Voices From Prison: When Opinion Becomes A Threat, Says Journalist Kishorchandra Wangkhemcha

I learnt the sound of the lock before I learnt the language of preventive detention. It is not loud. It is final.

Imphal has always known dissent. What it had not prepared me was how easily dissent could be redefined as danger. I am Kishorchandra Wangkhemcha, also known as Wangkhemcha Wangthoi—a journalist, commentator, and repeatedly, a prisoner. My arrests were not for violence or conspiracy, but for words: spoken online, circulated digitally, preserved forever. Over the last few years, my life has moved between newsroom desks and prison barracks. I have been arrested and detained multiple times for my outspoken criticism of the political leadership of the ruling right-wing party and its policies. What follows is not only my story, but a record of how a democracy negotiates criticism—and how easily liberty can be suspended in the name of order. My repeated incarcerations for social media posts have come to symbolise the uneasy clash between state authority and individual liberty in the digital age.

First Arrest: August 2018—The Manipur University Crisis

My first arrest happened during a moment of intense unrest. On August 9, 2018, the Manipur Police picked me up for Facebook posts made during the Manipur University crisis, when students and teachers were protesting against the then Vice-Chancellor A. P. Pandey amid allegations of corruption and misgovernance. The campus had been shut down following a violent police crackdown on protesters.

I openly criticised the state government’s handling of the crisis. After my Chief Editor rejected a news report on the authorities’ countermeasures—allegedly aimed at shielding Pandey, who was linked to the RSS—I posted the evidence on Facebook instead. The language was direct and uncompromising, but non-violent.

I was booked under the Indian Penal Code (IPC) sections, including promoting enmity and defamation. After a night in police custody, I was sent to jail. On August 13, 2018, the Judicial Magistrate, Imphal West, granted me bail, observing that the charges did not constitute a serious threat to public order.

I walked out believing—naively—that the law had recognised the difference between dissent and disorder. That arrest, however, marked the beginning of a cycle in which ordinary criminal law would repeatedly give way to the extraordinary power of preventive detention.

Second Arrest: November 2018—History, Nationalism, and Sedition

The second arrest was deliberate and political. On November 19, 2018, I uploaded Facebook videos criticising the Manipur government’s decision to commemorate the birth anniversary of Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi. I questioned the imposition of mainland nationalist symbols on Manipur, a region with its own distinct political history.

I argued that Manipur had been an independent kingdom until 1949 and had no direct role in the 1857 uprising. I accused Chief Minister N. Biren Singh of aligning uncritically with the BJP’s nationalist agenda and of using symbolism to discipline dissent rather than engage with history.

My language was sharp and confrontational, but non-violent. Yet on November 20, 2018, I was arrested on charges of sedition and related IPC sections. After six days in custody, the Chief Judicial Magistrate granted me bail, observing that my remarks constituted opinion, not incitement.

Freedom lasted less than 24 hours.

133 Days under the NSA

On November 27, 2018, the Manipur government invoked the National Security Act (NSA) against me. I was detained without trial and taken to Sajiwa Central Jail. The detention was approved on December 7, and upheld by an advisory board on December 13.

At that point, I ceased to be an accused person. I became a preventive risk.

Preventive detention is not just incarceration; it is erasure. You are imprisoned not for what you have done, but for what the state fears you might do. I spent 133 days under the NSA, a period that forced fundamental questions: where does opinion end and threat begin?

Jail has its own time. You wake up when you are told. You eat what is given. You wait—because waiting is the only right left to you.

During detention, my health deteriorated severely. I experienced constant fatigue and dizziness. At Jawaharlal Nehru Institute of Medical Sciences, doctors found my post-meal blood sugar level had crossed 530 mg/dL—a life-threatening condition. Returning to jail was frightening. There was no structured diabetic diet or consistent medical supervision. I lost weight and strength, haunted by the fear of a medical emergency.

