When the country entered into multiparty democracy in 1990, those belonging to my generation were just heading to adolescence. We would hear our elders holding high hopes from the long-awaited achievement. We were supposed to be lucky for being born at a time when the age-old autocracy had allegedly come to an end and Nepal was finally moving to its golden era of freedom and prosperity. The first year, obviously, was called a period of transition, and we looked ahead with high hopes. But the transition seemed to prolong. It is just a “shishu prajatantra” (infant democracy), and is in the process of being institutionalized, they would say, and everything would be settled very soon. And as anyone can guess, we believed that, too. But no sign of stability, peace and prosperity was to be seen anywhere, and the country seemed to be in a state of mess more than ever before. It was not much long before the country entered into the mad feat of arithmetic games of MPs’ head counting. Nothing was like before anymore, except the transition. Then there was the Maoist rising, and the transition seemed unrelenting. After much bloodshed, the Maoists came into mainstream politics, elections to the Constituent Assembly were held, and the country was declared a republic. People finally wanted to believe that grudges were finally gone for ever, and the days ahead would be what they had longed for since what seemed like ages. Unfortunately, what ensued is right in front of us. We look forward to the day when “shishu ganatantra” (toddler republic) matures and serves the people’s expectations. But the day doesn’t seem to be anywhere near.
The Transition Generation underwent some of the greatest upheavals in the history of Nepal, including two great revolutions, a decade-long “People’s War,” the Royal Massacre, and the end of the 240-year-old monarchy, among others. It witnessed the largest number of deaths in the recent history, saw the largest number of protests, passed through the biggest number of bandhs, and endured the longest periods of uncertainties. Academic sessions were never so long; exams and publication of results never so much delayed. A country which was peaceful and united, despite the existing injustices and poverty, had never before been questioned for its sovereignty or racial-cultural harmony among its people. I’m sure my generation has wasted at least two decades, if not more, of its most precious time, just being a spectator of the never-ending, nowhere-reaching conflicts and clashes, and, of course, the transition itself.
After a transition that seems like an eternity, and is full of impunity and disorder, you, too, like me, want to believe: this time, they, our leaders, our wise and prudent leaders, have really learnt the lesson, and are going to behave in a sane way. No way. Except for a few faces in the Parliament and the Cabinet, except for a few abstract political jargons they repeat, except for a few political appointments of handpicked cohorts in the unstinted niches, and except for a few names of the roads and buildings, nothing changes. In this passage from the “panchayati democracy” and “multiparty democracy” to the state of “democratic republic” with the high-held dream of New Nepal, the promises have altogether remained the same. And the same has been the level of commitment to and implementation of the promises. The latest upheaval and anarchy just confirms it.
Keshab Sigdel, in his poem “Will Power,” portrays this reality with acute precision:
“In new Nepal,”
they said,
“Everything will change:
economy will change
and, society will change.”
Optimistic and enthusiastic
I asked them–
“Will you also change?”
In confusion
they looked at each other
and, one of them said–
“We haven’t decided this yet.”
A new government has been formed in the county. We know we shouldn’t believe in what they say, yet we want to believe them one more time. In fact, we don’t even have any other option except believing them. The symptoms are already here; this government is not going to be any different or any better at all, if not worse, than the previous ones. What do you expect from a Cabinet filled with leaders literally rejected by the people in the recent elections? Why should they bother to be responsible to the people?
Some people have been repeatedly asking: Why are youths leaving the country in such large numbers? I feel like asking: How come there are still some youths left in the country, which never considered them anything more than the tools that could be used to gain control over the state apparatus? I know many of you hold the readymade answer: running away is not a solution. But I believe running away is not only a solution but a wise option indeed when the only alternatives staying back offers you is either you close your eyes and ears and remain oblivious to the impunities going around, or speed to insanity. I think brain drain is not a problem; it’s rather the only way out of the tunnel the other end of which takes you to nothing but frustration and self-degradation.
Only the other day, I was talking to one of my senior teachers, a pioneer educationist of Nepal. What are you planning to do ahead? He asked me. What was my plan? Does my plan mean anything at all in this whirlpool of uncertainties? I had no reply. He looked at my blank face and said something I had least expected to hear from a person like him: Don’t spoil your time in this mess. Go abroad, and make your career. Do come back someday if you can. If you can’t, what can I say?
I have gradually come to believe that true academics is impossible in this country anymore, at least for the few years (if not decades) ahead. What do you expect from a system which is run by a mediocre herd of henchmen trapped in the quicksand of nepotism and corruption? If you are among the ones who don’t need to worry about working hard during examinations, carry a group of a few dozens to Balkhu and burn some tyres. You will get as much marks as you need. If that doesn’t work, smear soot on the faces of some high officials. That should guarantee the fulfilling of your demands. Probably you won’t have to worry even about jobs, good offices or promotions in the long run. But this would work only for very few, and what would the rest do?
Do call me a pessimist, but this time I have ultimately failed in convincing myself that my state will ever succeed in guaranteeing my “life, liberty, and happiness,” and I will be able to contribute in some ways to my country and my countrymen. Would someone offer me some credible reasons why should I waste the most important part of my life in this mess? Why should I sacrifice myself to the futile battles of shortsighted power mongers? I know I needn’t state what I have been finally thinking these days, because it’s the same thing that is going within you, too. After all we all belong to the same Transition Generation!
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