<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636ceb859c7e80680e09ad0djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1088" height="579"/>It may sound incongruous writing about labour and employment when<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-covid-tsunami/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> Covid-19 is surging across the country</a>.But since Saturday is May Day, let us look at labour and migration. The unmet need to generate enough jobs for the 500,000 young Nepalis who enter the labour market every year, and the state’s responsibility in facilitating safe and affordable migration for those who want to work abroad.The Constitution says: ‘The State shall pursue a policy of ensuring the right to work of the labor force, which remains as the major social and economic strength of the country, by providing them with employment and raising their participation in the management of enterprises, while at the same time protecting their rights and interests.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636ceb879c7e80680e09ad0ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="235">Employment and migration are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/labour-mobility/crossborder-virus-and-nepali-migrant-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">directly linked to the pandemic</a>, and as parts of the country go back into lockdown again, we have seen that the crisis will continue to have a direct impact on jobs, earnings and remittances in coming years.The state has the unenviable task of balancing lives with livelihoods. Compared to the first wave, this one is a tsunami, and we witness in India the kind of havoc it can wreak. For the poorest Nepalis without savings and social safety nets, the pandemic is as much an economic crisis as a health emergency.Even pre-pandemic, the lives of millions of Nepalis was precarious given the uncertainties of daily wages, and the inadequacy of subsistence agriculture.This is where the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/missing-the-plot-in-nepals-job-scheme/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Prime Minister’s Employment Program</a> (PMEP) that was launched with much fanfare in February 2019 held much promise. It planned a nationwide social protection program aimed at the poorest and jobless, guaranteeing them 100 days of employment annually. Those who registered but did not get jobs were to be provided unemployment allowance for 50 days a year.Last year’s budget promised jobs for 200,000 most vulnerable Nepalis affected by the lockdowns under this scheme.As we report, the outcome is discouraging: of the 750,000 who registered as jobless, only a little over 10% got jobs—not for 100 days, but an average of 11.The lesson is clear: local governments need to be empowered for decision-making and well-resourced and coordinate seamlessly with the federal government. Not learning this will lead to endemic complacency.Everyone agrees that the PMEP is a great idea. But as usual, the proof of the pudding in Nepal is always in the eating. Proper implementation could have helped the poorest Nepalis during this crisis. It is a missed opportunity.The PMEP was designed as a safety net for the poorest. During the Covid-19 crisis it is even more important to provide jobs for  families who need the income the most.A highly informal workforce also means a highly disposable workforce without social safety nets. Due to the drop in tourism, transport and retail trade, Nepal’s service sector growth is at an 18 year low. Two out of every five workers lost their jobs with women, the young workers most affected.Internal migration has also been hit by lockdowns, and we are once more seeing an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/another-kathmandu-exodus/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">exodus of Nepalis</a> to their districts. Foreign employment is recovering, but slowly. Nepali workers are fleeing a devastating <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Covid-19 surge in India</a>. The impact will be felt by the poorest Nepalis, especially from western Nepal who opt for seasonal work.The PMEP targets only the most vulnerable segment of the labour market. There are skilled, higher income groups who have also lost jobs.The labour market is under enormous pressure to absorb Nepalis who have been displaced from jobs, who would have migrated, the returnees, and new entrants. Many migrants see their own lifetime as solely that of sacrifice for their children, spending two to three decades in the Gulf just so the generation after them can break out of the cycle they have been stuck in.When parents are not able to work, children’s education suffers, and it is impacted by new school closures. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/online-classes-may-widen-digital-divide/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Online education</a> is not an option for the poorest.The upcoming budget, just like last year’s, is sure to include lofty promises about employment priorities. There will again be pledges to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-plans-to-reintegrate-returning-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">mobilise skills of returnees</a>, even though past reintegration programs never even remotely met targets.A more hopeful and helpful strategy would be to under-promise and over-deliver. That would be the honest way to mark this year’s Labour Day. More work and less talk.

