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Nepal’s Transitional Justice and the West’s recalibration

<figure><img width="800" height="533" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209649c7e80680e0b553cjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Nagma Mali holding a picture of her father Nandagopal Mali. Photo: BIKKIL STHAPIT/ VOICES OF WOMEN MEDIA</figcaption></figure>On 22 June 2004, Nandagopal Mali left home in Thecho, Lalitpur as usual for his workshop where he was casting a bronze statue for a customer. He hasn’t been seen since.His daughter Nagma, who was eight at the time, kept waiting for her dad. Seventeen years later, she is still waiting.Having already lost her mother three years previously, while giving birth to her younger sister, Nagma could never accept that her father was gone and with no official proof of his demise, held on to the hope that he would come back one day.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/351/Nation/13585#.Ygs50u5Bz0s">Disappeared, dead or alive</a>, Anagha NeelakantanSoon after Nandagopal went missing, Nagma’s grandfather Sanu Mali took charge of searching for his son but he passed away soon after.It was then Nagma’s grandmother who stepped up, relentlessly questioning Royal Nepal Army officials and holding protests every day in Maitighar.One day, after returning from daily protests, Nagma’s grandmother told her about two children who were also searching for their missing parents.Nagma was a quiet girl whose first instinct was to hide when someone visited her home, but she decided to join her grandmother on the streets. <figure><img width="585" height="444" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209679c7e80680e0b553djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“It was my grandmother who made me the strong, independent person that I am today, fighting for justice,” says Nagma. “She also involved me in all important decision making, installing self-confidence in me.”She followed her grandmother to the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons and participated in every program advocating justice for crimes committed during the Maoist conflict. She met others like her with missing parents, but had not given up the search.By then Nagma had completed her secondary education and was trying to decide on her career. One day, Nagma’s grandmother was stopped at the Chauni army barrack and was not allowed in.This was when Nagma realised that you either had to be someone with influence or a journalist to gain access to important places and people.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16267#.Ygs5zu5Bz0s">Vanishing Hope</a>, Ram Kumar BhandariNagma enrolled at Ratna Rajya Campus for a degree in journalism. But before long her only remaining support, her grandmother, died leaving her in charge of raising younger sister Swastika. But Nagma persisted and kept looking for her father on her own.She tried to visit top-ranking officials, joined the ‘Martyrs and Disappeared Warrior Children’ foundation and submitted a memorandum to the government to reveal the whereabouts of her missing father. But as her questions went unanswered and the state failed to investigate the case, her faith in the Disparaged Persons Committee started to erode. <figure><img width="1050" height="735" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209699c7e80680e0b553ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>She then turned to the Central Bureau of Investigation and studied for the Civil Service Commission exam with the hopes of joining the police force and finding her father herself. But as the sole earner of the family paying for both her and Swastika’s studies, she wasn’t able to keep up and did not sit for the paper.“Over the years I have often questioned myself if he was still alive. More than 15 years have passed, it has been a painful wait,” says Nagma, who strengthened her resolve once again and demanded that the government disclose information on the disappeared persons regardless of their state.After the peace talks in 2006, the Maoists became part of the government. The country went from the war to peace but the families of the disappeared continued to wait. None of the agencies set up to investigate war crimes are working on the whereabouts of nearly 1,500 still missing. <figure><img width="1050" height="662" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/6372096c9c7e80680e0b553fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“If we don’t fight, the disappeared will also be forgotten,” adds Nagma, who is now with the organisation Voices of Women Media and is also affiliated with the Conflict Victim Women National Network. “The truth is missing just like those who were made to disappear.” What worries Nagma most is the fate of children affected by the disappearances during the conflict and says the Maoist-led government has treated them unfairly. Children of those declared martyrs get free of cost education up to any level but for the children of the disappeared, it stops at 18 years of age. Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17395#.Ygs53e5Bz0s">The disappeared and disquiet of those left behind</a>, Robert Godden “Pushpa Kamal Dahal looked after only his people after his purpose was served. What about us, the children of the disappeared? When will the consequences of your action be addressed?” Nagma questions the top Maoist leadership. How long should one wait for the disappeared person to come back? A month? A year? A decade? For Nagma, the answer is as long as she lives. She says: “As long as there is a hope of my father’s return, my search will continue. I won’t ever give up.” Adapted from the <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/128303?fbclid=IwAR3c3furHehsMy3HMd7Yv8VVJ9Iuq_rCUTCYEW_0xNErEsmBc_e9Lb0DLv0">Nepali original</a> in <a href="http://himalkhabar.com/">himalkhabar.com</a>Read more:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/disappearance-of-justice/">Disappearance of Justice</a>, Sabrina Dangol<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-scars-of-war/">The scars of War</a>, Sahina Shrestha

