For years, the Middle East has been described through the language of fracture. Conflict zones. Proxy wars. Collapsing states. Yet here in the Gulf, and especially in the United Arab Emirates, a different narrative took hold. Stability. Efficiency. Ambition. A belief that even amid regional disorder, it was possible to chart a different trajectory, to pave the way toward a more stable and generous future.
Abu Dhabi became synonymous with planning rather than improvisation. With infrastructure rather than rubble. With innovation rather than despair. People from across the world came here to work, to build, to test themselves and succeed together. It cultivated belonging, investing in youth, knowledge, and possibility. It fostered a confidence that felt earned rather than proclaimed.
It was also a place where policymaking could be observed almost as a craft. Flexible yet disciplined. Experimental yet strategic. Institutions were built, adjusted, refined. Governance did not feel theatrical. It felt intentional. To watch that process was a reminder that the state can still function with competence and imagination.
In many ways, this place has resembled a modern ark. Diverse. Layered. Hopeful. A convergence of global citizens from countries rich and poor building lives together. The shock of what is unfolding here is not regional and certainly not local. These communities are now experiencing firsthand what hardened geopolitics feels like. And that experience will travel. It will reverberate far beyond this coastline.
And then the bombs fall.
It is one thing to analyze geopolitics from a distance, to speak of deterrence, escalation la­­dders, strategic signaling, calibrated retaliation. It is another to sit at home, phone in hand, watching alerts multiply, calculating distances on a map, wondering whether to stock up on groceries, whether schools will open, whether flights will leave.
When geopolitical analysis becomes lived reality, its vocabulary collapses.
Families here are not debating doctrine. They are calming children. Scanning supermarket shelves. Texting relatives abroad. Realizing that departure, in a moment of regional shutdown, is not simple. Authorities move quickly to reassure residents that systems are functioning, defenses activated, contingencies in place.
The instability is not internally generated. It is the spillover of wider confrontation. Which is precisely why the shock cuts deeper. When safety has been the baseline, its sudden fragility is both maddening and humbling.
For the strongest players in the Gulf, and especially the United Arab Emirates, the aspiration was clear. To anchor stability in a region marked by volatility. To project competence rather than chaos. To invest in education, culture, renewable energy, artificial intelligence. To become crossroads of capital, ideas, and mobility. The promise was not merely economic. It was existential. That one could live expansively, in confident openness, securely.
How quickly the horizon narrows.
There is a growing normalization of strategies in which weapons and attacks are treated as routine instruments of statecraft. Infrastructure becomes leverage. Shipping lanes become bargaining chips. Energy corridors become pressure points. The line between military signaling and diplomatic coercion blurs. Once that threshold is crossed, it rarely contracts. It expands.
Centers of power speak of necessity, red lines, deterrence. But the lived reality of those within range of missiles is fear, uncertainty, and vulnerability. The map looks orderly from afar. Up close, it is populated by parents, workers, students, retirees negotiating the fragile routines of ordinary life.
Those accustomed to secure and well-organized societies internalize safety as baseline, mobility as entitlement, connectivity as permanent. We forget how contingent these conditions are.
For many societies, instability is not interruption. It is structure. Perhaps this moment offers us a more honest proximity to that reality.
None of this flattens responsibility. The United States, Israel, Iran, and regional powers operate within distinct security logics. Yet one sobering reality remains. When force becomes a primary currency of political communication, the threshold for its use lowers. The exceptional becomes routine. The outcome grows precarious.
From Abu Dhabi this week, geopolitics is no longer abstraction. It is audible. It is logistical. It is personal.
Abu Dhabi will do its utmost to keep everyone hopeful and feeling safe. Systems will function. Reassurances will come. Stability here is cultivated, not accidental. A return to calm is in everyone’s interest.
But in this suspended moment, as alerts replace routine, we are given something rare. Time to reflect. To reconsider. To reckon, individually and communally, with the fragility of what we so casually call normal life.
And that should compel policymakers and citizens alike to ask what kind of normal we are willing to accept, and whether we are surrendering the very conditions that make ordinary life possible.
Sophia Kalantzakos is Global Distinguished Professor of Environmental Studies and Public Policy in the Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed Scholars Program (SMSP), New York University Abu Dhabi.&nbsp;
Reprinted with permission from <a href="https://www.ekathimerini.com/opinion/1296678/when-geopolitics-becomes-lived-reality/">ekathimerini.com</a>

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Opinion

When geopolitics becomes lived reality

What is common across all major political parties contesting the election on Friday is that they are all led by influential men.&nbsp;
Rabi Lamichhane + Balendra Shah duo head the RSP, Gagan Thapa leads the Nepali Congress (NC), the UML’ s K P Oli is still leader, Kulman Ghising is the founder and leader of the Ujyalo Nepal Party, and there is Harka Sampang of the Shram Sanskriti Party.&nbsp;
These men do not just lead the parties, they are the parties. Their authority within the party is largely uncontested and is sustained through loyalty to the deeply familiar Nepali figure of the Dai or Ba, the elder brother or father who is trusted, defended, and followed.
For the most part, they do not exert influence due to leadership skills but through a reinforcement of the idea that their leadership is the solution to the political crisis facing Nepal. Around these men is a loyal orbit of supporters, extending from central committee members to party cadres, mostly men.
Supporters amplify the idea of their chosen leadership and defend them at all cost in the public sphere, and especially on social media where polarising and controversial speech is rewarded by the design feature of the platforms.
Only 395 out of the 3,484 first-past-the-post (FPTP) candidates are women, in the upcoming elections. Of the biggest parties, the NC has only 6.67% women, UML 7.92%, NCP 6,90 %, RSP 9.73%, Shram Sanskriti Party 6.42%, UNP 5.79% and Janata Samajwadi party 8.41%.&nbsp;
The highest among the parties is not even 10%. The numbers represent the interconnected manospheres that pervade all layers of Nepali politics — it is not merely exclusion, but a systematic structuring of gender in politics.
Manosphere as an umbrella term for online communities that have increasingly promoted narrow and aggressive definitions of what it means to be a man, and the false narrative that feminism and gender equality have come at the cost of men’s rights. These communities promote the idea that emotional control, material wealth, physical appearance and dominance, especially over women, are markers of male worth.
It is an internet phenomenon, but it also relates to how men have hoarded power and taken up space in Nepali politics that constitutionally belongs to women, without exception of a single major party. While certainly the leaders of the parties are not spearheading manospheres, their support systems and structural organisation show characteristics akin to one.
A distinct feature of a manosphere is the attitude of rejection it carries towards liberalism, democratic pillars of inclusion and participation, political correctness, and they distort biology and evolution in argument of restrictive gender roles. They assign men as de facto leaders and women as followers, if not adversaries. Manospheres operate with an underlying understanding that feminism or women empowerment is detrimental to men.
This feature of the manosphere is starkly visible in how women in politics have experienced this election, in their campaigning on social media. From Ranju Darshana to Nisha Adhikari to Reema Biswokarma, their social media posts have comments from people trying to tell them of their place in society.
A pregnant politician and two artists turned politicians, are routinely told that their pursuit of leadership is not what the society needs. Even Prime Minister Sushila Karki was vilified publicly by Durga Prasai publicly, and was met with laughter from the circle of people around him.
Digital platforms have become an open arena for misogynistic attacks against women, often delegitimising their political participation rather than hosting democratic dialogue. Women who ascribe to the idea of the leadership archetype endorsed by the manosphere, are lauded for their participation. Responses to the speech of the RSP’s Sobita Gautam in Janakpur is an example.
Another symptom of the manosphere in Nepali politics is that it endorses violence, be it rhetorically, or equating it with leadership. By drooling over the violence spewed by them, instead of looking at evidence of capacity for governance, thoughts on inclusion, visions for development and much more, the definition of being a leader is narrowed.&nbsp;
When our politics are up for debate in social media platforms, unsurprisingly, vile and inflammatory language becomes a recipe for success, hence amplifying ‘leaders’ who revert to such tactics.
A study by researchers at Dublin City University found that newly created teen-boy accounts on TikTok and YouTube Shorts were algorithmically exposed to sexist and misogynistic content within about the first 23 minutes of use, even when they were not deliberately looking for it. So naturally, misogyny sells.&nbsp;
Besides, groups on Facebook have been mobilised during campaigning for elections. The most prominent men only group in Nepal MRR was disabled by Meta prior to the October 2022 election for violating their terms and conditions.
While it is not new that women in Nepali politics have endured misogyny, it has been magnified by how political discourses online occur in the manospheres. There is no conversation on how Gagan Thapa will not become the next Sher Bahadur Deuba, there is no debate on how the newly formed government will meet the constitutional requirement of having at least 33% women in the House — it is only about which man is more suitable to be the next prime minister of Nepal in a system that does not directly appoint them.
Even if we were to believe the misogyny online is not representative of our society’s views on women, the avalanche of toxicity on the platforms is something we have to learn to live with.&nbsp;
Women interested in politics must come prepared to endure hate. Likewise, if these comments are not real, and are bots or fake accounts that seek to demoralise women, then we must understand that the political powers of today are weaponising misogyny to prevent women from being leaders.
Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

