Why President's Rule in Manipur Fails the Churachandpur IDPs and the Relief Committee JNIMS

More than 897 days have passed since the violence of May 3, 2023, yet the wounds remain fresh in Manipur. For the thousands of Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs), the imposition of President’s Rule on February 13, 2025, has not brought relief—it has compounded their suffering. What was once a crisis of displacement has now become a crisis of misgovernance under the President Rule. 

Under the previous elected government, IDPs had access to legislators who could listen, respond, and advocate for their needs. Relief camps had channels—however imperfect—for voicing grievances. But since the Union Government assumed direct control through the Governor’s office, those channels have been replaced by bureaucratic machinery that feels distant, indifferent, and unaccountable. The District Commissioners now oversee relief operations, but their approach has been marked by procedural rigidity rather than empathetic engagement.

For the relief camps in Churachandpur and the Relief Committee of Jawaharlal Nehru Institute of Medical Sciences (JNIMS), Imphal, the shift in administration has been felt acutely. Promises of rehabilitation and reintegration remain unfulfilled. The IDPs, many of whom are women, children, and the elderly, continue to live in overcrowded camps without adequate access to healthcare, education, and livelihood opportunities. The absence of elected representatives has created a vacuum where despair thrives.

In simple words, bureaucratic governance under President's Rule is deaf to their pleas, perpetuating apathy, inequality, and institutional collapse. The IDP narrative in Churachandpur unfolds as a saga of inequity and erasure. Anthony Naulak, a Paite IDP uprooted by the 2023 violence and now based in Delhi, has become an unlikely sentinel for the voiceless. Once a local resident, his relocation hasn't dulled his resolve; it has amplified it. Anthony Naulak's journey from letter-writing to litigation exposes the hollowness of bureaucratic promises. 

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On July 28, 2025, Naulak penned urgent missives to the Deputy Commissioner (DC) of Churachandpur and the Chief Secretary of Manipur, as well as the Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India, detailing horrors unearthed during his personal tours of camps like Bijang Loubuk,Zoumunnuam, ZYO Hall Awnchinkap, S. Belpuan, and Zoumun. At least 14 deaths from untreated illnesses—many mental health-related—haunt these sites, where clean water, sanitation, and electricity are luxuries. 

Over 100 families cram into spaces with just 2-3 makeshift toilets, subsisting on two meager meals daily that erode both health and dignity. Babies lack diapers; the ill, proper care. Financial aid, a threadbare lifeline, reveals stark discrimination. While valley camps in Moirang, Bishnupur, and Imphal receive Rs. 85 per person daily, the IDPs in Churachandpur and Kangpokpi got a paltry Rs. 1,000 twice in two years—barely enough for survival, let alone rebuilding. 

Anthony Naulak demanded transparency: lists of all camps, detailed fund allocations from state and central coffers, utilization reports, and responses to irregularities, like the frantic curtain installations two days before Supreme Court judges' March 22, 2025, visit, as exposed by several National Media.

Weeks passed without reply. Undeterred, Naulak escalated to the Manipur High Court via a Public Interest Litigation(PIL). His suit spotlights not just immediate relief—equitable aid, mental health support, basic amenities—but root failures: poor infrastructure, discriminatory distribution, and incompetence that mocks judicial oversight. 

Whether or not the High Court of Manipur accepts Anthony’s Public Interest Litigation (PIL), the very act of an Internally Displaced Person (IDP) turning to the judiciary speaks volumes. It reflects a desperate attempt to be heard in a system where bureaucrats, under President’s Rule, have failed to acknowledge the voices of the displaced. This journey to the court is not just legal—it is a powerful testament to the deepening plight and marginalization of the people. 

While former Chief Secretary Prashant Kumar Singh promotes the government’s three-phase resettlement plan as a path to closure by December 2025, voices like Anthony Naulak’s—through a Public Interest Litigation (PIL)—raise urgent concerns about its credibility. 

Without transparency and accountability, such promises risk becoming political mirages. As October nears its end, questions loom over the actual progress of Phase 1 and Phase 2. How many Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) have truly returned home remains unclear. Meanwhile, numerous families continue to endure subhuman conditions in relief camps, with prefabricated housing and financial aid still out of reach for many.

Another non camp IDP, Sang Suantak from Churachandpur have also voiced a compelling complaint to the Deputy Commissioner, spotlighting persistent neglect and disparities in their treatment. Despite hopes pinned on the President's Rule administration, the IDPs note with frustration that, nearly a year later, conditions remain unchanged. While valley IDPs access facilities readily, those in Churachandpur continue to suffer under a contrasting reality.  

Their grievances include the undelivered Rs. 80/day aid, the neglect of non-camper IDPs who receive no relief material—many even chased from camps initially and administrative lethargy, with SDOs and the DC's office reluctant to assist families of deceased IDPs, forcing them to exhaust themselves chasing certificates and aid. 

Sang Suantak also highlight unanswered RTIs, unpublished camp lists, and stalled schemes—prefabricated houses, PMAY, and compensation. With substantial staff and resources, they argue that addressing the needs of 30,000 IDPs should not be a challenge.  They contend that if the enthusiasm from PM Modi’s visit to Churachandpur had been directed toward their concerns, progress might have been achieved by now. This open letter, circulated in Social Media by Sang Suantak, reflects the collective frustration of the community.

