Political ABCs: Assemblies, Bandhs, and Constitutions

Aside from earthquakes, avalanches, floods, and other natural disasters, Nepal has made the international news several times in the past few years as it tries to lay the foundation of its government. Getting a handle on the current situation requires some understanding of Nepali history, geography, politics, and culture. I’m still trying to understand it, and I’ve lived here for almost two years.

Currently, Nepal can be divided in several ways. To the north are the Himalaya, below that the Mahabharat (Middle Hills), and in the south the Terai (plains). For administrative purposes, the country has been divided into five development regions: Far West, Midwest, West, Central and East. These are further subdivided in 14 zones, comprised of a total of 75 districts, 240 sectors, and over 3,000 village development committees (VDCs) across the country. For example, I live in Shreegaun VDC, in the fifth sector of Dang District, Rapti Zone, in the Midwestern Region of Nepal. Also, keep in mind that within the country, which is about the size of Tennessee, there are 123 languages and 125 castes and ethnic groups. Each area is a distinct combination of topography, climate, biodiversity, and culture.

Now for some political history, which I’ve tried to keep as brief as possible. For millennia, Nepal was ruled by monarchs. In 1765, Prithivi Naryan Shah embarked on an expedition to unify the country, which had previously been divided into small independent kingdoms. The Shahs ruled until 1848, when a military leader named Jung Bahadur Rana took advantage of factionalism within the royal family to overthrow the Shah dynasty, killing hundreds of administrators and officials loyal to the Shahs. In 1951, Tribhuwan Shah, backed by emerging pro-democratic movements, deposed the Rana rulers and instituted a cabinet system of government. The 1990s saw a series of reforms establishing a multiparty democracy within the framework of a constitutional monarchy.

In 1996, the United Nepal Communist Party (Maoist), capitalizing on growing dissatisfaction among the general population with the lack of reforms from the democratically elected government, launched a reform movement to the west of Kathmandu. Maoist militants attacked police outposts and district headquarters, establishing provisional governments at the district level in several locations.

In the midst of this, in 2001, the Nepali crown prince killed ten members of the royal family, including the king, queen, and himself. In the aftermath of Nepali royal massacre, the former king’s brother, Gyanendra Bir Bikram Shah, assumed the throne.

Into the early 2000s, the Maoist movement continued to gain ground and minds until the Maoists finally declared a blockade of Kathmandu in December 2004. Forty days later, King Gyanendra dissolved the government, declared a state of emergency, and instituted martial law, citing the government’s incapacity to address the Maoist insurgency. A mass movement restored the government the following year and initiated a peace movement calling for an end to the 10-year-long armed conflict. After three weeks of protests organized by a seven-party alliance and the Maoists, the king allowed parliament to reconvene in April 2006. In November, the seven-party alliance and the Maoists signed a comprehensive peace agreement, ending the war. All in all, more than 15,000 people were killed and 100,000-150,000 people displaced as a result of the Nepalese Civil War, which Maoists call the People’s War.

In January 2007, an interim constitution was drafted, stipulating an interim unicameral (single-body) parliament. At the end of the year, the seven-party alliance and the Maoists agreed to abolish the monarchy and declare Nepal a federal democratic republic. Constituent Assembly (CA) elections were held in April 2008 to devise a permanent constitution, with the Maoist party carrying the majority. After failing to meet their May 2010 deadline, the CA extended its own deadline a year. When this deadline, too, passed unmet, the prime minister dissolved the CA. In November 2013, two months after I arrived in Nepal, a second CA election was held. The Nepali Congress party won a majority of seats, but the Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist-Leninist) (CPN-UML) and United Communist Party – Maoist (UCPN-M) also secured a sizable number of seats. In total, thirty parties are represented among the Nepali second CA’s 575 members, which took office in January 2014 and was given a year to draft a constitution.

January 22 2015, the deadline for the second CA draft, came and went as well. Finally, on July 2, the CA published a draft, and all parliamentary members returned to their constituents to receive feedback. These events, while well attended, seemed to be more of a formality. According to my friends who attended, many people raised concerns outside the scope of the constitution. Those who didn’t get a turn to speak gave written suggestions, which were piled up in a stack of papers over a foot high. Apparently, some members of a faction of the Maoist party arrived armed with sticks and threw a beer bottle at the police. Still, at least major seven major issues were raised across the country.