Ayusha Chalise

Cyberia

Democracy in the manosphere

It was inspiring for me here in Norway to read Radhesh Pant’s Guest Editorial in Nepali Times on 4 February titled ‘A Chance for Nepal’s Political Renewal’.
Now the time has come, we hope. Youth groups have decided to stand firm in the process of making Nepal a more democratic society. They are concerned, they have the competence and talent, and they are dedicated.&nbsp;
For many years, I have followed the ups and downs of Nepal's politics: the re-introduction of multi-party democracy in 1990 allowing civil society organisations, the Maoist insurgency ending in 1996, the palace shooting in 2001, king Gyanendra abdicating in 2006, Nepal becoming a republic in 2008, and the ratification of the new Constitution in 2015. Right up to the demonstrations and violence in September last year.
All these upheavals took place in Nepal within just over three decades. Defining democracy as a system in which every citizen can vote, we must remember that it took 100 years for many European countries to become democracies, in some countries even longer.&nbsp;
Norway is one example of the latter: after 400 years as a Danish colony, Norway was an autonomous country (except for foreign affairs) in a union with Sweden, meaning we had a common king with Sweden, but a Parliament with Norwegians.&nbsp;
This status changed in 1814, Parliament gathered at an estate north of the capital to declare independence from Sweden and pass a new Constitution – it could be called a silent coup d’etat.&nbsp;
Norwegian women obtained the right to vote only in 1913. It took us 400 years to become independent country, and nearly a century for its citizens to obtain the right to vote.
A democratic process therefore can last long, it is filled with frustration, anger, optimism, pessimism. In Nepal, I have noticed all these emotions, in the media as well as among people.&nbsp;
Since 1999, I have been fortunate to meet Nepalis, many of whom have become good friends, who have told me about personal experiences and their views on politics and on local conditions.&nbsp;
Nepal is a complex society, and many aspects are still difficult for me to understand. But I do indeed feel confident to agree with Radhesh Pant that political renewal in Nepal is possible.
GLOBAL AUTOCRATISATION&nbsp;
Elections alone do not guarantee a functional democracy, however, and Nepal is not the only country that must cope with political and social challenges – just look at historical and recent events throughout the world today.&nbsp;
Corruption has been a stubborn challenge in countries on every continent, reducing people’s trust in politicians and the political system. Power sharing cannot be taken for granted any more, political and administrative decisions are made without concern for the rule of law, and autocratic leaders contribute to public institutions being broken down from within.&nbsp;
In the US and Europe, migration has become a polarising issue and has stoked conflict among citizens which can be exploited for political gain by populists to navigate among power positions.
With all this happening, it is encouraging to observe that citizens, especially the young generation, are mobilising against such trends and to save democracy.&nbsp;
The GenZ movement in Nepal followed youth uprisings in Bangladesh, Indonesia, and Nepal itself was followed by similar ones in Thailand, Morocco, as well as in other parts of the world – just a few weeks ago, also in Albania.
The election on 5 March, and the negotiations that will inevitably following to form a government with clear policies for the future will be an indication that our optimism is well founded, and that every Nepali – young and old, poor and rich, male and female living in the centre and periphery -- will obtain better possibilities to participate in political decision-making.
Ultimately, this will make it possible for Nepalis to improve their social condition, as well as contributing to their country’s democratic development. &nbsp;
Marit Bakke is a retired Professor of Sociology. Since 1984, she has been in Nepal regularly, to collaborate academically with Nepalis, including as a member of the International Board of Patan Academy of Health Sciences &nbsp;(PAHS).

