- On 20 December 2016, 45-year old Dammara Upadhya of Achham’s Timilsain village suffocated to death from a fire to keep away the cold in a windowless shed where she was banished during menstruation. - That same day in the same district, Roshni Tiruwa, 15, of Gajara village died of asphyxiation in a menstrual hut, called 'chhau.' &nbsp; &nbsp;- On 11 January 2018, Gauri Budha of Turmakhad of Achham died of suffocation in a chhau shed.&nbsp; - On 10 June 2018, 22-year old Parvati Buda died of a snakebite in a chhau shed - Amba Bohara, 35, along with her young sons Suresh and Ramit, died on 18 June 2018 when their chhau shed burned down in Agaupani village of Bajura. - Parvati Buda Raut, 22, died of asphyxiation inside a menstrual hut on 1 December 2019. Police arrested her brother-in-law for forcing her into the shed, and the court sentenced him to 45 days in prison. After that tragic death of Parvati Buda Raut, national outrage forced the Home Ministry in Kathmandu to launch a menstrual hut demolition drive across the Karnali and Sudurpaschim provinces.&nbsp; The Ministry directed the 19 districts in the two provinces to search-and-destroy all sheds used for menstrual banishment. Over 10,000 huts were reportedly razed, most of them in Achham, and 100 local governments declared themselves ‘Chhau Free’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240926100940_e9f5b6b3a20ac656082579b559ae314858dea12fdcec6916e70b253c7a5b3006.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240926100940_e9f5b6b3a20ac656082579b559ae314858dea12fdcec6916e70b253c7a5b3006" data-rendition-name="original" width="8160" height="4592" loading="lazy" alt="Banning banishment is not enough"> <figcaption>Chhau hut torn down by local government. </figcaption> </figure>  However, after the pandemic many sheds have been rebuilt by locals who believe that women are unclean during menstruation, and keeping them at home will invite divine wrath with failed harvests, illness and livestock deaths. Tuli Saud, 40, lives in the Selpakha village of Achham and has been spending her periods inside a chhau hut for decades. Now, she has two daughters and two daughters-in-law, all of whom stay in the same shed in her backyard for five days every month during their menstruation. The small shed is windowless. The mud floor is constantly damp during monsoon and covered in straw. When they get their periods at the same time, which happens often, Tuli and the other women in the family have to share the cramped, dark space. During the district-wide campaign to demolish sheds in Achham, Tuli’s menstrual hut was also torn down. She even helped destroy other huts in her village. But the practice of chhaupadi, and the stigma around menstruation has been harder to destroy than &nbsp;huts. When Tuli had her periods, she spent five days in a tent where the old hut used to be. Eventually, the family built another mud and thatch shed because the tent was uncomfortable. Tuli fears that no one in the family will come into the house or eat what she cooks if she does not banish herself to the hut. Indeed, peer pressure to conform comes not just from society at large but from elder women in the village who believe the superstition about menstrual impurity. “If the rest of the women in the village stop going to chhau sheds, I am ready to do the same,” says Tuli. “I cannot wait for my menopause.” Tuli Saud’s neighbour Deusari Auji, 40, also rebuilt her shed and spends her periods there. She lived in the hut for weeks at a time after the birth of each of her five children. Mothers who have just given birth are also banished to these huts.&nbsp; “This is our custom, it will anger the goddess Kali in the nearby temple if we stop practicing it,” says Auji with conviction.&nbsp; Deusari shares the tiny shed with her mother and sister-in-laws when they get their periods at the same time. “It is difficult to breathe and sleep,” she admits. “But we have to endure that hardship.”&nbsp; Many deaths have occurred due to asphyxiation because the women light fires in the confined windowless spaces during bitterly cold winters in the mountains.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240926100940_e2717a357435e98375be6a9b6526cbd8449ca956755e74460dae7df6920c433b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240926100940_e2717a357435e98375be6a9b6526cbd8449ca956755e74460dae7df6920c433b" data-rendition-name="original" width="6112" height="6112" loading="lazy" alt="Banning banishment is not enough"> <figcaption>Inside a chhau hut.</figcaption> </figure>  Ram Bahadur Saud’s wife and daughter started spending their periods inside their home after the family chhau hut was demolished four years ago. But his family was ostracised by villagers, so he rebuilt the demolished hut. Nisha Nepali, 14, of nearby Kamalbazar has learnt about reproductive health at school and the risks of spending her periods in a hut. Yet, she is banished to the shed by her family for five days every month during her periods, when she cannot attend school.&nbsp; “I cannot even do my homework because there is no light in the hut,” says Nisha, who grew up in India before her family moved back to Nepal. Local schoolteacher Srijan Dhakal Kunwar explains that women continue to banish themselves to menstruation huts because they firmly believe that they cannot offend the deities in nearby temples. &nbsp; Khadga KC in the Achham district capital of Mangalsen angrily made a new hut for his two daughters-in-law after the old one was demolished by the government.&nbsp; KC is a shaman and believes that ill-health will befall those who touch a woman during her periods, and attributes his own chronic illness to having once being touched by a menstruating woman. “I do not care what anyone says, the chhau hut in my house is here to stay,” he states. “Why should I listen to what other people have to say instead of listening to my god?” Even locally elected officials like female ward member of Chaurpati village Basanti Saud spend their periods inside the family shed, and actually believe that things are better than before. Saud tells us why: “The sheds used to be far away before ours was demolished, but that is not the case anymore. Every family now has their own hut.” Achham’s Chief District Officer Shiva Prasad Lamsal admits that laws and demolition drives will not be enough to change deeply held beliefs. His office is therefore concentrating on raising awareness against the superstition. Accham police chief Ishwari Prasad Bhandari agrees community support is needed to restart the demolition of huts so they are not rebuilt.&nbsp; Activists point out that even if they are not banished to huts, many women across Nepal suffer ostracisation and stigma in one form or other, even in educated families. Menstrual discrimination is not only a crime, but also a serious health risk to women. Nutritionist Aruna Upreti says forcing girls and women to live in cowsheds after childbirth or during their periods makes them prone to accidents, infections and undernourishment at a time when they need a balanced diet. Entrenched cultural beliefs are hard to eradicate, and provincial and local governments are also reluctant to push for radical reform because of societal backlash. The region where oppressive menstrual discrimination is most prevalent is in the constituencies of powerful politicians like Sher Bahadur Deuba, who has become Nepal’s prime minister five times. Radha Paudel, a dignified menstruation activist, agrees that local governments must mobilise to end the practice (below).&nbsp; “Menstrual discrimination is like caste discrimination, and besides laws it must be a dedicated part of school curricula,” says Paudel. “Our pad distribution campaigns try to convince women that banishment to menstrual huts is a dangerous superstition.” &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Raped in the hut</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240926100916_306720c02f1663dfe99f062a5e83f456902e6222d18a6442ebca12f47a8a1bae.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240926100916_306720c02f1663dfe99f062a5e83f456902e6222d18a6442ebca12f47a8a1bae" data-rendition-name="original" width="6112" height="6112" loading="lazy" alt="Banning banishment is not enough"> </figure>  Of the 16 women in Sudurpaschim Province who were killed in the last 17 years in menstrual huts, 14 died in Achham district. Aside from fatalities from asphyxiation or snakebites, menstrauting women have also been victims of rape and molestation. In June, a young girl in Achham was raped by a relative as she slept inside the shed to which she was evicted during her periods. Neighbours found her unconscious and took her to the District Hospital in Mangalsen.