<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141152/636d02099c7e80680e0a365cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1920" height="1280"/>When I was in high school, I went out for a walk one day and saw one of the students sitting by the water. We were not friends, but I knew her because we had a class together. At first, I wanted to sit with her, but I felt it would infringe on her privacy.She waved when she saw me, so I walked over. She had always been nice to me but we had never really had a chance to talk before. Many boys had a crush on her. She was smart and beautiful, and she always made it so easy to talk to her, so I understood why everyone was drawn to her.We were from different countries and had different sets of friends, so we never really hung out. It was one of the first times we had a conversation."I love the water, but I also hate it because of all the memories I have of it. I was so young, and when he took advantage of me, I stayed silent because I didn't want to make him mad,” she said. “I don't talk to people about it because when I do, I change in their eyes."In an instant, she changed in my eyes. It was the most silent I had been when sitting with someone. I tried to understand why she did not tell others about the incident.It is easy for us to say that one needs to open up and bring attention to sexual assaults, but the truth leaves people vulnerable to repercussions. Quite often society <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/shamed-for-bleeding/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">blames the victim</a>, that it was the way she was acting or what she was wearing, when the only reason someone gets assaulted is because the perpetrator <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/educating-your-sons-will-protect-your-daughters/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">chose to do so</a>.She and I did not talk much for the rest of the year, but when the school year ended, she asked me if I wanted to take a walk and sit by the water again. She told me her best friends did not know, and she was not ready to tell people.I never quite understood why she chose to open up to me, but maybe she just needed someone who did not know her too well to listen and not tell her what she should do.We hear the horror stories of sexual assault every day. When someone comes forward, there are always people who <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-unequal-marriages/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">question</a> if it is true or made up. It takes immense strength to stand up to all those opinions and voices.She told me she went to hospital and had to repeat details of the assault four times because they kept sending a different nurse. I cannot imagine being in such a vulnerable position, having to repeat and relive the incident over and over again. She said repeating her experience made her doubt her own credibility.I understand the importance of coming forward and speaking up. It is necessary to bring light to the prevalence of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/boys-will-be-boys-is-never-an-excuse/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">such crimes</a>, but some people find comfort in silence because they are processing it themselves.It is unfair to ask those who have suffered to share their story to heal themselves. We think we know best, and tend to have opinions on everyone else’s life. But how do we know what is good for someone when their situations are different?She told me she was aware that she should talk to a therapist and felt guilty for staying silent, but it is her life and her choice. It would be unfair for anyone to ask her to do something she was not ready for. But when she is, she will do everything in her power to do what she is supposed to do, she told me.I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do to make her feel better. And it was not my place to tell her what to do, the most I could do was be there to listen and support her.People have different coping methods to deal with trauma, and we have no right to tell them what is best for them. Some people need more time to heal than others. Some have a less difficult time speaking up, while others keep the truth buried in their hearts for a long time.I still remember that evening looking at the water with her. We were holding hands, not knowing what her next step in life would be.We lost touch over the years, and I still wonder how she is doing now. I know she will talk when she is ready. I know she will speak up when it is her time.Anjana Rajbhandary writes this fortnightly Nepali Times column Life Time about mental health, physical health and socio-cultural issues.

Anjana Rajbhandary

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Staying mum about sexual assault