Letter from Norway

Early on Monday morning, a bus from Pokhara to Kathmandu plunged off the highway in Dhading killing 19 passengers. Two weeks ago, another bus fell into the Tama Kosi in Manthali, killing 12. A few days before that a bus crash in Baitadi killed 13 people.&nbsp; In just the month before Nepal's election, more than 50 people have been killed in road traffic accidents. Most of these cannot be called 'accidents'. They are a direct result of poorly maintained highways and lack of enforcement of traffic discipline. Political parties in Nepal have rolled out their election manifestos, and voters are once again presented with a flood of promises. Page after page, these documents list megawatts and microcredit, highways and airports, jobs and investment. In these manifestos, growth is quantified, projects itemised, revenue forecast — and there are even threats to beat up contractors who do not finish their jobs. But when everything is declared a priority the stale promises are empty. The voter is left confused as to where the party’s loyalties really lie. Will any of these plans and pledges actually ever materialise and help Nepalis live longer, safer, healthier lives? The main job of any accountable government is to protect its citizens, not so much from foreign enemies but from domestic mismanagement. And this means the most basic test the new government should be made to pass is whether it can ensure basic well-being and protection for all its people. The problems of safety, health, and survival remain unresolved for most Nepalis, and are quietly eroding their lives. In the past year alone, the country’s <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/roadkill">roads and highways claimed more than 2,300</a> lives. An estimated 41,000 Nepalis die each year directly because of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-is-invisible-is-more-dangerous">air pollution</a>, and their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/air-pollution-killing-season-starts-early">lifespans are lessened by 3.4 years</a>.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/poor-health">Non-communicable diseases</a> now account for well over half of total deaths in the country. And even where survival has improved, deprivation remains. Chronic malnutrition continues to haunt communities in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/mass-migration-from-muktikot">Nepal’s western mountains</a> despite progress in maternal and child health.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260223130240_4f4ef83a31c3c4ae36ecdffb33a355e2fa3de9e98244b840a895af2d95c35ac0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260223130240_4f4ef83a31c3c4ae36ecdffb33a355e2fa3de9e98244b840a895af2d95c35ac0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1024" height="683" loading="lazy" alt="A life-first manifesto for Nepal NT"> </figure>  These are the lived realities of most Nepalis, and it is here that development can deliver its most immediate returns. A rising GDP, in and of itself, does not make roads safer, clean polluted air, or provide enough nutrition to children. Such outcomes demand intentional, granular policies that confront the specific, everyday problems shaping people’s lives.&nbsp; Macroeconomic growth, trade and investment are important, but these alone cannot guarantee improvements health and safety. The word ‘growth’, after all, is also synonymous with malignancy. Economic progress and human protection are correlated only when governance deliberately links them. Impact on life is the unit in which ordinary Nepalis calculate progress. What is needed, then, is a governing philosophy measurable in these same terms: a ‘life-first’ standard where every policy, budget, and reform can be understood and judged by its impact on protecting and extending human life. Such a ‘life-first’ approach would scrutinise three aspects of every policy. First, whether the policy prevents loss of life. A death is termed preventable if better, more coordinated response systems and regulations could have avoided it (vaccines, drugs, road safety, clean drinking water). A newly built six-lane highway <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/highway-accidents-are-no-accident-in-nepal">can be a death trap</a> due to poor design or lax enforcement of safety rules. If neonatal deaths continue in a district despite hospitals being present, or if malnutrition claims lives in predominantly agricultural regions, they too are failures. Preventable deaths also cluster where accountability is less direct. Just last year, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/suicides-a-pandemic-within-a-pandemic">Nepal recorded 6,866 suicides</a>, with nearly 20 lives lost every day, yet these deaths fail to prompt any serious examination of governance. The same holds for fatalities linked to domestic or communal violence, alcohol and substance misuse, or ‘natural’ disasters, which register as ‘tragedies without remedy’ rather than as outcomes policy can influence. But when avoidable loss of life recurs at scale, isolated incidents become patterns, and patterns reveal systemic neglect. Saving lives, however, is only the first step, and what matters just as much is the quality of years lived. Nepal’s life expectancy now stands at 71 years, yet many citizens spend years in avoidable disability, untreated chronic illness, or mental distress. A life- first government must ask not only whether people live, but whether they thrive. Are citizens able to pursue education, work, and family life without fear of preventable harm? Do communities have access to clean air and water, nutritious food, and basic healthcare? Can a teenager anywhere in Nepal imagine a future not foreclosed by premature marriage, or untreated depression?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260223130240_157d72b80b82a07699b6bffbb30036b86f0f767a5674cc3db3d5c20343442940.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20260223130240_157d72b80b82a07699b6bffbb30036b86f0f767a5674cc3db3d5c20343442940" data-rendition-name="original" width="2529" height="1427" loading="lazy" alt="A life-first manifesto for Nepal NT"> </figure>  Thriving requires policies that prevent suffering and promote well-being in addition to ensuring survival.&nbsp; Finally, governance must consider graceful aging. Elderly Nepalis should not be left to navigate disease, poverty, or isolation alone. Social systems, healthcare, and community support must enable their continued participation and dignified well-being. Adopting this three-layered standard would gradually reorient how success of any new government is defined. Transportation would be judged by fatalities reduced on the roads. Electricity generation would be measured by whether households can switch from firewood dependence to smoke-free electric stoves.&nbsp; Increase in annual rice harvest must translate into better nutrition, reducing the prevalence of chronic diseases like diabetes. Accountability must follow problems rather than stop at Singha Darbar. Only then will politicians and bureaucrats eventually recognise that their work converges on the same human endpoint. Critics will argue that economies are complex, trade-offs are inevitable, and that governance cannot be reduced to a single metric.But, as Acemoglu and Robinson show in their book <a href="https://ia801506.us.archive.org/27/items/WhyNationsFailTheOriginsODaronAcemoglu/Why-Nations-Fail_-The-Origins-o-Daron-Acemoglu.pdf">Why Nations Fail</a>, the key difference between prosperity and poverty lies in inclusive institutions that empower citizens and create broad incentives for well-being.&nbsp; Extractive institutions concentrate power and wealth in the hands of a few while keeping the majority trapped in neglect. Nepal’s governance has remained a striking example of extraction. If lawmakers in the new Parliament continue to resist changes that would save and improve the lives of ordinary citizens, the same systemic rot will persist for generations to come. A life-first mentality can cut through this inertia by clarifying the moral centre of governance and reminding policymakers that behind every policy failure lies human cost. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/epicentre-of-hunger">Every mother in Bajura</a> with a child going hungry at night, every farmer in the Madhes unable to afford medical care, and every family that has lost <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/saving-kidneys-to-save-nepal">a migrant son to kidney failure</a> understands the true <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/dirty-dangerous-difficult-and-dehydrating">value of a life saved</a>. Life is the one metric that transcends ideology, ethnicity, and region. Centering governance on this single, focused metric, can shift an election from a contest of rhetoric to a contest of evidence. Which party ensured access to safe water and basic healthcare? Which made work at home and abroad safer and less exploitative. Which measurably extended healthy years of life for ordinary citizens? Health is wealth. By improving the healthy lifespan of citizens economic prosperity would follow naturally. A ‘life-first’ governance model would therefore compel Nepal to address the underlying structural failures across all sectors, rather than merely alleviating their symptoms. The GenZ protest that toppled the government last September was, at its core, a demand for accountability and a rejection of politics as usual. But as the country edges closer to the polls, that clarity has started to dissipate. Parties are now echoing the language of reform, but the public discourse remains dominated by promises that feel disconnected from Nepal’s most immediate and basic priorities. Every preventable death, every hungry child, and every neglected elder becomes a direct failure of governance and a moral debt the state must answer for. It is how we can make sure we keep the next government in check. The writers are Nepali GenZ students of biomedical engineering at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

