Nagaland stands at a cliff. It is a cliff not of geography, but of morality and social fabric. On one side lies the deep, cherished well of the Naga traditions, the respect for community, the strong ancestral bonds and the unique cultural identity which every Naga hold dear. On the other side yawns a sound of fear, silence and a growing shadow that threatens to undermine the very humanity one profess to uphold. This shadow is the rising spectre of crime, particularly against women, and the collective response to it.
For too long, the society has used a ‘culture of silence’ to navigate the issue of violence against women. This silence, perhaps, often mistaken for dignity or a means to preserve social harmony, has instead become a sanctuary for perpetrators. It is the silence that falls when a woman speaks of harassment, muffled by whispers of “what will people say?” It is the silence that prioritises the reputation of a family or a clan over the justice for a victim. This is not the Naga spirit of resilience, it is a slow-acting poison that erodes trust and normalises the unacceptable.
This silence has a dangerous clone, a selective culture of condemnation. There is a quick reaction to condemn outsiders, to point fingers at external influences for the ills in the society. Yet, often there seems to be a hesitation to turn that condemning watch inward. Public erupt in outrage on social media when a crime makes headlines, but that outrage frequently fades before it can translate into concrete action, accountability, or lasting change within our own circles. Public condemn the symptom but ignore the disease festering in one’s own backyard.
The direct consequence is the obvious fear concerning the safety of women in Nagaland. The mothers, sisters and daughters who are the heart of the Naga society, are being forced to calculate risks their foremothers never knew. The right to move freely, to work, to learn and to simply exist without fear is being curtailed. When a woman is not safe in her own homeland, the homeland itself is wounded. To ignore this is not just a failure of governance or law and order; it is a profound failure of the collective humanity.
The issue of crime in Nagaland cannot be dismissed as a mere “law and order problem” for the police alone to solve. It is a societal problem. It thrives where community oversight withers, where the fear of social stigma is greater than the fear of legal repercussion, and where the victim is isolated while the perpetrator is subtly shielded.
So, where do we go from this cliff?
The Naga peoples must, as a community, choose a different path. The new path must look like transforming the culture of silence into a culture of support, support for the survivor, support for truth and support for justice. The new path must look like changing the culture of condemnation into a culture of accountability, where condemnation begins at home and holds everyone, regardless of lineage or status, to the same standard.
This requires courage. The courage of survivors to speak out, fortified by the assurance that they will be heard and believed. The courage of witnesses to step forward, knowing the community stands with them. The courage of the traditional bodies, church leaders and civil societies to not just mediate, but to unequivocally side with justice and restore the fabric of the Naga society.
Preserving culture does not mean preserving its flaws. A culture that cannot protect its most vulnerable is a culture in need of renewal. Humanity must be the highest standard of any culture.
Comments can be sent to akangjungla@gmail.com