Still looking for Dad missing in Nepal

<img width="1756" height="1420" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/6372094c9c7e80680e0b5533jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>This week it will be 26 years since the Maoists took up arms against the state, and 16 years since the war ended. Sher Bahadur Deuba was prime minister in 1996, just as he is now in an uneasy governing coalition with his erstwhile Maoist enemies. The war lasted ten years, leaving 17,000 dead. Unlike previous years, preparations for <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/20-years-wasted-in-war,2850%22%20%5Ct%20%22_blank">‘People’s War Day’ </a>on 13 February are muted. This is to be expected -- the warring sides are now not just the state, but are members of the same governing coalition. Today, both Deuba and his Maoist coalition partner Pushpa Kamal Dahal want to brush the dirty business of war under the carpet. Two commissions set up to investigate war crimes are as good as defunct. Neither side wants to rake up the past, and hope that time will help erase memories of atrocities.  Maoist ideologue Baburam Bhattarai presented Deuba with a 40-point ultimatum a day before Valentine’s on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/02/16/making-war-on-the-day-of-love/%22%20%5Ct%20%22_blank">13 February 1996</a>. But even before the deadline ran out, guerrillas led by Nanda Kishore Pun and Barsha Man Pun attacked a police post in Rolpa district. Nanda Kishore <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/10/31/ex-guerrilla-is-vice-president/%22%20%5Ct%20%22_blank">Pun</a> is now Nepal’s vice-president, Barsha Man Pun has been minister several times and just returned after medical treatment in China. He may have been convicted of war crimes, but Agni Sapkota is Speaker of Parliament. Guerrilla commander Janardan Sharma is Finance Minister in the coalition government. In 1996, Deuba was too busy extinguishing a rebellion within his Nepali Congress party (sound familiar?) to respond to the spreading Maoist insurgency. When the police did react, it was with such indiscriminate violence that it the Maoists had no trouble with recruitment. Despite the 1990 transition to constitutional monarchy and the short-lived euphoria of democracy, the Maoists felt this would not end feudalism. They believed that it was only possible to end the ‘structural violence’ of the state by taking up arms against it. They faithfully followed the ‘protracted armed struggle’ tactics of Mao, who himself was a disciple of Sun Tzu.  They chose a remote and inaccessible region of the country where state neglect, inequity and social injustice were entrenched. But objective conditions for revolt were so ripe, the state’s response so ham-handed, that the insurgency spread like wildfire.The Maoists wanted to topple parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy, and were backed by forces inside and outside Nepal with the same goal. Emboldened by early gains, the Maoists used the momentum of the royal palace massacre of 1 June 2001 to take on the Royal Nepal Army a year later. The level of violence and casualties escalated – an average of 35 Nepalis were being killed every day at the hands of fellow-Nepalis.King Gyanendra’s ill-advised coup of 2005 backfired, and people came out on to the streets. Their demands were peace and democracy, in that order. A military stalemate on the ground, war weariness, and lobbying by external peacemakers led to a ceasefire. In the 16 years since, Nepal has gone from war to peace, from monarchy to republic, from Hindu state to secularism, but not much else has changed. Despite a progressive Constitution, social exclusion and injustice prevail, there is chronic instability, impunity, lack of accountability and governance failure. For those who still remember the horrors of war, the sacrifices have been squandered. Nepal is back to where it was in 1996 and even the political protagonists are the same people. In an election year, there is a move to rollback federalism, secularism and even monarchy. History is once more repeating itself as a farce.      Ever since the Shaktikhor tapes in which he boasted on candid camera to have hoodwinked the United Nations by inflating his party’s militia strength so he could pocket more compensation from the state, Pushpa Kamal Dahal has been known for playing to the gallery. The ongoing political tug-o-war over the US-supported Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC) project has further exposed Dahal. The fact that he had co-signed (with Deuba) a letter to the MCC secretariat in Washington DC assuring it that he needed a few more months to build a consensus within the coalition for ratification by Parliament was diametrically opposite of what he was saying in public against the MCC. The political fallout has been damaging for PKD, even those sympathetic to his cause have taken him to task. Cartoonists and social media are having a field-day lampooning him. But Dahal has built such widespread public opinion against the project that he is now trying to portray himself as a staunch nationalist who stood up to American imperialism.   Dahal had two chances to serve as prime minister, and Bhattarai once. The two have fallen out long since, with Bhattarai now also threatening to split off from the Janata Samajbadi Party (JSP) because he cannot get along with another former Maoist Upendra Yadav. PKD’s Maoist party is now a shadow of its former fearsome self. Most of his staunchest comrades have abandoned him. Many may not even remember 13 February.

