Growing up in Nagaland as part of Gen Z feels like living between two worlds — one rooted deeply in our ancestors’ traditions and another ruled by screens, trends, and the unstoppable current of modern life. We are the generation that speaks fluent English and emoji, that listens to K-pop and folk songs, that wears both shawls and sneakers. We are not confused — just constantly balancing who we were, who we are, and who we want to become.
We still remember the village gates, the days of log drums echoing through the hills, and shared stories which were passed on through the warmth of evening fires. We are the generation who saw the transition — from transistor radios to smartphones, from handwritten letters to WhatsApp. And now, here we are — the children of Wi-Fi and YouTube, living in an era where information travels faster than thought. We grew up hearing stories of simplicity, but we live in a world that glorifies speed. Yet somewhere in between, we are still searching for something that feels real, something that roots us.
Being a Naga Gen Z is not only about the internet or modern fashion. It’s about navigating identity in a space where tradition still holds sacred meaning. Every December, when we go home for Christmas, I’m reminded of that connection — the warmth of the village fire, the songs sung in our dialects, gathering of youths at one place and share the sound of laughter that spills out of kitchens, and the smell of smoked pork. Those moments remind me that culture isn’t something ancient — it’s alive, breathing through the people we love and the stories we carry. But when I return to the city, I’m scrolling through reels, attending online classes, and chasing digital dreams. Sometimes I wonder — can both worlds truly coexist without one fading away?
Many of us feel that quiet struggle. We want to be modern, global, and progressive — yet we also want to stay Naga, proud of our tribes, our languages, our shawls, our ways of respect. But the balance isn’t easy. In trying to be global citizens, we sometimes lose sight of our roots. Fewer young people speak their dialects fluently now. Our traditional attires appear more on Instagram posts than in real life. Festivals are slowly becoming events to be photographed rather than experiences to be lived. And our folktales — once told around fires — now compete onYouTube, Stages, and reels.
But I don’t believe our culture is dying; I believe it’s evolving. We are the generation redefining what it means to be Naga. We may not live in morungs, but we build online spaces where voices from across tribes come together to share and collaborate. We may not always wear traditional shawls daily, but we express our pride through local art, indie music, tattoos, and storytelling. We may not speak perfect dialects, but we’re reviving them through podcasts, social media content, and cultural projects. The essence of who we are is still alive — it just looks different.
What makes Naga Gen Z unique is our courage to question. We are unafraid to speak up about things our elders hesitated to discuss — whether it’s gender equality, mental health, faith, or politics. We are not rebellious by nature, but curious and bold. We are learning that tradition and progress do not need to be enemies; they can walk hand in hand. We want to honour the old ways, but we also want to make space for new perspectives.
In this journey, technology plays both friend and foe. It connects us to the world — allowing us to showcase Naga music, fashion, and art on global platforms — yet it also distracts us, making us forget to look up and see the beauty around us. The challenge is not to reject technology, but to use it meaningfully. To use social media not just for trends, but for storytelling. To use the internet not just for consumption, but for creation. It’s easy to follow influencers from Seoul or Mumbai, but it takes more purpose to support a local designer from Dimapur, or to listen to a young Naga artist pouring heart into their music.
There’s something powerful about seeing young Nagas confidently expressing themselves — whether it’s through music, photography, activism, or entrepreneurship. We are proving that we don’t need to leave Nagaland to make a mark; we can build from where we are. The new generation is daring to dream beyond government jobs or traditional expectations — we’re exploring start-ups, media, design, and social change. And that’s beautiful, because it means we’re expanding what it means to succeed as a Naga youth.
Still, there are moments of uncertainty. Sometimes, I question where I truly belong. Am I Naga enough if I can’t speak my dialect fluently? Am I modern enough if I don’t fit into every online trend? That tension — between wanting to belong and wanting to be authentic — defines much of our generation. But maybe, that’s what makes us who we are. We don’t fit neatly into categories. We are hybrid — the in-between generation. The one that can sing hymns in our mother tongue and rap in English. The one that can perform traditional dances on stage and post reels about it online. The one that carries bamboo baskets and backpacks, both with pride.
Sometimes, I imagine what my great-grandfather would think if he saw me now — typing this on a smartphone, sipping coffee in a café, wearing a hoodie over a shawl. Would he think I’ve forgotten my roots? Or would he smile, knowing that I’m trying to carry his spirit into a changing world? I think he would understand. Because every generation has faced change — maybe ours just moves faster.
Being a Naga Gen Z isn’t easy. We are expected to preserve tradition and embrace innovation, respect elders and question norms, stay local and go global — all at once. But maybe that’s our gift. We are bridges — between hills and cities, between past and future. We are the proof that identity is not about choosing one side; it’s about weaving both into something new.
Our culture has survived wars, displacements, and modernization. It will survive social media too — as long as we carry it with intention. As long as we keep telling our stories, celebrating our roots, and supporting each other. The world may see us as just another generation obsessed with screens, but deep down, we know — we are more than that. We are a generation that dreams in both tradition and technology.
In the end, being a Naga Gen Z is about carrying our ancestors’ spirit in our digital souls — rooted, resilient, and ready for whatever the world brings next. The future is uncertain, yes, but it’s also full of possibility. And as long as we remember who we are, no amount of change can erase that.
Lachim K Yimkhiung
Phuvkiu Village, Kiphire, Nagaland
Tuesday, March 3, 2026