The Silent Crisis in Manipur: Displaced, Neglected, and Forgotten
OPINION & ANALYSISCONFLICT
Imphal: Amid government pronouncements and resettlement deadlines, a harsher truth lies buried in the relief camps of Manipur. Since ethnic violence erupted in May 2023, 34 internally displaced people (IDPs) have died in these camps—not from bullets, but from neglect. Just this past week, four more lives were lost, each one a stark reminder that statistics hide stories of human pain, each death a quiet indictment of state failure.
Aftermath of the mob violence in Imphal on 5th May 2023
Displaced persons take shelter in Assam Rifles' garrison at Keithelmanbi in Imphal West
Even as Manipur’s Chief Secretary P.K. Singh outlines an ambitious three-phase plan to close all relief camps by December 2025, thousands remain trapped in overcrowded, unsanitary conditions. Prefabricated homes and cash aid have been promised. But for the nearly 60,000 displaced people still waiting in limbo, hope remains a distant echo. Help is talked about in press briefings. On the ground, it is painfully absent.
Refugees in their own homes, Moreh displaced people waiting to be evacuated
Deaths in the Shadows
Relief camps, once set up as emergency shelters, have morphed into spaces of prolonged suffering. “We are not dying of hunger—we are dying of being forgotten,” said a displaced man from Moreh now living in Imphal West.
Residences in Moreh burnt down during the outbreak of the Manipur violence (May 2023)
Many of those who died were elderly, chronically ill, or simply too poor to afford treatment. With no permanent doctors, no access to medicines, and no mental health support, the camps have become silent killing fields.
34-yr old Jotin who succumbed to kidney failure due to lack of access to health care and resources.
Jotin in Moreh before the ethnic unrest
Take Jotin, a 34-year-old pharmacist who had been managing kidney complications. After the conflict broke out, he was stranded in Moreh for three months, his treatment interrupted. By the time he reached Imphal, both kidneys had failed. His family tried to raise the ₹7 lakhs needed for a transplant—but without institutional support, they couldn’t save him. He died on July 7. “We were left alone,” said his brother Akash. “He didn’t just die of illness—he died of abandonment.”
Lunch time at a Moirang relief camp in the initial days of the ethnic unrest
Promises Without Action
Although district administrations across Manipur have been providing some relief—distributing ₹80 per person and basic rice rations to ensure minimum food security—civil society groups and volunteers have repeatedly urged both the state and central governments to go beyond subsistence. They have called for a comprehensive relief package that includes healthcare, education, and livelihood support. But beyond these token provisions and well-rehearsed reassurances, little has taken real shape. “Officials come, take photos, make speeches, then disappear. Nothing changes,” said a weary man at a camp in Thoubal.
Displaced family inside a relief camp in Imphal waiting to return to their home
Even after the Supreme Court ordered the government to rehabilitate displaced communities, implementation has been slow and fragmented. The December deadline to close all camps now feels more like an eviction notice than a promise of dignified return. “Where will we go? There is nothing left to return to,” asked a displaced woman, her voice brittle with despair.
Displaced persons during initial days
More Than a Roof: A Rightful Return
What the displaced are asking for is not charity—they are demanding justice. Above all, they want to return home, to rebuild what was taken from them. But returning is not as simple as packing up and leaving. It requires security guarantees, reconstruction assistance, and sustained support from the state.
For many, the official promise of return remains a cruel illusion. What they seek is not just the right to return—but the means to do so with dignity, safety, and certainty that they will not be abandoned again.
Displaced persons during initial days
This Is Not Just a Shelter Crisis
It’s been over two years since violence shattered the lives of thousands in Manipur. Relief camps, meant to be temporary, have become permanent markers of apathy. Each death here is a silent testimony to what happens when a government fails to care.
This is not merely a crisis of logistics or administration. It is a moral failure. It is a question of dignity, of constitutional rights, and of our collective humanity.
If the authorities continue to look away, history will not only record the fires of 2023—it will record the silence that followed.