“WINNING THE ELECTION WILL BE THE BEGINNING OF CHANGE,” SAYS RAKHILA LAKIUMONG
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Herh colleague, Seno Tsuhah, addds that men underestimate women’s contri-i bution and they are regularly paid less. “Women are paid less to maintain the honour of the men,” she laughs. Any immovable property or land is never passed onto a woman because it is thought that the land will be controlled by her in-laws.
Elections in Nagaland are expensive, and more than half the candidates have assets above ₹ 1 crore, but a woman possesses little property or resources to marshal for the polls. “And till very recently, a woman’s vote would be decided by her husband or family,” adds Anungla Aier, chief of the Watsu Mungdang, the apex women’s body of the Ao tribe. As we speak, news comes of three women thrashed in Tuli because they allegedly dared to go against the diktat of their family on who to vote for — a grim reminder of how harsh the punishment is for women who dare to dissent. Dzuvichu’s grandmother was one of hundreds of women in her generation who left their homes and families to join Naga warrior tribes in the forests in the 1950s in the war against Indian forces. Even today, the separatist NSCN-IM group has women negotiators on the table. “But the role of those women has been forgotten, they have been never written about.”
The situation was made more precarious by long spells of militarisation, and the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act which was imposed in 1958. “We have had a history of rape, violence, killing and total disrespect to women….the presence of army made us more insecure,” she says.
The glass ceiling was broken in 2005, when Tokheli Kikon became the first woman to become the village chairperson in Naharbari, near Dimapur. “I had to fight a lot with the men. Everyone said we don’t allow women to lead us. But I was DIMAPUR
KOHIMA determined, and won twice more. re ”
But the challenges kept on mounting, and at every step she battled male entitlement. “They were apprehensive of a woman making decisions. When I tried to save a heritage pond, everyone opposed me. The same happened when I upgraded the school. I did everything on my own.”
The simmering tensions spilled into the streets last year after the government notified elections to urban local bodies, and made 33 per cent reservation for women mandatory. The apex Naga organisations protested, warning that this suggested a dilution of Article 371A, which gives special status to Nagaland and is an emotive issue in the northeastern state where separatist movements have deep local roots. Two women died of alleged police firing as protests shut down the state and forced the government to defer the polls, despite a Supreme Court order.
“You should have heard the names they called us…prostitutes, Indian agents, witches…our men were insecure. The men assumed the town wards were theirs to inherit,” says Dzuvichu.
This came as a shock because the applicant in the case, the NMA, was widely respected and had a long history of working against corruption, alcoholism, drug use and militarisation. “They talk of cus- WOKHA LONGLENG MOKOKCHUNG ZUNHEBOTO TUENSANG KIPHIRE PHEK ttoms,ms whatwha customs do they followlw when ththeyy jump in and out of parties?” she fumes. s
There appears to have been some rethink among the men. Chuba Ozokum of the Naga Hoho, the apex tribal organisation, said the protest was mischaracterised and that the body fully supports women’s rights. Theja Theriah, another tribal leader, says he regrets the protests. Both hope more than one woman is elected. Back in Dukru’s ancestral village of Zhawame, tensions are rising. The village council doesn’t want her to contest because the sitting MLA is from the same village, and to have a woman represent the clan would mean dishonour. She calls the elders home for a lunch of rice, pork curry and traditional pickles before calling for a meeting – above them in makeshift wood galleries, groups of men laugh and look on.
“Everyone used to love me when I ran the local farms, brought investment and became an entrepreneur of organic and local foods. But now, I only feel hostility. I will not back down, I know I can become a leader,” she says with confidence.
More than 300 kilometers away in Aboi, Avon Konyak is fighting a similar battle. The 38-year-old is the daughter of a former minister and is considered a favourite to win. She is also the only woman candidate of the Nationalist Democratic Progressive Party (NDPP). “Women need to be part of decision making body…we are more sensitive, more sincere,” she tells me.
Rakhila Lakiumong, the BJP candidate from Tuensang Sadar II, is the only one who has fought an election before, though she lost by a small margin the last time. “Changing the existing system is my top priority. Winning the election will be the beginning of change,” she says.
The other two candidates are from the National People’s Party: Wedie U Kronu from Dimapur - III seat and Mangyangpula Chang from the Noksen constituency.
“We don’t remember having so many women candidates,” says the state’s chief electoral officer Abhijit Sen.
Still, the road ahead is bumpy. When asked why more women weren’t fielded, the BJP and NDPP say they didn’t receive more nominations. The ruling Naga People’s Front admits that getting women to win in Naga society is difficult. “If the women have no winnability or mass support, then it doesn’t make sense,” says Sebastian Zumvu.
As the evening clouds gather, Dukru implores her audience one last time. “My symbol is the candle but it is not lit. With your support, we can light it together.” Little does she know that she, and her fellow candidates, have already lit the flame for women in the state.
I decided to contest the election because the state needs a woman MLA, I know we are making history.
REKHA ROSE DUKRU, an independent candidate from the Chizami seat