&nbsp; A police complaint was filed, but that was 19 days after the assault. The Grade nine girl had been raised with her brother by their maternal grandmother after their mother died, and her father remarried.&nbsp; “He began to follow me six months ago, and had on one occasion come into my house when I was alone and forced himself on me,” the girl told us in a recent interview. The police have demolished the shed where the rape took place, and the case is pending in court.&nbsp; <h2>The Law</h2> Chhaupadi was banned in 2005 by Nepal’s Supreme Court, and three years later the Ministry of Women, Child and Social Welfare set guidelines to banish the practice. Sub-section 3 of section 168 of the National penal Code 2017 stipulates that ‘Banishing a woman to a shed (chhaupadi) during menstruation or delivery, or subjecting, causing to be subjected, her to similar other discrimination, untouchability or inhumane treatment of any kind is prohibited.’ Anyone who commits such an offence is liable to a three-month prison sentence, a Rs3,000 fine, or both. This article is brought to you by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">Nepali Times</a>, in collaboration with <a href="https://inpsjapan.com/en/" target="_blank">INPS Japan</a> and <a href="https://sgi-peace.org/" target="_blank">Soka Gakkai International</a>, in consultative status with UN ECOSOC.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240630110640_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240630110640_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758" data-rendition-name="original" width="680" height="103" loading="lazy" alt="SDG logo"> </figure>  &nbsp;

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Banning banishment is not enough

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b708a9c7e80680e060082jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/>It is easy to be cynical about recent reports of actions taken to end <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/GUEST-COLUMN/blood-sisters-menstruation,839" target="_blank" rel="noopener">chhaupadi</a>, the traditional practice in parts of western Nepal of segregating menstruating women.Since December, hundreds of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-superwomen-beat-superstition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">chhau sheds</a> where women live during their periods have been demolished after the Home Ministry ordered district officials to strictly enforce laws that bar the practice. Local officials have warned they will withhold social security payments to anyone found to be involved in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/removing-menstrual-shame,4148" target="_blank" rel="noopener">practice of menstrual banishment</a>.We have heard such threats from officialdom before, and many of the recently dismantled sheds were likely previously broken and rebuilt. But something does feel different now about the campaign to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/women-speaking-out-against-chaupadi,3518" target="_blank" rel="noopener">end the practice</a> that has killed more than a dozen women and girls in the past decade, most of them from exposure to cold, a snakebite or suffocation from fires to warm the windowless sheds in winter.Is this a tipping point? Could be. More positive news comes from <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/this-is-how-to-upgrade-nepals-rural-health/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nyaya Health Nepal</a>, the NGO that runs Bayalpata Hospital in Achham. It has 58 community health workers (CHWs), who are the hospital’s link to residents in the facility’s catchment area. Of them, 29 have not practised chhaupadi since working with Bayalpata and, according to the hospital, of the remaining 29, 25 have given up the practice since they started working there.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-superwomen-beat-superstition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's superwomen beat superstition</a>, Aruna Uprety<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/women-speaking-out-against-chaupadi,3518" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Periods of banishment</a>, Subeksha Poudel<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b708d9c7e80680e060083jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2715" height="1891"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Initial interventions were done as sporadic informal discussions with CHWS, says Aradhana Thapa, healthcare design director at the hospital. They were followed by regular discussions in 2017, and then by interventions in 2018-19.“We started with baby steps, to understand the issue and help provide a safe platform for CHWs to openly discuss and support each other. Last year we added a few more interventions, including social mapping and reaching more <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-curse-of-being-new-mothers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">pregnant women</a>,” added Thapa in an email interview.The mapping found that 66% of the 14,000 women of reproductive age in the hospital’s catchment area practise chhaupadi, compared to 50% of the CHWs before Bayalpata’s intervention. CHWs are required to have at least Grade 10 education, which is far above the district average, so does that higher level of education not explain the hospital’s success in helping CHWs give up sheds?Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">That time of the month</a>, Editorial“Education, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/communicating-to-remove-menstrual-taboo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">understanding of menstruation</a> as a biological phenomenon universal to the general population, is allowing this change (in attitude about chhaupadi) to take place,” says Thapa. “However, there needs to be a trigger for that final decision. For many CHWs, that point was that they wanted to give up the practice themselves before preaching to other women.”Many activists say that chhaupadi is just the most extreme form of the menstrual segregation that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">occurs throughout Nepal among women of all socio-economic groups</a>, in rural and urban areas.In December, Parbati Raut of Achham became the last reported victim of the practice. But for the first time, an arrest was made over the death – of the woman’s brother-in-law Chhatra Raut, for banishing her to the shed. Unofficial reports from Achham say that he is out on bail, punished only with having to report to police twice monthly for three months.A 2005 Supreme Court decision outlawed chhaupadi, and a 2017 national law made forcing a woman to use a shed punishable by up to 3 months in jail or a fine of Rs3,000. Yet, these changes, along with various local regulations that punish the practice or reward women who reject it, have failed to end it.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/menstruation-is-not-private-business-it-is-everyones-business/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">"Menstruation is not a private business, it's everyone's business"</a>, Reeti KCIn one ward in Achham senior citizens’ allowances were reduced as punishment. It was effective because older family members have the strongest ties to beliefs that underlie chhaupadi, such as that not going to the shed once a month will anger gods and result in sickness, or worse, in a village.CHWs have leveraged such local initiatives in order to give up the practice, particularly campaigns to destroy huts that are led by women. “It is the fact that these are led by local women that makes them so effective. I think it's peer influence, pressure, that's playing its part,” says Thapa.For other CHWs, the decision was driven by practical considerations -- absence of caretakers for their children, in cases where the women do not live with their in-laws and their husbands had to be away for work. Says Thapa: “They ended up sitting at home to ensure care for their children.”

