Nearly 750,000 Nepalis went abroad for employment in the past year, and more than 100,000 left on student visas. Most of them were young Nepali men and women, and the number has been increasing every year. As with other sections of society, Nepal’s security agencies also face a recruitment crisis. Nepal Police opened recruitment for 64 inspectors in September, and received 2,239 applications, compared to 2,718 candidates last year. Police also invited candidates for 256 assistant sub-inspectors this year for which it received 17,756 applications – down from 19,932 last year. It is the same story in the Nepal Army, the number of applicants for the post of Officer Cadet (Second Lieutenant) went down from 6,144 for 400 open seats in 2019 to 4,390 in 2020. Meanwhile, applicants in the paramilitary Armed Police Force went down from 857 applications for 75 posts in 2021 to 536 applicants for 99 posts last year. While the number of applicants appears higher than the demand, the data shows a significant decrease in applications for vacancies in Nepal’s law enforcement agencies. Security personnel are recruited on the basis of rank and age in Nepal, and the age cutoff for entry into Nepal’s security agencies is typically 25 years. Sociologist and migration expert Ganesh Gurung says that the demographic of young, physically fit Nepalis emigrating abroad in search of better opportunities has impacted recruitment into law enforcement and the military here at home. “The returns from working in Nepal’s police and army are minimal, whereas overseas job opportunities are more attractive,” Gurung says. “The work may be physically demanding abroad, but the pay is a lot higher.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241116041148_a7e477e0ee2f56acf16c2559fdb24d8f0377f7bc1f9e56138bc40108fc4fa33f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241116041148_a7e477e0ee2f56acf16c2559fdb24d8f0377f7bc1f9e56138bc40108fc4fa33f" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="534" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal Police"><figcaption>Nepal Police</figcaption></figure>  Nepal Police spokesperson DIG Dan Bahadur Karki agrees that the physical and mental demands of a law enforcement job is incomparable to the income that security personnel earn. “A young Nepali who works in Dubai earns enough to build a home in the village within four years, while a Nepali with the same qualifications and physical ability in a security agency here barely makes enough to survive,” says Karki. “Obviously the youth prefer foreign employment.” Security agencies are now worried about the quality of inducted manpower. “There is a difference in work ethic between an applicant chosen from a competitive pool of 50 candidates versus one chosen from a pool of three candidates,” explains Gurung. “Unmotivated employees hamper the overall performance of the state apparatus.” Nepal Army spokesperson Brigadier General Gaurab Kumar KC says recruitment has not been hampered by outmigration: “We have still been getting more than three times the applicants than there are open posts, so we are not yet worried.” Even so, the passing rates of aspirants have gone down for security forces after the Public Service Commission began examinations for military recruitment in 2015. In fact, the Nepal Army complained about the Commission’s involvement in recruitment. Still, the number of vacant military posts tends to exceed the number of passing candidates. Nepal Army’s KC says that the military will not compromise on intake criteria even if there are fewer passing applicants. “Unqualified persons will not be admitted even if there are less-than-required passing candidates. We will re-advertise if that is the case.” But Nepal’s security forces now also have to worry about retention of existing personnel. About 900 Nepal Army, 600 Nepal Police, and 300 Armed police personnel resign every year before the completion of their tenure.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241116041148_b8cd62f70eea3aac7d3d3778615a5b70b1e20550c9bd76321f051f9c766fd2a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241116041148_b8cd62f70eea3aac7d3d3778615a5b70b1e20550c9bd76321f051f9c766fd2a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="378" loading="lazy" alt="Armed police forces"><figcaption>Armed Police Force</figcaption></figure>  In 2020, Home Minister Ram Bahadur Thapa recalled almost 1,000 police personnel who had been deployed for the security of VIPs after long-standing criticism that security forces were being misused to cater to political and bureaucratic leadership. However, security personnel have continued to be assigned to high-ranking officials as glorified housekeepers. In December 2022, Rabi Lamichhane’s Home Ministry had instructed its offices to recall unauthorised security personnel assigned to high-ranking officials, following which 500 officers from Nepal Police and Armed Police Force were withdrawn from their details. But the Nepal Army does not have to follow such rules, and the practice of army personnel serving high-ranking active-duty and retired military personnel remains. Conditions here are dire enough that many active duty officers in Nepal’s military and police forces have chosen to leave their jobs to serve in the Russian Army to fight in the Ukraine war. The hierarchical culture and chain of command of politics, bureaucracy, law enforcement and military has also meant that abuse and mistreatment of subordinates is rife in Nepal’s security forces. “Feudalism is alive and well within our security institutions,” says Gurung. “When soldiers and security forces who swore to protect and serve the nation are made to be at the beck and call of politicians and bureaucrats, it is easy to understand why they are disillusioned with their jobs and why they choose to quit and find jobs abroad.”

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Job insecurity in security forces

Nepal’s success in doubling its forest cover in 30 years has been possible for two reasons: community management of woodlands, and the protection of the country’s national parks by the Nepal Army.
But questions are now being raised about why national parks need to be guarded with guns when protection by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepali-women-at-forefront-of-saving-tigers">local communities</a> have been so successful.
“Our internal evaluation has shown that it is due to the presence of the military that endangered species have been successfully protected,” says Megh Nath Kafle of the Ministry of Forest’s Department of Biodiversity and Environment. “Without the army, conservation would have been much more difficult.”
However, some activists say giving all the credit for Nepal’s successes in conservation solely to the military would be a disservice to the scores of local communities that have been even more successful in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/villagers-step-up-to-protect-nepal-s-tigers">protecting wildlife habitats</a>.
Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-protected-areas-from-infrastructure">Protecting protected areas from infrastructure</a>, Sonia Awale
“People living at the edge of national parks have played the most important role in nature conservation,” says Bharati Pathak of the Federation of Community Forest User Groups.
“By praising only the army, we ignore the contribution of local communities. The Annapurna Conservation Area is an example of successful conservation even without a military presence,” she adds.
The Nepal Army has also been accused of harassing local communities for entering buffer zone forests to collect wild edibles, or grazing livestock even though those areas outside the parks are not within the army’s jurisdiction.
Conservationists, however, say that the military's presence is critical in parks along the border with India to deter poachers. Killing tigers and rhinos for their pelts, bones and horns nearly decimated India’s wildlife in the 1980s and 1990s. Poaching increased in Nepal during the Maoist conflict when the army was redeployed elsewhere.
The Royal Nepal Army’s involvement in guarding national parks started in 1975 after Chitwan National Park was established, mainly to protect the seriously depleted numbers of rhinos and tigers.
Today, more than 8,000 soldiers are stationed in Nepal’s various nature reserves, with battalions in Chitwan, Bardia, Shuklaphanta, Banke, Parsa, Shivapuri and Langtang, while there are company-strength bases guarding Khaptad, Sagarmatha, Bara, Shey Phoksundo, Makalu Barun, Kosi Tappu and Dhorpatan reserves. Conservation areas like Annapurna, Manaslu, Kanchenjunga and Gauri Shankar do not have an army presence.
The main duty of the soldiers is to control <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet">encroachment and poaching</a> with regular patrols as well as to help with wildlife census and wildlife translocation activities.
Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/wildlife-people-coexistence-in-nepal-national-park">Wildlife-people coexistence in Nepal national park</a>, Kunda Dixit
“Problems arise when villagers enter the national park from the buffer zones, and our patrols have to take action,” explains Brigadier General Krishna Prasad Bhandari. “Our units constantly work with the national park authorities to spread awareness about park rules.”
Even so, for many activists and locals it is not clear why nature needs to be protected with guns when local communities everywhere in Nepal have a proven track record in effective nature conservation.&nbsp;
“It would be much more effective if the army worked more closely with local communities because without their cooperation, genuine conservation is not possible,” says Ramprit Yadav, a pioneer naturalist who was involved in the establishment of Chitwan National Park.
Soldiers have been accused of terrorising local villagers, especially those from Indigenous communities like Tharu, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/chitwan-s-bote-people-in-a-changing-world">Bote</a>, Chepang and Majhi.
“Conservation does not come out of the barrel of a gun, you have to involve local communities, especially Indigenous peoples who have traditionally managed their forest habitats,” says Naya Sharma Poudel of Forest Action Nepal.
Nepal’s <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/reviving-nepals-community-forestry-success-story">forest cover</a> has increased from 26% in 1992 to 45% today, largely due to the role of the community forestry program. Nearly 24% of the country's area is now protected nature reserves, and the army is deployed in 15 of them.&nbsp;
Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/villagers-step-up-to-protect-nepal-s-tigers">Villagers step up to protect Nepal’s tigers</a>, Teri D. Allendorf

Does Nepal need the army to guard parks?