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111012110/636cd9e09c7e80680e092ec9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/>The #MeToo movement started in 2006 with activist and sexual harassment survivor Tarana Burke speaking out on the social media platform, MySpace. Since then, it has become a huge social movement against sexual harassment and sexual abuse, with people publicly speaking out about similar experiences.Then in 2017, #MeToo became a viral hashtag when celebrities started sharing experiences about the sexual misconduct of Hollywood producer, Harvey Weinstein. It encouraged people all over the world to speak out against sexism, harassment, and discrimination.The kidnapping and murder of Sarah Everard in London on 3 March, has led to a global movement regarding the safety of women in public. Sarah was walking home at 9PM, in a well-lit neighborhood wearing bright clothing and sneakers while speaking to her boyfriend on the phone, taking every safety precaution a woman could take. However, she did not make it home.On 12 March, her remains were found and a police officer, Wayne Couzens was arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder. Women across the UK and the world are enraged by the incident caused by a law enforcement officer who is supposed to protect. How can women feel safe if police are committing such acts?Incidents of this nature have given rise to a social movement because of the rage and frustration. How can the government and law enforcement keep women safe from the violence committed by men?The brutal rape and murder of 13-year-old Nirmala Pant is an example of how higher up officials can influence justice from being served as the perpetrators continue to walk freely. The recent rape and murder of 17-year-old Bhagirathi Bhatta is another example of how women continue to get the short end of the stick and pay for the inhumane acts committed by men.How is it possible for women to feel safe and protected when men continue getting away after committing such acts? How can the country keep its daughters safe?Many women experience daily sexual harassment in public and it is the women who feel more embarrassed than the perpetrators who do not seem to feel any shame and remorse regarding their behavior. And it is the women who are ashamed to come forward and speak up because of the stigma attached. It is the men who commit the shameful act, and it is the women who pay for it, as we have also seen in Bhatta’s case.In many societies, victim-blaming is the immediate reaction. Speaking up about sexual harassment is important, so we can fight against all forms of violence against everyone.Despite having laws against gender-based violence in Nepal, very few cases are reported in the excuse of protecting the family’s name and honour.The victims and survivors often end up dealing with a lifetime of stigma if they choose to report such crimes. There is no guarantee of safety and protection once someone speaks up, which is one of the main reasons women silently suffer.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlNQL5S4XTsWomen who have experienced sexual abuse and harassment experience lifelong depression and anxiety. Experience of harassment at work for women, is often stalked by male bosses threatening the security of their jobs.Most women are not even aware of their own rights, which puts them at a disadvantage and education is the first step to address such issues.Keshav Sthapit, former mayor of Kathmandu, was accused of sexually harassing a female reporter from My Republica daily, and another female employee at Kathmandu municipality. Although he eventually stepped down for other reasons, he was able to dismiss the allegations at that time.Many women grow up internalising sexist behavior as a part of their lives and continue to silently suffer and tolerate all forms of harassment because they are vulnerable. Also, the potential threat to their family is another concern that keeps them from speaking up. How can we encourage women to speak up if their perpetrators always go unpunished?Men, women and people of all genders need to be trained and educated about what is sexual harassment and how they can be helped if they experience it. Every day thousands, if not more, of people, are victims of sexual harassment. Girls and women are at the highest risk of sexual assault, but it does not mean that boys and men cannot be victims either.Sexual violence can have long-term effects on people, and it is likely that they might have suicidal and depressive thoughts after the incident. Victims and survivors of sexual violence are likely to experience post-traumatic stress disorder, contemplate or attempt suicide or abuse substances.Victims and survivors of sexual violence experience problems in school or work and it can negatively affect their relationships with their family and friends.To end all sexual violence, the first step is to educate sons so that every family can have a serious conversation with them to tell them how to treat other genders. It should begin at home.There needs to be stricter punishments for perpetrators so women can feel safer in their neighborhoods and in public. Girls and women practice safety more than men do, but we need to create an environment where they can feel safe and stop living in fear of the worst.If you have never had a conversation with the men in your life, talk to them. It is important to have this conversation so we can put an end to gender-based violence.Educate your sons, so your daughters can feel safe.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/boys-will-be-boys-is-never-an-excuse/">‘Boys will be boys’ is never an excuse</a>, Anjana Rajbhandary

