The Naga Club memorandum to the Simon Commission in 1929 has been hailed as the Magna Carta of Nagaism, a foundational document in Naga political history.
Origins of Modern Naga Political Consciousness and Its Constitutional Legacy
In the quiet chambers of Kohima, on the tenth day of January 1929, a modest gathering of educated Nagas presented a document to the Indian Statutory Commission that would, in time, be hailed as the Magna Carta of Nagaism. The Naga Club, formed a decade earlier, in 1918, by interpreters, clerks, teachers, and Labor Corps veterans who had served the Empire in the Great War, spoke with one voice. Their memorandum was neither a petition for favor nor a plea for inclusion. It was a calm, measured assertion of oneness and identity and a desire to be left alone—free, as they had been before the British arrived, and free again when the British should depart from India and Burma.
The Simon Commission had come to the hills not as conquerors but as enquirers into the future constitutional arrangements of British India. Indian political parties had largely boycotted its proceedings. By contrast, the Nagas chose to meet it. They did so because the Commission offered a rare, perhaps unrepeatable, opportunity to place on formal record a truth the hills had long known among themselves: that the Naga tribes, diverse in dialect and custom yet bound by a common sense of peoplehood, were not a mere appendage of the plains. The surrounding kingdoms had never conquered them. They had been drawn into the British administrative orbit without their collective consent. When that orbit dissolved, they wanted to determine their own future “as in the ancient times.”
The Document and Its Claim
The memorandum is striking for its restraint and clarity. It did not demand immediate independence in the modern sense; rather, it asked that the Nagas be excluded from India's reformed scheme and that, should the British withdraw, the hills be restored to the liberty that had prevailed before the advent of the Raj. The signatories—drawn from Angami, Sema, Lotha, Rengma, and other groups—affirmed a collective identity that transcended village and clan. In doing so, they transformed a mosaic of local loyalties into a political fact. The Club did not pretend to speak for every Naga in every remote valley; yet, through its composition and language, it set a precedent for pan-Naga representation that later organizations would claim and expand. The document’s language was measured, almost understated, yet its implications were profound. It rejected the assumption, common in the day's administrative thinking, that the hills were simply an inconvenient frontier to be managed or eventually assimilated. Instead, it presented the Nagas as a people who had entered the colonial order under particular historical circumstances and who retained the right to exit it on terms of their own choosing.
The memorandum's specific provisions merit full recall. The signatories expressed regret that the Reformed Scheme of India had included the Naga Hills without their knowledge or consent. They prayed that the hills be withdrawn from that scheme and placed directly under the British Government. They stated plainly that they had never asked for reforms and did not wish for any. Recalling the period before the British conquest of 1879–80, they described intermittent warfare with the Assamese to the north and west and the Manipuris to the south—a condition of relative freedom. They expressed particular anxiety that foreign laws and customs might supersede their customary laws, that heavy taxes might be imposed, and that their recognized private land rights might be endangered. They noted the absence of social affinities with the peoples of the plains. Most famously, they declared that if the British Government should decide to withdraw, the Nagas should not be thrust into the mercy of peoples who had never subjugated them, “but to leave us alone to determine for ourselves as in the ancient times.” They claimed to represent the Angami, Kacha-Nagas, Kukis, Semas, Lothas and Rengmas, and asserted broader representational authority. These clauses—protection of customary law, control of land, exclusion from reforms imposed without consent, and the right to determine their own future—form the document's core, which later generations would treat as foundational.
Calling the document a Magna Carta is no exaggeration in retrospect. Like the Great Charter of 1215, it did not create rights ex nihilo; it recorded and protected rights already understood to be possessed. It placed a barrier to absorption without consent. It insisted that identity and self-determination were not gifts to be bestowed by a departing power but attributes inherent in the people themselves. In the years that followed, every significant political development in the Naga Hills would return, explicitly or implicitly, to the principles first set down on that January day. Historians of the region have noted that the memorandum provided both a vocabulary and a moral claim that later generations could invoke without reinventing them. When later leaders spoke of a unique history, the right to be left alone, or the illegitimacy of transfer from one external authority to another, they elaborated a position whose original formulation remains recognizable in the 1929 text.