13 February

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d122b9c7e80680e0a98c2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Young mothers with their children in Muktikot where child marriage has become more prevalent as subsistence farmers cope with a succession of droughts and floods that have destroyed harvests. All photos: SONAM LAMA</figcaption></figure>“Mulai kyai thaa bhayaanai,” murmurs Birjaman, pain and fatigue etched on his wizened face. He has just made a steep 3-hour climb from his village of Muktikot to a pharmacy carrying his semi-conscious daughter-in-law, Reti.She has post-partum haemorrhage, and has not stopped bleeding. The clinic managed to save her life, but the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/child-marriage-in-nepal-eloped-at-13-mother-by-17/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">young mother</a> lost her three-month foetus. Reti was married off at 16, and at 22 already has two children.The midwife says the miscarriage was due to weakness and heavy workload during pregnancy. Reti’s husband is working in India, and she has to do all the household work, raise the children, take care of the livestock, and fetch water herself.At the pharmacy, Gopal Singh says he sees cases like this often. This is the nearest medical stop for the predominantly Dalit village of Muktikot. He says, "This is nothing new around here, we get miscarriages like this daily. Many do not make it. Young mothers are not physically mature for childbearing and couples do not use contraceptives."Marriage before age 20 is punishable by law in Nepal but it is still common. Low female literacy, poverty, discrimination and cultural norms play a role, but <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/child-marriage-in-Nepal,3863" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">child marriage</a> has become more prevalent as of late, as subsistence farmers cope with a succession of droughts and floods that have destroyed harvests.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d122f9c7e80680e0a98c3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last winter, western Nepal suffered a 6-month drought that was followed by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/wildfires-ravage-nepal-mountains/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">wildfires that raged for months</a>. Then, two weeks ago the region was hit by a freak post-monsoon storm that destroyed standing crops. Farmers had been hopeful for a good harvest because of plentiful rain this monsoon, but <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/post-monsoon-rain-ruins-nepals-crops/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the unseasonal downpour</a> on 18-19 October unleashed landslides and floods and dashed their hopes.Scientists say global warming has added to the moisture content in the atmosphere, triggering <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/himalayan-floods-a-sign-of-worse-to-come/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">extreme weather</a> with erratic monsoons, frequent droughts and cloudbursts. Families in food-deficit western Nepal, already in a precarious situation, have been pushed over the edge.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12329c7e80680e0a98c4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="600"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Already stricken by poverty and caste discrimination, the impact of climate crisis means that more parents now marry off their young daughters, who in turn end up risking their lives due to early pregnancy and poor diet."My father remarried after my mother died, and he married me off at 16 saying I would have a good life after marriage," recalls Reti.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Climate crisis is a disaster in the Nepal Himalaya</a>, Sonam Choekyi LamaSubi, 16, is also from the same village. She lost her new born baby two days after home delivery three months ago. She had not had a single pre-natal check-up, was too <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-epidemic-of-hunger/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">undernourished</a> to breast feed properly, and her baby eventually died of hunger.Subi herself bled for more than two weeks after the birth, and even though there were no men to carry her to the health post, she survived. She is still weak and anemic. Subi’s friend Suna is also 16 and expecting her first baby. Afraid that she may have the same complication, she walked five hours to a pharmacy to get iron tablets.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12349c7e80680e0a98c5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12389c7e80680e0a98c6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994">Locals gathered in Muktikot. At least one member from each family is currently working in India.Suna’s mother Rauthi married her to a neighbour’s son because the family’s harvest failed after a long drought. She has seven children, all of whom have dropped out of school either to work in India, or to get married and raise their own children. The husbands of both Suna and Subi are also away in India, working to augment family income.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/women-and-water/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Women and water</a>, EditorialMost families here have at least one member working in India, and the income they send home was what helped them survive when crops failed. But many Nepalis lost their jobs during the pandemic, so even this fallback option was not there for the past two years.“Life here is tough, and getting tougher. Early marriage is the norm, since it is easier to get our daughters married, so we do not have to feed them,” says Rauthi, two of whose seven children are handicapped and cannot go to school, or work.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d123b9c7e80680e0a98c7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d123f9c7e80680e0a98c8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">Children in Muktikot have to walk across steep terrain for three hours roundtrip everyday to go to school.Nearly 40% of girls in Nepal marry before they are 18, while some 14% give birth to their first child before their 19th birthday. Moreover, children of Dalit communities are at higher risk of being <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/too-young-to-marry/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">married young</a> because of poverty, discrimination and limited access to resources.Although child marriage is less common than it used to be, it is still prevalent despite laws banning it. Now, the economic crisis due to the pandemic and the climate emergency has exacerbated the situation.This is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-curse-of-being-new-mothers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">evident in Bajura</a>, a district in Nepal with one of the worst development indicators with more than 70% of people living below the poverty line, while Nepal’s national average is 26%.