Why 40 villages demand separation from Kuki-dominated Kangpokpi and Churachandpur districts

On November 1, 2025, in the village of Bungte Chiru, a quiet but historic act of self-determination unfolded. Representatives from the Aimol, Chiru, Kharam, and Rongmei tribes gathered for a consultative meeting that would reshape their administrative destiny. 

Without fanfare, cameras, or political grandstanding, they adopted three binding resolutions: all Hills House Tax collected from their villages would henceforth be paid to the District Commissioner of Noney; their voter names would be deleted from the electoral rolls of 51-Saitu and 57-Henglep Assembly Constituencies under Kangpokpi and Churachandpur districts; and the same names would be re-enrolled in 54-Nungba (ST) Assembly Constituency under Noney district.

This move was not a rebellion. It was a data-driven, legally grounded act of civil re-obedience—a peaceful assertion of rights long denied. The resolutions followed a July 21 memorandum submitted by forty villages to Manipur Governor Ajay Kumar Bhalla through the Inter District Boundaries Re-Organisation Demand Committee for Administrative Convenience (IDBRDCAC). These villages of around 50,000 indigenous people, inhabited by Rongmei, Liangmai, Inpui, Aimol, Kharam, Chiru, and Chothe tribes, had formally requested administrative transfer to Noney district, citing verifiable disparities in governance, political representation, and resource distribution.

The demand at hand is not about whether these minority tribes will remain under the banner of Naga or Kuki—it is about their very existence. In the hills of Manipur, it is not uncommon to find memorial stones or territorial markers where the names of tribes like the Aimol, Chiru, Kharam, and Chothe appear under both ethnic umbrellas. These symbolic inclusions, however, do little to address the lived realities of these communities. 

The real question now is not one of identity politics, but of political and constitutional rights. These tribes are not seeking to redraw ethnic boundaries; they are seeking recognition, representation, and resources within a framework that has long excluded them in the Kuki-dominated Kangpokpi and Churachandpur districts of Manipur. Their demand is a plea to be seen not as appendages to larger groups, but as rightful stakeholders in the governance of their own lives. 

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Their demand is not based on sentiment or identity politics. It is rooted in hard data and statutory benchmarks—the same criteria used during 2016 district reorganization of the state. The average administrative distance to their current district headquarters exceeds 100 kilometers, while Noney is just 35 kilometers away. Despite comprising 18 to 22 percent of the population in their current constituencies, these tribes have zero reserved seats in the Autonomous District Councils (ADCs) of Kangpokpi and Churachandpur. 

Development fund utilization for non-Kuki villages in these two districts stands below 9 percent of allocation, while Noney records a significantly higher rate of 19 to 28 percent. In simple language, between 2020 and 2024, these 40 villages paid ₹4.8 lakh annually in Hill House Tax (₹30 per household × 16,000 homes), yet Kangpokpi and Churachandpur ADCs returned just ₹42,000—a mere 0.9 %—for local development, leaving 99.1 % at district headquarters. 

In contrast, Noney district channels 19–28 % of such funds back to villages, meaning the same ₹4.8 lakh would yield ₹91,000–₹1.34 lakh in roads, water, and schools. This stark gap—less than 1 paisa per rupee returned under Kuki-majority ADCs versus up to 28 paise in Noney. 

Judicial access is equally constrained, requiring travel of 85 to 115 kilometers, with 67 percent of land-dispute cases either withdrawn or pending for over two years. The villagers must travel 85–115 km (4–7 hours, ₹300–₹500 round-trip) to courts in Kangpokpi or Churachandpur, where, from 2020 to 2024, 67 % of land-dispute cases—42 filed in Kangpokpi (28 withdrawn, 9 pending over two years) and 31 in Churachandpur (22 withdrawn, 7 pending)—are either abandoned due to cost and intimidation or remain unresolved beyond two years. 

In sharp contrast, Noney’s courts, just 25–40 km away (1–2 hours, ₹100–₹150), see only 11 % of cases stalled, proving that geography, not law, determines justice for the 40 villages. The difference is not just in distance—it is in outcomes. When justice is accessible, it is actionable.

These figures are not speculative. They are drawn from official sources: DRDA reports, court registers, ADC financial statements, and the 2016 Gazette. Together, they confirm that the forty villages—home to around 50,000 residents—meet every objective threshold for boundary adjustment under the Manipur (Hill Areas) District Councils Act of 1971 and the Delimitation Act of 2002. This is not a political grievance; it is an administrative correction.

The reality of administrative access further exposes the urgency of the demand. The farthest village in Saitu Assembly Constituency lies 98 kilometers from Kangpokpi headquarters, requiring four to six hours of travel. Villages in Henglep AC are even farther from Churachandpur, with travel times stretching to seven hours. In contrast, Noney headquarters is just 28 to 42 kilometers away, reachable within one to two hours. District records from 2023 to 2024 show that 68 percent of scheme beneficiaries in Kangpokpi and Churachandpur must travel over 50 kilometers for documentation, compared to just 12 percent in Noney.

