Women in the Northeast region of India consistently shatter stereotypes in various fields but real empowerment is an illusion without real power.
Can real empowerment happen if some are lifted up while others remain silent? This contradiction shows the need to examine what true empowerment really means.
Women in the Northeast region of India consistently shatter stereotypes by pursuing education, building careers, and raising strong families. Many seem to have a "perfect life" -- good jobs, supportive husbands, and happy homes. However, behind these visible achievements, many women are still not heard, their voices left unheard within the walls of their homes. Can real empowerment happen if some are lifted up while others remain silent? This contradiction shows the need to examine what true empowerment really means.
On paper, there is clear progress. In Nagaland and Manipur, a high number of women are involved in decision-making at home—99.1% in Nagaland and 96.2% in Manipur. But what exactly does this involvement mean? Are women making decisions about land, inheritance, or money? Or are they only asked about everyday things like food shopping, groceries, and kids' clothes? The numbers suggest inclusion, but the actual situation is much more complicated. Real empowerment needs more than just being part of the picture; it requires real power.
The reality is far more complex. Because behind closed doors, how many voices remain silenced? How many problems are hidden in rooms where women cannot speak, because society will judge her instead of him? Silence becomes survival.
Especially in the Northeast, can we ignore this paradox?
Take Dimapur for instance. Did you realise women dominate the city’s markets, from the Monday Bazaar to the Saturday Market. They rise before dawn, carry vegetables and produce, negotiate with buyers, and keep the economy alive through sheer hard work; they are the real entrepreneur. Walk through Dimapur on a Saturday Market in Chümoukedima or on a Wednesday Bazaar at Naga Shopping Arcade (Supermarket), and the picture is very clear. Women line the markets selling fresh leaves, vegetables, fruits, thrift clothes, flowers and home-grown produce. From the one market to another, women dominate the stalls, carrying on the economy through sweat and resilience. In reality, much of Dimapur’s food economy rests on the shoulders of these women. Yet, when they return home, their influence shrinks. Decisions about land, property, finances, or even children’s education often exclude them. Their contribution outside is undeniable, but their authority inside is often ignored.
Within the household, they are often allowed to decide on everyday matters what vegetables to buy, how to manage the kitchen, or which clothes the children will wear. But when it comes to crucial issues such as land, finances, inheritance, or family direction, the authority usually rests with men. The paradox could not be sharper: the women who earn, negotiate prices, and run the daily economy are rarely asked for their opinion on the decisions that shape the future of their own families. Her labour sustains the family, yet her voice is excluded from shaping its future. If women can set prices for vegetables that feed the city, surely they can set directions for the families that make up society.
As Naga research scholar Nchumbeni Ovung once said in Dimapur, “Empowerment in the real sense is debatable, as Naga women do not have real decision-making powers within their home, community, or over land.” If women themselves question this so-called empowerment, should society not ask the same?
This silencing extends beyond the home to the heart of family achievements. I recall one Sunday at church, when a family stood proudly together—a father, mother, son, and a daughter. The son had just completed his Class 12 board exams with flying colours, scoring above 90 percent, an outstanding performance that drew admiration from everyone present. One after another, people stepped forward to congratulate the father and the son: “Congratulations, well done, excellent result.”
The mother stood quietly beside them, her presence almost unnoticed. Then one woman from the congregation walked up to her and said, "Congratulations, every success of a child is because of the mother, though people rarely see it.” The mother smiled and agreed, but the words carried a weight that lingered.
That small moment revealed a larger truth. Why is it that society so easily forgets the mother’s role in a child’s achievement? Why is her effort, her sacrifices, her constant labour inside the home not seen as worthy of recognition? Why do we celebrate the visible achievement but ignore the invisible labor that makes it possible? If a child’s excellence is rooted in the sacrifices of a mother, then why is she not equally recognised?
How can a progressive society claim to exist when half of its citizens are involved in clandestine conflicts? A few shining success stories are not enough when it comes to truly empowered women. Is it enough to showcase the few who shine, while countless others continue to suffer quietly? Women’s suffering is lonelier, heavier, and more hidden. When they suffer, isn’t the burden often far deeper, because society already sees her as weaker? And it is more tiring because women are constantly expected to be strong in every role as caretaker, worker, daughter, wife, leader yet are rarely given the same rest, recognition. Their exhaustion is not just physical but emotional, the fatigue of being unheard while still being expected to hold everything together.
If empowerment is real, then why are so many women still left unheard? Can we call ourselves progressive when their struggles remain invisible? The question we must ask is this: is empowerment truly an achievement yet—or is it still a distant promise, unfinished and unrealised? It is only when every woman has equal opportunity, dignity, and the ability to shape her own destiny that success becomes realised in the corporate world, the marketplace, or at home. The battle will continue until every woman is heard and respected, and it will remain unfinished. The struggle must not be considered a triumph until freedom is equally enjoyed by all women.
This article is not about celebrating success stories about those women who have achieved highly. It is a reminder, and perhaps a small dedication, to those women who are still silenced, still striving, and still waiting for their voices to matter.
Rinmayo Rainam
The writer is M.A. Political Science student at Tetso College