From Exclusion to Assertion
The Naga Club played a decisive role. Formed in Kohima in 1918 by a small but influential group of educated Nagas—interpreters (dobashis), clerks, teachers, and First World War Labor Corps veterans—the Club was the first to articulate a collective Naga voice across tribal lines. Its membership was small, yet its members had literacy, administrative access, and moral authority to speak to the colonial government. By drafting and submitting the 1929 memorandum, the Club transformed a diffuse sense of difference into a formal political claim. It did not create Naga identity; it gave that identity a documentary form that subsequent generations could cite. Without the Club’s initiative, the Simon Commission might have left the hills unexamined in any special way. With it, the principle of distinct treatment entered the official record.
Two figures were particularly important in preparing the document. In 1928, Deputy Commissioner J.H. Hutton, the anthropologist-administrator then in charge of the Naga Hills, informed local dobashis and Club members that the Simon Commission would visit Kohima the following year. The news prompted action. The Club then entrusted Rüzhükhrie Angami, a teacher who had completed his Intermediate Arts in Calcutta and was serving at the Government High School in Kohima, with drafting the memorandum. Rüzhükhrie, himself a signatory, produced a remarkably clear and forward-thinking text. Other members discussed his draft, and he submitted it on January 10, 1929. The collaboration between an informed colonial officer who brought the opportunity to light and a local teacher who gave the Naga case its written form ensured that the memorandum was both timely and precisely worded.
The immediate consequence was the Naga Hills’ classification as an Excluded Area under the Government of India Act 1935. Under that Act, the Governor of Assam exercised special responsibility for the excluded areas; provincial legislation did not apply of its own force, and the ordinary processes of the reformed provincial government were kept at arm’s length. The Governor retained administration and acted in his discretion. This was not independence, yet it recognized that the hills were not ordinary territory. The principle of distinctness had entered the statute book. For the Nagas who had signed the memorandum, Excluded Area status was a partial vindication. It confirmed that the British authorities had accepted, at least for administrative purposes, the argument that the hills required special treatment. It also created a legal space in which customary institutions could continue to function with relatively little interference from provincial politics. The arrangement was, of course, still colonial; yet it preserved some of the autonomy the Club had sought to protect and set a precedent that would later influence the drafting of Article 371A.
After the Second World War, the same principle took on a broader organizational form. The Naga Hills District Tribal Council of 1945 was reconstituted in 1946 as the Naga National Council. Under leaders who later included Angami Zapu Phizo, the Council moved from the Club's cautious language to a more explicit claim of nationhood. In June 1947, the Nine-Point Agreement with Sir Akbar Hydari appeared to preserve a future right of choice; its final clause became a lasting source of contention. On 14 August 1947—the day before India attained independence—the Naga National Council declared Naga independence. The declaration was no sudden invention. It logically continued the position first articulated in 1929: that the Nagas should not be handed from one power to another without their free consent. The timing was deliberate. By speaking one day before the transfer of power, the Council sought to establish that Naga political status was not a residual question for the new Indian government to settle but a matter already determined by the people themselves.
The 1951 plebiscite, organized by the Naga National Council and claimed by its organizers to have produced an overwhelming mandate for sovereignty, further inscribed that claim in the historical record. The Government of India rejected both the declaration and the plebiscite. Armed conflict followed. Yet even amid that conflict, the constitutional settlement that created the state of Nagaland in 1963 bore the imprint of the earlier assertion. Article 371A of the Constitution of India, inserted by the Thirteenth Amendment, provides that no Act of Parliament relating to Naga religious or social practices, customary law, the administration of justice under that law, or the ownership and transfer of land and its resources shall apply to Nagaland unless the Legislative Assembly of the state so resolves. The provision is, in effect, a statutory acknowledgment that Naga identity is not to be dissolved into a uniform national pattern. It is the constitutional descendant of the Excluded Area status and, more distantly, of the 1929 memorandum. The Sixteen-Point Agreement of 1960, which paved the way for statehood, was negotiated by the Naga People’s Convention rather than the underground leadership; yet the special protections it introduced addressed the identity and land concerns the Club had raised three decades earlier.
