A Meitei IDP Father’s Cry from the Relief Camp

The people of Manipur — especially those thousands still languishing in relief camps — are still waiting for the PR administration to issue a fresh, unambiguous clarification: if buffer zones truly do not exist, why are Meitei families being violently stopped from returning home, and why is the Kuki demand for these zones being enforced on the ground without any official acknowledgement or rejection?

Two and a half years later, the plight of internally displaced persons (IDPs) remains acute, particularly as recent attempts by Meitei families to return to their homes have led to violent confrontations. These incidents, occurring amid claims of "buffer zones" that the Manipur Police has repeatedly denied exist, expose the urgent need for transparent, community-neutral interventions to facilitate safe return of the people in their homes. 
There cannot be two sets of laws operating in the same state under the same flag. When Meitei IDPs, unarmed and pleading only to reach their own burnt homes, are met with tear-gas shells and lathi charges, the entire machinery of the state swings into action within minutes. 

Yet when Kuki protesters swarm highways, gherao police vehicles, push back security personnel and openly declare they will physically enforce a “buffer zone” that the government itself says does not exist, the response is silence, negotiation, or quiet retreat. This glaring double standard is not law and order; it is selective enforcement that punishes the displaced while rewarding those who block the road. Equality before the law must mean exactly that — equal consequences for identical actions, regardless of community. 

In the Sajiwa relief camp, Imphal East, 70-year-old Pakchao Meitei (name changed for safety) sits hunched on a torn mat, his voice barely above a whisper: “I am scared I will die here too, just like my son. Every time we try to walk back to our village, they fire tear-gas and swing lathis at us — old men, women, children. My body is already weak. One day it will give up. They will cremate me in the same place where I lit my son’s funeral pyre last year, and still they will not let the rest of us go home. What kind of life is this — waiting to die in a camp that was only meant to be temporary?”

Last week, another displaced Meitei father from Ekou village, now living in a cramped relief camp in the same camp for over two and a half years, broke down in tears while speaking to a visitor. Clutching a faded photograph of his burned house, he said:“Why didn’t I just die at the hands of the enemies in May 2023? At least I would have been forgotten by now — a name on a deceased list, mourned once and then left in peace. But today I am still alive, forced to swim across rivers at just to catch a glimpse of my charred home from afar, only to be greeted with tear-gas shells, lathi charges, and barricades whenever I beg to return. Death would have been kinder than this endless humiliation.”

His words are not an isolated lament; they echo the silent anguish of thousands of Meitei IDPs who have watched promise after promise of rehabilitation turn to dust while unofficial “buffer zones” — repeatedly declared non-existent by the Manipur Police — continue to bar them from their own doorsteps.

Recent events in last week of November 2025 paint a distressing picture of frustration and force, with multiple waves of Meitei IDPs from foothill villages attempting organized returns only to face what many describe as disproportionate crackdowns by security forces. These efforts—centered in areas like Phougakchao Ikhai, Dolaithabi, Ekou, Yengkhuman and Gwaltabi—have not been raids on foreign territory but pleas to reclaim ancestral lands torched during the 2023 violence. 

Yet, the responses—barricades, lathi charges, tear gas, and physical scuffles—have treated these families as if they were unlawful intruders, leaving women, children, and the elderly battered and humiliated amid the irony of the state touting "normalcy" through events like the Sangai Festival.

The first major flare-up occurred on November 22 at Phougakchao Ikhai in Bishnupur district. Hundreds of Meitei IDPs, displaced from villages like Torbung Bangla and other settlements along the Bishnupur-Churachandpur fringe, gathered to demand safe passage home. Many were farmers whose fields had lain barren for over two and half years their livelihoods eroded by camp life. 

As the group marched, security forces—comprising state police, CRPF, and RAF—erected hasty barricades at Phougakchao Ikhai, the de facto "last permissible point" for Meitei movement. When protesters pushed forward, chanting for rehabilitation, officers fired multiple tear gas shells, triggering chaos. Videos showed women shielding children from the stinging clouds, while men were shoved back with lathis. 

One participant recounted, "We weren't armed or aggressive; we just wanted to touch our soil again." This incident, coinciding with the Sangai Festival's opening, amplified the protesters' outrage: If tourists could flock to Imphal for celebrations, why were locals barred from their own villages? Tensions escalated further in various parts of valley. 

The pattern repeated—and intensified—on November 24 in Dolaithabi, Imphal East district, where the most publicized clash unfolded. IDPs from relief camps in Ekou, Dolaithabi, Yengkhuman, Sajiwa, and Swombung—over 500 strong—set out at dawn, framing their march as a direct challenge to the festival's facade of peace. "If normalcy is here, let us farm our lands," one banner read. They advanced toward Pukhao Tezpur, about 2.5 km from Dolaithabi Dam, but were funneled into a gauntlet of barbed-wire barricades manned by BSF, CRPF, RAF, and state police. 

