Nepal’s transitional justice (TJ) process, established after the 2006 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA), remains in limbo due to political unwillingness, bureaucratic delays, and a lack of victim-centric approaches. The recent formation of a "Search Committee" to recommend new commissioners for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons (CIEDP) has drawn fierce criticism from victims, civil society, and human rights organisations. Amid growing disgruntlement, conflict victims are warning that they may establish a “Civil Commission,” a parallel body to record testimonies, document truth, and pursue justice outside state mechanisms.
Victims and civil society actors argue that the selection process has been opaque, politically manipulated, and dismissive of victims’ voices. They also accuse the process of being under elite capture. Their call to halt the current process has been ignored, deepening fears that the formal transitional justice process may be delayed, diluted, or even dissolved.
What would a parallel Civil Commission mean for Nepal? How would it affect formal mechanisms, the peace process, and Nepal’s international credibility? Can such an initiative help or hinder justice? This article attempts to find the answer to these pertinent questions.
A Civil Commission, led by victims and civil society, would serve as an alternative truth-seeking and documentation body outside state control. As a victim leader told this writer, its first function could include independent investigations into war-era human rights abuses, bypassing the state’s flawed TJ bodies. In that case, all—if not the majority—of victims may choose not to cooperate with formal mechanisms and instead provide their testimonies and evidence to the Civil Commission, which is not illegal either. If that happens, the soon-to-be ‘searched’ commissioners will be left with no business at all. The victims have also warned that they will name the perpetrators publicly.
Reviewing transitional justice
Is this something for a state to ignore? No, absolutely not. Such commissions have been established elsewhere too, eroding national image and the spirit of peace and justice efforts.
The establishment of the warned Civil Commission will have a direct impact on Nepal’s transitional justice mechanism. It will expose the TRC and CIEDP as ineffective, further delegitimising them. It could trigger several consequences. For instance, if victims reject state-led TJ due to a loss of public trust, the commissions become meaningless. So far, the international community has remained silent on the current development, but if they choose to support the victims’ initiative, it could lead to international withdrawal of support from the formal mechanism. Legally, the courts could be petitioned to recognize the Civil Commission’s findings, undermining the TRC. If perpetrators are not arrested and held accountable by the courts—even when hard evidence is publicly provided by the Civil Commission—there may be public outcry against lawlessness.
That would certainly be enough to attract international advocacy, applying global pressure on Nepal’s government, which is already under scrutiny for failing to meet its TJ obligations under the ICCPR, the UN Human Rights Council’s recommendations, the Geneva Conventions, the Convention Against Torture (CAT), and others.
There are global examples of parallel justice mechanisms, and before materializing, it is wise to learn from other countries’ experiences. In Argentina, when the state-led National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons (CONADEP) failed to keep a complete record of disappearances, a civil society initiative named Nunca Más (Never Again) published a report in 1984. The report pressured the government to prosecute junta leaders. In Colombia, grassroots groups preserved evidence of paramilitary crimes ignored by the state, which was later integrated into the Special Jurisdiction for Peace (JEP). In Guatemala, a civil society truth commission named the Recovery of Historical Memory (REHMI) documented war crimes independently of the weak state-led Commission for Historical Clarification (CEH). The report was later used in trials, forcing the state to act. From that perspective, such Civil Commissions hold the potential to contribute to future formal justice mechanisms. They can serve as platforms to record firsthand testimonies, preserve community memory, and document patterns of violations—especially as older survivors age and witnesses pass away. In Sri Lanka, due to the government's denial of war crimes during the final phase of the civil war, activists and victims organized unofficial tribunals abroad. The Permanent People’s Tribunal (PPT) in Ireland, for example, heard testimonies and published findings on war crimes in Sri Lanka.
Nonetheless, such parallel mechanisms have also been criticized for causing confusion and deepening divisions. Also, it may be worth noting that truths exposed by civil society are not always acknowledged by the government—especially under regimes led by the alleged offenders. For instance, the Sinhalese-led government in Sri Lanka dismissed the Tamil civil society tribunal that exposed war-era state atrocities.
Even so, for the victims, such an attempt could be a way to regain agency in a process that has sidelined them. It could also pressure the state to reform TJ mechanisms. Moreover, atrocities get documented even if the state tries to bury them with time and delays.
However, this will not be an easy task for victims and civil society, as it may create conflicting narratives of justice—some may not see justice as achievable through such a parallel mechanism. Furthermore, there is a risk of political backlash, with the commission potentially being criminalized as ‘anti-national’. Still, state repression against civil society initiatives is frowned upon by contemporary liberal societies.
Therefore, to prevent a breakdown of the TJ process, it is imperative that the government halt the Search Committee’s work until victims are consulted. Secondly, for the sake of ownership by the victims—on whose behalf the commissions exist—they should be included in the selection of TRC/CIEDP leadership. If necessary, the government should also consider amending the law to reflect current needs.
In a nutshell, a parallel Civil Commission in Nepal would be both a symptom of state failure and a tool for accountability. While it risks fragmenting the TJ process, it may be the only way to preserve the truth if the government continues to obstruct justice. It reflects the victims’ resilient desire for truth, dignity, justice, and reconciliation. Ignoring it would not only betray the victims but also risk dismantling the moral foundation of Nepal’s peace process. The state must reform the TJ process now—or face a legitimacy crisis later. The victims’ threat is not a bluff; for them, it is the last resort after justice has been delayed too long. For the government, it is a wake-up call.
