A Manipur Scholar’s Mission to Rescue Kuki-Zo Wisdom Lost in Violence
May 3, 2025
Photo by Bethesda Centre for Indigenous Studies
After ethnic violence erupted in Manipur on May 3, 2023, hundreds of Kuki-Zo settlements mapping the community’s lineage burned in the following weeks and months. “When a village is burned, its history, culture and identity burn with it,” says Dr. Jangkholam Haokip, a Kuki-Zo tribal scholar who has returned to Churachandpur to salvage what he calls “irreplaceable human wisdom.”
The 51-year-old theologian left his lectureship at a seminary in Pune to set up the Bethesda Centre for Indigenous Studies. The decision followed the violence over identity and land rights that killed at least 258 people—mostly from the Kuki-Zo community—and destroyed thousands of homes, displacing tens of thousands. The conflict involved the majority Meitei community, largely Hindu and allegedly supported by the state government, and the minority Kuki-Zo tribes, who are predominantly Christian.
Dr. Haokip says his choice to return was simple: “Despite the challenges, our wisdom has something to offer. We say, ‘Nang louva kei phatheilou’ (Because you live, I live).” The maxim lies at the heart of Khankho, a Kuki-Zo worldview that treats life as interdependent. In the past, he notes, Kuki chiefs supported Meitei kings on that basis; the now-razed Haokip Veng (Colony) in Imphal was one symbol of such ties.
Derived from the words Khan (growth) and Kho (awareness or conscience), Khankho serves as a moral compass within the community, guiding individuals toward virtues like forgiveness, humility and generosity. It also includes relationships with non-human beings and the environment. The philosophy predates Christianity among the Kuki-Zo and aligns with principles of interconnectedness and mutual respect.
“For the Kuki-Zo people, their indigenous wisdom, history, culture and identity are embedded in the structures they call homes and villages,” Dr. Haokip explains. “For Kukis in particular, villages are set up according to one’s own clan seniority order, and hence, villages are part of clan and sub-clan identities. The destruction of hundreds of villages in the ongoing violence disrupted and destroyed these traditional practices—many clans are now without head villages.”
This is worrisome, he says, because these practices include values needed for peaceful coexistence. “My documentation on indigenous peace practice reveals that the fear of the Ultimate Being, called God, was the main factor in building peace in indigenous tradition.”
One such tradition forbids the mutilation of fallen enemies. Dr. Haokip points to reports of Kuki-Zo victims—charred bodies, children burned alive, women paraded naked and assaulted—as signs of what he calls “an absence of fear of God.” “Human beings act like gods, and this goes against indigenous wisdom,” he says.
This wisdom predates the arrival of Christianity in the region. The Kuki-Zo began embracing Christianity in the early 20th century, following the arrival of Welsh and American Baptist missionaries. The new faith spread rapidly, often through indigenous evangelists and village-level conversions, reshaping belief systems while also influencing education, social structures and community organisation.
For Dr. Haokip, faith and custom are not at odds. He argues that Christianity in the hills of Manipur grew around the same God Kuki-Zo ancestors worshipped—“for there’s only one God,” he believes.
“It is true that Kukis who embraced Christianity generally followed Western forms of the faith, but that does not mean their God came from the West. No—their God lives in India, and they found and worshipped Him here,” he says. “Kuki Christians need to seek God and His footprints in their own history, where the elders remain an irreplaceable source of theology, especially in light of their current context. Kuki-Zo indigenous wisdom and practices must be rediscovered through the lens of the Christian message and allowed to speak to the present generation.”
He bristles at the idea that tribal culture must imitate mainstream norms. “Religion and education once uprooted us from our roots,” he reflects. “Yet indigenous wisdom underpins every civilisation.” The Centre’s long-term plan is to give that wisdom modern tools—archives, curricula, research methods—while keeping its communitarian soul intact.
His first task is a race against time.
Many elders shelter in relief camps, where depression and illness have already claimed lives. About 30,000 displaced Kuki-Zo individuals remain in relief camps in two districts of the state, including Churachandpur.
In January, Newsreel Asia reported that in Churachandpur alone, at least 90 deaths from humanitarian causes had occurred, with cancer and kidney failure death rates far surpassing national or regional averages amid a lack of government intervention. Though just 60 kilometres from the Meitei-dominated state capital of Imphal and linked by good roads, Churachandpur has remained cut off since ethnic violence began two years ago. With little government aid or transport, the town depends on supplies from the neighbouring Mizoram state’s capital, Aizawl—350 kilometres away—via a difficult, hilly route. The long and risky journey drives up costs, delays deliveries, and leaves the town vulnerable to frequent disruptions.
Beyond the physical health crisis, a growing mental health emergency has unfolded in the relief camps. Anxiety, depression, sleep disturbances and nightmares are widespread among the Kuki-Zo community. Breastfeeding mothers report intense fear and loss of appetite, while children show clear signs of deep trauma.
There have also been reports of elderly people in relief camps taking their own lives due to mental health issues.
“Their knowledge exists only in memory,” warns Dr. Haokip, author of “Wisdom from Below: Wisdom from Primal People of Northeast.” A field team is recording oral histories, rituals and peace practices.
“The nature of work at the Centre is indigenous and interdisciplinary, developed from scratch by engaging the local way of life with other indigenous groups. For instance, we carry out quality academic work and connect it with people at the grassroots level. In a true indigenous community, there is no space for ‘self-alone.’ Wisdom and knowledge are shared, and the outcomes of work must be shared within the community. We are also working to develop our own indigenous methodology to help achieve that goal—the well-being of the community.”
The Centre also runs a makeshift school for children displaced by the fighting. Lessons weave in clan lore and care for the land, countering what Dr Haokip calls a “capitalist culture,” which he believes fuels conflict and climate crises alike.
A mental health handbook rooted in local beliefs is in draft; Sunday classes for children aged four to 17 are being prepared.
From the next term, a postgraduate diploma in Indigenous Studies—delivered with North East Christian University in Dimapur—will bring in Māori, Aboriginal, African and Canadian mentors alongside tribal academics from India’s northeast. Each March, the campus marks Khankho Day: pupils paint their own versions of living for others.
Winning local backing has taken patience. Early sceptics dismissed Dr Haokip’s project as nostalgic, but younger leaders are now signing up. His advice to negotiators in the stand-off with Meitei groups is clear: “Work for peaceful coexistence without surrendering your wisdom and faith.”
Dr Haokip’s journey began with the Bethesda Khankho Foundation, a charity aiding tribal families across Manipur. His 2014 book, “Can God Save My Village?”, probed theology amid conflict.
Whether this new institute can slow the next spiral is uncertain. Dr. Haokip offers only one constant: “When everybody lives for everybody, nobody suffers alone.”
