The hostage trap: How ethnic armies are holding Manipur’s future captive

Dr Raj Singh
Somewhere in the hills today, families are waiting.
Naga families are waiting for six missing men whom they believe were abducted during the recent Naga-Kuki violence. Kuki families are waiting for fourteen of their own people believed to be in Naga custody.
Negotiations that initially raised hopes of a humanitarian breakthrough now appear trapped in a dangerous stalemate. One side insists that the missing Nagas are still being held. The other reportedly denies having them. Between these competing narratives stand anxious mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, and children, wondering whether their loved ones will ever return home.
The immediate concern is, of course, the fate of the missing persons.
But the greater concern is what this episode reveals about the direction Manipur is heading.
The hostages are not the only captives.
Peace has become a hostage. Moderation has become a hostage. And increasingly, the future of coexistence has become a hostage.
For many observers, this is merely another localized Naga-Kuki confrontation. In reality, it is a warning for the entire State. It reveals what happens when communities gradually transfer their trust from civil institutions to ethnic armies.
There is an uncomfortable truth about the ethnic conflict in Manipur that few people are willing to discuss openly.
The conflict is no longer merely between communities. It is increasingly between communities and their own fears.
For more than three years, public discussions have focused on territory, security, identity, political rights, ancestral lands, and Constitutional demands. Yet beneath all these visible disputes lies a deeper obstacle to peace: the rise and normalization of ethnic armies.
Whether they are called militant groups, village defence forces, volunteers, resistance groups, or self-defence units, the reality is essentially the same. Every major ethnic community now feels compelled to maintain an armed capability of its own.
The logic sounds simple.
“If they have guns, we need guns”
“If they have defenders, we need defenders”
“If they can attack us, we must be able to retaliate”
In a conflict zone, such reasoning appears sensible.
Yet when every community follows the same logic, the result is not security. It is permanent insecurity.
Every community views its armed formations as insurance against extinction while viewing the armed formations of others as threats to survival. The result is a society where nobody feels safe despite everyone being armed.
The Rise of the Ethnic Security State
Political scientists call this the Security Dilemma.
A community arms itself for defence.
Its neighbour interprets that armament as preparation for attack.
It responds by arming itself further.
The first community reacts in the same way.
Soon, both sides become increasingly dangerous to each other despite insisting they are acting defensively.
This is how many international arms races began. It is also what is happening inside Manipur.
The security dilemma has spread beyond organized insurgent groups into villages and local communities. Young people who should be discussing education, careers, technology, business, or sports increasingly discuss defensive positions, weapons, intelligence networks, and community protection.
An entire generation is learning conflict management through militarization rather than coexistence.
That should concern all of us.
The Silent Victim: The Moderate
When people think of victims of conflict, they think of the dead, the injured, and the displaced.
Yet another victim often goes unnoticed. The moderate.
In every ethnic group, countless people quietly desire reconciliation. They understand that Meiteis, Nagas, Kukis, Paites, Hmars, Zomis, and others are geographically destined to coexist. They know there is no realistic future in which one community disappears and another remains. Yet many remain silent.
Why? Because armed politics rewards hardline positions. The person advocating compromise appears weak. The person advocating firmness appears patriotic. The person calling for dialogue risks being branded a traitor. The person demanding resistance is celebrated as a defender.
Moderates, therefore, become politically homeless.
The public space becomes dominated by hardliners while moderates retreat into private conversations. Ironically, conflicts are rarely ended by hardliners.
They are usually ended by moderates.
When Armies Become Political Veto Holders
Another danger emerges when ethnic armies become informal political institutions. Community leaders cannot negotiate freely. Civil society organizations become cautious. Religious leaders hesitate to build bridges. Academics and intellectuals avoid innovative proposals. Every idea must first pass the scrutiny of those carrying weapons.
In effect, armed groups acquire an unofficial veto over reconciliation. Similar patterns have appeared in Northern Ireland, Colombia, Nepal, Sri Lanka, and elsewhere.
War often gives armed groups status, influence, resources, and relevance. Peace threatens all four. This does not mean armed actors are inherently anti-peace.
It means peace processes must recognize their fears and incentives rather than pretend they do not exist.
The Three Fears Behind Ethnic Armies
Ethnic armies generally survive because of three powerful fears. The first is fear of physical annihilation.
Communities genuinely believe they may be attacked if they are not armed.
The second is fear of political marginalization. Many believe surrendering armed leverage will weaken their bargaining position.
The third is fear of betrayal. Historical memories of broken promises make trust difficult.
These fears cannot simply be dismissed.
People do not surrender weapons because they are told to do so.
They surrender them when alternative security arrangements become more credible than the weapons themselves.
Why Immediate Disarmament Will Fail
Many observers offer a simple solution: disarm everyone. Unfortunately, conflict resolution is rarely that simple.
Communities that remain fearful will not voluntarily disarm while others remain armed. Nobody wants to become the first vulnerable party.
The wiser approach is gradual security transformation.
The objective should not be disarmament initially.
The objective should be to reduce dependence on ethnic armies.
That distinction is crucial.
Creating Space for Moderates
The first requirement for peace is creating a protected space for moderates. Inter-community platforms should involve respected elders, women leaders, youth representatives, academics, religious leaders, and retired public servants from all major communities.
Most importantly, such platforms must be perceived as genuinely neutral.
People need spaces where compromise is not punished.
From Ethnic Security to Shared Security
Today, security is viewed through an ethnic lens.
“My community is secure if my armed group is strong”
This logic guarantees endless escalation.  A better principle is shared security.
A Meitei village cannot remain secure if neighbouring Kuki or Naga villages feel threatened.
Likewise, the Kuki and Naga communities cannot enjoy lasting security if the Meitei populations remain fearful.
Security is collective.
Either everybody becomes safer together, or nobody becomes safe at all.
Bringing Armed Stakeholders into the Conversation
Another uncomfortable reality must be acknowledged. Peace cannot be built by pretending armed actors do not exist. They must eventually become part of a broader dialogue architecture - not as masters of the process, but as stakeholders within it. Many successful peace agreements around the world emerged because combatants were gradually integrated into political processes while their military roles diminished.
Exclusion often prolongs conflict. Managed inclusion often reduces it.
Competitive Altruism: A Different Kind of Strength
Communities currently compete in demonstrating strength.
What if they competed in demonstrating restraint ? What if one community facilitated access to medical care for another ? What if another protected stranded civilians from a rival group ? What if leaders publicly condemned violence against all civilians rather than only their own ?
Such actions create trust.
More importantly, they allow communities to appear strong while promoting peace. Reconciliation succeeds when goodwill becomes a source of prestige rather than suspicion.
The Long-Term Goal
Ultimately, peace in Manipur will not come because one ethnic army defeats another. Military victories may end battles. They rarely end mistrust.
The real challenge is transforming ethnic armies from guardians of fear into participants in a transition toward shared security.
The greatest threat to Meiteis is not merely Kukis or Nagas. The greatest threat to Kukis is not merely Meiteis or Nagas. The greatest threat to the Nagas is not merely the Meiteis or the Kukis. The greatest threat to all communities is a future in which every generation inherits the belief that survival depends on maintaining its own army.
For once that belief becomes permanent, conflict becomes permanent as well. The path to peace, therefore, begins not with asking who should win. It begins with asking how all communities can become secure enough to stop preparing for war. That is the challenge before Manipur. And perhaps that is the conversation we have avoided for far too long.
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.