Manipur, a state in Northeast India, has been grappling with a devastating cycle of ethnic violence, fueled significantly by the rapid spread of misinformation and rumors. This isn’t a new phenomenon, but it reached a fever pitch in 2023, turning communities against each other with tragic consequences. We saw heart-wrenching examples, like live videos falsely accusing individuals of sexual violence, leading to horrific brutalities against Kuki-Zo women. The viral video of two Vaiphei women being paraded naked laid bare the cruel reality of how fake news could dehumanize and incite Mobs into unspeakable acts. In this climate of fear and suspicion, fabricated stories became potent weapons, hardening already polarized narratives and leading to countless instances of irreparable violence and loss of life. Despite the glaring evidence of this destructive pattern, the past three years have seen alarmingly little decisive action to address the root causes of this digital wildfire. This is a profound failure that has allowed a dangerous culture of misinformation to fester, turning communities into unwitting participants in their own destruction.
One particularly chilling incident demonstrates the sheer power of these rumors and the terrifying speed at which they can escalate. It all unfolded on April 14th, as I, a journalist, navigated the tense landscape between the Meitei-dominated Bishnupur and the tribal-dominated Churachandpur. This region had been a hotbed of unrest since April 7th, following the tragic explosion in Tronglaobi that claimed the lives of two Meitei children. Unsurprisingly, with such a potent incident, the rumor mill immediately kicked into overdrive. Whispers and outright false accusations began circulating, claiming that security forces were actively sheltering those responsible for the explosion. This incendiary disinformation quickly ignited the anger of mobs who, fueled by these lies, began attacking Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) camps. In one particularly violent encounter, when a mob attempted to raid an armory, the CRPF was forced to open fire, resulting in three deaths and numerous injuries. This devastating outcome predictably intensified the existing unrest and deepened the distrust felt by the Meitei community towards central forces. The subsequent protests and torch rallies across the valley, coupled with the continued suspension of mobile internet and intermittent curfews, paints a stark picture of a region teetering on the brink.
As I made my way along the highway towards Churachandpur, which coincidentally was quite close to the site of the explosion, I couldn’t help but notice the numerous barricades. These weren’t official checkpoints; they were set up by civilians and manned by resilient Meira Paibis, stern-faced women who embody a traditional form of social guardianship. My journalist’s credentials, however, seemed to grant me passage. Beyond these civilian blockades, at Torbung, the natural boundary between Churachandpur and Bishnupur, were six additional, heavily armed checkpoints manned by official security forces. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of unease that hinted at the fragility of peace. Returning around 2 PM, I was struck by the dramatic increase in women gathered on the highway near the Moirang junction. A Rapid Action Force (RAF) convoy, heading towards Imphal, was then met with a growing crowd in Naranseina, as people actively called for more individuals to join in blocking the security forces. When I asked what was happening, the answers were muddled, vague, and often contradictory. I initially assumed it was simply another attempt to impede the movement of security forces, a common occurrence during periods of unrest.
However, the situation quickly spiraled beyond what I had anticipated. As I continued past the RAF convoy and reached Phubala, the sheer size of the mob was astounding. The sight of a vehicle engulfed in flames on my left sent a shiver down my spine. Instructing my cab driver to stop a little further ahead, I got out at Thinungei, drawn by the escalating chaos. Again, the mob offered no clear explanation for their actions, leading me to a police convoy nearby – which I later learned belonged to the Superintendent of Police. Even a question directed at a Manipur Police Service officer yielded no answers. Suddenly, my attention was snatched by a white car hurtling towards us. It was already a wreck, its windows smashed, as a relentless barrage of rocks rained down upon it. The mob, a surging tide of humanity, surrounded the car, bringing it to a screeching halt. The driver, whom I immediately recognized as a Pangal, frantically leaped out and fled. Pushing closer, I peered through the shattered windows to see three people in the backseat, two clutching rifles. One man stepped out, and his accent instantly betrayed him as not being from Manipur. He carried a walkie-talkie, identical to those used by security forces. Even in civilian clothes, his identity as a member of the central forces was undeniable. In a frightening display of lawlessness, the mob began tearing his car apart.
To my horror, I then witnessed several mob members aggressively ordering the police personnel to leave, and in a shocking turn of events, the police vehicles did exactly that, quickly departing the scene. My own cab had vanished, leaving me stranded amidst a rapidly swelling mob. The people from the white car, with the exception of the individual I had identified as central forces, seemed to have somehow escaped. He, however, was not so fortunate. The mob had him. What followed was a brutal, sickening display of violence as he was relentlessly beaten right in front of my eyes. Spotting police vans parked a little further away, I ran towards them, pleading with them to intervene, to save the man who was being lynched. The police seemed bewildered, frozen by the ferocity of the crowd. A few agonizing minutes later, a police car finally managed to extract the battered man from the mob and brought him towards my location. As he stepped out of the police vehicle, his face was swollen and bleeding, his nose gushing. He identified himself as belonging to the “Assam Rifles” and, while trying to inform his superiors, told me there had been five people in the car, and he had no idea what had become of the others. During this terrifying ordeal, one man from the mob repeatedly screamed, “Why did the mob hit you?” His persistent cries, designed to draw attention, eventually brought more of the mob to our vicinity. By this point, the police vehicles that had briefly offered a glimmer of hope had again disappeared, leaving us exposed. An ambulance, carrying an injured protester, eventually passed through security personnel near the BJP office, a stark reminder of the larger clashes erupting across the region. It was clear that despite curfews and internet shutdowns, disinformation was spreading like wildfire, igniting mob violence and exposing the state’s utter failure to restore trust.
