Limhachan Kikon
Duncan Basti, Dimapur
The tension and resistance expressed by local inhabitants in Pfutsero reveal a crucial disconnect: while the need for security depth is real, it cannot—despite geopolitical pressures—be imposed through overreach, stealth, or silence. By the very logic of function, the proposal by the Indian Airforce to install a radar system infrastructure atop Glory Peak invite visibility and distort the landscape.
What becomes clear, therefore, is the need for alignment with stakeholders—indeed, with the whole of Pfutsero. Defending a terrain, Naga Hills and by extension India in isolation reflects a frontier mindset, one that falls short of a co-opted and shared conceptualisation of security as a shared responsibility.
Meanwhile, across the Naga terrain, the visible spread of military structures risks being perceived not as protection but as imposition when driven primarily by institutional tenacity. The defence forces presence upon this Geography is not new; since the mid-twentieth century, and even earlier under the British, the strategic value of the Naga Hills has been recognised and put to use. Examples like the Inner Line Permit initiated by the colonial administration, enforcing registry of our entry and exit mostly towards the Assam plains thereby protecting their tea industry and labourers working them.
Honour and prestige attributed to head hunting would ensure easy pickings in the plains under the cover of forest. Barter trade existed with Assam and movements and dacoity. Land here carries identity and continuity as much as strategic value.
The purpose of security is not in question. The Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958 remains active in parts of Nagaland, designating areas as “disturbed” to address insurgency. Its provisions—allowing search, arrest, and use of force—have also drawn sustained criticism. This duality underscores the need for careful balance. Militarisation, if prioritised without alignment, risks undermining its own objective—it “kills the Micky,” to use an expression from Disney Land USA, eroding trust and weakening the very basis of cooperative security.
From Glory Peak, this tension becomes easier to grasp. The landscape is open, commanding, and deeply personal. The same elevation that offers strategi
visibility and sight also anchors memory and belonging. Geography here is not neutral—it is lived, inhabited, and emotionally held.
Inheritance forms the core of this relationship. Land in the Naga Hills is not simply owned; it is inherited through lineage, community, and shared history. Protections under Article 371A reinforce this bond, ensuring local control. This has preserved identity and continuity, yet what could have enabled alignment with national security imperatives risks turning into dissonance when engagement is insufficient. A radar system, for instance, does not operate in a vacuum—it exists within a populated, socially embedded space.
Geopolitics, on the other hand, operates with its own logic. The hills lie along sensitive corridors linking India to Myanmar and beyond. Elevation provides advantage. Principles like the Radar Horizon explain why high ground enhances visibility and early warning upto 1000 kilometres and beyond. An average educated person can easily surmise this. In an era of evolving threats, this makes locations like Glory Peak strategically significant.
Recent developments reinforce this reality. The arrest of Matthew Van Dyke—founder of Sons of Liberty International—by the NIA, [ National Investigation Agency] on March 13, 2026, alongside six Ukrainian nationals allegedly involved in training Myanmar-based rebels in drone warfare, highlights the changing nature of conflict in the region. Combined with lessons from Operation Sindoor, it is evident that drones are in and threats are no longer conventional. They move low, fast, and across terrain, making elevated observation points increasingly valuable. The hills are no longer just borders—they are sensors.
This creates an inevitable friction. On one side is the need for security and preparedness. On the other is the lived reality of communities whose relationship with land is deeply personal. When one advances without the consent or understanding of the other, resistance is not surprising—it is natural and likely landmines. The issue is not opposition to security, but the manner in which it is pursued.
History shows that this terrain, the Naga Hills has always been understood in strategic terms. The British integrated the Naga Hills into their frontier system, even holding its natural vantage as a barrier between Burma and India and recognising the importance of elevation for power and logistics. Prior to this intrusion, indigenous communities in the Naga Hills usually considered hilltops for safety and cohesion and across time, this same logic has repeated: Geography here matters.
Yet, despite this continuity, a crucial element remains underdeveloped—the missing link. That link is trade and at the heart of it, movement. While inheritance preserves and geopolitics secures, neither alone generates economic momentum. Trade is what converts position into value and sustains the relevance of location. I am referring to corridor flows via the Naga Hills as value centres and efficiency routes. Identity and history and culture get centred.
The Naga Hills overlook routes that connect India to wider markets through Moreh and into Myanmar, Southeast Asia, and even toward western China through the Kachin region. These are not abstract pathways. They were historically used for troop movement and logistics, as seen in the Stilwell Road during the Allied resistance against Japanese forces. Today, they hold the potential to become structured channels of commerce.
Bringing this link into reality requires balance. Security must align with community trust. Land ownership must be respected while enabling participation in economic activity. Trade must not override inheritance or security—it must work through them. This calls for thoughtful policy, clear communication, and genuine local involvement.
The path forward is not about choosing between identity and development, or between security and autonomy. It is about integration. Inheritance provides stability. Geopolitics provides urgency. Trade provides outcome. When these three are aligned, the region moves from tension to opportunity.
From Glory Peak, the conclusion is clear. The landscape already holds the answer. It is open, commanding and deeply personal to those who live within it. The same elevation that offers strategic visibility and logistical ease for command and control also anchors memory and belonging. What remains is the willingness to connect these elements with care, clarity, and purpose. The need for integration trumps polarisation and siloed thinking. Until then, the Naga Hills will continue to stand as they are—strategically vital, culturally rooted, and economically waiting.
