Mughalu T Kinimi
Dimapur
A government notification is supposed to create hope. A road restored after a landslide, a bridge repaired, a village reconnected and a family assisted are what that hope should eventually look like. But what happens when the government record tells one story and people's lived experience tells another? That is the question Nagaland must now ask.
An official Government of Nagaland document dated 15 January 2026, along with its annexure, shows an allocation of Rs 373 crore under the natural-disaster component of the Special Assistance to States for Capital Investment, 2025–26. The money was earmarked for specific mitigation and restoration works across the state. The figures are substantial: Rs 220.50 crore under Home (NSDMA), Rs 67.70 crore under Works and Housing (Roads and Bridges), Rs 79.80 crore under Urban Development and Rs 5 crore under the Police Engineering Project. The annexure even identifies specific works—from landslide mitigation in Mokokchung and Chümoukedima to road restoration in Mon and other areas. The government communication also required the departments to complete the works and payments within the stipulated period, with utilisation by 31 March 2026. That date has passed.
So, the question is simple: What happened to the Rs 373 crore? Not as a political slogan. Not as a social-media accusation. But as a legitimate question from citizens whose lives are affected by these very disasters. Where is the work? When public money is allocated for disaster mitigation, people should be able to see something on the ground. They should see roads restored. They should see landslide-prone areas addressed. They should see damaged infrastructure repaired. They should see communities receiving the assistance intended for them.
Instead, too many people continue to face the consequences of floods and landslides largely on their own. Communities, churches, individuals and local volunteers repeatedly step in where institutional response appears inadequate. This creates an uncomfortable gap between government allocation and public experience. A file can say that money has been sanctioned, a notification can say that departments have been instructed. But the people travelling on a damaged road do not experience a notification. They experience the road, the family whose livelihood has been disrupted does not experience a budget provision. They experience loss.
This is where the government must understand the growing frustration among the public. People are no longer satisfied with announcements. They want evidence of results. The government should publish the account
There is an easy way for the Government of Nagaland to settle much of this debate. Publish the utilisation details. Tell the public, project by project: How much was sanctioned? How much was released? How much was spent? What work was completed? Who implemented it? What remains unfinished? If everything has been properly utilised, the government should have nothing to fear from transparency. If some projects were delayed, tell the people why. If funds remain unutilised, explain the circumstances. And if an audit or investigation establishes financial irregularities, those responsible must be held accountable according to law.
The public does not need speculation, it needs documents. Why has it come to the road? This is also why the ultimatum reportedly issued by Diphupar L Khel regarding NH-29 (blockade) deserves attention. The proposed action should not simply be dismissed as another agitation. When people feel that repeated appeals and institutional channels are not producing answers, they eventually look for a way to make their grievance impossible to ignore. A road then becomes more than a road; it becomes a message. That does not mean that ordinary commuters should be made victims of a protest. Any action must remain peaceful and lawful. But the government should pay attention to the reason such frustration is reaching the highway.
The real question is not merely: “Why are people threatening to block the road?” It is: “Why do people feel that they must reach the road before the government will listen?” That is a question of governance. Nagaland has moved beyond the politics of silence. There was a time when an official announcement could largely define the public narrative. Times have changed.
Today, citizens photograph damaged roads. They record flooded streets. They share their experiences. Communities compare what they are told with what they see. The government is no longer the only narrator of public reality. And this is not necessarily a bad thing, it can make government more accountable. The answer, therefore, is not to dismiss public criticism or attempt to control the narrative. The answer is to make government claims visible, verifiable and measurable.
If Rs 373 crore was allocated for disaster mitigation and restoration, let Nagaland see what Rs 373 crore has produced. This is not about party politics. The people affected by natural disasters do not ask whether the government belongs to one party or another before seeking help. A damaged road does not distinguish between ruling-party supporters and opposition supporters. A landslide does not ask which community a family belongs to. Disaster relief should therefore rise above partisan politics.
And where institutional opposition is weak, the responsibility of asking difficult questions becomes even more important for the press, civil society, churches, tribal organisations and citizens. Holding government accountable is not being anti-government. It is part of democracy. The Government of Nagaland now has an opportunity to answer the public clearly. Not with another announcement. Not with another promise. Not with another file. But with the evidence. Where did the Rs 373 crore go? What was completed? What remains? And most importantly: Why are so many citizens still asking where the relief is? The people of Nagaland have already endured the disaster. They should not have to endure the uncertainty of whether the relief meant for them ever reached them.
