Credibility and paradox

Nagaland enters 2026 with a familiar cocktail of hope, fatigue, and scepticism. Some cling to the promise of change, others quietly brace for déjà vu, and many steel themselves for another round of lofty assurances followed by thin delivery. Beneath these moods raises the question: can the state reclaim a coherent sense of direction-political, social, and economic-after years in which rhetoric has consistently outrun reality? The new year must be a chance to cut through the fog of press statements by all and sundry and counterclaims that dominate platforms but rarely touch the anxieties of ordinary citizens. People want what they deserve- safety, fair opportunities, functioning services, and a politics that does not hold them hostage. Peace and progress are not favours dispensed from above; they are democratic entitlements. Yet in Nagaland, “peace” has too often been reduced to slogans and ceasefire extensions that muffle public reasoning while threats and extortion persist in various forms. Ceasefires, dressed up as bold initiatives, have in practice produced little more than the illusion of securing solution. They legitimise paralysis, stall development, and compromise governance. The unresolved political question-central to Naga history and identity-cannot forever serve as an alibi for administrative drift. It demands pursuit through honesty, clarity, and consent, not intimidation or the convenience of entrenched interests. When every policy and social interaction revolves around an endlessly deferred “solution,” an entire generation is condemned to live in interim time. Meanwhile, the proliferation of factions- from four in 2003 to nearly thirty groups in 2025,each claiming nationalist lineage-has become a defining feature rather than a temporary detour. A movement that once spoke of collective destiny now churns out acronyms and rival “governments.” Nationalism that multiplies divisions and weakens its own people erodes the very ideals it professes to defend. Alongside political drift, a quieter social unravelling is underway. The broad Naga identity, painfully forged across tribes and regions, is increasingly overshadowed by narrower tribal and regional agendas. Demand for separate statehood, enhanced autonomy, or special cross-border arrangements reflect grievances but also a thinning of the common horizon that animated the 1940s. Development, though visible in roads and schemes, remains uneven. Perceptions of neglect, once largely voiced from eastern Nagaland, now echo across districts. Unless equity becomes the guiding principle in planning and allocation, growth will continue to cluster around advantaged centres, deepening resentment and eroding trust in institutions. Religion, too, faces its reckoning. The Church’s moral authority remains immense, but its near single-issue stance on prohibition raises uncomfortable questions. Has banning alcohol truly reformed behaviour, or merely pushed addiction into the shadows? Experience elsewhere suggests law alone cannot deliver moral renewal. Sustainable change requires patient engagement, honest conversations about failure, and pastoral attention-especially for young people navigating alienation, unemployment, and substance abuse. Beneath these visible crises lies the “khushi khushi” syndrome- networks of favour, small deals, and quiet compromises that normalise bending rules. Coupled with subtle misgovernance, this culture hollows out institutions, reducing procedures to formalities and citizens to supplicants rather than rights bearers. Nagaland in 2026 can no longer afford to let the “political issue” remain a convenient umbrella under which every other failure is sheltered. Its people deserve a state machinery that delivers without discrimination, a Church willing to examine its blind spots, and civic bodies anchored in honesty rather than expediency. The choice is clear- consensus for peace and progress can either remain confined to closed door negotiations among a select few, or be reclaimed as a collective responsibility by a conscious and engaged citizenry. The direction Nagaland takes now will reveal whether it intends to remain trapped in prolonged transition-or finally grow up into its own future.