Educating your sons will protect your daughters

<figure><img width="800" height="935" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a539e9c7e80680e05235ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>The first Nepali elected as a member of the committee of the United Nations Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), journalist and gender rights activist Bandana Rana is looking forward to further challenges after being elected a Vice Chair of the committee this year.Rana started out as a tv journalist more than 30 years ago, reading and producing the news on Nepal Television. Working on reports and documentaries about rural women, she wanted to go deeper into the field.Eventually she co-founded Saathi, one of the first organisations working on domestic violence in Nepal, and Sancharika, a forum for women journalists. In those roles, Rana was involved in drafting shadow reports for CEDAW — analyses on the status of women drafted by civil society and non-government organisations to complement the government reports that are submitted every four years. Friends then suggested that she contest the election for the CEDAW committee.“I was inspired by the prospect of being a part of that mechanism, since I have worked in gender rights for more than 30 years now,” says Rana. <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53a29c7e80680e05235fjpeg.jpg" alt="">She remembers the whirlwind three months of campaigning as she met every ambassador in Kathmandu, others in Delhi, travelled to Istanbul to meet foreign ministers, and to New York three times to convince countries to vote for her.When the results came out, Rana had secured sixth place among 23 seats, and was the only South Asian member on the committee. In January she was also elected one of the Vice Chairs and is now part of CEDAW’s policy-making body, a rare position for a Nepali. In that role, Rana reviews the reports submitted to CEDAW by governments and civil society’s shadow reports, and conducts dialogues with countries. She tries to focus on violence against women. “I like to look at the mechanisms in place to address these issues in all spheres — economic, political, and social. What is the engagement of the media? How do countries engage men and boys in combating violence? Are there enough shelters? What are the ways victims can access justice, and how are justice officials sensitised?”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/rape-rulings-in-nepal-follow-letter-not-spirit-of-the-law/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rape rulings in Nepal follow letter, not spirit of the law</a>, Sewa BhattaraiFor Rana, her role is also an opportunity to take her local experience global. “I think I bring many unique points to the table,” she says. “As a citizen of a small South Asian country, I take that perspective to a global scale. CEDAW has a majority of legal experts and their language tends to be highly legal. As a communicator, I simplify the communication style of CEDAW so that the dialogue is constructive and not intimidating to member countries.”One wonders if such activism has had an impact on the situation of women in Nepal. Rana thinks it has. “Today we are openly talking about domestic violence and sexual abuse, while these ‘private issues’ were taboo topics before. The change is apparent even in rural women. Nepal’s conflict has taught them to institutionalise themselves and seek support in groups,” she says. Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/rihana-sheikh-dhaphali-victim-of-dowry-related-violence-nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener">“My husband and in-laws left me to die”</a>, Ayesha ShakyaThat leads us to the #metoo movement. Rana is all for a new, modern way that takes the fight forward. “I myself was molested when I was younger, by a relative who attempted to smooch me when he came home. I did not dare to speak up about it to my parents, because those were the days when victims would be shamed for these assaults,” she remembers.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-women-take-to-media-to-expose-abuse/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepali women take to media to expose abuse</a>, Reeti K.C.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">#TheyToo</a>, Sewa Bhattarai“Things have changed now, and the women who spoke up have encouraged others, especially younger girls, to speak out. This changes romantic relationships because men are now banned from doing many things. But I say that only the men who misbehave have any reason to fear.”Rana is clear about future priorities. “In the past few years, Nepal has made great progress in laws but their implementation is weak, and that is where the next challenge lies,” she says. “We must invest in finances and knowledge, and we must put in place a strong monitoring system to check if our system is working. Also, strong internalised political will to solve these problems is a must.”