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Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83619c7e80680e067730jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1088" height="579"/>It may sound incongruous writing about labour and employment when<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-covid-tsunami/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> Covid-19 is surging across the country</a>.But since Saturday is May Day, let us look at labour and migration. The unmet need to generate enough jobs for the 500,000 young Nepalis who enter the labour market every year, and the state’s responsibility in facilitating safe and affordable migration for those who want to work abroad.The Constitution says: ‘The State shall pursue a policy of ensuring the right to work of the labor force, which remains as the major social and economic strength of the country, by providing them with employment and raising their participation in the management of enterprises, while at the same time protecting their rights and interests.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83639c7e80680e067731jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="235">Employment and migration are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/labour-mobility/crossborder-virus-and-nepali-migrant-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">directly linked to the pandemic</a>, and as parts of the country go back into lockdown again, we have seen that the crisis will continue to have a direct impact on jobs, earnings and remittances in coming years.The state has the unenviable task of balancing lives with livelihoods. Compared to the first wave, this one is a tsunami, and we witness in India the kind of havoc it can wreak. For the poorest Nepalis without savings and social safety nets, the pandemic is as much an economic crisis as a health emergency.Even pre-pandemic, the lives of millions of Nepalis was precarious given the uncertainties of daily wages, and the inadequacy of subsistence agriculture.This is where the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/missing-the-plot-in-nepals-job-scheme/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Prime Minister’s Employment Program</a> (PMEP) that was launched with much fanfare in February 2019 held much promise. It planned a nationwide social protection program aimed at the poorest and jobless, guaranteeing them 100 days of employment annually. Those who registered but did not get jobs were to be provided unemployment allowance for 50 days a year.Last year’s budget promised jobs for 200,000 most vulnerable Nepalis affected by the lockdowns under this scheme.As we report, the outcome is discouraging: of the 750,000 who registered as jobless, only a little over 10% got jobs—not for 100 days, but an average of 11.The lesson is clear: local governments need to be empowered for decision-making and well-resourced and coordinate seamlessly with the federal government. Not learning this will lead to endemic complacency.Everyone agrees that the PMEP is a great idea. But as usual, the proof of the pudding in Nepal is always in the eating. Proper implementation could have helped the poorest Nepalis during this crisis. It is a missed opportunity.The PMEP was designed as a safety net for the poorest. During the Covid-19 crisis it is even more important to provide jobs for  families who need the income the most.A highly informal workforce also means a highly disposable workforce without social safety nets. Due to the drop in tourism, transport and retail trade, Nepal’s service sector growth is at an 18 year low. Two out of every five workers lost their jobs with women, the young workers most affected.Internal migration has also been hit by lockdowns, and we are once more seeing an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/another-kathmandu-exodus/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">exodus of Nepalis</a> to their districts. Foreign employment is recovering, but slowly. Nepali workers are fleeing a devastating <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Covid-19 surge in India</a>. The impact will be felt by the poorest Nepalis, especially from western Nepal who opt for seasonal work.The PMEP targets only the most vulnerable segment of the labour market. There are skilled, higher income groups who have also lost jobs.The labour market is under enormous pressure to absorb Nepalis who have been displaced from jobs, who would have migrated, the returnees, and new entrants. Many migrants see their own lifetime as solely that of sacrifice for their children, spending two to three decades in the Gulf just so the generation after them can break out of the cycle they have been stuck in.When parents are not able to work, children’s education suffers, and it is impacted by new school closures. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/online-classes-may-widen-digital-divide/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Online education</a> is not an option for the poorest.The upcoming budget, just like last year’s, is sure to include lofty promises about employment priorities. There will again be pledges to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-plans-to-reintegrate-returning-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">mobilise skills of returnees</a>, even though past reintegration programs never even remotely met targets.A more hopeful and helpful strategy would be to under-promise and over-deliver. That would be the honest way to mark this year’s Labour Day. More work and less talk.