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12429c7e80680e0a98c9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Frequent droughts and crop failures in recent years have further impoverished Bajura’s subsistence farmers. As it is, only 9% of the land in the mountainous district is arable, with a mere 1.42% with irrigation facility. Crop yields of barley, wheat, maize and millet harvests have dropped sharply in the past 10 years.Every year the district faces a shortage of 11,000 tonnes food grain, and a World Food Programme (WFP) bulletin classified 85% of the population being <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-pandemic-of-hunger/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">food insecure</a>. Muktikot is one of the villages classified as very vulnerable to deficient nutrition.Even in years with normal harvest, food grown here is enough only to feed families for three months in year. The result is out-migration for work, malnutrition, forced child marriage, high maternal and infant mortality.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6ptI6TJqUgWith farmers so dependent on rain-fed agriculture, their fragile existence is even more precarious because of climate-related extreme weather. A 30-year precipitation data at the nearby Martadimet station shows that total annual rainfall has fallen, there is little winter snow, and even that tends to come with destructive storms.“Rainfall has always been unpredictable in these parts, but these days there is very little winter snow that we need for the spring marsi paddy and buckwheat,” says 65-year-old farmer Brija Bahadur Bam. “And when it does rain, it is so heavy that it washes away the crops.”This all adds up to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/water-table-of-kathmandu-valley-falling-fast-recharge-to-replenish,4100" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">lower groundwater tables</a>, which means even perennial springs have gone dry. Indira Kandel of the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology says that the rain and snow is then not enough to replenish the aquifers.The link between drought and child marriage has been proven by research in India. Reetika Revathy Subramanian, a PhD student at the University of Cambridge, has studied how drought-induced migration in the caste-ridden Marathwada region of India has increased underage marriage.“The decision for a girl to marry gets shaped by a web of intersecting factors, including poverty, access to education, social pressure and norms, harassment and intimidation, which is further exacerbated by disaster,” she explains.In Nepal’s Bajura district, too, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/dalits-disasters-and-discrimination/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dalit community is more vulnerable</a> to the impact of the climate crisis on agriculture than more privileged groups. “Child marriage is rampant here but it is more likely in families hit hard by food crises and with many children,” says Birban BK of the Nepal Climate Change Support Program (NCCSP).The answer lies in making irrigation available to farmers so they are not affected by erratic rainfall, which is why the NCCSP prioritised building irrigation canals and flood-prevention gabion walls in Bajura.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12469c7e80680e0a98cajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1510" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Muktikot got its name from Maoists guerrillas during the insurgency who wanted to show that the Dalit village had been liberated from caste discrimination. The war has been over for 16 years, but life is, if anything, worse for the Dalits here.Village officials and locals believe that the relocation of the entire community is the only way out. Plans are afoot for the rehabilitation of villagers to settlements up the mountains to an altitude of 2,500-3,000m where rainfall is more regular. They can grow cash crops like walnut and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-parliamentarians-apple-grove/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">apple</a>, but will be needing help accessing the market.“These practices could be diversification of livelihoods and income sources through adopting climate-resilient cash crops, connecting farmers to the markets, promoting agro-forestry and use of bioengineering for infrastructure development,” says Monika Upadhyay of WFP Nepal.Even among Dalits, it is the women from the community who are even more affected by the climate crisis. The shortage of water <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">adds to their daily drudgery</a>, because they have to walk longer to reach springs that are still functioning.Says Radha Wagle of the Climate Change Management Division at the Ministry of Environment: “In Bajura and other districts, we need climate-resilient and gender-responsive plans because women are more adversely affected by socio-economic, geographical and climatic vulnerability.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12499c7e80680e0a98cbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nepal aims to implement these measures at local levels by 2030, the same year the government has set to end <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-child-marriages-spike-during-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">child marriage</a>. But given that the practice is still rampant, it is an ambitious target.Says Subramanian: “It is important to strengthen child marriage prevention groups, village-level committees to work closely with vulnerable families including women and girls in particular.”At nearby Radhamata Secondary School, only 13 of the 113 students in Grade 10 are unmarried. Manshova Buddha, 17, is one of them. She says: “With so many of my friends already married off by their parents, I also feel the pressure. But I am not going to give up on my dreams.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/educating-girls-for-climate-action/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Educating girls for climate action</a>, Helen GrantSome names have been changed.This report was supported by the Road to COP26 campaign implemented by the British Council and funded by UKAID.

