<figure><img width="1400" height="1185" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e3149c7e80680e033363jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Walkley</figcaption></figure>Last week’s edition of this paper carried a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-democracy-and-free-press-in-the-philippines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">report</a> on the Philippines under President Rodrigo Duterte. In it, investigative reporter Rameshwar Bohara painted a bleak picture of how a country known for its vibrant civil society and long struggle to restore and protect democracy is now threatened by a populist president who boasts about having shot people.Duterte is among a new breed of elected despots who use populist slogans to get to power and proceed to dismantle the rule of law and democratic institutions. Bohara warns that the Philippines holds important lessons for Nepal where a retreat to authoritarianism is a real possibility.Fed up with crime, corruption and the stranglehold on politics by an entrenched business elite, <a href="http://alfpnetwork.net/en/e-magazine001_03/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Filipinos</a> voted overwhelmingly for Duterte. The president’s preferred method of dealing with drugs and crime is through encounter killings. More than 5,000 people have been killed under Duterte so far, and human rights groups say most of them are innocent or minor offenders.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/mr-province-2/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mr Province 2</a>, Om Astha RaiThis is why it was ominous to hear Makwanpur police chief Lokendra Shrestha announce recently that he would use ‘encounters’ to rid his district of crime. He told businesspersons and media that he had a carte blanche from Home Minister Ram Bahadur Thapa to shoot on sight. Nepal Police’s role in criminal investigation has now been taken over by the Home Ministry. On Monday, an alleged gangster was shot in an ‘encounter’ in broad daylight in the capital.Indeed, Minister Thapa (a former Maoist guerrilla commander himself) has been going beyond his ministry’s mandate to crack down on bus syndicates, lethargic road contractors, and even sidewalk vegetable and meat vendors. The criminal investigation and legal process are bypassed as suspects are taken straight to jail – presumed guilty until proven innocent. There may be some support for this from people sick of syndicates and swindlers, but it has eroded the rule of law, demoralised honest policemen, and flouted due process.The Home Ministry’s over-reach has been taken by many as yet another worrying sign of an authoritarian tendency in the united Communist government, which with its new Madhesi partner now has more than two-thirds majority in Parliament. Prime Minister Oli obviously has to balance his former party’s democratic values with the Maoists who have never formally abandoned violence as a political tool, and never apologised for conflict-era excesses.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-rebels-to-rulers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">From rebels to rulers</a>, Om Astha Rai<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/gangamaya-hunger-justice,4180" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gangamaya Adhikari</a>, the mother of a teenager allegedly abducted, tortured and killed by the Maoists, is on the third week of her fast unto death at Bir Hospital. Her husband <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/Maoist-hungry-ghosts,3261" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nanda Prasad</a> died three years ago during their prolonged hunger strike, and his body is still in the hospital’s morgue. She resumed her fast on Republic Day, when the government got a presidential pardon for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/united-we-stand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bal Krishna Dhungel</a>, a Maoist convicted of a murder during the war.The Maoists are hoping that by merging with the relatively-clean UML, they can wash the blood off their hands, and keep transitional justice in limbo. That plan may very well work. However, this has engrained a culture of impunity, and the idea that anyone can get away with anything. Thus, corruption in all three organs of government is eating away at the state structure from within, dashing hopes that last year’s elections would ensure accountability and good governance.There are other examples this week of the Communist government bristling at free speech. Information Minister Gokul Banskota closed down a NTV program after the anchor grilled him about his asset declaration. And Pushpa Kamal Dahal, angry at media reports of his landlord being the main defaulter on road contracts, warned journalists they were getting too big for their boots.The Nepal Communist Party’s election promise of ‘stability’ is becoming synonymous with ‘absolutism’. And ‘prosperity’seems to apply only to office-bearers. We already see evidence of this at the municipality and rural levels where contractors elected to office are <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/trickledown-corruption,4176" target="_blank" rel="noopener">plundering natural resources</a>. And in Kathmandu there is tendency to make high-profile populist crackdowns without due process, with no followup.The Cabinet is expected to approve new guidelines under the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-crow-and-the-scarecrow/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">National Integrity Policy</a> which, as we reported here in a previous issue, sound draconian and so broadly worded that anyone can be taken in for anything. The code of conduct for INGOs, aid agencies and foreign missions appear to be intended for control rather than cooperation. All this is being justified in the name of stopping religious conversion, protecting national unity, and removing