Imlisanen Jamir
There’s something about the NLTP Act that ignites a unique kind of fire in Nagaland. No other issue quite compares. You could talk about the potholes in the streets, the perennial mess of our infrastructure, or the quiet, corrosive force of corruption that everyone knows exists but never really raises a fuss about. But this? The NLTP Act? The room goes hot.
Everyone’s got a side. It’s almost predictable now, like the turning of seasons. The moment anyone suggests revisiting or repealing the act, you can feel it coming — the inflamed reactions, the finger-pointing, the sanctimony that both sides cling to like armor. We’ve been here before, and we’ll be here again.
On one side, there’s the camp of morality, wrapped tightly in the flag of faith, and on the other, those who argue for personal freedom, for choice. The battle lines drawn, they come armed with fiery rhetoric, but here’s the thing — the arguments are always the same. And yet, no one backs down. The debate resurfaces, like an old wound that never quite heals. It flares up, sparks the same emotions, and burns itself out until the next time.
You’d think by now that there’d be something new to say, some fresh perspective. But no, both sides recycle the same talking points, with little real data, research, or even a clear understanding of what’s at stake. What we get are opinions — strong ones, no doubt — but often grounded in hearsay, not hard facts. It’s all too easy to latch onto what some leader, church, or organization says and take it as gospel truth. But where’s the rigor? Where’s the actual research, the studies with real methodology, and transparency? They’re either hidden or don’t exist. Yet, that doesn’t stop anyone from rushing to pick a side.
What fascinates me is not the debate itself — as far as I’m concerned, it’s a rerun — but the visceral reaction it provokes from the public. Why this issue? Why does alcohol and religion send the entire state into a frenzy, unlike corruption, which quietly gnaws away at the foundation of our society, or the crumbling infrastructure that we all step over without much outrage?
Maybe it’s because those are issues with no real opposition. No one wants to be the guy who defends bad roads or crooked officials. But here, with the NLTP Act, there’s room to fight. There’s a moral high ground to be claimed, or so people think. Even in the Nagaland Legislative Assembly, a place where you’d expect some measure of detachment, the air changes when this act comes up.
Normally quiet, cautious voices find a sudden burst of enthusiasm. Maybe it’s because they know they’re being watched, that whatever they say will be fodder for the public, for the endless back-and-forth in the comment sections of news articles and Facebook posts. The internet lights up. It’s one of those rare times when Nagas seem to care deeply, enough to hurl insults and shout down opposing views.
But the funny thing is, in all this noise, nothing ever really changes. The act remains, like an old relic, dragged out every now and then to give people something to yell about. In the end, the real winner isn’t the church, or the advocates for personal freedom. No, the real winners are the media outlets.
The views, the clicks, the shares — that’s what drives this merry-go-round. And so, the pitchforks will rise again the next time someone brings up the NLTP Act. Maybe we’ll get a few new voices, maybe not. Either way, it’ll be the same old show, with the same tired arguments. Why it sparks so much passion, though, I’ll leave that for you to figure out. It’s a question worth pondering, but don’t expect an easy answer.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
