Dr KK Loung Nathan
Assistant Professor of History, Christ (Deemed to be University), Bangalore
On the overcast morning of July 9, 1987, the skies above Oinam Hill Village (Onaemeka) of Manipur hung low with rain-bearing clouds, as though mourning a tragedy yet to unfold. A stillness was in the air, dense with unspoken sorrow, before the storm broke. That day, the quiet rhythms of life in Oinam and the neighbouring Poumai Naga villages were shattered when the 21 Assam Rifles (AR) outpost was attacked in broad daylight, allegedly by cadres of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN). What followed was not just a military response, but a total descent into terror. What the world knows as Operation Bluebird or Onae Reh Dah (The Great Battle of Oinam Hill), etched a deep wound into the community’s collective memory. From that day forward, nothing was ever the same. In the attack on the outpost, nine soldiers were killed, and three were seriously injured. According to the FIR filed by the security forces with the police, the NSCN raiding party decamped with 90 SLRs, 20 Sten guns, 10 LMGs, two 2-inch mortars, apart from vast quantities of ammunition (Economic & Political Weekly, 1987).
In response to the attack, the AR launched a counterinsurgency operation, code-named Operation Bluebird, on July 11. A measure aimed at ‘recovering’ the looted arms. According to a report by the Naga Peoples Movement for Human Right (NPMHR): Around thirty villages were affected, 125 residents houses were allegedly burnt, 112 houses, 6 schools and 10 churches were dismantled, properties worth of Rs.50,75,000/- were looted from seven villages and villagers belonging to five villages were forced to work for months, 27 persons are alleged to have been killed in the encounter on different dates in Senapati District of Manipur, 3 women were alleged raped and five women were alleged to have been sexually molested and 300 persons alleged tortured by Assam Rifles.
The above report, as we know, is not exhaustive, for the ramifications of Operation Bluebird continue to reverberate through the moral and psychological fabric of the Nagas’ collective memory. The trauma caused by the Onae Reh Dah cannot be expressed in a few words and pages. The NPMHR described Operation Bluebird as the biggest operation in recent memory by the Indian Security Forces. Though there have been countless raids and operations in the Naga territories by the Indian security forces shielded by the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA), this instance marked a turning point. The villagers, instead of remaining silent, found the courage to speak out and challenged the armed forces’ actions in court (despite the AFSPA’s legal immunity) with the support of NPMHR, various other civil society organizations, and individuals. Till this day, it stands as a unique episode of resistance in the annals of Naga History. However, this bold act of defiance has met with a gradual erosion of hope for justice in the Indian court of law, a struggle that remains unresolved and deeply disheartening to this day.
In a 2019 newspaper article, human rights lawyer Nandita Haksar, who represented the villagers of Oinam and surrounding areas following the Operation Bluebird, expressed her profound disillusionment with the Indian judicial system. Reflecting on the protracted legal struggle, she stated: “All I can say, to the people of Oinam and the other villages is that I am ashamed that the courts have not delivered justice and there is no remedy in law against the courts, the judges or the legal system which did not deliver justice.” She concluded by saying, “I am sorry. The victims of Operation Bluebird will not get justice. Ever.” This enduring struggle for justice, spanning over three decades, is a testament to the persistence and determination of the victims and their representatives. (Scroll.in, June 16, 2019).
This expression of anguish underscores the gravity of what has come to be seen as a profound miscarriage of justice. The petition, initially filed by Nandita Haksar on behalf of Oinam Hill village in October 1987 against the Assam Rifles, was dismissed unceremoniously by the Manipur High Court (after it was transferred from the Gauhati High Court) in 2019. The court cited a purported ‘lack of evidence’ for its dismissal. To the utter shock and dismay, they have ‘misplaced’ and ‘lost’ the records of twelve volumes running into some thousand pages. This loss of critical documentation not only undermines the legal process of the Indian state but also exposes systemic failures and the inability of the justice system to hold perpetrators accountable, deepening public distrust and frustration among victims and advocates seeking accountability and truth.