corruption.A government really serious about controlling organised crime would go after the Biplab faction of the Maoists who tried to violently disrupt elections, and in the past months have been terrorising, extorting, and confiscating property throughout the land. The comrades are being allowed to do whatever they like by their erstwhile comrades in government.As we <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-rebels-to-rulers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">report from Province 2</a>, it is an irony of our times that a federal state that was supposed to devolve power to local elected assemblies is now more centralised than ever before. In fact, today power is concentrated in the hands of only two men: PM Oli and PM-in-waiting Dahal. <h2>10 years ago this week</h2> The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14920#.WyPPzxIzYnU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">front page</a> image of #404 of Nepali Times dated 13-19 June 2008, says it all. Here is an excerpt from the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14922#.WyPP8xIzYnU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">editorial</a>:Two weeks after the declaration of the republic, the debate over who should be the first president is deadlocked. Two months after the elections, the Maoists have still not been able to form a government.History repeats itself as farce. We have voted to power a utopian ideology that the rest of the world paid for with the death of tens of millions. One could never accuse Nepali politicians of being ahead of the times, but we had never realised till now just what a bunch of dinosaurs they are.There were socio-political reasons for the Maoist victory, of course. Perhaps contributing to it also was our collective blind spot for history and the deliberate airbrushing of atrocities in the past century. <img width="640" height="995" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e3179c7e80680e033364jpeg.jpg" alt="">

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

TOWARDS A POLICE STATE

<figure><img width="644" height="644" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2739c7e80680e03332ajpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Image: Romeo Jericho</figcaption></figure>Even though it is a country with a liberal constitution and vibrant civil society which struggled long and hard against dictatorship, the Philippines is another proof of just how fragile those freedoms can be. The southeast Asian nation is a warning to Nepal that despotism is never too far away.Just like Nepal, the Philippines has suffered a Maoist insurgency (see below). And although the conflict in Nepal ended after ten years in 2006, the New People’s Army in the Philippines is still fighting the world’s longest-running Maoist war.Philippine strongman Ferdinand Marcos was elected to power in 1965, but gradually took over and ruled as a corrupt dictator until he was overthrown in a People Power movement in 1986. In Nepal, the first democratically elected government was dismantled by a royal coup in 1960, marking the beginning of three decades of a partyless absolute monarchy which also ended in 1990 after a People's Movement.The oscillation between dictatorship and democracy in both countries have followed a parallel trajectory, which is why the populist despotism of the current President Rodrigo Duterte, who was elected two years ago, can be instructive to Nepal to show just how easy it is for a democratic country to slide back into authoritarianism.Duterte did what most elected strongmen do: exploit the disarray and corruption in established democratic parties, rabble rouse the public with nationalism, be outspokenly abusive towards the traditional elite, silence critics in media and civil society with threats, and use popular strong-arm tactics to control crime. In fact, Duterte was a Trumpian even before the United States elected Donald Trump. As mayor of the Mindanao city of Davao, Duterte is credited to have cleaned up the city’s drug scene and violent crime. He promised to do the same throughout the Philippines if elected. He boasted of having personally killed drug pushers. The Filipino people, disillusioned with weak and corrupt rulers and fed up with drugs and crime, rewarded him with a landslide in 2016.  His popularity rating is still above 80%.The Philippine Congress is still debating the reinstatement of the death penalty but that isn’t stopping Duterte from ordering the police to hunt down criminals. There are no arrests, no charges, no trial, and the police have killed 4,251 people since Duterte took office. And that is just the official count, human rights groups say the death toll exceeds 10,000. Many are innocent, or minor offenders.“I have interviewed retired police, and they confirmed the killers are not vigilantes, it is the police who plant evidence on the victims,” says Reuters reporter in Manila, Manuel Mogato.What Duterte is doing in the Philippines mirrors what is happening across the world: democratically-elected demagogues are abusing the state apparatus to silence critics. Manila-based advocate Johnny Oyos says bluntly: "A lot is happening now in the Philippines in the name of democracy, but there is no democracy. I could be silenced at any time." Deuterte hasn’t stopped at suspected drug peddlers, nine journalists critical of his war on drugs have been killed since he came to office, all shot by pillion-riding assassins. Journalists regularly get death threats, or are silenced with defamation suits. Larry Que, publisher of Catanduanes News Now, was the first journalist to be killed under Duterte's rule. In his column, he had flayed the government for targeting the small fry involved in drugs while the wholesalers went scot free. The police officer accused of killing Que said he was ordered by the provincial governor. He promised to testify in court, but only if the slain journalist’s family paid him $191,000.      <figure><img width="340" height="481" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2769c7e80680e03332bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Duterte himself has delivered scathing public speeches against journalists. The president got one of his cronies to buy the powerful Philippine Daily Inquirer. Last year he took the critical news portal, Rappler Philippines to court for violating investment rules. Founded by former CNN correspondent Maria Ressa, Rappler reporters are now banned from the president’s press conferences.“We are trying to be economically viable so that we can be politically independent, and if that doesn’t work, we will go to the people to support our public service journalism,” Rappler’s Gemma Mendoza told Nepali Times. <figure><img width="640" height="831" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2779c7e80680e03332cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Government lackies mercilessly troll Duterte’s detractors on social media, dubbing critics 'anti-national', and a section of the media toes the Duterte line.Says Malou Mangahas of Philippine Centre for Investigative Journalism: "Journalists' lives are at risk, so is people's right to know the truth. Journalists and human rights activists are polarised, which has amplified the threats to civic rights." <h2>Filipino Maoists </h2> <figure><img width="1500" height="1162" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e27a9c7e80680e03332djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nepal’s Maoist insurgency dragged on for ten years and left a lethal legacy, but the rebellion in the Philippines also inspired by Maoism has been going on five times longer. And there is no end in sight.A peasant rebellion known as the Huk Uprising against Japanese occupation was violently put down with the help of the US military after the end of the Pacific War. Later in 1969, the New People’s Army formally launched its armed struggle against the Philippine Army. Since then, nearly 45,000 people have been killed in the guerrilla war — half of them in an internal purge in the 1980s to eliminate suspected infiltrators.Persistent inequality in Philippine society, perpetuated by feudal landholders who dominate politics, fuels the low-intensity war. There have been numerous talks and truces over the decades, the violence flares once in a while, the guerrillas have been restricted to pockets in Luzon and Mindanao. But the conflict continues.Satur Ocampo, 79, led the Maoist negotiation team during the first talks with the government thirty years ago and now lives in Manila. He has renounced violence, but is still an ideological supporter of the Maoist doctrine of protracted people’s war.Speaking to Nepali Times at his modest Manila home, Ocampo says the NPA has been cornered, but their revolutionary zeal is intact. They are ready to shed more blood, and the only way to end the war is to bring them back to the negotiating table.“We should emulate what Nepal did 11 years ago with the peace accord,” Ocampo said. “The ball is in President Duterte's court, he can end the war by fulfilling his election promise to reach out to rebel leaders for talks, and push for a socio-economic transformation."President Duterte won elections in 2016, projecting himself as 'a socialist' and promising to end the Maoist conflict through dialogue. However, once in power, Duterte has made a U-turn vowing not to spare the Maoists involved in killing police and army personnel. <figure><img width="379" height="491" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e27d9c7e80680e03332ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2>#PushBack for freedom </h2> <h2>Authoritarian populists want rights and liberties curtailed to promote stability and prosperity. It does not work that way.</h2> <h2>Jose Luis Martin C. Gascon</h2> The world is now less free and less democratic. What had previously been just ominous dark clouds to what we thought was the global march to democracy have now appeared as menacing twin spectres looming across the globe that seem ready to overwhelm us.These two threats of violent extremism and illiberal populist demagoguery impose upon us a future world order that would no longer be rules based, but instead grounded upon the brazen power of brute force.This unfolding scenario can no longer be brushed aside as a mere passing phenomenon. To my mind, this constitutes nothing less than an existential threat against that which we and all those who have come before us have painstakingly sought to build through many years of fighting against tyranny and oppression. Our very edifice of democracy that respects human dignity, promotes equality for all, and upholds the rule of law, is under threat.In the Philippines and the world over, the very concept of rights is being put to the test on a daily basis. The importance of the rights of each individual is being sidelined for other so-called priorities of the State: economic growth and development, national security, peace and order, the fight against terrorism, the war against illegal drugs and the like. It is as if human rights cannot co-exist with other human values and ideals that are good.On 10 December 2018 we shall commemorate the 70th anniversary of the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This year we are also just barely a quarter century from the time Francis Fukuyama declared his much-applauded ‘end of history’. But now, it is apparent that this once ascendant democratic consensus we had all sought to promote, nurture, deepen, and widen is once again confronted by a familiar adversary — fascism, albeit manifesting itself in new, reinvented, and popular forms.Yet, fascism essentially posits the same old argument to entice all of its adherents: that in uncertain and difficult times such as the one we are currently in, the only security that is possible is that which can be delivered by a so-called strongman that we must obey and surrender our fundamental rights to.It has come to pass that