Reinvention of a nation, at warp speed

Because of Maoist rebels, Tirtha Gautam lost a husband but gained a voice.

Eight years ago, she became a widow when insurgents accused Yadu Gautam of being an informer, dragged him into the jungle and stabbed him to death. The brutal slaying so outraged the people of Rukum, the rural constituency he represented in parliament, that they resoundingly chose his bereaved young wife to succeed him.

Now when she sits in Nepal’s ornate legislative chamber, Gautam looks across the aisle and sees comrades of her husband’s killers. Under a fragile peace accord struck in November, the Maoists have joined a government they once fought on the battlefield, forcing bitter adversaries to work together.

“In politics, they say there are no permanent friends or enemies,” Gautam said one recent morning as she prepared for a ceremony commemorating her husband’s death. “Nothing stays the same.”

That feels like an understatement in Nepal, where the political landscape is changing at head-spinning speed. To be here now is to witness the rebirth of a nation, one that is reinventing itself in ways thought impossible a year ago.

Almost everything is up for grabs now as politicians, former guerrillas and various interest groups haggle over the country’s future. There are no sacred cows. Indeed, in what could be the most wrenching change of all, voters are due in June to elect a constitutional assembly that will decide whether the world’s only Hindu kingdom should become a secular republic.

The monarchy already has been stripped of virtually all its power, an astonishing reversal for an institution regarded for centuries as the earthly embodiment of the god Vishnu.

“The last nine months have been completely transformative,” said Kunda Dixit, editor of the weekly Nepali Times.

But the success of that transformation is by no means assured in what remains a deeply polarized, dirt-poor country whose primitive rusticity is beloved more by foreign backpackers than by the people living here.

Wednesday, a fierce fight over land use between Maoists and ethnic rights activists left 25 people dead and 35 wounded, police said.

The groups had gathered at the same spot in Gaur, about 75 miles south of Katmandu, to hold separate rallies. The two sides began to argue about who had the right to use the land, and things soon deteriorated into a brawl.

A year ago, Nepal was under the absolute rule of its king, Gyanendra, who had suspended parliament indefinitely. In the countryside, civil war raged between the royal army and the rebel Maoists, a conflict that since 1996 had claimed 13,000 lives, or nearly one of every 2,000 people in this Himalayan nation.

Then, last April, pro-democracy protests forced the king to restore elected government. Invigorated lawmakers cut a peace deal with the Maoists, who agreed to trade their guns for a say in formulating a new Nepal.

In the new anything-goes atmosphere, historically marginalized groups such as those of low caste and oppressed ethnicities have suddenly awakened to the possibility of gaining a foothold in society. Many are agitating, sometimes violently, to ensure that their interests are written into the country’s new charter. Strikes and protests are frequent.

“It’s not just [about] ‘Nepal.’ It’s ‘me’ -- everyone started demanding their voice in the new state,” Dixit said.

Exhilarating as the political ferment is for some, it has also frayed the peace agreement between the government and the Maoists that remains the delicate foundation of Nepal’s new era.

International observers say continued political unrest could delay the assembly elections set for June. The vote is the Maoists’ chief demand, one they hope will result in the abolition of the monarchy.

The biggest source of unrest so far has been a surprisingly aggressive push for political recognition by residents of Nepal’s southern plains, who make up more than 40% of the population.

The majority of these people are known as Madhesis, Hindi-speaking descendants of Indian migrants who have long been underrepresented and in many cases even denied citizenship. Unemployment among the Madhesis exceeds the already alarming national average of more than 40%.

Demonstrations for greater rights spun out of control in January, producing clashes in the south that have killed at least 27 people. In an embarrassing and ironic gaffe, Maoist leaders, champions of revolution by the downtrodden, suggested calling in the army to quell the movement.

Two weeks ago, Nepal’s interim parliament approved a proposal to increase the number of seats for ethnic minorities and ensure them positions in government. But Madhesi activists say they are not satisfied and will continue disrupting transport and trade until their demands are met.

Despite the emergence of interest groups such as the Madhesis, the success or failure of Nepal’s new experiment in nationhood depends on how the Maoists manage the transition from a guerrilla outfit to a mainstream political organization.

As U.S. Ambassador James F. Moriarty put it: “Can they flick that switch and go from a party based on intimidation and violence to a party based on wooing voters in the more conventional manner?”

The evidence thus far has been mixed.

Maoists and their appointees hold 83 of the 329 seats in the interim parliament and are expected to be awarded ministries in a new interim government. But many are impatient with the niceties of political debate.

“In the early days of this legislative body, it was quite exciting, but now it’s getting dragged [down] by little things,” said Hisila Yami, a senior Maoist cadre. “We’re not used to this life.”

Old habits of extortion and coercion also have not vanished, though some analysts say they have decreased.

In advance of a large rally in the capital, Katmandu, on Feb. 13, reports shot up of Maoist demands for “voluntary” donations and free housing from local factories, shopkeepers and residents. Such strong-arm tactics were common during the insurgency.

Problems also have surfaced with the Maoists’ obligation, under the peace agreement, to turn in themselves and their weapons at special camps and warehouses throughout Nepal.

About 31,000 rebels and nearly 3,500 weapons have been registered. But many of those cadres are almost certainly recent recruits, enlisted in violation of the peace deal in an effort to boost the Maoists’ numbers. Hundreds of former guerrillas stormed out of one camp in the south recently to protest the conditions of their confinement, but later returned.

And the top United Nations official in Nepal has said that he cannot verify whether the arms collected, including automatic weapons and mortars, represent the Maoists’ entire cache. Earlier this month, the vice chairman of the Nepalese army alleged that nearly 800 weapons, perhaps more, remained unaccounted for.

Without a credible accounting, any elections would come into question. In a free and fair poll, Moriarty estimates, the Maoists would win only 15% to 20% of the vote.

Analysts say that the Maoists’ top leader, known by his nom de guerre, Prachanda, is under pressure to hold his organization together. Hard-liners are upset with the peace pact, blunders such as the response to the Madhesi agitation have cost the Maoists politically, and thousands of idled cadres face joblessness. The Feb. 13 rally, which the Maoists had boasted would attract a million people, mustered less than 10% of that.

There is also uncertainty as to what, if anything, to do about the Maoists’ human rights violations of the last decade, which include assassinations, kidnappings and child recruitment. So far, few people are willing to address the issue.

Gautam, the member of parliament whose husband was slain by insurgents, said that for now she was willing to believe the Maoist leadership’s stated commitment to peaceful politicking and to set aside her personal bitterness for the sake of Nepal.

“If I thought only as a wife and a victim of what happened, I might feel otherwise. But now I’m a politician with an important role in bringing reconciliation to the rest of the country,” she said.

“The Maoists might also be angry, but that should not be of primary importance. The peace and development of the country should be the priority, not personal grief.”

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henry.chu@latimes.com