Competitive Altruism Can kindness succeed where politics has failed in conflict resolution ?

Dr Raj Singh
Few events reveal the moral collapse of a conflict more starkly than what recently unfolded between sections of the Naga and Kuki communities.
After weeks of tension, negotiations reportedly led to the release of fourteen Kuki hostages held by Naga groups. Yet within days came the heartbreaking return of the dismembered bodies of six Nagas abducted and killed by Kuki armed elements. To many observers, the sequence created the disturbing appea- rance of an exchange of hostages, live for the dead.
Whatever the final facts may reveal, the larger tragedy is already obvious.
No community should descend to such depths of hatred.
No political cause is advanced when neighbours become hostages. No society becomes stronger when mutilated bodies become part of a political message. Such actions demonstrate not strength, but the extent to which fear, anger, and revenge can overwhelm our common humanity.
Yet the people of Manipur are not condemned to this path.
The same communities that fear one another today have repeatedly shown extraordinary compassion during floods, pandemics, accidents, and personal tragedies. The instinct for kindness remains alive even when politics appears determined to bury it.
This raises an important question.
What if communities competed not in demonstrating who suffered more, who deserves more, or who can inflict greater pain?
What if they competed instead in demonstrating greater generosity, greater compassion, and greater service to one another?
This idea is called Competitive Altruism (propoun- ded by Gilbert Roberts and expanded by Sam Hardy).
And for a society trapped in an exhausting cycle of fear and retaliation, it may offer one of the most practical pathways toward rebuilding trust.
For more than three years, Manipur has been trapped in a conflict that appears impossible to untangle. Every proposal encounters a counter-proposal. Every concession is viewed with suspicion. Every reassurance is interpreted as a hidden trap.
Meiteis fear demographic and territorial margina-lization. Kukis fear political domination and loss of identity. Nagas fear being sidelined in future arrangements. Smaller communities fear becoming collateral damage in larger ethnic contests.
Everyone is afraid.
Fear has become one of the most powerful political forces in Manipur.
The tragedy is that fear is rarely defeated by arguments alone. It is defeated by experience.
A frightened child does not become calm because someone explains there is no monster under the bed. The child becomes calm when a trusted person sits beside him.
Societies behave in much the same way.
This is why constitutional arrangements, admi- nistrative reforms, and political negotiations, though important, often struggle to create lasting peace. Before institutions can succeed, trust must return.
Human history suggests that trust grows not merely through agreements but through cooperation. Anthropologists have long argued that human beings survived not because they were the strongest species but because they learned to work together. Kindness is therefore not merely a moral virtue. It is also a survival strategy.
Conflict reverses this instinct. Fear narrows our circle of concern. Communities stop asking,  ‘How can we help one another ?’ and begin asking, ‘How can we protect ourselves from the other?’
Manipur today is trapped in precisely this psychological condition.
Yet there have been moments when that fear disappeared.
One such moment occurred during the Covid pandemic.
As lockdowns disrupted supply chains, many residents of the valley faced shortages of essential goods. During those difficult days, tribal commu- nities from the hills - both Kuki and Naga-brought vegetables, fruits, and agricultural produce to help people in the valley.
They did not ask who belonged to which community.
They simply responded to human need.
Many people have forgotten that episode.
They should not.
Because it revealed a profound truth. Beneath political disputes, territorial claims, and historical grievances, ordinary people still possess the ability to care for one another.
The conflict did not erase humanity.
Humanity merely became silent.
Competitive Altruism is based on a simple observation. Human beings do not always compete through domination. Sometimes they compete through goodness.
A philanthropist tries to contribute more than another. A village builds a better school. A company undertakes greater social responsibility. Nations compete to provide humanitarian assistance.
Competition remains.
But the competition produces benefits instead of destruction.
The genius of Competitive Altruism is that it converts rivalry into social good.
The rivals remain rivals.
But they compete to help rather than to hurt.
This idea is especially relevant because one of the greatest obstacles in Mani-pur is not disagreement.
