A glimpse into Nepali politics

The day before I landed a new prime minister was appointed. The day I arrived there was a bandha (strike) in protest against the new prime minister. That´s how politics seem to work in Nepal: every move in the higher spheres is opposed by a reaction in the form of a strike in the streets. The term bandha is so internalised by people here that when enquiring about a delay in the airport pick-up or a traffic jam, the answer comes as a shrug of the shoulders and an indifferent comment detailing the schedule of the bandha, paradoxically precise as if it were the load shedding timetable - hours in which electricity is available in a given district - in a country in which there are two times, the Nepali time and the actual time, the former occurring in a later timeframe than the latter.

So, with the boldness that can only grow out of ignorance, I will try and summarise a few conversations and a couple of newspaper articles on what´s going on here, and what´s gone on recently. And I will add a couple of unrelated photographs for those of you who wouldn´t care less about it. But first, apologies, I couldn´t avoid it:

The new prime minister, Raj Regmi, is heading the Interim Electoral Council. Regmi was agreed as leader by the four major political parties (Maoists, Nepali Congress –reformists -, Unified Marxist Leninists, and the Madhesi Janadikar Forum – independtists from the Madesh region), in order to take the country to its first elections since 2002. His appointment has been criticised by some sectors of the population as an attack on the (draft) constitution, as he is also the Chief Justice, accumulating the executive and judiciary powers in one person.

Garden of Dreams, una joya en el centro del caos

But let’s take a step back. Nepal has just come out of a recent civil war, or conflict, pick your preferred term, that took place from 1996 – 2006. The Maoists led an insurgency mainly in the rural areas, where they effectively became the state, in order to kick the monarchy out, task in which they eventually succeeded. However, ever since then, the major political parties have failed to come to an agreement on a constitution, mainly due to differences on how to organise the federal state. The Maoists are in favour of a regional division based on casts, so as to empower the lower castes in those regions in which they are a majority, but this could become very risky as there is no single region with a single cast, which could lead to intercast or ethnic conflicts. Worth saying that the caste system is illegal but works in practise. The Madhesi opposed this, and basically advocate for more independence of their region, the trade-reach area bordering India. And as for the rest, although I still don´t understand their position fully, I believe they would like some sort of administrative division by region. All in all, no agreement.

Stairway to... Swayambhu, aka el templo de los monos

There are also many conspiracy theories. India is not particularly well-regarded in Nepal, and I´ve heard that anything that happens in Nepal is first passed by Delhi and Beijing for approval. Someone I was talking to the other day was speculating with the possibility of the new prime minister having been the preferred option by India, and this is seen as an attack on Nepal´s sovereignty (sounds familiar, eh, my fellow southern Euorpeans?). Scepticism seems to be the trend on whether elections will actually be held in June as proposed, and the move of the Chief Justice becoming the Prime Minister is seen with suspicion. But conspiracy theories around India do not end here, so please read on.

What would Ray Davies have written about the Bagmati?

In 2001 there was a dinner in the Royal Palace in Katmandu. The result of that dinner were 11 members of the Royal family dead, and prince Dipendra (also dead, official version suicide) being charged with the massacre. According to official accounts, he came in with an M-16 and a couple of other weapons and opened fired on everyone around him. The rumour says that the cause could be a disapproval of Dipendra´s future wife choices, but this is, again, not believed by many here. The proper conspiracy theory, then:

The king at the time, King Binendra, was very respected and popular among the Nepali people. Apparently he was advancing on peace talks with the Maoists. India would have been opposed to a strong, well-regarded figure, that could have set democracy in Nepal, and decide to act against it. They would have found an ally in Prince Gyanendra, who benefited and became king after the massacre - luckily staying in Pokhara (second main city in Nepal)  on D-day - and also in his son (both disliked by the population), present in the dinner, who miraculously escaped unharmed from the shooting, in order to take power away from King Binendra. The theory says the Indian secret service carried out or, somehow, planned the killing, and then handed power to Gyanendra, who followed on with a very authoritarian approach. A bit mysterious that him and his son happened to escape the shooting, innit (as they said in Peckham)?

