Editorial

The Supreme Court’s expression of shock on Thursday over the deaths of internally displaced persons in Manipur’s relief camps is both a judicial rebuke and a moral indictment. Three years after ethnic violence uprooted tens of thousands, the highest court of the land has been forced to ask the most basic questions: Why did so many die while under the state’s protection? Why were post-mortems conducted in only a fraction of the cases? And why were grieving families offered a token ₹20,000–30,000 as compensation?

A bench led by Chief Justice Surya Kant noted reports of over 600 deaths across camps in eight districts, with 25–34 classified as unnatural. One case allegedly followed sexual assault. Information sought by the Justice Gita Mittal committee as early as July remained unanswered. The court has now directed the Manipur Chief Secretary to file a detailed affidavit explaining the circumstances of these deaths, the status of criminal investigations, and the measures taken to ensure the safety and dignity of those still living in the camps. The Manipur State Legal Services Authority has been asked to ensure FIRs are registered and investigations proceed without delay.

These directions are necessary, yet they also reveal a deeper failure. Relief camps are meant to be places of temporary safety, not open-air warehouses of neglect. When people flee violence only to die of preventable causes, alleged assault, or despair within state-run shelters, the promise of constitutional protection rings hollow. The meagre compensation paid to families only compounds the indignity. The ethnic conflict of 2023 remains unresolved. Thousands continue to live in limbo, their homes destroyed, their futures uncertain. The Supreme Court’s intervention is a reminder that displacement does not end when the cameras leave. Accountability cannot be selective. Post-mortems must be conducted thoroughly, criminal cases pursued diligently, and living conditions improved urgently.

Manipur’s administration must treat this order as more than a compliance exercise. It is a test of whether the state still regards the displaced as citizens entitled to life, dignity, and justice — or merely as statistics to be managed. The court’s shock is shared by every citizen who believes that no Indian should die forgotten in a relief camp. The response from Imphal will show whether that belief still has meaning.

The Election Commission’s interim order freezing the All India Trinamool Congress’s name and its iconic “Flowers & Grass” (Jora Phool) symbol is a necessary, if uncomfortable, intervention in a deepening factional war. With byelections due in Nandigram and Rejinagar on October 6, the Commission has barred both the Mamata Banerjee-led group and the rival faction associated with Arup Roy and Ritabrata Banerjee from using the party’s identity. Each side must now submit three preferred alternative names and free symbols by Friday morning.

This is not an act of overreach. Paragraph 15 of the Election Symbols (Reservation and Allotment) Order, 1968, exists precisely for such moments: when rival sections of a recognised party both claim to be the original organisation. Time is short; a full adjudication is impossible before polling. By placing both factions on an equal footing and protecting the integrity of the electoral process, the Commission has followed precedent set in earlier splits. The symbol remains reserved for the recognised party until a final determination is made.

Yet the order also exposes the cost of internal collapse. The Trinamool Congress, once a formidable force built on Mamata Banerjee’s personal brand and grassroots mobilisation, now finds itself stripped of its most recognisable assets at a critical juncture. Voters who have long identified the twin flowers with a particular political platform will face unfamiliar names and symbols. Confusion is inevitable. For a party that has long projected itself as the sole authentic voice of Bengal’s regional aspirations, this is a self-inflicted wound.

Factionalism is not new to Indian politics. What is striking is how quickly organisational discipline has eroded. Claims and counter-claims about constitutional validity, working committees, and popular support have replaced internal dialogue. The result is a public spectacle that weakens the party’s bargaining power and invites external opportunism.

The Commission’s decision is temporary. A substantive ruling under Paragraph 15 will eventually decide which group—if either—carries the original party’s recognition. Until then, both sides must contest under new identities. That exercise may force a measure of clarity. Parties that treat symbols as private property rather than public trusts ultimately risk losing both.

Democracy requires institutions that can step in when organisations fracture. The Election Commission has done its duty. The larger responsibility now lies with the leaders of both factions: to resolve their differences through constitutional means rather than prolonged legal and political attrition that only diminishes the political space they once dominated.

• SAS Kirmani