Stealing from the Plate of Merit: The Quiet Collapse of Fair
Stealing from the Plate of Merit: The Quiet Collapse of Fairness in Nagaland’s Education System
Department of Higher Education to absorb these contractual appointments, most of whom allegedly bypassed the constitutional route of competitive examination, is not just an administrative action.
I know some of the people who have availed this privileges
and there are some friends who are involved in this will be upset with me for
writing this, but their feelings, emotions or resentment is none of my
concernbecause truth can never be
hidden and there is nothing wrong to call a spade a spade. The recent regularisation
of 147 contractual assistant professors and librarians in Nagaland feels like a
cruel joke—a theft committed in broad daylight, with the system itself turning
a blind eye.
The decision by the Department of Higher Education to absorb
these contractual appointments, most of whom allegedly bypassed the
constitutional route of competitive examination, is not just an administrative
action. It is an institutional betrayal. A betrayal of every young aspirant who
toiled in silence, fueled by hope, believing in meritocracy.
Imagine a hungry student, burning the midnight oil,
surviving on borrowed time and dreams, only to find his plate empty—not because
food was never cooked, but because someone else took his share without even
entering the kitchen. This is not just symbolic. It is real. It is happening
now.
The Umadevi judgment of 2006 clearly ruled against the
regularisation of backdoor appointees, reaffirming that public employment must
follow open, competitive, and fair recruitment. The Supreme Court didn’t mince
words when it stated: “No government servant has a right to be regularised
unless they were appointed through a proper process.” Yet, here we are,
watching constitutional values being dismissed with a shrug, and merit being
replaced by manipulation.
Even more disturbing is the silence. Where is the outrage?
The youth who should be protesting are too tired, disillusioned, or afraid. The
deserving are being trained to accept injustice as “normal.” And those who
speak up are met with bureaucratic indifference.
Adding to the confusion, certain college student bodies have
come out in support of the regularisation, perhaps out of ignorance, confusion,
or worse—under influence. Their position reflects a serious lack of
understanding about the sanctity of due process. On the other hand, organisations
like the Naga Students’ Federation (NSF) and Dimapur Naga Students’ Union
(DNSU) have rightly expressed concern and dissatisfaction. But the conspicuous
silence of some student bodies at college level is worrisome.
Let it be said clearly, this isn’t just about 147 posts. It
is about the erosion of trust in the system. It is about whether truth still
matters. And whether burning the midnight oil still means anything. No it is
not right, not legally, ethically or morally; it breaks Article 14 where equal
opportunity have been stolen and taken away violating meritocracy
It’s not a new pattern of corruption in Nagaland—a
systematic manipulation of the appointment process. First, they get in through
contract. Then slowly, they begin lobbying: bringing the issue to cabinet
meetings, getting sympathetic voices in the Assembly, claiming they are
“overage,” have “served for years,” are “raising families,” have “loans to
repay,” and so on. But who asked them to sell their vote for a job? Who told
them to run to ministers with files, beg at the backdoors of power, and bypass
hard work and open competition?
Nobody but their own stealing character—quiet, cunning, and
calculating. Once a thief, always a thief.
And now they want to teach? To guide students and shape the
future of this land? How can we entrust the minds of our next generation to
those who themselves entered the system through deception? How will they speak
of honesty, integrity, and dignity—when their own journey is built on fraud?
This is no longer just an employment issue. It is a moral
emergency. It is a question that demands answers: What is the value of hard
work in Nagaland today? What is the reward for merit? And what message are we
sending to our youth—cheat, manipulate, and you shall be rewarded? If we allow
this injustice to stand, we are not just betraying one generation of
aspirants—we are condemning the future. A decayed system cannot produce a just
society. And when teachers themselves are products of corruption, we raise not
citizens—but imitators of injustice.
Let this be a call to every honest soul, every burning mind,
and every keeper of truth:
Rise. Speak. Fight.
Let not merit die in silence while corruption is celebrated
in daylight.
