<p>The gruesome death of Ajith Kumar, a 27-year-old security guard, while in police custody in Sivagangai district, Tamil Nadu, last week, is another entry in a long list of custodial deaths in India. The incident extends a harrowing pattern: the normalisation of police brutality, the inertia of institutions, and the glaring absence of accountability.</p>.<p>The Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court, in a chilling observation, remarked that “even a murderer would not have caused this much injury to a person.” Behind this singular case lie disturbing statistics: Tamil Nadu alone has recorded 490 custodial deaths between 2016 and 2022. Nationally, that figure stands at a staggering 11,656. These are not mere numbers. These are lives, overwhelmingly from marginalised communities, extinguished in the name of law enforcement. The Tamil Nadu government, led by Chief Minister M K Stalin, responded quickly. The five constables allegedly involved in Ajith’s death were arrested. The brother of the deceased was given a job, the family three cents of land, and the case was handed over to the CBI to quell any accusations of bias. These are commendable gestures, perhaps necessary for damage control, but woefully insufficient as structural reform because the rot is deep.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Despite numerous arrests and charge sheets in custodial death cases, there hasn’t been a single conviction in Tamil Nadu between 2017 and 2022. Zero. That number is an indictment of the justice system. Nationally, only three police personnel were convicted in connection with human rights violations over the same period, despite over 74 cases being registered and 75 officers arrested. The conclusion is inescapable: the system protects its enforcers, even when they become executioners.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Tamil Nadu prides itself on its progressive politics and Dravidian social justice roots. And yet, custodial torture appears to thrive. As of December 2022, 2,129 people were held under preventive detention in the state, almost half of India’s total. Of these, 38.5% were Dalits, even though Scheduled Castes make up only 20% of Tamil Nadu’s population. This over-representation of Dalits among the victims of custodial violence is the legacy of a deeply hierarchical society and a law enforcement system that reflects and reinforces those hierarchies. In the eyes of the system, some lives remain more disposable than others.</p>.<p class="bodytext">So why does custodial violence persist? Some blame it on the macho culture within the police force, a toxic mix of unchecked power, internalised casteism, and a belief in violence as the quickest route to “truth.” Others point to political pressure: when crime needs to be “solved” quickly for headlines or vote banks, scapegoats are found and tortured. There’s also the crushing workload and lack of training in modern investigative techniques. However, none of these justify the brutalisation of suspects, most of whom are poor, voiceless, and unable to access legal recourse.</p>.<p class="CrossHead">Ensuring accountability</p>.<p class="bodytext">Human rights activists have demanded independent commissions to probe custodial deaths, the installation of CCTV cameras in all lock-ups, and automatic suspension of personnel involved in such deaths. But these recommendations, like most reformist ideas, often gather dust in committee rooms. Even when implemented, they rarely translate into convictions. Take the Sathankulam case from 2020, where a father and son, Jayaraj and Bennix, were allegedly tortured to death. Three years on, justice remains elusive. The system doesn’t just fail; it forgets.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The question often raised, and dangerously normalised, is whether “some pressure” is inevitable during interrogation. Do brutal methods help uncover the truth? The answer, both morally and empirically, is no. Numerous global studies have shown that torture yields unreliable information. It is possible to maintain law and order without dismantling the basic dignity of a suspect.</p>.<p class="bodytext">If Tamil Nadu truly seeks to transform its police culture, it must do more than suspend a few officers after each death. Accountability must become structural. The police complaints authority must be made independent and legally empowered. Judicial inquiries must be completed in a time-bound manner and made public. The state should invest in modern interrogation tools and forensic capacity to reduce dependence on forced confessions. Crucially, police training must include modules on human rights, caste sensitivity, and mental health, not as tokenism but as foundational to police work. And finally, victims of custodial torture and their families deserve not just compensation, but public acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology, and justice through fair trial and punishment of perpetrators.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Custodial deaths are not a law-and-order issue. They are a human rights crisis, a social justice failure, and a democratic shame. With its history of resistance and reform, Tamil Nadu should not be leading in this grim race. Instead, it must show how a police force can serve, not terrorise, its people.</p>.<p class="bodytext"><span class="italic"><em>(The writer is an educator and political analyst based in Bengaluru)</em></span></p>