Guest Editorial

Nepal’s life or death election

AI is coming for ‘content’ -- everything from advertising and novels to movies and journalism. The result is likely to be simultaneously horrific, wonderful, depressing and exciting. There will be not only creative destruction, but also lots of plain old destruction.
Having spent most of my adult life producing research, journalism and documentaries, as well as consuming escapist novels and movies, I have great sympathy for creators.&nbsp;
But for the past three years, I have been an investor and venture capitalist in AI, and this experience has shaped the message I would offer to everyone in journalism, publishing, music, advertising and Hollywood: you ignore the potential of this technology at your peril.
First, consider the prospects for film and television industry which have been contracting for years, owing to the new forms of media delivery (streaming) enabled by the internet, laptops, tablets and mobile phones.&nbsp;
The decline of cable TV and DVDs reflects a variety of factors, including video streaming, the rise of user-generated content, the democratisation of creation through inexpensive cameras and software, and the resulting competition for eyeballs from YouTube, Facebook and TikTok.
Yet throughout this decade of painful contraction, the fundamental techniques of video production did not change much. You still used real cameras to film real people and things.
Soon, though, all these real-world inputs will be obsolete, replaced by AI. The pioneers of this new world will be, without exception, startups, some of them less than a year old.&nbsp;
The $600 billion digital advertising industry is next. The leading startup in AI commercials, Higgsfield, was founded only in 2023, but its business has exploded, with revenues doubling every month, on track to exceed $1 billion this year.
DAY AFTER TOMORROW
The AI revolution is coming to the arts and the carnage in legacy industries will be awful. What the day after will look like, however, is a far more complicated question.
Personally, as a once and future filmmaker, I am excited about AI filmmaking. I would love to be able to write treatments and screenplays, feed them to my AI ‘studio’, get back a good rough cut and then hone and hone with AI until I have exactly the film I want to make, with every character, setting, movement, line of dialogue and camera angle perfect.&nbsp;
There is, however, an urgent need for new laws, system and institutions to protect intellectual property and its creators. The most discussed issue is the very real need to compensate traditional creators whose prior work is being used to train AI models. But there is also a need to protect AI creators and creations.
Far more frightening is what is happening to nonfiction — news, information sources and reference services. Here, we are already witnessing the blurring of the boundaries to the point of indistinguishability between fact and fabrication.&nbsp;
While the AI era of art excites me more than it worries me, the balance is different in the realm of truth and reality. As much as there is to celebrate, I am terrified by what AI might bring.
Journalism, like Hollywood, has already contracted. The internet forced daily newspapers, weekly magazines, radio and television news all into the same market, it destroyed the classified advertising revenues that newspapers depended on, and it spawned thousands of low-quality new entrants.
To be sure, after multiple near-death experiences, a small number of high-quality English-language news organisations emerged even stronger and with larger global audiences than before: the New York Times, the Financial Times, the Guardian, Bloomberg News, the Economist, Politico and the Reuters and AP wire services. But these outlets reach only a small minority of the population. They are also expensive to produce and their finances are fragile.
The most frequently discussed issue is AI deepfakes. These are indeed a huge problem, considering that YouTube, Facebook, Snap, X and TikTok face few obligations with regard to truth or accuracy. Soon, it will be possible to synthesise nearly undetectable fake versions of almost anyone and almost any event.
Even the most carefully trained AI models can be misused and some open-source AI models have no controls whatsoever. Yet at the same time, AI has greatly improved the quality of news and information available to the public, at least for anyone interested enough to look.&nbsp;
The major models (mainly OpenAI, Anthropic and Google), and many value-added services enabled by them, are now remarkably good. Hallucination is still a problem, but far less so than even a year ago.
Already, AI models provide a miraculous portal to knowledge for more than a billion users. I use Perplexity at least a dozen times a day, and I used it repeatedly in writing this essay — far more often than I referred to legacy publications (or Google Search).
Similarly, there has been an explosion of specialised AI services, including reference resources for lawyers, scientists, doctors, patients and now also AI therapists.&nbsp;
But there is a dark side. AI models do not create knowledge. They harvest and distribute knowledge superbly, but they are totally dependent on information created by others. We (and the models) still need Politico, the New York Times, the Financial Times, AP, Reuters and the whole world of news organisations. They alone have commissioning editors, full-time journalists and fact-checkers while AI models do not hire investigative journalists or war correspondents willing to take risks.
Yet as much as AI models depend on legacy journalism, they also profoundly threaten it in at least two ways. As in the case of Hollywood, these threats are further amplified by the fact that the legacy industry isn’t paying attention.
The first problem is direct competition. If you want to know something specific, or want to stay current with some issue, you don’t need a news publication anymore; you can just ask a model. Moreover, the currently available models can answer many questions that the news organisations cannot. Perhaps worst of all, they are cheaper — much cheaper. For individual users, they typically charge $10 per month, whereas the New York Times typically costs about $25 per month.
The AI models have a cost advantage in part because they can amortize their fixed costs across huge numbers of users. But they also benefit greatly from not paying for most of the information they use.
Currently, there is a strong moral and practical argument being made for forcing model vendors to compensate creators fairly. But this will probably require new court decisions or new laws. In the meantime, there is a very real risk that unless news organisations, journalists, writers and documentary filmmakers are compensated sufficiently, the AI industry will eventually kill the very sources on which it depends to provide accurate results.
This brings us to the second problem posed by AI: the potential destruction of trustworthy news sources as a result of overwhelming pollution from AI junk and fraud. Innumerable AI services will arise and even the major foundation models and the most careful news organisations might be degraded by skillful AI fakery that cannot be distinguished from reality. So far, the models have been trained on reality; but soon, most training ‘content’ will be AI-generated.
One can hope that news organisations will wake up, that courts and legislatures and popular demand will force AI companies to compensate journalists and researchers fairly, and that AI will give rise to a new industry of high-quality journalism. © Project Syndicate, 2026
Charles Ferguson is a technology investor, policy analyst and documentary filmmaker, including the Oscar-winning Inside Job.

AI takeover of all media

Chronic winter drought and decades of unmanaged forest biomass have turned wildfires into a systemic risk for Nepal. We need to re-learn to convert fire fuel in forests into fertilizer for crops.&nbsp; On 11 January, a huge forest fire spread rapidly from China into the forests of Sindhupalchok, 40km northeast of Kathmandu. The newly-opened Tatopani border checkpoint was closed. Smoke from the fire spread across central Nepal, blocking the sun.&nbsp; The fire burnt itself out within a few days, but the border stayed closed for longer. Such wildfires were once rare in mid-winter, and traditionally peaked between March and May as temperatures rose ahead of pre-monsoon showers. What is unsettling is not just the early onset of the fires, but also their scale. This shift is not accidental, the pattern has been unfolding over years due to winter drought, weakening post-monsoon moisture, and the accumulation of dry forest biomass as Nepal’s forest area doubled in the past 30 years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026022009024_5f4a84bb389f9b56f4fa47d4f694adcd464eb13b192d184af0f1eb20efdfeebf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026022009024_5f4a84bb389f9b56f4fa47d4f694adcd464eb13b192d184af0f1eb20efdfeebf" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1055" loading="lazy" alt="Wildfire season NT"> <figcaption>A NASA FIRMS image of Nepal with red dots signifying fires in February 2025.</figcaption> </figure>  Together, these factors have made forests tinder dry in spring, just waiting for a spark. Nepal has experienced winter drought in eight of the past ten years (this winter was an exception). Winter rain and snow at higher elevations play a decisive role in maintaining surface moisture, recharging shallow aquifers, and keeping forest floors damp enough to resist ignition. When winter rains fail, forests dry out months earlier than usual. Satellite-based assessments show a steep decline in surface moisture across the middle mountains of Nepal, particularly in areas with dense forest cover but limited undergrowth management. Springs that once flowed year-round are now seasonal.&nbsp; More than half of the springs in the mid-hills have either dried up or show significantly reduced discharge, a trend closely linked to declining soil moisture and disrupted recharge zones. Dry soil does not just threaten water security — it helps the vegetation ignite. FUEL WITHOUT FUNCTION For decades, Nepal’s forests have been accumulating dry leaf litter, fallen branches, shrubs, and deadwood. Historically, this biomass was not considered waste because rural households regularly collected leaf litter for livestock bedding, which was later composted and returned to farms as fertilizer.&nbsp; Forest floors were therefore relatively clean while the mulch fertilized farms. That relationship has steadily eroded due to outmigration, changes in livestock systems, restrictions on access to community forests, and the growing availability of chemical fertilisers.&nbsp; Community forests across the country today are thick with dry twigs, branches and leaves — a highly combustible carpet. When prolonged drought dries this biomass, even a small spark from a herder’s intentional fire, a cigarette, or lightning strike can trigger massive fires.&nbsp; Under such conditions, the question is no longer whether fires will occur, but how intense and widespread they will be. Forest fires are often framed as an environmental issue concerning trees and wildlife. In reality, their impact extends far beyond forest boundaries.&nbsp; Smoke travels faster and further than flames. Fine particulate matter, especially harmful PM2.5, spreads across countries. In recent fire seasons, air quality monitors in Kathmandu have recorded air quality levels several times higher than WHO guidelines. The smoke adds to Kathmandu’s own pollution and lingers for days.&nbsp; Flights are cancelled or delayed in cities like Pokhara, and poor visibility blocks mountain views affecting tourism. Health facilities report spikes in respiratory complaints, particularly among children and the elderly. Just as wildfires have multi-sectoral causes, the impact of forest fires go beyond forests. One critical dimension remains largely invisible: the soil. The fires cause silent damage beneath the ash, and the emergency does not end when the flames subside. Beneath the surface, soil suffers long-term damage. Organic matter burns away, beneficial microorganisms die. The soil structure weakens, reducing the land’s ability to absorb and retain water. The scorched earth is more prone to erosion, increasing the risk of floods and landslides once the rains return.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026022009028_cc54ff056b2cac8b789cfd4d11afef9eaf943368e47b99aabd57c7b63b776cf2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026022009028_cc54ff056b2cac8b789cfd4d11afef9eaf943368e47b99aabd57c7b63b776cf2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1717" height="2143" loading="lazy" alt="Wildfire season NT"> <figcaption>Wildfire risk map based on the validated Random Forest model (a) Overall reclassified wildfire risk map of Nepal, (b) District level wildfire risk, and (c) Municipality wildfire risk map.</figcaption> </figure>  In many of Nepal’s agricultural areas, soil organic matter levels are already below 2% -- lower than what is needed for resilient and productive farming. Repeated fires push these levels even lower, undermining soil fertility and forcing farmers to rely more heavily on chemical fertilisers, unleashing a vicious cycle of higher costs and food insecurity.&nbsp; Climate breakdown is often cited as the primary culprit, and rightly so. Rising temperatures and erratic rainfall have intensified fire risk. But fires in Nepal are increasingly the result of human intervention.&nbsp; The response of all three levels of government remains too little, and too reactive. Each year, resources are mobilised to extinguish fires once they have already spread. Far less attention is paid to managing the fuel load within forest undergrowth that makes such fires inevitable.&nbsp; Meanwhile, forestry and agriculture policies are not coordinated, missing opportunities to address shared challenges. Forest fires are not natural disasters, but predictable outcomes of governance choices. National plans and climate pledges set an ambitious target of raising soil organic matter to 4%. The science behind this goal is solid. Higher organic matter improves water retention, stabilises yields, reduces fertiliser dependence, and enhances long-term food security. What remains unclear is the pathway.&nbsp; Where will the organic inputs come from? How will they be processed and applied safely at scale? Without practical answers, the 4% target risks remaining aspirational rather than achievable. Forest undergrowth can be turned into fuel and fertiliser. Biochar is produced by heating organic biomass in a low-oxygen environment, converting it into a stable form of carbon that can be added to soil.&nbsp; When properly produced and applied, it improves soil structure, enhances water and nutrient retention, supports microbial activity, and locks carbon into the ground for decades. In Nepal biochar addresses two interconnected problems: reducing the accumulation of combustible biomass in forests, lowering fire risk, while simultaneously rebuilding depleted soils. In doing so, it restores the broken link between forest management and agriculture.&nbsp; Done well, biochar is not merely an environmental intervention. It is an economic one, with potential to create local employment, reduce farmers’ input costs, and support climate-smart agriculture. But biochar propagation depends on improved governance. If promoted as isolated pilots or short-term projects, it will fail. What is needed is institutional clarity: standards for production and safety, quality control mechanisms, farmer extension services, and coordination across local, provincial, and federal levels.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026022009028_e6e2218f38fae5b1fe81d9f99078fe01f58d04b4b3b2c41447f017c3f838a1d4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026022009028_e6e2218f38fae5b1fe81d9f99078fe01f58d04b4b3b2c41447f017c3f838a1d4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Wildfire season NT"> <figcaption>Freshly prepared biochar under control tempature (350-600°C).</figcaption> </figure>  Community forest user groups could manage biomass collection. Local governments then support safe, decentralised production units. Agricultural extension services guide farmers on application, linked to soil testing and monitoring. Such an approach would reduce fire risk, improve soil health, and generate rural livelihoods.&nbsp; Poorly produced biochar or contaminated feedstock can harm soils and human health. Without training, standards, and oversight, good intentions can backfire. Nepal needs to move beyond fire-fighting to fire prevention and confront the structural causes that make them a growing risk. It is not just a technical choice – it is one that demands political will from newly-elected leaders after March. &nbsp;&nbsp; Ngamindra Dahal is a hydrometeorologist with the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation specialising on climate and water management issues.&nbsp;