Marty Logan

Tipping point on menstrual banishment in Nepal

Nepalis worship the sun, and mark its seasonal passage with festivals. Adding to that spiritual reverence now is the economic relevance of solar power. Fast-flowing Himalayan rivers give Nepal a total feasible hydropower generation capacity of 48,000MW, of which only 3,600 has so far been harnessed. Yet, Nepal’s total solar power potential has been calculated to be nearly 10 times higher at 432,000MW. &nbsp; With over 300 days of sunshine a year, the country could produce 3.6 to 6.2 units of electricity per square meter based on its solar radiation levels.&nbsp; This potential, combined with decreasing installation costs of Chinese-manufactured photovoltaic cells and other means, is a viable and affordable alternative to Nepal’s over-reliance on hydropower which faces concerns about the destruction of riverine ecosystems, as well as risk from glacial lake floods caused by climate breakdown. However, restrictive domestic energy policies and geopolitical sensitivities mean Nepal is failing to diversify fast enough to tap this tremendous solar energy potential. Nepal’s hydropower generation is almost entirely from run-of-river projects that do not have large reservoirs. Many such projects in Nepal and across the Himalaya have been swept away by glacial lake outburst floods in recent years.&nbsp; Such risks and limitations to hydropower should have prompted the Nepal government to jump-start investment into solar farms, but the main reason is that the Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA) caps solar power at just 10% of total capacity. There is no official explanation, but it is likely due to the outdated perception that solar technology cannot supply a consistent energy stream at evening and morning peak loads.&nbsp; But today, there are plenty of ways around it, including pump storage schemes that use daytime solar power to pump water from a river to a reservoir and drain it to generate electricity at night. Battery technology is now more advanced, and affordable enough to make grid-scale batteries feasible.&nbsp; But then there is an issue of tariffs, which are much lower for solar at Rs5 per energy unit, and competitive bidding forces companies to lower it even further. But there is no bidding process for hydropower and licenses are given out on a first-come, first-served basis with a fixed rate of Rs6.5 per unit regardless of location.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112303118_c3280cddae6f3305d07319011dd9c187005822a9b905bb849c36b95e3ad0d516.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025112303118_c3280cddae6f3305d07319011dd9c187005822a9b905bb849c36b95e3ad0d516" data-rendition-name="original" width="1109" height="887" loading="lazy" alt="Here comes the sun"> </figure>  SUPPLY VS DEMAND Hydropower is supply-driven, while solar responds to demand, so under such a discouraging scenario, solar power accounts for only 5% of Nepal’s total energy mix. “Given the environmental risks to hydropower, investors are now demanding tariffs on hydropower to be increased. So the question to the government is, are you paying more money for hydropower or willing to buy more of the cheaper solar power,” said energy entrepreneur Kushal Gurung. Solar investors are lobbying the government to raise the cap on solar power to 30% and expand zoning policies so that solar plants can be built in areas with high potential, such as Dolpo and Mustang in the trans-Himalaya. These regions are sparsely populated, arid, have a cold climate and high solar radiation levels — ideal conditions for photovoltaics. Solar power’s biggest advantage is its cost-effectiveness compared to hydropower, with the operating cost of a hydropower plant up to four times higher than of a solar plant of the same generation capacity. Investors are no longer assured of a return on investment on hydropower due to climate risk which have increased insurance premiums. “Last year, when the government opened a bidding for 800MW of solar power, the private sector was ready to invest 3,000MW. Both banks and investors were convinced about the potential for solar energy, but the government and especially the bureaucracy, was not on the same wavelength,” added Gurung.&nbsp; Interim Energy Minister Kulman Ghising is said to be interested in increasing the cap on solar energy, but there is a question whether he will remain in office since he has launched his only Ujyalo Nepal party to contest elections in March. GEOGRAPHY AND GEOPOLITICS In 2018, Nepal’s only foreign private equity form Dolma Himalayan Climate Fund (DHCF) pitched a proposal to generate 150MW from a solar farm and store 20MW of it in battery systems in Mustang to meet seasonal and daily peaks. It got approval from Investment Board Nepal (IBN) and had already poured millions into the project when the Department of Mines instructed all developers in Mustang to halt their projects, citing the discovery of uranium ore. But insiders say the real reason was due to pressure from the Chinese government’s security concerns about a Western investor being involved so close to the border with Tibet.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112303118_5946a5f1ba63f34c88f900c6d12b37d0101effb76e8a7a5397cd6451c16cd5b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025112303118_5946a5f1ba63f34c88f900c6d12b37d0101effb76e8a7a5397cd6451c16cd5b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="450" loading="lazy" alt="Here comes the sun NT"> <figcaption>Photo: GHAM POWER</figcaption> </figure>  The same thing happened, but in reverse, when the Chinese company Risen Energy was interested in investing $190 million on a grid-connected 125MW photovoltaic generation system in Banke and Kapilvastu districts near the Indian border. Risen’s subsidiary, Risen Energy Singapore JV, was negotiating with IBN to commit $190 million in the project which would also store 20MW of daytime generation for morning and evening peak demand. But the agreement was not signed because the Indian authorities were concerned about Chinese involvement so close to their border. India has also refused to buy electricity from any hydropower plant in Nepal that has Chinese or other foreign investment or contractors. Indian state-owned companies are currently building or planning hydropower plants in Nepal to generate nearly 3,000MW, mostly for export.&nbsp; But not every Chinese-backed project has been blocked. In 2024, China handed over two solar-powered livelihood projects to a local community in Lalitpur — a community solar bathhouse and a rooftop photovoltaic power system. Funded by the Yunnan People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries, the projects aim to improve living conditions. The initiative forms part of the Chinese Embassy’s ‘Happy Community’ program (幸福社区, Xìngfú Shèqū) under the China–South Asia Poverty Reduction and Development Cooperation Center.