Worldwide women’s activist

<img width="1584" height="1108" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26569c7e80680e043a0djpeg.jpg" alt=""/>At <a href="https://www.international-alert.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">International Alert</a>, as a global peacebuilding organisation, we often point to Nepal alongside <a href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/%2520identical-political-trajectories-in-Nepal-and-South-Africa,4057&amp;sa=U&amp;ved=0ahUKEwj1r8WljLjgAhVBP48KHQScCPYQFggFMAA&amp;client=internal-uds-cse&amp;cx=011870630917993763279:opm7uqsat-4&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RTo4ewDKjXsEgz2vOJ76F" target="_blank" rel="noopener">South Africa</a> or Northern Ireland as a country working through a peace process successfully, proving that peace can be writ large.  Of course, all three countries are still beset by troubles and the peace is far from perfect. In Northern Ireland, for example, today <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/06/24/implications-of-brexit-for-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Brexit</a> threatens the peace agreement, while in South Africa entrenched economic apartheid persists. But the guns have fallen silent, and stayed silent. Given that globally, half of all peace deals fall apart within 5 years, that is quite an achievement.Recently, International Alert and our partner <a href="http://fwld.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Forum for Women, Law and Development</a> (FWLD) held a meeting in Nepalganj for victims to meet with the local service providers – local government, district administration, the hospitals, businesses and social services. The aim was to get practical help at the local level, while still pushing for a national solution.And <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-struggle-for-transitional-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the scars of war</a>, still unresolved, were still fresh: One man told us how on 8 July 2001, the Maoists cut off his leg, suspecting him of being an informer. Six times he has approached the government offices seeking medical support, but no-one listened to him. <img width="1949" height="777" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a265a9c7e80680e043a0ejpeg.jpg" alt="">The man sitting next to him told us that his leg was cut off the very next day on 9 July 2001: “My house was destroyed and I was tortured by the Maoists. I get interim relief but not adequate compensation. I registered my case with the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/12-years-later-justice-is-a-mirage/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Truth and Reconciliation Commission</a> and so want to know what is going to happen next.” He wears an artificial leg, but has to treat himself.  Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/12-years-later-justice-is-a-mirage/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">12 years later, justice is a mirage</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/justice-in-transition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Justice in transition</a>, David SeddonCalmly, patiently, a woman spoke up for all those waiting for men who have disappeared, calling simply for the truth, another for a lost son, another for a missing father. A woman said she was blindfolded and raped by security forces in the barracks. Severely traumatised and suffering from serious uterus problems to this day, she needs medical support and psychosocial counselling. But like too many others, she is left without support and justice.These victims and their families are struggling to be heard by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons (CIEDP), the two bodies in charge of pushing forward transitional justice in Nepal. Both have so far failed to deliver, despite having registered 63,000 complaints. This week, the four-year tenure of both <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/justice-in-transition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">transitional justice commissions</a> were extended, and new Commissioners will be appointed.The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/no-country-for-women/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">victims of sexual assault, rape</a> and torture, for example, have not received any support – no recognition that they are victims, no interim relief, no compensation. That is deeply demoralising for the victims and International Alert has been calling on the Nepal government to support a gender responsive <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/just-not-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">transitional justice process</a>.  Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/no-country-for-women/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">No country for women</a>, Shreejana Shrestha <img width="1280" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a265d9c7e80680e043a0fjpeg.jpg" alt="">These initiatives desperately need substantial funds with matching political will to ensure progress. The wounds of war cannot be left to fester and must be proactively addressed. If the Nepal government seems <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/state-of-impunity,2976" target="_blank" rel="noopener">lacklustre to prioritise</a> these issues, the victims’ groups are full of gritty determination. People are more than ready to mobilise to find the truth, support victims to receive compensation and find new work or to mourn their loved, lost ones. To be more effective, the civil societies and victim groups must come under one common platform to take the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/justice-delayed-justice-denied-transitional-justice,3556" target="_blank" rel="noopener">transitional justice advocacy</a> ahead.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/just-not-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Just not justice</a>, Om Astha Rai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/rocky-transition-to-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rocky transition to justice</a>, EditorialNepal still has an opportunity to move forward the transitional justice process constructively in the coming months and to address truth, justice and reparation for victims. But this work needs the Government of Nepal to step up, and it needs donors to commit. If we want peace to last (and who does not?) then it needs long term, patient investment.Which is why the long time frame of the US Global Fragility and Violence Reduction Act is so vital. The bi-partisan Act was passed overwhelmingly through the House of Representatives on 28 November. If it passes the Senate, it commits the US Government to invest in 10 countries (five  already at war, five fragile) over 10 years, with coordination across all government departments from USAID to the military.Too often, governments lose interest in countries once the crises are past. NGOs are left with one or two-year projects sputtering to an end and no donors in sight to continue investing in building everyday peace. But that is to ignore the evidence and misread the public.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/state-of-impunity,2976" target="_blank" rel="noopener">State of impunity</a>, Editorial<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/justice-delayed-justice-denied-transitional-justice,3556" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Justice delayed, justice denied</a>, EditorialEvidence shows that peacebuilding is effective, and also cost-effective. Every $1 spent on peacebuilding saves $16 in the costs of war, according to the Institute for Economics and Peace. A 2018 global poll undertaken by International Alert with the British Council found the public strongly favour ‘dealing with the reasons why people fight in the first place’ and ‘supporting societies to deal with conflict peacefully’, as effective means of creating long-term peace.So in 2019, the community of peacebuilding organisations will be pushing for the US Act to be passed into law, for other governments to adopt the approach, and for concrete progress for victims in Nepal as another building block of lasting peace.Harriet Lamb, CEO of International Alert and Rabina Shrestha, Manager of International Alert Nepal

