KATHMANDU, Feb 20: On the eve of Democracy Day, former King Gyanendra Shah re-emerged with an eight-minute video message, once again hoisting the banner of “national consensus.”
He acknowledged periodic elections as a normal democratic exercise. Yet, he argued that given the current turmoil, national problems must be resolved before the country heads to the polls. The tone was calm, the language soft, the appeal emotional. But beneath the composure lie sharper questions: What kind of consensus? Led by whom? And above all, how can it supersede constitutional procedure?
The timing is hard to ignore. His call coincides with the detention of figures accused of anti-election activities. Durga Prasai remains in police custody. Communist leaders Rishi Kattel and Dharmendra Bastola are also under control. In this charged atmosphere, the former king’s message—“no elections without consensus”—sounds less like abstract advice and more like a pointed intervention. Coincidence, or coded signal?
Gyanendra described the nation as trapped in an unnatural whirlpool of instability, poverty and division. Yet there is a striking paradox: can suspending elections—the most routine instrument of democracy—actually reduce instability? Or does it risk deepening it?
To demand consensus before elections, bypassing constitutional timelines and the renewal of public mandate, is to privilege outcome over process. In a democracy, process is not a formality; it is the safeguard of legitimacy. When the process is sidelined, uncertainty grows.
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He urged the nation to preserve what is good in every system and discard the bad—a compelling line. But who decides what is good and what is bad? The electorate through ballots, or elites through closed-door negotiations?
“National consensus” is a familiar phrase in Nepali politics. Historically, however, it tends to gain currency when power equations shift or when electoral defeat looms. Consensus is not meant to freeze competition; it is meant to ensure fair competition.
In his message, Gyanendra paid tribute to the democracy ushered in 78 years ago, honored King Tribhuvan, and remembered the martyrs. Yet history also records another reality: the transition from monarchy to republic was itself the outcome of people’s movements and popular mandate. If democratic movements deserve reflection, so too does the monarchical era. Introspection cannot be selective.
He criticized the culture of demanding rights without fulfilling duties. Fair enough. But a citizen’s foremost duty in a democracy is to participate—voting, contesting, and holding power accountable at the ballot box. To delay elections is, in effect, to defer that duty. In a democracy, dissatisfaction is resolved through voting, not indefinite consensus conferences.
Political history shows that pre-election calls for consensus usually arise under two conditions: when results are unpredictable, or when established forces feel threatened by emerging players. Today, youth frustration, the rise of new parties, and visible cracks in traditional power structures are reshaping the landscape. In such a climate, portraying elections as the problem rather than the remedy flips democratic logic on its head.
Since returning to Kathmandu from Jhapa, Gyanendra has publicly thanked supporters who welcomed him. His increasing public presence and direct engagement with political discourse suggest an attempt to position himself as a moral arbiter. Yet Nepal’s constitutional framework assigns him no such formal role. This is not merely symbolic engagement—it carries political weight.
He is correct that elections alone cannot solve every problem. No ballot is a magic wand. But global experience is clear: the absence of elections deepens crises. Without representation, legal continuity falters. Without a renewed mandate, legitimacy erodes. Consensus does not replace elections; it strengthens them.
So what consensus does Gyanendra envision? A national unity government? A transitional arrangement above party competition? If so, on what constitutional basis? Without a mandate? Without amendment? Even a unanimous party agreement cannot substitute for public legitimacy. In the end, consensus itself must face the test of the ballot.
There is irony in this moment. On the eve of Democracy Day, the proposal was to pause the core mechanism of democracy. The message closed with “Long live Nepal.” But long live whose Nepal—the people’s, or the architects of consensus?
Democracy is flawed. Imperfect. Often frustrating. Yet its corrective lies in debate, dissent and elections. If every crisis becomes grounds to postpone the vote, crises become permanent and democracy provisional.
Consensus is necessary. But in a democracy, consensus must operate within the rules—not override them.