So back from the flashback then, everyone just a little bit suspicious now about India, but what´s happening currently? Well, out of the main parties grew dozens of others, splinter groups, divisions, new-this, real- that, you know the drill. And the New Maoists, a scission from the Maoists (remember the Pythons?), are now opposing the new prime minister and sending their youths out on the street to shake it up a bit.

Interesting times ahead, will keep you posted (although I promise the next posts will be light on politics, if any).

Camino a Katmandú

Acabo de llegar de cenar en Katmandú con Alison, Patrick y Jimi. Jimi es un voluntario holandés que lleva trabajando aquí algo más de seis años, los últimos dos para VSO dentro del ministerio de educación. Un tipo risueño, barba cerrada y ligero acento germánico, buen conversador, que adorna su relato sobre la cultura nepalí con observaciones precisas sobre el contexto político y social, sin alardes, compartiendo. Venimos de comer en un sitio del Thamel, el barrio turísitico de la capital, las mesas en un patio interior en forma de U alrededor de un pequeño escenario en el que dos chicas bailaban una danza proveniente, según Jimi,  del este. Tengo la impresión de que se la ha jugado a un punto cardinal al azar, pero a ver quién le dice algo. A mí me parecía más una versión heterodoxa de las maracas, un baratanatyam de, si me apuras, el Suroeste, pero el cansancio me privó de la confianza para contradecirle. El cansancio y el recuerdo del diálogo con la azafata de Qatar airlines de esa misma mañana:

   - Disculpe, ¿de dónde es usted?

   - De Goa.

   - Eso es una isla, ¿verdad?

   - No, no, qué va.

   - Ah, cierto, ahora que lo dice… en el norte de la India, ¿no?

        - En el Sur.

    - Ya. ¿Y vuelve usted con frecuencia?

   - Voy dentro de poco, gracias. Se casa mi hermano en un par de meses.

   - Qué bien! ¡Un buen bodorrio hindú! Sabe, a mí una vez me invitaron a una recepción y –

   - Lo siento, pero es una boda normal, somos católicos.

   - ¿En la India? ¿Seguro? No me cuadra mucho.

   - En esa zona todos lo somos. Nos colonizaron los portugueses.

Así que decidí no decirle nada a Jimi.

La conversación continúa y nos cuenta cómo marcha la desmilitarización de la guerrilla, la repetición del poco éxito de la ONU y un pequeño encontronazo con uno de sus trabajadores, la reciente elección del primer ministro interino (ayer) que ha provocado la enésima huelga, le resta importancia al celo con el que le pregunto sobre las convenciones sociales, y nos recomienda un par de rutas por la montaña además de mucha información útil para acelerar el proceso de adaptación. Como vegetariano: lentejas, arroz, champiñones y algo parecido al tofu. Degusto una cerveza como si fuera la primera en mucho tiempo.

Una calle del Thamel

Estas últimas dos semanas han sido difíciles: despedidas que me van volviendo viejo, que decía el argentino. Cada cena, cada café, cada cerveza se revestía de una urgencia necesaria, dura, que presumo parte del proceso que dio con  mis huesos en Heathrow un día que parece que fue hace semanas, meses. Allí me despedí de un compañero (y amigo) que me pasó libros, artículos, consejos y mucho ánimo mientras sorbía el latte que condenaría algún portugués que conozco por snob.

De ahí al caos de Doha, donde conocí a Alison, una voluntaria de educación muy simpática, que viene enlazando un año en Camerún con los dos que va a pasar en la frontera con la India. Cuatro horas de transfer y vuelo a Katmandú con unas espectaculares vistas de la cordillera Himalaya. Al aterrizar nos tocó esperar a Patrick, otro voluntario de educación, y de ahí camino del hotel que se encuentra a cinco minutos del Thamel. El recorrido en coche hasta el hostal fue de esos que te dejan un viento en el estómago: el tráfico parece regirse por una mezcla de aleatoriedad y casualidad ante la indiferencia de la autoridad, una armonía dentro del caos que entreteje las trayectorias de personas, coches, bicicletas, animales y polvo, mucho polvo.