In The Survey of the Nepali People conducted by Kathmandu University and Interdisciplinary Analysts last year, 91% of respondents said the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-army-inc">Nepal Army</a> was the institution they trusted the most.&nbsp;
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/quid-pro-quo-quagmire">Politicians</a> were at the bottom of the heap, and the sample showed great distrust towards social media content as well. We can understand politicians being unpopular, but why is the military held in such high esteem? &nbsp;
Nepal’s army has not been involved in any external conflict since the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-start-of-the-anglo-gorkha-war">Anglo-Nepal War</a> that ended in 1816, although Nepali nationals fight and die in foreign wars to this day. The last time the Army fired guns in anger was during its involvement in the Maoist conflict 2001-2006.
For most of its 260 year history, the Nepal Army has shown <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7270#.ZB0ZZC8w1KM">loyalty</a> to royalty. Being the army of the founding king, that is understandable. During the Rana period, the Army was under direct command of hereditary prime ministers, but reverted its loyalty to the Shahs after King Mahendra employed the military to stage a coup against a nascent democracy in 1960. &nbsp;
Deposed <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/last-days-with-bp-koirala">Prime Minister B P Koirala’</a>s secretary Kumar Mani Dixit recalls in his memoir how BP expressed his exasperation about the military not being under an elected civilian command. “What can we do when he (Mahendra) has the might of the military behind him,” BP said.&nbsp;
Forty years later, BP’s brother Girija Koirala was also prime minister when the Royal Nepal Army refused to obey his order to mobilise against a deadly <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10616#.ZB0Y_S8w1KM">Maoist attack</a> in 2001 on a police base in Holeri of Rolpa district. Shortly after, Girija Koirala resigned as prime minister.
In 2009, after the Nepal Army was made to drop ‘Royal’ from its name, the military and the political leadership were at odds once again after Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal tried to fire <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/rookmangud-katawal-memoir,1567">Army Chief General Rookmangud Katawal </a>to replace him with his handpicked Lt Gen Kul Bahadur Khadka. Gen Katawal refused to step down, President Ram Baran Yadav overturned the Prime Minister’s decision, and Dahal resigned.
Perhaps past confrontations between Nepal’s military and elected governments have made the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/why-politicians-pamper-the-military">politicians wary of provoking the Army</a>. So they have co-opted generals in National Pride Projects like the Kathmandu-Tarai Expressway so that the military is also tarred with the same brush as themselves.
Now they are eying the Rs73 billion that has accumulated in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11033#.ZB0ZqC8w1KM">Nepal Army Welfare Fund</a>. Some in the top brass want to invest it in banking and real estate, with the active support of political parties.
The report Nepal Kleptocratic Network: Mapping Corruption and Impunity by the Policy Research Institute says political interference <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5270#.ZB0ZyS8w1KM">corrupts the military </a>and sidetracks it from its primary role in defending national security.
The role of the Ministry of Defence is to strengthen civil-military relations and democratise the military, but it has no say. The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16287#.ZB0Z9i8w1KM">National Security Council</a> is supposed to strategise on defence and plan on downsizing the Army, but has become a political pawn. &nbsp;
Nepal <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/geopolitical-tug-o-war-over-nepal">borders the two most populous countries</a> with the largest standing armies in the world, and both are nuclear powers. We are not at war with any other country. And yet the Nepal Army takes a big chunk of the annual budget. Can Nepal, like Costa Rica, not have a military at all? We could spend the money on equitable development instead.
While maintaining the trust of the people in the military is important, Nepalis must be made to realise that the Army is not above the Constitution or the laws of the land. The military’s financial dealings should therefore be under scrutiny by civilian courts and the Commission for Investigation of Abuse of Authority.&nbsp;
The army has <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-army-pvt-ltd">no business being in business</a>. No good has come out of any military in the world being involved in profit-making ventures. We have seen in neighbouring countries what happens when the army becomes a private limited company. As BP Koirala put it more than half a century ago, 'Nepal’s military needs a new purpose to establish a prosperous future for our democracy.'&nbsp;
&nbsp;A report by Transparency International UK says this: &nbsp;'Business engagements are detrimental to the professionalism of the armed forces, as it serves as a major distraction from its core duties. One of the most harmful consequences of such practices is that the element of profit-making breeds corruption within the military. As evidenced from the case studies in the literature, the scale and type of corruption varies. In more extreme cases, corruption encompasses embezzlement of state funds, tax fraud and even brutal coercive practices on workers. Once the military begins to engage in economic activities, it is often difficult to end such practices.'
Those lines could have been written with Nepal in mind.

Defence mechanism

<figure><img width="1000" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209a29c7e80680e0b5553jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Devi Sunar and her adopted daughter Maina in front of the picture of Devi’s late daughter Maina who was only 14 when she was tortured and killed by the Royal Nepal Army. Photo: GULIGO JIA.</figcaption></figure>These days, every other day seems like an anniversary of one of the more famous crimes committed during the insurgency years. Today marks 18 years since 14-year-old Maina Sunar was <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/02/17/remembering-maina/">detained and murdered by the Royal Nepal Army</a> in Panchkhal of Kavre District.At the peak of the Maoist War, Maina’s case became a symbol of the human rights violations perpetrated by both sides in the decade-long conflict. Nearly two decades later, her mother Devi is <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2013/02/16/still-waiting/">still fighting for justice</a> for the extrajudicial killing of her daughter.Unable to access official channels, Devi has written an open letter asking Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba to uphold rule of law and respect the Court’s decision.'My daughter would have been 33 this year. I had many dreams for her, as I am sure you do too about your son. Everything was robbed from me and my family. Although I won’t be able to bring my daughter back, and nothing could repair that loss, I want to see those responsible brought to justice,' the letter reads.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepals-unpunished-war-crimes/">Nepal's unpunished war crimes</a>, Sabita AdhikariShe continues: 'This will give a sense of security and hope, not only to me and my family, but also to hundreds of victims who suffered from similar losses during the armed conflict.'On 17 February 2004, an army patrol looking for Devi detained Maina and her brother for interrogation as a suspected Maoist. Soon after, she disappeared, never to return. Her brother was however sent back. For three years, Sunar’s family kept looking for Maina, having known that she was taken by the soldiers. <img width="400" height="406" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209a49c7e80680e0b5554jpeg.jpg" alt="">It was later revealed that Maina was <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/313/FromtheNepaliPress/12418#.Yg5Dse5Bz0s">electrocuted to death</a> on the same night as retribution for her mother Devi’s vocal criticism of the Army’s involvement in the murder of her niece, Reena Rasaili, accused of being a Maoist supporter.Under pressure from international rights groups, the Army set up a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=9966#.Yg5DxO5Bz0s">court of inquiry</a> to investigate the incident and the accused Colonel Bobby Khatri, Captain Sunil Prasad Adhikari and Amit Pun were sentenced to six months imprisonment, fined Rs50,000 and faced a ban on future promotions.But Devi did not think the punishment was commensurate with the crime and filed a case in the civil court. During this time, with help from the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) and the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNOHCHR), Maina’s body was exhumed from Panchkhal barracks.On 16 April 2017, after a thirteen-year-long legal battle, the District Court Kavre found three army officers guilty of murdering Maina but they have not been arrested or punished.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/still-missing-but-not-forgotten/">Still looking for dad missing in Nepa</a>l, Anita BhetwalIn her letter, Devi has questioned the existence of two commissions set up to investigate war crimes, the Disappearance Commission and the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/conflict-victims-fear-TRC-only-serves-interests-of-state,2042">Truth and Reconciliation Commission</a> that have little to show in the way of delivering transitional justice.In fact, successive governments made up of former enemies the state has used the commissions to do their bidding and cover up their war crimes. Moreover, the Supreme Court’s order to amend the Transitional Justice Act mechanism is yet to be implemented.'Dear Prime Minister, I have promised my daughter that unless I bring those perpetrators to justice, I won’t rest. The remains of my daughter are still in the Teaching Hospital, and I am not able to perform her last rituals pending the implementation of the court’s decision,' concludes the letter. 'I am waiting to see your commitment to protecting victims instead of perpetrators and respecting court orders to ensure the rule of law in the country.'Read more: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16781#.Yg5HPu5Bz0s">Open Wounds</a>, Mallika Aryal