What made it harder was knowing that my detention was not for violence, but for words. My wife, Elangbam Ranjita, fought legal battles while raising our two daughters alone—one just a year old, the other, five. There is no law that explains to children why their father is in jail for speech.

My imprisonment did not end at the prison gates. My family and I became targets—trolled online, whispered about, quietly ostracised. Preventive detention punished not just me, but everyone who loved me.

High Court Intervention: April 2019

While I was in jail, my lawyers challenged the detention. On April 8, 2019, the Manipur High Court quashed the NSA order, holding that the state had violated my constitutional rights by denying me access to the materials used against me, making effective legal defence impossible.

The judgement upheld Articles 19 and 21—freedom of speech and personal liberty. On April 10, 2019, after nearly four and a half months, I walked out of Sajiwa Central Jail.

Third Arrest: 2020—A Re-post Becomes a Crime

Freedom proved fragile. In 2020, I was arrested again over a re-post and commentary on a viral exchange involving the spouses of a BJP leader. A criminal complaint was filed by the Maram Women Union, alleging that the reposted statements were defamatory and offensive.

Though anticipatory bail was initially granted, it was later cancelled. I was arrested and spent nearly three months in jail. Unlike earlier cases, this one went to trial. I was convicted and sentenced to six months imprisonment. I have challenged the conviction before the Manipur High Court, where the matter remains pending.

Digital Media Law Notice: 2021

In March 2021, Paojel Chaoba, Executive Editor of The Frontier Manipur, and I were issued notices under the Information Technology (Intermediary Guidelines and Digital Media Ethics Code) Rules, 2021. The notices related to Khanasi Neinasi, an online talk show hosted by me with Chaoba and two other journalists.

After national attention, the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting intervened, clarifying that state authorities had no power to enforce the rules. The notices were withdrawn.

Fourth Arrest: May 2021—COVID-19 and the NSA

On the night of May 13, 2021, the police arrested me from my home during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic. I was dragged out in front of my children; a constable slapped me when I asked time to change clothes.

The arrest followed Facebook posts by activist Erendro Leichombam and me stating that cow dung and cow urine do not cure COVID-19, countering unscientific claims circulating after the death of BJP state president S. Tikendra Singh.

Though bail was granted, the Manipur government immediately invoked the NSA. I spent over two months in jail without COVID care, sleeping next to an infected inmate who later died. In July 2021, the Manipur High Court ordered my release, following the Supreme Court’s intervention in Erendro’s case.

The Aftermath

I am still fighting three cases—two in the CJM, Imphal West Court, and one in the Manipur High Court. Legal expenses and time constraints continue to drain my life.

Persistent cyber trolling by Right-wing supporters and the BJP IT cell continues till today. I am routinely branded online as a “jailed criminal” whenever I criticise the government.

I also work as a stage anchor, yet I have been deliberately excluded from hosting any government-related programmes. This professional sidelining has directly affected my livelihood.

What My Story Reveals

My arrests—2018, 2018 again, 2020, and 2021—trace a pattern of escalating state response to criticism. Each time, opinion was treated as threat. Each time, ordinary law escalated into extraordinary detention.

Along with journalist Kanhaiya Lal Shukla, I filed a petition in the Supreme Court challenging the constitutional validity of the sedition law. The question is no longer just about what I said, but about how much dissent a democracy is willing to hear.

Prison does not only punish the prisoner, it also exhausts families. It teaches children absence. It turns wives into litigants overnight.

I continue to speak because silence does not guarantee safety. Because speech, even when punished, leaves a record. Because democracies decay quietly when dissent is criminalised.

The lock still echoes in my memory. But so does the sound of a court order being read aloud.

Between the two lies the future of our democracy.

(Views expressed are personal)

— Kishorchandra Wangkhemcha has been arrested multiple times for criticising the political leadership in social media posts and is still fighting three cases in Manipur.

This article is part of the Magazine issue titled Thou Shalt Not Dissent dated February 1, 2026, on political prisoners facing long trials and the curbing of their rights under anti-terrorism laws for voicing their dissent.