Part II
The Performance and Politics of Culture in Nagaland, Northeast India
Dr Arkotong Longkumer
‘Authenticity’ is what drives many tourists to the Hornbill. I meet a group of tourists from Bangalore who are part of a photography course. Priya, Sandesh and Ashwin came across Peter van Ham’s coffee table book on the Nagas and were fascinated by the vivid picture of ‘traditional-authentic’ Nagaland. I ask them if such representations are highly ‘exotic’ and problematic? They react positively and say that the ‘exotic’ element is one of the reasons why they came in the first place. Of course, coming here, they realise that things are different between ‘image’ and ‘context’, but nevertheless it is the motivating factor. Our conversation drifts to ideas of indigenous peoples’ rights, the Hornbill Festival and the Naga national movement for sovereignty. Hema, an eco-tourist, says that through this Festival she can see the unique ‘indigenous’ and strong national culture of the Nagas. Before she was wary of such intellectual tropes, but now she can see why the Nagas want to be left alone: ‘self-determination’ is a right. Malini disagrees and says that Nagaland is an integral part of India – even if they gain independence, how would they sustain themselves? These questions are at the back of the minds of many national tourists from outside Nagaland, due to its long history of violent insurgency in the region (Picture: a day out in the sun, with a group of Indian tourists).
The visible presence of the security forces, both the Naga police force who provide security at Kisama to VIPs and delegates, and the throngs of Indian Army jawans, officers and their families, are a constant reminder that issues surrounding ‘Naga independence’ are hotly contested. One Kashimiri stall owner says that it is striking to compare Kashmir and Nagaland due to the overt and visible military might on show. The Indian Army even has a separate, cordoned off plush seating area for their officers and families.
The comingling of the forces of exclusion and inclusion is what makes the paradox of nationhood striking: the uneasy relationship between the Nagas and the Indian state, even though it is funding from New Delhi that enables such a festival. On the other hand, questions of indigeneity provide international legitimation that allow the Nagas to perform and represent a ‘distinct’ Naga culture and link with United Nations ideas of indigenous people’s rights of cultural uniqueness, self-determination, and sovereignty. These debates circle each Naga morung in the Hornbill though couched in a different, and sometimes ambivalent, language.
‘Nagas are not Indians’ is a common sentiment one often hears in the Hornbill (and elsewhere in Nagaland). Some Nagas say that this idea becomes even more coherent when international tourists (mainly) recognise such disjuncture of the territorial imprint of the Indian state and the national imaginary of the Nagas. The jarring of these two ideas is evident during the opening session of the Hornbill Festival. The event starts off with the Indian national anthem that is greeted with indifference by the largely Naga audience (a number of tourists also told me that it felt rather forced). This message of national integration of the Indian Republic is further extolled in speeches made by the Governor and Chief Minister of Nagaland. Yet, some of the Naga public are uneasy with such rhetoric because for them Naga sovereignty is non-negotiable and the intrusion of the Indian state (read Indian Army) in such national Festivals is flexing muscle – to ‘show who is boss’. Other Nagas favour being in the Republic because it brings economic development – Naga independence anyway is a far off dream! Some are not fully aware of what it even means to be ‘Naga’ let alone Naga sovereignty. Khiamniungan Nagas from places like Noklak in Eastern Nagaland (near the Burma border) told me that the Festival is a chance for them to see other Nagas. They have only ‘imagined’ and heard of the Angami and Chakhesang Nagas, now they can actually see them. The constructed and dynamic nature of Naga identity is played out interestingly in the Hornbill Festival. For some it allows a visual glimpse of other tribes, while for others it’s an opportunity to be included into the Naga fold. Many Kachari, Garo, and Kuki people told me that even though they are recognised ‘officially’ by the Government of Nagaland as ‘Naga’, the other Naga tribes don’t. Having a morung in the Hornbill is helpful and legitimises their claim to be ‘indigenous’inhabitants of Nagaland – for them territorial indigeneity is the sole marker of Naga identity, not blood, language or customary practices. Although they have kin relations elsewhere: the Garo (in Meghalaya); the Kachari (in Assam); and the Kuki (in Assam/Manipur/Mizoram), they say they are Nagas and have nothing to do with their kin (although cultural ties are strongly maintained through marriage). When one Kuki lady said that they are not ‘Naga’, she was quickly reprimanded for her foolishness. The politics of the moment necessitates their inclusion into the Naga fold.
