Two of the drunken lot returned and beat up Tamang for being rude. “They were two huge and muscular guys enraged on alcohol, and I had nothing but a baton with me,” he recalls. In the melee, Tamang sustained minor injuries; but what really hurt him was the humiliation that enveloped him of being a “paley” and of living in fear.
Like Tamang whose baton could not exercise its power when it was needed the most, there are thousands of batons in the capital today but their wielders practice their profession with the same fear and indignity that comes with the job. But is it just this social stigma that doesn’t recognize these folks their rights and the authority they should have been commanding, or are there other stories that need to be told?
Representing a small firm, Tamang is not entitled to a dependable economic safety net. Also, he does not have the authority held by even local criminals or undisciplined guests. The instance begs to better inclusion of the sector in the wider law and order and policy building discourse.
“The government should formulate a proper mechanism for our protection,” Tamang articulates feebly.
“It’s not just about me but about a lot of us in this business. We guard others but who safeguards us?” Bhim Rai, another security personnel, speaks in stammers through a gaping hole between his teeth, which he lost during the attack on him three months back. He works for the Three S Security Services, which guards the China Town Shopping Complex. “At 4:30 in the afternoon, the guy who owned a restaurant at China Town attacked me over nothing serious, and then his friends joined in. I fainted, and the next thing I know is the hospital bed where I lay for 10 days,” says Bhim.
The perpetrators were taken to jail. But after a few weeks, upon discussing with his friends, he decided to accept medical expenses from the attackers. This provision got them out on bail. The company decided to give him three months of basic salary during his absence. He resumes work in a few days.
“The main job of the guards is access control into the area in question,” says Hari Bahadur Thapa, Treasurer of the Nepal Security Professional’s Organization (NSPO). “But when guards themselves are insecure in their position, how can they protect others?” he asks. “We’ve been trying to get the government’s attention to address this issue, but political instability has been a major hurdle in formulating any regulatory mechanism for PSCs (Private Security Company). For the past ten years without fail, NSPO has been putting forth their plights to each new Home Minister, but nothing concrete has come out so far. The person who assumes office just looks amazed at the number of employees in the industry and the amount of VAT that we pay,” he concludes.
The concept of private security is not new to Nepali culture. Especially among the old money, there has been a noticeable culture of hiring guards. Nearly twenty years into the ushering of liberalization, this original clientele for private security guards has all but vanished in the flurry of changes in the Nepali economy. The boom in the banking and financial sectors plus the proliferation of corporate houses and diplomatic missions in the country has added to private security companies to find lucrative space in contemporary Nepal. Globally, the company Group Four Security (G4S) has gone as far as allocating a section of security services that employs ex-Gurkha soldiers. In 2007, the Malaysian Government stipulated that only Nepali and Malay citizens would be taken in as private security guards in Malaysia.
Dr. Karna. B. Thapa, a security expert, says that “80 % of the Nepali population is agrarian. This is not a good sign for economic growth in Nepal. With the reputation that the Nepali security personnel have accrued globally, private security is an area offering competitive advantages to Nepalis not only in Nepal but all over the world.” On a monthly basis, the reported security company in Nepal, G4S, alone pays value added tax (VAT) of approximately Rs 4.5 million.
“During the insurgency, the perception of insecurity shot up and the state security forces were preoccupied and gave pervasive opportunity to the PSCs. Now, given the political stalemate, the projected estimation of the boom in this industry is high as well,” says Sabal Chandra Shah, Managing Director of Garud Securities. Given the rampant rise in public security at the beginning of the armed insurgency in 1996, only four private security companies (PSC) were registered at the Company Registrar’s office. As the conflict peaked in 2001/2002, a whopping 197 PSCs were registered. With opportunistic hustles by 2006, the number had reached 269.Today, 700 PSCs are currently functioning in Nepal, employing approximately 25,000 people in Nepal.
“However, there are only 30 companies providing professional services. But due to rampant unemployment, there are almost 100,000 people actually employed. The employers of such manpower groups are elusive, and the guards work for less than the minimum wages of Rs 4,600 per month as stipulated by the Ministry of Labor,” says Hari Bahadur Thapa of NSPO.
On the other hand, Prof. Syed Habibullah, ex-head of the Central Department of Political Science at Tribhuvan University thinks it to be a distortion of state responsibility.
“We need strong state security agencies, not private ones. The latter is only suitable for the corporate class. The increase in the private security companies indicates the state’s weakness,” he articulates an opinion felt by many. “Private security companies will virtually undermine the role of the state security apparatus. PSCs should simply be discouraged in the country,” he concludes. Domestically, the rumble in this industry has converse and potent political dimensions.
“Although not the ultimate option, PSCs may be an option for the rehabilitation and mainstreaming of the cadres disqualified by UNMIN,” says Barsha Man Pun (Ananta), C.A. Member and a former Deputy Commander of the Maoist People’s Liberation Army.
There is another side to PSCs as a potential nest of employment:
“Since this sector doesn’t have a universal mechanism for background checks for their employees, different political parties are known to repeatedly approach private security companies asking them to employ their cadres,” says another security service provider, requesting anonymity. Being a small firm with 45 employees, he complains that to anger political stakeholders is a strict no-no for the survival of his business; so he is simultaneously pulled in different directions when such decisions must be made.
One prominent feature is that PSCs are not licensed to obtain firearms in their name. The exceptions are only the security guards working at banks and financial institutions and who belong to reputed companies such as G4S, Garuda Security, Nishan Security, and the like. They are mostly armed with 3-0-3 guns. But the legitimacy bestowed upon these guards is solely on supposed moral grounds, i.e., a background of working for the Government of Nepal as security personnel, viz., Nepal Police, Nepal Army, or the Armed Police Force.
The firearms are licensed in the name of the financial institutions in question. In the face of these realities, PSCs are also found to complain that their ability to provide security has been hindered by their inability to acquire or use firearms in case of emergency. They are scared that they might be held accountable if they defend anyone at a crime site.
“There have been instances where the guards who had gone to help victims have been taken into custody while the robbers fled. Consequently, a psychology of aloofness to crime has developed in guards and can be treated only by the state recognizing their work and status,” says Thapa of NSPO. The most important feature of this industry in Nepal is that it does not have any official rules and regulations to govern, let alone monitor the functioning of private security companies. Nor is there a definite set of universal mechanism for background checks.
“While there have been many instances of private security guards’ involvement in large-scale robberies, there are also as many instances of them being assaulted by bands of robbers,” relates K.B Thapa.
While security guards are moving from being “paley”-s, now officially 25,000-strong, this industry is pitifully sidelined as the stepson of the mainstream security sector in Nepal.
The present debate ought not to be whether or not privatization of security is good; it is that they are a part and parcel of present day reality. The question now is of its governance and monitoring. However, the idea of private security seems so giddily paradoxical in the average Nepali mindset, intelligentsia and policymakers alike that it has not even been able to move itself to the level of mainstream security discourse. They are potent to become the corporate world’s de facto police force, but in the absence of sturdy state-led guidelines, it appears conspicuously out of sync and also rendered spineless.
Like Ram and Bhim, as mentioned above, the first line of defense against crime in Kathmandu is armed with as little batons. There is a possibility that this corps, in tandem with the state security organs, could help in proactive crime prevention. In the absence of comprehensive laws and state support, however, more than 25,000 of this workforce is likely to drift aimlessly, unwept for, discounted, and unsung.
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