RED ALERT: Get ready for the wildfire season

<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/what-the-interim-government-gave-bangladesh">Bangladesh’s 12 February election</a> carried historic weight because it was held in the aftermath of the July 2024 student-led uprising that ended the long-running regime of the Awami League’s Sheikh Hasina.
Alongside the parliamentary contest, voters were asked to decide on an additional ballot referendum known as the ‘July Charter’, a proposal linked to constitutional and administrative reform debates.
I served as an independent international observer from Nepal, authorised by the Election Commission of Bangladesh and observed polling day procedures in selected centres outside Dhaka, intentionally moving beyond the capital city which was the focus of the international media and diplomatic community. We visited 17 polling stations in remote Bancharampur and Gazipur constituencies.
The Bangladesh Election Commission’s emphasis on technology was evident. Upazila Police personnel deployed for election duty were equipped with body-cams, and there were more CCTVs Police personnel deployed for election duty were equipped with body-cams, and there were more CCTVs at several polling centres. These measures reflected an effort to enhance transparency and accountability.
For the first time, the Election Commission reportedly created a WhatsApp coordination group that included human rights defenders and security officials. This group enables rapid information-sharing and prompt security responses to potential incidents.&nbsp;
Bangladesh introduced postal voting for citizens abroad who had not renounced their citizenship. The postal ballots were processed and counted with QR code technology. Similar arrangements to vote by mail were also made for government employees who could not go their home constituencies. This gave voters respect of their ballots and franchise.
Youth participation in this election was significant. Many first-time voters expressed enthusiasm and a strong sense of ownership over the democratic process. Their turnout and visible engagement suggested a generation keenly interested in shaping the country’s political direction.
Women voters were also notably active. In multiple centres, women formed long queues and appeared confident about navigating the voting process. Minority community members were also present. Precautionary measures had been taken to thwart any disruption.
In the polling centres mostly located in schools, the overall environment was calm, orderly, and peaceful. Election materials were properly arranged, voting compartments ensured procedural clarity, and no major disruptions or visible irregularities were observed in the centres covered.&nbsp;
Security personnel were present but maintained a non-intrusive posture, contributing to a sense of order without interfering in the voting process.
Polling officials demonstrated familiarity with procedures, including voter identification and ballot issuance protocols. In informal conversations, station in-charges articulated procedural steps clearly and appeared confident in managing operations.&nbsp;
Queue management systems were generally in place, and voter verification processes were conducted in an organised manner. While observations were geographically limited, the professionalism of officials in the visited centers contributed positively to polling efficiency.
The vote counting was carried out promptly. Polling booths were required to send recorded data of the ballots cast directly, which significantly streamlined and expedited the counting process.
Despite the generally smooth procedures, certain accessibility challenges were observed. Senior citizens, lactating mothers, and individuals who appeared physically unwell were seen waiting in queues for extended periods. Priority mechanisms for vulnerable groups were not consistently visible across all centres.
Polling officials estimated turnouts between 50-60%, reflecting mid-day assessments rather than final figures. Voter flow remained steady but the ban on the former ruling party may have dampened some of the voter turnout.
What stood out most was the broader public mood. Many voters appeared motivated and engaged, particularly given the country’s recent political developments. Elections are not merely procedural exercises; they reflect citizens’ aspirations, expectations, and trust in institutional processes.
One of the most distinctive features of this election was the referendum on the ‘July Charter’. In some polling centres, this additional ballot appeared to generate confusion. A number of voters indicated they understood they needed to mark ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, yet some were unclear about the substance of the proposal.&nbsp;
Many younger voters seemed better informed about the implications of the referendum. Their engagement suggested that civic awareness surrounding reform debates may be evolving generationally. The referendum element added a constitutional dimension to what was already a politically significant parliamentary election.
LESSONS FOR NEPAL
Nepal also goes to the polls on 5 March, six months after its own student-led protests in September. Several of the practices seen in Bangladesh could be relevant.&nbsp;
Bangladesh has made notable strides in electoral reform and administrative efficiency, creating a sense that the country has taken a meaningful step forward in improving the accessibility and management of its electoral process.
Polling day was a crucial indicator of administrative preparedness and civic participation. The Bangladesh election illustrated both strengths and areas for continued civic education, especially regarding public understanding of referendum questions. Youth engagement, women’s participation, and enhanced security coordination were encouraging signs.
Historic elections shape nations. They also leave a lasting impression on those privileged to observe them closely. Democratic consolidation is an incremental process. Orderly procedures, technological monitoring, and visible participation reflect institutional maturity. At the same time, inclusivity particularly for vulnerable groups remains an essential benchmark.
Mohna Ansari is an advocate, a practicing lawyer at the Supreme Court and Former Commissioner of National Human Rights Commission of Nepal. She was a member of the International Election Observer team from Nepal.
Local observer Muzaffar Hossain Chaudhary also contributed.

