“All the world’s a stage,” wrote Shakespeare, and if that is true, Nagaland’s play today feels more like a tragedy than a triumph. In Aeschylus’s sense of the word, tragedy is not about spectacle but about suffering, moral conflict, fate, and the painful consequences of human choices. It exposes the moral conflict within us and the suffering that follows when truth is forsaken.
Our stage is crowded with actors, but too few realize that we are only performing our parts before eventually leaving the stage. Everyone wants a speaking role, yet no one wants the burden of honesty. The rich grow richer through manipulation and power, while the poor, resigned to their fate, applaud the very performance that exploits them. It is not just corruption in offices; it is corruption of spirit when deceit becomes an accepted script for survival.
We complain loudly against injustice, but often our anger hides a selfish wish to have our own share of the loot. Those who dare to stand apart, guided by conscience, are mocked as naïve and left to fade into silence. Integrity, once a virtue, has become a liability. It costs too much and earns too little.
Aeschylus observed that it is in the nature of few men to honor without envy a friend who has prospered. That remains true. Our society struggles to celebrate another’s success without suspicion. Collective progress demands trust, but trust has been replaced by rivalry, and service by self-interest.
If the world is indeed a stage, then the script of Nagaland needs rewriting. The next act cannot be about greed and disillusionment. It must be about rediscovering moral courage, about citizens who refuse to play the same tired roles of opportunism. The curtain has not fallen yet. There is still time to change the story, to act with integrity, and to restore faith in the shared purpose of our community. Only then will this tragedy find redemption. Maybe.