<p>The gruesome death of Ajith Kumar, a 27-year-old security guard, while in police custody in Sivagangai district, Tamil Nadu, last week, is another entry in a long list of custodial deaths in India. The incident extends a harrowing pattern: the normalisation of police brutality, the inertia of institutions, and the glaring absence of accountability.</p>.<p>The Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court, in a chilling observation, remarked that “even a murderer would not have caused this much injury to a person.” Behind this singular case lie disturbing statistics: Tamil Nadu alone has recorded 490 custodial deaths between 2016 and 2022. Nationally, that figure stands at a staggering 11,656. These are not mere numbers. These are lives, overwhelmingly from marginalised communities, extinguished in the name of law enforcement. The Tamil Nadu government, led by Chief Minister M K Stalin, responded quickly. The five constables allegedly involved in Ajith’s death were arrested. The brother of the deceased was given a job, the family three cents of land, and the case was handed over to the CBI to quell any accusations of bias. These are commendable gestures, perhaps necessary for damage control, but woefully insufficient as structural reform because the rot is deep.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Despite numerous arrests and charge sheets in custodial death cases, there hasn’t been a single conviction in Tamil Nadu between 2017 and 2022. Zero. That number is an indictment of the justice system. Nationally, only three police personnel were convicted in connection with human rights violations over the same period, despite over 74 cases being registered and 75 officers arrested. The conclusion is inescapable: the system protects its enforcers, even when they become executioners.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Tamil Nadu prides itself on its progressive politics and Dravidian social justice roots. And yet, custodial torture appears to thrive. As of December 2022, 2,129 people were held under preventive detention in the state, almost half of India’s total. Of these, 38.5% were Dalits, even though Scheduled Castes make up only 20% of Tamil Nadu’s population. This over-representation of Dalits among the victims of custodial violence is the legacy of a deeply hierarchical society and a law enforcement system that reflects and reinforces those hierarchies. In the eyes of the system, some lives remain more disposable than others.</p>.<p class="bodytext">So why does custodial violence persist? Some blame it on the macho culture within the police force, a toxic mix of unchecked power, internalised casteism, and a belief in violence as the quickest route to “truth.” Others point to political pressure: when crime needs to be “solved” quickly for headlines or vote banks, scapegoats are found and tortured. There’s also the crushing workload and lack of training in modern investigative techniques. However, none of these justify the brutalisation of suspects, most of whom are poor, voiceless, and unable to access legal recourse.</p>.<p class="CrossHead">Ensuring accountability</p>.<p class="bodytext">Human rights activists have demanded independent commissions to probe custodial deaths, the installation of CCTV cameras in all lock-ups, and automatic suspension of personnel involved in such deaths. But these recommendations, like most reformist ideas, often gather dust in committee rooms. Even when implemented, they rarely translate into convictions. Take the Sathankulam case from 2020, where a father and son, Jayaraj and Bennix, were allegedly tortured to death. Three years on, justice remains elusive. The system doesn’t just fail; it forgets.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The question often raised, and dangerously normalised, is whether “some pressure” is inevitable during interrogation. Do brutal methods help uncover the truth? The answer, both morally and empirically, is no. Numerous global studies have shown that torture yields unreliable information. It is possible to maintain law and order without dismantling the basic dignity of a suspect.</p>.<p class="bodytext">If Tamil Nadu truly seeks to transform its police culture, it must do more than suspend a few officers after each death. Accountability must become structural. The police complaints authority must be made independent and legally empowered. Judicial inquiries must be completed in a time-bound manner and made public. The state should invest in modern interrogation tools and forensic capacity to reduce dependence on forced confessions. Crucially, police training must include modules on human rights, caste sensitivity, and mental health, not as tokenism but as foundational to police work. And finally, victims of custodial torture and their families deserve not just compensation, but public acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology, and justice through fair trial and punishment of perpetrators.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Custodial deaths are not a law-and-order issue. They are a human rights crisis, a social justice failure, and a democratic shame. With its history of resistance and reform, Tamil Nadu should not be leading in this grim race. Instead, it must show how a police force can serve, not terrorise, its people.</p>.<p class="bodytext"><span class="italic"><em>(The writer is an educator and political analyst based in Bengaluru)</em></span></p>