Why can't we stop turning relief camps into crucibles of despair

In Manipur, the plight of internally displaced persons trapped in relief camps is a stark reminder of a crisis that has been allowed to fester for over two years. Since the Manipur violence erupted on May 3, 2023, over 70,000 individuals—men, women, and children—have been forced to abandon their homes, seeking refuge in around 281 relief camps scattered across districts like Kangpokpi, Churachandpur, Moreh, and Imphal. 

These camps, intended as temporary shelters, have become enduring symbols of neglect. Far from providing refuge, these camps have turned into crucibles where hope diminishes, dignity is eroded, and lives are lost—not solely to the conflict that displaced them but to the persistent toll of abandonment. Rising suicides, preventable deaths, and widespread suffering expose a humanitarian crisis demanding immediate action. 

On November 12, 2024, protests at Sajiwa and Sawombung revealed the deep anguish of Manipur’s IDPs. Demonstrators carried placards reading, “We want to return home” and “How long must we stay in relief camps?”—messages that underscored their frustration with prolonged displacement. Wahengbam Bebe, a displaced resident, described prefabricated housing as prison-like, with cramped spaces serving as both kitchens and bedrooms and insufficient bedding compounding discomfort. The suicide of a young IDP at Sajiwa camp highlighted the desperation fueling these protests, exposing the reality that these camps, intended as safe havens, have become spaces of profound suffering.

The human cost is staggering. In Moreh, at least 30 IDPs have died in camps, succumbing to untreated illnesses, mental trauma, and neglect. Leishangthem Leima Chanu, aged 20, died of eye cancer on June 30, 2024, at Lamboikhongnangkhong Relief Camp, after struggling since November 2023 due to inadequate medical facilities. Similarly, Khaipao Haokip, 63, succumbed to cardio-respiratory failure and chronic kidney disease in Kangpokpi, while five IDPs at Ideal Girls’ College in Akampat and three at Lamding Higher Secondary School met similar fates. These deaths are not isolated tragedies but indictments of a system failing to deliver basic healthcare, allowing preventable losses to persist.

The psychological toll of displacement is profound, creating invisible yet devastating wounds. The suicide of 20-year-old Sukham Chanu at Mekola Higher Secondary School on January 7, 2025, and Angom Prem Kumar’s death in a Kwakta camp in July 2024 signal a broader mental health crisis among IDPs. A state report recorded at least six suicide attempts in the past 15 months, with two fatalities, though underreporting, driven by stigma and inadequate monitoring, likely conceals the true scale. The loss of ancestral lands, livelihoods, and community ties intensifies this trauma, eroding identity and hope. Children face the risk of becoming a “lost generation,” their formative years shaped by instability and fear.

Safety concerns within camps compound the crisis. Reports of a 10-year-old girl allegedly raped in a Churachandpur camp and the suspicious death of a 9-year-old raise serious questions about the security of these supposed sanctuaries. Without mental health support or robust protective measures, IDPs are left to navigate trauma and vulnerability alone, threatening long-term harm to entire communities.

In Churachandpur, hundreds of Kuki-Zo IDPs, such as Thaljasei Baite from Uttangpokpi village, reside in overcrowded relief camps, like converted hostels, grappling with inadequate food, water, and sanitation. Similarly, in Kangpokpi, displaced Kuki-Zo families face ongoing insecurity and limited access to essentials. The lack of healthcare access, with Imphal’s hospitals often unreachable due to ethnic divides, forces many to rely on under-equipped local clinics or seek treatment in neighboring states like Assam. 

Life in Manipur’s relief camps is a relentless challenge to human dignity. At the Manipur Trade and Expo Centre in Lamboi Khongnangkhong, 745 IDPs from conflict-affected areas like Kangpokpi and Moreh endure overcrowded blocks with leaking roofs and non-functional toilets. Rainwater soaks bedding, increasing illness risks, while poor sanitation fosters diseases like dysentery and measles. Clean water is scarce, and food rations—often limited to rice and lentils—lead to widespread malnutrition. A community worker, quoted by Amnesty International, stated, “The health facilities in these camps are very bad. We regularly see outbreaks of measles, dysentery, and fever… There aren’t many specialist doctors, which is worrying.” Chronic illnesses remain untreated, and pregnant women face childbirth without medical support, violating their fundamental rights.

When I visited the same Lamboikhongnangkhong Relief Camp, I was struck by the harsh reality of the daily allowance provided to IDPs—Rs 80 to Rs 85, varying across camps despite uniform government funding. This paltry sum is nowhere near enough to sustain a family, especially when medical emergencies arise. I met a mother who shared that a single strip of antibiotics or a bottle of multivitamin syrup costs more than her family’s daily allowance, leaving her helpless when her child fell ill. Moved by their struggle, I hired two IDPs from Kangpokpi, skilled mason workers, to provide them with some financial support. Watching them work with dignity gave me hope, and I know others in Manipur are also hiring IDPs for jobs, offering a lifeline through meaningful work. Yet, as heartening as these efforts are, they fall short of addressing the systemic failures that leave thousands struggling to survive on such inadequate support.

