Nagaland is no stranger to political storms, but the latest one has nothing to do with sovereignty talks or border disputes. This time, the thunderclap is over government job reservations — a subject that touches the dreams of every young job-seeker in the state.
Five influential tribes — the Angami, Ao, Lotha, Rengma, and Sumi — have come together under the Committee on Review of Reservation Policy (CoRRP) to demand that the state’s 48-year-old job quota system be pulled out of the freezer. The current policy, crafted in 1977, was supposed to be a temporary bridge to address historic imbalances. But like an old bridge left unattended, it now creaks under the weight of new realities.
CoRRP’s grievance is not difficult to grasp: the socio-economic condition has changed dramatically over nearly five decades. Some communities have surged ahead in education and employment, while others remain mired in poverty. Yet the reservation percentages remain the same, ignoring shifting demographics, uneven development, and the evolving needs of different tribes. To the protesters, this is less a safety net and more a frozen script from a bygone era.
The government’s countermeasure has been to announce the formation of a Job Reservation Commission. In theory, this should have been the perfect olive branch. In practice, it has been seen as a thorny branch — the inclusion of certain civil society representatives and government nominees has convinced CoRRP that the body is too close to the powers that be. They want a truly independent panel, unclouded by political loyalties or tribal pressures.
And so, the standoff has deepened. Protests have rolled through multiple districts. Memoranda have been delivered.
The second phase of agitation was briefly suspended after government assurances, only for CoRRP to reject the commission’s structure. Now, the group has declared it will refrain from state functions, including Independence Day celebrations. The winds of discontent are still blowing.
Where does the road to resolution lie? The middle path, though harder to walk, is the only one that can hold the state together.
The first step is credibility. Any review panel must be genuinely independent — say, chaired by retired judges, guided by constitutional experts, informed by economists and statisticians who have no political axe to grind. Only when all parties believe the umpire is neutral will they trust the outcome of the game.
Second, the review must be data-driven. Current quotas should be recalculated using up-to-date socio-economic indicators: poverty rates, literacy levels, unemployment figures, and measures of geographic disadvantage. This will ensure that help is directed to those most in need.
Third, in every ten years, it should be reviewed and updated. Laws and policies, like crops, must be rotated — otherwise they wither or breed resentment.
Fourth, minimum representation guarantees must be in place to protect smaller or more vulnerable tribes, ensuring they are not overshadowed by larger and more politically influential groups.
And finally, any changes must be phased in gradually. This will allow students, job-seekers, and institutions time to adapt.
But even the most elegant reservation formula will only be a stopgap if the wider economic reality remains unchanged.
The government must expand vocational training, boost private sector job creation, and increase targeted scholarships for underprivileged communities. In the long run, development must replace dependency.
Nagaland now faces a test not just of policy-making, but of political maturity. There is a Chinese proverb that says: “When the wind of change blows, some build walls, others build windmills.”
The wind is blowing hard over Nagaland. The question is whether its leaders will hide behind the old walls of mistrust — or build the windmills that can power a more equitable future.
Mathew Rongmei
Dimapur
Monday, August 11, 2025