Many Naga youth no longer want to read, listen to, or speak about the Naga political issue; they say it is confusing.
Share
When the Heirs of a Cause Grew Disillusioned, the Movement Lost Its Direction
This stems from lived experience. A recent conversation with a friend, once a steadfast supporter and contributor to the Naga cause, left me unsettled. “It’s not worth it,” he said, cutting off every reply. “They won’t listen. They won’t change. Focus on your life, bro. Do or write something that pays.” His frustration ran deep. This wasn’t apathy. It was heartbreak hardened into resignation.
He is not alone. I’ve had countless such conversations. These are not outsiders. They are the cause’s very heirs. Once hopeful. Now worn down, unheard, disillusioned. Quietly stepping away. This is not withdrawal. It is the slow death of belief. The resentment and disillusionment of Naga youth is no accident. It is the cost of betrayal, exclusion, and hollow slogans repeated year after year.
I could not stay silent. This reflection had to be written. When the heirs of a cause grew disillusioned, the movement lost its direction.
What I heard in his voice echoes across our hills: Among today’s Naga youth, a quiet fatigue has settled into detachment. Many no longer want to read, listen to, or speak about the Naga political issue. They say it is confusing. Corrupted. Endless. A burden from the past that clouds their present and blurs their future.
What was once a sacred calling now sounds hollow. What once stirred pride now evokes shame. This is not mere disinterest. It is the slow erosion of trust, shaped by disappointment and disillusionment. Even those who once felt called to carry the banner now stand disoriented. The flame is fading in the very generation that was meant to carry it forward.
This generation did not witness a movement standing firm against injustice or united against a common adversary. They saw factions turning on one another. They saw national workers instill fear instead of offering hope. They heard slogans spoken without sincerity or substance. They witnessed extortion where they expected sacrifice. And they watched the families of nationalist leaders grow wealthier while ordinary people remained mired in poverty and insecurity.
Over time, the movement lost not only its compass, but also its direction and moral clarity. Its words began to ring hollow, devoid of action. The youth were told to believe, but they found no truth in those demanding their trust. They were told to care, but found no reason to hope. And so they turned away, not out of disloyalty, but in quiet disappointment. The path they were shown no longer led anywhere worth walking.
Many young Nagas have offered their moral and practical support not because they were moved by speeches or titles, but because they felt it was their shared responsibility. They stood not out of fear, but from a deep sense of conviction and a quiet pride in standing for a rightful and hard earned cause, hoping to safeguard a future and uphold the dream of a free and dignified Naga people.
They gave all they could, in silence and in good faith, not in pursuit of recognition but as sincere contributors to our shared dreams. Yet that dedication, once steady and wholehearted, is now wearing thin. Not because they have stopped caring, but because they are worn down. Weighed by internal divisions and promises that never came to fruition. Disheartened by a future that feels no more certain than the fractured past. They do not walk away in protest, but in quiet resignation. And as they withdraw, gradually and steadily, the distance between the movement and its people continues to grow.
One wonders why this quiet changing of the guard and priorities has taken place. The answer lies not in mystery, but in memory. They saw leaders more preoccupied with preserving factional survival than pursuing national revival. They watched the custodians of the cause act less like stewards of a people and more like gatekeepers of privilege. Factional authority replaced national responsibility. The future ceased to be a shared destination. It fractured into competing claims, shaped more by self interest than by shared purpose. And so the youth began to withdraw, not in fury, but in fading hope.
This is not the failure of a careless generation. Modern Nagas have not turned away from the cause out of apathy, but have grown weary of a movement still trapped in outdated modes of operation and vision. The old school of thought that continues to guide the movement is rooted in rigid hierarchies, entrenched habits, and a deep resistance to change. Locked in rigid dogma, the movement can no longer speak to the present or inspire the future.
Authority is clung to without renewal. Loyalty is demanded without relevance. This is the result of leadership that refused to reflect, reform, adapt, or reconnect with the people they lead. Too many now live like kings within their factional strongholds, yet remain distant from the people. The very leaders entrusted to keep the fire burning allowed it to flicker in isolation. They became inaccessible. Unapproachable. Unaccountable.
A movement that clings to power but fails to build bridges with its people is bound to lose its revolutionary footing. Instead of nurturing a shared national consciousness rooted in justice, dignity, and hope, it gradually descended into factional propaganda. In the process, it ceased to offer clarity of purpose, vision, or moral direction.
Its communiqués and press releases became battlegrounds for blame, with each faction more intent on discrediting the other than on advancing a shared story of struggle and achievement. This relentless war of words did not rebuild faith; it drained it. And the people are not blind. They see with painful clarity that many now choose the comfort of privilege over the burden of national principle. What began as a sacred struggle for freedom has been reduced to a contest for control.
And when the public finally gathered the courage to raise its voice, it was met not with humility or introspection, but with suspicion and resistance. Rather than welcoming honest reflection, the movement closed its ears and hardened its stance. Those who questioned were not engaged. They were punished. Those who called for renewal were seen not as signs of life, but as threats.
As the years passed, the message grew hollow, repeated without conviction and stripped of meaning. A struggle cannot endure when its heirs no longer see anything worth inheriting. A people cannot remain united when their youth, once inspired by the promise of freedom and dignity, now grow distant from a cause that no longer speaks to their present or offers direction for their future. When a movement rejects change, it slowly erodes the very belief that once sustained it.
This crisis is not merely the result of Indian policy. Nor is it only about the infamous accords signed behind closed doors. It is equally about our own failure to respond with coherence and maturity. India has acted with strategic consistency to exploit our internal divisions and continues to do so with calculated precision. But the responsibility to respond wisely, withunity and foresight, has always been ours.
Instead, each time our dignity was insulted or our political rights undermined, we turned inward and struck our own. We answered provocation not with resolve, but with confusion. We met external pressure not with solidarity, but with infighting. And in doing so, we weakened ourselves far more than any outsider could.
In the end, it is our own house that lies in disrepair. This crisis did not originate from the outside. It emerged from within, fuelled by unchecked pride, weakened by the absence of internal accountability, and prolonged by our unwillingness to engage in honest self examination. The erosion of trust did not begin with an external blow, but with repeated failures of leadership to adapt, to listen, and to rise above factional instincts.
If we continue to ignore this reality, the Naga political movement will not collapse in a dramatic confrontation with its adversaries. It will slowly lose meaning and momentum. Not because it was decisively defeated, but because it was gradually abandoned. It will be forgotten by the very sons and daughters who once held it with sacred conviction. And it will be left behind by a generation that still believes the cause is just, but can no longer find integrity or inspiration in the hands that now hold its reins.
This is the danger already at our doorstep. And it brings with it a responsibility that now restson the shoulders of our national vanguards. Not to lecture or dismiss the youth, but to rebuild a movement that genuinely earns their belief. A movement rooted not only in the memory of past sacrifices, but in the courage to act justly today and the vision to lead tomorrow. A movement worthy of their trust, their energy, and their future.
This is not a condemnation. It is not a cry born of resentment or hostility. It is the silent roar of a generation that has gone unheard for too long. It is the unspoken truth carried by thousands of young Nagas who still long to believe, if only they are offered something honest, principled, and meaningful to believe in.
I hope our nationalists and the Naga public receive this not as malice but as a final plea. To reflect. To reckon. To rebuild. Before disillusionment becomes abandonment.
Markson V Luikham
Advocate of Naga Unity and Peace