Editor,
I had been debating with myself for some time whether I should write this letter. After all, I do not wish to appear as an obstacle to the government’s grand vision of development. However, every morning when I go for a walk, it pains me to witness the desecration of nature taking place in the name of development, and it compels me to write.
I am referring to the rapid loss of the last few patches of forest within the city. In particular, I speak of the stretch that once existed from Polo Junction up to Bishop Cotton Road and beyond, along the slope that forms the catchment area of the Umkrah River. I remember, in my younger days, taking shortcuts through this patch of forest on our way to the Polo Grounds. It was a dense and beautiful forest. I also recall that this area had been earmarked as a conservation zone in the Master Plan of Shillong. Gradually, however, through deliberate actions and with the active participation of those in positions of power, the first portion of this green belt—from near Polo Junction to around Topovan—was lost. Over the years, the green cover was encroached upon and replaced by unsightly concrete structures belonging to influential individuals and groups. The encroachment has not only continued but has expanded with each passing day. Now the assault has shifted to the remaining portion of this green belt, specifically in the stretch near Topovan both from the upperside and lower side.
This stretch from Topovan to the official residence of the Chief Secretary, is a beautiful forested area frequented by morning walkers and joggers, with lush green trees on one side and the soothing sounds of birds and insects filling the air. Walking there is a pleasure; it rejuvenates the spirit. Sadly, mature trees—many of them likely more than a hundred years old and standing long before several of today’s political parties even existed—have been felled. Smaller trees and shrubs have been cleared, and the land has been dug up. This appears to be yet another step towards converting this strip of greenery into real estate. The very authorities entrusted with protecting our forests seem to be actively facilitating this process of destruction.
Why is there such a blind obsession with development at the expense of the environment? Why this desecration of nature and assault on entities that have no voice of their own? This protest is not mine alone. Many others have also voiced their concern over this brazen destruction. At a time when the world is increasingly aware of the dangers of global warming and the urgent need to preserve green cover, we in Meghalaya seem intent on destroying what little forest remains—right in the heart of our city, not to mention the gradual extension of habitation in the Laitkor range.
We are already experiencing the effects of climate change in our state, yet those in power appear oblivious to the consequences of their actions. Development is necessary; on that, we all agree. But it should not come at the cost of our forests and environment. If this present trend continues, we should perhaps stop this hypocrisy of celebrating World Environment Day and paying lip service on that day as to how concerned we are about the disappearing forests in our state.
Yours etc.,
B Dutta,
Shillong-1
Unidentified Miscreants and Identified Indifference
Editor,
Manipur’s story is, above all, a heartbreaking one. Every few days, another incident emerges from the conflict, prompting one to wonder what sort of game the warring groups believe they are playing. It is difficult to identify any strategic logic that explains a cycle of violence so self-defeating that victory itself appears indistinguishable from ruin.
Yet, amid the bloodied history of conflict in Northeast India, perhaps the most inconsequential death—at least in the eyes of the nation—is that of the migrant labourer. These men, largely non-tribal wage earners from beyond India’s narrow Chicken’s Neck corridor, are scattered across the Northeast, building roads, driving trucks, carrying supplies, and performing the countless mundane tasks that keep society functioning.
The recent clip of security personnel painstakingly retrieving the lifeless body of a truck driver was particularly haunting. His offence was apparently that he chose to continue doing his job: delivering essential supplies to a region that desperately needed them. The video will likely join the ever-growing archive of viral tragedies—watched, shared, mourned briefly, and then quietly forgotten. For decades, the migrant labourer has occupied a peculiar position in the region’s conflicts: visible enough to be targeted, yet invisible enough that few questions follow his death. He is the ideal victim for militants seeking publicity, a convenient statistic for aspiring pressure groups wishing to add gravitas to their credentials, and easy prey for the apex predators —the mysterious “unidentified miscreants.” These elusive creatures possess extraordinary abilities: they can burn, stab, bludgeon, intimidate, and disappear with such efficiency that their identities remain perpetually undiscovered.
Contrast this with events occurring on the other side of the Chicken’s Neck. There, if an air-conditioner installation leads to a neighbourhood dispute, accompanied by allegations of racial slurs, the entire nation quite rightly erupts in concern. Television panels awaken from their slumber, social media discovers its conscience, politicians issue statements, and public outrage travels at broadband speed.
Indeed, this collective sensitivity is the silver lining in an otherwise dark cloud of communal tension. Our own Chief Minister rightly ensured that his views were heard and even indicated that the matter could be escalated to the highest institutional levels if necessary to secure justice. Will he do the same for Manish Sharma, Papu Sharma, Raj Kumar Sharma, Mitlis Kumar, and Sorjo Bhumij who were assaulted at the construction site of the second Ri-Kynjai project by the Centrepoint Group at Laitkynsew village, Sohra, on Thursday, May 28, 2026 afternoon?
One cannot help but admire such responsiveness. It does, however, provoke an uncomfortable question. If a verbal insult can mobilise national attention, official interventions, and institutional concern, what level of urgency should be reserved for the truck driver whose body had to be pulled from a ditch, or for the countless migrant workers who have been assaulted, displaced, or killed over the years while serving communities far from their homes?
The tragedy is not that some victims receive attention. The tragedy is that others receive so little. In the hierarchy of public outrage, it sometimes appears that a dead migrant labourer ranks somewhere below a trending hashtag and only marginally above yesterday’s weather report.
A nation that prides itself on unity cannot afford such selective empathy. Justice loses much of its moral force when it arrives enthusiastically for some victims and reluctantly—or not at all—for others.
Your etc.,
Narottam Subedi,
Via email
