The Monsoon session of the Indian Parliament in 2023 can be aptly described as a chaotic affair. Amidst the tumultuous atmosphere, a myriad of issues, ranging from a non-confidence motion to the Burning Manipur incident, and discussions concerning the national capital territory of Delhi, took centre stage. The session was characterised by its confrontational, dismissive, and shameless nature, revealing an unprecedented level of partisanship among lawmakers. Amid this cacophony, the relatively unassuming state of Mizoram found itself thrust into the spotlight, thanks to an unexpected mention from none other than the prime minister.
The prime minister, addressing a No-confidence Motion, veered from his one-hour-long jeering and invited laughter to briefly touch upon the Manipur issue, a topic that had been notably absent from the discussion for over an hour. His address on Manipur, lasting less than six minutes in a two-hour speech, held the promise of peace for the troubled region. While some, like the Mizo people tuned into his speech hoping that he would speak out for their ethnic kin, the Kuki-Zo people, had hoped for a more comprehensive dialogue on the Manipur matter. It was, at least, a step in the right direction. However, what followed next caught the attention of every Mizo citizen, leaving them both surprised and disheartened.
The prime minister, in a sudden shift, directed his focus to Mizoram and broached a subject that had long been confined to the annals of history – the Mizoram airstrike incident of March 5, 1966, carried out under the leadership of the then prime minister, Indira Gandhi, of the then Congress government. This marked the first time any prime minister had openly acknowledged this painful episode, though the context was a biting remark aimed at the opposition, specifically the Congress. The prime minister argued that the Congress, whose leader claimed his government had murdered India in Manipur, had itself bombed its own citizens in Mizoram in 1966.
While it is undeniable that the prime minister’s statement holds truth, a question arises regarding the motive behind resurrecting an incident from over 60 years ago, especially when it’s used as a pointed remark directed at the opposition party. The Mizoram airstrike incident undoubtedly merits a higher level of reverence than being wielded as a weapon against the opposition five decades later. To the Mizo people, the aerial bombings of Aizawl and other towns in the 1960s are attributed to the Indian government itself, rather than being solely associated with political parties at the center in the 1960s. Transforming this painful historical episode into a matter of partisan politics represents a regrettable turn of events.
While the prime minister’s address concerning the Mizoram airstrike may not have resonated well with the Mizos, who are at the heart of this incident, it did succeed in bringing this matter to the forefront of the nation’s consciousness. Subsequently, social media platforms were inundated with narratives recounting the Mizoram airstrike, and television pundits engaged in impassioned debates surrounding the topic.
Two distinct factions emerged from these discussions. On one side, some express weird remorse for the occurrence of the airstrike, supposedly acknowledging its concealment over the years and condemning the injustice it represents. It’s worth noting that the Mizo people have been vocal about this issue for decades, and it has been acknowledged within the northeastern region as well as by more prominent media outlets.
Conversely, the other faction consists of those who deny or downplay the incident and individuals aligned with certain parties who either refuse to acknowledge its existence altogether or attempt to minimise the gravity of the events that transpired. This group sometimes goes as far as vilifying the innocent individuals who endured the suffering.
Amidst these newfound interests, I, as a Mizo, feel dehumanised. No one asks how the Mizo people feel about this whole fiasco; no one is bothered by the further claims and counterclaims put forth by the Mizo people. People are debating the right and wrong of the incident, but it feels like they’re talking about it as if it’s just an academic exercise, like discussing animal rights or the vegan-non-vegan debate. What transpires is an earnest debate over the ethical dimensions of the event, a dialogue that, for the first time in my lived experience, leaves me with an unsettling impression – that our historical pain is treated as fodder for detached intellectual musings, akin to the discourse surrounding animal rights, as if Mizos do not have a conscience or that our opinions do not matter. We are simply pawns in their political game.
In all honesty, the Mizo community remains unmoved by belated displays of remorse that appear more performative than genuine, arriving after 57 years. Equally unimpressive is the attempt by sympathisers of the opposition to vilify the Mizo people, minimising their historical plight and characterising Mizo revolutionaries and civilians as malevolent marauders that need to be tamed in such a brutal way to justify Indira’s action.
