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| People take out a procession to protest Th. Muivah's visit and the economic blockade in Imphal. File picture |
Columnists can hardly be called peace builders. That would be overstepping the limits of journalism, which essentially means observing events and writing about them and their implications, political or otherwise. Columnists have only one added advantage — they can give their personal comments on events. In the multi-hued battle leading to the blockade of National Highway 39 and the proposed visit of NSCN (I-M) leader Th. Muivah to Somdal village in Ukhrul, many fundamental questions have been raised by this columnist, and others, on the propriety of the visit at a time when the Manipur hills were headed for a very controversial poll.
The articles have provoked several hate mails and angry rejoinders, asking why I have taken sides in the entire imbroglio. An analysis of a situation requires that the truth be brought up front even if it goes against the common discourse or breaks the thread of carefully constructed narratives.
Insofar as the blockade of a critical lifeline for goods is concerned there can be no two opinions. The act is inhuman and undemocratic because it does not punish the politicians who directly or indirectly have added to the problems of Manipur, but it created an economic crisis for the ordinary citizens. There is no other way to define the blockade except to call it "political blackmail".
The problem, however, is that the Nagas of Manipur do not see it that way. They consider it fit and just to punish a government that has been perceived as being antagonistic to their aspirations of a greater Naga homeland. They want all write-ups and opinions to fit into their political paradigm if not to simply dovetail into their current narrative. But columnists essentially analyse the narratives and expose the truth behind the rhetoric.
Recently Nandita Haksar did a piece on the Nagas of Manipur dialectics. She tells us about the history of Manipur before its rulers chose to be converted to Vaishnavism and to abandon their indigenous faith — the Sanamahi. This, she says is one landmark move that changed the course of Manipur's history and created a social divide between the hills and the valley.
There are as many histories as there are people in India. In the kind of liberal democracy we live in, each group is entitled to its own history so long as those do not superimpose on each other and lead to conflicts. Some believe that the political history of Manipur is cleverly crafted by the more advanced Meiteis, who because of their strategic location also gained control over the political and economic resources. There has never been any doubt at all that the hills of Manipur have not received adequate attention. In spite of all the problems that threaten peace in the valley there are visible signs of development and some form of governance. Economic transactions that help create livelihoods have their space in the valley.
Meiteis are educationally and intellectually advanced because most of the educational institutions, including the only central university are located in Imphal. The university is over-represented by one community to the exclusion of others. I recall a Zeliang friend saying his people in Tamenglong work very hard to prepare for their UPSC examinations so they can get into the civil services because that is the only way they can come out of the ghetto of neglect in that district.
The situation is quite same in the other hill districts. Healthcare in the hills is in complete disarray. Education, except for that provided by some of the missionary-run institutions, is in the doldrums. There are other development indicators such as road and rural connectivity, water and sanitation, agricultural advancements, life expectancy, social welfare and others which show how the hills have been completely marginalised.
Like every other state, development is visible only at the centre of power in the capital city of Imphal. But so is the case with Meghalaya, Mizoram and Assam. The further away the district is from the state capital the starker the neglect. But there are ways of addressing these concerns in a democracy. Specific research that (a) questions the allocation to outcome ratio in such districts (b) goes to the root of the matter to see why financial allocations have failed to bring about any physical, tangible outcomes, would help dispel the assumptions and the rhetoric.
Poverty alleviation schemes such as the NREGS, healthcare initiatives like the NRHM have made no dent whatsoever in all the districts of the seven states. So, Ukhrul, Senapati, Chandel and Tamenglong are no exceptions. Mon district in Nagaland and other far-flung villages suffer a similar plight. But severing ties with the parent state is hardly the solution because the problem lies elsewhere. Holding the state to account makes better sense.
Many thinkers in the Northeast feel that the implementation templates adopted thus far and the actors responsible for carrying out the implementation processes — the bureaucracy — are both grossly inadequate. Governments function like automatons and change is the last thing you can expect from a clique that operates within a comfort zone. It is important to constantly challenge this clique and push them to go the extra mile even if that is a tall order.
Interestingly, if one were to measure the dissatisfaction levels of the citizens in Manipur, both in the hills and valley, the results would be almost similar. Those living in the valley nurse as much grouse against the government as those in the hills do. They too feel that the government has become only a symbol of power and authority, without the corresponding responsibility to serve the very people who have vested this power and authority on them.
Our system of administration has no measurement for inefficiency or non-performance. No one is penalised for abdicating his or her duties. Teachers in hundred of government schools in the seven states continue to draw their salaries without teaching or attending school. We have only perpetuated these depraved systems. So when Nagas of Manipur believe they would have a better future under a new arrangement one tends to be rather sceptical.
If Nagalim materialises it will only be a realisation of a long-nurtured dream. This might heal the psychological scars of separation and gratify those who cherish to live under the "broad" Naga umbrella. The boundaries of Nagaland, which will then be known as Nagalim will expand and so will the funds coming in from Delhi. That is, if Nagalim is still part of India. On the question of sovereignty there is a subtle difference in perception between the Nagas of Nagaland and those residing in Manipur. Whenever I have stated this up front, I have been accused of fomenting mischief and creating differences between people of the same origin but forced to live in different geographical-political spaces.
I reiterate my point that all Nagas do not think alike. If only there was a "non-threatening" space for them to express their views, we might still have an enlightening debate. A society that is steeped in the notion of consensus and where dissent is disapproved, if not totally silenced, cannot be called a democratic society. Sadly such societies stifle the intrinsic genius of their own youth and womenfolk. So does Nagalim mean a return to oligarchy? These are questions one raises as a firm believer in democratic tenets and without the intention to pompously pontificate to anyone about what they would choose as their way forward.
(The writer can be contacted at patricia17@rediffmail.com)
-The Telegraph
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