The question, therefore, is not simply whether socialism is suitable for Nagas. It is whether any political and economic vision—socialist, democratic, customary, or mixed—can be made answerable to the people.
The name ‘National Socialist Council of Nagaland’ raises a question that deserves more than a glance at its initials: what kind of socialism did the founders mean, and does that ideology still serve the Naga people’s struggle for self-determination?
The word socialism in the name of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) can invite confusion. It does not mean Nazism, despite the phrase ‘National Socialist’ appearing in both names. The NSCN emerged from a Naga nationalist movement, and its name signalled a programme that combined national liberation with a socialist political and economic vision. The precise meaning and importance the founders attached to the word, however, should not be treated as self-evident: a name alone cannot tell us how an organisation practised its ideology.
The NSCN was formed in 1980 by Isak Chishi Swu, ThuingalengMuivah and S. S. Khaplang, who broke from the Naga National Council (NNC) after the Shillong Accord of 1975. The accord, accepted by some NNC leaders, was rejected by those who believed it surrendered the Naga political cause. In 1988, amid deep leadership tensions and conflict, the NSCN split. Swu and Muivah led the NSCN (IM); Khaplang led the NSCN (K). Over the following decades, further divisions produced groups using names such as NSCN (Unification), NSCN (Reformation), NSCN (K-Khango), and NSCN (K-Niki). Their names generally identified a faction with its leaders or political lineage. They did not represent a single, unified organisation.
The word socialism has several meanings. Broadly, it refers to social or collective ownership, or democratic public control, over important parts of the economy, with the aim of reducing inequality and serving common needs. It can describe democratic movements that work through elections and public institutions, as well as one-party states that centralise political and economic power. These are very different systems. The NSCN’s use of the word belongs to its own political history; it does not make every Naga, or every Naga institution, socialist by definition. The word national in the name points to the movement’s claim to represent a Naga political community. Whether it truly speaks for all Nagas is a separate and contested question.
That distinction matters. The failures of the Soviet Union and other one-party command economies are not proof that every policy associated with socialism must fail. The Soviet system did achieve rapid industrialisation, but it also concentrated power in the state and party, suppressed political opposition and, over time, suffered from stagnation, distorted incentives and severe shortages. Those failures offer a warning about unchecked central control and the absence of accountability. They do not erase the differences between a command economy and democratic measures such as public healthcare, social insurance or cooperatives. The relevant question for Nagas is not whether to accept or reject a label wholesale; it is what economic and political arrangements would protect people’s dignity, livelihoods, democratic voice and control over their resources.
Can Nagas call themselves socialists? Some can, if they mean a commitment to solidarity, fair access to land and resources, and shared responsibility for public welfare. Others may favour a mixed economy, customary ownership, cooperatives, private enterprise, or a combination of these. Nagas are not politically or economically uniform. The people should be free to debate these choices. But if an organisation claims to speak in the name of socialism, it should be judged by its conduct: Who controls decisions and resources? Are ordinary people able to question leaders? Are public contributions transparent? Does the system reduce hardship, or does it place new burdens on the people?
That last question is especially urgent in the Naga political struggle. The NSCN’s declared pursuit of equality and collective purpose must be measured against reports of armed groups collecting “taxes” from businesses, contractors and ordinary residents. Such collections are defended by some groups as a form of national contribution; residents, officials and journalists have also described coercive demands that raise costs and make business difficult. A report on taxation from Al Jazeera, for example, documented how competing claims to taxation could add to the burden on businesses and consumers. A 2025 United Nations University World Institute for Development Economics Research paper examined armed-group taxation as part of the region’s political economy. These accounts do not establish that every faction, collector or transaction is the same. They do make accountability unavoidable: a movement that speaks of social justice must explain who pays, who decides, where the money goes, and how the public can scrutinise it.
The peace process raises the same questions. The Government of India and NSCN (IM) signed a Framework Agreement on 3 August 2015, but a final political settlement has not followed. The agreement’s full terms have not been made publicly available in a jointly authenticated text. In 2020, NSCN (IM) released what it said was the original agreement and accused the government’s interlocutor of altering or misrepresenting it; that dispute itself showed why the public needs a clear, mutually verified record. When the principal document is inaccessible or contested, people are left to interpret competing claims about sovereignty, shared sovereignty, a separate flag, a constitution, and the proposed integration of Naga-inhabited areas across state boundaries. The Government of India and NSCN (IM) should publish the agreed text and explain what remains under negotiation, subject to any specific security-related redactions they can justify.
The delay has become a political fact in its own right. A 2026 account by the International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs described negotiations as stagnant and noted the trust deficit created by the lack of transparency. In August 2025, Nagaland’s Political Affairs Committee endorsed the Ungma Statement and called for talks to resume at the political level. Meanwhile, the Union Home Ministry’s published update records the 2015 Framework Agreement with NSCN (IM), separate ceasefire arrangements with several other Naga groups, and a continuing peace process involving those groups. These are signs of ongoing engagement, but ceasefires and meetings are not the same as a settlement. A process can continue for years while the public remains uncertain about its substance and destination.
Who benefits from this prolonged dialogue? It would be irresponsible to claim, without evidence, that a secret agreement or deliberate conspiracy explains the delay. But it is fair to ask who gains from an unresolved process. Negotiators retain status and influence while talks continue. Armed factions may preserve organisational authority and income streams. Political actors may benefit from being seen as brokers of peace. Government agencies and officials remain central to a process that has not yet delivered a final settlement. These are structural incentives, not proof of wrongdoing by any named person or group. The strongest remedy is public accountability: disclose the agreements, publish regular progress reports, explain delays, and give Naga civil society a meaningful role in reviewing proposals before decisions are presented as a fait accompli.
A settlement also has to reckon with the fact that Naga-inhabited areas span several states and extend across the India–Myanmar border. Any proposal affecting boundaries or governance must address the rights and concerns of people in those areas, as well as the constitutional and political realities of neighbouring states. That complexity cannot be solved by slogans or by a small number of leaders negotiating indefinitely behind closed doors. It calls for honest public discussion about what is achievable, what is still contested, and what protections a settlement would provide.
The Naga struggle for self-determination arose from historical grievances and a deeply held claim to political identity. That history deserves to be taken seriously. But a just cause does not give any organisation unlimited authority, and the language of socialism does not guarantee equality. If a movement promises common ownership yet leaves financial decisions opaque; if it speaks of popular sovereignty yet does not let ordinary people examine the agreements made in their name; or if peace talks become a permanent political arrangement without a clear public mandate, then Nagas have reason to ask whether the practice matches the promise.
The question, therefore, is not simply whether socialism is suitable for Nagas. It is whether any political and economic vision—socialist, democratic, customary, or mixed—can be made answerable to the people. Nagas should be able to debate the ideology they want, inspect the agreements negotiated in their name, and judge leaders by whether the process brings lasting peace, accountable government and a better life for ordinary people. That is the conversation the long struggle and the long peace process both demand.