Besides, the Mandop Yumpham camp coordinator RK Sanahal reported that 1,100 IDPs rely on the Rs 80 daily allowance, supplemented by erratic relief distributions. The Central government’s allocation of Rs 217 crore in 2024–25 for relief and rehabilitation, followed by Rs 1,926 crore in March 2025 for various schemes, has not translated into meaningful change. Only 20% of displaced families have benefited from initiatives like prefabricated housing, leaving thousands in squalid conditions along highways in Kangpokpi and elsewhere. The disconnect between allocated funds and tangible outcomes highlights failures in implementation and accountability.

Education, a critical foundation for hope, is in tatters for displaced children. Camp schools, where operational, lack teachers and suffer from irregular attendance, reducing education to a hollow formality. A parent’s frustration encapsulates the issue: “It feels like the government is using our children just to keep the schools running on paper. This is not education; it’s tokenism.” Denied structure and stability, children face a future of lost opportunities, with trauma exacerbating their challenges. The absence of proper schooling deprives them of knowledge and the sense of normalcy education provides, perpetuating a cycle of despair.

A potential turning point emerged on July 2, 2025, when Manipur’s Governor assured civil society organizations that rehabilitation of IDPs to their homes would begin that month, following talks on June 30, 2025, between a 19-member delegation of Manipur CSOs and the Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) in Delhi. Representing groups like the All Manipur United Clubs Organisation (AMUCO), Coordinating Committee on Manipur Integrity (COCOMI), and Federation of Civil Society Organisations (FOCS), the delegation demanded resettlement, highway reopenings, and security for farmers, advocating for a phased, time-bound plan to restore normalcy. While this commitment offers hope, past unfulfilled promises necessitate caution. Action is essential to transform relief camps from spaces of suffering into places of renewal.

The Central government’s financial allocations—Rs 217 crore in 2024–25 and Rs 1,926 crore in March 2025—represent significant resources, yet their impact remains limited. Bureaucratic inefficiencies, lack of transparency, and poor implementation have ensured that only a fraction of displaced families benefit from initiatives like prefabricated housing. Thousands remain in deplorable conditions, their struggles highlighting the gap between policy and practice. Funds must be directed toward transformative change, with rigorous audits to ensure accountability. Humanitarian organizations need to scale up efforts to address gaps in healthcare, education, and mental health support, while public advocacy is crucial to amplify the voices of the displaced and demand systemic reform.

Addressing the present crisis in the relief camps requires a multi-faceted approach. Immediate action is needed to provide basic necessities: clean water, functional sanitation, and adequate food supplies to prevent further preventable deaths. Mobile clinics and mental health counselors should be deployed to address physical ailments and psychological trauma, with specialist doctors tackling chronic illnesses. Education must be prioritized to prevent a lost generation, with temporary schools staffed by trained teachers and equipped with proper resources to restore normalcy for children. Partnerships with NGOs and educational institutions could bridge gaps in staffing and infrastructure.

Rehabilitation must move beyond rhetoric to action. The Governor’s assurance of resettlement by July 2025 requires a transparent, phased plan, with security measures to protect returning IDPs and support for farmers to reopen highways. Rehabilitation packages should include livelihood support to ensure economic stability. Accountability is critical: funds must be audited to ensure they reach those in need, and civil society, media, and the public must hold authorities accountable. Initiatives like hiring IDPs for jobs, such as the mason workers from Kangpokpi, should be expanded to promote dignified earning, but systemic solutions remain essential to address the crisis comprehensively.

The IDPs, particularly from Churachandpur and Moreh, face immense challenges following the destruction of their homes. Many, like Naorem Rojita Devi, whose house in Churachandpur was razed with explosives, are living in relief camps with limited access to basic needs, education, and mental health support. Shifting from the Imphal Relief camps to another temporary houses is meaningless. People wants to rest their tired soul and body in their ancestral homes. Constructing homes for all IDPs within next 6-12 months seems highly ambitious, given logistical challenges, ongoing tensions, and the scale of displacement (thousands affected). While the government claims commitment to start rehabilitation within this month, the timeline appears unrealistic without significant resource allocation and expedited efforts, leaving many IDPs in precarious conditions for the foreseeable future. 

These relief camps serve as a mirror of society’s collective conscience, with the suffering of 70,000 displaced individuals demanding action. These are not mere statistics but families yearning for peace, dignity, and a chance to rebuild. Their resilience calls for a response that matches their endurance. The Governor’s recent assurances, following the June 30, 2025, talks with the MHA, offer a pivotal opportunity, but promises must translate into reality. Governments must deliver transformative change, humanitarian groups must fill critical gaps, and the public must amplify these voices. The IDPs havae lost homes, livelihoods, and stability—they must not lose hope or lives. These camps can become spaces of renewal, where dignity is restored, and futures are rebuilt. The question is not whether action is possible, but whether society will rise to the challenge.

The relief camps represent more than a policy failure; they are a moral reckoning. The protests, suicides, preventable deaths, and daily indignities demand urgent change. The Governor’s commitment to rehabilitation, backed by significant financial allocations, offers hope, but only action will suffice. Basic amenities, healthcare, education, and secure resettlement must be prioritized to transform these crucibles of despair into spaces of healing. The 70,000 displaced individuals deserve more than sympathy—they deserve justice, dignity, and a future. Society’s response will define its humanity. The time to act is now!