Government appointments and recruitment processes have come under increasing public scrutiny, as favouritism based on human relationships play a huge role.
There are qualifications that appear on paper. Degrees, experiences, trainings, examinations, interviews, and years of preparation. And then, sometimes, there are qualifications that are never written down. Who do you know?
This is not to suggest that every appointment or opportunity in Nagaland is influenced by personal connections. Nor is it an accusation against every institution or individual. In recent times, government appointments and recruitment processes have come under increasing public scrutiny, and efforts are being made to strengthen transparency and accountability. That is a welcome development.
But perhaps the larger question is worth reflecting upon: what happens to a society when knowing someone slowly begins to compete with being qualified? Human relationships are not wrong. We are a relational people. Recommendations are sometimes necessary. Trust matters. Institutions naturally depend upon people who know one another and can vouch for each other's character and ability. The problem begins when a relationship quietly becomes an advantage that others cannot access.
There is a difference between recommending a qualified person and making qualifications
irrelevant because of a relationship. There is a difference between trust and favouritism.
There is a difference between giving someone an opportunity and ensuring that others never receive the same opportunity to compete. These differences may appear small, but they matter greatly. Because when people begin to believe that connections are more important than competence, society itself begins to change.
Young people notice; they may spend years studying, acquiring qualifications, and preparing themselves for opportunities. But if the general perception is that the right connection can sometimes achieve what hard work cannot, an uncomfortable question begins to grow: Why work so hard if knowing the right person matters more?
That question alone should concern us. The greatest damage caused by favouritism may not always be visible in a particular appointment. Sometimes its deeper damage is what it does to the imagination of an entire generation. Instead of asking, “How can I become capable?” young people may begin asking, “Who should I know?” Instead of investing in competence, they may feel pressured to invest in proximity. Instead of trusting a process, they may search for a person behind the process. And slowly, without anyone officially declaring it, relationships can become an unwritten qualification.
This does not mean that every person who receives an opportunity through a recommendation is undeserving. Many capable and hardworking people also know those in leadership personally. The issue is not whether people know one another. In a small and closely connected society, that would be impossible to avoid. The issue is whether everyone is given a fair opportunity even when they are not personally known. That is where institutions are tested.
A government office is not simply a workplace. It exists to serve the public. A school is not merely an institution that employs teachers; it shapes the lives of students. When appointments are perceived to be disconnected from competence and responsibility, the consequences eventually reach beyond the person appointed. The public experiences the results. Students experience the results. Colleagues experience the results. And eventually, the institution itself experiences the loss of public trust. This is why the increasing scrutiny of recruitment and appointment processes is important. Transparency is not merely about catching wrongdoing. It is also about restoring confidence. Institutions must not only attempt to be fair; they must develop processes that allow people to believe that fairness is genuinely possible.
But perhaps we should not stop the conversation there. It is easy to look toward government institutions and speak about favouritism. It becomes more uncomfortable when the same question is brought closer to home. Does knowing someone ever become a qualification in our other institutions as well? Including the Church. This is not an accusation against the Church. Many church leaders carry enormous responsibilities and make difficult decisions with sincerity and prayer. Many pastors and church workers serve faithfully without seeking recognition or privilege. Yet religious institutions, like every human institution, are not completely immune from human preferences.
The uncomfortable possibility is that sometimes relationships can influence opportunities, appointments, transfers, and postings. Some places are naturally considered more desirable than others. A town church may offer greater visibility and convenience than a remote village. Certain positions may carry greater influence or recognition. And wherever desirable opportunities exist, the temptation toward partiality can also exist. The Church must be able to ask itself difficult questions—not because it has failed completely, but because integrity requires continuous self-examination.
We should be especially careful about this because the Church often speaks to society about justice, honesty, and righteousness. That moral voice becomes stronger when the Church is equally willing to examine its own structures. It is easy to condemn favouritism when it happens somewhere else. It is more difficult to ask whether we have created our own unwritten qualifications.
This is where leaders need to understand something important: the public is not always ignorant simply because it is silent. People observe. They may not know every detail behind a decision. They may not possess documents or evidence sufficient to make accusations, and therefore rumours should never be treated as facts. But people do observe patterns. They notice who repeatedly receives opportunities. They notice when some people appear to have easier access to leadership. They notice when explanations seem inconsistent. They notice when the written rules and the actual outcomes do not always seem to tell the same story.
Silence, therefore, should not always be interpreted as ignorance. Sometimes people remain silent because they do not want conflict. Sometimes they remain silent because they respect institutions. Sometimes they remain silent because they lack the evidence necessary to speak publicly. But silence does not necessarily mean blindness. And perhaps one of the responsibilities of leadership is to understand that trust cannot be demanded; it must be earned repeatedly through transparent and fair decisions.
This is ultimately not an argument against relationships. Relationships are part of who we are. We belong to families, communities, churches, and networks. People will always recommend people they know. The question is whether those relationships become substitutes for fairness. A healthy institution should be able to value relationships without allowing relationships to replace merit. It should be able to recognise trust without practicing partiality. It should be able to recommend people without closing opportunities to those who are unknown. Because the real test of fairness is not how we treat those we know. It is how we treat those we do not.
That is the question worth asking in Nagaland today. Not simply whether backdoors exist. Not simply who received what position. But whether, in our institutions, knowing someone is slowly becoming a qualification of its own. If it is, then the problem is larger than a few questionable appointments. It is a cultural problem. And cultural problems cannot be solved merely by changing rules. They also require a change of conscience.
We need institutions that are willing to examine their written rules. But perhaps, even more importantly, we need the courage to examine the unwritten ones. Because every institution has qualifications printed on paper. The real question is, what qualifications are operating when nobody is looking?
Mughalu T. Kinimi