As the column pressed on, bypassing some barriers through sheer numbers, the response was swift and severe: Tear gas shells rained down, blank rounds echoed, and lathi-wielding officers charged into the fray. Scuffles erupted, with protesters toppling over wires and into ditches; at least three IDPs and two officers were injured, including falls that left families with cuts and bruises. 

The Kuki labeled the march "provocative," fearing it breached informal separation lines, but Meitei organizers insisted it was a non-violent bid for equity—mirroring Kuki returns in hill areas that had proceeded with less fanfare. Security forces responded with a mix of persuasion and force: initial dialogues gave way to lathi charges when the crowd swelled, followed by tear gas volleys that dispersed the group but left several with respiratory distress and minor wounds.

These incidents, spanning November 21–28, are part of a broader clashes between Meitei IDPs and Security forces, all tied to demands for phased returns promised under President's Rule governance. Protesters, voicing months of pent-up despair, argued that the ongoing Sangai Festival—touted by the state as a sign of restored normalcy—should enable their return, yet they were met with barricades and restraint.

On the morning of 28 November 2025, hundreds of IDPs from Sawombung and nearby relief camps began a determined march towards Gwaltabi and surrounding villages, carrying banners that read: “If Manipur is peaceful enough for the Sangai Festival, it is peaceful enough for us to go home.” They announced that two and a half years of displacement was no longer tolerable and demanded immediate rehabilitation to their abandoned houses and fields.

However, Security forces intercepted the marchers at Yaingangpokpi, barely a few kilometres from the camps. What began as verbal appeals quickly turned violent: police and RAF personnel fired mock bombs and multiple rounds of tear-gas shells to force the crowd back. Chaos erupted as elderly men, women carrying infants, and teenagers choked on the smoke and stumbled over each other in panic. Several IDPs collapsed and suffered injuries in the stampede that followed.

The most shocking moment came in viral videos where distraught protestors are heard shouting: “The DC himself is ordering to fire tear-gas on us!” 

Compounding this, on 29 November, the Kuki men and women assembling at points like Gangpijang, Utonglok, and Maibung Likli to "safeguard" these zones, chanting “No Buffer Zone, No Peace.” While these gatherings reflect genuine fears for safety—rooted in the conflict's history of mutual attacks—they have intersected with security operations that have left Meitei IDPs feeling targeted.

A glaring contradiction now hangs over the entire crisis. In May 2024, Manipur Police issued an official statement that no “buffer zones” exist in the state — only temporary security deployments in sensitive areas to prevent clashes. Yet when Meitei IDPs attempt to cross these same invisible lines to reach their own homes, they are met with tear-gas and lathis, while Kuki groups openly rally with banners declaring “No Buffer Zone, No Peace” and successfully block the roads.

No crime justifies such treatment. These Meitei families are not intruders into Kuki villages; they seek only to return to their own properties in valley areas, many of which were torched during the initial 2023 clashes. Their "offense"—if it can be called that—is simply displacement's cruel arithmetic: surviving in camps for more than 30 months while the state promises phased rehabilitation.

The persistence of "buffer zones"—a term popularized in media but disavowed by state authorities—highlights a deeper governance vacuum. While central forces maintain patrols in fringe areas to prevent clashes, Kuki civil society groups assert these as "mutually recognized" boundaries. However, the asymmetry is stark: Meitei IDPs report needing "permission" from Kuki leaders to access their own lands, while reciprocal encroachments remain rare.

To break this impasse, establishing a formal, temporary Line of Control (LoC)—a clear, state-enforced demarcation between Meitei- and Kuki dominated villages—could provide breathing room. This would not entrench division but pause it: Meiteis confined to valley homes, Kukis to hill settlements, with neutral security patrols monitoring the line to prevent crossings by either side. Unlike ad-hoc buffers, an LoC would be transparent, mapped via satellite and community consultations, ensuring no "red zones" emerge arbitrarily where blood is shed over contested fringes. 

Critically, it must protect both communities equally—safeguarding Kuki fears of allegedly Meitei incursions while enabling Meitei returns without the violence seen in Dolaithabi or Torbung-Kangvai.

The PR administration can no longer treat the suffering of 70,000 displaced people as a public-relations footnote. It is time to end the silence and the excuses.The first thing the government must do — without further delay — is publish a comprehensive White Paper on IDP resettlement. Not another glossy brochure, but a hard, honest document that every Manipuri can read and verify.

It must tell us how many people have actually gone home since the “two-phase camp closure” plan was announced with such fanfare. How many Meitei families? How many Kuki families? It must explain why the Imphal East Deputy Commissioner stood before hundreds of Dolaithabi and Pukhao IDPs in July 2025 and promised that they would be resettled within two months — a promise that expired in September while not a single family crossed the invisible line.

The only way to stitch Manipur back is through honesty and courage: draw a clear, temporary line under neutral security watch, and commit—without favour or discrimination—to the safe, dignified return of every displaced family to their own hearth.

Home is not a privilege to be granted by one community to another; it is the fundamental right of every Manipuri, Meitei and Kuki alike. Restore that right, and peace will follow. Deny it any longer, and the relief camps will keep filling with funerals while the state celebrates festivals over the sound of tear-gas shells!