By Imlisanen Jamir
It started, as these things often do, with people who had finally had enough.
Students, tired of the wreckage that passes for a highway, took to the streets of Khuzama. No grand speeches, no political slogans—just the simple demand that the road be made passable. National Highway 29, an arterial route linking Nagaland to the rest of the world, had become a test of endurance. Potholes the size of craters, dust clouds thick enough to choke on, a stretch so neglected that during the rains, it became a swamp. And so, they protested.
A week later, the repairs began.
That’s the part worth paying attention to. The speed of the response is unusual. Bureaucracy, in most cases, is a slow-moving beast, unbothered by the suffering of those who rely on its competence. But this time, something shifted. The right amount of noise was made, in the right way, by the right people. NHIDCL, the agency responsible, had no choice but to act.
It is tempting to believe that all protests are futile. After all, how many times have people marched, shouted, and written petitions only to be ignored? In Nagaland alone, how many roads remain untouched, how many villages still wait for basic services, how many promises have been made and forgotten? The cynicism is earned. And yet, there is something to be said for even the smallest of victories.
A road gets fixed, and it means that students can get to school without risking their limbs. It means that businesses, small and struggling, can transport goods a little more easily. It means that for once, the state machinery acknowledged a grievance and addressed it. And if it happened once, it can happen again.
None of this should be mistaken for generosity. NHIDCL did not suddenly grow a conscience. This is their job, and they had neglected it long enough. The repairs are not a favor but an obligation. The government is not bestowing a gift upon its people; it is simply doing what it should have done without being asked. This is the uncomfortable truth about governance—what should be automatic must often be fought for.
Protests, when justified, are the last tool left for those without power. They are inconvenient, sometimes messy, but necessary. The students of Khuzama understood this. They did not wait for another round of empty assurances. They forced the issue.
There will be other protests, and many of them will go unanswered. There will be roads that remain broken, schools that stay shut, hospitals that continue to run without doctors. That is the reality of a system designed to function only when pressed. But the lesson here is not in how often things fail, but in how sometimes, they don’t. One repair does not fix everything, but it is still one less road in ruins. And that, for now, is enough.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
