For decades, the word “peace” has been spoken often in Nagaland, yet peace itself has rarely been felt in its fullness. It is argued in Rev Dr J Jayakiran Sebastian’s essay ‘Peace and Reconciliation: A Theological Reflection,’ that peace can become fashionable, a word repeated so often that its weight is lost. This argument is worth taking seriously in the Naga context, where “peace talks,” “ceasefire,” and “reconciliation” have been heard for years, while ordinary life continues to be shaped by uncertainty, division and unresolved grief.
It has long been noted that violence is not only something done by outsiders to Nagas, but also something carried out by Nagas against one another. This point cannot be avoided if honest reflection is desired. Blame is too easily placed on “outside” powers, while divisions within, between tribes, factions, churches and generations, are left unexamined. A real theology and practice of peace, it is suggested, must be willing to look inward before pointing outward.
The role of the church in Naga society is significant, since the “majority” of Nagas are Christian. But it must be asked whether faith has been reduced to comfortable formulas, prayers for peace recited without a corresponding cost being paid, sermons on reconciliation preached without difficult conversations being had between generations. Simple equations, whether religious or political, are shown to obscure more than they reveal. Genuine reconciliation is not achieved through slogans alone; it requires the “messiness of real life” to be acknowledged, old wounds, broken trust and competing claims to land, identity and leadership.
It is also worth considering how individual responsibility and collective responsibility must be held together. Peace cannot be left only to leaders and negotiators; nor can the burden be placed solely on ordinary citizens through appeals to personal goodwill while the responsibility of the powerful is overlooked. In Nagaland, this means political leaders, church leaders, civil society and tribal bodies alike must be held accountable, not just individuals urged to “forgive and move on.”
Finally, it is suggested that peace should not be imagined as a return to some imagined, untroubled past, a romanticized version of Naga unity before conflict began. Instead, peace must be built with attention to what has actually been broken, and why. The “wreckage” of history, as Sebastian writes, need not be forgotten or wasted, but can become material for a different future, if approached honestly.
For Nagaland, this means less comfort in slogans, and more courage in truth-telling, between divisions, between generations, between the church and the political process, and between competing memories of the past. Only then might reconciliation move from being a fashionable word to becoming a lived and lasting reality.
