35 years later, Manipur is still failing people who use drugs
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Haobam Nanao
On the first day of 2026, despite frail health, I found myself returning to a familiar space — the 35th anniversary of SASO (Social Awareness Service Organisation), one of Manipur’s oldest community-based organisations of people who use drugs. The choice of New Year’s Day was deliberate, symbolic, and deeply rooted in the organisation’s history. For many of us who once walked alongside SASO in our formative years of peer response and community service, the gathering was more than a celebration. It was a moment of reckoning.
We exchanged greetings, relived memories, and wished each other a hopeful new year. But once the warmth of reunion faded and I returned home, an unsettling clarity set in. Thirty-five years had passed not just for SASO, but for Manipur’s entire response to drug use, HIV, and the intersecting crises of health, dignity, and rights. The question that lingered was simple yet uncomfortable: what, fundamentally, has changed?
Expansion Without Direction : Over the decades, Manipur witnessed a proliferation of responses. Community-based organisations multiplied. NGOs diversified. Government institutions stepped in. Two major State undertakings under the SOCIAL WELFARE DEPARTMENT and the MANIPUR STATE AIDS CONTROL SOCIETY (MSACS)—assumed central roles. Alongside drug use came HIV, hepatitis, tuberculosis, and other infections tied closely to injecting practices, compounded by stigma and moral judgement. Yet, despite this apparent expansion, the system today feels hollowed out.
Drug use, like a ripple in a vast ocean, has never respected borders, policies, or moral frameworks. It is global, persistent, adaptive. But our response has remained fragmented, reactive, and often performative. Addiction is still grudgingly acknowledged as an illness, and even then, only in theory. In practice, punishment, coercion, and moral surveillance continue to dominate.
A Symbolic Drug Policy, not a Living One : Manipur has a drug policy but largely as a symbolic artefact. It exists on paper, not in practice. It is rarely revisited, evaluated, and almost never subjected to rigorous public accountability. Periodic assessments, coverage studies, impact evaluations, and situational analyses the backbone of any evidence-informed public health response—are conspicuously absent.
Without these, service delivery becomes ritualistic: targets are met, reports are filed, funds are absorbed, but realities on the ground remain unchanged. The system measures activity, not outcomes. Survival, not transformation.
Human Rights! Still an Afterthought : Earlier reflections and write-ups have consistently pointed to the same unresolved truth that human rights abuses remain embedded in Manipur’s drug response. Arbitrary detention, forced “treatment,” denial of informed consent, breach of confidentiality, and routine harassment continue under different guises often justified by morality, public order, or forced rehabilitation.
The moral lens through which drug use is viewed has proven remarkably resistant to change. It has shaped policy, legitimised abuse, and silenced users themselves. The irony is painful: a response built “for” people who use drugs, but rarely “with” them.
A Disorganised and Compromised Community : Perhaps the most difficult truth lies closer to home. The user community—once a powerful moral and political force— is today largely disorganised. Years of operating within a corrupt and donor-driven system have taken their toll. Co-option replaced resistance. Survival replaced solidarity. Leadership eroded, and collective voice weakened.
This is not an accusation, but a reflection of structural failure. When communities are forced to compete for crumbs within flawed systems, fragmentation becomes inevitable. Yet without a strong, independent, and rights- conscious user movement, meaningful reform remains impossible.
Where Do We Stand Now ? Thirty-five years after its journey, Manipur stands at a crossroad it has visited many times before—but never fully confronted.
We have services, but no coherence.
We have policy, but no political will.
We have institutions, but little trust.
We have history, but poor memory.
What we lack is honest self-assessment — from Government, from civil society, and from the community itself.
Conflict, Complacency, and the Convenient Scapegoat : This prolonged stagnation has become even more glaring in the context of Manipur’s present conflict. As governance falters under the weight of political instability and social fracture, neglect has quietly transformed into complacency. In such moments, the most marginalised are not merely forgotten, they are actively targeted. People who use drugs have once again become the most convenient scapegoats in a society struggling to assert moral order amid chaos.