&nbsp; Says Gurung: “Hydropower is a geopolitical mess, but it has well and truly started in solar power too. It now all comes down to how we handle it, and we need deft diplomacy to make sure our projects are not indefinitely delayed as has happened in the past.”&nbsp; LOW-HANGING FRUIT Despite domestic restrictions and geopolitics, there are still small-scale opportunities for solar energy entrepreneurs to cash in, such as net metering. Most industries in Nepal have enough rooftop space to generate 500KW to 1MW of solar energy. Combined, they would generate a substantial amount of energy to feed into the grid. Factories, supermarkets and chain stores are often bankable and trusted by financial institutions from which they could easily get credit.&nbsp; China could also take advantage of Nepal’s high solar power potential. Given that the United States has only imposed a 10% tariff on Nepal, China could set up PV manufacturing plants in Nepal.&nbsp; However, this requires government-to-government which could run into trouble, again because of geopolitics. The same applies for the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism which is a carbon tariff on carbon intensive products, such as steel, cement and some electricity, imported to the European Union.&nbsp; Chinese products have suffered under this mechanism but Chinese products made in Nepal can be competitive in the European market given lower carbon tax for Nepal. Clean energy has long been an area where Nepal hopes to attract Chinese investment — not only in hydropower, but also in solar and wind energy.&nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.&nbsp;

Nepal, here comes the sun

There were two Bhutans on display during Narendra Modi’s visit this month. The first: a trusted partner, modernising rapidly with Indian support, inaugurating hydroelectric projects, and signing healthcare deals. The second: a nation that <a href="https://www.fmreview.org/gazmere-bishwo/#:~:text=In%201990%2D91%2C%20about%20a,are%20therefore%20not%20Bhutanese%20citizens.">ethnically cleansed 17% of its population </a>and has never been held accountable.
Modi chose to see only the <a href="https://kuenselonline.com/news/pm-modi-concludes-bhutan-visit-with-prayers-for-peace-and-prosperity">first </a>during his <a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/india-announces-rs-4000-cr-concessional-credit-line-to-fund-energy-projects-in-bhutan/articleshow/125253915.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&amp;utm_medium=text&amp;utm_campaign=cppst">11-12 November visit</a>, granting $450 million in credit, offering birthday tributes to Fourth King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, and inaugurating another hydropower project.
New Delhi has opted for strategic silence on Bhutan’s systematic persecution of the Lhotshampas in the 1990s. The displaced remain scattered across the world and in refugee camps in Nepal, their property seized, their citizenship revoked.&nbsp;
Now, on that same contested land Bhutan is building the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/small-bhutan-dreams-big">Gelephu Mindful City (GMC)</a>, a megaproject intended to <a href="https://kuenselonline.com/news/pm-modi-announces-inr-40-billion-credit-line-new-rail-links-and-land-for-bhutanese-temple-in-varanasi">connect directly to Indian infrastructure</a>. The victims are gone, and democratic India’s values remain conspicuously absent.&nbsp;
With no Lhotshampas left to challenge the official narrative and India unwilling to raise it, Bhutan continues to suppress dissent with impunity.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, social media influencer Raghu Pati Subedi was arrested on the Assam side of Gelephu after returning from a visit to relatives in India. His family members reportedly came under intense pressure, including threats of arrest, accusing them of hiding his whereabouts. After his arrest, he was transported to Thimphu and imprisoned.
This was not an isolated incident. It is part of systemic repression that first gained international attention in the 1990s, when over 100,000 Nepali-speaking Lhotshampa were systematically stripped of their citizenship and forcibly exiled. This mass expulsion, which human rights organisations have characterised as ethnic cleansing, created a decades-long refugee crisis that continues to define the regional political and human rights landscape.&nbsp;
EXODUS
The Lhotshampa crisis of the 1990s was not a spontaneous event but the culmination of years of state-led discrimination. Through a series of legislative acts, notably the 1985 Citizenship Act and the 1989 Driglam Namzha, the ‘One Nation, One People’ policy, the Bhutanese state systematically dismantled the rights of its Nepali-speaking citizens.&nbsp;
The use of the Nepali language was suppressed, the traditional dress of the ruling ethnic group was mandated, and citizenship was revoked en masse, rendering a significant portion of the population stateless in their own homeland.
The new manuscript I am editing has harrowing accounts by the authors of those atrocities. The parallels with what happened to Subedi recently are striking and troubling, showing that even after 35 years the regime has not changed its spots. The methods may have evolved, but the repression against dissidents remains disturbingly consistent.
This refugee exodus was an immense and unasked-for burden on Nepal. Despite being a country grappling with its own political instability and limited resources, Nepal accommodated them on humanitarian grounds. Nepal has consistently advocated for a durable solution centered on the refugees’ right to safe, voluntary, and dignified repatriation.
For years, it engaged in bilateral talks with Bhutan, culminating in a joint verification process. However, these efforts ultimately foundered on what Nepal described as ‘continued rigidity and non-implementation of the agreed decisions by the Bhutanese side’.
Nepal fulfilled its moral and humanitarian duty, but the international community largely failed to hold Bhutan accountable. Bhutan’s rulers deflected global attention with the masterful narrative of Gross National Happiness (GNH), while the grim reality in the refugee camps persisted.&nbsp;
Ultimately, with repatriation proving impossible, Nepal acquiesced to a third-country resettlement program led by a group of eight countries, including the United States, Canada, and Australia. From 2007 to 2016, more than 113,500 Bhutanese refugees were resettled in <a href="https://www.unhcr.org/media/nepal-factsheet">one of the largest group resettlement programmes globally</a>, though 6,365 remain in refugee camps in eastern Nepal.