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb689c7e80680e09ad01jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: UPASANA KHADKA</figcaption></figure>For most Nepalis, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/measuring-the-human-cost-of-lockdown/">economic crisis brought on by the pandemic</a> far outweighs its health risks. The majority of Nepal’s population is employed in the informal sector, cannot work remotely and have no social safety net.With many parts of the country going into another lockdown this week, any hope for employment recovery has further evaporated. Amid the uncertainty and financial distress, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/another-kathmandu-exodus/">Kathmandu saw an exodus</a> of tens of thousands of Nepalis fleeing back to their villages, a familiar scene from last year.The 2020 budget set an ambitious target of creating 700,000 jobs and raised public expectation. Some 200,000 of these jobs were to be created through the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/few-jobs-created-by-nepal-employment-drive/">Prime Minister’s Employment Program</a> (PMEP), a work guarantee scheme launched in February 2019 that promises 100 days of employment to the jobless.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb6b9c7e80680e09ad02jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="235">The numbers, however, paint a bleak picture. A whopping 752,976 jobseekers registered themselves as unemployed in the past year, of which 42% were women (see Figure 1). However, only 78,678 of them landed jobs for a combined 843,042 days so far this fiscal year. This translates into an average of 11 days of employment (see Figure 2). Even if we take underreporting into account, the numbers severely fall short of what was promised. In the first two years of the program, an average of 13 and 16 days of work was provided.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb6d9c7e80680e09ad03jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="692" height="588"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb6f9c7e80680e09ad04jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1080" height="573"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ganesh KC, Mayor of Madhuwan Municipality in Bardia, sees two merits of PMEP. The financial respite brought to those who receive jobs, albeit for a few days. And how it has concurrently helped with the maintenance of roads and public infrastructure.But he notes that there is significant room for improvement. “The number of jobseekers overwhelmingly exceeds the jobs available and those who get employment only do so for a few days. This results in disappointment as we raised public expectations with this scheme,” he says.The Employment Coordinators (ECs) in charge of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/gadfly-opinion/removing-poverty-with-jobs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">PMEP implementation</a> appointed at the local administrative units also echoed this view. “There is fatigue among jobseekers to fill out forms year after year when they don’t see results. They put pressure on the local representatives who in turn put pressure on us. This has put a dent on our credibility,” says one EC. While registered unemployed who were not provided jobs are entitled to 50 days equivalent of unemployment allowance, it hasn’t come to fruition yet.Suman Ghimire, Joint Secretary at the Labour Ministry and National Program Coordinator of PMEP, sees lack of local ownership as a big hurdle in PMEP implementation.“There is still a lack of understanding among local officials and representatives on the significance of PMEP which puts it in the backburner. They need to proactively engage with ward officials on the significance and implementation of the program as implementation begins at the ward level,” he says, adding that hiring and retaining ECs has been challenging in remote areas. “Without ECs at each municipality, it is difficult to expect results.”This discrepancy in local ownership is evident in a recently released PMEP 2019-2020 report, according to which only 495 out of 753 local units managed to implement the proposed projects, even though the  budget was disbursed to 701 local units.  So far this year, 566 local units have implemented PMEP (see Figure 3).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb719c7e80680e09ad05jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1044" height="646"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As per the report, PMEP intended to provide 100-days employment to 60,000 jobseekers 2019-20. Of the 370,734 who registered as unemployed, 105,365 got jobs for an average of 16 days. Only 39 local units provided jobs to over 500 individuals. Of the 753 ECs to be appointed at each local unit in charge of overseeing the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-plans-to-reintegrate-returning-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">PMEP implementation</a>, 110 local units did not have ECs either because they had not been appointed at all or had resigned, which was further delayed by the pandemic.So far in 2020-2021, over 10,000 PMEP projects have been implemented across the country, up from 4,302 last year (see Figures 4 and 5). About half of the projects are on roads and transportation. Applicants who are shortlisted are asked to form a group and coordinate with the ward on a pre-approved project they want to work on.