With State authority weakened and institutional accountability diluted, moral policing and vigilante actions have found renewed legitimacy. These are often carried out openly, sometimes brazenly, and disturbingly, with the tacit approval — if not direct participation — of sections of the community. Drug users, already stripped of social standing and legal protection, are singled out as symbols of decay, easy targets in a climate desperate for visible enemies.
What unfolds is a grim paradox. While armed actors, profiteers, and architects of violence operate with impunity, individuals battling dependence and poverty are paraded, punished, detained, or coerced under the guise of social cleansing. Rehabilitation becomes indistinguishable from detention. Public shaming replaces due process. Abuse is rationalised as discipline.
Authorities, meanwhile, remain conspicuously absent. Their silence functions as endorsement. The failure to intervene, regulate, or protect basic rights has emboldened non-State actors to assume roles they were never meant to occupy. This abdication of responsibility is not accidental; it reflects a deeper moral collapse in governance, where enforcement is selective and compassion expendable.
Equally troubling is the complicity of society itself. Community participation in these acts — whether through silence, justification, or direct involvement — reveals how deeply stigma has been internalised. Drug users are no longer seen as citizens with rights, but as expendable instruments through which society performs virtue and control. Their vulnerability is exploited precisely because resistance is unlikely and accountability absent.
In such an environment, the rhetoric of a “God-fearing” or morally guided society rings hollow. There is no divine surveillance where injustice goes unchecked and cruelty is sanctified. What prevails instead is a dangerous moral theatre—one that punishes weakness while excusing power, that claims righteousness while eroding humanity.
If conflict exposes the true character of institutions and communities, then this moment demands uncomfortable introspection. The treatment of people who use drugs during this period is not an aberration; it is a mirror. It reflects how quickly rights are abandoned when fear dominates, how easily compassion is replaced by coercion, and how fragile the moral claims of society truly are.
Until the State reasserts its responsibility and society confront its own complicity, neglect will continue to masquerade as order and injustice will continue to walk free.
If the next decade is to be different, we must move beyond symbolic observance and recycled strategies. Drug policy must be treated as a living document. Research must inform action, not merely justify funding. Human rights must be non-negotiable, not optional. And the user community must reclaim its voice — not as beneficiaries, but as rights-bearing citizens.
The writer is a Drug User Activist
On the first day of 2026, despite frail health, I found myself returning to a familiar space — the 35th anniversary of SASO (Social Awareness Service Organisation), one of Manipur’s oldest community-based organisations of people who use drugs. The choice of New Year’s Day was deliberate, symbolic, and deeply rooted in the organisation’s history. For many of us who once walked alongside SASO in our formative years of peer response and community service, the gathering was more than a celebration. It was a moment of reckoning.
We exchanged greetings, relived memories, and wished each other a hopeful new year. But once the warmth of reunion faded and I returned home, an unsettling clarity set in. Thirty-five years had passed not just for SASO, but for Manipur’s entire response to drug use, HIV, and the intersecting crises of health, dignity, and rights. The question that lingered was simple yet uncomfortable: what, fundamentally, has changed?
Expansion Without Direction : Over the decades, Manipur witnessed a proliferation of responses. Community-based organisations multiplied. NGOs diversified. Government institutions stepped in. Two major State undertakings under the SOCIAL WELFARE DEPARTMENT and the MANIPUR STATE AIDS CONTROL SOCIETY (MSACS)—assumed central roles. Alongside drug use came HIV, hepatitis, tuberculosis, and other infections tied closely to injecting practices, compounded by stigma and moral judgement. Yet, despite this apparent expansion, the system today feels hollowed out.
Drug use, like a ripple in a vast ocean, has never respected borders, policies, or moral frameworks. It is global, persistent, adaptive. But our response has remained fragmented, reactive, and often performative. Addiction is still grudgingly acknowledged as an illness, and even then, only in theory. In practice, punishment, coercion, and moral surveillance continue to dominate.
A Symbolic Drug Policy, not a Living One : Manipur has a drug policy but largely as a symbolic artefact. It exists on paper, not in practice. It is rarely revisited, evaluated, and almost never subjected to rigorous public accountability. Periodic assessments, coverage studies, impact evaluations, and situational analyses the backbone of any evidence-informed public health response—are conspicuously absent.
