There is a strange comfort in noise across the glorified land of the Tangkhuls. Drums, cheers, speeches, banners, floodlights, and applause create the illusion of movement. To an uncritical mind and blurry eye, a society constantly celebrating appears vibrant, united, and progressing. But noise is not progress. Celebration is not development. Visibility is not transformation. And applause does not feed a future.
Today, the Tangkhul stands at a deeply critical historical moment, yet behaves as though it is attending a never-ending festival. Celebrating everything and solving nothing. Organising endlessly and reflecting rarely. Busy congratulating ourselves while quietly slipping into political irrelevance, economic fragility, educational stagnation, and moral exhaustion.
The most dangerous illusion Tangkhuls have embraced is the belief that activity equals achievement.
Politically, Tangkhuls are living inside a theatre. Elected leaders, local politicians, and power brokers are busy inaugurating events, attending conferences, cutting ribbons, and delivering emotional and rhetorical speeches about unity, development, identity, culture, and destiny, yet remain silent on structural questions that matter the most.
Where is the political roadmap for Tangkhul youth employment? Where is the long-term strategy for education reform? Where is the economic vision beyond government jobs and contract politics?
Instead, politics has been reduced to appearances. Leaders are judged not by policies, integrity, or outcomes, but by how many events they attend, how many shawls they receive, how much they donated, how many stages they grace, and how loudly their names are announced. Visibility has replaced responsibility.
Politicians thrive in this environment because celebrations are politically cheap. They require no accountability. A sports meet, a jubilee celebration, or a conference with vague themes like ‘unity,’ ‘growth,’ ‘identity,’ or ‘culture,’ ‘education,’ and so forth, produces instant goodwill without demanding results. It is easier to sponsor applause than to confront failure.
What once was a bridge between generations has become a battleground, where elders and youth, deaf to one another’s voices, wage an unyielding war for dominance, authority, and control.
In this circus, the clown is rewarded more than the reformer.
Civil society organisations, elders, religious leaders, women’s leaders, youth, and educated elites are supposed to act as the conscience of society. Instead, many have become part of the performance. They sit in the front rows, give blessings, quote scripture, speak about values, and then quietly endorse the same wasteful, hollow practices they privately criticise.
How many conferences have been organised in the name of unity without addressing the deep fractures of inequality, clan politics, and generational injustice? How many workshops have promised “capacity building” without producing capacity? How many resolutions have been passed only to be forgotten the next month?
We have normalised symbolic action. Corruption has been transparently normalised, and the community amuses itself with the illusion of a political utopia, negating the underlying political reality. A banner replaces hard work. A souvenir replaces accountability. A group photo replaces impact.
The elders speak of discipline and sacrifice, yet bless extravagance. The educated class speaks of progress, yet never questions priorities. The religious leaders preach stewardship, yet remain silent when lakhs are splashed on ego-driven events while students struggle to afford books.
Silence, in this context, is not neutrality. It is complicity.
Sports are important. No sensible society denies that. But sports must be development-oriented, not spectacle-driven. What we are witnessing today in Tangkhul is not sports development but sports distraction. Youth sports meets are organised in the name of “promoting sports,” yet they lack basic infrastructure, training continuity, coaching systems, or talent pipelines. After the cheers fade, what remains? No academies. No scholarships. No professional exposure. Just photographs, videos, and memories.
Meanwhile, young people are made volunteers, dancers, performers, and cheerleaders, trained more in event management than in critical thinking, innovation, or skills that sustain livelihoods. Sports, instead of empowering youth, have become another stage for leaders to display generosity and capture attention. It is not about athletes; it is about applause.
Perhaps the most tragic illusion is economic. We behave like a society with surplus wealth while living with fragile foundations. Lakhs of rupees are spent on jubilees, anniversaries, weddings, conferences, guest receptions, trophies, feasts, and decorations, often through donations or emotional manipulation.
Yet we rarely ask: What is the opportunity cost of this spending? How many scholarships could that money fund? How many libraries could be stocked? How many skill centres could be established? How many struggling families could be supported?
Instead, money circulates within a narrow loop of events, vendors, and organisers, creating the illusion of economic activity without generating sustainable value. Consumption replaces investment. Display replaces planning.
Entrepreneurs, instead of building long-term enterprises, are often reduced to sponsors of events for social visibility. Government officers attend functions but hesitate to push institutional reforms. The employed class participates enthusiastically but avoids uncomfortable conversations about productivity and accountability.
An economy that prioritises applause over assets is an economy preparing for decline.
There is a deeper psychological problem beneath all this: an addiction to recognition. Tangkhul increasingly rewards platform-grabbing over substance. Being a “chief guest,” “guest of honour,” or “special invitee” has become an obsession.
Titles are pursued more than truth. Visibility is valued more than competence. Praise is mistaken for respect. This addiction produces a culture where criticism is seen as negativity, questioning is labelled divisive, and restraint is considered weakness. In such a culture, clowns flourish while thinkers are sidelined.
A society that cannot tolerate self-criticism cannot evolve.
While we celebrate endlessly, education quietly deteriorates. Young minds are growing up in an environment that teaches them how to perform, not how to think; how to celebrate, not how to build; and how to follow crowds, not how to question systems.
Where is the focus on reading culture, scientific thinking, digital literacy, and ethical reasoning? Where is the effort to prepare youth for a competitive, globalised world? Instead of libraries, we build stages. Instead of mentors, we invite guests. Instead of discipline, we offer distraction.
This is not harmless fun. It is long-term sabotage.
History does not forgive societies that choose comfort over courage. Tangkhuls are not living in a normal time. Facing political marginalisation, economic vulnerability, cultural dilution, and moral decline. These realities demand seriousness, restraint, and clarity, not endless celebration.
True progress is quiet. It is slow. It is often thankless. It requires saying no to unnecessary events, questioning popular practices, and redirecting resources toward education, skill-building, institutional reform, and ethical leadership. This does not mean abandoning joy or culture. It means aligning joy with purpose, culture with sustainability, and celebration with responsibility.
The question is not whether Tangkhuls love celebration. The question is whether we love our future enough to discipline ourselves.
Do we want a society skilled at organising events but incapable of competing in the real world? Do we want youth trained to clap but not to think? Do we want leaders admired for generosity but not judged for outcomes?
Or do we want an educated, self-critical, economically grounded, and future-oriented society? The answer will not come from another conference. It will come from restraint. From courage. From saying uncomfortable truths aloud.
Otherwise, Tangkhuls will continue amusing themselves while dying, celebrating illusions while the future quietly slips away.
Dr. Ahor Khashimwo
New Delhi
(The views and opinions in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official stance of Rural Post)
