When those miscreants—struck at Nambol, it wasn’t just an attack on jawans; it was a slap in the face to any fragile truce. Locals in Nambol, women leading the charge, rallied in fury, their voices raw with grief for the fallen. CoTU’s right to rage there. But here’s where it twists into something almost comical, like a meme that’s gone viral for all the wrong reasons: the sheer pick-and-choose nature of their fury.
The gut-wrenching ambush on September 19, 2025, near Nambol in Bishnupur district, where two Assam Rifles jawans were gunned down and five others wounded by what everyone’s calling unidentified assailants was condemned by everyone. It’s the kind of hit-and-run that leaves you staring at the screen, wondering how a place so beautiful can harbor such ugliness.
Yet, amid the grief, a flicker of humanity emerged from the valley: local residents rushed to aid the wounded soldiers, ferrying them to hospitals despite the chaos. By dawn the next day, Meira Paibi and villagers staged unprecedented protests, condemning the assault on the 33rd Assam Rifles. For the first time in the state’s turbulent history, ordinary Manipuris united in revulsion against the bloodshed, signaling a collective exhaustion with violence that has claimed over 300 lives and displaced tens of thousands.
Enter the Committee on Tribal Unity (CoTU), the Kuki mouthpiece that’s become as much a fixture in this saga as the endless cycle of blockades and blame games. Barely had the echoes of gunfire faded when CoTU fired off a press release thicker with indignation than a monsoon downpour.
They condemned the attack—fair enough, violence is violence—but then piled on: questions about why peace gestures like the Free Movement Regime (FMR) are still kicking when even central forces aren’t safe, paeans to their own restraint under the Suspension of Operations (SoO) deals.
Oh, and let’s not forget the kicker: a three-day economic blockade across Kangpokpi district, slamming shut National Highways 2 and 102 from midnight tonight until September 25, all in protest of the government’s “delay in action.” Trucks will sit idle, fuel prices will spike, patients will bear the pain due to non availability of their pills on time—because nothing says “committed to peace” like holding an entire state’s lifeline hostage.
Flash back to the attack on Security forces by Kuki militants at the height of Manipur violence, 13 Jawans were killed. No vigils, no rallies, no blockade throttling the highways in righteous protest. Just silence, thick as the fog in those hills. Fast-forward nearly two years, and two jawans go down—unidentified miscreants this time—and suddenly it’s all hands on deck: pressers, ultimatums, the works. What’s the measuring stick here, folks? The uniform of the dead? Or is it just whatever serves the narrative du jour?
I can’t shake this feeling that CoTU’s playbook is written in invisible ink—visible only when it suits. They tout the SoO agreements as proof of their peace-loving creds, those pacts with underground groups that got a fresh coat of paint just last month. Noble, sure, but it dodges the FMR’s darker side: that porous Indo-Myanmar border letting in arms and agitators like uninvited guests at a funeral. And the PM’s “delayed visit”? Modi finally touched down on September 13, urging peace in a speech.
Then there’s the big ask: separate administration under Article 239A, pitched as the magic elixir for Northeast stability. CoTU’s banging that drum loud, urging the Home Ministry to get cracking on this “long-pending demand.” Long-pending? The chorus only swelled post-May 2023, after the tribal march lit the fuse. By early 2025, it was non-negotiable, with CoTU stonewalling talks unless the hills get hived off. I sympathize—the Kuki feel squeezed between valley dominance and Delhi’s dithering—but carving up Manipur?
The blockade itself? It’s the gut punch. Shutting down highways isn’t protest; it’s punishment, trampling Article 14’s promise of equal freedom for every soul from Imphal to Dimapur. Essentials rot in queues, the vulnerable pay the price—echoes of those January 2025 shutdowns when CoTU extended the pain amid governor swearing-ins.
And pinning it on Governor Ajay Kumar Bhalla’s “inability” under some phantom President’s Rule? Come on. The man’s reviewing security grids post-ambush, balancing a state where rioters—yes, including those storming stations in Churachandpur and Kangpokpi—could tip the scales with one wrong move. Blaming him for not lobbing tear gas at “our side” while ignoring the rest?
Manipur’s mess isn’t black-and-white. Condemn it all, every drop of blood, hill or valley. Ditch the blockades for real talks—beef up the SoO, fence that border. Manipur deserves better than outrage on a timer. It deserves healing, before the punchline writes itself in more graves.
And let’s not sugarcoat the rot at CoTU’s core: their double standards are a disgrace that poisons any claim to moral high ground. Where was the thunder when Kuki militants gunned down those 13 Security personals, leaving a trail of challenges against the National Security.
Utter silence—no press release, no rally, just the wind whistling through the empty streets. And fast-forward to 2024 and 2025, when Kuki mobs—women at the forefront—stormed the SP’s office in Kangpokpi, hurling stones and projectiles that injured top cops, all in a frenzy against central force deployments.
Similar chaos engulfed Churachandpur police station amid the same protest fever. Did CoTU lift a finger to rein in the violence, to condemn the assault on the very forces meant to protect everyone? Nope. Just more blockades and shutdowns, fanning the flames they now decry elsewhere. This isn’t advocacy; it’s hypocrisy with a victim card banner, eroding trust one selective tear at a time. The state future hangs by a thread—CoTU, cut the crocodile act and stand for all lives, or step aside for those who will.
Enjoy the Editorial of Signpost News, edited every Tuesday.