Bangladesh’s post-uprising election

There is a growing tendency to frame Nepal’s current political turmoil primarily through the language of Foreign Hands.
Across talk circuits and commentary today, Nepal’s unfolding crisis is increasingly being explained through external influence —foreign powers, hidden backers, geopolitical plots.
In a tense regional environment, this framing is understandable, but it also risks becoming a convenient shortcut. By looking outward first, it subtly shifts attention away from the harder, less comfortable work political parties and institutions have long postponed: internal reform, accountability, and rule-bound governance.
Three collapses in three decades and seven constitutions in as many decades should force us to pause for self-reflection. Add to this nearly thirty changes of government in just as many years.&nbsp;
Nepal’s democratic century, which began in 1950, has been marked by repeated conflicts, transitions, and crises. Not all of these can be explained by — or blamed on — &nbsp;forces from outside. This persistent finger pointing pattern indicates structural weaknesses at home.
Long before the September GenZ uprising, many observers (including myself) had been warning that Nepal was approaching a tipping point.&nbsp;
The concern was not foreign interference, but accumulated internal fragility: weak checks and balances, cartel-like party arrangements, politicised constitutional bodies, episodic accountability, and the near absence of credible, nonpartisan civic watchdogs.&nbsp;
Together, these produced a system operating at the edge of collapse. In such systems, small triggers — a protest, a ban, a spark — can produce cascading effects far beyond their immediate cause.
Explaining this rupture mainly through foreign influence can feel reassuring, but it ultimately absolves domestic actors of responsibility. External pressures do exist, but they become decisive only when internal institutions are already hollowed out and exposed.&nbsp;
When institutions are weak and compromised, outside forces stop dealing with the state as an institution and begin negotiating directly with individual political powerbrokers. At that point, sovereignty erodes quietly — not through invasion, but through leverage.
This is why the current obsession with identifying external hands risks missing the deeper lesson. The more revealing symptom may not be foreign maneuvering, but the ease with which, for example, militant cadres, informal networks, and extra-institutional actors are able to step in and exert influence, right under our nose during this election cycle. This is just the tip of the ever fragile institutional iceberg that needs tending.
CADRE MACHINES
As some have recently noted, these 'cadre machines' are not causes of the crisis so much as indicators of a broken system — filling a vacuum left by institutional decay.
Nepal’s deeper challenge, therefore, is not denying or ignoring outside influence. It is rebuilding the internal capacity that makes such influence less consequential: credible institutions, internal party democracy, transparent rules, and steady and independent civic oversight that operates beyond election cycles. Without this foundation, every crisis will continue to invite external interpretation — and external leverage.
Several recent essays on my Nepal Unplugged newsletter may be of interest to some: why Nepal’s current crisis is better understood through internal institutional fragility than through the language of 'foreign hands'. &nbsp;&nbsp;
Alok K. Bohara, PhD, is Emeritus Professor of Economics at the University of New Mexico, and writes his newsletter <a href="https://substack.com/@nepalunplugged">Nepal Unplugged</a> as an independent observer on Nepal’s socio-economic and political landscape. &nbsp;

Foreign hands, or homegrown failure?

The recent Nepali Times Substack post titled ‘Unresident Nepalis’ made me realise I also belong to the category of Nepalis who are technically Non-resident Nepali (NRN), but want to ‘permanently reside inside Nepal’.&nbsp;
Although this was meant as a joke, it is ironic that many of those who go abroad long to come back home, and those who have not emigrated cannot think of a good enough reason to stay back in Nepal.&nbsp;
As soon as the NRN Citizenship was officially introduced in late 2023, I had tried to apply for one but was shut down before even submitting my documents as the district administration office firmly told my then lawyer that I needed to prove “तिन पुस्ता” proof of three generations of Nepalis from my father’s side.&nbsp;
My late father was from Japan and relinquished his citizenship to become a Naturalised Nepali citizen in 2006. Three years ago, I dismissed the rejection with the thought that I will try again later when government officials would gain more experience with such applications.&nbsp;
Now, with an ailing mother and an energetic toddler, I felt the need to act soon and reached out to a law firm that specialises in NRN citizenship applications. To my surprise, they were positive after reviewing my documents, although they did warn me that we may need to overcome some obstacles.&nbsp;
In 2023, I had applied in the district office where my father had received his naturalised citizenship, but now the suggestion was to try from the district where my mother had received her Nepali ancestral origin “बंसागज” citizenship.&nbsp;
The lawyers pointed to the NRN citizenship mandate which clearly states that it can be acquired via a Nepali origin father, mother, grandfather or grandmother. The firm helped arrange the necessary documents required and the first step was to get a “सिफारिस” &nbsp;recommendation letter from my mother’s ward office.&nbsp;
This was the first hurdle as the ward office was unsure if they could issue such a letter, so they checked in with their head office, and luckily we received the go ahead. After persistent follow up from the law associates, they were able to provide us with a recommendation letter and we filled out the application forms.&nbsp;
The law firm wisely suggested that I take the paperwork myself to my mother’s district office while they stayed in the background in case I needed help explaining my situation.&nbsp;
With a big smile and cheerful tone, I dutifully followed the process and to my surprise, I found most of the officials ready to help without creating unnecessary hurdles. The application has to be signed off by the Chief District Officer (CDO) or Assistant CDO and just when I thought wow, I am going to breeze through this, one officer noticed that my father’s naturalised citizenship was from a different district and told me that I should apply for my NRN from there.&nbsp;
I explained that my father has already passed away and as he was not originally a Nepali, therefore it is not possible for me to get my NRN from his documents, as the requirement is ancestral “बंसागज” citizenship. The officer then went to check with their seniors and later told me that I would need police verification as an extra precaution.&nbsp;
Off I went to the police headquarters where they issued a sealed letter to be given to the police station that was in the same vicinity as my mother’s ward office. At the station I was told to get four people who are not my relatives to testify our documents are true.&nbsp;
This process happened to be more stressful than dealing with the government offices. At first, it turned out that most of my mother’s old neighbours had already passed away or had citizenship papers from another area. Others confirmed their availability, but later had conflicting schedules. Luckily, one very helpful old neighbour was able to arrange for enough people to verify the documents.&nbsp;
Encouraged that the end of the tunnel was in sight, I went back to the district office with all the requested documents, and after some initial pushback, I was finally referred to meet the official who signs off the documents before it goes to the CDO.&nbsp;
As luck would have it, the officials were in a meeting that lasted more than two hours, and I had to give my mother her insulin shot and noodles from the cafeteria in the waiting area.&nbsp;
When we were finally able to meet the officer, he didn’t even look at my papers properly and started questioning my lawyers whether they had even read the law, how could I apply for Nepali citizenship when I already had a Japanese passport, etc. He somehow assumed that I was looking to get a normal Nepali citizenship from my mother’s side, and we informed him that I was only looking to get an NRN citizenship, after which his tone became more apologetic and said that he would need to look into the law more closely.&nbsp;
It had already been three full days of working through each step of the process, and I had no problem waiting another day for the conclusion.&nbsp;
Perhaps because this NRN citizenship is a fairly new law and perhaps a lot of NRNs apply from the Nepal’s embassies in their country of domicile, throughout my experience, officials kept on telling me that a case such as mine has not been processed before.&nbsp;
My case being that I have never had a Nepali citizenship, my father having a naturalised Nepali citizenship and my mother being the only 100% Nepali in the family. I kept on saying that just because it has never been done before does not mean that it cannot be done, and sure enough, the next day the officer signed off on my documents, even kindly saying that they should have highly respected my application upon learning about my late father and his contributions to Nepal.&nbsp;
Although the intricacies of the NRN citizenship law have not been fully hacked out such as the transfer of land ownership, it is definitely a positive step in securing the rights and aspirations of fellow NRNs as many would agree that no matter where we go, “यो मन त मेरो नेपाली हो!”&nbsp;
Sonia Miyahara, Managing Director of Hotel Everest View, Trans Himalayan Tours &amp; Trekking Pvt Ltd &amp; Himalaya Kanko Kaihatsu Co. Ltd.

