Lost count of the times I’ve been asked how ‘dangerous’ my homeland is. In my initial years of studying outside Nagaland, downplaying this stereotype was a trait I carefully nurtured. I was insanely frustrated and ashamed of the ‘tag’ our state bore. (1/5)
Over the years, I’ve come to realise how insanely naive it was on my part. Coming from a place of privilege, from the comfort of my home, I was disgustingly oblivious to the wider spectrum of the underlying issues taking place. Taking place in my own backyard. (2/5)
Today I am saddened but not ashamed anymore, to acknowledge that, yes, it is indeed a ‘dangerous’ place and one is right to tag it a ‘disturbed area’.
But on what context? That it is a disturbed area to the people of Nagaland. (3/5)
A tag, I staunchly believe, that should stand from our POV. A POV that many of us failed/fail to perceive.
Utterly sick of the dominant’s impositions and interferences on what they assume is good for us. How is it any different than the infamous ‘white man’s burden’? (4/5)
For as long as the draconian law #AFSPA prevails, the hills we call home, will forever bear the ironic tag rendered to it. (5/5)