Why our Meitei unity faded after 18 June 2001

On 18 June 2001, I was far from the heart of Manipur, stayng in Delhi, unable to stand shoulder to shoulder with the brave and courageous brothers and sisters who flooded the streets of Imphal during the “Great June Uprising.” That day, our people protested against Centre's decision to extend the ceasefire agreement with the National Socialist Council of Nagaland-Isak-Muivah (NSCN-IM) to Manipur’s territory without consulting our state. Thousands marched, but the cost was devastating—18 Meitei martyrs fell to security forces’ bullets. Meanwhile in Delhi, I joined a rally organized by some Delhi and Chandigarh based Meitei groups. Yet, that day taught me a hard lesson about our people: out of 500 gathered at the rally, over 50 claimed to be leaders. It struck me—one leader for every 10 followers. I realized then that we Meiteis often resist following advice or leadership; too many of us want to lead.

This fragmentation, I see now, plagues some of our Meitei Civil Society Organizations (CSOs). But I also look to groups like Arambai Tenggol, whose members follow their leader Korounganba Khuman with unwavering trust, not blindly, but with a unity I admire. Imagine a non-profit entity with nearly one lakh members, without rigid ranks, united under one leader. Why don’t we see this trust in other CSOs? This question drives me as I reflect on our path forward. I feel the unity of 2001 slipping through my fingers, replaced by a generation that’s lost faith in our collective strength.

The “Great June Uprising of 2001” was more than a protest; it was our collective awakening. I wasn’t there to witness those unsung leaders who stood at the forefront, but I heard how they faced danger alongside our people, inspiring them with action, not just words. Their courage birthed organizations like the All Manipur United Clubs Organisation (AMUCO) and the United Committee Manipur (UCM) later on , which became our voice for preserving Manipur’s cultural and territorial integrity. Despite the pain, June 18 became our rallying cry, showing me that Meitei unity is our greatest strength. Every year, on “Unity Day,” I honor those 18 martyrs, their sacrifice a reminder of what we can achieve together.

Now, I see our Manipur at a crossroads, facing a crisis that demands the same fire we showed in 2001. The violence on 3 May 2023, in Churachandpur, orchestrated by Kuki leaders backed by militants under the Suspension of Operation (SoO), struck at our core. It wasn’t just an attack—it was a calculated move to destabilize our home and crush our spirit. As a Meitei, I feel the weight of cultural erosion, political marginalization, and the fear that we might become refugees in our own land. Our cry of “Manipur Kaiba Yaroi” (Manipur Cannot Be Broken) feels hollow if we don’t live by “Meitei Ani Thokpa Yaroi” (Meiteis Cannot Be Divided). I believe our survival depends on uniting as one, and I’m ready to do my part.

Each June 18, I join others to lay flowers, light candles, and listen to speeches for our martyrs. These moments stir my soul, but I know they’re not enough. Tributes won’t save us. The unity I felt in 2001, even from afar, is fracturing. Each years, visitors data dwindled, which is an insult to those who sacrifice their lives for us. Our CSOs, like AMUCO and UCM, are trying, but their efforts lack cohesion. Political differences among our leaders have divided our people. I’m frustrated that our Meitei MLAs and MPs don’t speak with one voice, weakening our stand. Worse, I’m disheartened when some CSO leaders urge us to protest, face tear gas, or brave mock bombs, only to stay back and issue press statements. That’s not true leadership. I want our CSO leaders to stand at the forefront, sharing our risks, not just asking us to face them. True leaders inspire trust, like Arambai Tenggol’s Korounganba who commands nearly one lakh followers with a unity I envy. Why can’t other CSOs foster such trust? I believe it’s because too many leaders prioritize prominence over sacrifice, unlike the selfless example set during the 2001 uprising.

But as I reflect on June 18, a question gnaws at me: how many of us truly remember the names of those 18 martyrs who gave their lives for Manipur? Their sacrifice is the foundation of our unity, yet I wonder if we’ve let their memory fade. Okram Ramananda of Langathel Mayai Leikai, Laitonjam Rajkumar of Uripok Khoisnam Leikai, Laishram Ongbi RK Tamphasana of Kwakeithel Moirang Purel, Thokchom Lalit of Yaiskul Janmasthan, Bachaspatimayum Naocha of Keishamthong Elangbam Leikai, Khoisnam Shinghajit of Liwa Lambi Maibam Leikai, Amom Rajen of Naoremthong Takhellambam Leikai, Kshetrimayum Romeo of Singjamei Kshetri Leikai, Rishikanta Yumnam of Khagempalli Panthak, Gurumayum Dutta of Kwakeithel Konjeng Leikai, Sagolsem Surchandra of Porompat Thawanthaba Leikai, Thokchom Wilson of Nongmeibung, Thoudam Guneshwor of Khoijuman Mamang Leikai, Konsam Kameshwar and Kshetrimayum Jiban of Khurai Konsam Leikai, Mayanglambam Manikanta of Awang Sekmai, Thingom Birendra of Chingamakha Irom Leirak, and Chabungbam Bharat of Awang Khunou Mamang Leikai—these are the heroes who fell during the agitations. Their names should be etched in our hearts, not just in memorials. Hundreds others have suffered lifelong disabilities as well. I challenge any leader in Manipur who speaks of protecting our territorial integrity: can you name even one of these martyrs correctly? If we cannot honor their memory with the respect of remembering their names, how can we claim to fight for the unity they died for? This forgetfulness is a symptom of our disunity, and it pains me to see their sacrifice reduced to annual rituals.