'She would have been 33 this year'

<figure><img width="1776" height="1149" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/6372094f9c7e80680e0b5534jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Gyan, Buddhisara B.K., parents of two laboureres killed in Kotbada airport, Kalikot.</figcaption></figure>It was 8 December 2002, and my documentary जोगीमाराका ज्युँदाहरु (The Living of Jogimara) was being screened at the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival (KIMFF 2002). The hall at the Russian Cultural Centre in Kathmandu was packed, and the audience had overflowed into the aisles. As director, I should have been sitting on the front row. But I had another job that day: to stand next to the projectionist and at exactly 10 minutes 47 seconds, mute the film for 20 seconds. As directed by the military censors, this was to prevent the audience from hearing the narration: ‘A few days after <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6681#.YgimpChBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the Mangalsen attack</a>, the army arrived at the airfield and opened fire. Thirty-five people were shot dead. Among them were two children, labourers from other parts of Nepal, including 17 young men from Jogimara.’ As a film-maker I had never been trained to mute the sound track during a public screening. My eyes were glued not on the screen but on the digital time counter on the VHS player.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tA34vvNRsSgA year earlier, the Maoists had broken off peace talks and conducted simultaneous raids on army bases across the country. The government declared an emergency, and for the first time mobilised the Royal Nepal Army against the Maoists. Till then it was the police that was fighting the rebels.Today, we know from many countries that crackdowns on the free press in elected democracies can be more draconian than in authoritarian regimes. Twenty years ago, I faced proof of it in that dark auditorium. I was then with <a href="https://cijnepal.org.np" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the Centre for Investigative Journalism Nepal (CIJ)</a>. Freed from day-to-day journalism, the job allowed me to look at the conflict in perspective, put the daily death tolls into context, and examine the human side of the war, and its impact on ordinary people.I was following the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13920#.YgiiHChBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kotbada massacre in Kalikot</a>. News reports were sketchy and contradictory. State media said ‘many terrorists’ had been killed at the under-construction airfield. Another news item buried in the inside pages said that among the ‘terrorists’ were 17 men from <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15172#.YgiiTShBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Jogimara in Dhading district</a>. An RSS report quoted MPs Prem Bahadur Singh from Kalikot and Rajendra Pandey from Dhading as informing the house that the dead were labourers constructing the airfield. <figure><img width="1486" height="1036" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209539c7e80680e0b5535jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>My <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/should-journalists-job-extend-beyond-coverage,1881" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">journalist antennae</a> perked up. I heard from reporter Bhupraj Khadka that a family in Jogimara had conducted a funeral of one of the dead even though it had not received his body from the Army.As a film-maker, I felt this could be a way to portray the cruelty and senselessness of war. But there was an insurgency going on, and filming would be difficult and costly. I approached renowned documentary maker Dhruba Basnet, who had made the film रक्ताम्मे गराहरू (Blood-soaked Terraces) and we had worked together in many parts of Nepal.Rajendra Dahal, editor at Himal Khabarpatrika, offered to publish the story. In Jogimara, I met 15 of the 17 families who had lost their men in a massacre 500km at the other end of Nepal in Kotbada. The story came out in Himal, and Nepali Times <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5700#.Ygih3yhBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">translated it in the issue #106</a> of 9-15 August 2002 (screenshots, below). This was a rare exposé of a conflict-era crime.We started working on the video footage, and were convinced it would be an important documentation of the tragedy. We had to do it on a shoe-string budget, and the film finally premiered at KIMFF 2002.There was pin-drop silence during the screening. From time to time, I could hear sobbing in the dark. But I had to concentrate on the approaching 10:47 on the VHS digital clock. At exactly 47 seconds, projectionist Sudarshan Karki muted the sound. The audience had been quiet till then, but I heard murmurs: “They’re censoring.” I had to have a ready answer in the remaining 32 minutes of the film, because the viewers were sure to have questions afterwards. <img width="1750" height="2448" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209569c7e80680e0b5536jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="2446" height="1096" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209599c7e80680e0b5537jpeg.jpg" alt="">King Gyanendra had just <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5416#.YgikPShBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">sacked elected Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba two months prior</a>, and had appointed Lokendra Bahadur Chand as prime minister. The emergency had been lifted, but now the palace and army were in charge.The Royal Nepal Army had got the district administration and Police Inspector Sukhdev Neupane of Kamal Pokhari station to stop the screening. Neupane called to say his bosses wanted to see the film. I replied that it was shot in a new format, and it would take time to convert. He said the police had state-of-the-art equipment in its tv studio and that wouldn’t be a problem.The police were not just trying to stop my film, but were putting pressure on KIMFF organisers Basanta Thapa and Kanak Mani Dixit to cancel the entire festival. They finally agreed on a compromise: show the film, but mute the parts the military found objectionable.When the screening started, I noticed soldiers in camouflage fatigues enter the hall. They had walkie talkies. When the film ended, there was stunned silence, then applause. The lights went up. I strode to the stage to answer audience questions, and the inevitable one: “Why was the film muted in the middle?”I had prepared my answer, but I saw the soldiers glaring at me from offstage. “The system was working, but it went off for a while,” I said, but could not muster the courage for the rest of my prepared answer: “But don’t ask me whether it was the sound system that was broken, or the country’s system.”I stepped off the stage, telling myself that when confronted with a formidable enemy, it is foolish to wage frontal warfare. It is better to outflank the adversary and go into insurgency mode. The censors had forced me to become a guerrilla film-maker. The 38-minute documentary went on to be a hit, with two additional screenings during the festival. Many wept openly. Basanta Thapa wrote later in Himal: “By trying to censor the film, have we been deprived even of the right to cry for our own country?” After KIMFF 2002, the Ministry of Communications imposed a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4413#.YgikvChBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">censorship rule on all film festival screenings</a>. Since then, there have been many governments that have come and gone in Nepal. But the state has not been able to resist its temptation from time to time to curb the freedom of expression. Mohan Mainali is an author and documentary film-maker.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/6372095c9c7e80680e0b5538jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="145" height="189">