While this solution provided a lifeline for thousands, it was a tragic capitulation to Bhutan’s ethnic homogenisation project. The refugees’ right to return to their homeland has been denied. It is a cautionary tale about the limits of international diplomacy in the face of state intransigence.
Bhutan’s global brand is one of its most successful exports. The <a href="https://www.gnhcentrebhutan.org/">Gross National Happiness </a>doctrine, which promotes holistic well-being over just economic growth, has captivated the Western imagination and policymakers. It offers a vision of a mindful, environmentally conscious, and peaceful Himalayan kingdom. This carefully cultivated image has historically aimed to shield Bhutan from the level of scrutiny applied to other nations with similar human rights records.
The GNH facade, however, cracks under the weight of documented evidence. The same kingdom that champions ‘happiness’ has, for decades, maintained a justice system that human rights groups allege relies on torture, coerced confessions, and draconian laws to silence opposition.
The 1992 National Security Act, with its vague definitions of ‘treasonable acts’ against the Tsa-Wa-Sum (King, Country, and People), has been a primary tool for suppressing political dissent, particularly from the Lhotshampa.
Overlooked by the international community and ignored by global powers including India, in responding robustly to the ethnic cleansing of the 1990s sent a clear message to Thimphu: such actions could be undertaken with impunity. The monarchy emerged unscathed, its reputation burnished rather than tarnished.&nbsp;
This historical impunity now echoes in the case of Raghu Pati Subedi and the <a href="https://www.cijnepal.org/new-list-of-political-prisoners-expected-to-set-off-discussion-on-bhutans-human-rights-record">continued imprisonment of dozens of political prisoners</a> of conscience. The global community’s reluctance to challenge the GNH narrative has, in effect, become a form of complicity.
The arrest and sentencing of a social media influencer demonstrates how old tactics have been adapted for the digital age. Subedi, 40, was a new kind of threat to the state-controlled narrative and he had to be made an example of.&nbsp;
As the founder and administrator of the popular Facebook page ‘The Don of Asia’, he bypassed traditional, state-influenced media to speak directly to about 78,000 followers. His content, informational and satirical videos on rural poverty, corruption, and the GMC project, was the kind of social media activism that was deemed intolerable.
Subedi was arrested in early 2025 and sentenced to 24 years in prison. The charges allegedly stemmed from Subedi’s social media criticism of the GMC, a flagship project of Nepal-born Bhutanese fifth King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck.&nbsp;
For <a href="https://thenewamericansmag.com/2024/11/18/the-kings-gelephu-mindfulness-city/#:~:text=Ganga%20Lamitare%2C%20who%20owns%20four,ancestors%20in%20building%20the%20nation.">Bhutanese refugees like Gangaram Lamitare</a>, the GMC represents a bitter irony, a development rising on their confiscated ancestral lands.&nbsp;
Gangaram, who owns four acres where the GMC’s international airport is now under construction, says: “Many people from villages fled at night in 1990, leaving everything behind to escape oppression. Now, the Bhutanese king and ministers are spreading falsehoods worldwide, calling this land vacant, which actually belongs to those forced to leave the country.”&nbsp;
There are signs that international support that has benefited Bhutan may be waning. The United Nations has become increasingly vocal and last year the <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/sites/default/files/documents/issues/detention-wg/opinions/session101/a-hrc-wgad-60-2024-bhutan-advance-edited-ve.pdf">UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention</a> said the detention of several Bhutanese political prisoners was arbitrary and illegal under international law.&nbsp;
In April 2025 from a group of six UN human rights experts raised grave concerns about the use of torture, denial of fair trials, and the ‘severe chilling effect’ of Bhutan’s legal framework on civic space. These developments owe much to the consistent advocacy of the Hague-based Global Campaign for the Release of Political Prisoners in Bhutan (GCRPPB) since its formation.
However, they also reflect broader shifts in international human rights scrutiny. This places Bhutan’s key international partners, particularly the European Union, in a critical position. Bhutan enjoys lucrative benefits under the EU’s ‘Everything but Arms’ trade scheme, which grants developing countries tariff-free access to the EU market contingent on respect for human rights.&nbsp;
The EU is also a significant provider of development aid to Bhutan which provides it with substantial leverage. In April 2025, members of the <a href="https://bsky.app/profile/saskiabricmont.bsky.social/post/3lmrn5mkmrs2q">European Parliament formally called on Bhutan</a> to release all political prisoners. This action signals a growing recognition that trade and partnership cannot be divorced from human rights obligations.&nbsp;
“Bhutan’s international partners and investors, including the EU, should make it clear that they expect Bhutan to comply with its human rights obligations and release them without further delay,” says Meenakshi Ganguly, of Human Rights Watch.&nbsp;
Bhutan stands at a crossroads. Its desire for deeper global economic integration is colliding with its unresolved history of human rights abuses. The international community now has a choice: either continue being charmed by the myth of a happy shangri-la or insist that the kingdom adheres to democratic values it professes to the world.&nbsp;
Nepal’s recent Gen-Z uprising offers a lesson to Bhutan. In September, when authorities attempted to ban 26 social media, Nepali youth took to the streets and, within hours, toppled the entire pro-establishment political apparatus. Their message was clear: in an age of digital connectivity and mass mobilisation, authoritarian tactics such as detaining social media influencers are both unjust and ultimately unsustainable.
This incident echoes the prophetic warnings of Devi Bhakta Lamitare, Bhutan’s first-generation democratic leader, who died in exile in India in 2022. In his seminal 1970 book
Dankindo Bhutan, Lamitare chronicled the systematic suppression of people’s rights and envisioned a path toward liberation.
Before his death, I worked with him to update and edit this work, which the Bhutan Media Society published posthumously in 2023. In a December 2020 interview I conducted for the book on the Ganga riverbank in Haridwar, Lamitare laid out a stark three-front offensive: political mobilisation from within India to awaken resistance inside Bhutan itself, relentless pressure on New Delhi to champion democracy, and a global ‘pamphlet war’ waged by resettled Bhutanese in the West.&nbsp;
Only through such sustained action, he argues, can Bhutanese citizens win the right to choose their own rulers, a principle India, the world’s largest democracy, should be championing, not abandoning.