Article 371A and the Protection of Identity
Article 371A is often described as special protection. It is more accurately understood as recognition that the Naga people possess a distinct social and legal order, whose continuity the Indian Constitution, within defined limits, has chosen to respect. Customary law continues to govern large areas of civil and criminal justice. Land remains under community and individual ownership rather than under the ordinary state regime. Religious and social practices are shielded from automatic override by central legislation. These safeguards do not amount to independence. They do, however, preserve the institutional conditions of Naga identity that the Club had sought to defend. In practice, the article has allowed village councils, customary courts, and traditional land-tenure systems to operate with a degree of autonomy unusual within the Indian Union. Tribal custom frequently resolves disputes over inheritance, marriage, and minor criminal matters rather than the Indian Penal Code or general civil law. In most cases, the community or the individual, not the state, retains ownership of land and the resources beneath it. These arrangements are not merely residual colonial practices; they are actively defended as expressions of Naga identity.
For those who regard the political movement as unfinished, Article 371A is both an achievement and a partial settlement. Within the Indian constitutional order, it legitimizes the claim that Naga distinctiveness is not a temporary administrative convenience but a permanent fact. At the same time, it does not satisfy the demand for full independence, which, through the Naga National Council and later organizations, traces its pedigree to the memorandum’s insistence on being left alone. Many rejected the 1975 Shillong Accord, signed by a section of the Naga National Council, as a renunciation of the earlier claim. In 1980, leaders who refused the Accord formed the National Socialist Council of Nagaland, marking another chapter in the same story. The 1997 ceasefires and the 2015 Framework Agreement have not resolved the fundamental question of political status. They have, however, kept alive the conversation that began when the Naga Club chose to address the Simon Commission rather than ignore it. Each of these later documents and agreements returns, in one form or another, to the themes of identity, consent, and the right to determine one’s own future, first articulated in 1929.
The Continuing Echo
The movement's armed phase has long been dormant. Ceasefires hold. The hills are not, at present, a theater of open war. Yet the spirit that first found written expression in the Naga Club’s memorandum has not died. It reappears in the insistence, still voiced by the principal negotiating group, that any final settlement must rest on recognition of unique history, shared sovereign power, and the symbols—flag and constitution—that are understood to accompany such recognition. It also reappears in the quieter but persistent attachment of ordinary Nagas to customary law, land rights, and the sense that they are a people who once spoke and may yet speak again with one voice about their future. One side understands the Framework Agreement of 2015, whose full text has never been officially published, as acknowledging shared sovereignty and the coexistence of two entities. The Government of India has not accepted that reading. The disagreement itself is evidence that the original claim has not been extinguished. It has merely changed its institutional form.
The memorandum did not create Naga oneness; it recorded it at a decisive moment, thereby giving it political form. Subsequent generations have interpreted that form differently—some seeking maximum autonomy within India, others seeking a relationship of coexistence between two entities. What has not changed is the conviction, first articulated in formal language nearly a century ago, that the Nagas are not to be absorbed without their consent and that their identity is both older than the Raj and capable of outlasting any particular constitutional arrangement. The Club was a small body, composed largely of men who had received an English education and worked in the colonial administration. It did not claim to represent every village or tribe equally. Its authority was moral and documentary, not territorial. Yet the document it produced has outlasted its authors and has become a reference point for organizations of very different character and ambition. In this respect, it has functioned precisely as a Magna Carta: a text that subsequent political actors invoke to ground their claims in a prior, recognized assertion of rights.
In this sense, the 1929 document remains the Magna Carta of Nagaism. It is the charter against which later claims are measured, the text to which later organizations return, and the quiet assertion that continues to shape the relationship between the Naga people and the Indian state. The movement may be dormant, but the spirit that produced the memorandum, and that the memorandum in turn preserved, is not. Whether that spirit will eventually find expression in a settlement acceptable to all parties, or whether it will continue to animate a political demand that remains formally unresolved, is a question for the years ahead. What can be said with certainty is that any durable arrangement will have to take account of the principles first articulated, with remarkable clarity and restraint, on January 10, 1929. The Nagas who gathered in Kohima that day did not know that their words would still be read, debated, and invoked nearly a century later. They knew only that they wanted to place on record, before a departing empire, the simple, enduring claim that they were a people who should be left alone to determine their own future.
Besesayo Kezo, IPS, Retd. DGP