Forbidden to remember the Kotbada massacre

<figure><img width="2400" height="1600" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b83899c7e80680e067741jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>Amidst a dramatic surge in Covid-19 infections in Nepal, Prime Minister K P Oli has announced that all big government and private hospitals and medical colleges will be turned into Covid-19 treatment centres. Wearing a surgical mask in his televised address to the nation on Monday, Oli said hospitals like Bir and the Tri-Chandra Army Hospital in Kathmandu and other big private hospitals in the country would serve only people with Covid-19 infections, while smaller hospitals would be designated for non-Covid-19 patients.   He added that the Nepal Army would be adding 1,000 beds for coronavirus patients in each province as well as in Kathmandu Valley, which has been recording half of all new daily infections nationwide in the past week. Bigger hospitals will be setting up their own oxygen plants, Oli said.  The prime minister’s address appears to have been prompted after widespread criticism that his government had ‘surrendered’ to the second wave that has seen a dramatic increase in daily case load and fatalities in the past month. The daily new Covid-19 cases on Saturday, Sunday and Monday were the highest so far in the pandemic with  5,763, 7,211 and 7,448 testing positive. On Monday, there were 37 fatalities in the past 24 hours, bringing the total tally for Covid-19 deaths to 3,362. Altogether 2,021 people recovered from the disease on Monday, with the number of active cases reaching over 50,000 nationwide. Nepal’s Ministry of Health has said that the Covid-19 spread in the country is not just out of control, but that the proportion of those infected who are seriously ill has also gone up. The Ministry’s statistics show that the number of patients needing ICU and ventilator care has increased rapidly in the past two weeks. Of those patients who needed hospital treatment, 17% were serious enough to need intensive care. The number of active cases in Nepal as of Monday is 54,041, of which 50,171 have mild symptoms and are in home isolation. But there are 3,869 Covid-19 patients in private and government hospitals, of which 578 are in ICU, and of them 141 are on ventilator support. Most of the seriously ill are in Bagmati Province, where Kathmandu Valley is located. Of those hospitalised, 22% in the province are seriously ill, and there are 320 patients in ICU and 88 on ventilators. In Province 2, 26% of those in hospital need intensive care, and the proportion is 33% in Karnali Province. However, only 5% of patients in hospitals in Gandaki Province and 6% in Far-West Province need to be in ICU. <figure><img width="1200" height="621" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b838d9c7e80680e067742jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>A patient at an isolation ward in Nepalganj. Photo: UMA MAGAR</figcaption></figure>The Ministry of Health warned over the weekend that hospitals were full, and that the pandemic had gone “out of control”, asking people to strictly observe precautions. The government is advising people not to come to hospital unless their oxygen levels drop below 92, but most Nepalis do not have oximeters at home and do not go to hospital until it is too late.This has prompted local municipalities and wards to set up their own isolation centres, and even oxygen-equipped spaces for those needing treatment.In Nepalganj, Bheri Hospital and other hospitals are full, and infected health personnel are forced to treat Covid-19 patients because there has been no backup support from the central government. Nepalganj has therefore converted its training centre into its own isolation and treatment centre with 50 oxygen equipped beds. “We are trying to do what we can, and already the centre has ten patients who need oxygen,” says Nepalganj mayor Dhawal Shumshere Rana, who has spent Rs2 million of the city’s own budget to set it up and staff it with doctors and nurses who work in three shifts. Patients are provided free food and ambulance service. “it was much cheaper to cover the training centre, and we could bring the isolation ward into operation within a week, and we hope this will provide some respite to the overwhelmed hospitals,” Rana says. “We now want to add another centre with 100 beds. We want to make sure no one has to die because they could not get oxygen, or a hospital bed.”Banke district on the Indian border is finding 400 new Covid-19 cases every day, and about a third of them need hospital admission. The new isolation centres are designed to take the pressure off the district’s hospitals which are treating patients from all over Karnali and Far-western Province. Only those needing ICU and ventilators will be sent to hospitals, Rana says.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/our-health-system-cant-contain-the-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/our-health-system-cant-contain-the-pandemic/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1620125152099000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEFm7L2FXwPP4VPNvvbKh_wensRNg">Health Minister Hridayesh Tripathi</a> told Nepali Times last week that his government would be adding 1,000 hospital beds in Kathmandu to deal with the rush at hospitals in the capital. “Our health system cannot sustain this level of infections,” he said.In Kathmandu, the Social Welfare Council that regulates the activities of non-profit local and international voluntary organisations on Sunday issued a directive requiring them to set aside from 5-20% of their annual budget for Covid-19 related relief.The Council’s Durga Bhattarai said non-profits with main annual budgets up to Rs50 million need to spend 20% of it on helping with the national coronavirus effort, while those with budgets above Rs500 Millie have to set aside 5%. It says the revenue will be used to buy oxygen cylinders, ICU equipment and ventilators, as well as relief for returnee workers from overseas.With more than 25 of Nepal’s 77 districts under some form of lockdown, local governments have been told to enforce the restrictions more strictly, allowing only essential services, medical emergencies and funerals.Government spokesperson Parvat Gurung said the Cabinet on Sunday decided tis suspend all domestic flights from Monday midnight, and all international flights from Wednesday midnight. However, international airlines serving Kathmandu had not been officially notified of the decision.The Cabinet decision on Monday also said that as per the ‘air bubble’ agreement with India, there would be two weekly flights in both directions between Kathmandu and Delhi, but all passengers would have to spend ten days in hotel quarantine in Kathmandu and it would be strictly enforced.Speaking in English at the end of his address, Oli said: "We are of the view that vaccines and critical care medicines are global goods and everyone should have access to it."

Nepal designates more hospitals for Covid-19 treatment

<figure><img width="2400" height="1600" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636cebac9c7e80680e09ad1ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>Amidst a dramatic surge in Covid-19 infections in Nepal, Prime Minister K P Oli has announced that all big government and private hospitals and medical colleges will be turned into Covid-19 treatment centres. Wearing a surgical mask in his televised address to the nation on Monday, Oli said hospitals like Bir and the Tri-Chandra Army Hospital in Kathmandu and other big private hospitals in the country would serve only people with Covid-19 infections, while smaller hospitals would be designated for non-Covid-19 patients.   He added that the Nepal Army would be adding 1,000 beds for coronavirus patients in each province as well as in Kathmandu Valley, which has been recording half of all new daily infections nationwide in the past week. Bigger hospitals will be setting up their own oxygen plants, Oli said.  The prime minister’s address appears to have been prompted after widespread criticism that his government had ‘surrendered’ to the second wave that has seen a dramatic increase in daily case load and fatalities in the past month. The daily new Covid-19 cases on Saturday, Sunday and Monday were the highest so far in the pandemic with  5,763, 7,211 and 7,448 testing positive. On Monday, there were 37 fatalities in the past 24 hours, bringing the total tally for Covid-19 deaths to 3,362. Altogether 2,021 people recovered from the disease on Monday, with the number of active cases reaching over 50,000 nationwide. Nepal’s Ministry of Health has said that the Covid-19 spread in the country is not just out of control, but that the proportion of those infected who are seriously ill has also gone up. The Ministry’s statistics show that the number of patients needing ICU and ventilator care has increased rapidly in the past two weeks. Of those patients who needed hospital treatment, 17% were serious enough to need intensive care. The number of active cases in Nepal as of Monday is 54,041, of which 50,171 have mild symptoms and are in home isolation. But there are 3,869 Covid-19 patients in private and government hospitals, of which 578 are in ICU, and of them 141 are on ventilator support. Most of the seriously ill are in Bagmati Province, where Kathmandu Valley is located. Of those hospitalised, 22% in the province are seriously ill, and there are 320 patients in ICU and 88 on ventilators. In Province 2, 26% of those in hospital need intensive care, and the proportion is 33% in Karnali Province. However, only 5% of patients in hospitals in Gandaki Province and 6% in Far-West Province need to be in ICU. <figure><img width="1200" height="621" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636cebaf9c7e80680e09ad1fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>A patient at an isolation ward in Nepalganj. Photo: UMA MAGAR</figcaption></figure>The Ministry of Health warned over the weekend that hospitals were full, and that the pandemic had gone “out of control”, asking people to strictly observe precautions. The government is advising people not to come to hospital unless their oxygen levels drop below 92, but most Nepalis do not have oximeters at home and do not go to hospital until it is too late.This has prompted local municipalities and wards to set up their own isolation centres, and even oxygen-equipped spaces for those needing treatment.In Nepalganj, Bheri Hospital and other hospitals are full, and infected health personnel are forced to treat Covid-19 patients because there has been no backup support from the central government. Nepalganj has therefore converted its training centre into its own isolation and treatment centre with 50 oxygen equipped beds. “We are trying to do what we can, and already the centre has ten patients who need oxygen,” says Nepalganj mayor Dhawal Shumshere Rana, who has spent Rs2 million of the city’s own budget to set it up and staff it with doctors and nurses who work in three shifts. Patients are provided free food and ambulance service. “it was much cheaper to cover the training centre, and we could bring the isolation ward into operation within a week, and we hope this will provide some respite to the overwhelmed hospitals,” Rana says. “We now want to add another centre with 100 beds. We want to make sure no one has to die because they could not get oxygen, or a hospital bed.”Banke district on the Indian border is finding 400 new Covid-19 cases every day, and about a third of them need hospital admission. The new isolation centres are designed to take the pressure off the district’s hospitals which are treating patients from all over Karnali and Far-western Province. Only those needing ICU and ventilators will be sent to hospitals, Rana says.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/our-health-system-cant-contain-the-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/our-health-system-cant-contain-the-pandemic/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1620125152099000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEFm7L2FXwPP4VPNvvbKh_wensRNg">Health Minister Hridayesh Tripathi</a> told Nepali Times last week that his government would be adding 1,000 hospital beds in Kathmandu to deal with the rush at hospitals in the capital. “Our health system cannot sustain this level of infections,” he said.In Kathmandu, the Social Welfare Council that regulates the activities of non-profit local and international voluntary organisations on Sunday issued a directive requiring them to set aside from 5-20% of their annual budget for Covid-19 related relief.The Council’s Durga Bhattarai said non-profits with main annual budgets up to Rs50 million need to spend 20% of it on helping with the national coronavirus effort, while those with budgets above Rs500 Millie have to set aside 5%. It says the revenue will be used to buy oxygen cylinders, ICU equipment and ventilators, as well as relief for returnee workers from overseas.With more than 25 of Nepal’s 77 districts under some form of lockdown, local governments have been told to enforce the restrictions more strictly, allowing only essential services, medical emergencies and funerals.Government spokesperson Parvat Gurung said the Cabinet on Sunday decided tis suspend all domestic flights from Monday midnight, and all international flights from Wednesday midnight. However, international airlines serving Kathmandu had not been officially notified of the decision.The Cabinet decision on Monday also said that as per the ‘air bubble’ agreement with India, there would be two weekly flights in both directions between Kathmandu and Delhi, but all passengers would have to spend ten days in hotel quarantine in Kathmandu and it would be strictly enforced.Speaking in English at the end of his address, Oli said: "We are of the view that vaccines and critical care medicines are global goods and everyone should have access to it."

