In the lead-up to September 20th, 2019, the fourth anniversary of Nepal’s Constitution, the government encouraged citizens to decorate their homes with lights in a three-day Dipawali-like observance, suggested print media publish special issues on the constitution, and advised temples, monasteries, churches, mosques, and gurdwaras to hold special worship services for the good of the nation. Sometimes, the government seemed to be ordering citizens to celebrate. “The holiday is not an invitation to play cards, have a picnic, or go around with your girlfriend or boyfriend,” Minister of Communication and Information Technology Gokul Baskota warned reporters. “That’s my final word, and I’m talking straight. We have made this a national holiday to celebrate [the constitution].”
Though the new Constitution – Nepal’s seventh in as many decades – has been commemorated each year since 2015, the ruling Nepal Communist Party (NCP) has laid special emphasis on celebrations since it won national elections in a landslide in 2017. The Constitution holds special pride of place for the NCP. Though it was passed in 2015 with support from the main opposition, the Nepali Congress, it was NCP Chairman and Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Sharma Oli who led the government through a rocky diplomatic crisis that emerged in the constitution’s aftermath. At the time, India pressured Nepal to amend the charter to meet the demands of protesting Madhesis and Tharus – historically marginalized minority groups who wanted an ethnicity-based province in the western Terai (the southern plains). Many Nepalis were outraged at what they saw as India overstepping its diplomatic bounds, and popular support for Oli grew when he remained defiant through a four-and-a-half month unofficial blockade by India. Nepal’s giant neighbor eventually relented, and the David-and-Goliath-like story created a groundswell of nationalism that catapulted the NCP to victory in 2017.
While the Constitution declares Nepal a federal, secular, democratic republic with guaranteed rights for freedom of speech, assembly, equal treatment, and reservations in government and the bureaucracy for women and marginalized castes, some groups continue to object to it. In addition to the Madhesis and Tharus, women’s rights activists call for an amendment to change sexist citizenship provisions, which restrict a mother’s ability to pass on citizenship to their children, whereas fathers can easily pass on citizenship. On the far left, a small rebel group — led by an ex-Maoist cadre who refused to give up arms after the end of the People’s War in 2006 — rejects the Constitution outright, fighting to replace multi-party democracy with “scientific socialism.” And on the far right, royalists continue to protest the Constitution’s declaration of secularism, calling for the restitution of the monarchy and a Hindu state.
But on the eve of Constitution Day this year, there seemed to be a general reluctance to celebrate that was not limited to these “traditional” opposition groups. In Kathmandu, which saw spontaneous street celebrations when the Constitution was promulgated in 2015, many Nepalis questioned the ruling party’s commitment to federalism and basic individual rights and freedoms enshrined in the very charter it ushered into existence. The government has been criticized for dragging its feet on implementing federalism and guaranteeing individual rights and freedoms, as it has cracked down on protests and made moves to restrict freedom of the press. A headline in a the national daily Kantipur said, “The Constitution is Endangered by Those Who Made It.”
“One can celebrate the constitution as a document,” an artist I met on the street told me. “But the rights in the constitution haven’t been made available for the people, and so people are going to ignore this holiday.”
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Official Constitution Day celebrations, which officials and bureaucrats in Kathmandu were required to attend, began at dawn with a bugle call and canon fire at the Sainik Manch, a military parade ground that is part of a large, open park in the center of Kathmandu. By the time I arrived around 9 o’clock, helicopters were circling overhead, showering down marigold petals and flying a red banner that read “Constitution Day 2076,” the current year in Nepal’s Bikram Sambat calendar. The prime minister, president, house speaker and other VIPs were ensconced in an observation deck watching a parade by the Army’s marching band, Nepal Scouts, and police forces.
After a bagpiper serenade, Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Sharma Oli ascended the podium, thanking those in attendance and calling for Constitution Day to be commemorated as the nation’s prime holiday. Extolling his administration’s economic development achievements, he asked critics to exercise self-restraint: “work is happening, be patient.”
I entered a cordoned-off section of the park that was open to lower-level officials and the public. At the gate, policewomen were handing out paper flags labeled, “World’s Only Triangular Flag,” and entrants splashed through large puddles from the previous night’s rain. Inside, a curious menagerie had assembled. Uniformed high-schoolers milled about next to climbing guides clad in helmets and (despite the warm weather) down jackets, porters carrying ice picks and oxygen canisters, and other delegates from the Nepal Mountaineering Association. Armed Police Force cadets occupied the high, dry ground — which happened to be next to the toilet tents, from which a foul aroma emerged. A staid-looking congregation from the national bank looked on as traditional Newar drummers thumped a thunderous staccato and a wild-haired lakhe spirit threw its body into wild contortions, apparently summoning cosmic forces to protect the nation.
Most attendees seemed to have come in some official capacity or other — as student groups, scout groups, professional associations, or government offices, recognizable by their flag-emblazoned T-shirts designed by the Celebration Committee. Mira Kaphle, a young woman from the National Youth Council, told me she was happy to be celebrating the day. “It’s internationally recognized as one of the most progressive constitutions in South Asia and the world. In my institution, 50% women’s participation is ensured. So I feel like my institution has become inclusive under the constitution,” she said.
