Duality of unity

Few subjects in Nagaland evoke as much emotional engagement as the long and complex Naga political issue. Often described as one of the world’s longest-running insurgencies, the label captures only part of a broader, evolving journey. It is a story of identity, of tribes seeking a shared consciousness, and of a movement that has stirred strong and conflicting emotions for more than seventy years. The crucible of this struggle was shaped by missed opportunities-most notably when A.Z. Phizo’s delegation was denied a meeting with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru during his visit to Kohima on March 30, 1953 alongside Burmese premier U Nu. Speculation persists that such a meeting might have altered history, especially given Nehru’s subsequent willingness to grant Nagaland statehood despite opposition within his own party, and his decision to extend special constitutional protections under Article 371A. The word unity is being promoted as the pathway to solution. Unity, in its truest sense, means being of one mind on a specific issue. Yet unity does not imply uniformity, nor does it guarantee smooth implementation. Its meaningful application lies in acknowledging diverse views while agreeing to accept them for the greater collective interest-a win-win situation. In the context of the Naga political issue, such unity might have been achievable in the early 1980s when only three groups existed, and even in 2003 when the number had risen to four. Today, however, with reportedly over thirty factions, the irony is stark: the more unity is pursued, the more splintering occurs. This fragmentation reflects the reality that any settlement must ultimately be negotiated with the Government of India. Such a deal must align with the Constitution, and it is clear that New Delhi will only concede what is legally and politically feasible. Against this backdrop, unity among the groups remains elusive, not because the aspiration is misplaced, but because the structural limits of negotiation are unavoidable. Yet unity itself is a loaded term. It means different things to different people, and even under the best circumstances, total unity is a tall order. For political workers, their demands are understood and respected, with the hope that resolution will bring peace and redirect focus toward economic development and social progress. However lasting peace, like unity, is difficult to guarantee. History shows that any issue kept in the backburner can reignite at any time, threatening fragile stability. The movement has undeniably reshaped Naga society, instilling both aspirations and anxieties. Dreams of liberation have too often turned into nightmares, as cadres turn on the very people they claim to represent. Dimapur, the commercial hub of Nagaland is reduced to a “collection hub” where over thirty political groups besides hundreds of, unions, associations, government agencies, and market syndicates thrive on collections. For ordinary citizens, unity means that they all agree that want freedom from daily harassment and the restoration of law and order. Ultimately, the pursuit of unity in Nagaland is fractured by competing ideals and lived realities. For the groups, unity may be a means to secure their political vision. For the public, it is about reclaiming peace, dignity, and the ability to live without fear. Until these two meanings converge, unity will remain an aspiration-spoken of as political correctness.