How the climate crisis adds to child marriage in Nepal

<figure><img width="1500" height="1241" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc329c7e80680e08bc0djpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>The letter Kiran Chaudhary got last year from the NHRC informing her about compensation for torture and rape by the security forces during the conflict.</figcaption></figure>Last October, a letter came for Kiran Chaudhary from the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC). It was Dasain, so the letter took several months for it to reach her husband’s home in Kailali.The letter had made a recommendation to the government to pay Chaudhary NRs300,000 as compensation for her ordeal during the insurgency, and to arrest the perpetrators. The conflict lasted from 1996-2006 with a loss of more than 17,000 lives. There are still 1,500 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-empty-chairs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">missing</a>,  and there have never been a specific number for those maimed or still <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/psychological-scars-of-maoist-conflict-on-young-survivors-take-longer-to-heal,1519" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suffering from mental trauma</a>.Kiran Chaudhary is one of them.It was in April 2002, four vanloads of government security personnel arrived at the village in Kailali district and entered her house. Chaudhary, a schoolgirl at the time, was accused of being a Maoist supporter."They accused me of being involved in the Lamki bombing, and asked me how many people I had killed," recalls Chaudhary. For the next 38 days, she would be locked away, followed by torture and rape."I can only remember that everything was red with blood. My menstruation cycle had not begun then, but in detention, I started to bleed. I could not tell if I was menstruating or bleeding from being raped regularly.”More than 18 years later, Chaudhary continues to suffer from the physical and psychological trauma. In her mid-30s now, she nurses a fractured pelvis from beatings, and the severe injuries caused to her reproductive organs by repeated rape.“I have been married for more than six years, and I cannot have children. When my in-laws ask, my husband is kind enough to say it is because of him,” explains Chaudhary. The couple still spends a quarter of their income on her medicines. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-runs-out-of-excuses-to-address-war-crimes/">Nepal runs out of excuses to address war crimes</a>, Tufan Neupane <figure><img width="1400" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011110/636ccc369c7e80680e08bc0ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The letter from NHRC last year gave the couple some hope, and they spent some time in Kathmandu last week, visiting people at the Commission. But they came away confused about the process of getting the compensation money.“We went to the Commission to ask them what we should do with the letter, and they said we have to go to Finance Ministry and Home Ministry, but we don’t know anyone there,” Chaudhary said. She had already spent ten days in Kathmandu waiting in government offices, trying to get noticed. But this is not new to her. Chaudhary has been in Kathmandu every few years following-up on her case. On most occasions, she walks from office to office, waits on people until she runs out of savings. She registered a case with the NHRC against the perpetrators in 2013. But it was only after the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/truth-about-truth-commission,3565" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Truth and Reconciliation Commission</a> as set up two years later that it received some attention. But with 63,000 other complaints, progress on individual cases like hers has been slow.  “It all depends on the Cabinet now,” an NHRC official told Nepali Times, requesting anonymity. She added, “We have already issued a letter recommending the government pay her compensation and take action against some individuals in the security force who violated and tortured her.”<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/state-of-impunity,2976">State of impunity</a>, EditorialMeanwhile, Chaudhary’s life staggers along. A storm last April, blew away the thatched roof of her house and destroyed her documents, including her citizenship certificate.  “We received too much rain last year and the fry plopped out of the pond before they could grow to full size. It was a bad year for business,” says Kiran’s husband Mahesh. “We grow just enough rice to last a few months, but with her medical expenses, we never have enough.” Last year, Mahesh spent a few weeks going down to Lamki, learning Korean. He also cleared the Employment Permit System (EPS) exams, but with the pandemic, his migration plan is on hold. “We thought if I work abroad for a few years, we can save some money for her treatment.” Kiran also requires physiotherapy for her back, but the nearest hospital is two hours’ bus ride away. Most days after field work she cannot sit because of the pain. Kiran Chaudhary was detained, tortured and raped in two different army bases in Kailali. When she tried to go back to school after her release, she was ostracised and forced to drop out. For a year, she had to report to the police every day, and the villagers called her, “आर्मीले लगेको केटी”.“So many people have died in my family in the last few years, I find myself very alone, with the same problems that never leave,” sighs Chaudhary, with a catch in her voice. She tries not to think about her past, and has tried many ways of moving on. In 2012, she briefly joined Surya Bahadur Thapa’s Rastriya Janashakti Party, hoping that political affiliation would ease her life in some ways, but quickly realised she had no time for politics.  Peace is not peacefulFrom withdrawing inward to shun memories that would send her into fits, she has learned over the years to live with the past. But every time she hears of another woman who suffered similarly during the conflict, and the government doing nothing to help, she feels like the cycle is a perpetual one.“I am not the only one, am I?” she asks, in reference to recent cases of rape. “Even the officer at the Commission said that there are so many like me. Will they even do something about us? If I get the money it would at least pay my medical bills.”The NHRC official said the Commission has been following up on conflict-era cases, and has been pressuring the government to include individual cases like Kiran Chaudhary’s on the agenda. “It would be easier for everyone if the government made the decision and sent the compensation amount to be released to the local governments so that they don’t have to keep coming to Kathmandu,” the officer says. “But with the political mess we are in, it doesn’t look like that will happen soon. And it’s always the victims who keep suffering.”Some names have been changed.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-stalls-on-war-crime-probes/">Nepal stalls on war crime probes</a>, Nepali Times

