"It never gets old, you just go faster." - Greg LeMond  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231208081256_6d39c3dfb5cbba405632c0adc6792f15814d6faa39e0fa7a93caa792d6186541.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231208081256_6d39c3dfb5cbba405632c0adc6792f15814d6faa39e0fa7a93caa792d6186541" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Never gets old"> </figure>

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Miss Motivation

Never gets old

Those leading the COP28 in Dubai continue to inspire concern and even indignation. After all, the host is the United Arab Emirates (UAE) among the world’s largest oil-producing countries, and the head of the state-owned Abu Dhabi National Oil Company, <a href="https://www.project-syndicate.org/columnist/sultan-al-jaber" target="_blank">Sultan Al Jaber</a>, is running the proceedings.&nbsp;
But is that really so bad?&nbsp;
Earlier this year, over 130 members of the US Congress and the European Parliament <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2023/05/23/cop28-climate-summit-sultan-al-jaber/" target="_blank">signed a letter</a> calling for AlJaber's removal. But while the developed world has largely balked at Al Jaber’s appointment, many developing countries openly support it.&nbsp;
The UN-sponsored global climate negotiations are intended to keep countries – both friends and rivals – engaged with one another and aware that, despite our differences, we all share a planet. While they tend to be dominated by the actors one might expect (developed countries like the United States, as well as rising powers like China) they are also one of the rare multilateral forums where questions of historical responsibility might be raised.&nbsp;
To be sure, the advanced economies do not exactly reckon with their legacy of violent and extractive colonialism at COPs, even though that history directly enabled their industrialisation and all the associated greenhouse-gas emissions.&nbsp;
But, to some extent, they do acknowledge their disproportionate contributions to climate change. Meanwhile, smaller, poorer countries are granted a kind of moral authority and, often, the opportunity to exercise greater political voice than they have elsewhere.&nbsp;
My country, Bangladesh, is a case in point. In recent years, Bangladesh has been battered by severe cyclones and floods, which will only worsen as sea levels rise. And yet it accounts for just <a href="https://www.worldbank.org/en/news/feature/2022/10/31/key-highlights-country-climate-and-development-report-for-bangladesh" target="_blank">0.4%</a> of the world’s greenhouse-gas emissions.&nbsp;
Countless well-meaning academics and activists have underscored this imbalance, though often in simplistic and unconstructive ways. I distinctly remember watching with dread as a Western climate scientist recounted the real-world effects of climate change at a 2015 conference at the University of Oregon.&nbsp;
When she brought up Bangladesh, she began to sob as she repeated her desperate question: “What have they done to deserve this?” Heads swiveled in my direction. I was the only Bangladeshi person at the conference, but I could only sit slumped at my seat, skewered by a lance of pity and liberal guilt.&nbsp;
As an anthropologist who has studied COPs for nearly a decade, I have watched developing countries approach climate negotiations in surprising and creative ways. Bangladesh is not as hapless as that panel speaker implied.&nbsp;
As the sociologist Kasia Paprocki has <a href="http://www.kasiapaprocki.com/uploads/5/5/8/1/55818931/paprocki_threatening_dystopias_development_and_adaptation_regimes_in_bangladesh.pdf" target="_blank">observed</a>, the highly market-friendly Bangladesh has turned climate-change adaptation into an economic opportunity. Anthropologist Jason Cons has also <a href="http://www.jasoncons.net/uploads/1/4/9/7/14977250/cons_staging_climate_security.pdf" target="_blank">pointed out</a> that Bangladesh has managed to cultivate the contradictory image of a country on the brink of ruin from climate change and one flush with economic opportunity.&nbsp;
At COPs, Bangladesh has distinguished itself as a <a href="https://www.thedailystar.net/supplements/32nd-anniversary/towards-smart-bangladesh/news/bangladeshs-key-role-combatting-climate-change-3244346" target="_blank">leader</a> on the issue of loss and damage. While the emotional theatrics are unnecessary, it bears repeating that, in countries like Bangladesh, people are already losing their homes, livelihoods, and lives to the effects of climate change. Even if the world begins to reduce emissions rapidly, these losses will not be undone.&nbsp;
Loss and damage makes developed countries nervous. If they acknowledge that climate change cannot be fully mitigated, and that there are limits to human and ecosystem adaptation, the next logical step could well be to seek legal means of pressuring them to pay far more to compensate climate-vulnerable countries.&nbsp;
Recognising this, Bangladesh initially took a diplomatic approach to the issue of loss and damage: instead of pushing developed economies to assume liability, it advocated protections for climate-displaced refugees, such as a resettlement policy or a refugee-coordination agency.&nbsp;
A Bangladeshi delegate was involved in the creation of the <a href="https://unfccc.int/topics/adaptation-and-resilience/workstreams/loss-and-damage/warsaw-international-mechanism#:~:text=of%20the%20COP.-,Functions%20of%20the%20Loss%20and%20Damage%20Mechanism,pursuant%20to%20decision%203%2FCP." target="_blank">Warsaw Mechanism on Loss and Damage</a> in 2013, and Bangladeshi voices contributed to the <a href="https://www.thedailystar.net/opinion/views/news/everything-you-need-know-about-the-loss-and-damage-fund-3239621" target="_blank">agreement</a> to establish a Loss and Damage Fund at last year’s COP.&nbsp;
Bangladesh is also a member of the <a href="https://www.gktoday.in/what-are-like-minded-developing-countries-lmdcs/#:~:text=Member%20countries%20of%20the%20Like,Sudan%2C%20Vietnam%2C%20and%20Zimbabwe." target="_blank">Like-Minded Developing Countries</a>, established in 2012 to keep the needs and interests of the Global South on the COP agenda. Not all the LMDC’s members, from Pakistan to China, have the moral authority of Bangladesh when it comes to climate change. Hearing Saudi Arabia, for example, weigh in on historical emissions or debt distress is a bit rich.&nbsp;
But wealthier Middle Eastern countries lend a certain rhetorical and political heft to the LMDC’s cause. This might explain why so many poorer countries, including Bangladesh, are coming out in support of a COP host that continues to woo oil companies even as it advocates for green energy.&nbsp;
In this sense, the leadership of the UAE and Al Jaber may not be out of line with the goals of young climate activists after all. On the contrary, the future these activists seek to avoid is already the reality for countries like Bangladesh.&nbsp;
Effective action on loss and damage today would thus serve everyone’s interests. Any effort by the UAE to use its position to advance progress on this front should be welcomed.
Naveeda Khan is a professor of anthropology at Johns Hopkins University. She is the author of <a href="https://www.fordhampress.com/9781531502782/in-quest-of-a-shared-planet/" target="_blank">In Quest of a Shared Planet: Negotiating Climate from the Global South</a> (Fordham University Press, 2023)

