Why Must Muivah Return to Somdal After 50 Years of Exile

Ato Kilonser of the NSCN-IM, Thuingaleng Muivah, plans to return to his home in Somdal by October 2025, a journey that is not just a homecoming but an opportunity for healing. I envision him walking the path of memories in his village, recalling childhood games at the green playground near his home, the quiet fields of Somdal, or the red MSRTC bus ride passing through Mahadev Junction and Oknaopokpi (Yaingangpokpi) along the Imphal-Ukhrul Road. He must carry cherished memories of a simpler time, before the Naga movement shaped his life. My wish is for this visit to be a moment of grace, uniting Meetei and Tangkhul, valley and hill, in a shared love for Manipur. 

Why must Muivah return to Somdal after 50 years of exile? He’s said, “My parents died waiting for me there; I must visit my birthplace.” It’s a sentiment as universal as the Arctic tern, migrating thousands of miles back to its breeding grounds, driven by an innate pull to return home. After half a century in exile, fighting for the Naga cause, the call of home must be a quiet roar in his heart. But for a man of his stature, every move carries weight. Is this a personal pilgrimage or a spark to reignite the Naga movement? I hope it’s the former—a chance for him to find peace, not stir division.

My wish for Muivah is that his visit becomes a bridge, not a wedge. I want him to return not as a divisive leader, but as a son of Manipur, seeking closure. I hope he speaks of unity, echoing his 2005 words. “Only the Nagas and Meeteis are indigenous to Manipur.” Those words, overlooked then, resonate now as “indigeneity” shapes our discourse. I want his homecoming to remind us of our common roots, to inspire dialogue between Meetei and Tangkhul, valley and hill. Let Muivah come home, and let Manipur welcome him—not as a conqueror or a foe, but as a son of the soil, like all of us. 

My writings often collide with Muivah’s ideology of Naga identity, creating a tension that defines our divide. I don’t indulge in his dreams of a Naga nation, but my work draws from the deep, shared legacy of Meetei and Tangkhul culture, which predates the Naga identity he champions. Mythological tales like Nongpok Ningthou and Tangkhul Nurabi, or the reverence for Tangkhul Saram Pakhangba, weave a narrative of unity that clashes with Muivah’s vision. Whenever I highlight this in my writings, proponents of Naga culture react with hostility, rejecting the idea of a shared Manipuri identity.

Accept it or not, the concept of “Naga” emerged in the 19th century, while the Meetei-Tangkhul relationship traces back to the dawn of our civilization. The shared legacy of Leirum Phee and Shaphee Lanphee (Mana Phee)—cultural symbols that bind our communities—cannot be torn apart, whether Tangkhuls align with the Naga identity or Meeteis seek separation. This is where Muivah’s ideology and my writings clash: I see an inseparable bond, while he pushes for a distinct Naga identity that pulls Tangkhuls away from their Meetei kin. My work celebrates our shared heritage, but his vision seeks to redefine it, creating a fault line that fuels misunderstanding.

The NSCN (IM) and Muivah deny any historical connection between the Meetei and Tangkhul, claiming that any ties are limited to the Tangkhul residing in Hungdung. Acknowledging a deeper connection could weaken their Naga identity. However, in Meetei tradition, Tangkhul women are revered, with one worshipped as the goddess Nongpok Ireima, a Tangkhul woman married to the Meetei king Tabungba. The presence of Tangkhul community members is essential during the Lai Haraoba festival honoring Ima Nongpok Ireima. Additionally, Irengba, a Meetei, married Pidongnu Nuphabi, daughter of Tangkhul Chief Khayingba, known to the Meetei as Haoreima Tamheibi. 

For three decades, I’ve grappled with complex feelings about Thuingaleng Muivah, whom I regard with a grandfatherly reverence. Our divide is not personal but stems from a clash of visions for Manipur, rooted in deep ideological differences. As a Meetei, I’ve harbored resentment toward him, particularly for his assertion that the Tangkhul are Naga, distinct from our shared Manipuri identity. Ironically, I owe my career as an independent historical researcher to Ipu Muivah, as my work began primarily to counter his claims that the Tangkhul have no connection with the Meetei. The deeper I delved into my research, the more convinced I became that the Meetei and Tangkhul are inseparable, widening the rift between us.

