Silence in the Face of Injustice Is Also Violence: A Story of Grassroots Human Rights Activism
Published: Inspired by coverage in Dainik Jagran – iNext (3 December 2025)
In a world where discrimination, exploitation, and silence often walk hand-in-hand, speaking up becomes a powerful act of resistance. The featured interview in Dainik Jagran – iNext (Varanasi edition, 3 December 2025) highlights this very truth through the journey of a leading Indian human rights advocate who has dedicated his life to uplifting marginalized communities—especially Dalits, women, and children.
A Childhood Shaped by Inequality
The article describes how the activist grew up witnessing severe social inequalities around him. These childhood experiences planted the early seeds of empathy and awareness. As he grew older, he realized something profound:
Remaining silent in the face of injustice is itself a form of violence.
This idea became the foundation of his life’s mission.
The Birth of PVCHR: A Movement for the Voiceless
Driven by the suffering he saw around him, he co-founded the People’s Vigilance Committee on Human Rights (PVCHR). The organization began with a simple but powerful goal:
to give voice to the voiceless.
PVCHR works in areas where marginalized communities are often unheard—rural pockets affected by caste discrimination, bonded labor, and social oppression. Over time, the group has expanded its mission to include:
Campaigns against caste-based atrocities
Support for survivors of torture
Grassroots awareness programs
Women and child protection initiatives
The organization’s human-centric approach continues to inspire activists across India and abroad.
Voices From the Ground
The article highlights scenes from the activist’s field visits—gatherings where entire communities come forward to share their stories. Women with infants in their arms, young laborers, elderly villagers—each person reflects a shared journey of pain, resilience, and hope.
These interactions reinforce one truth: Change begins from the ground up.
A key segment of the newspaper feature discusses the persistent intersection of caste-based discrimination and poverty. According to the activist, these problems are not isolated—they feed into each other, making the most marginalized communities even more vulnerable.
He emphasizes that:
Caste is not just a social issue; it is a structural problem.
Patriarchy restricts women’s agency at every level.
Economic inequality pushes entire communities into cycles of oppression.
Unless society addresses all three together, real transformation cannot happen.
Inspiration and Recognition
The article notes various recognitions the activist has received over the years for his human-rights work, including international awards. But he attributes his motivation not to accolades, but to the people he serves.
When he meets victims of injustice, he says, he sees not just their suffering—but their strength.
A Message for the Youth of India
Toward the end of the interview, he shares a powerful message for young Indians:
Do not normalize injustice.
Stay informed and compassionate.
Think critically beyond stereotypes.
Engage in issues that affect society.
He believes that the youth have the creative power to reshape India—if only they refuse to stay silent.
Speak Up, Stand Up
The story featured in the newspaper is not just about one individual or one organization. It is about a movement that reminds society of a timeless truth:
Silence supports the oppressor. Voice empowers the oppressed.
As long as inequality exists, activism remains not just a choice—but a responsibility.
At the PVCHR (People’s Vigilance Committee on Human Rights) office, Prashant Tiwari delivers an in-depth presentation on his research, “Custodial Violence in Light of Dalit Rights and UNCAT Guidelines,” before a group of senior human rights practitioners and researchers. Standing beside a projected slide, he explains systemic patterns of torture and structural discrimination, while participants seated around the table engage with laptops, documents, and notes. The room is lined with human rights posters, including messages on the prohibition of torture, reflecting the organization’s longstanding commitment to justice for marginalized communities. The scene captures a rigorous and collaborative research environment, where evidence-based advocacy is being shaped to support survivors and influence policy change. In every village meeting, every mohalla baithak (meeting at ghettos), and every testimony circle I sit in, the same fear returns to the surface: “Police station se bach ke raho” — stay away from the police station.In a constitutional democracy, the police station should symbolize protection. In the lived reality of Dalits, Adivasis, the poor, and other marginalized communities, it too often represents terror. That gap between constitutional promise and everyday experience is nowhere more visible than in the reality of custodial violence.Prashant Tiwari’s research paper,“Custodial Violence in Light of Dalit Rights and UNCAT Guidelines,”is not just an academic exercise — it is a mirror held up to the Indian state. It compiles data, case patterns, and legal analysis to expose a brutal truth: custodial violence in India is not merely a matter of “few bad officers.” It is structurally casteist, class-biased, and institutionally enabled.This Op-Ed is my reflection on that research, informed by years of working with survivors through PVCHR and allied organizations. It seeks to push a simple but uncomfortable argument:India cannot claim to be a rule-of-law democracy while torture in custody is normalised, under-reported, and overwhelmingly inflicted upon those at the bottom of our social order.
1. Custodial Violence: Not an Aberration, a System
Prashant’s paper begins from a crucial premise: custodial violence is not an isolated phenomenon; it is embedded in the very functioning of the criminal justice system.