Opinion

Loss and Damage as a Common Climate Cause

It has been over 13 years since Nepal passed a law criminalising <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/using-numbers-to-fight-gender-based-violence">domestic violence</a>. Legislators were clear that the law was only a starting point when they passed it in 2009.&nbsp;
Yet, the seeming lack of interest to revisit this legislation and plug gaps has one thinking if Parliament has closed the door on tackling the country’s largest crime problem.&nbsp;
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/alarming-rise-in-violence-against-women">Domestic violence is a pandemic</a>. It is estimated that almost 30% of the population are victims of violence within the home. No other crime in Nepal is this pervasive. It is arguably at the root of most crime and violence in later life: surveys of prison populations demonstrate that most offenders report growing up with violence in the home. A broken home will morph into a broken society.&nbsp;
For decades, domestic violence was globally treated as a private affair and not the concern of the police or the criminal justice system. Nepal did well to criminalise domestic violence, the third country in South Asia to do so following India and Sri Lanka. Currently all SAARC countries barring Afghanistan have criminalised domestic violence, with Pakistan passing a law in 2020.
According to Nepal’s law <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-women-flee-abuse-for-overseas-work">domestic violence</a> is any act of physical, psychological, sexual or economic (deprivation) violence against any member of a household. This includes family members living under the same roof, couples living together (and not married) and domestic helpers. &nbsp;
Nepal’s legal framework for domestic violence has a soft approach. The emphasis is on reconciliation as opposed to punishment. This is in stark contrast to most other laws which are heavily punitive.&nbsp;
According to the domestic violence law, once a victim files a complaint of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/violence-against-women-in-high-income-families,2154">domestic violence</a>, the presiding authority may attempt to reconcile the victim and offender for a period of one month. Victims’ consent to reconcile is a legal requirement.&nbsp;
I conducted research several years ago as part of my PhD observing how police handle cases of domestic violence in Nepal. At the police station I observed that victims are told that the perpetrator will be invited for a “discussion” (in reality an attempt at reconciliation). No effort is put into asking the victims what they really want, and whether they understand the nature of consent.
The courts follow a similar pattern. A judge will almost always refer a domestic violence suit to a session of mediation in an attempt to elicit a reconciliatory settlement. There is no requirement that court appointed mediators have any training on handling trauma suffered by both perpetrators and victims of violence. Mediation sessions can therefore prove to be disastrous for the mental health of parties and aggravate threats to victims. &nbsp;&nbsp;
The domestic law widens access to justice by allowing victims to file complaints in any of the four agencies of her/his choosing: the police, National Women’s Commission (NWC), local authorities or the district court.&nbsp;
However, the NWC is in Kathmandu and victims are spread across the land. To go to court one needs a lawyer. The domestic violence law (except in cases of acid attack) requires victims to find their own lawyers.&nbsp;
It is unrealistic for most victims of domestic violence to be able to afford the fees of private lawyers. Besides, as lawyers we know that most victims lose in court on grounds that they are unable to provide sufficient evidence of violence. Going to court is futile, more often than not.&nbsp;
The punishment for domestic violence is absurdly lax: maximum 6 months imprisonment or a fine of up to Rs.25,000 with slightly higher punishment for government office bearers or repeat offenders. Compare this to the punishment for general assault (कुटपिट) with five times higher imprisonment of up to 3 years and/or a fine of up to Rs 30,000. The law deems the attack of a stranger on the street more harmful than an attack at home. Perpetrators are also not remanded while the case is ongoing in court — allowing them access to victims to threaten intimidate or punish them.
Punishment and prosecution is not the panacea for addressing domestic violence. Failures of Western countries like the US and UK to tackle this crime problem with mandatory arrest and prosecution laws are evidence of this. However, Nepal’s approach of conducting reconciliation with largely untrained human resource is not working either. &nbsp;
Nepal’s legislature must visit the domestic violence law with urgency. The provision on reconciliation needs to be examined to see if it should be permitted for all cases or whether we need to take Bhutan’s approach of only allowing it for first time offenders who commit less serious acts of violence.&nbsp;
The legislature must align the domestic violence law with other Nepali criminal laws pertaining to assault (physical, mental, sexual) so that messaging about the seriousness of domestic violence is unequivocal.&nbsp;
Comparatively, the most promising response to this crime is seen when law enforcement and other services such as social workers, medical professionals and members of communities respond jointly to a crisis. Might this response be written in law?&nbsp;
Moreover, offender treatment is of paramount importance to mitigate against risks of reoffending. Nepali lawmakers need to consider this element within the legal framework&nbsp;
Recently, Chief Justice Bishowambhar Prasad Shrestha announced setting up family benches (court rooms dedicated to looking at cases involving family law such as domestic violence) in district courts.&nbsp;
They are in operation now, and the judiciary needs to do some serious work around defining what constitutes evidence in matters of domestic violence. Good practice internationally shows that the rules around which evidence is admitted in court is relaxed when it involves domestic violence. The fact that most victims lose in court should have the chief justice’s attention.&nbsp;
As we participate in another 16 day campaign against gender based violence that commenced on 25 November, commitments of the legislature, judiciary and executive government need to yield concrete steps to strengthen Nepal’s domestic violence law.&nbsp;
Aastha Dahal is a Kathmandu-based lawyer with a PhD in criminology from the University of Cambridge.

