Honoured in word, not in deed?
By Moa Jamir
“Our values are priceless and cannot be borrowed,” a Minister from Nagaland recently asserted at a public event. At another gathering, a fellow Minister reiterated that “honesty and integrity are priceless qualities of the Nagas.” These are familiar refrains at almost every public function or fireside conversation — often harking back to a moral code once believed to define Naga society.Hospitality, solidarity, dignity of labour, and truthfulness etc are repeatedly invoked as collective virtues.
However, these proclamations increasingly ring hollow against the lived realities on the ground. The disconnect between rhetoric and practice has grown so wide that it is difficult to locate these “priceless” values beyond speeches and ceremonial declarations. Governance and solidarity are a case in point.
One of the clearest contradictions lies in the normalisation of corruption. It is widely acknowledged — across civil society, religious platforms, and political forums — that corruption pervades every layer of life in Nagaland, from elections to everyday governance. Yet, this consensus has failed to catalyse collective reform. Instead, it has led to a quiet resignation, where periodic statements from the high table and sporadic activism serve more as moral pageantry than serious commitment to systemic change.
This social inertia is what might be described as Nagaland’s Stockholm Syndrome. People recognise the rot but continue to reinforce and depend on the very structures that perpetuate it. The run-up to elections, for instance, often sees voters reverting to identity-based loyalties and transactional politics — the same processes blamed for dysfunction.
Selective empathy further compounds the issue, particularly in instances of selective outrage and solidarity. Condemnations and calls for justice often vary depending on the social identity of the victims or perpetrators, revealing a disturbing moral inconsistency. While many crimes are routinely labelled as “alien” to Naga ethos, societal responses frequently contradict the values professed in public discourse. Empathy towards social causes and public services often follows this same pattern.
Naga academician Venüsa Tünyi’s attribution of the “Messiah Syndrome” and “Mad Dog Syndrome” in the context of Naga nationalism, remains relevant, in society today. The former manifests as a self-righteous impulse — the belief that “only I can save society.” The latter, in contrast, demands the exclusion or elimination of dissenting voices. Both syndromes distort responses to change and governance: institutions are either over-idealised or vilified, and individuals are quick to moralise but slow to self-reflect.
These contradictions are reflected in the many ironies of the State. Nagaland has one of the highest per capita vehicle densities, yet some of the worst road infrastructure. It is ‘legally’ dry, yet practically wet. The State boasts of traditional democratic institutions, yet elections are driven by money power and clan calculations. Government employment is abundant, yet public service delivery remains weak. Compassion is extolled in sermons, but apathy dominates in practice.
This is further compounded by a culture of mutual admiration at various levels — political, bureaucratic, and societal — fostering sycophancy. Praise is rewarded, while dissent is discouraged or conveniently sidelined. Institutions falter not just due to structural weaknesses but also because of the passive complicity of those they are meant to serve. Responses to causes are often driven more by self-interest than genuine concern. Accordingly, one could argue that while Nagaland has countless interest and pressure groups, it is still found wanting in authentic civil society organisations.
Ultimately, Naga society seems trapped in a performance of values and continues to long for a once-cherished ‘paradise of values’ it claims to have possessed. Unless society moves beyond rhetoric and confronts uncomfortable realities with honesty and pragmatism, the much-cited moral code may soon be remembered only as folklore — not a living ethic.
For any feedback, drop a line to jamir.moa@gmail.com
