Reclaiming Lost Childhoods: A Healing Summer Camp for Victims of Police Violence in Tamil Nadu

In the quiet village of G Kallupatti, nestled at the foothills of Tamil Nadu’s Western Ghats, a remarkable week-long summer camp unfolds each year — not just as a retreat for fun and learning, but as a powerful act of healing. This annual camp, jointly organised by People’s Watch and Manonmani Trust, has been a sanctuary for children who carry the invisible wounds of state violence. For nearly two decades, it has offered them something they've long been denied — a chance to simply be children again.

A Camp Unlike Any Other

At first glance, the Reaching the Unreached campus feels like any other summer camp — laughter ringing through the morning air, children stretching into yoga poses, practicing Silambam with bamboo sticks, and bringing handmade puppets to life through storytelling. But beneath the surface lies a profound pain. These children are not just participants in a summer camp — they are survivors of police brutality, custodial deaths, and encounter killings.

Children like 18-year-old Murugan from Javvadhu Malai come here every year, carrying the burden of unfathomable grief. Murugan lost his father Chinnasamy in the infamous 2015 Seshachalam encounter, where 20 labourers were killed in what many believe were staged police shootings. "It would have been better if my father had been sent to jail forever," Murugan says. "Now, it feels like I have no one at all."

A Space for Shared Healing

This camp was born out of a powerful realisation: while adult victims of police violence sometimes receive support, their children are often left to silently suffer the trauma. "They watch the raids. They see the blood. They grow up with trauma they can’t even name," says a senior lawyer from People’s Watch.

For many children, the camp is their first time leaving their villages. Here, they find themselves surrounded by peers who understand their pain. It becomes a space of play, care, and crucially — solidarity. "We want them to feel they can be children again," says Jeyaraman, one of the camp’s earliest organisers.

Camp volunteer Priya, who has worked with the initiative for over thirteen years, explains how deeply the trauma runs. “They have watched their parents being beaten. They don’t see police officers as protectors. Some grow up thinking revenge is the only way. We try to show them there are other paths — through education, care, and community,” she says.

Resistance Through Care

The initiative started modestly in 2003 with just 15 children in Madurai. Today, it has grown into a deeply rooted support network. Many of the camp’s current volunteers were once children who attended it. People like Thangeswaran, whose father was killed in a police shooting during a rally in 1997.

Thangeswaran still vividly recalls the horror of seeing his father's "bloodied and damaged" face. “He was alive in the ambulance. But the police beat him again. That’s what killed him,” he says, his voice trembling. Even now, the sight of blood makes him faint. Yet, he finds strength in returning to the camp each year — this time, to help other children like his younger self.

After his father's death, People’s Watch ensured his education, supported his mother with employment, and provided the essentials he needed to stay in school. For children like him, the camp wasn’t just a rare moment of joy — it was sometimes the only time they ate three wholesome meals a day. It gave them a sense of worth, and a glimpse of a future.

Building a Future, Together

This summer camp is more than a temporary escape. It is a movement that nurtures resilience through empathy, art, and education. It’s a quiet form of resistance — one that uses love and solidarity to stand against violence and abandonment.

The stories of these children are a stark reminder that state violence leaves behind more than broken bodies — it breaks families and steals childhoods. But thanks to initiatives like this, there is still hope. In the laughter echoing through the hills of Theni, in the rhythmic beats of Silambam sticks, in the eyes of a child crafting a puppet, a childhood is being reclaimed — piece by piece.