Caught in the Crossfire: How Ethnic Violence in Manipur has Shattered the Lives of Ordinary Citizens
The northeastern Indian state of Manipur is currently a land physically and spiritually bisected by a deadly “civil war” between two ethnic communities: the valley-dwelling Matei and the hill-based Kukiso. Since clashes erupted in May 2023, the conflict has claimed the lives of nearly 260 people and violently displaced tens of thousands, transforming a once delicate co-existence into a state of de facto segregation.
The Spark of Conflict and the Great Divide
The roots of the violence are deeply tied to socio-political identity and land rights. The Matei, who are predominantly Hindu and form the majority in the state’s central valley, have long held dominance in state politics. The Kukiso, a largely Christian minority concentrated in the surrounding hilly regions, benefit from “Scheduled Tribe” status, which provides special benefits, including reservations in government jobs and educational institutions.
The flashpoint occurred when a local court recommended granting the Matei community the same special status. This decision was viewed by the Kukiso as a threat to their land and constitutional safeguards, immediately igniting protests that spiraled into widespread violence. Across the state, mobs from both sides went on a rampage, looting police armories and transforming communities into war zones.
Today, the state is divided by a “buffer zone,” a heavily guarded, impassable border where security forces are stationed to prevent communities from crossing over. It has become a boundary of hatred, ensuring that a physical distance now reflects the profound chasm in trust.
Personal Stories of Trauma and Loss
The violence has created instant refugees and tragic widows. Mary Kongai, a Kukiso woman, recounted how her life was shattered in the capital of Imphal, a predominantly Matei area. She and her daughter were forced to flee for their lives when a mob came hunting for Kukiso residents. Her husband, James, was beaten to death, his disfigured body not returned to the family for seven agonizing months. Now living in the Kukiso-dominated Churachpur district, Mary finds strength only in sharing her grief with others who have suffered similar losses.
No one, not even the powerful, has been spared. Wunagin Valt, an elected Kukiso member of the legislative assembly, was brutally attacked by a mob in broad daylight just days into the conflict while returning from a meeting with the then-chief minister. His driver was killed. Valt spent two years in New Delhi receiving treatment for severe injuries, including multiple fractures and internal bleeding. Yet, his family notes with deep frustration, two years later, not a single person has been arrested for the attack, raising difficult questions about accountability and justice.
The hostilities are not confined to the cities. The fighting continues to bleed into the daily lives of those living near the buffer zones. Ningujam Birin Singh, a Matei farmer, was shot and wounded while tending his rice paddies near the hills inhabited by Kukiso groups. His grandson, Bume, explained that the vulnerability of the land—crucial for farming—means local farmers are constantly at risk from militant fire, forcing them to cultivate under the protection of 24-hour security forces.
The Humanitarian Crisis in the Camps
One of the most devastating outcomes has been the mass displacement of communities. More than 60,000 people from both ethnic groups have fled their homes, losing everything they built. The vast majority, mostly Kukiso, now live in makeshift relief camps set up in churches and schools.
In these crowded camps, families like Elvie’s—a former school teacher who fled her village while heavily pregnant—live in large halls partitioned only by mesh sheets. The trauma is pervasive, yet essential services are nonexistent. There is no access to mental health resources, and essential amenities like nutritious food and steady water supply are desperately scarce. Elvie, whose home was burned down, must now sell vegetables door-to-door just to survive, lamenting the fact that her young daughters are growing up viewing the crowded, deprived camp as “a normal life.”
The Stalemate and the Call for a Homeland
With the rule of law often failing, both communities have resorted to self-protection. The documentary highlights the presence of armed groups on both sides, including the Matei supremacist group Aramai Bengal, accused of attacks against Kukiso homes and churches. On the other side, hundreds of armed Kukiso volunteers guard roads, such as the newly created “Tiger Road,” which has become a vital lifeline for Kukiso people traveling between districts. The widespread circulation of weapons looted from state armories has created a volatile and dangerous environment, making a return to normalcy seem impossible.
For the Kukiso, the solution increasingly appears to be political separation. “Unless and until we get a political solution, we are not going to remain silent,” one leader states, with the repeated demand being for a separate autonomous Kukiso homeland within Manipur.
However, amidst the fear and calls for division, a few voices attempt to bridge the gulf. Aku Chinganbam, an influential Matei musician, has been working with displaced children in relief camps, using music as a therapeutic tool to help them process their anxiety and stress. He clings to the hope that Manipur, a place where over 35 communities once co-existed, can collectively heal.
A Distant Hope for Peace
The central government intervened by bringing the state under direct control and deploying tens of thousands of security personnel, restoring an uneasy calm. In September 2025, over two years after the violence began, Prime Minister Narendra Modi made his first visit to the state, interacting with the displaced and announcing a slew of development projects worth nearly $1 billion targeted to help both sides.
While the Prime Minister’s visit was heavily criticized by opposition leaders for its delay, it did bring a fragile sense of hope. Yet, for thousands like Mary, Elvie, and the injured Wunagin Valt, the impact has been too little, too late. As the communities remain divided, separated by a physical buffer zone and a growing mountain of bitterness, the question of whether peace—real and lasting peace—will ever return to Manipur continues to hang heavy over the scarred landscape.
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