His followers have fiercely opposed my writings, and I, in turn, have persisted in uncovering what my research reveals, perpetuating an ongoing enmity. Yet, when I learned a few weeks ago that Muivah was hospitalized, my heart sank. Three Tangkhul figures—Rungsung Suisa, Yangmasho Shaiza, and Thuingaleng Muivah—have profoundly shaped Manipur’s political history. Though I never met the first two, I long to meet Muivah to discuss our state’s future. At 91, after 50 years of absence, he deserves to return to his birthplace in Somdal, Ukhrul district of Manipur, whom he never acknowledged as his home state. Why must Muivah return now? Because the call of home is universal, and his homecoming could ignite reconciliation between our divided communities. 

My opposition to Muivah hinges on identity. He insists the Tangkhul are Naga, distinct from the Meetei, but I see us as blood brothers, bound by Manipuri soil. If we are kin, how can one claim a Naga identity while the other remains Meetei? Our shared history demands a unified Manipuri identity, embracing both communities as equals. This belief has driven my resistance to Muivah’s cause, which I see as fracturing the Meetei-Tangkhul bond, leaving scars on Manipur.

Speaking out has come at a cost. I’ve faced  threats, even life attempt for challenging Muivah’s narrative, for questioning the Naga identity he champions. Yet, I’ve sought to understand him. I visited Somdal, sat in the playground where he played, and met his relatives. Walking those paths, I imagined a young Muivah, full of dreams, shaped by the same hills that shaped me. My deepest regret is that I wasn’t born in his era, in his prime. Had we met then, I believe I could have persuaded him to stand and fight for a united Manipur—a state where Meetei and Tangkhul stand together, unbreakable. Had Muivah chosen this path, Manipur might be a beacon of unity today, free from the conflicts tearing at its soul.

In 2010, when Muivah last tried to enter Manipur, the Congress government, led by then-Chief Minister Okram Ibobi, blocked him at Mao Gate in Senapati district. The decision, made without consulting the Naga peace talks, unleashed protests and violence. Ibobi’s refusal to allow Muivah’s entry, despite central directives, branded him a threat in some eyes, even an “international terrorist.” The state’s heavy-handed response—using force against peaceful protesters—was a grave mistake. It alienated the Naga districts, widened the valley-hill divide, and turned a potential moment of dialogue into a festering wound.

The Meetei community, dominant in the Imphal Valley, has long viewed the hills as an extension of our historical pride, a dawn of civilizations, from the coronation of Nongda Lairen Pakhangba in the first century AD to Pamheiba’s victory over the Burmese. The Mera Hou chongba and Hao Macha Loishang connects Meeteis and Tangkhuls deeply, historically, culturally and politically. The arrival of Hinduism and Christianity in the region divided the two communities. The birth of the Naga Nation further deepened this rift, providing fertile ground for Muivah’s movement to flourish.

The Naga movement, from Angami Zapu Phizo to Muivah, has challenged Manipur’s unity in ways that cut deep. For Nagas, Meetei resistance to their unification efforts is a barrier to “Greater Nagalim.” Early on, the Indian Authority viewed the Naga movement as a threat to the Union, fearing it could inspire secession across the Northeast. But times have shifted. The 2015 Framework Agreement between Muivah and the NDA government under Prime Minister Narendra Modi hinted at a settlement, yet a decade later, it remains stalled, with demands for a Naga flag and constitution proving divisive. For Muivah, in his twilight years, time is slipping away.

Had Muivah been allowed to visit his home in 2010, the outcome might have been different—a moment of connection rather than conflict. My wish for his 2025 visit is that Manipur learns from this mistake. Let him come home without obstruction, without fear. Let his presence spark conversations, not clashes. I want the state to show wisdom, treating Muivah’s visit as a humanitarian gesture, not a political threat. As  former Deputy CM, Yumnam Joykumar of the National People’s Party noted, with President’s Rule in place and Muivah in his later years, allowing him to visit Somdal could be a step toward peace.

More than anything, I want Muivah’s journey to be beautiful, unmarred by politics or violence. Our differences remain, but they don’t define us. Muivah’s fight, however divisive, was born of love for his people, just as my stance is born of love for a united Manipur.

I pray his visit to be a turning point—a moment when Meetei and Tangkhul see each other as brothers. The call of the umbilical cord is universal, and Muivah’s desire to return home resonates with me, as it should with all Manipuris. Let us forgive the past, not to erase it, but to build a future where Meitei and Tangkhul, valley and hill, can coexist as equals!