That Fateful Day of July 9, 1987
On July 9 1987, the Oinam Hill Government High School reopened after the summer vacation. It should have been a joyous day for village children to return to learning. Instead, it became the beginning of one of the darkest chapters in the history of Oinam village, set against the backdrop of ongoing insurgency and political unrest in Manipur. As students and teachers resumed classes under heavy monsoon skies, an armed insurgent warned the school staff to evacuate moments before gunfire erupted. The alleged Naga insurgents attacked the AR Outpost, plunging the village into chaos and fear, reflecting the broader conflict affecting the region.
The attack transformed the village and the school into a theatre of war. Students scrambled through windows to escape the crossfire, many sustaining injuries, while teachers guided them through paddy fields and forest paths to safety. For many children, that day marked the final day of their formal education. In the weeks that followed, the very school building was dismantled, outstation teachers refused to return, and an entire generation’s educational future was abruptly disrupted.
The immediate aftermath revealed the tragic predicament of ordinary villagers caught between insurgents and the security forces. Insurgents compelled civilians, including elderly men and school-going boys, to transport seized weapons under duress. Faced with threats and intimidation, the villagers complied not out of allegiance but out of desperation. Yet these coerced actions later exposed them to severe reprisals.
The subsequent counterinsurgency campaign, known as Operation Bluebird, inflicted devastating consequences on Oinam and neighbouring villages. The operation extended far beyond military objectives, resulting in widespread human rights violations, arbitrary arrests, torture, destruction of homes and livelihoods, and the erosion of social and cultural life. Village elders and respected community leaders, including B. Wa (church pioneer), P. L. Ring (Assistant headmaster), P. Sanglong (Village Chairman), Wakhao (Goan Bura), L. Zamo (Headman of Khongdei Khuman), K. Sunai (GB), R. Khova (GB), and M. Esou (GB) of Khondei Khuman and Simphung (among many others), were arrested and later allegedly killed during the operation. Their deaths symbolize not only the loss of individuals but also the destruction of the community’s moral and social foundations, leaving a lasting sense of grief and injustice.
The operation shattered the fabric of everyday life. Families were separated, livestock confiscated or killed, agricultural fields destroyed, churches desecrated, and homes demolished. The physical devastation was accompanied by profound psychological and cultural trauma that continues to shape the memories of survivors decades later. The village experienced not merely the disruption of peace but the systematic dismantling of its social order.
For those who grew up in the aftermath, Operation Bluebird became an inherited memory that shaped their identity. Stories of fear marked childhood, whispered warnings echoed through generations, and the lingering presence of trauma persisted. Families carried the emotional burden in silence, while survivors of torture endured lifelong physical and psychological scars. Personal experiences, including the author’s family history, illustrate how violence extended beyond immediate victims to affect subsequent generations, underscoring its enduring impact on community resilience.
Nearly four decades later, Operation Bluebird remains more than a historical episode; it is a living memory embedded in the community’s identity. The events of 1987 underscore the devastating human cost of armed conflict when civilians become trapped between insurgency and state retaliation. Remembering the Oinam incident is therefore not simply an act of preserving history but a moral imperative to acknowledge suffering, uphold justice, and ensure that such tragedies are neither forgotten nor repeated. This remembrance calls on us all to reflect on the importance of justice and compassion.
The entire village, and numerous inhabitants of neighbouring villages, were unlawfully herded into an overcrowded, unsanitary enclosure hastily erected at the village’s southern edge. The security forces confined the leaders in isolated, solitary cells, subjected them to systematic torture, public humiliation, and relentless intimidation. From July through September 1987, the security forces compelled the young and the old to assemble on the cramped Cho ground from dawn until late into the night, forcing them to endure the searing midday sun of summer and the relentless monsoon rains. This coerced existence, enforced without regard for basic human dignity or health, transformed a once vibrant community into a landscape of fear and endurance.