Nepal’s transition to peace needs justice

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110714114/6369029c9c7e80680e037c73jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"/>The rape and murder of a 13-year-old girl in Kanchanpur last week was the latest in a series of crimes nationwide reported daily and with depressing regularity in the media.This time, the outrage wasn’t just against the local authorities for not being able to find the rapists, the anger was directed at the messengers.One national daily actually published a photo of the teenager’s corpse in a muddy field surrounded by onlookers. The picture was shared widely on social media, even though many called for it to be taken down.Like most newsrooms in South Asia, the ones in Nepal also fall short when it comes to discussion and introspection on journalistic practices and ethical standards, especially while reporting on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/no-country-for-women/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">rape and sexual assault</a>. How do we report on it when we have not even figured out how to talk about such crimes? What are the pitfalls while navigating allegations that are difficult to corroborate? How much detail of the victim and family is necessary?Also read: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/perpetrators-of-sexual-violence-walk-free-women-remain-silent,1768" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rape as a weapon of war</a>, Tufan Neupane<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19884#.W2wEt1UzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rape for ransom</a>, Shatrudhan Kumar Shah<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110714114/6369029e9c7e80680e037c74jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="339"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110714114/636902a19c7e80680e037c75jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="210"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Then there is the victim blaming. There were several stories about the Darbar Marg rape case earlier this year where reporters commented freely on the woman’s body, her personal life, relationships, her decision to drink with male friends, and other issues that distracted from the crime.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/four-fold-increase-in-reported-rape-in-10-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Police records show rape and attempted rape cases have grown almost fourfold since 2008.</a> Last year, more than 1,100 rape complaints were filed, while many more go unreported.While news of sexual assault is now common on the papers and tv, coverage is often problematic. Most have sensational headlines with the victim’s voice missing, condescending language perpetuates stereotypes about sexual assault, and stock images depicting victims as helpless with artfully ripped clothes.Nepal ranks 111 out of 144 countries in global gender equality index and Nepali women are subjected to many forms of violence, from punishment for witchcraft, domestic violence, to sexual assault. And whenever the heavily male-dominated newsrooms report on these issues, the template is the same: victims are almost always robbed of their agency.The news is largely based on police reports, which means much goes unreported. Many journalists skip the most challenging aspect of covering such stories: building trust to tell the victims’ side of the story.Also read: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/young-girls-not-pushed-around-anymore,4183" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Not pushed around anymore</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/sexual-abuse-in-the-family-neighbourhoods,3509" target="_blank" rel="noopener">All in the family</a>, Sahina ShresthaMost stories are also episodic, focusing on individual crimes without examining trends, not investigating institutional failures and entrenched male entitlement. Why is rape under-reported? How are the crimes investigated, if at all? What is the reason for the low conviction rate? Most importantly, how does coverage change the lives of victims?Tired of venting our frustration about coverage of rape and sexual assault in the Nepali media, we <a href="https://www.recordnepal.com/wire/nepal-media-coverage-of-sexual-violence/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">collaborated with The Record </a>and talked to editors and reporters in Kathmandu for the <a href="https://soundcloud.com/bojubajai/this-is-how-nepals-news-media-covers-rape" target="_blank" rel="noopener">recent episode of our BojuBajai podcast.</a>Almost everyone agreed newsrooms had become more sensitive lately about the issue, but this did not always reflect in the coverage. None of the newsrooms had guidelines, except to withhold the victim’s identity. Most said they never gave much thought to the pictures accompanying their stories, as long as it didn’t show the victim’s face.Some admitted that proximity of the incidents to Kathmandu shapes the priority the story gets. “Whether they take place in Bara or Durbar Marg, we need to ensure they get the same importance,” one editor said.More revealing was the attitude towards gender-based violence in newsrooms where women make up less than a quarter of the workforce. Reporters said their stories on domestic violence did not get attention until a woman is beaten to death. Senior reporters often think it is beneath them to cover such “light topics”.Improving coverage of violence against women will only begin when journalists first see there is something wrong with objectifying and stereotyping women, and having a different standard in coverage of females figures, or in treating domestic violence as normal.Here are some resources for journalists to sensitively report on these issues<a href="http://www.satyamevjayate.in/Fighting-Rape/EPISODE-1article.aspx?uid=E1-Media-A1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Satyamev Jayate</a><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/editorialguidelines/guidelines/law/victims-sexual-offences" target="_blank" rel="noopener">BBC Editorial guidelines</a><a href="https://dartcenter.org/content/reporting-on-sexual-violence" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dart Center, Reporting on Sexual Violence</a><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/13/reader-center/jessica-bennett-our-new-gender-editor-answers-your-questions.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Jessica Bennett, New York Times Gender Editor, on gender coverage and reporting on sexual misconduct</a>

How does the Nepali media cover rape?

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

sexual-assault