When I asked Department of Transportation delegates how they felt to be celebrating Constitution Day, they directed me to their manager, a man named Bandhu Prasad Bastola. “Compared to past constitutions, this one is unique because it was made through people’s participation, through an elected assembly. We hope that the constitution will be long-lasting and effective, and that with political stability Nepal can move forward in the journey to development and prosperity,” he told me, seemingly echoing an NCP 2017 election slogan.
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Outside the parade grounds, public celebrations of Constitution Day were scarce. In the New Road commercial district, most stores opened by noon and shoppers thronged the alleyways to purchase food supplies, new outfits, and presents for the upcoming Dashain festival. At Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, movie-goers were lined up to purchase tickets to the latest Kollywood romantic comedy, Kabadi Kabadi Kabadi. In Ratna Park, the public wifi password had been changed to “sambidhan” (constitution), although most visitors’ minds seemed to be elsewhere: groups of friends chit-chatted in the fall sunshine, young men took selfies in the gardens, and couples — in flagrant violation of the Communication Minister’s orders — picnicked.
Sumit Thapa, a BBA student, sat at a bench reading a Paolo Coelho novel. He told me he was not against the constitution, but was not celebrating, either. “Political leaders don’t even respect the constitution themselves,” he said.
His friend Anusha Adhikari, a BSc student, agreed. “The constitution hasn’t been implemented, so even though this is a day that they say we’re supposed to celebrate, I don’t have any desire to,” she said.
The national media was largely critical of the government on Constitution Day. An article in Kantipur pointed out that dozens of laws still need to passed or amended to comply with the Constitution. The NCP has dragged its feet while implementing provisions for federalism, seemingly reluctant to share powers with the newly-created provinces. For example, although the constitution grants provinces the power to manage their own police forces, the central-level Home Ministry has maintained control over the police.
The government has also been criticized for failing to legally guarantee individual rights and liberties. Since coming to office, the NCP has deprived constitutional rights bodies like the National Women’s Commission and the National Dalit Commission of adequate staff and funds. A proposed bill threatens to weaken the independence of the National Human Rights Commission, a freedom watchdog, while other bills, such as the Media Council Bill and Information Technology Bill, could curtail freedom of speech online and in the press.
In practice, too, the government has been criticized for its handling of dissent. The Oli administration tried, unsuccessfully, to shut down Kathmandu’s main protest venue last year, and police have reacted violently to protests, killing and injuring people in several cases. In August 2018, a man in the western Terai mysteriously died in police custody after protesting a minister’s official visit. Last month, the NCP’s youth wing threatened a man who posted a viral video where he berated another minister aboard a domestic flight. Two weeks later, the man was violently attacked by an unidentified group and had to be hospitalized. When the NCP held a party-to-party conclave with the Chinese Communist Party on “Xi Jinping Thought” in Kathmandu in September, critics suggested it was seeking to emulate Chinese authoritarianism. (However, others point to authoritarian inspiration from the BJP in India.)
Kul Chandra Sunuwar, a spices wholesaler in the Lazimpat neighborhood, told me he thinks the government uses the law to crack down on opponents, but neglects to tackle corruption inside the government. He pointed to recent high-profile corruption cases that resulted in few or no convictions, including a kickback scandal over the purchase of jets by the government airlines and a gold-smuggling ring involving high-level police officers. “People just want the government to work according to the constitution – whether you’re a big fish or a small person, everyone should be held accountable to the law,” Sunuwar told me.
In the Bagh Bazar neighborhood, I met a shopkeeper, Suresh Shrestha, who was selling Nepali flags in a variety of sizes, fluttering in the afternoon breeze. He was not celebrating Constitution Day himself; he opposed the way the law seemed to not apply to politicians and their close supporters. He mentioned the recent implication of the current Home Minister’s own brother in an organized crime ring, who was arrested but released on bail of less than $1,000 and is awaiting trial (Days later, the speaker of the lower house of parliament, a major NCP leader, would resign after he was accused of rape.)
In the early evening, I walked along Nepal’s ritziest shopping street, Durbar Marg, past Swiss watch showrooms, Apple stores, and restaurants serving cuisine from around the world. The street abuts the old royal palace, which was converted to a public museum after the Constituent Assembly voted to abolish the monarchy in 2008, setting in motion the Constitution drafting process. Young men in polo shirts and women in summer dresses promenaded beneath jacaranda trees. It may have been Constitution Day, but it was Friday, after all.
A few days later, I received a phone call from a friend who lives in the western Terai. During the civil war, he was tortured by state security forces, despite his protestations that he was not a Maoist. Today, he is an eloquent advocate for conflict victims’ rights.
“The constitution came about because of a popular movement, but there are thousands of people like me who are still living with the wounds from that movement,” he told me over the phone. He said he said he had not celebrated Constitution Day; in fact, he had considered protesting with a black flag. But then thought better of it. “I thought – will I be threatened again? Will I be tortured again? So I didn’t. I carry this sadness in my heart.”
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