Today, Nagaland is awash in crimes, with sexual assault and rape dominating headlines and news, while victims are forced to suffer in silence.
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Nagaland is not only known for its surreal geographical beauty, rich and vibrant culture but also for what the world considers as the most peaceful and safest place for all human kinds, where humanity echoes in every corner of the State. But today, it is awash in crimes, with sexual assault and rape dominating headlines and news. Nagaland, has it lost its identity? But will this brutal assault abate, but on what terms?
When news of a brutal assault breaks in Nagaland, the public response follows a grimly predictable cycle. There is a sudden burst of moral outrage on digital spaces, followed by strong condemnations issued by apex tribal bodies, student unions, and women’s organisations like the Nagaland State Commission for Women (NSCW). Demands for immediate justice and maximum penalties dominate the headlines for a few days. Yet, once the initial dust settles, the systemic machinery that allows sexual violence and physical assault to persist remains largely untouched. We must ask ourselves a difficult question: Why does our vocal public intolerance for these crimes fail to translate into safer realities for women and children on the ground?
The answer lies in the deep disconnect between our formal judicial requirements and our deeply entrenched informal community mechanisms. In Nagaland, the social fabric is tightly woven around community solidarity and the preservation of tribal or village harmony. While this solidarity is an asset in times of external crisis, it becomes an immense barrier when the threat comes from within. When cases of rape or severe physical abuse occur, the instinctive reaction among family or village elders is too often to contain the narrative.
The persistent reliance on "out-of-court settlements" or customary compromises mediated by local bodies severely undermines formal law enforcement. When a heinous crime is treated as a dispute to be settled with a monetary fine or an apology, it strips the survivor of their legal right to true justice. Worse, it creates a dangerous environment of impunity. A sexual predator cannot be rehabilitated by a village council compromise; they are merely shielded from the statutory laws of the land, such as the POCSO Act or the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS).
True safety for women in Nagaland will not be achieved through post-tragedy press releases or harsher rhetoric. It requires a fundamental shift in our collective civic conscience:
Zero Compromise: Individuals, community leaders, village councils, and NGOs must explicitly resolve never to mediate or suppress cases of sexual criminal offenses internally.
We cannot boast of a progressive society if half of our population lives under the shadow of domestic or public vulnerability. Justice for survivors must become heavier than tribal or familial reputation. Until we treat an assault on a woman as a profound violation of human rights rather than a breach of communal code, our systemic silence will continue to speak louder than our loudest condemnations.
C Yeilih Konyak
Research scholar, Department of Journalism and Mass Communication
Nagaland University