this false choice has regained renewed appeal by feeding upon the people’s frustrations with our governments’ failure to deliver on the public’s expectations, therewith generating overwhelming popular support for some utopian – even dystopian –vision of change that a ‘great leader’ alone would be able to provide.There are societal actors as well that view freedom and human rights as ‘destabilisers’ and obstacles to societal order or progress. We now live in a time where there persists a strong current of opinion that is quite disturbingly tolerant of repressive approaches. Suppression of dissent is slowly becoming the norm, seen now as a legitimate way to maintain peace and social stability. The curtailment of rights and liberties in order to promote stability and economic prosperity is increasingly accepted as justifiable, and at times viewed to be even necessary. And many of our own compatriots now form a popular chorus for authoritarian populist leaders.This is indeed the disturbing and challenging reality that we are all confounded by and confronted with. Many of these attacks are nothing new. But in my experience as human rights lawyer, organiser, democracy worker, and activist, the very concept of democracy and human rights have never been negated, maligned, disregarded, and even denied with such brazenness and popular support from the people.As with other countries, the Philippines has had its share of challenges to the promotion of democracy and the protection of human rights. But our country has recently been prominent once again in the world stage for the violations and attacks to human life and dignity. In one sense, the Philippines probably is a microcosm of a world society that has struggled with engendering democracy, while constantly confronted with perils to human rights.Let us be clear about this: an attack upon any of the people’s fundamental freedoms is an assault on democracy itself. Any harm inflicted upon or directed towards anyone – especially the lowliest and most vulnerable of persons – is an assault upon the core of humanity itself.We are not against the State’s obligation to suppress crime as in the case of our so-called ‘war against illegal drugs’. The State is duty bound to suppress crime and in fact, in human rights discourse, it has an obligation to ensure everyone’s right to safety and security. However, the State must do thisvia legitimate law enforcement, and always within the bounds of the rule of law and with utmost respect for human rights.Given these challenges, it is our responsibility to mount a response that will affirm truth over deception and hope over desperation. We are all called to defend our cherished core values. We need more democracy and not less of it, we must uphold human rights and not allow it to be curtailed. Democracy and human rights are important enablers of human development, creating the conditions that will help people thrive and reach their full potential.In the face of these overwhelming threats that seek to subdue, silence, and defeat us, we must draw strength and inspiration from each other’s struggles and victories no matter how small or insignificant these initially may appear. The road ahead is difficult and uncertain but we must not be discouraged. Instead, we must march forward in solidarity to affirm a politics of civility and inclusion, employing strategies of non-violence, motivated by deep love for humanity, emboldened by an unrelenting commitment to stand up for justice, and spurred by an undying hope that light shall always prevail over darkness.JOSE LUIS MARTIN C. GASCON is Chairperson of the Commission on Human Rights of the Philippines. This op-ed is taken from the Asia Leadership Fellow Program (ALFP) online magazine called <a href="http://alfpnetwork.net/en/e-magazine/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Voices of Asia</a> that contains commentaries on the threats to democracy around the globe. <img width="608" height="705" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e27f9c7e80680e03332fjpeg.jpg" alt="">

Saving democracy and free press in the Philippines

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6819c7e80680e03148ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1254"/><figcaption>Bhanu Bhattarai</figcaption></figure>Across the world, from the Philippines to the United States, and in Central European countries like Hungary and Poland, we have seen worrying signs of democratic reversal. Even in open societies like the UK, Germany, France and India there has been a recent ascendance of the racist right.Extremism and populism have taken centre-stage as demagogues whip up xenophobia and bigotry to get elected in democracies that are abandoning a rule-based society. They are systematically gagging the free press,<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18837#.Wv1qyu6FPIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> using the power of the social web</a> to spread hate and lies, and encouraging violent extremism. Hungary’s Viktor Orbán boastfully calls his country an ‘illiberal democracy’. Using the Trump administration as a shield, Israel is mowing down Palestinians. Cambodia has just sold its last independent newspaper to a Malaysian tycoon.The decline is not isolated, and it is not a temporary occurrence. The Freedom in the World Report 2018 notes that political freedom is in retreat across the globe. More than 70 countries have seen declines in political and civil rights in recent years, and there were gains in only half that number of nations.The only recent silver lining is Malaysia, where the people last week voted out a brazenly corrupt and openly racist cabal, even though the electoral system had been rigged, and the judiciary coopted, to bring back 92-year-old Mahathir Mohamad.