At a recent gathering in Mumbai, a senior educationist spoke of how she had wept on hearing about the Indian Army’s massacre of 14 innocent coal miners at Oting village in Nagaland’s Mon. “I have visited Nagaland, have come to know communities here and seen their living conditions. How could this have happened? I am confused,” she said. Cutting her short, a senior businessman said an army general had told him that the controversy around these deaths was “a media concoction”. Were the villagers not carrying guns? Why did they not stop when the security personnel flagged their vehicle, he said. The official whitewash does not hold in the light of subsequent eye-witness accounts saying the army fired directly upon the coal miners, without warning. Meanwhile, anyone familiar with eastern Nagaland districts knows that young men with locally-made hunting guns are a common sight on the hill roads.
Over the past two decades, with a ceasefire agreement in force, Nagaland has seen relative peace after decades of conflict. Since 2015, and following the signing of the Framework Agreement between the central government and one of the main Naga factions, all have been engaged in peace talks. There has hardly been any major confrontation in this period between the army and insurgent groups. The Naga factions in Mon openly move around, passing by security personnel in the day and even sharing a drink with them at night. Konyak tribals living on both sides of the international border come and go freely. There is no way of identifying who is an “insurgent” or “terrorist”. So, what new ‘intelligence’ did army paratroopers based in Jorhat, Assam, had, that warranted their foray into Nagaland to conduct an ambush while bypassing the local jurisdiction of Assam Rifles?
The Naga struggle for self-determination has long been scarred with such events of massacre, harshness and oppression, officially explained as “collateral damage” or “mistaken identity”. Few Indians have cared to know the facts of history, to listen to the Nagas or ask how we reached this shameful pass. For the Nagas, Oting has revived bitter and painful memories of violence they have lived with since the Indian military came to the Naga Hills in 1954, shielded by the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958, that gives soldiers the licence to arrest or shoot at sight with no questions asked.
At least three generations of Naga children, born between the 1950s and 1970s, grew up in an unstable environment, watching villages being burnt, crops destroyed, and parents, relatives and neighbours being tortured or killed. The post-80s generation of Nagas who grew up during the ceasefire years, however, were not so severely scarred. They were exposed to television and Bollywood and ventured out of their villages for the first time to avail of education and work opportunities in the ‘mainland’. They were more open to a future that offered a way forward towards peace, development and democratic co-existence. These gains of the past two decades were, however, nullified by racist attacks onNortheastpeople in cities like Delhi, Pune, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Mumbai and other metros, ongoing since 2012. Now, after the Oting massacre, this generation of Nagas are realising the truth about the struggle and sacrifice of their forefathers.
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During my three decades of travels in this region, I witnessed how the Indian State has pushedNortheastcommunities to the wall. I have also witnessed the many strengths of tribal societies here, and how much we in the rest of India can learn from their cultures of caring and sharing, a value system that human society must eventually return to for its own sanity and survival. Here, one found egalitarian communities who placed high value on the spoken word. They had a deep sense of honour and integrity, high intellectual calibre, a great sense of humour, and love of music. Their cultures emphasised a code of conduct that brings sweetness and well-being to their daily lives. Despite the reality of violence and suffering, gentleness and humanity triumphed over adversity.
Show of solidarity Black flags in Mon as a mark of protest against the killing of civilians in Oting.
My investigations in the Northeast brought home one facet that India has done right. Our Constitution is held to be a fine example for protection of its minorities. This remarkable sensitivity was brought by tribal leaders who, supported by our founding fathers, brilliantly argued their case in the Constituent Assembly debates of that time. In the Northeast, the 6th Schedule and Article 371 series, applicable to tribal areas, provide the highest protections, not given to any other state in the country. These relate to ownership of tribal land, culture, natural resources; freedom to manage their own affairs. Honouring the trust placed on them, tribal communities here have ensured protection of India’s natural resources.
While the rest of India stripped the plains of its mineral wealth and forest cover, the Northeast still harbours hotspots of biodiversity, among the last of the gene pools left on our planet. Unfortunately, the average ‘mainland’ politician never understood cultures that promote sustainable development and safeguards survival of future generations. The oppression of the Indian State is thus evident in its development policies that seek to undermine these constitutional protections. In recent times the Centre’s policies have focused on activities like monoculture cash crop cultivation, coal and iron ore mining, tourism and industrialisation that work to benefit the elite and corporations, who in turn support political agendas. Strikingly missing in these policy pronouncements is the affirmation and voices of local communities, particularly its rural poor, who have since decades, agitated against the extractive model of development being perpetuated in their name.
The many manifestations of agitations in Northeast, peaceful or otherwise, have all ultimately been saying that there has to be room in this country for people who think differently and want to live differently. They seek to be masters of their own destiny. They are perhaps the last bastions of resistance left against rapacious, extractive policies that seek to bankrupt the earth within the lifespan of one generation.
My Northeast explorations revealed living traditions that the rest of India can learn from. Rooftop rainwater harvesting was practised in Mizoram long before it became the buzzword in urban parlance. Agriculture water-sharing practices of Khonoma village or micro ponds of Kikruma village in Nagaland are fine examples of how communities capture every drop of rain water and share it. Community forests surrounding Naga villages ensure access to nutrition even in times of ‘lockdown’—evidence of the remarkable local food self-sufficiency and sovereignty of the villages here. They also provide timber for housing, diverse medicinal plants. Slash-and-burn cultivation here ensures that the smoke is controlled and the soil retains natural nutrients, enabling organic farming.
The power of community commons and cohesive action are other measures of tribal strength. Nagaland has pioneering examples of state legislation that empowers communities and government to partner in managing their own resources of electricity and water, run local schools where teachers are accountable to the community and create their own infrastructure assets. Initiating a ‘think tank’ on development, Chakhesang tribe youth in Phek district have analysed why government projects fail, while highlighting viable alternatives. This gave rise to a cadre of trained village health-workers, an internationally exporting weaving centre, the creation of a millet bank documenting seed biodiversity and revived cultivation and weaving of traditional nettle and cotton. Tribal societies in these parts have given rise to institutions that practice the true ethos of democracy—where the community nominates its leaders, chosen for their character and quality of service and who in turn, are accountable to them. This is a far cry from the practice of some distant party office making this decision.
This is not to make a case for a Northeast utopia but to recognise that despite the contradictions brought by modern society, highly evolved cultural practices did take root here. Today, even as Nagas deal with the rising expectations of unemployed youth, state violence and internal fratricide, civil society groups here have galvanised a remarkable movement for ‘truth and reconciliation’. Bringing healing between warring clans and tribes, this movement is enabling ordinary Nagas to overcome fear and speak out. They are offering peaceful satyagraha against violence and engaging in creative pursuits that has brought a new lease of life to their society. Their fight to protect their land and resources also ensures their independence and future security.
Such cultural wisdom is showing them how to maintain balance and navigate the jump of a thousand years in one lifetime, straight into the modern age. We who come from more “advanced civilisations” may need to go back and learn from them for our own survival.
(This appeared in the print edition as "Still the Strangers of the Mist")
(Views expressed are personal)
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Rupa Chinai is a Mumbai-based journalist and author of Understanding India’s Northeast-A Reporter’s Journal