Not just 16 days against gender-based violence

When Kalpana first held hands with her future husband, her mind drifted from across the flat fields of her home town to the wide streets of Kathmandu, which was soon to be her new home. She stood up, looked at his face and smiled, the wheat-packed belly of the field spread behind him looked like a golden curtain and she wished they could have a photo taken of that moment. She thought, maybe a new phone with a good camera will be possible in Kathmandu and I can post lots of pictures on Facebook.
A year since that moment, Kalpana finds herself in the enclosed room of a certain parlour in Kathmandu. No, she isn’t getting her eyebrows done and neither is she getting a haircut. It is where she works now. Ten to Five.
“The working hours are not so bad, actually,” she says at first. “The money is not that great, but my employer says there will be tips.”
In her hometown, Kalpana had trained to peel eyebrows using thread, to heat wax in tin containers and pull them off with cloth strips and to massage the face and shoulders of women as they lay down for a facial session. Her friends had advised it was the best skill to pick before heading to Kathmandu. “Easy to find jobs,” they had said. “And if you’re going to go abroad, even better. Women do really well at beauty parlours.”
Now in Kathmandu, Kalpana finds that things run contrary to the narrative she had heard on repeat back home.
She had spent a few weeks in Kathmandu visiting relatives as a child and so of course she knew the city. But the Kathmandu that met her in her guise as an adult has felt distant, claustrophobic and indifferent. Bus rides are no longer breezy, but an ordeal. She struggles to find space to even stand without being crushed by other passengers most days. The feeling is packed with familiarity and yet it is alarming with someone’s elbow going over her face, some crotch pressed to her side and someone’s garlic breath upon her hair. Sometimes, during bus rides she shuts her eyes until the conductor shouts: Balaju! Balaju!
Five thousand rupees a month. The vermin! Kalpana sighs throughout bus rides.
In the first few weeks at the parlour, work seemed like a place to hang out with other women, gossip, eat buff momo for a hundred and fifty rupees once a week. Mostly, a bowl of spicy WaiWai with chana for sixty rupees. Kalpana found her feelings bordering on a familiar excitement, like the one she felt during her school days, when stealing moments away with her childhood friends.
Within less than two months of work at the parlour, Kalpana says her duties soon began to evolve. The owner lady told her that business was slow and shutters were coming down in the city and she had to think of a way to keep it going. She said she would either have to sell the place or reinvent.
Kalpana had worried at that time that selling the business would mean she would be laid off. The three thousand rupees a month that she was able to save after paying for bus fare and khaja would be gone. These days, she sometimes wishes the owner lady had actually sold or closed down her business. That didn’t happen, of course.
Her employer quickly turned things round. She added a sign to the business saying “massage”. And the high beds they were formerly using to provide facial services soon turned into massage tables. The lady took turns training all three girls who worked alongside Kalpana, showing them where to press, where to apply force, where to knead, where to rub and where to roll.
In her new role as a masseuse, Kalpana sometimes finds that the persons she is assisting are no longer just women. There are sometimes men-- often, pot-bellied, middle-aged men who come in quietly and leave in a shuffle.
“One time, this man asked me for an inappropriate kind of service and I didn’t know if I was mad or frightened. I walked out of the room and called Didi. But Didi said some clients are hard to please and she replaced me for the rest of the session.”
Kalpana’s hands are tiny, like those of a schoolgirl and one cannot imagine how such small hands could even cover the span of a calf or work their way across the spine. Tiny hands.
“My husband doesn’t know. He still thinks this is a parlour, which it is, too. He might kill me if he knows I’ve been working as a masseuse also. Marnu huncha. If I could find another job, I’d leave. Even as house help.”
Some days I think I’ll wake up one morning, leave for work, get on the bus from Balaju and just keep going, fall asleep on the bus, buy some badam and suntala, eat them on the bus, then sleep again and go back home at six. They would never know, right? I mean, until the money runs out?”
Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

Pratibha Tuladhar

Suburban Tales

Warm my hands

“Everything that drowned me, taught me how to swim.”&nbsp; - Jenim, Dibie &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231202051224_acfc46bdcf7b028677feeac6c2445937cf940b8774f5fb472b4d3d338805fe32.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231202051224_acfc46bdcf7b028677feeac6c2445937cf940b8774f5fb472b4d3d338805fe32" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Miss Moti"> </figure>

