Nepal Settles Into Life Under Martial Law

by Marty Logan

(IPS) KATHMANDU -- The weekend was a glorious one in Nepal's capital. Under a clear blue sky residents hung washing to dry on rooftops and took off toddlersÕ layers of winter clothes so the hot sun could warm their dimpled bodies.

It was easy to forget that just a day earlier dozens, perhaps hundreds, of political party members and other activists who dared to publicly protest the Feb. 1 royal coup were promptly jailed by security forces.

On the surface, life in the capital has altered little since King Gyanendra Bir Bikram Shah commandeered Nepal's airwaves to inform the nation's more than 23 million citizens he had fired the government and taken over the Himalayan country.

During the week-long communications blackout he subsequently imposed, the monarch suspended many of the rights guaranteed in the 1990 constitution, jailed hundreds of political leaders and activists and imposed strict censorship on the media.

Since then the nation's security forces have promptly detained anyone who publicly opposes the rules of the 'emergency,' including those collared late last week in various cities -- ironically during celebrations to mark Democracy Day on Feb. 18.

But those isolated incidents are witnessed by relatively few of the capital's one million citizens. Instead they see that the garbage is now being promptly collected, small groups of khaki-clad soldiers still guard most major intersections but now rarely bother them with vehicle roadblocks, and the government is conducting spot-checks to weed out absentee civil servants.

For many Nepalis, these developments are sufficient to prove the king's takeover justification: the political parties that governed in recent years completely failed to set aside self-interest and work together to govern for the good of the common people. In so doing they also wasted an essential opportunity to establish peace talks with the leaders of an increasingly bloody Maoist insurgency that has overrun must of the country, all of which illustrates that Nepal is not yet ready for democracy, goes this argument.

'To have democracy you need self-discipline,' stresses one employee of an international non-governmental organization (NGO), who is willing to grant the king the three years he said that were needed to turn around this troubled country. If Gyanendra does not deliver, Nepal's monarchy is finished, the man predicts.

'Democracy can't be practized without democracy,' counters his colleague.

It all seems strangely familiar. According to the 2005 book 'Forget Kathmandu: An Elegy for Democracy,' in 1960 King Mahendra, Gyanendra's father, 'invoked the powers vested in him by the 1959 constitution to effect a coup.'

'He dissolved (the) government on Dec. 15, 1960, explaining in a radio address that he had been forced to do so to stop corruption. Army troops arrested (Prime Minister BP Koirala) at an open-air meeting ... A month later the king had banned all political parties' and established what became known as the Panchayat system. Ultimately controlled by the palace, it lasted three decades.

According to author Manjushree Thapa, 'People are divided as to whether (the king's) royal coup was a self-serving act on the part of a dictator or whether it was justified on grounds of national interest. Panchayat apologists will say that the political parties were forever bickering. The endless stirrings and uprisings of the people would have led to disintegration, inviting a takeover by India."

'Democrats will argue that Panchayat was a regression to kingdoms past. It re- established medieval courts rife with intrigue; it stifled fledgling civil liberties and aborted nascent civil institutions,' she writes.

That these arguments are being repeated today illustrates how little the political system -- dominated by personality-based parties and manipulated by a paternalistic monarchy -- has evolved.

What might have changed is the strength of the ties between Nepal's true democrats and the international community, prompting what some observers here see as surprisingly strong opposition from nations like India, the United States and Britain, which have publicly protested the king's move by recalling their representatives.

Human rights groups, including Amnesty International and the International Federation of Journalists, dispatched missions to Nepal after the takeover and are calling on the king to restore the suspended rights before three months (as he apparently pledged to U.S. officials); they also want countries like the United States, Britain and India to halt military aid to the government.

That aid has arrived from the U.S. and other nations as an array of light and heavy weapons to battle an insurgency that has killed 11,000 people in a decade, more than 6,000 since 2002, according to a Feb. 9 report by the Brussels-based International Crisis Group (ICG). But while outside analysts have concluded the military will be unable to defeat the Maoists despite an overwhelming advantage in firepower and troops because of the guerrilla nature of the rebels' campaign, it appears the king has given his commanders the green light to try.

'The government is doing nothing (to contact the Maoists). It is just waiting for their response. But throughout the kingdom ... every day we have heavy encounters and killings -- both sides,' an official from the ministry of local development told IPS.

Last week the king plucked a figure from the Panchayat era, Tulsi Giri, appointing him senior vice-chairman of the governing council. At his first meeting with journalists he answered a question about the Maoists with, 'Who? Who are they?'

Subsequently Giri asked the media to refer to the rebels as 'terrorists,' thus adopting the language used by the king's strongest international critics as they deal with their own insurgencies.

The Maoists, who prior to Feb. 1 demanded direct talks with the palace, have now rejected any discussions with the power-usurping king, according to Indian analyst S Chandrasekharan.

According to the ministry official, reports from rural areas indicate that government workers who had previously fled their posts under Maoist threats or were confined to district headquarters are slowly resuming work, perhaps because of a sense of confidence in the new regime but also because the monarch's 12-member governing council has ordered civil servants back to their desks.

Yet the disruption to government activities during the insurgency has been significant, the ministry official added. In only 50 out of 75 districts is phone service regular; airstrips in remote communities are 'risky from a security point of view,' and the government is able to spend only about one-third of its development budget.

The 'Kathmandu Post' reported Sunday that rebels destroyed 15 vehicles, burning alive 50 buffaloes, when they attempted to ply the national highway one week after the Maoists demanded that all traffic stop -- in an attempt to choke-off the national capital. Although some vehicles are getting through on the only route to Kathmandu, prices are rising and rumours predict that fresh produce will run out in a matter of days.

But even in the most affected areas in recent years various government activities have continued, says the official. In some cases Maoists have allowed food delivery and health care programs to run because they also benefit, in others development workers have argued forcefully on behalf of their activities and the rebels have demurred, while in some instances local citizens have managed to contact officials and conduct affairs even if they were hiding from the insurgents.

Thus, it would be misleading to conclude the conflict has set back Nepal's development by additional years, the official argues.

'Yes, Nepal is 50 years behind in development -- let's say it frankly -- but that doesn't mean it will take 50 years to become developed ... the basic foundation still exists. The doctors are not there, the health care assistants are not there but the government network is still there.'

The question is, how soon will that system begin working again. 'Everyone says that we will have peace; I don't think we will have peace. I don't think so,' says a woman behind the counter of a tiny roadside snack stall in the capital on a recent afternoon. 'Maybe things we don't know are happening outside: we have no way to know this.'