Presence of the past

For decades, Nagaland’s political narrative has been shaped by contradictions that reveal a deeper crisis of division and direction. In public, politicians of all hues more often invoke moral principles, justice, and collective dignity. However the everyday political practice frequently reflects compromise, silence, and selective reasoning. A society that proclaims traditional values of truth, accountability, and justice cannot indefinitely ignore that these values should stand the test between ideals and conduct. Until this divide is confronted honestly, the state risks remaining trapped in a cycle of confusion and stagnation. One of the clearest examples of double-play lies in the competing symbols that dominate public memory. The 1951 plebiscite is often celebrated as an assertion of political aspiration and historical distinctiveness. It was a historic event of integration of tribes who would eventually be drawn to another path at the crossroad in 1960. Later this would lead to creation of state under the constitutional framework of India as per the guideline of the 16 Point Agreement. The reality of the constitutional state continue to provide the political, administrative, and economic structure within which Nagaland functions. Elections have been held since 1963, governments formed, representatives sent to Parliament, and public resources accessed through the Union. These realities cannot be dismissed. Yet rhetoric often seeks to deny the legitimacy of the very system from which practical benefits are derived. Such contradictions weaken credibility and reduce serious political questions into instruments of convenience. This inconsistency has also burdened public life. When principles are applied selectively, citizens become cynical, leadership becomes performative and public trust erodes. Historical agreements and symbolic events are invoked when emotionally useful, but ignored when consistency or accountability is demanded. Sacrifice and suffering from decades of conflict deserve respect, but they should never be reduced to tools for narrow political gain. A people cannot build a stable future if history is used only to inflame passions rather than to draw wisdom. It is also a tragedy of political rhetoric that society has been subjected to unwanted mushrooming of faction when all are awaiting resolution of the Naga political issue. Even more damaging is the persistence of extortion, illegal taxation, kidnapping, and coercion under the language of political struggle. Families, traders, professionals, and institutions continue to bear the burden of fear and financial pressure. No movement, however historic its origins, can claim moral legitimacy while exploiting the very people in whose name it speaks. History may explain the past, but it cannot excuse present wrongdoing. Equally troubling is the culture of silence that surrounds these issues. Many who privately condemn tolerance to lawlessness hesitate to speak publicly. Fear is mistaken for prudence, and neutrality becomes a shelter from responsibility. Yet silence in the face of wrongdoing gradually becomes complicity. A society that normalises intimidation cannot nurture democratic confidence or moral courage. Nagaland also faces internal divisions that drain collective strength. There are many social and economic problems that need urgent attention. It is time that political stakeholders admit they can offer little to confront and solve the problems society faces. The path forward demands honesty and courage from leaders who must align words with actions, principles with practice, and rhetoric with responsibility. Democracy grows when people speak truth responsibly and reject manipulation. The younger generation, better informed and more connected to wider realities, has a special role to play in demanding cleaner politics and practical governance.