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb739c7e80680e09ad06jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1214" height="573"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb769c7e80680e09ad07jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1181" height="597"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One challenge to PMEP implementation is that the allocated budget can be spent only on wages, and not on equipment. “If it is a road project, for example, they need cement, shovels and safety gear. Who will provide that?” questions Bishaksen Dhakal, Chief Administrative Officer at Sindhuli’s Kalamai municipality.He adds: “In an ideal scenario, the local government’s budget would be used to cover material and equipment costs, but there is not much enthusiasm about this at the local leadership level.”The PMEP budget is also released much later than the fiscal allotment, leading to unwillingness on part of local governments to readjust their plans.Dhakal notes that there must be increased coordination between the federal and local governments so the latter sets aside a budget for PMEP projects equipment and material in advance or the guideline must be updated to allow for non-wage related expenditure.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb789c7e80680e09ad08jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2866" height="4300"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In Karnali Province, a parallel Chief Minister’s Employment Program (CMEP) has relieved pressure on municipalities. “CMEP nicely complements PMEP and has provided relief on various fronts. Salaries of both programs are the same so the jobseekers unable to benefit from PMEP can get work through this program. Furthermore, there is more leeway with the CMEP because the 40 per cent of the budget can be used for the purchase of equipment and material,” says Resham Bahadur Budha, Chief Administrative Officer of Narayan Municipality in Dailekh.In Narayan municipality, for example, CMEP is expected to employ 1,000 individuals for 50 days in 22 projects. Of the 3,000 people registered for PMEP, less than 500 received some form of work.For a more lasting impact, local leaders stress on the need to equip PMEP beneficiaries with marketable skills and experience. “If the scheme had an element of graduation, beneficiaries could eventually wean off the program. Currently, they benefit from the program doing labor work for the number of days they are allocated, which is irregular and uncertain. Support like training would make them more employable,” says Mayor Ganesh KC.He also emphasises on the need to further strengthen the Employment Service Centers, especially to coordinate with the private sector who are the real job creators. Appeals to local employers and associations to make use of local labor, including those registered as unemployed under PMEP, have not yielded results yet.“If there is a need for a plumber, it would be good to rely on a roster of plumbers at ESC to hire from. As it is now, PMEP is not designed for skilled but unemployed workers who have higher reservation wages and skills so we need to think beyond PMEP,” he says.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb7c9c7e80680e09ad09jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="738" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Beyond lapses in current infrastructure such as the capacity of the ESC and the available MIS system, KC notes that relying on ESCs for job placements also demands a mindset change: “As jobseekers and employers, we are habituated to relying on personal referrals and networks so such new practices will take time to adapt to.”Suman Ghimire at the Labour Ministry shares that it is working to strengthen ESC to play a stronger coordination and referral role and has set aside a budget to train over 59,000 PMEP beneficiaries for next fiscal year, but makes it clear that the scheme is not for the skilled workers.“We need to understand that PMEP is targeted to the poorest who are struggling to make ends meet. For the unemployed who are skilled and educated such as returnee migrants, there are self- and wage-employment programs run by other line agencies. We have prioritized strengthening the capacity of ESCs to play a strong coordination and referral role because the various programs are scattered and potential beneficiaries may not necessarily be aware of these schemes,” he says.Those we spoke to, from Mayors to ECs, express the enormous potential of PMEP to help the poorest of the poor. The jobs are in their proximity and for many, including women, it is a convenient way to boost household income especially during agricultural lean seasons.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131112/636ceb7d9c7e80680e09ad0ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="738" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>With the pandemic, both domestic and foreign employment are on shaky grounds. This further increases the demand for programs like PMEP to provide temporary respite to individuals so they can better cope with the widespread economic shock.According to the World Bank Covid-19 monitoring survey, two out of five economically active workers reported incidence of job loss or prolonged work absence.  