Everything that drowned me

In September 2024, world leaders will gather to forge a new consensus on bridging the digital divide to deliver a better present and safeguarding our future. The United Nations has proposed a Global Digital Compact to be signed at that Summit to connect 2.7 billion more people, and develop principles and standards for data protection and privacy, sharpen accountability for malicious acts online and convene stakeholders to align AI technology.
The signing of the UN Global Digital Compact is on the horizon. What will Nepal’s role be? Where are we with our own research, planning and preparation? Who will represent Nepal in negotiations, and what are our objectives? Are we forming alliances with countries facing similar challenges to address the downsides of generative AI, or are we demanding the presence of content moderation teams on the ground from large tech platforms?
In October, I &nbsp;attended the UN Internet Governance Forum (IGF) in Kyoto (pictured, above), &nbsp;and the experience made it clear that every country needs to be ready for the digital age. Nations and the international community must therefore team up and do their part to succeed in the fast-changing digital world.&nbsp;
In one of our Parliament committee meetings, members proposed ideas aimed at curbing the spread of fake news, including a suggestion to require individuals with more than 10,000 social media followers to register their accounts. While the intent behind these proposals is to combat disinformation, it could have a potential impact on free speech and dissenting voices. These proposed laws could inadvertently silence those who challenge the status quo.
Recently, the Nepal government banned TikTok following the Cabinet's social media directives. The misinformation/disinformation campaign requires effective management, but resorting to platform shutdowns is an extreme measure.&nbsp;
This decision raises concerns as it encroaches upon the fundamental right of freedom of expression. Shutting down platforms without a proper legal basis can be perceived as an authoritarian move, undermining the principles of open dialogue and democratic governance.
Additionally, a recent pivotal development is the breaking up of the old Information Technology Bill, which was originally abandoned due to controversial social media governance provisions. This bill is now being segmented into a Cyber Security Bill, a Social Media Bill, and a Software Technology Bill.
In 2013, a Master Plan on Information and Communication Technology in Education was formulated and launched with the technical support of UNESCO but was never implemented. Now, we have moved on to ICT Masterplan 2 prompting a question if our approach to Nepal's digitisation is on the right track. Are our investments yielding results? Are the organisations in place equipped with the appropriate Terms of Reference (ToR) to effectively support this endeavour?
Furthermore, there is a pressing need to establish clear standards for the plethora of software procured across various ministries and government levels. What about Annual Maintenance Contracts (AMCs)? Are these comprehensive, covering end-to-end procurements? Specifically, we must inquire whether contracts for entities like the passport office or national ID issuance include hardware component costs within the AMC, while separately addressing the maintenance and depreciation of physical assets.
During our examination of the digitisation process, we were made aware of cabinet-approved Digital Framework Nepal, but the document is collecting dust in a drawer. Soon after, we organised IT Bill Hackathon with software companies in Kathmandu to further identify problems within our system. One of the key lessons was the opaqueness of the legal language to the tech community, and their challenges to exist within legal frameworks that are complex to navigate and lack adequate support for their growth.&nbsp;
If we take a step back, we will find that digital literacy among Nepalis varies greatly. While some are proficient, many lack basic skills like creating strong passwords, accepting cookies, and using public Wi-Fi safely. Open-source software adoption is limited, illustrated by the Election Commission website's reliance on proprietary software. Efforts for digital literacy and inclusion lack coordination, with uncertainty about roles and stakeholders. A more unified approach is needed to enhance digital literacy and inclusion in Nepal.
In Kyoto I learned how different countries are adopting unique strategies for digitisation and software development. For example, even in a technologically advanced nation like France, approximately 80% of data analysis required for decision-making can be effectively executed using MS Excel.&nbsp;
This raises the pertinent question of whether our incessant drive for procurement leaves us overlooking the potential for adaptation and localisation from the Digital Public Goods library, a valuable resource that often goes untapped. There are many things Nepal can do, immediately and in the long term.&nbsp;
Nepal can immediately establish government teams to engage with the public and encourage new ideas and for organisations to participate. It should create a platform for knowledge-sharing on technology, both within Nepal and globally.
It is crucial to transition from closed-loop systems to open-source solutions, making source code accessible and transparent. This way, codes developed with taxpayers' money can be reviewed by the public, fostering accountability.&nbsp;
During various IGF panels featuring parliamentarians and researchers, the consensus was clear: the digital age necessitates robust data policies. A vital component of this is comprehensive data legislation. Such an act must establish clear guidelines regarding the collection, storage, and usage of data, encompassing healthcare, consumer, and individual national identification such as citizenship, passport, PAN, or national ID.&nbsp;
Defining what data is collected, how and where it is stored, and for how long, as well as specifying how data is used, who has access, and under what conditions access can be overridden, are among the critical issues that require precise demarcation.&nbsp;
This Data Act would apply to government agencies, non-governmental agencies, and private companies operating in Nepal, serving as the foundation for the country's national and international data-sharing policies while fostering competitive marketplaces to support SMEs. We have to make sure that people in Nepal are well-informed about the internet's management, that they have a say in it, and that the government is transparent and responsible in how they oversee it.
Nepal needs to look into best practices across the world, and we should invest our efforts in researching them. Moreover, we need to make sure that the research is well-communicated to the legislators and lawmakers, otherwise we risk repeating what we did with the TikTok ban where the Home Ministry conducted a study but lawmakers had no clue. This level of information gap even from the government to the legislation will instead create barriers in the democratic lawmaking process.
Once we are ready at the national level, we need to think globally. The Global Digital Compact is as fundamental as agreeing on human rights issues. But we must be clear about how we will put these international agreements into action at home.&nbsp;
One question that emerged prominently in the IGF was the significance of realistic implementation plans. It is at this stage that many developing countries encounter roadblocks, owing to resource constraints and capacity limitations. For a practical digitisation plan, we need clear goals, resources, and choices we are willing to make. We must focus on what works for our specific challenges, instead of getting carried away with big ideas.
For instance, an educational mobile application alone cannot substitute for a lack of teachers in the classroom, nor can an agriculture app solely resolve the issue of market access for farmers. Often, the core issues are rooted in supply chain management and other fundamental areas. While digitisation is the way forward, trends should not distract us from the real challenges we face. Focusing on genuine problem-solving, rather than the appearance of technological advancement, is the key to realising tangible benefits from digitisation.
Again, planning on a national level is just the beginning; we also need help from the international community to set our goals and standards. This two-pronged approach is essential for dealing with global digital challenges. Even though there has been progress, more than 60% of Nepal still do not have access to fiber internet. This means we are not getting all the advantages of the internet. Nepal must train a big tech workforce that is skilled in different digital areas like cybersecurity, software, data management, and more. We should work together to boost our talent and connect them with the world.
It is heartening to see the wealth of resources available, and the ways to foster these connections. Potential resource pools — training in cybersecurity, opportunities to present research at IGF, and the chance for Nepalis to showcase their work in workshops -- can all be utilised to create a thriving digital ecosystem.
As we approach the signing of this compact, we must unite and brainstorm on how to make these aspirations a reality. Together, we can pave the way for a brighter digital future for Nepal.
Sumana Shrestha is a Member of the House of Representatives and a member of the Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee. She is with the Rastriya Swatantara Party.&nbsp;