Binod Dhungel is the Nepal correspondent for Reporters Without Borders.
<a href="http://linkedin.com/in/dhungelbinod" target="_blank">linkedin.com/in/dhungelbinod</a>, @BinodDhungel

Bhutan imprisons social media influencer

&nbsp;Nepal has finally become famous the world over for something else besides Mt Everest — the GenZ Movement. The 8 September protests in Kathmandu may have been triggered by what happened in Jakarta a week previously, but it inspired street uprisings all over the world. This week, Mexico’s GenZ are clashing with riot police. Last month, the president of Madagascar fled to Dubai. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-genzs-inspired-filipinos" target="_blank">Philippines</a>, Morocco, Peru, Timor Leste all have seen similar anti-government protests against corruption, nepotism and poor governance. A Himalayan republic, a Latin American federation, a Southeast Asian archipelago, or a North African kingdom may have little in common, their histories, religions, languages, and political systems are worlds apart. But <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/10/19/world/gen-z-revolutions-protests-louvre-heist-gaza.html" target="_blank">the common thread</a> running through these demonstrations were the simulacra and symbols spread on social media platforms.&nbsp; The young crowds marching through the streets of these countries were holding up the same icons. They painted the same images on cardboard, waved the same flags, stitched the same badges on their backpacks. They chanted &nbsp;the same references from the same corners of the internet.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_2ff7cf4ce7a9590359ed18753f4977648a6db83e95dd62d602a3f81e9eec42c4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251122031128_2ff7cf4ce7a9590359ed18753f4977648a6db83e95dd62d602a3f81e9eec42c4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1250" height="1047" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption> One Piece reference meme on Instagram, 115K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  To anyone who did not grow up online, this looks random. To anyone who did, it feels like the most obvious thing in the world. A new kind of global identity has formed — one that cuts across nationalities and cultures. In Nepal older relatives mock the ‘जेन्जी’. My neighbour asked me if ‘GenZ’ was a new political party.&nbsp; Around the world, when youth-led protests appear, reporters and politicians ask the same question: ‘Who is the leader?’ The answer is the same: there is no leader.&nbsp; Some names come up more prominently, as people did during <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-historic-youth-dissensus?fbclid=IwY2xjawNPQnZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHk5Nazeqz3K9aNddXa-dQfCbwtId0nLclQwHzIYhTfg8tzGWXZMBJ5pjm5Qx_aem_a5JoyT1FRqzCVtnnPM7zUw" target="_blank">the Nepali protests</a>: Sudan Gurung. Miraj Dhungana, Rakshya Bam and other organisers who appeared in livestreams and interviews. But look closely and the leader is hiding in plain sight. The leader is not a person. The leader is the internet meme.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_b2319eb8d7abec7ed5e12baf1a53e0a27cfd7a49ee15c058c47cdf2603a7fa8a.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251122031128_b2319eb8d7abec7ed5e12baf1a53e0a27cfd7a49ee15c058c47cdf2603a7fa8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="662" height="1038" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Aurafarming, 233K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-meme-revolution" target="_blank">Memes today</a> are doing the quiet organising work that pamphlets and party cells once did. They offer identity, coordinate action, level power differences, and they do it without any central command. This is not because memes cause revolts. It is because memes are the connective tissue of a generation that grew up on the same visual language, the same jokes, the same references, and the same sense of shared digital childhood. Older generations did not share cultural symbols in the same way. Whether they read a certain comic book or watched the same cartoon depended on class, religion, caste, the country, or neighbourhood they grew up in. These divisions created stratified cultural memories.&nbsp; Today, an entire global cohort has been raised on the same visual media. The same YouTube creators. The same TikTok jokes. The same anime storylines. It is truly what McLuhan predicted the Global Village would be.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_136d009a48d8f8daee82ada1b220e0b0c8ec482b52dcd44e0942e2185a70421b.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251122031128_136d009a48d8f8daee82ada1b220e0b0c8ec482b52dcd44e0942e2185a70421b" data-rendition-name="original" width="738" height="1012" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Masked K P Oli, 63K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  This has also created the perfect environment for <a href="https://observer.co.uk/news/international/article/revolution-20-frances-political-future-could-be-won-or-lost-by-bots-and-memes" target="_blank">memes to become political tools</a>. They are instantly recognisable, emotionally charged, and open for remixing. They allow young people to signal their values without stating them. They compress identity, anger, humour, and belonging into something that the rest of the world dismisses as unserious. The perfect example of a GenZ meme is the famous skull and crossbones in protest flags from Kathmandu to Manila to Mexico City. The Strawhat Pirates from the <a href="https://www.france24.com/en/asia-pacific/20251006-one-piece-manga-revolt-morocco-indonesia-nepal-madagascar" target="_blank">anime One Piece</a>, is a show with over 1,000 episodes and a global fanbase that spans continents. One Piece follows Luffy, a justice driven pirate who travels across a world ruled by corrupt older elites who hoard power and suppress dissent.&nbsp; It is not hard to see why that story resonates with young people who feel locked out of political systems built by generations before them. I even printed stacks of my own flyer that explained memetic warfare using Minecraft visuals and handed them out in the crowd. Each one linked to a Telegram group with the Strawhat Pirates logo called MemePack HQ.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031144_1b12e920be6e312e1dc8768d318c1d1332e32694293b48984089867e7e525a27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251122031144_1b12e920be6e312e1dc8768d318c1d1332e32694293b48984089867e7e525a27" data-rendition-name="original" width="1100" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Meme Movements"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_08b720667a9ff36537e58992c8a8030b090900847de5eecd479bbb3fc727349d.png" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251122031128_08b720667a9ff36537e58992c8a8030b090900847de5eecd479bbb3fc727349d" data-rendition-name="original" width="696" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Indonesia-Nepal comparison, 17.7K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  CULTURE EXPOSURE The Strawhat logo is not the only symbol making people protest. That would be like saying video games cause real world violence. Instead, the logo works like a modern version of mythology. It packs meaning for those who understand it. It represents loyalty, rebellion, chosen family, and resistance against unfair structures. It works as a rallying flag because it is already a shared story. And unlike older myths, it is accessible regardless of religion, caste, language, or national identity. Across Nepal, the Strawhat symbol has shown up on posters, badges, and protest outfits. But it is only one piece of a larger ecosystem of youth symbols. From Nepali meme pages remixing political speeches into ironic audios, to posts that place politicians into familiar pop culture formats, to clips that exaggerate the absurdity of daily life under slow moving governance, these are not just jokes. These are narrative units. Each post is a tiny story with its own punchline and its own political edge. Each TikTok video or meme functions like a religious shlok, a short piece of narrative that carries layers of meaning depending on who consumes it. Someone who has spent years studying a religion, in this case, inside GenZ online culture will recognise the symbols instantly. Someone outside this world will only see noise. This creates a literacy divide that is not about formal education but cultural exposure.