Pratibha Tuladhar

The lingering trauma of war

<figure><img width="1815" height="1017" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111128/636cd2849c7e80680e08f914jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: KANAK MANI DIXIT/TWITTER</figcaption></figure>A mother who is on the 25th day of a hunger strike in Kathmandu <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/Maoist-hungry-ghosts,3261">demanding justice</a> against the murderers of her son during the Maoist conflict is in critical condition, doctors and human rights activists say.
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/hunger-for-justice/">Ganga Maya Adhikari</a> started her latest hunger strike on 21 December 2020 on the 7th floor ward of the Trauma Centre, and has not taken any food or water since. She is receiving intravenous fluids, and her condition has deteriorated.
Her son, Krishna Adhikari was kidnapped, tortured and killed in June 2004 by the Maoists in Chitwan who accused him of being a spy. Those allegedly behind the murder have been set free by the courts.
“Ganga Maya is on strike because she has abandoned any hope for justice from this government, which has insulted her struggle,” said human rights activist Charan Prasai, who was among artists, lawyers, and rights activists at a sit-in outside the hospital on Thursday.
Doctors at the Trauma Centre said Ganga Maya’s health was deteriorating fast, and she needed intensive care because it was now a question of life-or-death.    
After the Comprehensive Peace Accord, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/ganga-mayas-endless-road-to-justice/">repeated attempts by Ganga Maya and her husband</a> Nanda Prasad to get justice failed, and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/The-deadline/sad-saga-of-adhikari-family,367">the couple came to Kathmandu</a> to protest when former Maoist ideologue <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/The-deadline/sad-saga-of-adhikari-family,367">Baburam Bhattarai</a> was prime minister in 2012.
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/ganga-mayas-endless-road-to-justice/">Nanda Prasad died seven years ago</a> in Bir Hospital after a year-long fast, and his <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/dead-and-dying,3955">body is still in the morgue</a> at the Teaching Hospital since Ganga Maya has refused to cremate him until the guilty are punished.
Krishna Adhikari had just finished his SLC exam when a group of Maoists put him in a sack and dragged him behind a motorcycle in Chitwan. After the conflict, the couple lodged a complaint with Chitwan police, naming 13 people who they said were involved.
The 13 were charged, but the Chitwan District Court ordered their release on bail. A year later, the appellate court in Hetauda upheld the bail decision. The Supreme Court then ruled on an appeal by Ganga Maya in 2015 to put Chhabilal Poudel, the main accused, in judicial custody, but when he did not surrender the couple went on another hunger strike until he was re-arrested. 
But in 2019, the Chitwan District Court acquitted all the accused except one. Ganga Maya appealed again, but no further hearings have been held.
Doctors attending to Ganga Maya said she had told them that she had no reason to live anymore because she had no hope left for justice, her husband was dead, and her elder son had been jailed on trumped up charges.

