Away from commerce, the cascade of events—marked by ceasefire, betrayal, calculated posturing, and endless negotiations amidst relentless retaliation—has moved further beyond the battlefield.
Share
Away from commerce, the cascade of events—marked by ceasefire, betrayal, calculated posturing, and endless negotiations amidst relentless retaliation—has moved further beyond the battlefield. Death in staggering numbers and the destruction of critical infrastructure, from oil facilities to energy grids and desalination plants, now threaten not just security but the continuity and sustainance of everyday life in the region. What is at stake is not merely territory, but the very systems that sustain the Gulf’s image of stability and prosperity to itself and the world.
Since October 7, 2023, global attention has remained fixed on West Asia. What began as a localised attack by Hamas on Jewish settlements near Gaza quickly expanded into a broader confrontation, drawing in regional and global actors. A contained conflict has now evolved into a far wider geopolitical disruption involving Israel, Iran, and the strategic weight of Washington, D.C.—with Tel Aviv and Tehran as its visible poles.
The roots of this instability lie in earlier British imperial decisions after WWII. The Balfour Declaration laid the foundation for Israel’s creation in 1948, while the Partition of India had already demonstrated how hurried withdrawals could produce lasting fractures. These were not isolated acts, but part of a wider British-led reshaping of geopolitical space—consequences that continue to echo into the present. We were positioned too.
Iran emerged as a central node due to oil in the early 20th century, particularly after the discovery of oil there in 1908. Western intervention—first by Britain and later by the United States, notably during the 1953 Iranian coup d'état—was driven by energy interests, embedding the country into a long-term contest over control, influence, and resource flows. The coup itself, which saw the overthrow of the democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh after he nationalised oil assets, and the restoration of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi as the Shah of Iran, left a deep imprint of external interference. This trajectory would eventually intersect with the Iranian Revolution, which brought the Ayatollah-led system to power and redefined Iran’s global posture.
The tensions visible today are extensions of this enduring alignment between power and petroleum. Power and money rarely operate in isolation. They form interconnected systems. The petro-dollar—anchored in oil trade—extends its influence into consumption patterns, cultural practices, and global trade flows. President Nixon made this arrangement possible by merging the dollar payable for oil purchases from the Gulf oil fields. Every country started to buy the dollar as reserve for utilities.
But instability now strikes at its core and the effects ripple outward, touching even distant and seemingly disconnected regions.
Nagaland’s connection to this web lies in agarwood—an ancient, fragrant resin deeply embedded in Arab cultural and spiritual life. For generations, it has been prized across Gulf societies for perfumery, rituals, and status display. Demand here is not incidental; it is identity-driven. Oil wealth has sustained and amplified this demand, tying agar directly to the rhythms of the petro-dollar economy. In certain circles, the phrase “Nagaland fi” by merchants there to their Arab clients loosely translates to “have Nagaland,” signalling authenticity and desirability. The region’s agar—valued for its distinctive sweetness and depth—is accorded a reverence metaphorically likened to Moses (Musa in Arabic), elevating it beyond commodity into cultural prestige.
The journey of this commodity begins in the low-lying plantation forests of Mokokchung—Longtho, Longnac, and Luyong—where agar is cultivated and harvested through inherited knowledge systems. The micro climatic conditions experienced here, hot, humid and wet continuously have favoured it more than other places. From there, it moves into Assam, particularly Hojai, where traders refine grading and valuation, transforming a forest product into a globally tradable luxury good.
From Hojai, the agar travels to Mumbai, before being exported to Dubai—a key redistribution hub into the Gulf Cooperation Council.
This corridor links the Naga Hills directly to the heart of Gulf consumption, aligning local production with global demand shaped by oil wealth.
At the heart of this system lies pricing stability anchored in the petro-dollar. Gulf economies, backed by oil revenues, ensured consistent demand and predictable pricing, creating a dependable market for producers in the Northeast. This stability transformed agar from a localised resource into a globally responsive commodity.
I have engaged this business since 2019, even frequenting Dubai and understand its sinews, inner workings and intricacies, from production till marketing. The equilibrium contained in the fast-paced system leveraged on, besides the dollar, trust and consistency is broken. American security guarantee is done. The complexion is now what it is and Iran will easily destroy the infrastructural heart proping up the dollar and American hegemony. It's over.
Demand for luxury commodities like agarwood will slow down to a standstill, sending ripples backward through the supply chain—from Dubai to Mumbai, from Hojai to the plantations of Nagaland.
The agar story, therefore, is not just about trade—it is about connectivity. It reveals how the Naga Hills are linked to oil wealth, global finance, and geopolitical tensions stretching from Washington to Tel Aviv and Tehran. It exposes a simple but powerful truth: in today’s interconnected world, no region is too remote to remain untouched, and no local economy exists outside the reach of global power.
Limhachan Kikon