The situation only worsened. As I identified myself as a journalist and the injured officer confirmed he was with the Assam Rifles, the mob began to hurl accusations. They alleged that the officer was accompanying armed Kukis in his car. I was baffled, questioning them about the source of this outlandish claim. Some members of the mob claimed that Kukis had been sighted in the area and were being protected by security forces. This particular narrative was not new; it had been a recurring allegation since 2023, with Meiteis frequently accusing Central forces of being biased and aiding Kuki insurgents, particularly during periods of intense violence. While Central forces do indeed have extensive control over hill districts under the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958 (AFSPA), the idea of them facilitating Kuki movement into Meitei-dominated valley districts, especially where AFSPA was not applicable, seemed utterly absurd. It was clearly a deliberate piece of disinformation designed to create panic and distrust. I tried to reason with the mob, insisting that I had seen no Kukis in the car, and the confused officer echoed my sentiments, reiterating that he was traveling from Imphal alone. But their minds were made up. The narrative, “Armed Kukis are roaming around freely because of security forces,” was repeated relentlessly, a mantra of manufactured outrage. The argument grew heated, seemingly endless, until a man from the mob, in a shocking display of unprovoked aggression, lunged at the officer, striking him forcefully on the head in front of me. Immediately, others joined in, raining blows upon him with sticks and stones. In mere seconds, they dragged him away, continuing their brutal assault. In the distance, I saw smoke billowing from the white car, now engulfed in flames, and heard the piercing sirens of the RAF, finally arriving on the scene.
Ultimately, the officer, a Major and Company Commander with the Assam Rifles, along with others, were thankfully rescued by security forces. The root of this terrifying incident lay less than a kilometer away, at Ningthoukhong, where individuals blocking the highway had first stopped the white car. The women at that blockade, fueled by suspicion and existing tensions, immediately jumped to the conclusion that Kukis were inside. The car, with its tinted windows, made it difficult to see clearly, making it easy for assumptions to take hold. Even with internet suspended in five valley districts, a carefully crafted video of the incident quickly went viral. It showed the same white car, with a woman screaming in the background that there were Kukis inside. As men approached the vehicle, it sped away, solidifying the fabricated narrative in the minds of many. On social media, Meiteis echoed the accusations heard at Thinungei, claiming that security forces were actively assisting armed Kukis in traversing the valley districts. Conversely, many Kukis, tragically buying into the same rumor, expressed a desire to disassociate themselves from any Kuki who would willingly venture into the valley, given the community’s political stance. The sheer ease with which this disinformation spread, despite communication blackouts, highlights the deep-seated distrust and the fertile ground for rumor-mongering in Manipur.
The repercussions of this instance of misinformation were immediate and severe. At Moirang, a direct altercation erupted between the mob and security forces, resulting in over 30 people being hospitalized. What began as a rumor quickly escalated into a full-blown antagonism between residents of Imphal and the very forces meant to protect them. Daily rallies became hotbeds for further clashes, perpetuating the cycle of violence. In an attempt to address the escalating crisis, the Manipur police issued a statement on the day of the incident, asserting that those in the car were security personnel pursuing a lead after a drug bust. The following day, State Home Minister Govindas Konthoujam downplayed the violence at Thinungei as a “misunderstanding” between the public and security forces. Four individuals from the mob were arrested for inciting violence. However, this official narrative often feels like a superficial band-aid over a gaping wound. The harsh reality in Manipur is that misinformation has become an ingrained tool for orchestrating chaos. Every instance of unrest is exploited to disseminate polarizing videos, particularly in volatile peripheral areas. There are established networks that direct people to carry out actions like highway blockades, and individuals, whether willingly or not, become pawns in this dangerous theatrical display of unrest. The government’s dismissive characterization of the near-lynching of an officer as merely “sentiments running high” sends a dangerous message. This attitude emboldens civilians to believe they are above the law, leading to the increasingly ruthless mob behavior witnessed over the past three years. The effectiveness of Manipur’s newly inaugurated government in curbing this brazen mob rule remains to be seen. Sources within the government hinted that the Arambai Tenggol, a Meitei militia notorious for attacks on villages and hate speech since May 2023, was supposedly dismantled in early 2026. Yet, their active mobilization around the Tronglaobi killings, and their continued use of highly polarizing narratives, suggests otherwise. Security forces who spoke to Frontline alleged that these actions are designed to discredit the current government, pointing to the sophisticated nature of the Tronglaobi explosion which minimizes the possibility of Kuki insurgent group involvement. Meanwhile, the Arambai continues to instigate road barricades, rallies, and bandhs, forcing even schools to shut down. The deep rift within Manipur’s BJP, with former Chief Minister Biren Singh and MP Sanajaoba visibly controlling the Arambai Tenggol, has never been more apparent. The larger, unsettling question remains: why did the mob readily use the alleged presence of Kukis in the car as justification to attack Assam Rifles personnel? This directly contradicts the efforts of Chief Minister Yumnam Khemchand Singh, who recently visited the Kuki district of Kangpokpi, urging both communities to move past the violence and travel freely throughout the state. However, the events at Thinungei unequivocally demonstrate that the animosity between the communities remains deeply entrenched. Furthermore, organizations like the Arambai Tenggol appear determined to exacerbate this animosity, even as the government preaches peace, undermining any efforts towards reconciliation in a state desperately in need of healing and stability.