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc489c7e80680e08bc14jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="452"/><figcaption>A narrow ridge that served as a helipad in Kalikot district back in 2004 when the Maoist War was on its peak. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>Twenty-five years after the Maoist insurgency started on 13 February 1996, journalists who covered that war remember their own experiences reporting on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/end-of-war-is-not-peace/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the conflict</a>.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc4b9c7e80680e08bc15jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="467"><figcaption>One of the many ruins left behind by a decade long Maoist War 1996-2006.</figcaption></figure>Shivering with fearWe reached Pandusen of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15778#.YCx9Si2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bajura district</a> in September 2003. Men were ploughing a terrace with two oxen and sowing wheat. We took out our camera and tripod. But when the men saw us, they fled. Later one of them told us, “We are afraid of strangers. We thought you were soldiers.” He told us the army had come through and killed six people in the village, including Padam Bahadur Shahi.At Padam Bahadur’s house, relatives were in mourning. “He had gone to harvest paddy, he had done nothing wrong, ” his mother Koila told us, weeping. “They brought him here and hit him with rocks.”Padam’s father Gorakh Bahadur said the soldiers even kicked their baby grandson, injuring him. “They led my son away and I followed,” he told us. “They were beating him all the way, his teeth were scattered across the road, he was bleeding.”We climbed up the trail to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2027#.YCx9Ty2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Martadi</a>. Within half-an-hour we were at Ramlal Damai’s house. He had been killed with a bullet in his head, and his relatives were wailing as they removed his body from the house. Further up in the village of Angaupani, we came across a whole village in mourning for six men who had been killed by soldiers the previous day.We reached Kolti airfield where 12 police had recently been killed. Nearby, the army had killed another 10 villagers accusing them of being Maoists. A couple was in shock after their children aged 10 and five were killed after a Maoist pipe bomb they found in the forest exploded. All around us there was nothing but death and destruction.A year later, I went to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/a-battered-future,3218" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kailali</a> and Bardia which had the highest number of disappeared during the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-lingering-trauma-of-war/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">conflict</a>. Their relatives are still waiting for truth and justice.In war, people take to guns. But ultimately it is the gun that takes people away.Mohan Mainali<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc4e9c7e80680e08bc16jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="669"><figcaption>A father trying to stop his young son who had decided to join the Maoists. Khotang 2004.</figcaption></figure>Families torn apartIn February 2000, we travelled to the Maoist heartland of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12393#.YCx-nC2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rolpa</a>, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6164#.YCx-vC2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rukum</a> and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2928#.YCx-yC2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Jajarkot</a>. Along the way, we noticed police sentry posts located on treetops for safety. The policemen were playing carom with guns slung on their shoulders. We knew we were entering a war zone. In Libang, we visited Maoist prisoners in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/the-spark-that-lit-the-Maoist-revolution,2870" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rolpa</a> district jail. They spoke about being innocent, framed and tortured by the police. We interviewed a Maoist leader, Lokendra Bista. He told us the revolution was actually in response to state violence, but he said the resolution of the conflict was only possible through dialogue, not through violence.In Khalanga of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=328#.YCx-ty2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rukum</a>, there was also a lot of fear. Many who had been driven out or tortured by the Maoists had fled to the district headquarters for safety. We came across children cooking by themselves. One 11-year-old was kneading dough, but he wept as he told us: “The police killed our father and mother, I feel like drinking the blood from their hearts.”Four years later, we went to eastern Nepal. By this time, the army had joined <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10616#.YCx-lC2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the war</a> and Maoist influence had spread throughout the country. One indelible memory of that time was the farewell of a distraught father in Chisapani of Khotang for his ninth grader student son, Kiran Bista.In the video, the father clutches the boy’s legs and does not want to let go. The boy tries to placate his father: “Don’t do this, Dad. My friends all have fathers. We are all going to war, please don’t do this.”A confident speaker, Kiran later told us later on camera: “I am joining out of my own free will because I have understood that we have to fight for our country.”When we got to Mugu, local Maoists detained us for 22 hours. But it was not till we got to Mudbara of Doti that we found out just how badly the war had affected children. The army had attacked a school in September 2004 after they found out the Maoists had gone there to recruit. Six of the Maoists were killed, but so were four students.“I didn’t even know I had been hit, I was unconscious when they took me to hospital,” said one student Dharma Bhurtel. Her mother, Krishna Maya, broke down as she told us of the pain at seeing her only daughter wounded.Bishnu Prasad was hiding inside a classroom with other students, when soldiers kicked the door in and started shooting. He was hit, and paralysed. “I like to go to school, but I cannot walk now.”Teachers were on the frontlines of the war, and nearly 220 of them were killed by both sides. “After the war started, we were caught in the crossfire. Whichever side fires the guns it is us teachers who get killed,” Ram Bahadur Raut principal of the Chisapani Secondary School in Khotang told us then.Dhruba Basnet<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc529c7e80680e08bc17jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="518"><figcaption>Many Maoist cadre associated carrying guns with being powerful and empowered.</figcaption></figure>Power of the gun<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12319#.YCx_3C2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Children</a> would follow us everywhere. They were very loyal to the Maoist party. Even 10-year-old <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13190#.YCx_5i2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">children</a> had been so effectively brainwashed that they would speak in Maoist jargon, saying “When the revolution is successful, we will be also be rich and powerful.” And they believed it.We went to homes, and heard families talk about the fear of both the police and guerrillas. The Maoists had ordered every household to contribute at least one person to attend their revolutionary meetings and listen to speeches. We attended those cultural programs, as well. The Maoists cadre were full of enthusiasm and energy, <a href="https://www.google.com/url?client=internal-element-cse&amp;cx=bead8272edd0f2143&amp;q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/still-singing-and-dancing/&amp;sa=U&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiYw6ix8O_uAhUy83MBHRiACWYQFjAAegQIBhAC&amp;usg=AOvVaw06kcWD1ctXQGTrve9YQNmE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">singing and performing revolutionary dances</a> about the liberation of the proletariat. Villagers watched with interest, but there was fear in their eyes.The armed Maoists looked like they were really empowered. I asked some of them how it felt to be carrying a gun? They used to reply: “I feel powerful, now no one can do anything to me.”Amrita Lamsalhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzHLTaNnSDo&amp;feature=youtu.beThe smell of fearIn October 2004, we took a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=1890#.YCybTI8zbAU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">helicopter from Surkhet to Kalikot</a>, flying over the mountains of Dailekh and the Karnali River. On the left we could see Kotbada, where a year previously the Royal Nepal Army had <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2017/02/13/tears-of-joy-and-sorrow-in-kalikot/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">killed 36 workers building an airfield</a>, mistaking them to be Maoist guerrillas. We were in the heart of the conflict zone to understand how the war was affecting ordinary people in the Karnali.<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_219.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kalikot was remote then</a>, as the highway was still being built. At the end of the first day’s walk in Pili, we saw small children slither down from tree tops and scamper off to the village. We found out they were Maoist ‘wholetimers’ on sentry duty.The local Maoists held a village gathering that evening and paraded us on the stage, accusing us of being military spies and “royal mongrels”. The language they used during interrogation that night was straight out of the Khmer Rouge. Two years later, 55 soldiers were killed in a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=721#.YCyBmi2B3R0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Maoist attack in Pili</a>.Finally let off the next day, we were detained again in Jubitha by 12-13 year-olds with guns. They could not read, and held our press passes upside down. “We are now in the armed struggle phase of our revolution,” said one youngster.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc559c7e80680e08bc18jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="467"><figcaption>Comrade Mukti in Kalikot in 2004.</figcaption></figure>Along the trail, we passed a group of women guerrillas who gave us red salutes and gripped us in firm handshakes. It was a surprise to see such empowered young women in what was at that time, a part of western Nepal most steeped in patriarchy.As we got closer to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/No-peace,432" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Jumla</a> amidst the spectacular scenery of golden terraces of ripening paddy, the blue-green Tila River and the snow-capped Kanjiroba in the distance, there were signs of war damage. Ruins of destroyed homes, charred buildings, empty silent streets. There was no laughter from children, they peered at us from behind upstairs windows, no one talked to strangers. You could smell the fear in the air.Kunda Dixit<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc589c7e80680e08bc19jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="362"><figcaption>Baburam Tamang, one of the 18 Maoist cadre massacred in Ramechap in 2003.</figcaption></figure>The National Human Rights Commission was sending a team to investigate the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4639#.YCylnY8zbAU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">massacre of 18 Maoist cadre in Doramba</a> of Ramechhap on 17 August 2003. It included former Chief Justice Krishna Jung Rayamajhi, former Attorney General Bhim Bahadur Bista, forensic physician Harihar Awasti, advocate Hari Phuyal and myself. We reached Doramba 11 days after the killings and found the fresh graves.Local Maoists had gathered at the home of Yubaraj Moktan. The army encircled the house, and those who could, escaped. The others were rounded up, and were led off up towards the Sailung forest with hands tied behind their backs. The army unit was led by Major Ram Mani Pokhrel. Down in the village, people heard calls for help, and then gunshots.The villagers helped us exhume the bodies, and Harihar Awasti went down to examine them one by one. He would dictate the details, which I noted down and shared with Hari Phuyal. The stench of rotting bodies was overpowering. Villagers would recognise the faces, and point to them, saying: “That is Bishnu Maya. That is Lila.” Most had been shot at point blank range in the forehead.A young man handed me a 35mm film roll. We developed it, and found images of the bodies had been thrown over the edge after being killed. And there was a photograph of a local man named <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18623" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Baburam Tamang</a>, the only one without a gunshot in the forehead, but in the arm. It looked like he had bled to death.Villagers told us that night they had heard someone up the mountain call out for help “Ama, ama.” But they were too afraid to go up and check. We think it was a dying Baburam Tamang.The villagers had later buried the bodies, wrapping them in cloth and flag. Nearby was a pile of half-burnt personal effects of those who had been killed. Among them, I found a notepad belonging to Bishnu Maya Thapa Magar, one of those who had been killed.Kanak Mani Dixit

