Nagaland

If governance was a competitive sport, Nagaland might just take home gold – not for solving problems, but for creating them. With a population smaller than some Delhi neighborhoods, one would think governing this micro state would be a breeze. And yet, the state machinery continues to amaze with its spectacular talent for sparking crises faster than we can say “cookie jar.”

Just this month, we have not one, but two major agitations erupting like clockwork: the CTAN-NNQF protest against backdoor appointments and the CNCCI’s statewide business shutdown over ULB nomination politics. You’d think this was a Netflix drama writer’s room churning out plot twists. Instead, it’s just another week in Kohima.

What makes it worse (or better, depending on your appetite for chaos) is the state government’s apparent playbook: provoke, distract, delay, and deny. When citizens start asking uncomfortable questions, like “Why are contractual appointments being regularized without exams?” or “Why are we excluded from local body nominations?” – the response isn’t transparency. It’s deflection. Create enough noise, and maybe the people won’t notice whose hands are buried wrist-deep in public resources.

This editorial is being penned from distant Mokokchung, where the speed of news from the state capital often outruns our internet. One wonders if this government was elected for its sheer stamina in surviving one controversy after another. Because when it comes to actual development – roads, infrastructure, employment, education, healthcare – let’s just say we’ve seen more action in committee meetings than in the real world.

Getting elected to be a legislator ought to be driven by a desire to lead the people toward progress, development, and prosperity – not a plan to become a villain. At this rate, Nagaland might need not just a five-member review committee, but a full-fledged inquisition into how governance became such an epic drama. Until then, pass the popcorn. The next episode is probably already being written.

MT