Three Tangkhul leaders stepped into the offices of Chief Minister Yumnam Khemchand Singh, clutching a single line of demands: more security forces and a clear plan to stop the ongoing harassment.
“Every night, we hear gunshots and then silence,” said a spokesperson from Sinakeithei, a village 45 km out of Imphal. The experience isn’t new—repeated armed attacks have made even the loudest street a place of fear. The delegation, flanked by NPF MLA Ram Muivah, pressed the point hard. Chiefs, ministers, elected officials. It’s a direct ask: back their people with boots and boots.
The background is rougher than the headlines paint. On May 13, a convoy carrying three Thadou Baptist leaders was ambushed on a dusty road between Churachandpur and Kangpokpi, days after a recent surge in ethnic tension. The assault killed the leaders and left six Tangkhul men missing. The men vanished without a trace, sparking blockades in key highways as both Tangkhul Naga and Kuki groups place the blame on each other. “We are lost,” a Kuki representative we’d spoken with said. “We are the invisible victims.”
But here's the problem: the two sides also lobby the state. The United Naga Council insists it is being pushed to secure the release of the missing men, while the Kuki Inpi Manipur retorts it has no clue of the whereabouts. The tension is thick enough that trucks stall on both sides of the road, and families hold their breath when a bus passes by. Lok Sabha’s eyes stay out of dispute; the state’s hands are busy, fingers fumbling over a policy sort of question: how do you stop a battle on your roadways.
What does this mean for Manipur’s future? A growing list of families waiting for answers, a shrinking sense that safety is only a line on a map, and a city where traffic snarls become a battlefield for identities. The incomplete choreography of law and local factions creates a void that no provincial power can fill. The missing men will not be seen as harmless alibis but as real, tangible evidence that power and compassion extend beyond the office walls. Yet the people keep shouting for a concrete plan that looks like less administrative paperwork and more boots on the ground.
When a deputy from Sinakeithei tossed a copy of the appeal into the CM’s desk, people outside the building cheered. Will the government’s stance shift beyond half‑hearted promises? How long will the highways curve in protest before a definitive answer can be given? The journey from chaos to order can be suddenly interrupted only by a single choice. Will that choice come soon enough?
