The insurgent movements in Northeast India, particularly in Manipur, cannot be viewed in isolation from the broader canvas of colonial history, structural neglect, and the politics of identity. These movements are products of layered historical grievances and thus deserve more than just security-centric responses. They demand rigorous academic inquiry. Understanding insurgency through this lens is not about legitimising violence, but about recognising the complexities that underlie political resistance—and how these continue to shape electoral politics in Manipur. For the past year, it appears to many that Bimol Akoijam is the only parliamentarian from the state who resembles more a nationalist waging a liberation struggle in the halls of the Indian Parliament—ironically from within the very institution that has long denied the legitimacy of the region’s more than five-decade-old movement. In doing so, his position risks blurring the lines between the region’s historical struggle for self-determination and the parliamentary nationalism that often seeks to subsume it.
There is a troubling trend in the public sphere where intellectuals shy away from engaging with the long-standing movements that have shaped this region’s history. Often, they cite the presence of state surveillance—suggesting that the state is always watching and listening. At other times, the blame is deflected by citing security concerns around insurgent groups, as if public discussion or writing would expose sensitive operational details. Yet, the reality is that intelligence agencies based in Delhi often appear more informed about our lived experiences than the very people affected on the ground. This erasure of local knowledge, combined with silence from our own thinkers, only deepens the alienation and misunderstanding. We must reject this paralysis—whether caused by fear, convenience, or complicity. It is not only an academic duty but a moral obligation for scholars, writers, and public intellectuals to interrogate the political conditions we live under. To shy away from such inquiry is to allow others—often far removed from our realities—to define our truths for us.
As Gunnar Myrdal reminds us in Objectivity in Social Research, the social sciences are never free of bias; rather, acknowledging our moral and political standpoints strengthens the depth and relevance of our analysis. In that spirit, I write from a position shaped by my own commitments to justice, democracy, and the right to political expression. Professor Naorem Sanajaoba once wrote in a local paper that rejecting electoral politics does not disqualify someone from commenting on its functioning—an assertion that continues to echo during every election cycle. In Manipur, Delhi’s role has been more direct, often bypassing or undermining the elected state government, and in some cases even appearing complicit in the deepening of the crisis. This asymmetry reveals not only a geographical distance but also a hierarchy of concern—where some citizens are more equal than others in the eyes of the Republic. Amid a history of resistance spanning over five decades, shaped by demands for justice and dignity, the former academic-turned-parliamentarian Akoijam dismissed the spirit of that struggle by declaring he would not follow Delhi’s instructions if made Chief Minister. His response to a senior Meitei journalist in an event celebrating one year of his journey as parliamentarian reflects not just defiance of central authority, but a troubling disregard for the political memory and collective sacrifices that have long defined the region’s struggle.
When democratic institutions appear to falter, insurgent voices often derive legitimacy by default. Yet, it is crucial to distinguish between insurgency as an armed manifestation of political frustration and parliamentary democracy as an institutionalised avenue for dissent. Bimol Akoijam appears to straddle this delicate intersection, but in doing so, he risks crossing a line—blurring the roles of an elected representative and a movement that has existed for decades. However committed he may be, the burden of a long-standing political struggle is not his alone to claim or represent. Parliamentary dissent must be exercised with restraint and clarity—not by absorbing a movement that belongs to a wider historical and collective struggle. For instance, Akoijam’s acknowledging former Chief Minister Okram Ibobi, in reference to a news clip where Ibobi is quoted saying that if the Centre fails to intervene in the Gwaltabi incident, then the people should rule themselves free from India, is nothing more than political satire—and one that does not deserve celebration. A chief minister who held power for the longest period and played a central role in counterinsurgency operations that led to the killing of thousands making such a statement—and Akoijam endorsing it as an act of defiance—is a mockery of the historical grievances that once led many youths to take up arms. Yes, Akoijam has crossed the line.
The youth of Manipur today are navigating a difficult and deeply complex landscape, marked by a continuous cycle of ethnic violence driven by identity politics and years of political neglect. For decades, generations have sought to use electoral politics to achieve human dignity and meaningful change, yet these efforts have often failed to deliver. In this context, figures like Akoijam risk misleading the youth by offering hollow promises and shifting loyalties that prioritize personal ambition over collective progress. Akoijam’s foray into electoral politics invites reflection on the blurred boundaries between academic engagement and political ambition. For some time, Akoijam maintained a visible presence in public discourse, often positioning himself as a critical voice on the Northeast in the national media. However, his interventions during the ongoing ethnic conflict in Manipur seemed increasingly shaped by a desire to enter the political mainstream, rather than a sustained academic commitment to unpacking the structural roots of the crisis. This shift was subtly reflected in the nature of his public commentary, which at times appeared more performative and chauvinistic than analytical. This pattern risks perpetuating the same political manoeuvring that has long hindered the region’s quest for dignity, peace, and real progress. The youth of today deserve leaders who truly embody their struggles and hopes—not those who treat politics as a platform for personal advancement.
Akoijam’s entry into Parliament may carry symbolic weight, but resolving the decades long political conflict in Manipur requires more than individual representation or rhetorical gestures. It demands a collective and sustained engagement that goes beyond the scope of parliamentary politics. Placing the burden of resolution on a lone parliamentarian not only misreads the depth of the conflict but also sidelines the role of civil society, intellectuals, and the communities most affected. If we are serious about peace and natural justice, we must move beyond personalities and invest in deeper, more inclusive dialogues.
The writer is an independent researcher and holds a Ph.D. from the Centre for the Study of Law and Governance, Jawaharlal Nehru University, JNU, New Delhi.
