Naga calm August 2011

Surrounding Kohima, the capital of Nagaland, colourful houses cover every available space in the rugged mountain ridges nearby. Spiralling down these ridgelines are small winding roads that allow just one car to pass at a time. That is to be expected, perhaps, but other elements look very different from elsewhere in Northeast India: there are churches everywhere, and people seem unusually polite to strangers. Indeed, when I first arrived in Kohima things seemed so peaceful that I found it hard to believe that it had not always been like this. But, of course, first impressions are just that.

 

As the sun slipped behind the mountain ranges at dusk, however, other details started to emerge. Naga soldiers perched quietly on rooftops holding large guns, looking bored as they scanned the horizon; as the night wore on, an incredible number of paramilitary groups patrolled the streets, occupying the numerous bases arranged across the small city. The names of these outfits constitute acronym after acronym: AR (Assam Rifles), CRPF (Central Reserve Police Force), IRB (India Reserve Battalion), NAP (Nagaland Armed Police), BSF (Border Security Force), GR (Gurkha Rifles), SLI (Sikh Light Infantry).

 

This preponderance of military boots on the ground is certainly a direct echo of the violence that has taken place in these battle-scarred hills. Still, from observation today, it is impossible to imagine just how much blood has been spilled in this area – even before India claimed the region as its own, shortly after Independence. Of course, this was despite the fact that the Naga community had already declared its own independence from Britain the day before – another echo that can still be heard in Nagaland and beyond today.

 

During my stay I met a relative of Angami Zapu Phizo, the president of the Naga National Council (NNC, one of the first groups pushing for Naga autonomy and, ultimately, sovereignty) from 1950 until his death in 1990. He said that it was not so long ago that one could see people being gunned down in the streets of Kohima. From the terrace of his house in Kohima, which affords a beautiful view of the city, he pointed to a nearby mountain, where he said two of the central Naga faction groups – the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (Isaac-Muivah) and National Socialist Council of Nagaland (Khaplang) – had fought each other viciously over the past decade. Even though the sounds of the fighting could be heard across Kohima, he claimed government armed forces just watched, doing nothing to stop the fratricidal violence. Since then, both groups have signed ceasefires with New Delhi. And with the help of peace observers, they have been discussing reconciliation among themselves, too.

 

Some kind of tangible peace might well have found a small foothold in these hills. I met a mixed group of youths – from Naga and other communities – playing cricket on a quiet road on the edge of downtown Kohima. I asked the oldest boy whether he had seen any violence in the streets between armed groups. He said that before there had been a lot of fighting but now things are better. I asked him why there had been violence between the groups. Without blinking an eye he said, with a not-so-innocent smile, ‘They were fighting for dominance.’

 

~ Brennan O’Connor is a Canadian photographer based in Thailand, currently at work on a book project documenting Burmese ethnic minorities.