N. Biren Singh and the rule of chaos in Manipur

It is difficult to think of an exact parallel to Manipur chief minister N. Biren Singh in independent India’s history. For nearly eight months the state has remained geographically divided along ethnic lines drawn in blood-red hues. There are few signs of either truth or reconciliation: one community is not allowed to live in or even commute to areas inhabited by another. Infractions on this unwritten law can exact a simple, extreme price: the transgressor’s life.

Even amid the constant smell of cordite in zones where the two sides encountered each other, the smoke rising from places of worship, an anarchic cocktail of militants of sundry stripes and black-shirted vigilante squads, and a depressingly rising body count, a viral video of two women being paraded naked by a group of men seared through the nation’s conscience. It was but an X-ray slice of the dystopia Manipur had become as the predominantly Meitei population in the Imphal Valley and the Kukis who dominate the hills grew barbed wire in their minds.

In bone-dry statistics, about 200 killed, 1,000 injured and 60,000 homeless between May and August. All this while the state police and even the armed forces, for the most part, remained helpless spectators. Even arms and ammunition were looted from the police constabulary amid allegations of state complicity.

Such an absolute, prolonged collapse of the law and order in any state—at any time in modern Indian history—would have brought down a swift guillotine on the prevailing setup. Either in the form of President’s Rule or via a change of guard. But Singh’s incumbency not only endured, paradoxically it perhaps emerged stronger, with his castle gates now made of iron. Rather than damaging him, the charge that a Meitei CM had acted as an unabashed partisan—to the point where the Kukis even started talking of the need for a separate administration—gave him endless immunity. He had instituted himself in Meitei folklore as a hero who stood his ground for their cause.

In Manipur, where 40 of the 60 assembly constituencies are in the Meitei-dominated Imphal Valley, the criticism was a blessing in disguise for Singh. It became difficult for his bosses up the BJP pyramid to touch him, especially because the ethnic conflict had taken on unambiguously communal colours. Better, then, to sup with him.

The former BSF constable—who did duty as right fullback on the football field back in the early ’80s—has had to do some hectic defending ever since he took office in 2017. Facing dissent almost every six months, Singh had to be at New Delhi’s mercy for survival. His none-too-subtle side-taking this time, while notching zero points in terms of his constitutional duty, ended that phase of vulnerability—a choreographed show of his new might, with a resignation drama lobbed in, proved that in June.

Meitei-Kuki tensions are not a new development. But as Singh initiated a crackdown on drug trafficking and poppy cultivation, Kuki suspicions about his intent rose because a majority of poppy fields were in areas inhabited by them, often encroaching upon unclassed forests. This despite the fact that more Meitei families—143 against 59 Kukis—were evicted in the drive. His unilateral withdrawal of a suspension of operation agreement with two Kuki militant groups due to their alleged role in instigating people against the eviction widened the divide. So did his conflation of militancy and the drug menace with “illegal” refugees of the extended Kuki-Chin-Zomi-Mizo ethnicity from conflict-torn Myanmar: 2,500 officially, but thought to be higher. Here, he both reflected and fed into Meitei anxieties, while fuelling insecurity among Kukis.

But the actual trigger was not pulled by him. This came via an April 19 order of the Manipur High Court suggesting the inclusion of Meiteis in the ST list: a protest rally on May 3 saw the sparks set off a forest fire of hatred. The irony is, it could well have been otherwise, with the man at the centre of it gaining a positive aura. His ‘Go To Hills’ drive, which now lies in a shambles, was a model policy built around ethnic equity and amity.

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