphal West, Thoubal, Kakching and Bishenpur. [The words in parenthesis ans within quotes are my supplements] 

Source: Poknapham, 9 June 2025; translated and paraphrased from a front-page news with a banner headline that reads: Fighting Commander Kanan Fakhibagi Mayokta Arambaina Numit 10ni Manipur Bandh Koukhre]

Note: On 10 June afternoon, Arambai Tengol announced that it is suspending the total shutdown.

Womenfolks protested along the National Highway 37 against the arrest of an Arambai Tengol functionary.

It is June in Manipur. The state is under President’s Rule; the two-year-old ethnic conflict remains unresolved; and mistrust continues to divide communities along ideological and ethnic lines. Apprehension hangs thick in the air, almost as naturally as the monsoon humidity.

Just as the hot and rainy days of May and June follow the hesitant transition of spring, summers in Manipur have long had a tendency to deviate—wrapped, as it were, in a uniquely Imphalesque subtropical tension. By “deviance,” I’m referring to a kind of seasonal abnormality—not meteorological, but sociopolitical. In my school and college days, this pattern had already started to emerge. That was over two decades ago.

It was during the early 2000s, when the old Manipur State Assembly building was set ablaze in 2001, and when Thangjam Manorama was raped and murdered in 2004, that the month of June etched itself in the collective memory as a time of disruption and despair. Now in mid-June 2025, the state finds itself once again in the grip of a shutdown, with sections of the Meitei “civil” society supporting a ten-day bandh, and a five-day internet blackout imposed by the government.

Today, the essense of deviance is not just symbolic. It’s manifested in the collective frustration of a confused public trapped in an administrative system that seems neither willing nor able to function. Sporadic street rallies, brief media-amplified outcries, and empty political gestures reflect a deeper malaise. Most disturbingly, our elected representatives, who ought to be leading efforts toward peace, seem more focused on chasing appointments with the Governor or catching flights to Delhi after being summoned. Their actual contributions to resolving the two-year crisis, if ever recorded, will be buried in a historical footnote chronicling this dark chapter in Manipur’s contemporary history. Ironically, their self-professed achievements would fill chapter after chapter.

Right now, the leaders appear to have only one goal: to secure the proverbial chair of power. Constitutionally, it’s legitimate. The Assembly is still in session, MLAs hold electoral mandates, and they are within their rights to “claim" government formation. But to press that claim now feels like asking for swimming lessons while already drowning, especially when the number of supporting MLAs remains contested.

Who, after all, is concerned about due process when political opportunism is celebrated as statesmanship?

On May 28, The Wire reported:

In a big political development in Manipur, BJP MLA and former minister Thokchom Radheshyam said that ‘all 44 MLAs’ have agreed to form the government as per the wishes of the people, but the final decision will be taken by the central leadership.

Government 1, Civil Society 1

The equation appears simple, but its implications are far from comprehensible. It goes something like this: whenever a crisis erupts in Manipur, one of the government’s first responses is to shut down internet services. During the peak of the ethnic conflict in 2023–2024, the state was digitally cut off from the world for a record-breaking seven months.

As reported by Global Voices, a global network of writers, translators, and human rights activists:

In Manipur, the government imposed a statewide shutdown from May 3 to December 3, 2023, affecting around 3.2 million people for a total of 212 days. This was enforced through 44 separate orders, with only a brief three-day reprieve in between—highlighting the severity and duration of the disruption. 

(Source: India’s Internet Shutdown Crisis: A Growing Threat to Digital Rights, Global Voices, Jan 6, 2025)

The present shutdown will also be documented and become a reference particularly for the contradictory position that the government has taken regarding digital growth in the national development. With the hashtag #11YearsOfDigitalIndia, Union Home Minister Amit Shah tweeted on the occasion of the 11th year of present regime’s coming to power, that: “The Modi government has democratised the use of technology and harnessed its power for the business sector, making Bharat a leading digital economy in the world in the last 11 years.” (Source: The Hindu, 12 June). The Government of India has also been running the Digital India campaign, which consists of three fundamental elements: (i) the establishment of secure and reliable digital infrastructure, (ii) the digital delivery of government services and (iii) the promotion of universal digital literacy.

In reality, India has earned the moniker of the internet shutdown capital of the world. More significantly, has the shutdown helped contain the crisis? Did it meet any of the government’s intended objectives? On the contrary, the outcomes speak otherwise. The Global Voices report also asserts that India’s recurring internet shutdowns continue to undermine digital rights, economic activities and the fundamental freedoms of its citizens.

In his study titled Understanding India’s Troubling Rise in Internet Shutdowns: A Qualitative and Quantitative Analysis, Dutch political analyst Kris Ruijgrok argues:

Rather than resolving law-and-order problems caused by misinformation and fake news, internet shutdowns in India are inherently political. They are significantly more likely to occur in BJP-ruled states—3.5 times more likely, in fact, than in states governed by other parties.

And yet, the decision-makers—like much of the public—appear clueless, reaching only for an invisible “switchboard” that controls internet access.