Internal migrants are returning back to their villages en masse. Seasonal migrant workers from India <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/">are reeling under the second wave</a>. Emigration to third countries beyond India is picking up, but slowly and unevenly. The macro-picture of remittance may have defied predictions so far but many have lost their overseas jobs, and with it an important income source that has served as the only reliable safety net. Disbursement of the government’s soft loan programs to encourage self-employment initiatives have shown modest improvement but are far from the desired targets. (See Figure 6)<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-year-of-migrant-workers/">The story of Hari </a>whose journey we have covered over the months shows how helpless migrants are in the face of the crisis. In May, Hari made an arduous journey back to Banke from Ahmedabad despite the risks of traveling.“It is better to die in my own country,” he told us then, as he trudged to the Nepal border on India’s Shramik train. Five months later, he went back to Ahmedabad to work with the same employer, a hotel, despite the COVID-19 crisis in India. On the phone in December, he asked us rhetorically: “How will my family survive if I don’t migrate?”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636ceb809c7e80680e09ad0bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1926" height="1284"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A few weeks back, as the crisis gripped India, he again escaped to Nepal, wary that things were quickly spiraling out of control and wanting to avoid the border and quarantine complications he faced the first time back.  The back and forth and uncertainty has worn him down.“I am lucky to be alive. Two of my Nepali friends in Gujarat, a few hours from where I worked, died of Covid-19. It could have very well been me. At least I managed to escape and am alive and safe,” he says.But this recognition does not take away the financial stress back home as his family is already struggling to make ends meet and as a sole bread winner, his job prospects are dim. His is not an isolated story, of families in dire need of temporary safety nets to fall back on till the situation allows them to get back on their feet.Now more than ever, social protection programs are needed to provide a lifeline to the poorest. With the second wave, local governments are once again overwhelmed with flooded hospitals, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">returnee migrant</a> management, and shortages of all kinds. As pointed out in the 2019-20 PMEP report, in the context of the pandemic, the PMEP needs to be adapted to address local needs to help fight the crisis including building of temporary structures for isolation, contact tracing, sanitation drives, social awareness programs under Covid-19 safety protocols.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-covid-tsunami/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The second wave</a> and the quickly unfolding crisis further underscores the need to leverage this program for such activities. Given the current situation, the immediate need of the hour is also to cast the safety net wider by providing traditional emergency cash- or food-based assistance to help the poorest cope with food insecurity so families who have lost their livelihoods can ride out the crisis.Over the last three years PMEP has had a checkered reputation because of allegations of wasteful spending, unproductive work and improper targeting of the unemployed.“We are best placed to give critical feedback on implementation challenges,” says one EC. “It would be helpful if they came to monitor our work from the center, to understand the ground realities. As ECs, for example, we are still under-resourced as we do not have allowances for transportation to travel to the wards that we are in charge of, some of which are quite distant from where we are based. Sometimes, it is simple challenges and small kinks, if sorted, could go a long way.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636ceb839c7e80680e09ad0cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="990" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The federal government has been receptive to some other feedback from local governments and ECs, especially the current daily wage of Rs517 being too low by local standards, and are considering to readjust it for next fiscal year. This, however, is a tricky task.On one hand, the wages need to be high enough to make a meaningful difference to the poor. But on the other, low-wage setting aids with proper targeting by ensuring the intended beneficiaries i.e., the poorest self-select into the program and those who are not poor or have alternate income sources are not attracted to PMEP.To be fair, at just its third year, PMEP is still at its nascent stages and it will take a while for this massive undertaking to take off smoothly, further complicated by the pandemic.Comparator programs like India’s Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (MGNREGS), for example, celebrated its 15 years this year. In 2020-21, one hundred ten million jobseekers benefited from MNREGS, a 39% jump from the previous year, proving to be critical for distressed workers during the pandemic despite implementation challenges such as payment delays and job rationing.But as promised in the last budget, the expectation from the Nepal government’s flagship employment program during this unprecedented time was for swift and bold action, both because of and in spite of Covid-19.

