Pamreihor Khashimwo & Mayocollin Phazang
When Thuingaleng Muivah, the ageing revolutionary, returned to his birthplace, Somdal village in Ukhrul, on October 22, 2025, it was more than a homecoming. It symbolised historical closure, political fatigue, and existential reflection. For the Nagas, whose political journey has swung between insurgency and negotiation, sovereignty and settlement, his return marked the end of an era and the uncertainty of what follows. It was not merely the retreat of an old leader to his misty hills, but of a movement caught between its revolutionary past and its disoriented present.
Muivah’s political persona is layered. To some, he remains a strong ideologue who carried forward A.Z. Phizo’s dream of sovereignty. To others, a negotiator, Ato Kilonser, General Secretary, Avakharar, rebel leader, political philosopher, and voice of the Naga cause. His vision was rooted in self-determination, tribal identity, and collective dignity. His recent messages in Ukhrul and Senapati showed his inclusive political approach, aiming to expand the Naga struggle beyond narrow territorial and ethnic boundaries into a shared sense of belonging. His concept of Nagalim, an imagined homeland beyond colonial and postcolonial lines, was not only geographic but also metaphysical, based on the belief that the Nagas’ history and future require recognition as a nation.
For over six decades, Muivah embodied the paradox of Naga politics— blending Christian moral conviction with Marxian philosophy and organisation, tribal traditionalism with modern nationalism. He framed the Naga struggle not merely as a negotiation with India, but as a civilisational dialogue: one side seeking recognition, the other asserting integration. It was always about dignity as much as about territory.
Yet his conviction met the limits of realism. The world that once romanticised guerrilla ideologues has moved toward transactional diplomacy and development narratives. The anti-colonial idioms that once legitimised insurgencies have faded. The challenge for the Naga movement now is not moral justification but political translation, how to convert an idea born of resistance into one of reconciliation.
The Naga political story is one of promises made and betrayed. The Indian state in the 1950s treated Naga nationalism as rebellion, leading to decades of militarisation. The 1960 Shillong Accord, meant to bring peace, was seen by many as a betrayal, including Muivah, who viewed it as capitulation. The formation of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) in 1980, and its later split into NSCN (Isak-Muivah) and NSCN (Khaplang) groups, reflected the fracturing of a once-unified dream of sovereignty.
The 1997 ceasefire between the NSCN (IM) and India marked a turning point, ushering in South Asia’s longest peace process. Hope peaked with the 2015 Framework Agreement, hailed by Prime Minister Modi as ‘historic.’ Yet it soon became a symbol of disillusionment. Its ambiguity, lack of transparency, and exclusion of other stakeholders deepened mistrust. Modi’s rhetorical triumph masked bureaucratic inertia and a preference for managing, not resolving, the issue. What was meant to vindicate decades of struggle became an exercise in containment. The government’s law-and-order mindset replaced political empathy, leaving the peace process suspended in uncertainty.
Today, Naga politics is marked by fatigue and fragmentation. Multiple armed and political groups compete for legitimacy, each claiming to be the true custodian of the Naga cause. The ideological, ethnic, and regional divisions have diluted its moral authority. The younger Naga generation, alienated from the romance of the struggle, gravitates toward developmentalism, urban aspirations, and becoming photo-up activists and urban nationalists. In the age of social media, many self-proclaimed educated Naga youngsters, often lacking depth or discernment, speak and write with the pretentious confidence of Nobel laureates on complex Naga political issues, only adding layers of confusion to an already muddled public discourse. For many, nationalism is now performative, expressed through activism and symbolism rather than sacrifice.
Meanwhile, the Indian state has reframed the Naga issue from sovereignty to administration. The discourse has shifted from Nagalim to ‘Naga-inhabited areas,’ from ‘self-determination’ to ‘autonomy within the Constitution.’ This linguistic containment reflects a deeper strategy of New Delhi in managing the Naga cause through co-option and development rather than negotiation. Yet beneath this managed calm lies unease. The Naga political imagination has long outgrown Indian federal cartographies. Attempts to confine it within the state boundaries of Nagaland, Manipur, or otherwise risk reigniting old ethnic tensions and historical injustice.
In this context, Muivah’s return to his village after half a century becomes emblematic, not just of personal retreat, but of a generational one. It marks the withdrawal of a belief that negotiations alone could restore dignity to a people wronged by history. The Naga movement now faces its deepest question: can it reinvent itself without losing its soul? The moral language of the old generation must contend with the pragmatic vocabulary of the new. Sovereignty has become, for many, a metaphor for dignity rather than a literal demand for independence. The challenge is to translate that metaphor into a viable political agenda that reconciles identity with governance, autonomy with interdependence.
Muivah’s political philosophy offers both warning and wisdom. His insistence that the Nagas were never conquered and therefore cannot be subsumed by constitutional integration remains a profound assertion of selfhood. Yet his reluctance to adapt to changing political realities limited the movement’s flexibility. The new generation of Naga leaders must find a balance between ideological fidelity and practical compromise.
The future of Naga politics will hinge less on charismatic figures and more on the courage to reimagine sovereignty itself. Perhaps it lies not in territorial separation but in a layered sovereignty— moral, cultural, and administrative embedded within India’s constitutional framework, yet preserving a distinct identity. This vision, though less romantic, may hold the key to durable peace.
Muivah’s homecoming, then, is not only the end of a personal journey but a symbolic reckoning for Naga politics. It forces both Nagas and New Delhi to confront what has been gained and what has been lost through decades of struggle and negotiation. For Muivah, it may mark the fulfilment of a pilgrimage; for Naga politics, it signals a crossroads between resistance and reconciliation.
Today, the Naga movement stands between remembrance and reinvention. Its sacred promises remain incomplete; its pragmatic realities uninspiring. The future will depend on whether the Nagas can convert the moral capital of the struggle into a renewed political imagination, one that honours sacrifice while adapting to a changing world.
In the twilight of Muivah’s journey, the Naga cause stands at a philosophical crossroads: between sovereignty and coexistence, memory and modernity, the revolutionary dream and the democratic compromise. The challenge for both the Indian and Naga leadership is not to draft another framework, but to rediscover the ethical meaning of self-determination beyond bureaucratic peace. Until then, the Naga struggle will remain suspended, between the promises that birthed it and the realities that betray it.
Pamreithor Khashimwo is Dissertation Supervisor, GISMA University of Applied Sciences and Mayocollin Phazang, Political & Social Activist.