Improving internet governance in Nepal

They are nature worshippers and do not have temples. They divide their clans by totems named after animals, plants, or flowers, none of which they harm. They are the Uranw aboriginal people of southeast Nepal and theirs is the only Dravidian language in the country. The Uranw now number just 40,000, and most are landless. Though living on the margins of mainstream Nepali society, their unique culture and language is not just surviving, but thriving. Their tenacious existence in the face of modernity is a consistent feature of their millennia old folklore and mythology in the Subcontinent. So is their sense of loss of land, status, and privilege. Girl: You are going to chop the branches of the Karam tree You are running inside crabs' holes Boy: You are going to collect the Kakodo flower You are travelling inside crabs' holes Sung during an important process of the Karam Puja, this is the origin story of the Uranw who believe they were born from crab holes. Their supreme being is Dharmesh who created the world, the earth, water, land, animals, plants, and all living beings.&nbsp; One day, Pachho, the goddess of nature, said to Dharmesh, let us go to the earth and take a look. They came upon a place called Sirasita Nale, which is believed to be the Saraswati River on the banks of which the Indus Valley civilisation once flourished.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231202011248_8781c67f8a58ea312e2ad80e377ae8d06713710fcae6a358fdb184e05f8f1f3e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231202011248_8781c67f8a58ea312e2ad80e377ae8d06713710fcae6a358fdb184e05f8f1f3e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Uranw in Nepal"> <figcaption>The community with the statues of Dharmesh, Pacho, and the two first Oraon children.</figcaption> </figure>  Dharmesh spotted two crabs inside a hole, a brother and sister. Dharmesh brought them out, and taught them how to live in harmony with nature. The two created and multiplied, and the Uranw are descended from them. The myth links the Uranw to the Indus Valley, a Dravidian civilisation. “It is accepted that the Uranw ruled in Rohtasgadh of Bihar until the sixth century. Then the Mughals came and finally prevailed,” explains Bechan Uranw of the Uranw Adivasi Pratisthan. In their book Oraon of Nepal Janak Rai and Bechan Uranw write that neighbouring kingdoms envied the prosperity of the Uranw nation. They found a vulnerability: the festival to commemorate ancestors during which the men would be inebriated on rice beer.&nbsp; ‘Uranw men and women kept long hair back then. So, it was hard to tell men and women apart,’ the authors write. ‘But the women gathered and routed the invaders. The Uranw fighters led by their princesses Singi Dae and Kaile Dae defeated the Mughals twice.’ The Mughal commanders could not believe that they were defeated by women, and brought in reinforcements and killed everyone with long hair: men and women. Today, Singi Dae and Kaili Dae are worshipped as clan deities. Until the 16th century, the Uranw had a prosperous and powerful kingdom with a king named Uraongan Thakur. After the Mogul defeat, they scattered to Bengal, Assam, and some followed the Kosi River upstream into Nepal, where they have been living since the beginning of the 1700s. The Unranw were immune from malaria and could live in the Tarai jungles, and had a free run of the place. The Shah kings needed the Uranw not just to clear the forest and make the Tarai habitable and fertile, but also to support them.&nbsp; From the Rana regime through to the reign of King Mahendra, hunting brought the Uranw close to the royalty, and also gave them high status, including exemption from the state land tax.&nbsp; The Uranw were also awarded a medal in 1956 on King Mahendra’s birthday, and a postage stamp (pictured) was issued in 1976 depicting them dancing with the caption 'Jhangad Nach'.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231202011244_c32445580ec4674fdb8d93ba27c6838f4830c10121e627e86e4894f0a5535811.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231202011244_c32445580ec4674fdb8d93ba27c6838f4830c10121e627e86e4894f0a5535811" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="291" loading="lazy" alt="Uranw in Nepal"> </figure>  But hunting and foraging based lifestyle was slowly vanishing across the Tarai, to be replaced by farming. The Uranw did not own the land, so could not prosper.&nbsp; Bechan Uranw and Janak Rai write in their book that settlers from the hills who had access to political power began to appropriate Uranw land through trickery, manipulation or force, relegating the Uranw to be sharecroppers in their own land. Lack of education was a factor in the Urawn not having land titles. “In the past, the Uranw did not want to educate their children. What is the point of education, people asked,” Bechan explains. The fate of the Uranw is similar to many of Nepal’s indigenous communities that lived in the malaria-infested Tarai before outside settlers arrived, and have now been relegated to the margins. In her Master’s thesis, Bina Bhattarai writes that landlessness has driven most Uranw to become day labourers pulling rickshaws or rearing livestock.