Every few months, Goa confronts another allegation of police misconduct. The place, officers and circumstances may differ, but the allegations often sound familiar: assault in custody, humiliation of detainees, trauma suffered by families, or deaths that spark public outrage. Investigations are launched, statements issued, inquiries ordered, and public attention eventually moves on until the next incident.
Recent allegations involving the stripping, assault and degrading treatment of detainees, including a minor, at a South Goa police station have once again brought these issues into focus. The Goa Human Rights Commission has intervened, suspensions have followed, and investigations are underway. While every case must be decided through due process, the recurrence of such allegations raises a broader question: are these isolated incidents, or do they point to deeper problems in police culture, training, supervision and accountability?
This question has troubled me for years because of an experience that remains vivid in my memory. Two years ago, I met a young man who claimed he had been picked up by police for an offence he had not committed. According to him, he was severely assaulted and pressured to confess. He reportedly suffered visible belt marks and bleeding wounds. The actual accused was later arrested, confirming his innocence. Yet the physical injuries were only part of the damage. For weeks, he struggled to sleep, suffered nightmares, became withdrawn and fearful, and showed signs of serious emotional distress. His family was deeply concerned, and I eventually connected him with professional counselling because it was clear he was carrying not only physical pain but also the trauma of powerlessness.
His story illustrates an often-overlooked reality: custodial violence does not end when the beating stops. It follows people home, disrupts their sleep, erodes trust and changes how they view institutions meant to protect them. The psychological impact often lasts far longer than the bruises.
The young man also claimed the officer involved told him he held a law degree, was registered with the Bar Council and that nothing would happen even if a complaint was filed. Whether those exact words were spoken can only be known to those present. However, if true, they reflect a troubling perception of impunity. No uniform, law degree or professional registration places anyone above the law.
The episode also raises questions about institutional memory. The officer concerned had previously faced judicial criticism over human rights concerns. In one case, police personnel were strongly criticised for publicly parading an accused before the media, which the judiciary held violated human dignity. Later proceedings on similar concerns were closed only after apologies and assurances of sensitisation. One might expect such observations to trigger lasting reflection. Yet the same officer was subsequently publicly felicitated for professional excellence.
This article is not about one officer. It is about how institutions define excellence. Do adverse judicial observations become part of long-term professional assessments? Are human rights concerns reflected in service records and considered during promotions, postings, specialised assignments, awards and leadership appointments? Or are they forgotten once public attention fades?
These questions are especially relevant given recent events. Goa has seen allegations of custodial violence linked to a young man’s death by suicide after police questioning. Human rights authorities have intervened in allegations involving the stripping and assault of detainees, including minors. Other cases have involved alleged assaults leading to hospitalisation, emergency surgery and long-term medical consequences. There have also been controversies involving allegations of sexual violence and abuse of authority. While each case has its own facts and legal complexities, together they raise legitimate concerns about culture, supervision, accountability and the exercise of power.
What is particularly worrying is that several controversies have involved relatively young officers. Every police officer receives training in constitutional safeguards, legal procedures, human rights and professional conduct. If so, why do such allegations persist? Perhaps the answer lies not in what officers learn in classrooms but in what they learn afterwards. Young officers observe what behaviour earns praise, promotions and rewards, and, crucially, what behaviour attracts no consequences. Culture is not taught through lectures; it is taught through daily practice. Human rights lessons lose value if questionable conduct is ignored, excused, rewarded or forgotten.
This raises another question: what exactly are we rewarding? Crime detection and operational success are important, but should respect for constitutional rights not also form part of professional excellence? Should restraint, ethical conduct, procedural fairness, child-sensitive policing and respect for human dignity not be equally recognised? A democratic police force is judged not only by its ability to solve crime but also by how it exercises power. Fundamental rights do not disappear at the gates of a police station. The true test of a justice system is not how it treats the innocent, but how it treats those suspected of wrongdoing.
The overwhelming majority of police personnel serve with dedication under difficult conditions and deserve public support. However, protecting the reputation of good officers requires confronting misconduct honestly. Accountability strengthens institutions; impunity weakens them.
Perhaps allegations of custodial violence should automatically trigger retraining, enhanced supervision, psychological assessment and independent review. Perhaps judicial observations regarding misconduct should carry greater institutional weight. Human rights compliance could become a measurable factor in performance evaluations, promotions and awards. Senior officers could bear greater responsibility when patterns of misconduct emerge under their supervision.
These are not anti-police questions; they are pro-professionalism questions. A modern police force should welcome scrutiny. The issue is not whether one officer should be suspended, transferred or investigated. The real question is whether Goa is willing to examine what these recurring incidents are trying to reveal. Behind every allegation is a human being—sometimes guilty, sometimes innocent, sometimes a child, and often someone who carries the trauma long after physical wounds have healed.
Until we begin asking difficult questions about police culture, accountability, institutional memory and the lessons young officers are learning, the cycle of outrage, inquiry, apology and forgetfulness is likely to continue. The question Goa must answer is simple: when allegations keep recurring, are we merely disciplining individuals, or are we ignoring the lessons the institution itself needs to learn?
[The writer is an Assistant Professor of Social Work, Goa University and Founder, Human Touch Foundation and Former Chairperson of the Goa State Commission for Protection of Child Rights]