This article was drafted on the third day of the latest internet ban. On one side stands the government, clinging to the same old failed tactic—turning off the internet as if this were a totalitarian regime. On the other side stands civil society with its own means of spoiling the day. As the band Tapta once sang in their protest anthem Bandh, the cycle continues. But clearly, there is a profound disconnect, not only in how the lyrics have been understood but in the persistent misuse of shutdowns that expose a troubling absence of empathy or strategy.

Making informed, ethical, and effective decisions that uphold the dignity of collective life in Manipur has become a Herculean task. As Albert Einstein once said: “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” In this light, the condition in Manipur today reflects a full-blown public crisis, worse, perhaps, than the Centre’s longstanding dual role in the region: that of an involved party masquerading as a neutral mediator.

If the government holds the key to the internet, civil society wields its own symbolic weapon, the “magic wand” of strikes: bandhs, general strikes, total shutdowns, and other euphemisms. Is this merely oversimplification? Possibly. But the government and public often mirror each other’s impulsiveness: if the government flips the digital switch, civil society responds with another symbolic shutdown. One wonders if Antonio Gramsci, had he lived to witness Manipur today, might have revised his theory of hegemony entirely. A chronic power vacuum has bred an unhealthy and often dangerous power relationship between citizens, the state, and various non-state actors.

The Condition That Wasn’t

A day after Asem Kanan’s arrest, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI)—entrusted by the Supreme Court to investigate key aspects of the ongoing conflict—clarified that he was detained not for his affiliation with Arambai Tengol, but for his alleged involvement in multiple criminal cases, including extortion and intimidation. The Supreme Court has mandated that all related trials be held in Guwahati, citing the prevailing law and order situation.

While the valley reels from the fallout of Kanan’s arrest, Kuki organisations have simultaneously called for a total shutdown in Tengnoupal district and Moreh. That’s another shutdown. Meanwhile, in the hills, the National Investigation Agency (NIA) had arrested one member of the Kuki Inpi Tengnoupal and two cadres from the Kuki National Army.

The Ukhul Times reported (8 June): 

The National Investigation Agency (NIA) has arrested three insurgents in connection with a deadly attack on security forces in Moreh, Tengnoupal district of Manipur in 2024 which left two police commandos dead and several others injured.

Through agencies like the CBI and NIA, the Indian government is trying to project a sense of law and order—something Manipur has historically been denied. But perception, especially in times of political crisis, can be a slippery thing. Two reasons explain why that perception continues to falter.

One: When president’s rule was imposed in February 2025, many hoped that governance might finally become impartial, with decisions coming directly from New Delhi. But this has essentially been the condition since May 2023. Former Chief Minister N Biren was sidelined, left to manage only the valley, while a Unified Command, led by a combination of state and central forces, assumed control of the hills in questionable ways. Others mention that it has been Amit Shah all along in a makeshift arrangement with no constitutional basis.

The Unified Command, officially tasked with coordinating the police, Army, Assam Rifles, and Central Armed Police Forces, has made several controversial decisions. In retrospect, the imposition of Article 356 has unfolded faster and messier than anyone could have predicted.

Two: The CBI has been given charge of numerous sensitive cases from the conflict. On the surface, this seems like a strategic move—to buy time, to build public trust, to show that “action” is being taken. Yet the gap between this appearance and ground reality is painfully wide. Which brings us to the idea of public memory. It’s short. No one understands this better than our elected representatives, except perhaps Donald Trump.

By mid-June 2025, the state had already experienced multiple upheavals: an outburst after the word “Manipur” was removed from the Manipur State Transport bus; a devastating flood followed; a new wave of political inaction rolled in; and then came the arrest of a key figure from an armed cultural organisation. And yet, what will people remember? Certainly not the fact that our legislators have always preferred the trappings of MLA-ship to the burden of leadership.

Just a few hours ago, in a conversation with friends, someone recalled how a shopkeeper had been assaulted roughly a month ago by bandh supporters for the sole crime of opening his store. None of us could remember the reason behind that particular general strike. It likely occurred before the May 20 incident, but we weren't sure. That, in essence, is the tragedy of our times: a society in a state of permanent reaction, with little clarity, no accountability, and a dangerously selective memory.

What’s Civil About the CSOs in Manipur?

The recent spate of arrests by the CBI and NIA isn’t surprising. Many observers see this as one of the goals behind the suspension of operations (SoO) agreements with insurgent groups—groups that, ironically, were not fighting the government to begin with. In plain terms, this is counter-insurgency by other means. These SoO agreements have effectively legitimised and strengthened these groups, enabling them to push their political agendas more forcefully.

Blaming “others" is no longer useful. It’s an open secret, even if some communities remain trapped in denial—a defining trait of many ethnic groups embroiled in violence and conflict in Manipur. And here comes the indispensable role of the civil society organisations. 