From the frontlines of Nepal’s war

<h2>14 years and 11 prime ministers later</h2> Text and photographs by Bikkil SthapitMany of the over 1,300 people still listed as missing after the Maoist war in Nepal left behind material objects. These are the only memories that remain, connecting the families to the loved ones who were disappeared. These memorabilia from the decade-long war are the only substantial things that the family members have protected – 14 years after the conflict ended. They occupy a special place in the family homes and work places, preserving their presence. The objects also keep faint hopes alive that by some miracle, the family member will suddenly reappear one day. More than 17,000 Nepalis were killed during the insurgency, there were brutal human rights violations and war crimes, including summary executions, disappearances, torture, rape, solitary confinement. Since the end of the conflict in 2006, limited support has been provided to survivors and their families of the disappeared. However, there are no answers to questions like whether they are alive or dead, who killed them, why, where, when? The Comprehensive Peace Accord (CPA) was signed on 21 November 2006 between the government of Nepal and the Maoist party. It brought ‘peace’ to a country weary of war, and propelled the former guerrillas to power. However, 14 years and 11 prime ministers later, there have been no efforts to trace the missing, and tell families the truth, or give them justice. Two commissions were formed to investigate gross human rights violations and charge perpetrators, but neither have done much. The discourse around transitional justice in Nepal has approached memory, truth and justice in legalistic terms so that the experience of acute loss of families is often lost. Missing are the personal accounts of survivors and families of victims. <figure><img width="1500" height="1019" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba7fd9c7e80680e0737b7jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8009c7e80680e0737b8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1000" height="1401" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8039c7e80680e0737b9jpeg.jpg" alt="">When my brother, Ajaya Shahi, earned his first salary he bought this shirt. He was  disappeared by the Army on 19 July, 2004. I have safely kept my brothers’ shirt in a separate box.Bijaya ShahiKirtipur <img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8069c7e80680e0737bajpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="640" height="897" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8099c7e80680e0737bbjpeg.jpg" alt="">My father used to make bronze Buddhas. Why is the army still not telling us what happened to him? Will this bring the peace to the country?Nagma MaliDaughter of Nanda Gopal MaliThecho, Lalitpur <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba80c9c7e80680e0737bcjpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba80f9c7e80680e0737bdjpeg.jpg" alt="">My husband used to carry this sickle all the time in the rice field. It has been lying here ever since he was disappeared, and it is rusted. I have been keeping it safely as his last memento.Ramkali Devi TharuWife of Guru Prasad KathariyaRajapur, Bardia <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8139c7e80680e0737bejpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8169c7e80680e0737bfjpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8199c7e80680e0737c0jpeg.jpg" alt="">My son used to recite from this Bible at church where we went together. I have kept this Bible thinking he will return some day. When that happens I will hand it over to him.Ratna Kumari MaliMother of Baburaja MaliGodavari, Lalitpur. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba81c9c7e80680e0737c1jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption></figcaption></figure>My son used the this plough whenever we went to the fields together. Today, we only have the plough. I cannot use it, and my son cannot use it.Surjan TharuBardia <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba81f9c7e80680e0737c2jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8229c7e80680e0737c3jpeg.jpg" alt="">He started to work for a pharmacy to manage the household expenses after his father died. This wall clock is the first thing he bought from his salary.I keep looking at it to pass the time till my son returns home. Mohan Maya MaliMother of Rajendra MaliGodavari, Lalitpur.During his 14-month-long jail time, my brother used to send us letters by hiding them inside biscuits and noodle packets. That's how we received this letter too. Butter Cracker and Wai Wai noodles still remind me of him. Even today, whenever I see biscuit and noodles, I anxiously think there might be a letter in it from him.He was in touch with our family until 22 November, 2003. The last letter that we received was written from Sundhara Central Jail.Sapana SuwarnakarSister of the disappeared Ashok AkelaBorlang-5, Gorkha <img width="1131" height="1500" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8269c7e80680e0737c4jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1000" height="1500" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8299c7e80680e0737c5jpeg.jpg" alt="">I was taken to Bhairabnath Batallion on 12 December, 2004. I was wearing this sweater when the army freed me and dropped me off at Banasthali Chok on February 17, 2005. Swatantra Chaulagain of Bhote Chaur, Sindhupalchok, had given me this sweater while we were in the army camp together. “Please register my name at Amnesty. Don’t quit the party if you return safely,” he had told me.Swatantra Chaulagain is still missing.Ujjwal Acharya (name changed)KavreBikkil Sthapit is a rights activist and a photographer who has been documenting the issue of enforced disappearances in Nepal. He also runs the oral history initiative SunaMeroKatha.com These profiles were prepared during the Memory, Truth &amp; Justice project of VOW Media.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <h2>“We went everywhere, but we got no answers” </h2> Text and photographs by Sabrina Dangol <figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba82c9c7e80680e0737c6jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>The doorway to Ram Maya’s rented room.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba82f9c7e80680e0737c7jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya Nakarmi’s husband Padma Narayan's picture on the wall.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1001" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8339c7e80680e0737c8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>A collection of old pictures of Ram Maya’s husband and relatives.</figcaption></figure>Ram Maya Nakarmi, 44, is packing up all her belongings as she prepares to move her residence again. She has been renting a one-bedroom flat with her only daughter, Lumana Nakarmi.It will be the fourth time she moves homes in the last five years, after the 2015 earthquake destroyed her old house, the same one where her husband, Padam Narayan Nakarmi, was forcefully taken away in 2003.Padam Narayan used to work as an ironmonger in a small grill shop in Bungmati. They had been married for five years, and Ram Maya knew that he had been in touch with the Maoist party off and on."Deep down I knew it was coming," she says, remembering that eight of his friends had got arrested a few days earlier.When they came for him, it all happened so fast that she only remembers pleading with the security personnel to let her accompany him to the police station. They refused, but assured her he would return the next day. It has been 17 years, and she never saw her husband again."When they came for Padam, they climbed into our room through a ladder. They didn't even knock or give us a time to decide anything,” Ram Maya recalls. “If I had known back then, I would have locked all the doors and windows shut."<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8379c7e80680e0737c9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="999">Ram Maya retrieving her husband’s picture from her purse.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba83a9c7e80680e0737cajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1482" height="988">Ram Maya’s reflection caught in the mirror. <figure><img width="640" height="928" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba83e9c7e80680e0737cbjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Portrait of Ram Maya Nakarmi in her rented home in Bungamati.</figcaption></figure>In the months following her husband’s arrest, Ram Maya went to police stations almost every day, walking up to 10km into town and back. Buses were scarce and the fare was expensive. Some of his friends were freed and told her that they had all been together in Bhairabnath Battalion base in Maharajganj for months.Later, Padam Narayan had been separated and taken somewhere else. So, Ram Maya visited Bhairabnath and the army base in Lagankhel regularly for two years.Her daughter Lumana, who was four years old, kept asking for her father. So she took her small child with her to Maharajganj and pleaded with the authorities to at least let her daughter see her father, but they did not allow her.Ram Maya was told to go to the Royal Nepal Army headquarters, and she kept going there, but no one wanted to tell her anything."I am not literate. I don't have people skills, nor can I present an argument properly. My brother-in-law helped me and accompanied me everywhere, but it was of no use. We got no answers," she recalls. <figure><img width="1500" height="999" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8419c7e80680e0737ccjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya’s daughter Lumana Nakarmi working in her laptop.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8439c7e80680e0737cdjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya Nakarmi looking out of the window from her rented room in Bungamati.</figcaption></figure>Ram Maya's in-laws supported her for the first two years of her search, but they also lost hope. Her daughter also stopped asking about her father, and stopped even mentioning him.She got a factory job in Bungamati and focused on raising her daughter, who is now 20, studying and working at the same time. Neither mother nor daughter likes to remember those dark days any more. Ram Maya says, "We somehow survived amidst all the chaos and grief, but it feels like a part of both of our lives have been lost. I say that I have given up, but deep down I still hope for his return.”More on series of features for the International Day of Disappeared:<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-empty-chairs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The empty chairs</a>, Guligo Jia<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/disappearance-of-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Disapperance of justice</a>, Sabrina Dangol