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_2d09f075663678fe92d4e4dcc631ee6ad1aa8a99996f4c4a3649e4bf4d85132f.png" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20251122031128_2d09f075663678fe92d4e4dcc631ee6ad1aa8a99996f4c4a3649e4bf4d85132f" data-rendition-name="original" width="810" height="1208" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_d591c4dc857864cc833ffc6baece3f4c2798bbaf70b557f965463fc8f802900e.png" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20251122031128_d591c4dc857864cc833ffc6baece3f4c2798bbaf70b557f965463fc8f802900e" data-rendition-name="original" width="568" height="1124" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>  Protesting youth spent countless hours scrolling, interpreting, remixing, and responding to content. They built a shared symbolic universe across borders without planning to. This is why their political movements feel leaderless. They are not following individuals. They are following stories that define what justice looks like. Stories that define who the villain is. Stories that define how to respond when power is abused. In Nepal, memes about broken roads, delayed passports, political inheritance networks, and bureaucratic absurdity circulated for months before they became slogans or chants. By the time people took to the streets, the narrative groundwork had already been completed by thousands of posts liked and shared in private. The protests did not emerge from nowhere. They emerge from years of digital storytelling. Which is why the government’s ban on 26 digital platforms on 5 September became such a rallying force. The platforms that distribute these memes are not neutral, they are actually designed to maximise engagement because engagement translates to ad revenue. Right now, there is an engineer in Silicon Valley getting paid an enormous salary to find the perfect colour shade for a singular pixel on your screen so that you linger for fractions of a second longer.&nbsp; Algorithms reward content that trigger emotion. Sometimes the emotion is delight. Sometimes it is envy. Often it is anger. When rage becomes a business model, movements built inside these systems can feel powerful but unstable. The platforms democratise attention but centralise emotion. They allow anyone to broadcast, yet they shape the emotional tone of what becomes viral.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_f22baab05910305ea435045824b25b796d5630715e2e17c3f3c0991e8371843c.png" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20251122031128_f22baab05910305ea435045824b25b796d5630715e2e17c3f3c0991e8371843c" data-rendition-name="original" width="974" height="1156" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>  GenZ sits inside this tension. Empowered by the ability to speak without gatekeepers. Trapped inside systems that monetise their attention and amplify their frustration. This is why these leaderless online movements feel both organic and volatile. The algorithm filters which stories rise and which fade. It becomes an unintentional political actor. Not elected. Not accountable. Yet influencing millions. When the state is no longer the primary distributor of information, and when the algorithm becomes the new filter of reality, the public is left with a new responsibility. We have to learn to read memes the way past generations learned to read pamphlets or manifestos. A 15 second video can carry more political weight than a two hour speech. A symbol on cardboard might represent a decade of digital storytelling. Older generations often dismiss these images as childish. They are actually literacy markers of a new political class, one that does not wait for leaders. A political class fluent in remixing power, raised on global stories that feel more honest than the institutions they inherited. The youth did not create these platforms. They inherited them. But through memes they found a new language, one that lets them organise without permission. One that lets them build solidarity without needing meetings or manifestos. One that allows them to resist systems that feel too old to reform. It is time to take that seriously. Nobel Rimal is a researcher of digital culture and political communication who studied and participated in the meme driven mobilisations during the Nepal protests&nbsp;

Meme movements

It should not be surprising that negotiations here at the COP30 climate summit is stuck over a clause calling for phasing out fossil fuel in order to save the biosphere from climate breakdown. After all, the past two summits have been hosted by petro-states, and Brazil itself is now the largest producer of oil in Latin America. Talks on final resolution were also delayed by a fire that broke out on Wednesday in one of the tent venues. The climate conference has now been extended by a day.&nbsp; But the disagreements go much deeper. On the one hand, the main petroleum exporters don’t want any reduction in fossil fuel use, while developing countries do not want to phase out unless compensated for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/global-warning-bell-in-belem">switching to renewables</a>. In all this, the impact of climate breakdown on the Himalaya, the Alps and other mountain ranges has again fallen by the wayside. Mountains are accurate barometers of climate change, and the High Asia is the largest repository of fresh water stored as ice after the polar regions. “Mountains and mountain communities are the most impacted in terms of climate justice. Mountain communities have contributed to nature and water resources, yet they face the greatest hardships,” said Nepal’s delegate Maheshwar Dhakal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122061112_45e75506818eff60f9c496de760ef44ef668f366c5037a01a92b396638ca27ee.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251122061112_45e75506818eff60f9c496de760ef44ef668f366c5037a01a92b396638ca27ee" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Making molehills out of mountains at COP30 NT"> <figcaption>Nepal's Minister of Agriculture and Livestock delivering remarks at COP30 in Belém.</figcaption> </figure>  At COP28 in the UAE two years ago, Andorra and Kyrgyzstan pushed for mountain regions of the world to be high on the agenda. Nepal could have led this agenda, but it lacked diplomatic strategy and leadership. By COP29 in Baku last year, Nepal, Andorra, Bhutan and Kyrgyzstan raised the mountain agenda. But action on this is moving at a glacial pace. In Baku, President Ram Chandra Paudel called for international unity to tackle climate change and stressed the urgency of supporting mountain nations, which are bearing the brunt of the climate crisis despite historically contributing the least to global emissions. Now at COP30, mountain nations have collaborated to lobby for support and highlight the vulnerabilities of mountain regions. Nepal initiated the Sagarmatha Sambad, a call for action that emphasised the need for a dedicated fund to safeguard mountain ecosystems-though its launch in May, but foreign participation was low-level.