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Missing the plot in Nepal's job scheme

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83429c7e80680e067724jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: UPASANA KHADKA</figcaption></figure>For most Nepalis, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/measuring-the-human-cost-of-lockdown/">economic crisis brought on by the pandemic</a> far outweighs its health risks. The majority of Nepal’s population is employed in the informal sector, cannot work remotely and have no social safety net.With many parts of the country going into another lockdown this week, any hope for employment recovery has further evaporated. Amid the uncertainty and financial distress, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/another-kathmandu-exodus/">Kathmandu saw an exodus</a> of tens of thousands of Nepalis fleeing back to their villages, a familiar scene from last year.The 2020 budget set an ambitious target of creating 700,000 jobs and raised public expectation. Some 200,000 of these jobs were to be created through the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/few-jobs-created-by-nepal-employment-drive/">Prime Minister’s Employment Program</a> (PMEP), a work guarantee scheme launched in February 2019 that promises 100 days of employment to the jobless.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83459c7e80680e067725jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="235">The numbers, however, paint a bleak picture. A whopping 752,976 jobseekers registered themselves as unemployed in the past year, of which 42% were women (see Figure 1). However, only 78,678 of them landed jobs for a combined 843,042 days so far this fiscal year. This translates into an average of 11 days of employment (see Figure 2). Even if we take underreporting into account, the numbers severely fall short of what was promised. In the first two years of the program, an average of 13 and 16 days of work was provided.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83479c7e80680e067726jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="692" height="588"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83499c7e80680e067727jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1080" height="573"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ganesh KC, Mayor of Madhuwan Municipality in Bardia, sees two merits of PMEP. The financial respite brought to those who receive jobs, albeit for a few days. And how it has concurrently helped with the maintenance of roads and public infrastructure.But he notes that there is significant room for improvement. “The number of jobseekers overwhelmingly exceeds the jobs available and those who get employment only do so for a few days. This results in disappointment as we raised public expectations with this scheme,” he says.The Employment Coordinators (ECs) in charge of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/gadfly-opinion/removing-poverty-with-jobs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">PMEP implementation</a> appointed at the local administrative units also echoed this view. “There is fatigue among jobseekers to fill out forms year after year when they don’t see results. They put pressure on the local representatives who in turn put pressure on us. This has put a dent on our credibility,” says one EC. While registered unemployed who were not provided jobs are entitled to 50 days equivalent of unemployment allowance, it hasn’t come to fruition yet.Suman Ghimire, Joint Secretary at the Labour Ministry and National Program Coordinator of PMEP, sees lack of local ownership as a big hurdle in PMEP implementation.“There is still a lack of understanding among local officials and representatives on the significance of PMEP which puts it in the backburner. They need to proactively engage with ward officials on the significance and implementation of the program as implementation begins at the ward level,” he says, adding that hiring and retaining ECs has been challenging in remote areas. “Without ECs at each municipality, it is difficult to expect results.”This discrepancy in local ownership is evident in a recently released PMEP 2019-2020 report, according to which only 495 out of 753 local units managed to implement the proposed projects, even though the  budget was disbursed to 701 local units.  So far this year, 566 local units have implemented PMEP (see Figure 3).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b834b9c7e80680e067728jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1044" height="646"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As per the report, PMEP intended to provide 100-days employment to 60,000 jobseekers 2019-20. Of the 370,734 who registered as unemployed, 105,365 got jobs for an average of 16 days. Only 39 local units provided jobs to over 500 individuals. Of the 753 ECs to be appointed at each local unit in charge of overseeing the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-plans-to-reintegrate-returning-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">PMEP implementation</a>, 110 local units did not have ECs either because they had not been appointed at all or had resigned, which was further delayed by the pandemic.So far in 2020-2021, over 10,000 PMEP projects have been implemented across the country, up from 4,302 last year (see Figures 4 and 5). About half of the projects are on roads and transportation. Applicants who are shortlisted are asked to form a group and coordinate with the ward on a pre-approved project they want to work on.