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=6146&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> The crow and the scarecrow</a>, Om Astha RaiHopefully, Malaysia’s example will spread, and send a message to those struggling against despots: sooner or later democracy will prevail.Even so, in many Asian countries today there is open admiration for China’s economic growth and the Singapore miracle. This has led to a growing attraction for strong-man rule. Political and civil liberties are seen to be putting the cart before the horse, and freedom is seen as a luxury that is keeping people poor. The emphasis is on economic and cultural rights, and citizens are asked to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-right%20-to-have-rights,2656" target="_blank" rel="noopener">give up their basic freedoms while waiting to prosper</a>. The state’s priority has become national security, fighting terrorism, stopping migration, to ensure stability and prosperity.All this is now getting to sound disturbingly familiar in Nepal where the slogan of the ruling coalition that was elected last year is ‘<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/into-a-state-of-uncertain-stability-nepal,4068" target="_blank" rel="noopener">prosperity through stability</a>’. The alliance is made up of a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/a-two-party-state,3968" target="_blank" rel="noopener">moderate leftist party</a> named after Marx and Lenin which on Thursday, merged with former communist rebels who are inspired by Mao.The UML changed its spots to espouse the People’s Multi-party Democracy line, but the CPN-MC did not convincingly abandon its <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6258#.Wv100-6FPIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">ideology of revolutionary violence</a>. It wanted the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/the-spark-that-lit-the-Maoist-revolution,2870" target="_blank" rel="noopener">People’s War</a> to be glorified and enshrined in the guiding principles of the new Nepal Communist Party. There is no move towards <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-struggle-for-transitional-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">transitional justice</a>, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/justice-delayed-justice-denied-transitional-justice,3556" target="_blank" rel="noopener">or to say sorry</a>.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/a-trump-world-us-nepal,3359" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A Trump world</a>, Om Astha RaiRecently, we saw how easily both parties as well as the NC, now in the opposition, were held hostage by their own appointee to the anti-corruption commission as he terrorised the press and dismantled the rule of law for three years. The warning to us is that <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Legalese/The-charade-of-impeachment,801" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lokman Singh Karki</a> can easily happen again.Communists are guided by the principle of ‘democratic centralism’ which is an antithesis to federalism and devolution. And the ruling coalition is doing just that: centralising power in the PMO. The recently released draft National Integrity Policy, while seeking to lay legitimate ground rules for the conduct of public officials and outside agencies, has some disturbing provisions.As we report in this edition, the restrictions appear to be guided by the perception of aggressive proselytisation and donor funding for indigenous and excluded groups during the Constitution-drafting process.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/On-the-way-up/who-teaches-democracy,1020" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Who teaches us democracy?</a>, Kanak Mani DixitThere may have been a need to regulate the proliferation of NGOs, and the government does need to keep track of where <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/half-full/capacity-for-development-half-full,1110" target="_blank" rel="noopener">outside funds go</a>. But some of the points in the draft are so open-ended that they seem intended for control rather than regulation. The government now wants only foreign assistance in ‘hardware’ and not ‘software’, and is turning away aid on anything to do with inclusion, human rights and democracy.Given the spread of illiberal democracy around the world, there is reason to be worried that ‘stability and prosperity’ could be a euphemism for control, and silencing dissent.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-turning-point-war-nepal,3986" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The turning point</a>, Kunda Dixit

Illiberal ills

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

This is the 75th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

In a democracy, governments come and go. But Nepal had become so entangled in the triangular affair between Sher Bahadur Deuba, K P Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal that it was becoming impossible to tell who was canoodling with whom.&nbsp;
All three had long since abandoned their party ideologies. Staying in power was all that mattered as they turned Nepal’s democracy into a kleptocracy.&nbsp;
For the past at least 20 years, we have warned them to mend their ways. Democracy had to be rescued from the hands of such kakistocrats. Waiting to pounce were monarchists and anarchists of every ilk, outcast Maoists, and supporters of a leader jailed for fraud. Tycoon Durga Prasai said his rally in March was to restore a Hindu monarchy, but he was just a temporary royalist whom even the ex-king spurned.&nbsp;
All this converged into a perfect storm on 8 September. Commandos shot and killed 19 innocent young people outside Parliament, the anger boiled over into targetted arson and vandalism the next day. The government fell, and Sushila Karki was elected interim prime minister through Discord.&nbsp;
With not just their monopoly on power but also their very lives in danger, the triumvirate was at first in total shock. Then came conspiracy theories and an inability to gauge the rage from decades of misrule.
