There was a time when the name “Constable Kuttan Pillai” stood as a symbol of cruelty in khaki. It referred not just to one man, but to an entire police culture in Kerala that was marked by crude violence and contempt for human dignity. The Rajan custodial death case of the Emergency era and the infamous Naxalite Varghese encounter killing are etched in public memory as evidence of that dark chapter.
Over the decades, Kerala Police underwent changes—nickers gave way to full uniforms, training academies flourished, and educational qualifications improved. Citizens hoped that modernisation would bring about a cultural transformation. Yet, recent incidents from Kunnamkulam and Konni suggest otherwise. They show that beneath the polished exterior, the ghost of Constable Kuttan Pillai still lurks in the system.
The Kunnamkulam Assault
The most recent reminder of this reality is the case of V.S. Sujith, a Youth Congress activist from Kunnamkulam. Sujith was allegedly taken into custody for questioning police actions and then brutally assaulted inside the station. His case might have gone unnoticed, like many others before, had it not been for CCTV visuals. Obtained under the Right to Information Act, the footage revealed the scale of police excess. It was proof that could not be brushed aside, even in an era where political influence often silences inconvenient truths.
Sujith’s decision to fight back legally turned his ordeal into a landmark struggle, highlighting how transparency tools like RTI can pierce the wall of impunity that often surrounds custodial violence.
The Konni Case
A few years earlier, another young man—K. Jayakrishnan, a former SFI leader—had faced similar brutality at Konni police station. His case followed a familiar script: an inquiry confirmed the assault, but the officers involved were shielded. Promotions were granted, careers safeguarded, and justice delayed. The legal battle dragged on for years, draining both the victim and public faith in the system.
Jayakrishnan and Sujith’s cases, though separated by time, tell the same story. Laws exist, court guidelines are clear, and constitutional safeguards are in place. Yet, enforcement falters because accountability is treated as optional.
Law and Justice: A Fading Promise
The Supreme Court and High Court have repeatedly issued directives on police conduct. Some are straightforward: every person taken into custody must be produced before a magistrate within 24 hours; arrests should not be made in the dead of night unless unavoidable; interrogations must respect human dignity. In addition, human rights commissions and dedicated courts exist to act as watchdogs.
But reality diverges from paper. In practice, violations are common, and complaints rarely progress without hurdles. Victims hesitate to come forward, fearing harassment or repeat victimisation. Even when they do, cases drag on for years.
Why does this gap persist? The answers are troubling but familiar. Officers accused of atrocities often enjoy political protection. Instead of facing disciplinary action, they are transferred, promoted, or even decorated. In one striking instance, a Deputy Superintendent of Police accused of leading a custodial assault was later rewarded with a commendation certificate from the state’s Director General of Police.
A Culture Resistant to Reform
Crores of rupees have been spent over the years on programmes to reform the police force—community policing initiatives, human rights training, and digital surveillance tools like CCTV cameras. Yet, the mindset of impunity remains largely untouched. Cameras are often found dysfunctional at critical times. Human rights courts exist, but many lie dormant, underutilised or ineffective.
The problem, as experts argue, is not a lack of resources but a lack of will. Unless accountability is made non-negotiable, reforms risk being cosmetic. As one retired judge remarked, “When law enforcers know that political protection is stronger than the law, reform becomes an illusion.”
History Repeating Itself
Kerala’s troubled policing history continues to echo. The Rajan case during the Emergency era exposed how the police could torture a college student to death and erase evidence. The Varghese case revealed how an encounter was staged to silence dissent. Each scandal promised reforms, but decades later, the same headlines return under new names—Sujith in Kunnamkulam, Jayakrishnan in Konni, and countless others whose stories remain unheard.
What has changed is the availability of technology and legal awareness. CCTV cameras, RTI applications, and media vigilance make it harder for atrocities to remain hidden. Yet, exposure alone is not enough. Justice delayed is justice denied, and unless guilty officers face real consequences, the cycle will continue.
The Road Ahead
Both Sujith and Jayakrishnan have now approached the High Court, demanding strict enforcement of laws and mandatory functioning of CCTV cameras in police stations. Their petitions underscore the need for systemic accountability and independent monitoring.
Civil society groups argue that Kerala must move beyond piecemeal reforms. What is needed is a cultural shift within the police—an internalisation of the principle that authority is bound by accountability. Without it, every new generation will discover its own version of Constable Kuttan Pillai.
The Larger Question
When those entrusted with upholding the law themselves break it, where does the ordinary citizen turn? This question, raised decades ago, remains just as urgent today. Unless courts, governments and civil society act together to enforce accountability, the promise of justice will remain a question mark.
Kerala’s people deserve a police force that embodies discipline and fairness, not fear and brutality. Until that transformation occurs, Constable Kuttan Pillai will not remain a relic of the past but a haunting presence in the present.
