Nailing the Truth to the Cross: Why Nagaland Crucifies Its Conscience

Truth, in every age, walks a lonely road. In Nagaland, a land that proudly calls itself “Christian,” that road often ends at a familiar hill, not Calvary itself, but a cultural imitation of it, where truth-tellers are hung on the crosses of public scorn, institutional neglect, and collective silence. We crucify our conscience not out of ignorance, but out of deliberate fear: fear of exposure, fear of transformation, and fear of accountability.

The Cross of Convenience

The paradox of a Christian society resisting truth is neither new nor accidental. In Scripture, the cross was not merely a symbol of salvation but a site of confrontation, where divine truth collided with human pride. When Christ stood before Pilate, the question “What is truth?” (John 18:38) echoed through the ages as both inquiry and indictment. Nagaland, too, stands before this question, holding in one hand the Bible, and in the other, the hammer and nails of convenience.

In practice, truth in Naga society is often tolerated only when it flatters power or maintains social equilibrium. Prophetic voices, whether in pulpits, classrooms, or public discourse, are quickly dismissed as “too harsh,” “too political,” or “too idealistic.” Such reactions reveal a culture that confuses peace with passivity and unity with silence. The crucifixion of conscience begins when truth becomes negotiable, when righteousness yields to relevance, and when moral conviction is sacrificed on the altar of social acceptance.

The Psychology of Resistance

Philosophically, this resistance to truth can be grasped through what Socrates called the gadfly principle: truth stings. It unsettles the comfortable and exposes the contradictions we prefer to ignore. Plato reminds us that every society lives between two realms, the visible, governed by opinion, and the invisible, governed by truth. Nagaland’s struggle lies precisely here: it wishes to be seen as righteous without being ruled by righteousness.

Modern psychology reinforces this insight. Carl Jung warned that societies project their shadows, the suppressed parts of their collective soul onto those who expose them. Truth-tellers thus become scapegoats for the very evil they reveal. By crucifying them, we absolve ourselves of introspection. Hence corruption, hypocrisy, and injustice endure not because truth is absent, but because it is silenced.

Theological Irony

The irony here is profoundly theological. A Christian society that rejects its prophets re-enact the very sin it confesses on Sunday. Christ’s crucifixion was not merely a political act; it was a religious one carried out by those who claimed to defend divine honour. The cross reappears in every age where institutional religion chooses reputation over repentance.

Nagaland’s churches, once the conscience of the people, risk becoming custodians of comfort rather than catalysts of conviction. When the pulpit avoids hard truths to retain popularity, when believers prefer emotion to examination, and when faith becomes a mere formality, the result is a religion without repentance, a Christianity that wears the cross as ornament but denies its meaning in life.

The Sociological Consequence

Sociologically, a society that silences its prophets condemns itself to moral decay. Public conscience, once dulled, loses the capacity for outrage. The corruption of truth soon becomes the truth of corruption. Every ignored injustice becomes precedent; every silenced prophet becomes a ghost haunting our collective conscience. Nietzsche warned that when we kill God, we also kill meaning. In Nagaland, we have not killed God, we have merely made Him mute, reshaping Him into an image that blesses our sins and baptizes our ambitions.

The Path to Resurrection

Yet the story of the cross is not one of defeat but of renewal. Crucified truth does not remain buried. Each generation must rediscover Golgotha not as a monument of pain, but as a mirror of conscience. To nail the truth is easy; to live by it is divine. What Nagaland requires is not louder religiosity but moral resurrection, a revival of intellectual honesty, prophetic courage, and theological depth.

Philosophy teaches that truth is self-evident, but history proves that truth is often self-endangered. In our context, every act of integrity is countercultural; every voice of reason is revolutionary. The vocation of the modern Naga Christian, therefore, is not merely to profess faith but to embody it, not merely to hear sermons but to live them, not merely to decorate the cross but to carry it.

Conclusion

When a people crucify their conscience, they inherit a silent God and a hollow gospel. Nagaland’s redemption will not emerge from louder prayers, but from deeper repentance. The cross still stands not as a relic of belief, but as a reminder of our betrayal of it. The question is not whether truth will rise again; it always does. The question is whether we, who call ourselves His followers, will still recognize it when it does.

Vikiho Kiba