By Imlisanen Jamir
It’s something that makes you pause, maybe frown a little if you’re being honest: the sheer number of Naga people who found cause for celebration in Donald Trump’s recent political victories. In a place like Nagaland, where talk of rights, anti-corruption, and upholding indigenous values flow freely, it’s easy to see how this admiration for Trump becomes a head-scratcher, almost like a riddle wrapped in paradox. Here’s a figure marked by the hallmarks of controversy—yet, he’s celebrated by many who otherwise rally for social justice, accountability, and the defense of the voiceless.
Part of this seems to flow from the same Christian-centric base that Trump’s supporters in America often cling to. Christianity has long been an anchor for Naga society, shaping not only individual lives but also the undercurrents of our political discourse.
Trump’s public alignment with conservative Christianity and its power base no doubt strikes a familiar chord. Yet, to embrace him solely on this perceived affinity feels, well, a bit naive. There’s little about Trump’s character—whether in business or politics—that reflects the teachings of Christ. The man’s resume is peppered with scandal, excess, and a kind of aggressive self-interest that stands far from humility, honesty, or the sacrifice emblematic of Christian ideals.
It could also be the allure of the strongman—a zeitgeist that’s captured the global imagination. The world today seems enamored with leaders who dominate rather than empathize, who silence rather than listen. This fascination, perhaps, is not immune to our own society’s psyche. Yet, this adulation for Trump becomes even more puzzling when considering how the same figures in Nagaland—whether they are politicians, journalists, artists, or academics—often critique strongman tactics closer to home. They’ll lambast corruption in our own backyard, protest abuses of power, and uphold justice and welfare in Nagaland with steadfast conviction. But when it comes to Trump, there’s a curious amnesty—a turning away from the same standards they’d enforce on local leadership.
Is it because Trump’s politics seem removed from our immediate reality, some spectacle from afar with little consequence on our day-to-day lives? Perhaps. But it also makes one wonder about the sincerity of these celebrated voices, those figures we look up to for guidance and strength. If there’s an inconsistency in the principles they apply at home and abroad, what does that say about their dedication to the ideals they profess to uphold?
For Nagas, this isn’t just about Trump. It’s about the choices we make in who we celebrate, who we denounce, and what values we truly live by. The paradox may be curious, but it also leaves us asking if we’re content with the spectacle—or if we’re ready to seek something deeper, truer, and less convenient.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
