Closed-door dialogue in Zubza examines men, violence, silence and responsibility, urging spaces and accountability in Naga society today
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DIMAPUR — On December 13, a small group gathered at Kerünyü Ki in Zubza for a closed-door dialogue on men, violence and responsibility.
Organised by Prodigals’ Home and Peren Touch with support from the North Eastern Council, the meeting was conceived as a space for men to reflect on social harm, responsibility and emotional disconnection—conversations the organisers said were largely absent in Naga society.
Opening the session, organiser Vitono Gugu Haralu said the dialogue emerged from long-term observation and field experience. The gathering, she added, was intended as a starting point rather than an outcome-driven exercise.
Peace activist Niketu Iralu, who led the session, framed the discussion around a growing concern over crimes involving men and boys, and the difficulty of addressing such issues openly within homes, churches and communities. He spoke about personal responsibility and the need for inner honesty, stressing that change begins with recognising harm rather than rationalising it.
As the discussion progressed, an educator who works closely with young adults said increasing numbers of students were coming forward with accounts of disrupted childhoods, abuse and discrimination. These experiences, he said, frequently involved violence within families, particularly against women and children.
Many students, he said, carried what he described as “invisible baggage” shaped by abusive homes, addiction and long-standing family conflict.
Christine Iralu spoke about the need for vigilance in a small society, describing how vulnerability often went unnoticed because acknowledging it was uncomfortable. She pointed to everyday household practices such as excusing boys from domestic work while placing responsibility on girls, and said such patterns shaped how men later understood entitlement and care.
The conversation then turned to men’s emotional lives. Facilitator Peno Hiekha of Initiatives of Change asked whether men, when meeting among themselves, spoke about pain, anger or trauma.
“We’re not supposed to share our pain. We’re meant to be strong,” one participant responded.
Avikuo Nipu, another participant, said their conversations usually centred on politics, church affairs or public matters rather than personal struggles.
Emotional sharing, several noted, occurred only during crises or structured programmes, not in everyday life, while another said men wanted to express themselves but feared appearing “unmanly”.
When asked where these ideas came from, participants traced them back to childhood. “Boys are not supposed to cry,” one said, recalling how parents, teachers and neighbours reinforced the message repeatedly.
“Men are allowed only two emotions— happiness and anger,” another participant observed.
Highlighting the consequences of this silence, one participant described growing up in a household where her father verbally abused her mother, an experience that resurfaced years later in her own relationships. She said public discussions often focused on physical violence while overlooking the long-term harm caused by verbal abuse.
K Ela, director of Prodigals’ Home, drew from her experience working with women and children affected by abuse to question why families often remained silent even when abuse was known.
Brothers, she said, frequently protected brothers, while wives were pressured to remain silent about their husbands’ behaviour. Women who attempted to speak out were often accused of bringing shame on the family or of “washing dirty linen in public.”
Religious language, she said, is frequently used to enforce endurance with women being told to “pray more,” to “bear suffering,” to “carry their cross.”
She described cases where faith leaders discouraged women from reporting abuse to protect family reputation or the status of men who were financially influential, leaving many women feeling that churches were not spaces of refuge.
She also countered the portrayal of Nagaland as a safe place for women, saying that for every woman who came forward, many more remained silent.
Economic dependence, lack of education and fear of being sent back to abusive homes trapped women in violent situations, she said.
Responding to the question of how faith-based institutions could intervene differently, Sanyü Iralu, Principal of Shalom Bible Seminary, said the seminary had introduced a specialised Master of Divinity programme in Youth Ministry and Family—the only such course in South Asia.
The programme, he said, focused on helping young people understand the interconnections between stable families and emotional well-being, with the aim of redirecting and stabilising those affected by conflict, addiction and family breakdown.
By addressing these issues early, he said, theological education could play a role in preventing discord and violence in society.
As the discussion returned to broader reflections, peace practitioner T Karang Maram said the session had prompted him to reconsider his own work.
For nearly two decades, he said, his peacebuilding efforts had focused on preventing visible or “expressed” conflict, while paying less attention to what he described as “latent conflict”—resentment, entitlement and emotional neglect within families.
“We try to force people to change,” he said, “without changing ourselves.”
The session concluded without formal resolutions, with participants describing the dialogue as an opening rather than a conclusion.
The hope, the organisers said, is that this dialogue will be the start of creating “safe spaces” for both men and women to express feelings, preventing future generations from making decisions based on “traumas and pain that has been stored over years.”