Since Nepal has been Nepal, political power has been centralized in Kathmandu. Nepal’s first elections weren’t held until the 1950s, and there haven’t been local elections in the past two decades. Aside from those elected to parliament, all other politicians and administrators are appointees. In the forming of the constitution, contentious issues include the number and borders of the provinces, organization of the electoral system and judiciary, the process of citizenship, the representation of castes in government and business, monarchy vs. republic, parliamentary vs. presidential democracy, federalism vs. decentralization, and a secular vs. Hindu state, among others. For instance, many argue that Nepal, with its 81% Hindu population, should be denominated as a Hindu nation in the constitution. Strident opposition has come from religious minorities, mostly Buddhists, Muslims, and Christians. In the current draft, proselytizing is outlawed.

Earlier this month, the CA reconvened in Kathmandu to finalize the constitution. On August 10, plans were announced to divide the country into six provinces. Protests arose in various districts: some objected to being split in half by the proposed demarcation; others opposed separating from particular neighboring districts. In Surkhet, where eleven Peace Corps Volunteers are posted, two people were killed and six seriously injured when police opened fire on demonstrators who had defied a curfew and were vandalizing government buildings and politicians’ homes. Opposition parties announced a series of protests lasting through August 17, including rallies, torch rallies, and bandhs.

Bandhs are unique to Nepal, and don’t have a good English translation. Political parties, unions, and locals use bandhs, or “closures” as a form of protest to pressure the government to fulfill their demands. A bandh consists of crowds taking to the streets and preventing all traffic from passing. This includes cars, buses, motorcycles, and sometimes even bicycles, from 5 AM to 5 PM. Only vehicles with blue license plates, which designate diplomatic vehicles, are allowed on the roads. Demonstrators been known to bombard violators’ vehicles with rocks and occasionally set them on fire.

In the meantime, the country shuts down. Typically, only hotels and hospitals remain open; everything else—shops, schools, businesses banks, and government offices—close. Try to imagine the implications of an all-out ban on travel. Farmers can’t sell their produce nor purchase pesticides to protect diseased crops, like my friend Tanka who has hundreds of tomato plants currently suffering from blight. People lose access to food and money. Recharge cards, which are how Nepalis replenish money on their cell phones, can run out, hindering communication. Shop owners lose income. Students are prevented from studying. For each day of nationwide bandh, it is estimated that Nepal directly loses 1.8 billion rupees (i.e. $1.8 million) of its GDP, totaling a loss of 0.6-2.2% of its economic output in any given year. The indirect cost is likely much higher. Can you imagine such a protest being permitted to happen in the U.S.? People wouldn’t stand for it.

Health services are also suspended or limited. The other day, two pregnant women in labor were traveling to Tulsipur in a jeep, as all the ambulances in the area had been unavailable. Demonstrators threw rocks at the car and demanded that the women nevertheless use an ambulance, as other vehicles were not permitted to travel. Only after the police arrived, finding the women crying in the back seat on the verge of childbirth, was the vehicle allowed to continue on its way. People who need to travel to Kathmandu or abroad for specialized care are forced to delay treatment.

Bandhs are often called for a day, but can last indefinitely—a week, two weeks, even a month. Occasionally, the organizers will schedule bandhs in various districts at different times, like this past January when, after returning from my family trip to Cambodia, I was stuck in Kathmandu for four days due to bandhs in districts along my way back to site. The atmosphere in Kathmandu was eerie—during the bandh, not a single vehicle could be seen on the normally bustling streets of Nepal’s capital. In total, over two dozen nationwide bandhs have been called since I arrived in Nepal.

The current bandh has indefinitely delayed my selection of participants for our upcoming boy’s development camp, upset my plans to bring Moringa trees, asparagus rootstock, and strawberry plants to my community, left me strapped for cash, and made me feel pretty fed up with Nepal.

What's So Funny

Certain human emotions are universal, and I’d always supposed the expression of those emotions to be so as well. For instance fear initiates fight or flight, anger manifests itself in yelling, pain causes crying. But what produces laughter? Or, put another way, what makes funny things funny? Because in the past few weeks, there’ve been dozens of instances when Nepalis laughed at something and I was left scratching my head.

I should preface this by acknowledging that these are my own impressions and may not be representative of all Nepali comedy. Your sense of humor, for all I know, might match that of Nepalis’ more than mine. Moreover, with my second-rate understanding of the language and culture, it’s quite possible that I’ve been oblivious to some of the more forms sophisticated forms of Nepali humor. But, in my experience, the following examples are pretty typical of what makes the people in my village laugh.