Political representation remains a glaring void. According to the Manipur Autonomous District Councils Rules of 2008 and Gazette Notification No. 17/12/2008, there has been no elected or nominated seat for Aimol, Chiru, Kharam, or Rongmei in Churachandpur since 1973 or in Kangpokpi since its creation. The absence of representation is not incidental—it is systemic.

In 2008, the Manipur government expanded each hill District Council by six seats, raising the total from 20 to 26 members—24 elected by adult suffrage and two nominated. Yet in Churachandpur, this reform became a hollow gesture: not a single seat was reserved for minority Naga tribes like Aimol, Chiru, Kharam, or Rongmei, perpetuating their political erasure. 

The very purpose of the Manipur (Hill Areas) District Councils Act—to empower hill communities, especially vulnerable minorities—has been rendered futile and meaningless through systemic exclusion.By stark contrast, Tamenglong and Noney districts each created exclusive Kuki constituencies - 10-Phaitol DCC under 52-Tamei (ST) AC, and  24- Longpi DCC under 54-Nungba (ST) AC.

This double standard lays bare a deliberate policy of marginalisation—minority community voices silenced in Kuki-majority ADCs, while Kuki representation is safeguarded even in Naga-majority districts.

Development fund allocation tells a similar story of neglect. Non-Kuki villages in Saitu and Henglep ACs, despite comprising nearly a fifth of the population, received only 7.2 and 8.1 percent of tribal sub-plan funds respectively from 2020 to 2024. In contrast, Noney allocated 19.4 percent to similar communities. Infrastructure development is equally skewed. Roads built under PMGSY per 1,000 residents stand at 1.8 kilometers in Saitu and 1.6 kilometers in Henglep, while Noney boasts 3.2 kilometers. Employment under MGNREGA averages 41 person-days per non-Kuki household in Saitu and 38 in Henglep, compared to 72 in Noney. These disparities are not just numbers—they are lived realities of underdevelopment.

Security concerns have further exacerbated the situation. On April 5, 2025, suspected Kuki militants encroached the Konsaram village in Kangpokpi and abducted the Liangmai village chief, chairman, and secretary. The hostages were released after eleven hours, but the trauma lingers. FIR No. 12(4)/2025 KPI-PS remains under investigation. This incident highlights a harsh truth: a district that cannot protect its residents will not develop them either.

The 2016 district reorganization that created Noney was based on the principle of “administrative convenience and better governance delivery.” The population threshold for district creation was approximately 75,000. With more than 50,000 residents, the forty villages easily qualify for sub-divisional status under the same criteria. The legal framework already exists. The Manipur (Hill Areas) District Councils Act of 1971 and the Delimitation Act of 2002 provide mechanisms for boundary adjustment and electoral revision. No new legislation is required.

The proposed transfer would reduce administrative distance by over 70 percent, correct political under-representation from zero to a proportional share, raise resource allocation from under 9 percent to over 18 percent, cut judicial distance by 65 to 75 percent, and project tax utilization from 0.9 percent to 25 to 30 percent. These are not hypothetical benefits—they are measurable outcomes, already initiated through tax redirection, voter roll petitions, and authorized legal action.

The ongoing ethnic conflict in Manipur has further endangered minority tribes such as Kharam, Chiru, and Aimol. With populations of 4,200, 8,500, and 3,800 respectively, these tribes face existential threats. Displacement data from 2023 to 2025 shows that 1,840 hectares of their recorded community land have been encroached upon by other communities, with 68 percent of surveyed security incidents targeting non-Kuki settlements. Without immediate judicial and political safeguards—currently absent in Kangpokpi and Churachandpur—their cultural, linguistic, and demographic viability faces irreversible decline. 

Transferring the forty villages to Noney district before the scheduled ADC elections in 2026 is not just a bureaucratic adjustment—it is a moral imperative. It would secure proportional representation, reduce judicial distance, and channel a fair share of their tax contributions back into local development. These measures align with existing state policy and constitute the minimum intervention required to prevent the statutory extinction of these Scheduled Tribes.

This movement by forty villages is not just a local administrative adjustment—it is a model for how marginalized communities can reclaim agency through lawful, data-backed, and peaceful means. In a region scarred by ethnic conflict and political inertia, these tribes have chosen not confrontation but constitutional clarity. They have not asked for privilege, but parity. Their demand aligns with every principle of good governance: proximity, representation, equity, and accountability.

To deny this transfer would be to ignore the very benchmarks the state itself used in 2016. It would mean perpetuating a system where distance dilutes justice, where representation is a mirage, and where development bypasses those who need it most. 

The Governor’s signature on this transfer would not redraw a map of Manipur—it would restore faith in the rule of law. It would affirm that in Manipur, even the smallest tribes matter. And it would prove that when citizens organize with facts and fairness, the state must listen.

In supporting this demand, we are not endorsing division—we are endorsing dignity. The time to act is now.