Under the Table, Over the People: Illegal Taxation Menace in Nagaland

I. Introduction: Shadows that Cast Long Burdens

In Nagaland, every household, whether in bustling towns or remote villages, silently bears a weight not codified in law, not consented to by vote, and not justified by governance. This weight is the spectre of illegal taxation, extracted not through transparent institutions, but through opaque power structures that operate in the shadows of the state. While the term “illegal tax” may appear oxymoronic, since taxation, by definition, implies legal mandate, its presence in Nagaland is tragically real, systemic, and corrosive.

Disguised as “public contributions,” “party tax,” “revolutionary support,” or “national duty,” these extractions represent more than mere economic exploitation; they are a moral injury, an ontological distortion of authority, and a societal betrayal. Beneath the veneer of political narratives lies a hard truth: a regime of coercion masquerading as communal obligation.

II. The Tax We Never Voted For: A Crisis of Consent and Legitimacy

Taxation, properly understood, is a covenant between the state and its citizens. It presupposes legitimacy, accountability, and the consent of the governed. In Nagaland, however, illegal taxation is imposed not by the legitimate apparatus of the state, but by multiple competing forces, militant groups, political actors, bureaucratic gatekeepers, and syndicates. These forces lack not only constitutional authority but also moral legitimacy.

The philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau famously posited that the "general will" legitimizes the law. But in Nagaland, the general will has been silenced. The people are coerced into compliance, not consulted in governance. In such a state, taxation is no longer a civic act; it is an act of submission under duress. What results is not governance, but parasitism. Not law, but extraction. Not duty, but fear.

This is not just a legal anomaly, it is a philosophical collapse of the very notion of a social contract.

III. The Many Faces of the Invisible Hand: A Cartography of Coercion

Illegal taxation in Nagaland is not a monolithic enterprise; it is a hydra with multiple heads, each representing a distinct form of unaccountable power. Beneath the surface of governance lies a sprawling web of coercive practices that together constitute a shadow economy. Among the most pervasive is the extortion practiced by underground groups operating under the banner of nationalism and revolution. These factions routinely demand levies from contractors, traders, teachers, and labourers, framed as “donations” but enforced as obligations. What may outwardly appear as ideological commitment is, in truth, a machinery of coercion that transmutes historical grievances and ethnic identity into a commercialised form of control.

In parallel, political actors engage in what is euphemistically termed “party tax.” During election seasons, and often even in between, government employees and private contractors are compelled to contribute to party coffers, not as voluntary participants in a democratic process, but as hostages to a political system that has normalised shakedown economics. The language of mobilisation masks a deeper moral breakdown: the conversion of public service into partisan servitude.

The bureaucracy, too, is not immune to this economy of extraction. From job appointments to road tenders, every access point to state services carries a cost, calculated not in merit or legality, but in kickbacks and commissions. These are not occasional acts of corruption; they are institutionalised tolls, silently accepted as the cost of securing what is already a citizen’s right. The public administration becomes less a facilitator of development and more a gatekeeper of privilege.

Further compounding this reality is the proliferation of so-called “national duties” levied by various armed factions, each claiming to be the legitimate voice of the Naga cause. In a political landscape fragmented by competing mandates, the citizen is caught in a layered economy of fear. The burden of multiple “taxing authorities” erodes any notion of unified political identity and reduces patriotic duty to a price-tagged obligation. Sovereignty, in such a context, is not exercised, it is extorted.

Furthermore, syndicate culture has infiltrated the local economy. Vendors, transporters, and market traders are frequently subject to unauthorised fees for “maintenance” or “protection”, terms that veil the reality of informal extortion. These syndicates, often operating under the guise of unions or community organisations, function without constitutional legitimacy but with impunity, enabled by the chronic failure or unwillingness of the state to assert sovereign control over its streets and marketplaces.

Taken together, these manifestations of illegal taxation form a coercive mosaic, where every agent of extraction operates with calculated ambiguity and moral impunity. The result is not merely an economic crisis, but a profound collapse of civic trust and ethical order.

IV. The Final Taxpayer: Households as Economic Shock Absorbers

Though these levies are extracted from contractors or businesses, their cost is ultimately borne by the average citizen. The price of every commodity, every service, and every transaction is artificially inflated to absorb the weight of illegal taxation. Every form of illegal tax is, by consequence, an indirect tax on every Naga household.

The economic consequence is brutal, particularly for the poor. For the elite, these extractions are an annoyance. For the marginalised, a widow selling vegetables, a young graduate paying exam fees, a farmer buying fertiliser, they are acts of economic violence.

This reveals a deep ontological distortion: the household, which ought to be the site of safety and provision, becomes the final shock absorber for institutionalised theft. The family is not nourished by governance but drained by it.

V. Ethics of Silence: The Collapse of Moral Institutions

One of the most alarming features of Nagaland’s illegal taxation regime is the resounding silence of moral institutions. Churches, student bodies, and civil society organizations, many of which wield considerable influence, have often chosen accommodation over confrontation. This silence is not merely disappointing; it is ethically devastating.

As the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned in the face of Nazi tyranny: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil.” In Nagaland, religious and civic leaders have too often invoked peace to justify complicity. In doing so, they betray their prophetic mandate. What remains of a gospel that cannot confront extortion? What use is tradition if it cannot name injustice?

When sacred spaces lose the courage to speak truth to power, the pulpit becomes a pedestal for hypocrisy, and theology becomes a handmaid to tyranny.

VI. Toward a Theology and Politics of Resistance

The way forward is not rebellion but restoration, a recovery of moral clarity, civic courage, and theological integrity. The Christian tradition, which permeates Naga society, contains rich resources for resistance:

·         Jesus denounced religious corruption and overturned the tables of unjust commerce in the Temple (Matthew 21:12–13).

·         The Apostle Paul defied unjust authority when it contradicted divine justice (Acts 16:37).

·         The early Church refused to call Caesar “Lord” when only Christ was worthy of that title.

Where is that courage today? Why does the Church fear confrontation more than it fears complicity? Why are the scriptures that speak of justice and judgment muted in the face of extortion?

Civil society must rediscover its prophetic voice. Every illegal tax must be interrogated with the questions: Who authorised this? To whom is this going? What purpose does it serve?

VII. Conclusion: From Shadows to Substance

Illegal taxation in Nagaland is not merely a governance issue, it is a metaphysical crisis. It signals the breakdown of justice, the erosion of trust, and the inversion of public service into private gain. While it operates in darkness, its consequences are devastatingly visible: higher prices, diminished livelihoods, shattered ethics, and systemic injustice.

To confront this tyranny will require more than policy; it will require philosophical reawakening, theological boldness, and civic resolve. It will require a re-articulation of the social contract, grounded not in fear or faction, but in consent, justice, and truth.

Until then, Nagaland risks becoming not a society governed by law, but a hostage economy ruled by invisible empires, where the people continue to pay, not with consent, but with silence.

Vikiho Kiba