&nbsp; Adaptation to the dominant community changed Uranw culture, on the one hand acculturating them to new things, and on the other hand, marginalising them.&nbsp; Sundi Mundi is an important part of the Tihar festival for the Uranw of Nepal, and they share their festival songs with the Mundas. While some of them are in the Dravidian tongue of Kudukh, many of them are in Sadri, an Indo-European language.&nbsp; The Kudukh is the northernmost of the Dravidian languages, and differs from how they are spoken in southern India. Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam have long, documented histories, with Tamil considered India's second oldest language. Their well-developed script and rich literature rival any ancient language in the world. But the Kudukh of the Uranw does not even have a script, let alone written literature or documented history.&nbsp; In areas dominated by Indo-European languages, most Uranws began speaking whatever language community they lived close to – those in Bengal speaking Bengali, those in Assam taking up Assamese, and those in Nepal speaking Nepali. To communicate between and among these languages, they relied on Sadri. “Living with dominant communities naturally impacts language as well, and many of our songs are in Sadri language, or close to Hindi. Constant migration meant that we had to learn other languages along the way,” says Sangeeta Uranw (pictured), a theatre artist.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231202011248_97fd0737f1bff00e5bdf15c7824d07b6a7fd9f3aa45e08d3878557c0a5266746.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231202011248_97fd0737f1bff00e5bdf15c7824d07b6a7fd9f3aa45e08d3878557c0a5266746" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="696" loading="lazy" alt="Uranw in Nepal"> <figcaption>Sangeets Uranw</figcaption> </figure>  Sadri is close to Bhojpuri and has become the language of the Uranw too. In losing the influence of their language, the Kudukh speakers have also lost the name of their language, and are called Dhangad or Jhangad, as in the 1976 Nepali postage stamp. “Dhangad or Jhangad means a servant who works in rice fields. In Nepal, the name was associated with people who cleared forests (jhadi). It is a disrespectful term given to us by outsiders, so we do not use it,” says Bechan. “Even the name Uranw was given by other communities, but it means 'man’, so we have accepted it. But we continue to call ourselves Kudukh.” Today, the Uranw are striving to improve their lot through education, identity groups like the Uranw Adivasi Janjati Pratisthan, and national and international alliances. In Oraon of Nepal, Janak Rai and Bechan Uranw document another story full of their sense of loss. It also portrays their dreams of a revival of all that they had. The Karam Puja is a major festival of the Uranw community that venerates nature and human connections without any deity, idol, or temple. As with most agrarian communities, the festival is linked to the agricultural cycle and the Karam Puja follows the planting of rice. The Karam tree (Nauclea parvifolia) is central to the festival. Community members plant seeds which will sprout, and on the day of festival branches of the marked Karam tree are brought together with crab flowers. They store them all on the roof of a community leader called Neg. On the evening of the puja, the community members all go to an open ground with offerings of food. “When everyone walks to the same place with lamps in hand, the whole village shines,” says Sangeeta Uranw. <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/raithane-bhakha/embed/episodes/Tales-tell-of-travails---Uranw-folklore-e2auer7/a-aaguqrv" height="102px" width="400px" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe></div> The Karam branch is brought down from the Neg's house and installed in the middle. It is worshipped with all the offerings, and the people then proceed to sing and dance around the branch through the night.&nbsp; “The Karam Puja contains the Uranw philosophy that work and worship (karma and dharma) must go together,” says Bechan Uranw.&nbsp; The men line up in one row and the women line up in another and dance in sync, changing steps every few minutes to the note of a whistle. Many of these dance steps have found their way into Nepali films, some of them becoming iconic 'folk dance' moves. Men and women of all ages, and relationships participate enthusiastically, and the dance goes on all night, and all next day. “It's so much fun, you don't get tired,” says Sangeeta Uranw. “People come from different villages, boys and girls are smiling at each other and flirting, and maybe your crush is there too, dancing in the group.” The morning after, one group takes the Karam branch and goes from house to house, where people give them food and other offerings they may have. The rest of the people continue to dance until evening. Finally, the Karam branches are let afloat in a nearby river, ending the festival.&nbsp; Sewa Bhattarai’s series, On The Margins, focuses on folk music, folklore, and mythology of Nepal's marginalised communities.