While the political dimension of the Festival clearly resonates with the larger project of national identity, especially when one digs deeper, the cultural aspects of the Festival are also significant. What is ‘culture’ is often asked when interacting with the many performing artists and tribal delegates in the morungs. For some, they haven’t changed one single song or dance routine, it’s ‘original’ they say. Others confess the painful tattooing process and vow never to do it again, and point to cohorts’ tattoos that have been painted using ink (some even wear plastic Hornbill feathers due to its rarity). Amongst the Nagas, they comment that the ‘wilder’ you are, the more tourists you attract. So the Konyak, Yimchungru, Chang, and the Khiamniungan morungs are busier than most. Some, like the Phom morung, are largely empty while the Lotha morung serve mainly food. The Ao morung involve a lot of joking and jesting around one Ao comedian who is being recorded on mobile phones to show to their villagers upon returning home. The idea of ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity’ are part and parcel of the surroundings and there is no denying that the two often go hand in hand when discussing the politics of ‘culture’. This particular dimension has become significant in the past few years and the future of the Hornbill signals the happy comingling of both the local and the global.
Speaking to Abu Metha and Himato Zhimomi, both distinguished officers in the Government of Nagaland and organisers of the Festival this year, one gets the sense that the Festival is expanding its reach in terms of the scale of organisation, variety of programmes; making this truly a mecca of Festivals both nationally and internationally. ‘Why can’t we make the Hornbill Festival like the Edinburgh Fringe?’Abu told me as we stood inside the venue of the Naga Art Exhibition. He said that along with the Chief Minister of Nagaland, Neiphiu Rio, they came to Edinburgh during the Fringe and were in awe of the scale, infrastructure, organisation, the events on display, and its reputation. He wants to make the two festivals more alike and even showed me the Hornbill catalogue of events that resembled the Edinburgh Fringe one. Such is the vision, but not shared by all. Some see the Hornbill as a waste of time, money and exercise, which needs to be reduced to three days – it takes immense human labour, inconvenience (traffic during the Festival is a nightmare), and expenses that don’t justify its scale. One tourism officer told me that the investment far outweighs the return, and it is unsustainable for the long run. Church leaders are equally sceptical. They see the Hornbill as encouraging drinking (Nagaland is a Christian dry state!), sexual freedom and partying (most of the local youths emerge only during the night entertainment of music, fashion and drink). One young Ao pastor told me that the Nagaland Baptist Church Council (NBCC) held a day walk around Kisama praying against the evil and licentiousness the Hornbill was encouraging amongst the youth. The church holds that reviving traditional Naga culture mustn’t clash with Christianity – the famous ‘Christ and culture’ debate is being rehearsed in many church corners.
Instead of viewing the Hornbill Festival as a micro-event, it is more useful to think of its links to the larger economic, cultural, religious and political processes that have wider consequences for the future of the Nagas. A sort of ethnographic ‘thick description’ has been attempted through the Festival that tells multiple stories with many actors and audiences. Its success has truly put Nagaland on the map in terms of its global outreach and tourist destination, but difficult questions are also being asked that involve many sections of the society with ideological positions in the global arena of fluid connections on the one hand and the increasing crystallisation of its boundaries and identities on the other. A balance between the two is most prudent but also the most difficult.
Sitting around a warm fire outside the Kachari morung, Joseph, a Kachari elder, and I are in deep conversation when one of the Kachari youth come up to him and ask if he could change into his ‘proper clothes’. Joseph laughs and asks why, and the youth says because it’s cold in my Kachari traditional clothes! I left the Hornbill thinking that there are many ways this puzzle can be completed, it’s just that I still haven’t found all the pieces.
(Arkotong Longkumer is Lecturer at the University of Edinburgh, UK, interested in the interaction between anthropology and history. Currently he is working on a project that examines national identity in the Naga context but also more broadly in South and Southeast Asia. Feedback email: a.longkumer@ed.ac.uk)
The article is a republished piece from the South Asianist Blog (http://thesouthasianistblog.co.uk)