Connection to one’s land is not given; it is cultivated. It is the quiet recognition that one belongs to a place worth cherishing, a place worth protecting. Ask today’s college students in Nagaland what they are proud of, and the answers are unsettlingly sparse. Culture may elicit a fleeting nod, but beyond that, there is little that inspires genuine pride. A sense of belonging cannot be forced; it must emerge from a sense of gratitude, from the recognition of value in one’s surroundings, one’s people, and one’s history. Without this gratitude, there can be no loyalty, no willingness to defend or build.
It is troubling that so many young people cannot say, without hesitation or discomfort, “I am proud of Nagaland.” When pride is absent, the desire to fight for one’s land diminishes. What is there to fight for if the land seems riddled with corruption, injustice, and inequity? Infrastructure crumbles, schools struggle, hospitals are inadequate, and the divide between the rich and the poor widens with every passing year. The wealth of some is often ill-gotten, while the majority wrestle with marginalization and exploitation. In such a climate, pride withers. Those raised in privilege rarely learn to love the land that nurtured them, while those who suffer under systemic injustice rarely find a reason to be proud of the very society that oppresses them.
We are raising a generation that sees Nagaland not as a place of potential, but as a land burdened by corruption, injustice and nepotism. This generation is growing up to inherit society in five to ten years, yet poisoned by the failures of their elders. How can they rebuild what they cannot even embrace with love or gratitude? The responsibility lies with those who have steered this land into decay. Elders who allowed corruption to fester, who turned a blind eye to inequity, have failed their children. They have left behind not a legacy of inspiration, but an environment of cynicism.
Respect for one’s land cannot be demanded; it must be cultivated. Nagaland’s youth will defend only what they feel truly connected to. Until that sense of connection is developed, we risk leaving the next generation with nothing to protect, nothing to be proud of, nothing to cherish, and no reason to believe in a brighter future. The task of cultivating this connection falls squarely on the shoulders of the elders, for it is they who failed Nagaland in the first place.