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b834e9c7e80680e067729jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1214" height="573"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83509c7e80680e06772ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1181" height="597"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One challenge to PMEP implementation is that the allocated budget can be spent only on wages, and not on equipment. “If it is a road project, for example, they need cement, shovels and safety gear. Who will provide that?” questions Bishaksen Dhakal, Chief Administrative Officer at Sindhuli’s Kalamai municipality.He adds: “In an ideal scenario, the local government’s budget would be used to cover material and equipment costs, but there is not much enthusiasm about this at the local leadership level.”The PMEP budget is also released much later than the fiscal allotment, leading to unwillingness on part of local governments to readjust their plans.Dhakal notes that there must be increased coordination between the federal and local governments so the latter sets aside a budget for PMEP projects equipment and material in advance or the guideline must be updated to allow for non-wage related expenditure.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83539c7e80680e06772bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2866" height="4300"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In Karnali Province, a parallel Chief Minister’s Employment Program (CMEP) has relieved pressure on municipalities. “CMEP nicely complements PMEP and has provided relief on various fronts. Salaries of both programs are the same so the jobseekers unable to benefit from PMEP can get work through this program. Furthermore, there is more leeway with the CMEP because the 40 per cent of the budget can be used for the purchase of equipment and material,” says Resham Bahadur Budha, Chief Administrative Officer of Narayan Municipality in Dailekh.In Narayan municipality, for example, CMEP is expected to employ 1,000 individuals for 50 days in 22 projects. Of the 3,000 people registered for PMEP, less than 500 received some form of work.For a more lasting impact, local leaders stress on the need to equip PMEP beneficiaries with marketable skills and experience. “If the scheme had an element of graduation, beneficiaries could eventually wean off the program. Currently, they benefit from the program doing labor work for the number of days they are allocated, which is irregular and uncertain. Support like training would make them more employable,” says Mayor Ganesh KC.He also emphasises on the need to further strengthen the Employment Service Centers, especially to coordinate with the private sector who are the real job creators. Appeals to local employers and associations to make use of local labor, including those registered as unemployed under PMEP, have not yielded results yet.“If there is a need for a plumber, it would be good to rely on a roster of plumbers at ESC to hire from. As it is now, PMEP is not designed for skilled but unemployed workers who have higher reservation wages and skills so we need to think beyond PMEP,” he says.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83579c7e80680e06772cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="738" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Beyond lapses in current infrastructure such as the capacity of the ESC and the available MIS system, KC notes that relying on ESCs for job placements also demands a mindset change: “As jobseekers and employers, we are habituated to relying on personal referrals and networks so such new practices will take time to adapt to.”Suman Ghimire at the Labour Ministry shares that it is working to strengthen ESC to play a stronger coordination and referral role and has set aside a budget to train over 59,000 PMEP beneficiaries for next fiscal year, but makes it clear that the scheme is not for the skilled workers.“We need to understand that PMEP is targeted to the poorest who are struggling to make ends meet. For the unemployed who are skilled and educated such as returnee migrants, there are self- and wage-employment programs run by other line agencies. We have prioritized strengthening the capacity of ESCs to play a strong coordination and referral role because the various programs are scattered and potential beneficiaries may not necessarily be aware of these schemes,” he says.Those we spoke to, from Mayors to ECs, express the enormous potential of PMEP to help the poorest of the poor. The jobs are in their proximity and for many, including women, it is a convenient way to boost household income especially during agricultural lean seasons.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b83599c7e80680e06772djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="738" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>With the pandemic, both domestic and foreign employment are on shaky grounds. This further increases the demand for programs like PMEP to provide temporary respite to individuals so they can better cope with the widespread economic shock.According to the World Bank Covid-19 monitoring survey, two out of five economically active workers reported incidence of job loss or prolonged work absence.  