Only memories remain

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6c9c7e80680e077f2fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="780"/><figcaption>Himani Tharu is so frustrated with her job as the only female mahout in a Bardia National Park elephant camp that she mustered the courage to speak to a journalist. Photo: MUKESH POKHREL</figcaption></figure>Himani Tharu may be the first female elephant mahout serving in Nepal's national parks, but her story is hardly inspirational.Instead, it exposes a system that is unable to welcome gender inclusivity. She faces double discrimination: first because she is a woman and second for belonging to an indigenous community.Harassed by her lower-level co-workers, and ignored by senior staff, Himani says she hopes no one will follow in her footsteps and become a female mahout.“I wouldn’t wish this much suffering upon anyone,” she says.Born on the outskirts of the Bardia National Park, Himani Tharu, 27, grew up close to elephant sanctuaries, and was familiar with both elephants and the people who cared for them.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">3/4th of the sky</a>, EditorialDespite that, Himani did not really want to become a mahout. She had plans to graduate from school and get a regular office job. But ten years ago, the Public Service Commission put out a notice for the position of a female mahout, and her family encouraged her to apply because it supposed to be a stable government job.Himani struggled to keep up with the demands of her new profession: she had to learn to take care of elephants, collect grass, take the elephants out to graze, constantly feed them, and clean up after them. She was also required to ride the elephants on the Nepal Army’s jungle patrols.She loved the elephants, especially a baby one, and made friends with them. It was her human co-workers who were unhelpful, disrespectful and ordered her around.“Sometimes they would leave me alone in the middle of the jungle and I would get lost. Other times they would lead my elephant into the river and leave it there,” she says.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s better halves</a>, Anil ChitrakarAs the only female among 30 mahouts at the national park, she is often targetted for bullying and harassment, but there is no one she could talk to because of the park's hierarchy.“Had there been about three or four of us women, they would not have dared misbehave but I am the only woman,” says Himani, recalling how her colleagues would deliberately make loud obscene conversations when she was around. When she told them to stop, they scolded her instead.Himani faced constant attacks on her character and integrity. Every time she even spoke to a fellow-mahout or asked for help from a male co-worker, she would subject to vicious teasing.“One of the senior male mahouts used to help me, but after other men in the camp started associating us he was intimidated and stopped coming near me,” says Himani.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/betterforbalance/">#BalanceforBetter</a>, Namrata SharmaAll complaints to senior officers at the camp were ignored, and Himani felt there was no point reporting her colleagues anymore when they engaged in lewd conversation when she was around.The whole system is gender-blind. The elephant camp does not have separate quarters for women, and she has to sleep in a dorm with 15 other men. It is worse when she had to go on overnight jungle patrols in Bardia National Park.Fed up with the treatment and frustrated with her job, Himani mustered the courage to speak frankly to a journalist. She said she had packed up to quit her job many times, but was always persuaded by her relatives and friends to stick it out.She says: “I am determined to find another job, and finally resign during this lockdown. I have put up with everything for so long, I don’t know how long I can take this.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/epidemic-of-online-sexism/">Epidemic of online sexism</a>, Shusma Barali<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Online-violence-against-women,2915" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Online violence against women</a>, Sahina Shrestha