On the Margins

The Subcontinent's original people live on in Nepal

The 2015 earthquakes in Central Nepal that killed over 9,000 people had many lessons for us, most important of which was the need to be prepared for future disasters. After all, it was not a question of if there would be another quake, but when. And sure enough, it came with the 6.4 Jajarkot earthquake of 3 November. At least 160 people were killed outright, buried under the rubble of their fragile homes. Dozens more have died of cold and diseases since. After the 2015 disaster, there was a general consensus about putting safety measures into place: building seismic-resistant structures, retrofitting public buildings, and the need for emergency preparedness. Prior to this, there was no such understanding at the political level, within government or the public. Another big lesson learned was how a separate institution, independent from the regular government structure, can more effectively carry out reconstruction, post-disaster. Reconstruction was fraught with challenges, political interference being the foremost. But the National Reconstruction Authority (NRA) coordinated effectively between internal and external assistance, and helped to carry out the process successfully. The NRA was also crucial in managing resources, setting guidelines, and developing a single goal-oriented approach that would incorporate everyone from the public to the Prime Minister. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/grief-stricken-survivors-are-cold-and-hungry">Grief-stricken survivors are cold and hungry</a>, Sagar Budathoki But we did more than rebuild the houses. What was achieved was technology transfer on a massive scale, including knowledge about safe building even for mud-mortar, stone and wooden structures. It also showed us how to make cash distribution transparent and take it directly to the people with zero-tolerance for corruption. We created a National Consultative Council for all the political parties to work together as well as the bureaucracy, private sector, and civil society. At the district level, a mechanism was put in place for MPs and representatives from all three levels to collaborate. There were vertical and horizontal links between all levels. The NRA was superseded by the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) in 2019 which has since put forward plans to make Nepal a disaster resilient country by 2030. Blueprints, frameworks and maps have been created for earthquake and flood preparedness and relief. They were submitted to the government, but it has been filed away with no action taken. As soon as the reconstruction work was complete, it seems we forgot about disaster preparedness. And so, when the Jajarkot earthquake struck, we were unprepared again. We cannot prevent or predict earthquakes, but we sure can prepare. Even so, all we seem to be capable of is to react after a disaster hits. More than 60,000 houses were partially or completely damaged in the Bajhang, Doti, and Jajarkot earthquakes that have struck in the past year. Most of the partially damaged houses have to be demolished. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/in-a-disastrous-state">In a disastrous state</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231124081136_7326ad8a1402b30c2a9698697e9922a4dc54d5ad84a5bc0dc1a68e3d2da66c3f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231124081136_7326ad8a1402b30c2a9698697e9922a4dc54d5ad84a5bc0dc1a68e3d2da66c3f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1499" loading="lazy" alt="2023 Western Nepal earthquake NT"></figure>  The NDRRMA allocates Rs400,000 in subsidy for houses to be rebuilt in the mountains. This adds up to Rs24 billion, and if we add other expenses including technical assistance, technology transfer and others, the total comes to Rs30 billion. But if we had followed the preparedness plan, we could have retrofitted and made houses across Nepal safer at a lower cost. They could have withstood a moderate earthquake like the one in Jajarkot and the casualties would have been much lighter. What we had proposed was a safety steel rod in every mud-mortar house, retrofitting and Rs100,000 to the owner so that the structure is safe from earthquakes as well as water and fire disasters. In fact, 300,000 houses across the country could have been retrofitted with just Rs30 billion with the government providing the initial Rs100,000 in subsidy for people to reinforce their concrete homes. The World Bank was ready to invest $10 million to survey the state of houses across the country for retrofitting, but it never took off. Reconstruction of the structures damaged by the Jajarkot earthquake will now proceed. The good news is that after the 2015 earthquake, we now have experience and expertise in doing that. We also have local governments, unlike the last time. They will be at the frontlines of reconstruction and resettlement. NDRRMA can provide strategic guidelines, gather resources, coordinate and train human resources, monitor the reconstruction work carried out through the local and state levels, and give policy directions. This exercise in turn will capacitate all three structures of government, and in the long term, all three levels of the government will be better equipped to deal with disasters. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/rebuilding-resilience-7-years-later">Rebuilding resilience 7 years later</a>, Anil Pokharel It is an opportunity to put our federal structure to good use, empower local leaders, resolve doubts about the system, coordinate the three levels of government and mobilise the support of the international community. Shelter is the topmost priority following any disaster, especially now that winter has set in on the western mountains. Survivors need relief materials including money for temporary housing. We need to identify beneficiaries, distribute grants by establishing a banking system, develop human resources and other frameworks. Only after that do we start reconstruction. Experts, government agencies and local representatives should coordinate with all levels of government to determine the role and share the work. Initiatives should be taken now in terms of raising resources. We have created a framework for dealing with disasters at the national level in the form of the Disaster Resilience Framework.Similarly, provinces and local levels should also create theirs. The framework has five elements: 1. Provide financial and technical support to make homes and schools safer through local governments. 2. Assess the damage and estimate the amount needed. 3. Put the Disaster Management Act into operation at all three levels of government. 4. Look at disaster insurance instead of just doling out money to people to rebuild. The government can pay the premium for the poorest families 5. Establish emergency centres with relief stockpiles at the federal, provincial and local levels. The Far West and Karnali provinces are underserved. Reconstruction, if done intelligently, is also an opportunity to uplift these areas economically. Disaster preparedness should be integrated into the education system so young Nepalis know that the country is disaster-prone and it is best to be prepared. Disasters do not kill people but poorly built structures do-- local levels should carry out risk assessment while developing land use plans. Most of all, what is needed now is the readiness to implement the blueprints, frameworks, experience and knowledge that we gleaned after 2015. Otherwise this tragedy will also be in vain. Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/epicentre-of-two-disasters-in-west-nepal"> Epicentre of two disasters in West Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale

Comment

Learning from Jajarkot what we didn't after 2015

&nbsp;“It's your road, and yours alone. others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.”&nbsp; - Rumi &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231124071116_0fd8196c697c17aa509e367d7034ba8f2faaff6655701b5e76951066a7be268a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231124071116_0fd8196c697c17aa509e367d7034ba8f2faaff6655701b5e76951066a7be268a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1350" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="miss moti 1187"> </figure>  &nbsp;