The term “civil” in civil society is deeply problematic in this context. The Meiteis hold hegemonic power in the state—albeit a fractured and incoherent hegemony. Meanwhile, political aspirations are loudly expressed by all three major ethnic blocs, including those of the Meiteis, Nagas and the Kukis. Whether their demands are valid, coherent or even realistic is a different issue. Still it is also telling how, in the hills, nearly everyone now claims either a Naga or a Kuki identity—labels that are, historically speaking, relatively recent. Decades after decolonisation, we’re still dealing with identity politics rooted not in civic values, but in ethnic nationalism.

It is unfortunate that there is no space for civic nationalism in this formidable era of globalisation. No appetite for compromise. Instead, what thrives is an ecosystem of extreme ideologies—and at its heart are civil society organisations (CSOs) that have real power, and not only symbolical status. Yet, their behaviour raises serious doubts about how “civil” they truly are. Their role in public life is often as performative and questionable as the silence of a Prime Minister famed for his speeches, but absent when it matters. And when we point fingers—at Modi, or at the Kukis, or anyone—four fingers point right back at us.

Group psychology would indicate that arguments against our own group will not be tolerated. It is always  “them” who is the villain, one who is responsible for starting the fight, and any person who is against “us” is a snake in the grass. In such a setting, the Coordinating Committee on Manipur Integrity (COCOMI), the Federation of Civil Societies (FOCS) and the All Manipur United Clubs Organization (AMUCO are a CSO in the valleys, and so are the Kuki-Zo Council, the Indigenous Tribal Leaders Forum (ITLF)and the Committee on Tribal Unity (COTU) in the hills. 

Two final points, and one question.

One: The idea of a truly “civil” society will only begin to take shape when different communities come together—not for show, but solely for humanity. Without that, all we’ll have is tokenism—ineffective, insincere, and politically useless. Only with real solidarity can we talk about peace, justice and development.

Two: The Government of India must act with more honesty and seriousness. A nation-state isn’t only defined by its territory, but also by the people who live in it. Along with the presence of a government that creates a system of law and governance, by the way in political science, a defined territory and a population serve as the three main constituents of a modern nation-state. Recognising the region’s own histories, cultures, and political realities would go a long way toward reducing alienation and helping complete India’s long-unfinished nation-building project.

Three: Who, exactly, is willing to talk honestly about ethnonationalism?

Final Words

Just like the early 2000s, June in Manipur has brought double strikes, layered shutdowns enforced by both state and non-state actors. This time, Arambai Tengol marched forward with their protest schedule, and almost instantly, the government responded with an internet shutdown and curfew, likely under the usual pretext of maintaining law and order. Throw in the internet ban, and the State—which includes the state government, the union government and agencies, and the people running the shop—can claim it has everything under control. And if not? Non-state actors are always ready to “assist,” as we’re seeing in our neighbourhoods these days. At the end of the day, each June returns in Manipur, not to heal but to remind.

- Concluded.

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:

• A Short Note on Ethnonationalism in and Around Manipur
• The Indian Connection with Manipur Conflicts
• Internet in the Local and General Mediascape
• A Brief Story of Political Conflicts in Modern Manipur
• Meiteis, Nagas and Kukis: The 4Ds of Disconnection, Drugs, Demography and Diversions in Manipur

Postscript

15 June 2025, Manipur: I arrived in Imphal on 25 May, a time when civil society was vocally criticizing the government, alleging that it was conspiring to eradicate the Manipuri identity. When referring to the government, we specifically mean three individuals: the governor, the chief secretary, and the military advisor, due to the current enforcement of the PR. Approximately a week earlier, on 20 May, central security forces had instructed the removal of the term "Manipur" from a state transport bus that was transporting journalists to the Shirui Lily Fest. This led to widespread civil unrest, with protesters locking government offices, vandalizing signboards, and demanding the resignations of the aforementioned three individuals.

On 9 June, newspapers in Manipur published a blank editorial as a form of protest against the violence perpetrated by security personnel against reporters covering the protests following the arrest of a self-styled commander-in-chief of the Arambai Tengol.

Shortly thereafter, a flood occurred, with Imphal East being the most severely impacted, and many residents have expressed that it is one of the worst floods the valley has experienced. I would argue that last year's flood was more severe. For the first time in my life, around this time in 2024, I witnessed two unprecedented sights: the water had reached the maang-gon level, and the Mantri Leikai neighbourhood was inundated, which I believed to be a first occurrence. However, I was later informed that a similar flood had taken place in the mid-Eighties. Currently, the floodwaters have receded after claiming five lives and affecting nearly 160,000 individuals and 35,000 homes. Some areas in the valley, particularly in Imphal East, remain submerged.

Then, in under a week, Imphal grew impatient and exposed the current crisis while we are forced to wait in lines at ATMs that operate in a rather frugal manner, as if there is no reason for all of them to function correctly. With only one operational machine in every five kilometres, this is the utmost that Imphal can achieve while both the government and the public engage in a contest for the title of Supreme Dumb Consistency. Instagram and GPay have left the conversation! And I will be leaving the city on 17 June.