The Indian Constitution prohibits torture in spirit — through Articles 14, 20, 21, and 22. The Supreme Court inD.K. Basu vs State of West Bengal (1997)andNilabati Behera vs State of Orissa (1993)firmly declared custodial violence a direct assault on human dignity and the rule of law.
Yet, in practice, torture remains a routine investigative tool, a method of control, a caste weapon, and an instrument of social discipline.
What Prashant’s work does is to show, with empirical clarity,whois most likely to be tortured,howthey are tortured, andwhat long-term consequencesthey suffer.
2. Who Suffers? The Caste–Class Profile of Torture
Among 470 survivors whose data is analysed in the paper, 243 individuals — 51.6% — belong to Scheduled Castes, while a mere 4.1% come from upper castes.
In other words, Dalits are not just slightly over-represented; they form the core of the victim population.
This over-representation is not random. It sits on top of centuries of untouchability, landlessness, exclusion from education, and routine criminalisation of Dalit communities. The research shows:
84.3% of victims are aged between 15 and 60 — the economically active population, the backbone of families.
45.7% of survivors have no formal education, and only 23.4% have a bachelor’s or master’s degree. Lower levels of education correlate directly with increased vulnerability.
18.9% are landless labourers, and 14.4% agricultural workers, sectors where Dalits and extremely poor OBC communities are over-represented. Only 1.7% each hold regular government or private jobs.
This is the first structural insight: custodial violence is concentrated upon those who lack social capital, economic stability, and legal literacy. Caste and class intersect so tightly that the police station becomes a place where unequal India is ruthlessly enforced.
3. How Violence Happens: The Techniques of Torture
The paper catalogs methods of torture that are as medieval as they are systematic. Drawing from NCAT reports, survivor testimonies, and NHRC-linked data, it lists practices such as:
hammering iron nails into the body,
using heavy rollers on legs,
the “falanga” method (beating the soles of the feet),
stretching legs apart in opposite directions,
sexual torture and assault, including targeting private parts,
applying chilli powder to genitals,
electric shocks,
beating with hands cuffed,
pricking the body with needles,
burning and mutilation.
In the Musahar community data analysed through PVCHR’s fieldwork, a chilling pattern emerges: people are picked up from homes, functions, or fields without explanation; abused with caste slurs; beaten in transit or in custody; and left with fractures, open wounds, and deep psychological scars. Families are often not even told the grounds for detention.
This is not interrogation. It is organised cruelty.
4. The Invisible Ledger: Economic and Social Cost
One of the most powerful contributions of Prashant’s research is its focus on the economic and social cost of custodial violence, not just the physical injury.
When a poor Dalit labourer is detained and tortured:
The family loses daily income immediately.
To secure release or basic medical help, families often spend ₹5,000–₹6,000 in a single day — an amount that can wipe out savings, force debt, or push them to sell assets.
Government hospitals frequently refuse or hesitate to treat torture-related injuries once they realise the police are involved, pushing families into private healthcare they cannot afford.
If the victim is the sole breadwinner, the result is catastrophic. A single episode of custodial torture can push an entire family into a long-term spiral of poverty, shame, and social isolation.
This is the second structural insight: custodial violence is also an economic crime against the poor. It transfers the social and financial burden of state violence onto already marginalised households.
5. Psychological Devastation: Torture of the Mind
Physical wounds can be photographed. Psychological wounds cannot. That is why they are so often neglected.
Yet, as the paper shows, the mental health consequences of custodial violence are profound:
44.8% of survivors reported 5–6 psychological symptoms,
35.2% reported more than six symptoms, including nightmares, fear, hypervigilance, hopelessness, social withdrawal, and suicidal thoughts.
A staggering 67.5% had received no prior psychological or psychiatric treatment, and only 7.2% had ever accessed counselling.
This data is not abstract. In testimonial therapy sessions with survivors of torture and organised violence, people speak of feeling like “living dead,” of no longer recognising themselves, of losing all trust in institutions.
The third structural insight follows: custodial violence does not merely injure the body — it kills hope, destroys personhood, and corrodes the victim’s relationship with society and the state.
6. The Law on Paper vs. Law in Practice
At the legal level, India appears reasonably equipped:
Article 21 guarantees the right to life and personal liberty.
Article 22 provides safeguards against arbitrary arrest and detention.
Sections 330 and 331 of the Indian Penal Code criminalise hurt and grievous hurt to extort confession.
The Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC) and now the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), 2023, impose procedural obligations such as production before a magistrate within 24 hours and mandatory medical examinations.
The SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989, specifically criminalises caste-based violence by public servants.
Yet custodial violence continues because of impunity, procedural manipulation, and deep institutional bias.
