Nepali Politics 103

Now that you’re somewhat up to speed on Nepal’s past, the present hopefully makes a little more sense.

Because on August 15, while my Internet was out, the next critical event in Nepal’s political history occurred: the Maoists negotiated heavily with a lot of people, and the limbo since the April elections finally ended.

The Maoist party rejoined Nepal’s government with their leader, Prachanda, as the new prime minister. The same day, Girija Prasad Koirala ended his time as interim prime minister, stepping down with a formal congratulations to his successor.

Okay, does this make sense? Remember, the elections were in April — to choose 601 representatives to write a new constitution. At the end of May a republic was declared, and in June the king quietly left his palace. (Which we drove right in front of today; it’s quite impressive.) In July the Constituent Assembly (CA; said 601 people above) elected Ram Baran Yadav as the first president of Nepal. Now, in August, the new prime minister has been chosen, and he’s setting up his cabinet.

The “limbo” lasted from April until now, as the various political parties within the CA all bickered over how to set up and run the government. More than once, one or another threatened to, or temporarily did, resign from the government entirely. We have a quote on our fridge that I cut out of one of the first newspapers here, one of those quotes that the editorial staff felt strongly enough about to place in large type in its own text box in the middle of the article. It says, “Yes, I can confirm our party has withdrawn from the government. We just didn’t have time to file before the end of office hours today.”

Within a few days they were back in the government. Again. Until they withdrew. Again. And…

With all this going on, for four months it seemed like Nepal had no real government at all. At least, such the newspapers bitterly complained. When Koirala went to a summit meeting of South Asian nations at the start of this month, writers groaned about his status as “interim” prime minister and wondered what image they were portraying to the rest of the world.

Really, though, I think the timeline paragraph above does represent some definite progress. Each step took a month, but each happened, in a fairly comprehensible order. And during the so-called chaos, life in Kathmandu proceeded normally, as near as I could tell. Granted, we only got here in June. But traffic police stand at the major intersections directing traffic; fruit and vegetable stalls display fresh produce; stores feature piles of goods for sale; vehicular and pedestrian and other traffic clogs the streets daily… and while that’s frequently interrupted by protests, the protests are temporary and largely peaceful.

For us, they’re just a mild inconvenience. This morning it meant we arrived at fencing class half an hour late because a reported one thousand Buddhist monks were parading through the streets ahead of us. We never saw any of them at all; we’ve seen protesters in person only once, when a group of about 40 young people marched down the street beside us, all of them neatly grouped in rows of five and walking in solidarity toward an indeterminate point to the north. None carried signs, or even shouted slogans, near as I could tell. Many of them smiled, proud because of their mission, or grinning because of the lark of snarling traffic by force of numbers… I couldn’t tell which.

I have no idea if any of them are achieving their goals, and often I’m fuzzy on just what those goals are, anyway. As frequently noted, I’m still toddling through elementary Nepali. The English-language papers report various types of protest, from the odd (students demanding a 50% discount on public transport, scorning the 35% offered to them) to the more sober (Maoist Victims’ Group, raising their voices for compensation for themselves or family members injured in the recent civil war).

We have had one other strange political experience over the weekend. Yesterday morning, as I finished reading A Passage to India, in the distance I heard an amplified voice. I paid it little attention for a while; the workers at the wrought iron shop near our house often have a blaring radio turned loud enough for them to hear it over their hammering. I rather like the radio here, because I enjoy both Nepali and Hindi music. But part of my mind thought the voice continued for an awful long time, and out of sync with the music…

My husband called me upstairs and we peered out our windows at a man holding a loud speaker. About 5 – 10 other people accompanied him, two carrying flags, a few carrying a red blanket in which they were collecting money, as donations, apparently. And none of those flags were Nepal’s refreshingly different national flag; instead they were red, with hammer and sickle.

We couldn’t understand a word the man said. We have no idea whether they were actually Maoists, or members of one of Nepal’s other communist groups. We just peeked at them but otherwise stayed back; we watched some of our neighbors walk out onto their terraces, leaning over to listen for a moment, their eyes a bit narrowed, before they turned and went inside, or nonchalantly continued with their outdoor tasks of washing the clothes or hanging up laundry. The little group continued, none deterred. And as they disappeared out of sight, we caught several pictures from our roof. I’ll post them tomorrow, or edit this post then; it’s late for me to fiddle with finding the camera and downloading pictures now.

Nepal is practicing democracy. It’s still a fairly new idea here. But they’re definitely fond of expressing varied political aspirations.

Nepali of the day:

sarkari: governmental

mantri: government minister

bandh: literally, “shut”; refers to a strike, or a day when a group calls on certain businesses or businesses in a certain area to close