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122061112_b24a1e3205033325dc04f2baed56fe161d418d362f3e43b861b46483e353341b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251122061112_b24a1e3205033325dc04f2baed56fe161d418d362f3e43b861b46483e353341b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Making molehills out of mountains at COP30 NT"> <figcaption>Meeting of mountain nations at COP30</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has been branding Sagarmatha Sambad across negotiation rooms, meetings, and side events in Belém, but it does not look like it is getting much traction even though the Nepal delegation <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/cop-must-cop-to-its-failures">has been leading mountain countries</a>. Nepal’s negotiator Manjeet Dhakal says that after many rounds of interventions and support from other highland nations, the term ‘mountains’ has been included in the new Global Stocktake text. Himalaya, Andes and other mountain countries participated in the Presidency’s consultations on mountains and climate change which will pave the way for a special dialogue at the June 2026 session in Bonn.&nbsp; The COP Presidency has also requested the subsidiary bodies-SBSTA (science/technical advice) and SBI (implementation) to hold a formal dialogue on mountains and climate impact in Bonn. The dialogue may then decide whether to establish an annual dialogue within the COP process. SBSTA and SBI chairs must appoint two co-facilitators-one from a developing country and one from a developed country.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122061112_b02db373d3f60b0d1c2e3c547dd0663013147dac0b2bcf2774a45840824da9a3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251122061112_b02db373d3f60b0d1c2e3c547dd0663013147dac0b2bcf2774a45840824da9a3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Making molehills out of mountains at COP30 NT"> </figure>  This is a first step toward potentially creating an annual mountain dialogue within the climate process — an important move for regions like the Himalayas. Kyrgyzstan has been particularly clear and vocal about its mountain priorities.&nbsp; Dinara Kemelova, Special Envoy of the President of Kyrgyzstan on the Mountain Agenda, said: “We have been promoting the creation of a Global Mountain Resilience Center in Kyrgyzstan — an international platform for science, early warning, data sharing, adaptation technologies, and training for mountain countries.” Kyrgyzstan has also demanded better access to climate finance, saying mountain countries remain severely under-funded.&nbsp; David Forné Massoni, Secretary of State for Energy Transition, Transport and Mobility of Andorra, said there was now “one mountain voice” sharing experiences and collaborating on policies that support mountain livelihoods and ecosystems. Nepal has been vocal on the mountain agenda, but it continues to lack clear priorities and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/climate-of-tragedy-and-apathy">strong action on the global platform</a>. Still, through the representation of mountain communities, Nepal is gaining visibility, which is positive step forward.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122061112_37b9fb5fd13eae18cde82494bbbdb238d32f0cfc9869f7f9b18f398a03d659b9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251122061112_37b9fb5fd13eae18cde82494bbbdb238d32f0cfc9869f7f9b18f398a03d659b9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1433" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Making molehills out of mountains at COP30 NT"> </figure>  1.5°C OR 2.9°C? Mountain regions of the world are warming faster than the global average. The Himalaya, for example, is heating up 0.7°C more rapidly than elsewhere due to what is called ‘altitude effect’. Warming threatens mountain ecosystems, accelerates glacier melt that feed rivers, and increases catastrophic risks downstream. The <a href="https://wedocs.unep.org/bitstream/handle/20.500.11822/48854/EGR2025.pdf?sequence=3&amp;amp;isAllowed=y">UNEP Emissions Gap Report 2025</a> states that even if all countires meet their voluntary commitments, global temperatures are still projected to rise 2.3–2.5°C by 2050.&nbsp; The report concludes countries are dangerously overshooting the limit warming to 1.5°C. UNEP Executive Director Inger Andersen said: “We are already off the target, but not out of time.”&nbsp; To limit overshoot to about 0.3°C with a 66% chance and return to 1.5°C by 2100, emissions must fall 26% by 2030 and 46% by 2035. For mountain nations like Nepal this means rising temperatures in high altitudes, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/hydropower-on-thin-ice">increasing GLOF (glacial lake outburst flood) risks</a>.&nbsp; Nepal has experienced more frequent and destructive GLOF events in recent years. Changing rainfall patterns have heavily impacted mountain communities. Water scarcity in some regions and unusually heavy rainfall in Manang and Mustang are signals of climate stress accelerating in mountain environments.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122061112_8aa588e19fb927946066fd9e4f251fa9bcf463206008fb3469fcb237e6026555.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251122061112_8aa588e19fb927946066fd9e4f251fa9bcf463206008fb3469fcb237e6026555" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Making molehills out of mountains at COP30 NT"> </figure>  Nepal on a <a href="https://www.germanwatch.org/en/cri">list of the 10 most at-risk countries</a> to climate impact in 2024. Bill Hare, Director of Climate Analytics, says keeping global temperature rise to 1.5°C, as promised in the Paris Agreement, is “almost certainly impossible.” This is due to the failure to cut emissions between 2020 and 2025 and because the climate system appears to be running hotter than expected. He notes that if emissions are cut by 50% by 2030, the climate response could still keep warming to around 1.5-1.6°C. If emissions are not halved by 2030 but strong action is still taken, peak warming could be limited to 1.6–1.7°C — an achievable ambition. Hare suggests deep methane reductions could significantly limit peak temperatures. He argues that 1.5°C must remain the benchmark because current warming is already causing devastating impacts globally.&nbsp; Keeping 1.5°C within reach minimises risks, losses and damage. The <a href="https://climateactiontracker.org/documents/1353/CAT_2025-11-%2019_Briefing_COP30_EnergyMethaneGoals.pdf">Climate Action Tracker </a>suggests three near-term actions to bend the warming curve below 2°C: Reducing methane, Tripling renewable energy, Doubling energy efficiency. The steps taken at COP30 will remain small and insufficient to meet these targets. This year, progress came mainly through interventions from Kyrgyzstan, Andorra, Nepal and Chile. The mountains are in crisis, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/reconstructing-the-china-india-climate-diplomacy">meaningful action</a> to address their vulnerabilities is still far behind what is urgently needed. This story was produced as part of an Internews Earth Journalism Network and the Stanley Center for Peace and Security fellowship.

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