It is becoming painfully evident that government-built infrastructure has a disturbingly short lifespan in Nagaland. Highways barely survive a monsoon, retaining walls tumble at the slightest tremor, and even prison walls which are supposed to be symbols of security fail to hold their ground. If things were built to last, it might actually disrupt the cycle of contracts, repairs, and reconstructions that sustains a whole “industry.” Surely, we wouldn’t want our contractors to run out of work, would we?
One cannot help but ask whether contractors are deliberately cutting corners to ensure a constant flow of repair and reconstruction projects. It makes sense when we hear claims like if structures were built to last, contractors would be losing their livelihood! Instead, could it be a case of professional incompetence where our engineers are unable to ensure quality control? Worse still, is the entire system so deeply compromised that durability is sacrificed for short-term profit?
Whatever the reason, the result is the same. Public funds are wasted, safety is compromised, and trust in governance erodes further. Citizens are forced to live with broken roads, fragile bridges, and vulnerable infrastructure, while the cycle of repair, collapse, and reconstruction becomes a norm.
The irony is that public works are meant to symbolise progress and permanence. Instead, they have become metaphors for waste and negligence. This is not just an engineering concern; it is a governance crisis. The government must confront this culture of impermanence. There must be accountability, including blacklisting errant contractors, enforcing strict penalties, and demanding transparent audits of public works. Infrastructure is not disposable. It should stand as a testament to progress, not as a reminder of negligence.
Until this mindset changes, the Nagaland’s progress will continue to crumble as quickly as its projects.