Nepalis had assumed that after September the old parties would see their folly, and step down to hand over the leadership to a new generation. But 10 weeks later, there is no sign of any act of contrition.
In the NC, Sher Bahadur Deuba has sidelined the caretaker he himself appointed, Purna Bahadur Khadka, and is active again as the party prepares for a showdown in its Convention next month. The UML is proceeding with its own General Convention, where Oli is fully assured of a third term as party boss. Dahal sees no alternative to himself in his newly-forged Nepali Communist Party and is eagerly eyeing becoming prime minister for the fourth time.&nbsp;
The three leaders who everyone had hoped would finally retire have reincarnated. It is obscene for obsolete politicians to still hanker for power after all that has happened.&nbsp;
SHOCK AND AWE
The three leaders who have been prime minister a dozen times between themselves want to cling on, but this is not abnormal if we apply <a href="https://www.bbc.com/audio/play/w3cszmjz" target="_blank">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross</a>’ theory of the five stages of grief. The author of <a href="https://www.google.com.np/books/edition/On_Death_and_Dying/GlSq0AEACAAJ?hl=en" target="_blank">On Death and Dying</a> was analysing how people with terminal illness deal with their situation, but her 5-stage theory may be applicable to the way heads of the NC, UML and NCP are reacting to the shock of being overthrown — first with denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.&nbsp;
On 9 September, distressed by what had befallen them, the three were in total denial. Then began the stage of anger. Oli ranted in public about a conspiracy to install an ‘unconstitutional’ interim government, blaming the Nepal Army, and vowing not to take part in election even while preparing for it.
The NC has decided to participate in elections, although it has to first sort out its internal power struggle. The NCP and the RSP have united with smaller parties and are actively preparing to campaign. GenZ groups are speaking in different voices, with Sudan Gurung and Miraj Dhungana openly trying to unseat an interim government they themselves installed.&nbsp;
The parties are now in the third stage: bargaining. Instead of asking himself in hindsight what he should have done, Oli wants Parliament restored but has also registered his party for elections. The UML won't allow elections unless the government lifts restrictions on Oli’s movement.
Likewise, GenZ groups are putting up conditions for supporting polls: arrest Oli and others. Karki is single-mindedly focussed on elections, even if it has to be put off by two months. The Army would also like polls on time because it does not want a repeat of September when it had to intervene to form the interim government.
If Karki’s 6-month mandate ends without elections, and if by then the GenZ’s trust in the interim government collapses, then UML and NC could plan to press for an all-party election government, restoration of Parliament which would then dissolve itself to appoint a new prime minister that Karki would also be agreeable to.
The current state of affairs makes it difficult to imagine elections being held on 5 March — mainly because polls would be incomplete without the three main parties taking part, and it is unlikely they would participate in polls that they are certain to lose since they have not reformed themselves. Amidst these ifs and buts, the role of the Army will be critical.&nbsp;
The fourth stage of grief is depression, and that is what will happen to the parties when the reality of their unpopularity finally hits them. Only then will they finally accept their fate, realise that it was all their own doing, and perhaps reinvent themselves.
Kübler-Ross said the five stages did not necessarily have to be in that order, or that sometimes there may only be three phases, which may be applicable to the parties. What is for sure is that the three leaders are in no mood to atone for their sins.
Rabin Giri is an editor with <a href="http://nepalnews.com/" target="_blank">nepalnews.com</a>.&nbsp;