Mother on 25th day of hunger strike

Nepal stalls on war crime probes

<h2>14 years and 11 prime ministers later</h2> Text and photographs by Bikkil SthapitMany of the over 1,300 people still listed as missing after the Maoist war in Nepal left behind material objects. These are the only memories that remain, connecting the families to the loved ones who were disappeared. These memorabilia from the decade-long war are the only substantial things that the family members have protected – 14 years after the conflict ended. They occupy a special place in the family homes and work places, preserving their presence. The objects also keep faint hopes alive that by some miracle, the family member will suddenly reappear one day. More than 17,000 Nepalis were killed during the insurgency, there were brutal human rights violations and war crimes, including summary executions, disappearances, torture, rape, solitary confinement. Since the end of the conflict in 2006, limited support has been provided to survivors and their families of the disappeared. However, there are no answers to questions like whether they are alive or dead, who killed them, why, where, when? The Comprehensive Peace Accord (CPA) was signed on 21 November 2006 between the government of Nepal and the Maoist party. It brought ‘peace’ to a country weary of war, and propelled the former guerrillas to power. However, 14 years and 11 prime ministers later, there have been no efforts to trace the missing, and tell families the truth, or give them justice. Two commissions were formed to investigate gross human rights violations and charge perpetrators, but neither have done much. The discourse around transitional justice in Nepal has approached memory, truth and justice in legalistic terms so that the experience of acute loss of families is often lost. Missing are the personal accounts of survivors and families of victims. <figure><img width="1500" height="1019" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba7fd9c7e80680e0737b7jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8009c7e80680e0737b8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1000" height="1401" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8039c7e80680e0737b9jpeg.jpg" alt="">When my brother, Ajaya Shahi, earned his first salary he bought this shirt. He was  disappeared by the Army on 19 July, 2004. I have safely kept my brothers’ shirt in a separate box.Bijaya ShahiKirtipur <img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8069c7e80680e0737bajpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="640" height="897" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba8099c7e80680e0737bbjpeg.jpg" alt="">My father used to make bronze Buddhas. Why is the army still not telling us what happened to him? Will this bring the peace to the country?Nagma MaliDaughter of Nanda Gopal MaliThecho, Lalitpur <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba80c9c7e80680e0737bcjpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141112/636ba80f9c7e80680e0737bdjpeg.jpg" alt="">My husband used to carry this sickle all the time in the rice field. It has been lying here ever since he was disappeared, and it is rusted. I have been keeping it safely as his last memento.Ramkali Devi TharuWife of Guru Prasad KathariyaRajapur, Bardia <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8139c7e80680e0737bejpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8169c7e80680e0737bfjpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8199c7e80680e0737c0jpeg.jpg" alt="">My son used to recite from this Bible at church where we went together. I have kept this Bible thinking he will return some day. When that happens I will hand it over to him.Ratna Kumari MaliMother of Baburaja MaliGodavari, Lalitpur. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba81c9c7e80680e0737c1jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption></figcaption></figure>My son used the this plough whenever we went to the fields together. Today, we only have the plough. I cannot use it, and my son cannot use it.Surjan TharuBardia <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba81f9c7e80680e0737c2jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8229c7e80680e0737c3jpeg.jpg" alt="">He started to work for a pharmacy to manage the household expenses after his father died. This wall clock is the first thing he bought from his salary.I keep looking at it to pass the time till my son returns home. Mohan Maya MaliMother of Rajendra MaliGodavari, Lalitpur.During his 14-month-long jail time, my brother used to send us letters by hiding them inside biscuits and noodle packets. That's how we received this letter too. Butter Cracker and Wai Wai noodles still remind me of him. Even today, whenever I see biscuit and noodles, I anxiously think there might be a letter in it from him.He was in touch with our family until 22 November, 2003. The last letter that we received was written from Sundhara Central Jail.Sapana SuwarnakarSister of the disappeared Ashok AkelaBorlang-5, Gorkha <img width="1131" height="1500" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8269c7e80680e0737c4jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="1000" height="1500" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8299c7e80680e0737c5jpeg.jpg" alt="">I was taken to Bhairabnath Batallion on 12 December, 2004. I was wearing this sweater when the army freed me and dropped me off at Banasthali Chok on February 17, 2005. Swatantra Chaulagain of Bhote Chaur, Sindhupalchok, had given me this sweater while we were in the army camp together. “Please register my name at Amnesty. Don’t quit the party if you return safely,” he had told me.Swatantra Chaulagain is still missing.Ujjwal Acharya (name changed)KavreBikkil Sthapit is a rights activist and a photographer who has been documenting the issue of enforced disappearances in Nepal. He also runs the oral history initiative SunaMeroKatha.com These profiles were prepared during the Memory, Truth &amp; Justice project of VOW Media.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <h2>“We went everywhere, but we got no answers” </h2> Text and photographs by Sabrina Dangol <figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba82c9c7e80680e0737c6jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>The doorway to Ram Maya’s rented room.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba82f9c7e80680e0737c7jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya Nakarmi’s husband Padma Narayan's picture on the wall.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1001" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8339c7e80680e0737c8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>A collection of old pictures of Ram Maya’s husband and relatives.</figcaption></figure>Ram Maya Nakarmi, 44, is packing up all her belongings as she prepares to move her residence again. She has been renting a one-bedroom flat with her only daughter, Lumana Nakarmi.It will be the fourth time she moves homes in the last five years, after the 2015 earthquake destroyed her old house, the same one where her husband, Padam Narayan Nakarmi, was forcefully taken away in 2003.Padam Narayan used to work as an ironmonger in a small grill shop in Bungmati. They had been married for five years, and Ram Maya knew that he had been in touch with the Maoist party off and on."Deep down I knew it was coming," she says, remembering that eight of his friends had got arrested a few days earlier.When they came for him, it all happened so fast that she only remembers pleading with the security personnel to let her accompany him to the police station. They refused, but assured her he would return the next day. It has been 17 years, and she never saw her husband again."When they came for Padam, they climbed into our room through a ladder. They didn't even knock or give us a time to decide anything,” Ram Maya recalls. “If I had known back then, I would have locked all the doors and windows shut."<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8379c7e80680e0737c9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="999">Ram Maya retrieving her husband’s picture from her purse.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba83a9c7e80680e0737cajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1482" height="988">Ram Maya’s reflection caught in the mirror. <figure><img width="640" height="928" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba83e9c7e80680e0737cbjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Portrait of Ram Maya Nakarmi in her rented home in Bungamati.</figcaption></figure>In the months following her husband’s arrest, Ram Maya went to police stations almost every day, walking up to 10km into town and back. Buses were scarce and the fare was expensive. Some of his friends were freed and told her that they had all been together in Bhairabnath Battalion base in Maharajganj for months.Later, Padam Narayan had been separated and taken somewhere else. So, Ram Maya visited Bhairabnath and the army base in Lagankhel regularly for two years.Her daughter Lumana, who was four years old, kept asking for her father. So she took her small child with her to Maharajganj and pleaded with the authorities to at least let her daughter see her father, but they did not allow her.Ram Maya was told to go to the Royal Nepal Army headquarters, and she kept going there, but no one wanted to tell her anything."I am not literate. I don't have people skills, nor can I present an argument properly. My brother-in-law helped me and accompanied me everywhere, but it was of no use. We got no answers," she recalls. <figure><img width="1500" height="999" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8419c7e80680e0737ccjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya’s daughter Lumana Nakarmi working in her laptop.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="1500" height="1002" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8439c7e80680e0737cdjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ram Maya Nakarmi looking out of the window from her rented room in Bungamati.</figcaption></figure>Ram Maya's in-laws supported her for the first two years of her search, but they also lost hope. Her daughter also stopped asking about her father, and stopped even mentioning him.She got a factory job in Bungamati and focused on raising her daughter, who is now 20, studying and working at the same time. Neither mother nor daughter likes to remember those dark days any more. Ram Maya says, "We somehow survived amidst all the chaos and grief, but it feels like a part of both of our lives have been lost. I say that I have given up, but deep down I still hope for his return.”More on series of features for the International Day of Disappeared:<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-empty-chairs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The empty chairs</a>, Guligo Jia<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/disappearance-of-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Disapperance of justice</a>, Sabrina Dangol

