The Nagaland Liquor Total Prohibition (NLTP) Act, 1989, was introduced with a clear and morally driven purpose: to protect society from the destructive effects of alcohol. By banning the manufacture, sale, possession, consumption, import, and export of liquor, Nagaland was formally declared a “dry state.” For more than three decades, the Act has been strongly defended by the Nagaland Baptist Church Council (NBCC) and other church bodies as a moral commitment rooted in the belief that alcohol destroys families, communities, and social order.
However, after over thirty years of enforcement, the reality on the ground raises a difficult but necessary question. Has the NLTP Act reduced alcohol related harm, or has it merely driven drinking into darker and more dangerous spaces? Some of the senior ministers of the state government, including official spokesperson K.G. Kenye and Chief Minister Neiphiu Rio, have publicly acknowledged that, despite total prohibition, there is an unchecked flow of illicit liquor, thriving bootlegging networks, and easy availability in urban areas. When the state itself admits that the law is widely violated and needs to be revisited, it becomes increasingly difficult to argue that the Act is working as intended.
Alcohol has not disappeared from Nagaland. It has simply gone underground. Illicit liquor is smuggled in, sold at inflated prices, and consumed without any form of legal oversight. Because the entire trade is illegal, there are no quality checks, no proper labelling, and no systematic age verification at the point of sale. Spurious liquor and unsafe brews circulate freely, increasing the risk of poisoning and long-term health damage. At the same time, the state loses crores of rupees in potential tax revenue every year, while illegal traders and underground networks profit from a market created entirely by prohibition.
This pattern is not unique to Nagaland. History offers a clear warning through the experience of the United States. From 1920 to 1933, the U.S. enforced nationwide prohibition through the Eighteenth Amendment and the Volstead Act, banning the manufacture, sale, and transport of alcohol. The objective was similar to Nagaland’s: to reduce crime, protect families, and improve public health. Instead, Prohibition led to the rise of powerful criminal syndicates, widespread bootlegging, corruption among police and politicians, and the mass consumption of unregulated and often dangerous alcohol. After only thirteen years, the United States repealed Prohibition through the Twenty-First Amendment, openly recognising that a total ban had failed and had even worsened the very problems it aimed to solve.
Nagaland today shows many of the same warning signs. Civil society organisations, student bodies, and citizen forums have repeatedly described the NLTP Act as a failed policy that has encouraged black markets and weakened the rule of law. Public debates in newspapers, television discussions, and large online platforms such as the Facebook group “Naga Hills,” which has over 111,000 members, regularly highlight the open availability of alcohol, selective enforcement, and the perception that those with money or political connections face fewer consequences than ordinary citizens. When a law is broken so widely and so casually, it does not promote morality. It normalises hypocrisy.
The moral contradiction is stark. Church bodies like the NBCC continue to insist that the NLTP Act must remain in force, describing alcohol as an evil and warning that lifting the ban would open the floodgates to social decay. At the same time, election seasons clearly reveal the widespread use of liquor during the campaign and in celebration after the results are declared. A law defended as a symbol of righteousness but routinely violated by the powerful risks losing its moral authority. It also diverts attention from an important question: who is truly protected by this system, and who is paying the price?
Countries that learned from failed prohibition did not abandon control over alcohol. They shifted from denial to regulation. After 1933, the United States adopted a regulated model that included a minimum legal drinking age, licensed outlets, restrictions on advertising, and strict penalties for drunk driving. Nordic countries such as Finland and Norway moved to state-controlled alcohol sales, high taxation, and strict licensing rather than blanket bans. The focus shifted to harm reduction through law, education, and public health.
If Nagaland were to move from total prohibition to regulation, it would not mean promoting alcohol. It could involve a strict age limit with mandatory ID checks, limited licensed outlets located away from schools, churches, and hospitals, bans on sale to intoxicated persons, strong enforcement against drunk driving and public disorder, and clear labelling with health warnings. Tax revenue could be directed specifically toward de-addiction centres, counselling, rehabilitation, and awareness programmes, areas that currently struggle for funding, while illegal networks grow richer.
Supporters of the NLTP Act argue that lifting it would betray Nagaland’s Christian testimony. Critics respond that this testimony is already weakened when a law exists only on paper, when illegal markets flourish, and when enforcement falls hardest on the poor while the influential remain untouched. The real choice before Nagaland may not be between faith and alcohol, but between unregulated chaos and a transparent system that honestly attempts to reduce harm.
We’re at the turning point: government is openly considering change, churches are holding firm, and every day, people like us see both the heavy toll of alcohol and the clear failures of the ban. Pastors, politicians, and civil society leaders have had their say; now it’s for the Naga youth to speak up. As we balance our faith with hard facts and what we witness daily, the real question is this: should we keep holding onto a prohibition that’s not working, or dare to rethink the NLTP Act and build a stronger and more honest Nagaland?
Degree of Thought is a weekly community column initiated by Tetso College in partnership with The Morung Express. Degree of Thought will delve into the social, cultural, political and educational issues around us. The views expressed here do not reflect the opinion of the institution. Tetso College is a NAAC Accredited UGC recognised Commerce and Arts College. The editorial team includes Chubamenla, Asst. Professor Dept. of English and Rinsit Sareo, Asst. Manager, IT, Media & Communications. For feedback or comments please email: dot@tetsocollege.org