Don’t follow my footsteps, says female mahout

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

Four international names in architecture, Shigeru Ban, Rem Koolhaas, Tadao Ando and Louis Isadore Kahn, all left their mark in Nepal. But despite their best intentions, the ambitious designs fizzled out. Ban, Koolhaas and Ando won Pritzkers, the best known international award for architecture, and Kahn could have won it had the prize been given in his lifetime. But their designs fell short of transforming Nepali architecture and did not help inspire local architects.&nbsp; Why were these four ‘starchitects’ unable to pull off their Nepal projects and enrich the country with exemplary contemporary designs? The failure, especially the violation of Kahn’s design, also raises larger questions about how much contemporary architecture is valued in Nepal.&nbsp; Whereas Sri Lanka had Geoffrey Bawa and Bangladesh had Mazharul Islam, the pioneers of contemporary architecture in Nepal have had far less public appreciation. One wonders if Nepali architecture only refers to the monuments and heritage of the past. Nepal does have examples of outstanding modern architecture such as the &nbsp;पाङ्रे घर ‘Wheel House’ and खुट्टे घर &nbsp;‘House on Legs’ by Shankar Nath Rimal in the 1960s. These are the best examples of how some Nepali designers successfully tailored modern architecture to the Nepali context.&nbsp; Ten years ago, Nepal had three architecture magazines, SPACES, praXis and Business Architecture, but none of these survived. This newspaper has prominently covered contemporary architecture, and the built environment, but these are exceptions in Nepal’s media. There have been a few encouraging signs. The 2024 exhibition Modern Encounters in Architecture in Kathmandu Valley (1945-1985) at the Taragaon Museum had many visitors and its accompanying book is a seminal document.&nbsp; In 2023, the Mountain Architecture Dialogue (MAD) that focused on examples of good-practice sustainable contemporary architecture for the mountainous terrains of Nepal was a packed event with over 300 young architects, engineers, environmentalists and architecture students. <h2>Shigeru Ban</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe" data-rendition-name="original" width="990" height="1074" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  Shigeru Ban had already built a name for himself in post-disaster construction when he came to Nepal following the 2015 earthquakes in which 500,000 people lost their homes. The basic design and its 3D-rendered images were reviewed in upbeat articles on DOMUS, Architectural Review, Dezeen, and Arch Daily.&nbsp; But his signature cardboard tubes could not handle the monsoon and the roof structure had to be re-designed with timber. Only two shelters were completed in Sindupalchok, and only one of them still stands at the Hyatt Regency grounds today, as Ban’s souvenir to Nepal.&nbsp; <h2>Rem Koolhaas</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="722" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  The designs of Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas have a specific signature: bold shapes and an intriguing architectural typology that challenges standard building blocks. Some designs even seem to defy gravity, like the CCTV headquarters in Beijing: an angular, continuous geometry of glass and steel.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1812" height="1168" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Rem Koolhaas' design for Ullen's School in Khumaltar.</figcaption> </figure>  Koolhaas was commissioned by Belgian billionaire Guy Ullens to design a new building for Ullens School in Khumaltar. The most prominent feature is its vertical glass block staircase. Some interior spaces have lowered windowsills, which provide ample views and daylight. But the school building has gone unremarked in Nepal. <h2>Tadao Ando</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675" data-rendition-name="original" width="626" height="628" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> </figure>  Doctors providing aid to victims of the Great Hanshin earthquake in 1995 in Japan requested Tadao Ando, who had donated his Pritzker money to the victims, to also make a design for a hospital in Butwal.&nbsp; Ando’s contribution would be pro-bono and the construction was funded by the Hanshin Earthquake victims and by the popular Japanese newspaper Mainichi, as a tribute to Nepali doctors. The first block that Ando designed for the Siddhartha Children and Women’s Hospital (SCWH) was the out-patient department. He quickly realised that he would not be able to pull off structures with his typical style of smooth-finished, high-quality concrete.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579" data-rendition-name="original" width="1594" height="958" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Tadao Ando's Siddhartha Children and Women Hospital in Butwal.</figcaption> </figure>  Ando wrote in the online architectural catalog Architectuul, that the two main problems with the project were costs and the availability of local technology. ‘It became a facility that has a slightly different expression from the buildings I have completed so far,’ he wrote. He designed a colonnade for the west façade that would provide shelter from harsh sunlight, and the exposed brick walls were locally manufactured bricks.&nbsp; The hospital is characterised by modernist cuboidal massing, but the outer brick façades now appear unintentionally badly weathered by monsoons. The interiors lack both sufficient natural light and natural ventilation. <h2>Louis I Kahn</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f" data-rendition-name="original" width="694" height="926" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  American architect Louis I Kahn had experience of projects in South Asia, and several were under construction when he died suddenly in 1974. Amongst these were the National Assembly complex in Dhaka, the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad and the Family Planning and Maternal Child Welfare Centre in Kathmandu.&nbsp; Kahn had started the USAID funded project in Nepal by developing a master plan for the government institutional zone in Kathmandu, which included a building for the Health Ministry. The building’s façade in exposed brick has deeply recessed vertical windows for shading.&nbsp; The balancing of accentuated horizontal lines in the brickwork with the verticality of the larger composition is the work of a master. The brick walls rise up into punctured parapet walls at the roof level. These square apertures ‘frame the sky’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1924" height="1242" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Louis Kahn's plan for the Ministry of Health.</figcaption> </figure>  When Kahn died, only the eastern half of the building was finished. The Western part was never built and Nepal’s bureaucrats decided that without paint, the exposed brick façade was not finished. Then in 1995, citing roof leakage and a space crunch, the Health Ministry added a floor.&nbsp; The frames-to-the-sky in the roof parapet were converted into windows and topped off with a sloping roof of corrugated steel sheets, whose only virtue was that it was cost-effective.&nbsp; Kahn’s orthogonal composition, which clean horizontal and vertical lines, was desecrated despite a public outcry and legal challenges from architects and cultural organisations. A version of this article was first published in HIMAL Southasian. Illustrations by Varun S Bapu.

Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal

If you were raised in Nepal, you must have picked up its unique set of vocabulary: आन्दोलन, चक्का जाम, बन्द, राँके जुलुस, आफ्नो मान्छे, हाम्रो दल, कर्फु and many more words connoting political protest.
We became familiar with the acrid smell of burning tyres, and eyes smarting from tear gas. And yet, everyone speaks of another revolution in the making. Not by desire, but by suffocation.
We heard speeches about नयाँ नेपाल, but the New Nepal never arrived. The governance system changed, but it did not reflect on people’s lives — except for those close to centres of power. The state is still unreachable and is not bothered about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/matter-of-life-and-debt">victims of loan sharks</a>, cooperative scams and other injustices.
Politicians continue to speak in sound bites, but fail to deliver. They have mastered the game of pointing fingers towards an external enemy and convincing people that they are never at fault. The political narrative is so disconnected from the actual analysis of the problem that suffocation doesn’t go away after every revolution.
No genuine effort has been made to deliver at all, which is why there is a palpable sense of disillusionment in the air forcing us to seek another revolution, even if Nepal may not be able to afford it.
How has the current system successfully held power, even if the public is deeply frustrated? How is it that for three decades we continue to be led by the same faces, who have time and again, proved to us that they may be great politicians but not national leaders?
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/improving-internet-governance-in-nepal">My experience at the epicentre of politics</a> has led me to identify three cultures that have enabled political parties to keep a tight hold on power: acceptance, silence and dependency.
We accept things the way they are. We use fatalistic phrases like “नेपालमा यस्तै हो” or “नेपालको कानुन दैब जानुन”. While this resilience enables us to rise back up from devastating calamities, it is also a reason for our compliance with the status quo.
Despite so many ‘revolutions’ that have led to significant reforms, these phrases keep getting reinforced, to the point that the upcoming generations have made it their lingo.&nbsp;
This acceptance is not a symbol of law-abiding citizens, but citizens living in fear of those in power, unable to ask the whys and why-nots.
Innovation suffocates in this culture of acceptance of the status quo. This is manifested in remarks like “but we don’t have any laws for this,” or “we don’t have the capacity to implement this”. An innovator or entrepreneur therefore has to spend that energy to become a political lobbyist, often educating and convincing the bureaucracy.&nbsp;
Remember when locally assembled <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/designed-and-made-in-nepal">Yatri motorbikes</a>, despite having willing customers, had to suffer to secure license numbers because of a lack of regulations? Instead of creating new laws, the government kept chanting the “We will promote Nepal-made goods” mantra, leaving entrepreneurs in a labyrinth of bureaucracy. The weight of acceptance of the law lies heavily on innovators. Fatalism is a tactic used by those in power to generate mass fear in society.
When we accept, we become silent. This is a pervasive phenomenon. We are trained to keep quiet, lest we ruffle feathers, burn bridges, or not get the help we need in future. We know, yet we don’t speak.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bureaucratic-hurdles-in-researching-nepals-bureaucracy">Bureaucratic hurdles in researching Nepal's bureaucracy</a>, Daniel W Edwards
Here is one example: the 2021 census shows that the number of baby boys born for every 100 baby girls is 112. This is a clear indication of female foeticide because of boy preference in society.
Despite such horrifying realities, there is finger-pointing within the government between the Ministry of Health and Population with the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the citizen level, we know those who are involved in killing girls. Yet, we don’t speak up. The Nepal Medical Council reports state that despite this gender imbalance at birth, there is no indication of any action.
But why would anyone speak against one's own fraternity, no matter how vile the act is?
When we accept and keep quiet, we become dependent on those who yield power. From getting our government procedure completed on time to getting transfers, to accessing any of our legally protected rights as well, we are forced to depend on our networks of चिनेको मान्छे people we know by blood, village, relations, political affiliation.
The culture of dependency has been the established way in Nepal. If you drive a two-wheeler or four-wheeler, and you get into a small accident, you will be asked to sort it yourself, dialing up the most powerful person you know. It becomes a competition of who knows who.
Recently I was told that there were calls from the Ministry of Health and Population and another from the Prime Minister's Office for just one medical position in a private hospital. Each was pushing its own candidate. Guess which candidate got the position.&nbsp;
The dependency of people is not on the laws or the state, it is with people in power, a reliance on the network of somebody who knows somebody, including those not officially in power.
These cultures are deeply ingrained in our heads, and in society. Collectively they form a vicious circle that helps those in power to retain power. This is not the society we want to live in.
Then, what do we do as a collective to break away from this? How do we break away from the cultures of acceptance and silence that have created this dependency? What can we do to ensure that our children do not have to learn the jargon of आन्दोलन before they learn about the state?
These are the cultures political parties need to shed rather than use them to perpetuate their power. This is what <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/an-alternative-to-alternative-politics-in-nepal">alternative politics</a> needs to be about.
Sumana Shrestha is a member of Parliament’s Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee and represents the Rastriya Swatantara Party.

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