By – Meihoubam Rakesh Singh
For more than 30 months, thousands of our own people—mothers, fathers, elders, children—have been surviving in temporary relief camps, stripped of the safety, stability, and dignity that a home provides. The anguish deepens each day as we witness their continued suffering. These internally displaced persons (IDPs) have not demanded charity; they have simply sought what the Constitution of India already guarantees: the right to life, equality, free movement, residence, and the right to live with dignity.
Yet when these very IDPs finally gathered the courage to demand their lawful right to return to the homes from which they were displaced, the response from the State machinery was not protection or support—but obstruction, intimidation, and violence. They were stopped, detained, beaten, and humiliated for asserting rights that already belong to them. It raises a grave question: What could be more unjust—or more fundamentally unconstitutional?
What makes these actions particularly troubling is the absence of any official notification, order, or lawful directive restricting IDPs from returning to their original homes. Despite this vacuum of legality, State agencies—meant to shield the vulnerable—have instead emerged as barriers to their freedom and dignity.
The irony is impossible to ignore. On 26 November 2026, the nation celebrated Constitution Day with great pride. Speeches echoed with references to justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity. But for thousands of IDPs languishing in relief camps for over two and a half years, these values remain distant promises—celebrated on stage yet denied in reality.
The State machinery, entrusted with upholding constitutional guarantees, appears to have drifted away from this fundamental duty. Instead of ensuring safe passage for IDPs to return, it thwarted their attempts. Instead of providing protection from the forces that uprooted them, it inflicted new trauma. Instead of working to heal a wounded society, it has, knowingly or unknowingly, deepened the scars.
The recent demonstrations at Western Kangla Gate and under the BT Flyover were not mere protests—they were the voices of people pushed to the brink. Their placards spoke of profound pain and disenchantment: “Displaced Lives Matter,” “Rights First, Tourism Later,” “Ensure Our Fundamental Rights.” Even as the State projected an image of normalcy during the Sangai Festival, thousands of its own citizens remained homeless, invisible, and unheard.
IDPs from Churachandpur, Kangpokpi, Imphal West and East—families who once lived securely in their own homes—now declare that they will not return to the camps unless they are allowed to resettle in their original villages. Their protest is more than a call for physical return; it is a plea for the restoration of dignity, identity, and belonging.
The continuing clashes with security forces, the absence of a clear rehabilitation roadmap, and the prolonged uncertainty all point to a deeper constitutional failure. When the State neither permits return nor provides permanent rehabilitation, what future are these displaced families expected to imagine for themselves?
In such circumstances, seeking remedies before the High Court becomes not just a right but an imperative. Judicial intervention may now be essential to safeguard the constitutional rights of IDPs, to restrain unlawful State action, and to ensure either safe return or dignified rehabilitation.
As citizens of a democratic republic, we cannot afford silence. Silence, in moments like this, becomes complicity. When the rights of the most vulnerable are trampled upon, the Constitution expects us to speak, to act, and to demand justice.
My anguish today is not only for the IDPs but for the state of our collective constitutional conscience. A State that cannot protect the displaced fails in its most basic duty. A society that turns away from their suffering risks losing its moral compass.
Yet, amidst the despair, I continue to believe in the Constitution. I continue to believe in the courts. And I continue to believe that justice, though delayed, can still be reclaimed.
The IDPs of Manipur deserve nothing less.
(The author is Advocate, High Court of Manipur at Imphal)