The Unspoken Violence of Waiting in Manipur

In the far eastern periphery of India, thousands continue to suffer in Manipur’s relief camps—a poignant reminder, captured largely through fragmented media coverage, of how systemic neglect and restrained attention have turned temporary displacement into a normalised form of everyday violence.

Following months, now years ever since it started in May 2023, of ethnic conflicts in Manipur, tens of thousands of individuals continue to reside in relief camps. They endure shattered livelihoods, ambiguous legal status, disrupted education for their children, inadequate sanitation, and the persistent daily degradation that arises from being considered “in the way”. These issues represent not just the overt effects of violence, but they also embody its more subtle, insidious manifestations, which is a form of violence that functions through institutions, classifications, and interpretations as much as it does through bullets.

Last March, The Times of India reported that over 14,000 Meitei individuals were still displaced in more than 100 relief camps located in the Imphal East and West valley districts. Meanwhile, The New Indian Express highlighted a report on plans to construct 7,000 homes to resettle approximately 20,000 Meitei and 40,000 Kuki-Zo individuals who continue to reside in these camps. These statistics illustrate a narrative of not just temporary disruption, but of ongoing stagnation.

The numerous camps and rows of prefabricated structures serve as more than just emergency shelters. These are locations where structural violence is perpetuated on a daily basis. As of May 2025, Amnesty International states that 58,000 individuals inhabit 281 relief camps throughout Manipur, frequently enduring “inhumane conditions” characterised by overcrowded living spaces, makeshift sanitation facilities, and inconsistent healthcare services. The government’s own statistics roughly correspond with this level of displacement. Such a significant degree of displacement necessitates more than just emergency assistance but calls for an urgent structural change.

Structural and Symbolic Violence

As framed by Johan Galtung, the Norwegian sociologist and principal founder of the discipline of peace and conflict studies, structural violence occurs when institutional frameworks systematically deny groups access to resources, security, or dignity. In Manipur, this is evident in the patterns of relief distribution, infrastructure enhancement, rehabilitation strategies, and access to legal safeguards for these people categorised as internally displaced persons (IDPs). In a particularly troubling case, Amnesty also reported that in February 2024, the State ceased relief deliveries to camps in Churachandpur district, leading to protests from displaced residents who were demanding basic necessities. Essentially, the administrative systems that should support citizens have, at times, become withdrawn or apathetic.

Merely offering “shelter” in camps does not bridge the gap left by destroyed homes, disrupted livelihoods, contested land ownership, or ongoing security threats. The camps place displaced individuals in a state of limbo: they are neither fully recognised as citizens with complete protection nor are they seen as permanent dependents of the state. Due to policy responses being sporadic, inconsistent, and underfunded, many IDPs remain in these camps not by choice, but by circumstance.

However, the violence extends beyond mere material neglect — it operates through symbolic frameworks that legitimise exclusion. French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of symbolic violence highlights that power is not solely derived from force or policy, but also from the daily construction of what is perceived as “normal”, “deserving”, or “other”. When media or official communications depict displaced communities as burdens or “inmates” and “wards”, and when the narrative focuses on the “return” of a select few families to signify progress while the majority remains in limbo, this represents a symbolic diminishment of their claims. When the struggles of displaced families are reduced to communal labels instead of being grounded in civic rights, symbolic violence has effectively taken its toll.

In “Two years of Manipur conflict: Thousands wait to go home”, The Times of India reported on a displaced Meitei individual residing in a temporary unit who recounted the destruction of his grocery business and the uncertain futures of his children. Meanwhile, the story “Ground report: In restless Manipur, displaced Kukis await return to normalcy” by India Today from Kangpokpi district details a relief camp accommodating 700 Kuki individuals, where four people, including children, succumbed to illnesses due to a lack of adequate medical care. Their experiences are not isolated incidents. Throughout various camps, there are recurring reports of measles outbreaks, fevers, poor sanitation, and unresolved chronic health issues. Even instances of suicide and medical emergencies have been documented, although official statistics remain unclear. 

Lives Behind the Figures

The above figures represent more than just statistics. They embody lives in precarious situations. A woman who has lost her home, a child forced to abandon their education, an individual with cancer denied essential treatment: these are the harsh realities that the fight against symbolic erasure must highlight. So, how can we craft a narrative that refuses to relegate the displaced to the waiting rooms of history?

To begin, we must focus on institutional accountability: while rebuilding homes is crucial, it is equally important to clearly delineate, legally secure land rights, and phase out camps in a timely and transparent manner. In the Sep 21 issue of the The New Indian Express, the report “Rehabilitating Manipur: Challenges in returning displaced people from relief camps” mentions the government has an initiative to resettle 60,000 individuals across hills and valleys may be a promising start — yet its implementation must be monitored and evaluated for fairness.

Secondly, the media and civil society play an essential role in uncovering what remains concealed. Local newspapers in Manipur, including The Sangai Express, Poknapham, Hueiyen Lanpao, among others, have historically influenced public opinion within valley communities. By focusing on narratives of internally displaced persons, camp life, trauma, disrupted education for children, and neglect of infrastructure through these local perspectives, we resist the tendency to delegate the conversation to outsiders. When a Meitei newspaper reports on Kuki-Zo families waiting in camps, or when a hill-area publication shares Meitei stories, it challenges symbolic barriers.

In any case, we must ensure that justice remains a priority: displacement without resolution breeds resentment. In the absence of transparency, thorough fact-finding, and reliable legal recourse, any resolution is likely to be superficial. When victims perceive a lack of acknowledgment, they come to accept exclusion as their destiny.

In the camps of Manipur today, silence does not equate to absence, rather it signifies a presence: of denied rights, delayed justice, and gradual erasure. To highlight this is not mere rhetoric; it is a civic duty. If we neglect to identify structural neglect and symbolic silencing, we risk rendering displacement permanent and despair a norm.

A version of the article first appeared in the November 2025 edition of Together.