Internal migrants are returning back to their villages en masse. Seasonal migrant workers from India <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/">are reeling under the second wave</a>. Emigration to third countries beyond India is picking up, but slowly and unevenly. The macro-picture of remittance may have defied predictions so far but many have lost their overseas jobs, and with it an important income source that has served as the only reliable safety net. Disbursement of the government’s soft loan programs to encourage self-employment initiatives have shown modest improvement but are far from the desired targets. (See Figure 6)<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-year-of-migrant-workers/">The story of Hari </a>whose journey we have covered over the months shows how helpless migrants are in the face of the crisis. In May, Hari made an arduous journey back to Banke from Ahmedabad despite the risks of traveling.“It is better to die in my own country,” he told us then, as he trudged to the Nepal border on India’s Shramik train. Five months later, he went back to Ahmedabad to work with the same employer, a hotel, despite the COVID-19 crisis in India. On the phone in December, he asked us rhetorically: “How will my family survive if I don’t migrate?”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b835c9c7e80680e06772ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1926" height="1284"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A few weeks back, as the crisis gripped India, he again escaped to Nepal, wary that things were quickly spiraling out of control and wanting to avoid the border and quarantine complications he faced the first time back.  The back and forth and uncertainty has worn him down.“I am lucky to be alive. Two of my Nepali friends in Gujarat, a few hours from where I worked, died of Covid-19. It could have very well been me. At least I managed to escape and am alive and safe,” he says.But this recognition does not take away the financial stress back home as his family is already struggling to make ends meet and as a sole bread winner, his job prospects are dim. His is not an isolated story, of families in dire need of temporary safety nets to fall back on till the situation allows them to get back on their feet.Now more than ever, social protection programs are needed to provide a lifeline to the poorest. With the second wave, local governments are once again overwhelmed with flooded hospitals, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/indias-covid-catastrophe-hits-nepalis-hard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">returnee migrant</a> management, and shortages of all kinds. As pointed out in the 2019-20 PMEP report, in the context of the pandemic, the PMEP needs to be adapted to address local needs to help fight the crisis including building of temporary structures for isolation, contact tracing, sanitation drives, social awareness programs under Covid-19 safety protocols.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-covid-tsunami/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The second wave</a> and the quickly unfolding crisis further underscores the need to leverage this program for such activities. Given the current situation, the immediate need of the hour is also to cast the safety net wider by providing traditional emergency cash- or food-based assistance to help the poorest cope with food insecurity so families who have lost their livelihoods can ride out the crisis.Over the last three years PMEP has had a checkered reputation because of allegations of wasteful spending, unproductive work and improper targeting of the unemployed.“We are best placed to give critical feedback on implementation challenges,” says one EC. “It would be helpful if they came to monitor our work from the center, to understand the ground realities. As ECs, for example, we are still under-resourced as we do not have allowances for transportation to travel to the wards that we are in charge of, some of which are quite distant from where we are based. Sometimes, it is simple challenges and small kinks, if sorted, could go a long way.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111136/636b835f9c7e80680e06772fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="990" height="370"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The federal government has been receptive to some other feedback from local governments and ECs, especially the current daily wage of Rs517 being too low by local standards, and are considering to readjust it for next fiscal year. This, however, is a tricky task.On one hand, the wages need to be high enough to make a meaningful difference to the poor. But on the other, low-wage setting aids with proper targeting by ensuring the intended beneficiaries i.e., the poorest self-select into the program and those who are not poor or have alternate income sources are not attracted to PMEP.To be fair, at just its third year, PMEP is still at its nascent stages and it will take a while for this massive undertaking to take off smoothly, further complicated by the pandemic.Comparator programs like India’s Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (MGNREGS), for example, celebrated its 15 years this year. In 2020-21, one hundred ten million jobseekers benefited from MNREGS, a 39% jump from the previous year, proving to be critical for distressed workers during the pandemic despite implementation challenges such as payment delays and job rationing.But as promised in the last budget, the expectation from the Nepal government’s flagship employment program during this unprecedented time was for swift and bold action, both because of and in spite of Covid-19.

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;

pmep

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

Missing the plot in Nepal's job scheme

Missing the plot in Nepal's job scheme

A new normal

Things eventually work out

My father’s son

Stages of denial