Nepal’s crony-Communism exposed

‘Do you want people to have access to telephony or do you want to fight corruption? If you want to fight corruption, these people will be completely cut off from information highway for the rest of their lives, okay, full stop. Make up your mind.’

British businessman and self-proclaimed ‘thought leader’ Mohamed Amersi sits across from The Guardian journalist Tom Burgis at his lawyer’s offices in London as he makes this matter-of-fact statement.

Amersi was referring to the dealings of Nepali businessman and fixer Ajeya Sumargi, one of the many subjects of his 2024 book Cuckooland: Where the Rich Own the Truth. This is Burgis’ third book, and he weaves a fast-paced tale with investigative reporting to chart the deal-making career of Amersi in the global telecommunication industry.

The investigation traces Amersi’s backroom deals with associates of Russian president Vladimir Putin to Gulnara Karimova, the daughter of an Uzbek dictator. Inevitably, Burgis follows the trail to Nepal where a former Maoist commander turned prime minister wants to strike a deal with Lars Nyberg of the Swedish-Finnish firm TeliaSonera to break into the emerging market.

Burgis' account of Amersi’s dealings in Nepal begins with the royal massacre in 2001 and Gyanendra’s ascension to power. The new king stages a coup in 2005 and reimposes absolute monarchy, and on this new stage enters Ajeya Sumargi.

Sumargi starts out a smalltime businessman in Hetauda but soon climbs into the circle of movers and shakers in Kathmandu. He is self-made and has made a vocation out of knowing the right people in right places.

And the right person to know in Nepal’s new political landscape was Gyanendra’s son-in-law, for whom Sumargi becomes a fixer, ensuring he becomes indispensable. Eventually this leads into his foray into telecoms just as mobile telephony was making inroads in Nepal.

But Nepalis are sick of the conflict that had claimed 17,000 lives and of an authoritarian king. A people’s movement in April 2006 forced Gyanendra out, and the Maoists were subsequently elected to a Constituent Assembly.

By then Sumargi had switched sides and sidled up to Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal (aka Prachanda, the Fierce One) Both are pictured, above. He is soon cleaning up illicit funds the Maoists allegedly purloined from stipends meant for former guerrillas in UN-supervised demobilisation camps.

Sumargi arranges luxury lodgings in Lazimpat for Dahal in a house purchased in the name of his sister-in-law. Sumargi’s proximity to power earns him a license for Hello Nepal.

Enter: TeliaSonera, which at the time also owns and operates Kcell in Kazakhstan and Ucell in Uzbekistan, and Ncell which it acquired in 2008 in Nepal. At a meeting with TeliaSonera boss Lars Nyberg, Prime Minister Dahal suggests purchasing Hello Nepal to make the pesky issue of license renewal go away.

Sumargi opens the doors. Telia Sonera opens its wallet. And Sumargi, says the book, coolly pockets $74 million from TeliaSonera’s acquisition of Hello Nepal. He greases the right palms, makes TeliaSonera’s problems go away, and prepares to become an additional $200 million richer.

TeliaSonera’s operations in Uzbekistan unravelled after Swedish investigators found it had negotiated with the Uzbek president’s daughter Karimova to obtain licenses and frequencies in return for millions in bribes. Nyberg resigned, and the new management debated whether to pull out of Nepal too.

Amersi is unhappy, Sumargi is livid and threatens to sue. Burgis writes that in the end ‘friendship prevails’-- Sumargi is compensated and TeliaSonera’s new directors bury the findings of the investigation into their Nepal operation. After the scandal, TeliaSonera rebranded itself as Telia and divested from Ncell, selling its majority stake to Malaysian conglomerate Axiata for $1.36 billion in 2016.

Was Sumargi able to channel the ill-gotten wealth of Maoist leaders through his dealings with Amersi and Co, and if so, how much? Burgis is not able to tell: ‘Whether any of the riches Mohamed Amersi helped to guide towards Sumargi were shared with the Fierce One and the other Maoist leaders, I cannot definitively say.’

In any case, Sumargi offloaded the millions he made from the TeliaSonera deal to his offshore accounts, adding to his considerable wealth, as documented in a 2019 investigation by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ) and Centre for Investigative Journalists Nepal (CIJ-N).

Amersi, meanwhile, went on to speak at a University of Oxford event about tackling corruption. The irony is not lost. He is now among the major donors to the British Conservative Party, and rubs shoulders with the likes of Boris Johnson and King Charles.

Much of the book is based on the author’s conversation with Amersi in 2023 at his lawyer’s offices, where he was invited by Amersi himself in order to ‘set the record straight’ after an ex-Conservative Party MP questioned his iffy financial dealings.

In words that would prove to be more relevant than ever, Burgis writes . ‘Everywhere, the powerful are making a renewed claim to the greatest prize of all: to own the truth. The power to choose what you want reality to be and impose that reality on the world.’

The footnotes in Cuckooland contain Burgis’ often derisive, wry commentary on Amersi’s indignant, expletive-laden interjections during his interviews. The footnotes are as interesting as the book’s revelations about Nepal’s crony communism.

‘Your agenda is biased against me, and so you are looking for skeletons,’ Amersi insists to Burgis during one of his tirades. ‘Write your book and you’ll see what happens to it,’ he says during another.

The underworld that Burgis has shined his light on is bleak. The lines between kleptocracy and democracy are blurred, corruption runs rampant, and accountability and truth are lost to the wheeling-dealings that enrich oligarchs.

Given the apathy and silence that has greeted the explosive revelations in Cuckooland, perhaps Nepalis would rather have access to telephony than fight corruption.