D.K. Basu guidelines — on arrest memo, lawyer access, relative notification, and visible identification of police staff — are frequently flouted in practice. The Prevention of Torture Bill, introduced to implement India’s obligations under the UN Convention Against Torture (UNCAT), lapsed without enactment. India has signed but still not ratified UNCAT, leaving a gaping hole in the legal architecture against torture.
In 2025, India is classified as a “High Risk” country for torture and ill-treatment by government personnel, with 1,500 to 20,000 complaints of torture annually and conviction rates for custodial deaths under 1%.
Thus, the fourth structural insight: our problem is not the absence of law alone, but the absence of political will and institutional accountability.
7. UNCAT and the International Embarrassment
The paper carefully explains UNCAT’s architecture:
Article 1 defines torture as intentional infliction of severe physical or mental pain by public officials.
Article 2 mandates effective legislative, administrative, and judicial measures to prevent torture.
Article 3 prohibits deportation or extradition to countries where there are substantial grounds for believing a person would be subjected to torture.
Article 4 requires torture to be made a specific criminal offence.
Articles 12 and 13 demand prompt, impartial investigations and access to complaints.
Article 14 requires redress and rehabilitation for victims.
India’s refusal to ratify UNCAT has had real consequences. It has allowed:
No dedicated anti-torture law.
No reversal of burden of proof in custodial injury cases.
No binding framework for rehabilitation and compensation.
In high-profile extradition cases like that of Nirav Modi, foreign courts have pointed to the risk of custodial torture in India as a reason to hesitate — ironically protecting wealthy economic offenders while poor Indian citizens suffer the abuse that makes those arguments believable.
This is an international embarrassment built on domestic injustice.
8. The 2024 PVCHR Data: Torture as a Daily Reality
Prashant’s paper incorporates PVCHR’s 2024 data on custodial abuse and police misconduct:
14 custodial deaths,
126 cases of police torture,
1 death in police firing,
a total of 143 documented cases.
Among 142 victims whose gender was recorded:
86 were male,
52 were female,
4 involved both male and female victims, showing clearly that women are far from safe in custodial spaces.
Yet only 14 cases proceeded as court cases, while 160 remained at the level of advocacy interventions — evidence of how hard it is to push torture cases into a legal arena where the police narrative is usually privileged.
The fifth structural insight: even when torture is documented, the path to justice is narrow, dangerous, and stacked against survivors.
9. What Must Change: From Structural Violence to Structural Reform
Prashant’s recommendations, informed by data and jurisprudence, align with long-standing demands of human rights groups.
(a) Ratify UNCAT and Enact an Anti-Torture Law
India must immediately ratify UNCAT and pass a standalone, robust anti-torture law that:
defines torture in line with international standards,
shifts the burden of proof in custodial injury cases onto the state,
mandates independent investigations,
guarantees time-bound compensation and rehabilitation.
(b) Fully Implement Prakash Singh Police Reforms
Reforms must include:
independent State Security Commissions,
fixed tenure and merit-based appointment of DGPs and key officers,
separation of investigation from law and order,
Police Establishment Boards and functional Police Complaints Authorities in every district.
These measures are not optional; they are essential to break political control, reduce corruption, and ensure accountability.
CCTV in all lock-ups, linked to independent oversight bodies.
Digitised arrest records and mandatory public registers.
Strict documentation of every medical examination, movement, and interrogation.
(d) Compensation and Rehabilitation as a Right, Not Charity
If a person is found not guilty after enduring custody, there must be:
fixed, statutory compensation,
free medical and psychological support,
legal aid,
protection against retaliation.
(e) Human-Rights–Centric Police Training
Training must engage directly with:
caste prejudice and institutional discrimination,
gender-based violence in custody,
constitutional morality and international standards.
(f) Strengthen Community-Based Support
PVCHR’s use of testimonial therapy, community paralegals, and survivor collectives shows the power of community-led rehabilitation and accountability. Such approaches should be supported, not obstructed.
10. Conclusion: Democracy Begins in the Lock-Up
“I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary; the evil it does is permanent.” Gandhi’s words capture the moral core of this issue.
The Indian state sometimes tells itself that torture is a “necessary evil” to control crime or extract information. Prashant Tiwari’s research, and the countless testimonies that resonate with it, tell a very different story: custodial violence does not enhance justice; it destroys it.
A democracy is not defined only by elections, GDP, or foreign policy. It is defined by how it treats the person who has no power, no wealth, and no visibility — the Dalit labourer picked up at night, the Adivasi youth framed as a suspect, the poor woman threatened into silence.
If we truly aspire to a Viksit Bharat by 2047, we must understand this:
Democracy does not end at the gates of the police station. It begins there.
Until custodial torture ends, India’s tryst with justice remains incomplete.