Recent developments have once again highlighted the paradoxical stances of both the Right and Left wings. In an unexpected twist, both groups have reshaped their narratives regarding the Mizo uprising. Previously, the right-wing media had frequently labeled Mizo revolutionaries as “Atankwadis” (terrorists). However, they now appear to have shifted their perspective, emphasizing the innocence of the Mizo people and denouncing the bombing of Aizawl – a city nearly seized by MNF rebels – as an attack on innocent individuals. Interestingly, the terms “terrorist” no longer seem to apply to either civilians or rebels in their revised discourse.
Similarly, the right-wing think tanks, which had often highlighted Indira’s toughness during the 1960s as her sole redeeming attribute, had previously hailed the Indian military involved in the Mizo uprising and the Aizawl bombing as heroes. Yet, they now seem to have reversed their stance on Indira, transforming one of her few acts, which they previously recognised as accomplishments, into something that would make her look like the empress of evil.
The Left-wing media, known for its historical empathy towards the struggles of northeastern communities, has frequently praised the unwavering resilience of the Mizo people. They have highlighted the remarkable ability of the relatively small Mizos to challenge the entire nation and, through pragmatic means, resolve conflicts on their own terms. This includes addressing distressing incidents such as the village grouping and the Aizawl bombing, subjects that the left-wing media has openly discussed without hesitation.
However, a noticeable shift has emerged when the same narrative, which the left-wing media has advocated for years, is appropriated by the Right-wing establishment. Suddenly, their stance undergoes a complete reversal. Prominent figures in the supposedly independent media sector have seemingly embarked on an endeavour to manage the situation, endeavouring to redefine the story of the Mizo uprising. This involves depicting Mizo rebels and civilians as inherently perilous figures who require restraint. The narrative tone shifts dramatically, transitioning from questioning whether the government’s response was excessively forceful to asserting that the government was compelled to act decisively in the heat of the moment. This is often accompanied by exaggerated characterisations of the MNF and the Mizo people.
The Mizo people, who have not sought sympathy for their historical hardships, find themselves in a situation where unwarranted attention is thrust upon them. This attention is of the kind that disregards their viewpoints and perspectives, reducing them to mere political symbols. This unsettling scenario, perhaps stemming from the manipulative nature of Indian politics, appears to be at the heart of the predicament in the Northeast. The Kukis, another Zo ethnic group closely linked to the Mizos, have also been subjected to this type of dehumanising treatment. They were referred to as immigrants, with their alleged immigration being attributed to the turmoil in Manipur on the parliament floor as if their human rights, contributions to the state, and standing as Indians held no significance. This portrayal of them as Burmese immigrants is distressingly accepted.
The Kukis, a community deeply intertwined with the Mizos, played a significant role in resisting British colonial rule well into the 20th century. If we acknowledge the historical connection between the Mizos and Kukis, which had been casually referred to as such in the past, the Kuki identity and Indianness are undeniably intertwined. The history of the Northeast would be incomplete without the contributions of the Kuki-Zo people. The Kuki community must not be subjected to generalisation or division, given its intricate complexities. For those genuinely concerned about the Mizo people’s interests, a shift in focus towards Manipur is warranted. Within this context, the Kuki-Zo, the ethnic kin of the Mizo community, is presently grappling with unprecedented adversity and hostile incidents. It is advisable to refrain from fixating on what happened in Mizoram almost 60 years ago.
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When human tragedy becomes entangled with political considerations, its clarity often becomes muddled. The Aizawl bombing, though occurring during a Congress regime, is juxtaposed against the same party’s efforts through the Mizo Accord. This accord, coupled with the selfless relinquishment of power by the then-ruling Mizoram UT Congress Government, including the then-Chief Minister Pu Lalthanhawla’s decision to cede his position to MNF leader Laldenga, led to lasting peace in Mizoram. This achievement remains the most successful peace accord in Indian history.
Although the focus right now might be on their history, let it be clear that the Mizo story goes way beyond just politics at the moment. They’re not looking for quick sympathy or simple acknowledgements. What they really want is for people to truly understand their journey – to recognise that their struggles and their determination are woven into the complex and diverse fabric of the Northeastern region.
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