Without these, service delivery becomes ritualistic: targets are met, reports are filed, funds are absorbed, but realities on the ground remain unchanged. The system measures activity, not outcomes. Survival, not transformation.
Human Rights! Still an Afterthought : Earlier reflections and write-ups have consistently pointed to the same unresolved truth that human rights abuses remain embedded in Manipur’s drug response. Arbitrary detention, forced “treatment,” denial of informed consent, breach of confidentiality, and routine harassment continue under different guises often justified by morality, public order, or forced rehabilitation.
The moral lens through which drug use is viewed has proven remarkably resistant to change. It has shaped policy, legitimised abuse, and silenced users themselves. The irony is painful: a response built “for” people who use drugs, but rarely “with” them.
A Disorganised and Compromised Community : Perhaps the most difficult truth lies closer to home. The user community—once a powerful moral and political force— is today largely disorganised. Years of operating within a corrupt and donor-driven system have taken their toll. Co-option replaced resistance. Survival replaced solidarity. Leadership eroded, and collective voice weakened.
This is not an accusation, but a reflection of structural failure. When communities are forced to compete for crumbs within flawed systems, fragmentation becomes inevitable. Yet without a strong, independent, and rights- conscious user movement, meaningful reform remains impossible.
Where Do We Stand Now ? Thirty-five years after its journey, Manipur stands at a crossroad it has visited many times before—but never fully confronted.
We have services, but no coherence.
We have policy, but no political will.
We have institutions, but little trust.
We have history, but poor memory.
What we lack is honest self-assessment — from Government, from civil society, and from the community itself.
Conflict, Complacency, and the Convenient Scapegoat : This prolonged stagnation has become even more glaring in the context of Manipur’s present conflict. As governance falters under the weight of political instability and social fracture, neglect has quietly transformed into complacency. In such moments, the most marginalised are not merely forgotten, they are actively targeted. People who use drugs have once again become the most convenient scapegoats in a society struggling to assert moral order amid chaos.
With State authority weakened and institutional accountability diluted, moral policing and vigilante actions have found renewed legitimacy. These are often carried out openly, sometimes brazenly, and disturbingly, with the tacit approval — if not direct participation — of sections of the community. Drug users, already stripped of social standing and legal protection, are singled out as symbols of decay, easy targets in a climate desperate for visible enemies.
What unfolds is a grim paradox. While armed actors, profiteers, and architects of violence operate with impunity, individuals battling dependence and poverty are paraded, punished, detained, or coerced under the guise of social cleansing. Rehabilitation becomes indistinguishable from detention. Public shaming replaces due process. Abuse is rationalised as discipline.
Authorities, meanwhile, remain conspicuously absent. Their silence functions as endorsement. The failure to intervene, regulate, or protect basic rights has emboldened non-State actors to assume roles they were never meant to occupy. This abdication of responsibility is not accidental; it reflects a deeper moral collapse in governance, where enforcement is selective and compassion expendable.
Equally troubling is the complicity of society itself. Community participation in these acts — whether through silence, justification, or direct involvement — reveals how deeply stigma has been internalised. Drug users are no longer seen as citizens with rights, but as expendable instruments through which society performs virtue and control. Their vulnerability is exploited precisely because resistance is unlikely and accountability absent.
In such an environment, the rhetoric of a “God-fearing” or morally guided society rings hollow. There is no divine surveillance where injustice goes unchecked and cruelty is sanctified. What prevails instead is a dangerous moral theatre—one that punishes weakness while excusing power, that claims righteousness while eroding humanity.
If conflict exposes the true character of institutions and communities, then this moment demands uncomfortable introspection. The treatment of people who use drugs during this period is not an aberration; it is a mirror. It reflects how quickly rights are abandoned when fear dominates, how easily compassion is replaced by coercion, and how fragile the moral claims of society truly are.
Until the State reasserts its responsibility and society confront its own complicity, neglect will continue to masquerade as order and injustice will continue to walk free.
If the next decade is to be different, we must move beyond symbolic observance and recycled strategies. Drug policy must be treated as a living document. Research must inform action, not merely justify funding. Human rights must be non-negotiable, not optional. And the user community must reclaim its voice — not as beneficiaries, but as rights-bearing citizens.
The writer is a Drug User Activist