At Kekrupat, where these 18 lives were laid down, stands the Unity Pillar, a solemn monument to their sacrifice. But I ask myself: what does this pillar mean if we don’t unite now? Its name feels like a hollow promise when our community remains divided. The Unity Pillar should be more than a landmark; it should be a call to action, urging us to stand as one Meitei people, just as those martyrs did in their final moments. If we let their legacy fade into mere stone and ceremonies, we betray the very unity they died for. I feel a pang of guilt every time I pass by, knowing that without our collective resolve, the pillar’s meaning is just a name.
The sacrifices for our unity did not end in 2001. Since the violence erupted on 3 May 2023, Selfless members of the cultural organizations like the Arambai Tenggol members and village volunteers have also laid down their lives defending Meitei villages and our future. I mourn these unsung heroes, whose sacrifices echo the 18 martyrs of June 18. Their deaths, like those at Kekrupat, remind me that unity comes at a cost, and I feel a deep responsibility to honor them by ensuring their fight was not in vain. Without a unified Meitei community, their blood, spilled to protect our land and culture, risks being forgotten, just as we risk forgetting the names of 2001’s martyrs. This cannot happen—we must remember and unite.

I know we must unite to face threats—cultural, political, existential—that exploit our divisions. Our diversity—Sanamahi, Hindu, Christian, Brahmin—is our pride, but I believe we’re Meitei first. Our shared heritage is our strength, not the differences others use to divide us. June 18 taught me that unity is our lifeline, a force to overcome any challenge. I’m committed to standing with every Meitei, regardless of faith, to protect our land and future.

I’m inspired by our youth, carrying June 18’s torch through Arambai Tenggol and Village Volunteers. I see them risking everything to defend our villages, standing firm against Kuki militant threats, later to be hounded by Agencies like NIA and CBI. Village Volunteers and Arambai Tenggol’s unity, rooted in trust for their leader, mirrors the devotion I wish all CSOs could inspire. Their sacrifice gives me hope, but I know they can’t do it alone. I feel a responsibility—as do all Meiteis—to support them. We need the passion that shook Imphal in 2001, and I’m ready to give my all.

Action, not words, is what I believe we need. Our CSOs must lead, building on AMUCO and UCM’s legacy to unite us. I want them to hold dialogues where every Meitei CSO, Student Organisations and Meira Paibis has a voice, breaking down walls. Politically, I urge our leaders to fight for policies protecting our rights and Manipur’s sovereignty and integrity. 

The threats shake me. The 3 May 2023 violence was part of a plan to weaken us and destabilize Manipur. I fear that without unity, we’ll lose our voice, our identity, our home. As a Meitei, I can’t accept becoming a refugee in our own land. But I draw hope from our history. June 18 showed me that together, we can defy odds. Those 18 martyrs gave their lives for a united Manipur, and their legacy lives in me, as do the sacrifices of Arambai Tenggol  and village volunteers today. 

The present crisis demands more than memories. The repeated attack on Meitei in Moreh and Churachandpur and Kuki militants threats are my wake-up call. I see our disunity—among political leaders, CSOs, localities—as our weakness. Arambai Tenggol’s trust in one leader, with one lakh followers united without ranks, shows me what’s possible. Why don’t other CSOs inspire this? I believe it’s our tendency to all want to lead, as I saw in Delhi’s rally in 2001. We must learn to follow trusted leaders to achieve unity. June 18’s success came from unity—students, women, elders, all together. I call on CSO leaders to stand with us in protests, face the struggle, don’t just send us forward.

Our enemies fear our unity. The 3 May 2023 attack aimed to break us, but I refuse to let it. The martyrs of 18 June 2001 and the Arambai Tenggol warriors who fell since 2023 showed me sacrifice can shape history. I honor them not just with candles but by fighting for a Manipur where we thrive, remembering their names as a call to unity. I hope our CSO leaders must inspire trust, not just call for sacrifice. 

The unity I felt on 18 June 2001, was a fire that burned bright; today, it’s barely a spark. To reignite it, I believe we need to listen to the youth, not just preach to them. We need leaders who bridge our generation’s dreams with our shared history. I long for the day when we can stand together again, not as a fractured people but as the Meitei who shook Manipur in 2001. Until then, I carry the weight of a shattered unity, praying my community can find its way back.