As Manipur reels under the weight of President’s Rule, the cracks in its public health infrastructure have widened into chasms. The Relief Committee JNIMS also plans to submit a memorandum to the President of India, seeking urgent intervention in the management of JNIMS Hospital during President's Rule, if the Governor's administration fails to address the facility's ongoing issues. 

Expressing serious concern over the neglect of government healthcare institutions, including JNIMS, the committee demands immediate road repairs within a one-kilometer radius of the hospital. If these issues remain unresolved, it will formally appeal to the President, highlighting the PR administration's failure to fulfill its responsibilities in the state's health sector.

A recent press release from the Relief Committee lays bare the frustration and despair gripping one of the state’s most vital institutions. The Committee is now preparing a memorandum to the President of India—not as a ceremonial gesture, but as a desperate cry for intervention. It is a howl against systemic abandonment, a plea from the heart of a collapsing institution.

The conditions at JNIMS are emblematic of a broader governance failure. Chronic understaffing has left wards skeletal, with senior doctors resigning in alarming numbers, citing burnout and administrative apathy. The exodus of experienced medical personnel has hollowed out departments that once served as lifelines. Radiology and cardiology, for instance, are now operating with outdated equipment—some of it decades old—turning critical care into a gamble. Medical errors and preventable tragedies are no longer anomalies; they are symptoms of a system in decay.

Patients and their attendants report a grim reality: unresponsive staff, inadequate bedside care, and a pervasive sense of neglect. Yet, despite mounting complaints, corrective measures remain elusive. 

The twin floods of 2024 and 2025 have only deepened the crisis. Access roads to the hospital have become treacherous paths riddled with potholes and debris, making emergency transport a perilous ordeal. For vulnerable groups—pregnant women in labor, the elderly struggling to breathe, trauma victims hanging by a thread—these delays are not mere inconveniences. They are life-threatening. Relief Committee JNIMS, this urged the PR administration to plan the Flood management in the hospital. 

At the center of this administrative inertia is the Commissioner of Health, Sumant Singh (IAS), who also serves as Secretary to the Governor, Ajay Kumar Bhalla. His dual role places him in direct charge of the state’s health apparatus, yet the silence from his office is deafening. Basic maintenance, procurement of diagnostic tools, and recruitment of medical staff have been deprioritized, leaving professionals trapped in untenable conditions and patients in limbo.

Under the President’s Rule, the Governor’s administration is expected to uphold rigorous oversight and ensure essential services function without disruption. Instead, JNIMS’s deterioration signals a profound governance vacuum. If even the state’s flagship hospital is allowed to crumble, what hope remains for the displaced masses it is meant to serve? The memorandum from the Relief Committee is not just a document—it is a warning. A society that cannot protect its healers cannot heal its wounds. 

As relief camps continue to house thousands of  internally displaced people, a troubling undercurrent of corruption has begun to surface—one that exposes not just financial mismanagement, but a deeper failure of governance under President’s  Rule. 

The silence from the Governor’s administration in the face of mounting evidence has left the public stunned and disillusioned. In mid-2025, activists Yumkhaibam Shyam Singh and Heisnam Sushil Singh filed a series of Right to Information (RTI) queries that unearthed alarming irregularities in the relief camps established in Moirang. 

Their findings, covering expenditures from May 3, 2023, to August 25, 2025, revealed a staggering outlay of Rs. 23.21 crore—an average of Rs. 51,121 per Internally Displaced Person (IDP)—on basic provisions such as rice, salt, and camp renovations. 

But the numbers tell a story of absurdity and exploitation. Among the most egregious revelations was a Rs. 35.19 lakh expenditure on salt alone—an amount that translates to an implausible 157 grams per person per day, purchased at inflated rates. Meanwhile, camp residents report a stark absence of nutritional diversity: fish, eggs, and even bananas are rare luxuries. For many, daily meals consist of little more than rice and dal, served in conditions that barely meet humanitarian standards.

The Manipur State Congress Party, in a press conference held on September 3, 2025, condemned the revelations as part of a“money-minting scheme” and called for a judicial probe. Yet, as October draws to a close, no inquiry has been initiated. This lack of accountability not only undermines the spirit of the RTI Act but also reinforces the systemic inequities that activists like Anthony Naulak have long decried—where valley regions receive disproportionate attention and resources, while hill communities languish in neglect.

Normally, President’s Rule was meant to restore order and ensure impartial governance. Instead, it has become a cloak for opacity and indifference. The oversight it promised has proven illusory, much like the aid it claims to deliver. In the absence of transparency and justice, the displaced are left not only without homes—but without hope. 

President's Rule was invoked under Article 356 to mend a fractured state, yet it has calcified divides. While the Centre eyes camp closures and border fencing, on-the-ground realities—paint a picture of inertia. The IDPs and relief advocates aren't agitators; they're survivors demanding dignity. 

If the Governor’s regime cannot mend a hospital road or ensure fair distribution of aid, it forces a deeper reckoning: what governs Manipur today, and for whom? As Anthony Naulak seeks justice through the courts, the open letter from Sang Suantak and the JNIMS Relief Committee pleads with Rashtrapati Bhavan, the clock does not pause—it accelerates the erosion of trust. 

Time is no longer a buffer for resolution; it has become a catalyst for abandonment. The displaced, the sick, the forgotten—they cannot wait for promises to mature. What’s needed now is swift, inclusive, and transparent action that transcends bureaucratic platitudes. Without it, President’s Rule risks becoming not a temporary measure, but a permanent scar etched into the soul of Manipur.