‘Stone-age’ elections

The democratic exercise in Nagaland, particularly within Mokokchung district, has increasingly decoupled from the noble pursuit of civic representation, devolving instead into a primitive display of “might is right.” The recent sequence of events surrounding the Koridang bypoll serves as a grim indictment of a political culture where the battle for the ballot is subordinate to the battle with bullet and stone. What transpired between late March and the tragic midnight of April 5 was not a momentary lapse in law and order but a sustained crescendo of violence. From the initial skirmishes on March 19 to the stone-pelting on April 4-which did not even spare passing VIP convoys-the trajectory was clear. This cycle of destruction, which saw over a dozen vehicles vandalized and scores injured, suggests a pathology that runs deeper than mere political rivalry. To view this strictly as a security failure is to ignore the psychological and social rot beneath the surface. What are being witnessed is a reflection of the breakdown of the social fabric where age-old enmities and a culture of revenge have been weaponized by modern electoral machinery. When the landscape of an election resembles a war zone, the concept of leadership is the first casualty. Nagaland is currently trapped in a predatory cycle where only those with exorbitant wealth or command over muscle power can survive the fray. Even candidates with genuine intent find themselves held hostage by the mob, forced to adopt the very tactics they might otherwise despise. This has led to a total stagnation of progress; when the price of entry into public service is violence and bankruptcy, quality leadership evaporates. The economic implications are also equally devastating. The reliance on money power has birthed a hidden crisis of debt, with candidates and supporters alike taking loans at ruinous interest rates to fund the “muscle” required to win. This ensures that even the victor begins their term morally and financially bankrupt, more concerned with recovering costs than with governance. This is a reflection of a profound loss of authority across all traditional pillars of Naga society. Whether it is the Church, the village councils, the government, or the elders, the voices of restraint have been drowned out by the roar of the mob. If the means continue to justify the ends in this tragic fashion, the “ends” will be the total collapse of the idealistic society Naga leaders have championed for decades. The primary “pro” of the current situation is nonexistent, save perhaps for the temporary empowerment of fringe elements and the enrichment of those trading in violence. The “cons” are systemic: the loss of human life, the destruction of private property, the financial ruin of families through electoral debt, and the systematic exclusion of intellectual and ethical leaders from the political process. This environment fosters a “failed state” mentality where democratic institutions exist only as a facade for tribal and clannish warfare. The persistence of this violence indicates that Nagaland is no longer just facing an electoral crisis, but a foundational identity crisis. Unless the Church, NGOs, and village councils move beyond rhetoric to actively dismantle the glorification of muscle power, the state’s democratic future will remain buried under the pelted stones. The stunted growth of the state is the direct result of a society that has traded its visionary leadership for the immediate, bloody gratification of tribal dominance.