Manipur: A Glimpse into the Forgotten.
Manipur: A Glimpse into the Forgotten. My Visit to the Relief Camps for Victims of the 2023 Manipur Violence
August 2025
MigraVoice* expert, Farai Hawthorn** from Manipur, northeastern India, recounts their visit to the relief camps in Manipur, where those displaced by the ethno-religious conflict have been living for over two years. More than 60,000 people have been displaced since the conflict began, yet these victims have been forgotten in the relief camps where they battle poverty, trauma and ignorance. Hawthorn calls upon the international community to remember these victims, talk about them and demand justice for them so that they can once again have homes, dignity and hope.***
In the heart of Lamka Town, Manipur, India, amidst the haunting silence of the hills and ruins left by the 2023 ethnic violence between the Kuki-Zomi-Hmar and Meitei communities, I witnessed a different kind of battle. Though the brutality has ceased, the battle against poverty, ignorance, trauma, the longing for Querencia, and the loss of dignity continues. Every camp I visited was among the most neglected, located in abandoned schools or community halls, offering no privacy and lacking even the most basic amenities.
After speaking with every camp supervisor I could reach, one truth became painfully clear: the daily needs of women and children are being overlooked. Their plight echoes the tragedies of global conflicts in Ukraine, Syria, Palestine, and the forgotten disasters like the Pahalgam attack or the Boeing 787-8 crash in India.
The Journey Home: Roads of Uncertainty and Danger
In this region, roads are not just physical routes, they are political boundaries, barriers to access safety and rights. My home lies 60kms from Imphal airport, but the ethnic conflict has rendered this route unsafe and life threatening. The road from my hometown to Imphal has witnessed brutal violence where people have been attacked and murdered solely for their ethnic identity, an identity I share with the victims. My only alternative was to travel to Aizawl, Mizoram and from there to Lamka my hometown.
Three months prior, I had reserved a seat on the Helicopter service from Aizawl to Lamka. But on the morning of my departure, after hours of waiting at the helipad, I was informed that the flight was cancelled due to heavy rain cloud, a common occurrence during the monsoon season. With no other option, I was forced to travel by road along NH-102B. The condition of the highway was terrible especially during June/ July, with collapsed stretches, pothole-ridden roads, roadblocks due to landslides, etc. A journey which lasted about 15 hours, filled with uncertainty and danger, an ordeal every individual must endure just to return to the place they call home.
A Home Lost, A Shelter that’s not a Home
My primary reason to visit my hometown was to reconnect with family and friends. Visiting relief camps, contributing in any way I could was my second purpose. The first thing that struck me was the nature of the shelters themselves- rows of cramped plastic-walled rooms, partitioned by thin sheets, offering no privacy, no peace, and little or no protection from the harsh weather. Families, many with small children and elderly members shared spaces barely large enough for a single bed. In these narrow confines, grief, hope, and fatigue coexist in silence.
Despite having a makeshift roof over their heads, the people I met and interacted with expressed a deep longing for a place to call home again – a Querencia. A place where they can feel safe, not haunted or displaced because of their identity. A place where they can dream again, carry out normal daily chores, where love and peace prevails.
The Deep Wounds of Trauma
Perhaps more painful than the physical losses is the invisible trauma etched into every face I encountered. Survivors, especially children and women, carry stories too heavy for words. Many watched their homes reduced to ashes, lost loved ones to brutality, are haunted nightly by the memories. Some women married to Meiteis (the other community engaged in the conflict) have been separated from their spouses for over 2 years now. Children have been left behind or ignored by one or both parents, who can no longer be together under the same roof. Mothers have become single parents, and children have become orphans. Divorce rates are rising, leaving more children to carry the burden of trauma. Psychological support is desperately lacking, trauma counselling remains a distant dream. The scars are still fresh, and healing is a long, uncertain journey.
Forgotten in Plain Sight
What struck me most was the overwhelming sense of abandonment. One coordinator shared that there used to be a tiny camp besides the relief camp, where camp residents could run to when they got sick or required medical attention. But now those facilities are no longer available and the sick residents have to approach the district hospital for medical attention. The district hospital provides limited services and is mostly over burdened, even worse is that in severe cases, patients are referred to cities like Guwahati or Delhi, an impossible option for victims living in relief camps with no income for over two years. Minor illnesses often go untreated, and chronic conditions are left to fester. A simple fever can become life-threatening. Pregnant women, diabetics, and the elderly suffer the most, often going weeks without seeing a trained medical professional.
The Hunger for Dignity and Nutrition
Food distribution, while consistent in some areas, is often insufficient and nutritionally poor. Rice, lentils, and salt form the bulk of the diet. Protein-rich foods like meat, eggs, and dairy have become rare luxuries. One camp supervisor, whom I contacted for distribution of relief materials, told me that they will be overjoyed to receive even a single non-vegetarian meal, which they haven’t eaten for the past 6 months. There were other camps too longing for the same, a wish I could only partly fulfil within my limited budget. While writing this, her voice still echoed in my ears. Children are visibly undernourished, their growth stunted not just by lack of nutritional food but by the instability of their environment. There is still hunger in the camps, not just for food, but for dignity, recognition, and the simple comforts that make life liveable. Then I ask myself ‘Who will take responsibility?’
Children: the Silent Victims
Perhaps the most heart breaking stories come from the children. Their joy when I bought them some biscuits, school supplies, boots for rainy days, was both heart warming and heart breaking. Their confused yet happy smiles, the looks in their eyes, as if they are telling me a story, envisioning a future. Behind those eyes lies trauma, memories of home turned to ashes, of loved ones murdered, of nights spent fleeing through the wilderness. The dark eventful nights of May 2023 still haunt them. They live in mourning, unheard and unacknowledged.
Daily life in the camps is a continuous cycle of waiting – waiting for aid, for good news that might change their lives, and for a new beginning after the devastation that has torn their world apart. For many, it is a wait to rebuild not just homes, but lives and identities.
And as I left my hometown, I was reminded that behind every number reported in the news, behind every statistics, there is a face, a family, a dream now shattered. The victims who remain in relief camps, are not asking for much: only for justice, recognition, and above all, a future.
Their sufferings may no longer makes headlines, but it remains painfully real, raw and unresolved. Let us not forget them, let us speak, write and act, until they are no longer just survivors, but citizens once again with homes, dignity and hope.
This is the fifth blog article in our MigraVoice series written by our MigraVoice expert Farai Hawthorn. Interested in writing a blog piece? Sign up for MigraVoice, then send an email to advocacy@thelondonstory.org with a proposal!
*This project is co-funded by the European Union (Project number: LC-02408780). Views and opinions expressed are, however, those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them. Project: ŁC 02408780 — Migrant Voices Matter in the European Media — CNECT/2022/8240201.
**The name of this MigraVoice expert has been changed to protect their identity and keep them safe, considering the ongoing conflict.
***The thoughts expressed in the blog pieces published are those of the author, and no responsibility of the organisation can be asserted from the pieces.