In public conversations, identity is often reduced to the most visible things – shawls, dances, festivals, dialects, and folklore. These are valuable. They carry memory and pride. But they are not the whole of identity. They are expressions of culture, not the definition of political existence.
Cultural pride answers the question, “Who are we?”
Political identity answers the question, “How do we exist in the world?”
Confusing the two weakens both.
A community can celebrate its festivals every year and still remain politically undefined. It can wear its traditional attire with pride and still struggle for clarity in rights, representation, and long-term direction. Culture preserves heritage; political identity secures position. One keeps memory alive. The other determines recognition, authority, and voice beyond ceremonial spaces.
This distinction matters because culture is emotional and easily mobilised, while political identity is structural and requires sustained understanding. When identity is discussed only in terms of dance and tradition, it risks becoming seasonal – visible during festivals, forgotten during policy decisions. Political identity, on the other hand, is not seasonal. It is present in negotiations, in governance, in the symbols a people choose to stand under, and in how they are acknowledged beyond their immediate geography.
To speak of Naga identity, therefore, is not merely to speak of tribes, textiles, or songs. It is to speak of collective political recognition – how a people define themselves within systems of power, law, and representation. Symbols such as a flag are not about decoration; they are about declaration. They signal collective existence, not cultural performance.
This does not diminish culture. On the contrary, culture gives identity its depth and continuity. But without political clarity, culture alone can be romanticised while core questions of rights, safeguards, and future direction remain unsettled. Pride without structure becomes sentiment. Structure without pride becomes hollow. A durable identity requires both.
Most importantly, political identity cannot belong only to negotiators, organisations, or vocal groups. It must be understood and upheld by ordinary citizens – students, workers, artists, elders, urban residents, and villagers alike. When identity is left only to institutions, it becomes distant. When it is internalised by society, it becomes resilient.
Identity is not a costume worn on special occasions. It is a position a people stand in every day – in how they are recognised, how they organise themselves, and how they present their collective voice to the world. Cultural pride tells us where we come from. Political identity determines where we stand and where we are going.
“Man is by nature a political animal.” – Aristotle
