For more than eight decades, the Naga people have carried the weight of a political struggle rooted in our identity, rights, self-determination and aspiration for sovereignty. Generations have sacrificed, endured, and carried this cause forward with the hope that one day our political aspirations would become a living reality on our own land.
Yet today, as a young Naga, I cannot remain silent without asking a difficult question: After more than eight decades of struggle, where are we—and what have we actually achieved for the Naga people?
We have political organisations. We have factions. We have competing visions, declarations, agreements and claims to represent the Naga people. But the most fundamental question remains unanswered:
Where is the political reality that gives practical meaning to the sovereignty and rights we have struggled for?
When a movement becomes increasingly divided among numerous factions, each claiming its own mandate and interpretation of our national aspiration, the burden ultimately falls upon the very people in whose name the struggle is being waged.
With more than 40 Naga factions and political groups, it has become a profound burden for our people to discern whom to listen to, whom to follow, and whose political vision truly represents the collective aspirations of the Naga people.
This fragmentation has created not only political confusion but also a deeper crisis of direction.
Almost every faction has its own interpretation of Naga sovereignty, political rights, national history and the path toward our national aspiration. Each speaks of defending the Naga people and pursuing our political rights.
But after more than eight decades, we must have the courage to ask:
Where is the political and administrative reality that gives substance to these aspirations?
No group or faction has yet established and effectively put into operation an administrative system on our land that translates our long-standing political aspirations into a functioning reality for the Naga people.
We have spoken for generations about sovereignty. We have fought for political rights. We have established organisations and proclaimed governments. Yet our most fundamental political aspirations remain largely unfulfilled.
And this is where my questions become even more difficult.
Our very own so-called Government of the People’s Republic of Nagaland claims to exist in the name of the Naga people and to defend their political rights. Yet when the rights of those very people are violated by the institutions and authorities claiming to represent them, what does that say about the sovereignty we are pursuing?
If we do not maintain, recognise and respect the rights of our own people among ourselves, then it becomes difficult to understand what kind of sovereignty we are ultimately pursuing—and, more importantly, whose sovereignty it is meant to serve.
Sovereignty cannot merely remain a political slogan, a declaration, or a claim made by one faction against another.
If sovereignty is truly for the Naga people, then it must be reflected in how we treat the Naga people.
It must be reflected in the protection of their rights, dignity, land, identity and freedom.
It must be reflected in accountable institutions and responsible leadership.
And it must ultimately be measured by whether the ordinary Naga people experience the political rights that we have spent generations claiming to defend.
Our political struggle cannot become an end in itself.
Political organisations, factions, administrations and institutions are meant to serve the people—not the other way around.
After more than eight decades, perhaps the question we must courageously ask is not simply:
“Which faction is right?”
Perhaps the deeper question is:
“What have we actually achieved for the Naga people?”
Have we moved closer to realising our political aspirations, or have our struggles gradually become a struggle for the survival, recognition and expansion of factions?
At times, it appears that our struggle has become a struggle for the freedom of factions—or even the freedom to form more factions—rather than a struggle for the freedom and political rights of the Naga people.
This is not a question directed at one particular faction alone. It is a question that every Naga political organisation, every leader, every cadre, and every Naga citizen must be willing to confront.
Because if our political struggle continues without bringing us closer to the political aspirations of our people, then we must have the courage to examine not only the external obstacles before us, but also the contradictions within ourselves.
As a young Naga, I do not claim to possess all the answers.
But I believe my generation has a responsibility to ask the questions that previous generations may have been unable—or unwilling—to ask.
We owe this honesty to those who sacrificed before us.
We owe it to the people living on our land today.
And we owe it to the generations of Nagas who will inherit whatever political future we leave behind.
Our struggle must not merely continue. It must have a purpose.
Our political aspirations must not merely be proclaimed. They must be realised.
Our sovereignty must not merely be claimed. It must ultimately serve and protect the rights of the Naga people.
Perhaps the time has come for genuine realisation, honest reflection and courageous political introspection.
Because the question before us is no longer simply how long we have struggled.
The question is:
After eight decades of struggle, are we any closer to the political future for which our people have sacrificed?
That is the question I carry as a young Naga.
And perhaps it is a question that every Naga must be willing to confront.
N Ngansa
Lahe, Burmese Occupied Nagaland
(The views expressed are those of the writer and not of the newspaper)