How I got my NRN Citizenship in Nepal

Bangladesh has just done something remarkable.
On 12 February, in what observers are calling the country’s first genuinely competitive national election in over a decade, millions of voters queued at thousands of polling stations across constituencies, many casting a meaningful ballot for the first time since 2008. 
That this election took place at all, that it was conducted with sufficient procedural credibility for observers and citizens alike to describe it as largely peaceful and orderly, and that it happened on schedule, is not an accident.
It is the culmination of 18 months of work by the interim government that inherited a country in crisis and was tasked with steering it toward democratic renewal.
As Bangladesh turns the page, it is worth taking honest stock of what the administration of Dr. Yunus accomplished over 18 months and where it fell short.
The context matters enormously. When Sheikh Hasina fled Bangladesh on 5 August 5 2024, following a student-led revolution in which over a thousand people lost their lives, the country was not simply between governments. It was in freefall.
The police had largely abandoned their posts. Violence erupted across multiple districts. The banking sector was riddled with non-performing loans accumulated through years of politically directed lending. The judiciary, the civil service, the election commission, and key regulatory bodies had all been systematically subordinated to a single party’s interests over fifteen years.
What Dr. Yunus and his team of advisers stepped into was not a functioning state awaiting a caretaker, it was institutional wreckage requiring reconstruction. 
What followed was a period of institution-building that, whatever its imperfections, deserves recognition.
The reform process was arguably the interim government’s most consequential undertaking. Eleven commissions were established, covering areas from constitutional design and the judiciary to policing, media, labour, and women’s rights. Their recommendations were consolidated and put through seven months of nationally televised consultations with political parties, producing the July Charter: a package of 84 reform proposals endorsed by some two dozen parties.
That level of sustained multi-party negotiation, in a country whose political culture has been defined by zero-sum rivalry between two dominant blocs, was without recent precedent.
The charter may be imperfect, but the effort to forge a broad consensus on institutional redesign was substantive rather than performative.
The election infrastructure itself reflected serious institutional work. The Election Commission was reconstituted. Voter rolls were overhauled, and postal voting was introduced for the first time, enabling overseas Bangladeshis to participate.
Some 500 international observers and journalists were accredited, including delegations from the European Union, the Commonwealth, and international election monitoring bodies.
The Election Commission has reported a nationwide turnout exceeding 60%. For a country whose last three elections under the Hasina government were widely dismissed as neither free nor fair, this represented a qualitative shift.
On the economic and diplomatic fronts, the interim government navigated a landscape that would have tested any administration.
Point-to-point inflation declined by late 2025, according to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics, though it remained above the government’s own targets and continued to strain household budgets. Exchange rate reforms helped stabilise foreign reserves.
The diplomatic record was arguably stronger. When the Trump administration imposed a 37% reciprocal tariff on Bangladeshi goods in April 2025, the interim government negotiated it down to 20% by August, and then, just three days before the election, signed a formal reciprocal trade agreement with Washington that lowered the rate further to 19%, with provisions for zero-tariff access on certain textile and apparel exports, making Bangladesh the first South Asian country to finalise such an agreement.
An Economic Partnership Agreement with Japan secured duty-free access for thousands of Bangladeshi products.
Dr. Yunus’s visit to Beijing in March 2025 yielded over $2 billion in investments, loans, and grants, along with Chinese commitments to a long-term master plan for river and water management. 
After years in which Bangladesh had shut itself off from international scrutiny, the reopening of the country to the world was itself a diplomatic achievement of real consequence.
On the institutional front, the government’s own figures indicate that approximately 130 laws were enacted or amended during the interim period.
The National Board of Revenue was dissolved and restructured.
Bangladesh signed the International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearances, a step the previous government had refused to take.
A commission of inquiry documented more than 1,600 complaints of enforced disappearances under the Hasina government. The national budget was presented via live broadcast for the first time since 2008.
None of this should be mistaken for a record without serious failures.
Law and order remained fragile throughout the period. The treatment of journalists drew criticism from international press freedom organisations. Women bore a disproportionate share of economic losses. Minority rights remain an issue. Youth unemployment remained stubbornly high. The macro-level economic stabilisation did not translate into relief at the household level for millions of citizens.
These are real failures, and they matter.
What deserves emphasis, however, is the nature of the interim government’s orientation. This was an administration that understood its mandate as transitional and one of repair. It did not attempt to entrench itself.
Dr. Yunus, who was 84 when he took office, had been called to this role by the student leaders of the revolution, not by political ambition. He accepted the position at considerable personal cost and committed to holding a free and fair election.
He then did so, on a date announced well in advance, and prepared to leave. 
In a region where democratic transitions routinely fail, where leaders extend their tenures through manufactured emergencies and constitutional manipulation, a government that builds the machinery for its own replacement and then steps aside is not a small thing. It is, in fact, quite rare.
With the election now concluded, Bangladesh has closed one political chapter and opened another. The era of the interim government is over. The period of elected governance is about to begin.
What happens next will depend on the capacity and commitment of whatever coalition forms the next parliament, and on the willingness of citizens and civil society to hold that government accountable.
The reform frameworks, the restructured electoral machinery, the July Charter, the restored diplomatic relationships: these are not completed achievements but open possibilities that the next government can build upon, strengthen, or neglect. 
For many Bangladeshis, this election also marks the end of an extraordinary and improbable chapter: a Nobel laureate summoned from civil society to oversee a national reset.
Transitional leaders rarely receive appreciative farewells, but Dr. Yunus does, not because the period was flawless, but because it concluded as promised. 
He and the advisers who served alongside him took on a broken state and did consequential, if incomplete, work to repair its foundations. They delivered a credible election. They built a multi-party reform consensus. They navigated a volatile diplomatic and economic landscape, with relentless domestic political pressure, without the country tipping into the kind of catastrophic instability that many had feared.
Dr. Yunus was imperfect, as all leaders are. But his compass pointed consistently toward accountability, consensus, and the democratic rights of the people who made the July Revolution.
He and his team gave Bangladesh something to build on. They modeled a form of public service grounded in diplomacy over domination, consultation over decree, and ethical commitment over expedience. 
As someone who has spent my career studying the structural forces that shape governance, power, and everyday life across the Global South, I know that democratic transitions are fragile. They fail more often than they succeed.
The next government will inherit enormous challenges: economic recovery that has barely begun, institutional reforms that are only partially implemented, a society still processing the trauma of authoritarian rule and revolutionary upheaval, ongoing environmental challenges -- the economic, political, social, and ecological challenges are all interconnected.
Whether the space for pluralism and accountability expands or contracts will depend on how reforms are operationalised and how vigilantly civil society insists on transparency.
The courage that filled Bangladesh’s streets in July and August 2024 has now expressed itself through the ballot box. Turning that democratic energy into durable institutions is the work of years, not months.
It falls to the new government, to civil society, and to every citizen. The election and referendum have restored a measure of procedural legitimacy, but the harder task is embedding that legitimacy in everyday governance.
It is up to all of us to build, to hold our new leaders accountable, and to ensure that the sacrifices of the July martyrs were not made in vain.
Bangladesh has turned a corner. Where it goes from here depends on all of us.
Farhana Sultana is a Professor of Geography and the Environment at the Maxwell School of Citizenship and Public Affairs of Syracuse University.
Reprinted with permission from <a href="https://counterpointbd.com/what-the-interim-government-gave-bangladesh">the original</a> published on COUNTERPOINT.