It is fear.
Fear survives even when circumstances change because people remember negative experiences more vividly than positive ones. A single violent incident can erase hundreds of peaceful interactions from memory.
Communities begin to see one another through the lens of isolated horrors rather than everyday realities.
Competitive Altruism directly challenges this mindset.
When one community repeatedly helps another, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain the belief that the other side exists only as an enemy.
Trust does not emerge from speeches.
Trust emerges from repeated positive experiences.
History provides encouraging examples.
After the genocide in Rwanda, many believed reconciliation between Hutus and Tutsis was impossible. Yet rebuilding projects forced former enemies to work together. In Northern Ireland, youth programmes, sports, and community initiatives helped reduce hostility between Catholics and Protestants. In South Africa, public acts of acknowledgement and reconciliation prevented many feared outcomes after apartheid.
None of these societies became perfect.
But all demonstrated an important lesson.
People begin trusting one another when they experience one another’s humanity.
Imagine what Competitive Altruism might look like in Manipur.
Imagine a Kuki organization offering scholarships to displaced Meitei students.
Imagine a Meitei organization sponsoring healthcare camps in remote Naga villages.
Imagine Naga civil society groups organizing relief drives for Kuki families affected by violence.
Imagine student organizations competing to conduct the largest inter-community blood donation campaigns.
Imagine Churches, Temples, women’s groups, youth clubs, and civil society organizations competing to host the most inclusive community kitchens.
The competition remains.
But its direction changes.
The question becomes : ‘How can we demonstrate that we care more ?’ instead of
‘How can we prove that we deserve more ?’
The first builds bridges.
The second builds walls.
Of course, Competitive Altruism is not easy.
Acts of kindness across conflict lines often attract criticism. Peacemakers are frequently accused of weakness. Moderates are often labelled traitors.
Yet every successful reconciliation process in his- tory began with people willing to endure such criticism.
The first person to extend a hand always appears vulnerable.
But that vulnerability is often where transformation begins.
The alternative is already familiar.
Endless suspicion. Endless retaliation. Endless fear.
Manipur has travelled that road for far too long.
Perhaps the greatest weakness of many peace efforts is the assumption that societies heal simply because agreements are signed.
Institutions matter. Policies matter. Security arrangements matter.
But societies ultimately heal when people rediscover one another’s humanity.
The divisions that accumulated over generations cannot be removed by a single agreement.
Yet Competitive Altruism offers something unique.
It does not require Constitutional amendments.
It does not require waiting for Governments.
It does not require perfect political conditions.
It can begin tomorrow.
A village can begin it. A Church can begin it. A Temple can begin it. A student union can begin it.
A youth club can begin it. A women’s organization can begin it.
Conventional wisdom suggests that communities compete because resources are scarce.
That is true.
But the deeper reality is that communities compete because trust is scarce.
Perhaps the most valuable resource in Manipur today is not land, money, autonomy, representation, or political power.
It is trust.
And trust grows only when somebody plants it.
Competitive Altruism offers a practical way of planting trust - not by denying grievances, forgetting history, or surrendering legitimate interests, but by demonstrating through action that coexistence remains possible.
The COVID experience showed that when human suffering became visible, ethnic identities briefly stepped aside and humanity stepped forward.
That memory should not remain an accident.
It should become a strategy.
For a state exhausted by zero-sum politics, Competitive Altruism may appear idealistic. Yet history repeatedly teaches a surpri- sing lesson: what appears idealistic at the beginning often becomes practical later.
The greatest revolutions are not always started by those who demand more for themselves. Sometimes they are started by those who unexpectedly give more to others.
In a land where every community fears losing, perhaps the most revolutionary act is to begin competing in generosity.
Because when kindness becomes competitive, everybody wins.
This column, “Beyond the Obvious,” seeks to examine public controversies not through emotional binaries but through deeper historical memory, constitutional logic, and compa- rative political thought - in the belief that durable peace lies not in louder demands, but in wiser design.