Only memories remain

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922ea9c7e80680e03a154jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="750"/><figcaption>A villager in Maspur, Humla weaves a doko basket from strips of bamboo.</figcaption></figure>“Jai grihasthi” is a greeting heard often in the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2013/03/13/not-so-far-west/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Far West</a> and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-karnali-on-canvas/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Karnali </a>regions of Nepal, and is a way to wish each other success in life, livelihood, household and family.Here in Maspur village above Kawadi Khola, on the border between <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/northwestern-tip-of-nepal-Humla,3430" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Humla </a>and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Badimalika-a-ridge-too-far,3328" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bajura </a>districts, a strenuous two-day walk from the nearest road, it is a daily struggle for people to meet basic needs.Historically, people here flourished as traders, using goats and sheep as pack animals to carry grain from the plains up to Tibet, and bartering it for salt on the plateau. But the region now suffers from <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18119#.W6zEjXszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">food insecurity</a>, health problems, and lack of livelihood options.The reasons include the end of the Tibet trade, the emergence of roads and markets, a decrease in livestock numbers caused by new grazing restrictions, the destruction of local infrastructure during the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15778#.W6zKwnszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Maoist insurgency</a>, and an increase in population.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922ed9c7e80680e03a155jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922f09c7e80680e03a156jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922f49c7e80680e03a157jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="750"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Most now farm for a living, but agricultural yields are low because of the steep terrain, lack of irrigation, destruction of crops by pests, and antiquated technology. Most families can grow enough food to last only four or five months of the year. For the remaining, they must purchase or borrow food. But cash is scarce, so people rely heavily on subsidised food and loans.The nearest health post is a two-day walk away, time that farmers cannot afford, particularly during the busy harvest seasons. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/resistance-to-live-saving-drugs-threatens-to-set-back-progress-in-nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tuberculosis </a>and gastrointestinal illnesses are pervasive and exacerbate the symptoms of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/malnutrition-stunting-wasting,3603" target="_blank" rel="noopener">malnutrition</a>. Many homes do not have <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/where-to-take-a-dump/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">toilets</a>, and hygiene is poor.Women and the 'lower' castes are especially disadvantaged. Women have limited mobility and control over household resources, and Dalits have very little land or education, and suffer discrimination.“I do not even know if we are Nepali citizens ... we Dalits are neglected and oppressed. We have little property, nobody looks after us, not the government, not the organisations, not the gods,” says Romalal Lwaar.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922f69c7e80680e03a158jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922f99c7e80680e03a159jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922fd9c7e80680e03a15ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Kathmandu has neglected this part of Nepal, abandoning its people. The elected village council chairman Bagdal Malla said, “We have little budget, but a lot of work to be done. We do not have roads, and transport makes things expensive.”Everyone’s priority here is more roads so farmers have access to services and markets. Roads will also make it easier for government and NGO staff to be more effective.Said local Rajbahadur Budha, “We have a lot of resources, from our fields and natural resources. If there was a road, we could sell them. There would be more people travelling here, and more business. Without the road, there is no development.”As roads and markets become more accessible, communities here need to add value to their products so they are marketable. Some possibilities include cultivation and processing of medicinal and aromatic plants and high-value mushrooms or herbs, production of wool handicrafts, cheese, honey, and sustainable harvesting and processing of forest products. These activities need minimal external inputs, and can be achieved through skills trainings, mentorship, and micro-grants.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636923009c7e80680e03a15bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636923039c7e80680e03a15cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="750"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636923069c7e80680e03a15djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="1067"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Subsistence farmers need help to improve work efficiency and reduce the labour burden. Harvests can be increased with irrigation, <a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">bio-pesticides</a> recharging-the-mountains-, greenhouses, and community seed banks. Improved technology such as better water mills, electricity, reliable mobile network, and fuel-efficient stoves will make work easier.There is an urgent need for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/state-of-the-art-rural-hospital/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">better health care</a> and education. Existing health posts need maintenance and medicines, and additional health posts are required in remote areas. Hygiene education and encouraging women to use health services for deliveries and check-ups are also important.Women and members of ‘lower’ castes must be prioritised in these activities and in accessing technologies, micro-loans, and other resources.Currently, service delivery and other development activities are sporadic and ad-hoc. Sufficient resources must be allocated to allow for long-term, consistent engagement with the community. Outcomes should be regularly monitored and evaluated for lasting improvements.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636923089c7e80680e03a15ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As Nepal urbanises, fewer and fewer people in the rest of the country understand the struggles in places like Maspur village. The first step to rectifying this is education and awareness of the living conditions of rural Nepalis and the acknowledgement that they, too, have the right to a secure and healthy life.It is only when the needs and hopes of Nepalis who have been historically and systematically disempowered are properly incorporated into national policies and development plans that we can wish the people in places like the Kawadi Khola valley ‘Jai grihasti’.Jocelyn Powelson is a Fulbright researcher from the United States who spent three months in Humla this year

Life and livelihood in remote Nepal

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

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