It has been 38 years since Operation Bluebird, yet justice remains elusive, an absence deeply felt by communities who have lost far too many loved ones before their time. In the name of maintaining law and order, the Government of India enacted the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA) in 1958, a legislation that, in both letter and spirit, has repeatedly come into conflict with the constitutional principles it claims to uphold. For decades, communities across Northeast India have lived under the shadow of this extraordinary law, one that effectively grants the armed forces sweeping powers with impunity, often described by critics as a de facto license to kill and harass. Rather than serving as a shield for citizens, AFSPA has been a source of fear, repression, and systematic violation. In many instances, the very forces entrusted with safeguarding the people have emerged as a threat to their security and dignity. This prolonged legal and political exceptionality has normalized the suspension of civil liberties, leaving generations to navigate a life marked by surveillance, violence, and the persistent denial of justice. The question remains: how long must a people endure under a law that treats them not as citizens with rights, but as subjects to be controlled?
In her book The Judgment That Never Came: Army Rule in Northeast India (2011), Nandita Haksar argues that Operation Bluebird was not solely a response to the theft of arms but a calculated attempt to suppress the enduring spirit of Naga nationalism. More than a military operation, it sought to erase a people’s historical consciousness and political identity. In her view, the objective was not recovery but subjugation, a silencing of a collective voice that had long demanded recognition and dignity. The tragedy of Operation Bluebird extends beyond the immediate human rights violations it entailed. Its unintended consequences are equally profound. Many who were orphaned or deeply scarred by the events were driven to join the Naga National Movement. Their motivation was not purely ideological, but a quest to reclaim a sense of dignity, identity, and agency over their own land. This is a stark reminder that resistance becomes a form of survival when institutions fail to deliver justice. This moment in history urgently calls for us to pause and reflect. Does the continued enforcement of the AFSPA serve the cause of peace, or does it entrench a cycle of fear, alienation, and resistance? After decades of unrest, is it not time to consider whether enduring peace can emerge through dialogue, dignity, and demilitarisation, rather than force?
The victims of Operation Bluebird understand that healing is not merely a function of time. It begins when truth is acknowledged, adversaries find the courage to reconcile, and justice is rendered to the aggrieved. In the case of Operation Bluebird, however, the path to healing has remained obstructed, as Nandita Haksar’s haunting words: “I am sorry. The victims of Operation Bluebird will not get justice. Ever.” It captures the enduring sense of abandonment felt by the survivors and their communities. The denial of justice in this instance reveals that the Oinam incident of July 9, 1987, was not an isolated aberration, but rather part of a longer, painful continuum of militarisation and impunity. One can also trace the roots of this tragedy to 1953, when the Indian state arbitrarily erected a military outpost in the village. What unfolded at Oinam Hill in 1987 echoed earlier traumas such as the Matikhrii Massacre of September 6, 1960, and foreshadowed later atrocities like the killing of 14 civilians at Oting village on December 4, 2021. These incidents are not disconnected; they form a grim narrative of systemic violence and state failure that has repeatedly wounded the same people. One may as well ask: Are the victims expected to forget? To erase memory in order to survive? The pain of such episodes lingers because new wounds are inflicted each time the past begins to fade into scar tissue. Until acknowledgment replaces denial, and justice replaces silence, the cycle of violence and silence will continue, not just as history, but as a living reality.
The remembrance of Onae Reh Dah on July 9 stands as a solemn invocation to the conscience of all who cherish freedom, justice, and peace. It is not merely a ritual of memory, but a fervent appeal to remain vigilant against the encroaching shadows of hatred, indifference, and moral fatigue that threaten to eclipse our shared humanity. Let this day be our collective declaration to the world that the anguish borne by the victims of Operation Bluebird shall not fade into silence, nor be reduced to a footnote in history. May we find the courage to speak for the silenced, the innocent whose lives were unjustly extinguished, whose aspirations were shattered, and whose voices the world failed to hear. May the wandering souls of the innocent, whose stories remain untold and whose justice remains deferred, find rest in the dignity of our remembrance and the steadfastness of our resolve. The path has been long, and the weight of memory is heavy for Operation Bluebird survivors. Yet, through the grace of God and an indomitable spirit, they have endured. Their courage and resilience are beacons of hope for us all. With gratitude to God Almighty, who sustained us through the darkest hours and endowed us with the strength to rise, we bare our wounds before Him in hope and faith.
KUKNALIM!
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