During a soccer game, I injure my toe, let out gasp of pain, and hobble off the field. Laughter. One of the boys takes a ball hard to the face. Pointing and laughter. While fishing, I slip on a mossy rock and nearly fall into the water. From the complete strangers sitting nearby, laughter. What to do these occurrences all have in common? Clumsiness and pain. Or, in the words of my Nepali friend, “We think it’s funny when people get hurt.” Not seriously hurt, of course; it’s more like slapstick with a touch of sadism. I cringe, they laugh. Had most Nepalis had internet on their phones five years ago, I imagine “Scarlet Takes a Tumble” would have been a national sensation.

On another thread, Nepalis love to joke with me about marriage. Virtually everyone I meet asks if I’m going to marry a Nepali and take her back to America. Some even offer to search for a potential wife for me. I can’t always tell if they’re joking or not, but what little humor that conversation ever held has long expired for me. When I asked my host brother about why people inevitably pop the marriage question, he replied simply, “They think it’s funny.” Since that conversation, he now explains to people that you shouldn’t joke with Americans about marriage, death, or other serious topics.

On the subject of death, I’ve never really understood Nepalis’ attitude towards mortality. The loss and rituals are taken seriously, for sure, but death also seems to be acceptable as a subject of humor. A friend’s host family once joked about a young girl who had committed suicide. Another time, they asked if she’d like to go have a look at the body of a woman strung up in a tree. Surfing Facebook last month, I came across a Nepali meme of a man trying to hang himself on a banana tree, which had bent under his weight and left him kneeling on the ground instead of suspended in the air. Most of the comments were mocking.

Regarding Nepali comedy, I’d heard mixed reviews (i.e. raves from Nepalis, universal disapproval from my American friends) but I’d never watched any myself. I did know that the humorous moments were accentuated with an absurd assemblage of boings, honks, whistles, and waps. After some prompting, some of my village friends convinced me to give a show—the funniest one on TV, they said—a chance. The episode took place in tents, suggesting a location affected by the earthquake. Its plot was this: a young guy with a weird voice (whom I’ll call Red Hoodie) tries to secure the affection of a girl. He initial pursuit is flirtatious, but after repeated rebuffing his behavior escalates to the point of harassment. He asks her to be his wife and puts his arm around her multiple times despite he physical resistance. She calls the chief of police and implores him to protect her. He places a guard at the entrance of her tent to keep Red Hoodie at bay. All of this, based on the reaction of my friends, seems to be funny.

But Red Hoodie has a few pals who will help him in his quest. We meet one of them, (let’s call him Slim) speaking to a dog in a languid, meandering voice that implies his stupidity. To his surprise, the dog responds in a very deep voice (roaring laughter from the audience). The second is a beatnik (that’ll do for his name) with hair like Tito from Rocket Power (laughter at this, and a comment that “his hair is so silly!”). Beatnik’s catchphrase, “slow motion,” provokes laughter as well.

Together, the three friends approach the policeman keeping watch and begin asking him casual questions. Where is he from? Gorkha. Was his home affected by the earthquake? Yes, it collapsed. Did he lose anyone in his family? His grandmother, he replies dolefully. At this point, Slim and Beatnik become dramatically commiserative and lead the guard away from the doorway, allowing Red Hoodie to sneak into the house. As he resumes his skeevy courtship, the three other men sit in a nearby field, the policeman sobbing on his companions’ shoulders while they shed contrived tears for the dead grandma.

Something tells me that in the states, this gag, akin to joking about Hurricane Katrina just two months after the fact, would not be well received. Too soon, we would shout unanimously! But my five fellow viewers all found it hilarious.

Next, the woman complains to the police chief. He relieves the policeman who failed in his duty and posts another. To dispose of this guard, the friends commission a seductive female friend to lure him away from the door. He, too, is replaced, but the friends drug his successor, causing him to faint. These schemes, though maybe less morbid than exploiting a man’s grief, are not really funnier. And, each time, Red Hoodie invades the woman’s tent to hassle her some more.

I stopped paying attention at this point, but I assume the show came to some conclusion. All in all, I’d laughed exactly one time during the half-hour episode. My friends, on the other hand, had visibly enjoyed it. When they were walking me back to my room, they suggested that I must not have understood the dialogue. No, I got it, I said, I just didn’t find it amusing.

Still, while I consider a lot of Nepali humor melodramatic and inane, I’ve had plenty of good laughs in the village. Last night my host mother told me that my host sister will often laugh all day about some incident or other, her each recollection inducing a fresh bout of giggling. These recalled incidents include my falls, which have grown more frequent with the slicker roads of the monsoon season. We all agree that this is pretty funny.