What the interim government gave Bangladesh

Who is accountable for teacher-student relationships?

Of the nearly 19 million eligible voters in next week’s election in Nepal, an estimated 5 million are abroad and cannot cast their ballots. Many others within Nepal must travel to their home districts, and might decide not to because of the cost.
Flights into Kathmandu these days are full of global Nepalis returning just to vote, but almost as many are leaving for overseas jobs. Most of those coming or going are in the 20-40 age group, and a majority want Nepal to see a change in leadership.
Bangladesh held an election this month in which citizens overseas could vote by mail.&nbsp;
“Bangladesh made maximum use of technology not just for campaigning but also for polling itself. We could have also managed this, so people within Nepal did not have to travel to their home districts to vote,” says Mohna Ansari, former head of Nepal’s National Human Rights Commission who was an election observer in Bangladesh.
A 3-day holiday has been declared so people can travel to their home constituencies to cast ballots. Even if there was not enough time to manage ballots for overseas Nepalis, it could have been done for Nepalis within Nepal.
Former Chief Election Commissioner Bhojraj Pokharel reckons that physical voting in countries with a large Nepali diaspora would have been a logistical nightmare, but in the PR system, using electronic voting machines or paper ballot could have been piloted in some places. It is not possible to manage the entire voting process until we introduce the internet voting system.
“First of all, there needs to be political will to bring the policy and be ready to undertake that level of investment and it is not a one-time cost,” Pokharel says. “A government formed by the GenZ could have atr least issed an ordinance ensuring this right, piloted out-of-country voting where possible, which could have built pressure for the future Parliament and the government. It would have given people hope. It is a lost opportunity.”
All major political parties called for voting rights for global Nepalis in their manifestos, but these very leaders blocked legislation allowing it despite a 2017 Supreme Court ruling out of fear that it would be anti-incumbent.&nbsp;
<h2>Why so late?</h2>
Bangladesh delivered election results in just one day, but the final results of Nepal's last local polls in 2022 including that of Kathmandu constituencies took nearly a month.
Acting Chief Election Commissioner Ram Prasad Bhandari said this week that the results of the First-Past-The-Post (FPTP) ballot counting would “likely” be published within 24 hours of the poll closing at 5PM on 5 March. But many are skeptical.
“I wonder if we lack the capacity or know-how to announce results as quickly as possible,” says Mohna Ansari.
Former Chief Election Commissioner Pokharel says manual ballot paper counting in Nepal is inherently slow because of the large numner of political parties and/or candidates on the ballot, the counting mechanism, the political behaviour of the candidates/parties and some managerial issues during counting.
“Our present policy is to count all the ballot papers at the returning officers' officies, located at the district headquarters. It requires collecting ballot boxes safetly first. This takes time, and there have been cases of ballot boxes being damaged or stolen during transport. In a few highly difficult, geographically remote polling centres, we use a helicopter or transport. But sometimes, accommodating the party and candidates' representatives remains challenging,” explains Pokharel. A solution could be counting ballots at the very booths where they are cast.
Another reason for the delay is simply the number of political parties, and the need for each ballot paper to be examined by booth representatives for consensus. In close races, the smallest difference can lead to tense situations, further delaying results, even though counting centres are protected by metal fencing so there is no disruption.
After this, then it is the turn of Proportional Representation (PR) ballots to be counted. Weeks pass by the time the results of candidates and parties are tallied and verified. But the most common delay is because election officers think ballot counting is a nine-to-five job.&nbsp;
“The efficiency of poll station officers is most important, and they are incentivised for this,” says Ansari, adding that counting can even start within an hour after voting closes.
In remote areas, local resources could be mobilised to make counting quicker, but there is a crisis of trust, adds Ansari.&nbsp;
That could be easily solved with electronic voting which the EC implemented in the 2008 polls but discontinued because political parties felt the machines could be hacked or manipulated.

Nepalis Select Who To Elect

On Saturday, Iran retaliated with missile strikes on Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Bahrain and Qatar, a region where there are an estimated 2 million Nepalis working to send money home. In addition, thousands of Nepalis were preparing to board flights to Kathmandu from West Asian cities this weekend to vote in the 5 March election. Many are said to be stranded at various aviation hubs. A Qatar Airways flight from Doha took off just before the air space was closed, while Air Arabia and Kuwait Airways have diverted or cancelled flights. Nepalis in the West Asian region said things were relatively calm where they were, although some heard loud explosions at about noon local time. In Dubai, some thought they were Ramadan fireworks.&nbsp; In Kuwait, nearly 2,000 Nepalis working in the US military base as security guards and cleaners were evacuated before the strikes. In Bahrain where the US Fifth Fleet naval base is located and which was hit by two Iranian missiles, workers contacted by Nepali Times said the situation was under control and the authorities had told everyone to stay indoors and not use highways. The conflict also coincided with the beginning of Nepal’s trekking and mountaineering season, and tourists were either on their way or planning to leave European and North American cities for Himalayan hikes. Most of them transit through Doha, Dubai or Kuwait and all three airports are closed. Turkish Airlines flights via Istanbul are still operating.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260228130212_ab5e132d56da1df6a3fb1b6919648f845a168ad2c51d79f7587fb85a6e913b97.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260228130212_ab5e132d56da1df6a3fb1b6919648f845a168ad2c51d79f7587fb85a6e913b97" data-rendition-name="original" width="1864" height="826" loading="lazy" alt="Qatar and UAE airspace closed"> <figcaption>Qatar and UAE airspace closed. Credit: Flightradar24</figcaption> </figure>  However, the main impact for the world could be a spike in the price of petroleum products if the strategic Strait of Hormuz is blocked. China relies on Iranian oil for their refineries, and Nepal could be affected indirectly if the economies of its neighbours are hit. Nepal imports all its diesel, petrol, LPG and aviation fuel from India which sources it mainly from the Gulf, and until recently from Russia. Petroleum makes up 25% of the value of all imports, and that is more than Nepal earns from all its exports. Saudi Arabia this year overtook the UAE as the main destination for Nepali workers, with the number now totalling 400,000. There are said to be as many in the UAE, and another 350,000 in Qatar. There are another 100,000 mostly women in Kuwait, and 50,000 each in Oman and Bahrain.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260228130220_d24ae633ff84f283835434becdb2f1351f84c415ce87ca34378bd4e2669661b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260228130220_d24ae633ff84f283835434becdb2f1351f84c415ce87ca34378bd4e2669661b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="West Asia Iran conflict"> <figcaption>Iran retaliated with missile strikes on Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Bahrain and Qatar on Saturday.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal receives nearly $11 billion a year in remittances from overseas Nepalis (not counting India) through official channels, although the total is said to be much more. &nbsp;This makes up more than a quarter of Nepal’s GDP equivalent — one of the highest proportions in the world. More than half of the overseas remittances to Nepal comes from its workers in the Gulf, and it is the mainstay of the country’s economy. Nepalis in Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the UAE alone send home more than $3 billion a year, much of that helping support their families back home. An average Nepali worker in the Gulf sends home nearly $2,500 a year, and this is spent mainly for household supplies, children’s education and healthcare. There are also an estimated 7,000 Nepali caregivers and healthcare workers in Israel, and most of them are women. The Nepal Embassy has asked Nepalis in Israel to take caution and move to bomb shelters.

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