It's your road, and yours alone

Nepal’s netizens received an unwelcome gift from the government this Tihar: a blanket ban on TikTok, the only Asian-born major global social media platform that has 1.5 billion users globally.&nbsp;
In Nepal, Gen Z audiences and digital natives from small towns and villages are expected to miss it the most, as it was their most <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/huge-uptick-in-tiktok-during-nepal-lockdown">preferred social media channel</a> for creative self-expression, self-promotion. It was the online outlet that offered emotional empowerment with a convenient editing setup and easy upload process.&nbsp;
With AI-generated audio narration and simple templates, TikTok keeps itself uncomplicated enough to appeal to all kinds of users, ranging from casual creators to brand-focused influencers. No wonder, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-internet-speed-is-slower-and-slower">its use among Nepalis</a> is an estimated 80% of all net users.
TikTok is a beast like no other. A catchy trending song with a synchronised dance video of lip-syncing twins plays on full-screen for 20 seconds, and without a moment's pause. This means no video ad to interrupt the experience.&nbsp;
The feed throws up another short, bite-sized comedic video of a young Nepali girl pretending to be her dad, ending with a silly punchline and a cackling SFX laugh track. Next appears an elaborate but sped up tutorial on how to apply lip colour that gives the look of fuller lips, coupled with pleasant pop music.&nbsp;
Another, and another, and another. An endless scroll, much like the home feed of any other social media platform, with a powerful algorithm that gobbles up hours without discrimination.&nbsp;
TikTok feeds the brain with shots of dopamine, with every swipe making way for more freshly uploaded videos. The Chinese-owned mega app easily rivals cigarettes and alcohol brands with easy access, little to no physical traces of addiction, and the fact that it is completely free for unlimited usage.&nbsp;
TikTok’s rise prompted competing apps to imitate its <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/avoiding-the-quicksand-of-social-media">addictive, easy-to-consume content format</a> by launching products with copycat features such as Instagram Reels and YouTube Shorts. These features use the same psychological strategy on humans to keep fingers swiping and keep eyes on the app for longer.&nbsp;
But there is something that makes TikTok much bigger, more special, or more dangerous depending on how you look at it: its secret algorithm.&nbsp;
Upon closer inspection, TikTok is not all light-hearted LOLs and difficult dance challenges. It claims to regularly take down inappropriate, harmful and violent content, but it has been accused of pushing questionable clips to teenagers, such as videos promoting eating disorders, self-harm or depression.&nbsp;
Vulgar comments seen by underage users should make parents wary of the platform. It only takes a few hours for TikTok to capture how a user is feeling, whether they are happy or sad, and even whether they are sad because of a romantic breakup or perhaps mental depression by sneakily feeding related videos at regular intervals.
The algorithm pinpoints the user’s emotional state by tracking how long they linger over a video, whether they watch it until it ends or whether they drop off (and if they do, at what point), how they engage with it (do they like, follow or repost) and so on.&nbsp;
In economics, this could be called demand forecasting. But the algorithm has a voracious appetite for data and learns fast, using everything it learns to give back the user relevant content that, in turn, feeds the user’s appetite.
The wild side of TikTok’s secret algorithm is also <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/tiktok-has-taken-nepal-by-storm">what makes it attractive</a> for those seeking fame and following. A singer with raw talent from Baglung, a professional dancer from Bhairawa, a content creator from Parbat, a home cook from Kathmandu – these are all real personas who have leveraged the app to promote their talent, gain online popularity or push their small businesses to new audiences by spending lots of time and zero money.&nbsp;
For many, including disaster victims and women stuck in domestic working environments, TikTok was a bright, beaming bridge to the outside world. For them, the ban is particularly brutal. TikTok is a place of excitement, entertainment, and yes, escapism from the daily grind. &nbsp;
The cherry on top is TikTok’s ability to help a random video gain traction, without an easily identifiable pattern, making it tough to crack the algorithm unlike Instagram or YouTube.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rattled-by-criticism-nepal-bans-tiktok" target="_blank">The TikTok ban has raised valid concerns</a> about citizens' right to information and freedom of expression, and it is typical of the government to ban the app instead of introducing regulatory policies or imposing taxes.&nbsp;
This ‘ban what you don't understand’ approach is familiar, and the reason why cryptocurrency never really took off in Nepal. There was a puzzling lack of credible justification for the ban, only that it ‘endangered Nepal’s social harmony’. Nepal has yet to run an effective digital media literacy campaign or social media health program to encourage users to be discerning content consumers, and make them aware of app settings like one-hour time limits to combat addiction.&nbsp;
The TikTok ban is a threat to Nepal’s internet freedom and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/an-intolerant-state">freedom of expression</a>, but that is not the only danger. Everything is forever on the internet, yet nothing is. Content is available for permanent viewing unless deleted by the original uploader (plus, copies and screenshots may prove removal redundant).
But people’s attention spans and habits keep shifting and user behaviour trends are just that, trends. Platforms keep changing and audiences keep moving, but the quest to find one’s own digital space to proudly curate and to connect with strangers over common values remains.&nbsp;
Humans are social animals that enjoy validation and to form communities, no matter the medium. If a road is blocked, people will either find a different route or build a new one. Netizens will find ways around the TikTok ban to fulfil their emotional needs, find a different app to latch onto, or maybe even create a new one.
India survived the TikTok ban, and unless the ban is revoked in a sudden, positive turn of events, so will Nepal. Every social media giant has its day, as we saw with Facebook’s 18-year reign before it started declining in popularity in 2022. When their parents joined Facebook, millennials swiftly moved to Instagram, where they could create private accounts and share their authentic lives, or curate their alternate personas.&nbsp;
Now, Instagram is also populated with family and relatives, and Meta has equipped the app with features that makes it the closest competition to TikTok.
Meanwhile, Snap, the Gen Z favourite, is still around, quietly thriving without making too much noise, which perfectly suits its features. Snapchat’s ephemeral nature of content – it was the first of many apps to allow ‘disappearing’ content, a feature Facebook and Instagram have copied with the Stories feature.
This makes it the ideal platform for Gen Z, especially young teenagers with secret social lives and a priority to stay low-key, to avoid getting caught by their family.
Somewhere in Nepal, as we speak, developers could be working on the next TikTok, similar to Moj, Josh, MX Takatak and many apps that came up in India soon after TikTok’s exit. Homegrown TikTok alternatives could potentially enjoy the added advantage of no geopolitical data privacy concerns or propaganda suspicions.
And if the app makers are creative about it, culturally relevant touches to tempt the average Nepali into welcoming the new obsession into their home screen with open thumbs.