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 The federal government and its head can learn many things from the recent Guthi bill fiasco. One is that decisions with far-reaching conse­quences should be made only after extensive consultations with key stakeholders. Frankly, in its year and a half in office, the federal government, and Prime Minister KP Oli in particular, have acted like a law onto themselves. PM Oli makes vital decisions without informing senior leaders of his own party, much less the opposition parties. The advice of a small coterie of party hacks seems enough.

Broad consultations are at the heart of the democrat­ic process. But for the self-described democrat who fought autocracy half his life, Oli seems to have inter­nalized some authoritarian tendencies himself. Again, seldom does he consult other experts and seek a sec­ond opinion. Take his recent Europe trip, which turned out to be a disaster. The prime minister was keen on visiting Europe and shoring up his international image even as there had been no preparations. The expected agreements with France and the UK could not mate­rialize; the heads of the state of these two European powers did not even bother to see him.

Had the prime minister consulted some foreign pol­icy experts, or even read an oped or two on the topic on the eve of his Europe trip, he could have figured out that instead of buttressing his international image, the meaningless tour would have just the opposite effect. More important, it would harm the standing of the country he represents. But just like he did not bother to consult the Guthiyars—the age-old custodians of the country’s precious heritage—before introducing the Guthi bill, the self-assured prime minister did not see the need to seek expert advice on his foreign travel.

The forced withdrawal of the Guthi bill is possibly the biggest blow to the prime minister’s seemingly unassailable image. He perhaps does not realize that if he continues on his unilateral course, the press, the opposition parties, the intellectuals, and hundreds of thousands of his voters—could all be alienated. It is a reminder that in a democracy you can rule only by a broad consensus and trying to ram through unpopu­lar measures invariably backfires. Perhaps the retreat on the Guthi bill will make PM Oli realize the power of the collective.

 Nepal’s civil liberties are hard-won. During the 104 years of the Rana rule, there was no such thing as freedom of expression for common people. Education was out of their reach and foreign travel completely banned. When the Ranas were forced out, there was a brief respite from authoritarianism in the 1950s, before King Mahen­dra again usurped civil rights in 1960. It would be 30 more years before the gradual opening up of political and social space again. Finally, following another long struggle, absolute monarchy was formally abolished in 2008 and complete sovereignty vested in the people.

As people would from then on be governed solely by their representatives, never again would civil liberties be curtailed, it was hoped. Yet more than a decade later there continues to be a palpable threat to free speech. The two-third communist government of KP Oli has been coming up with one regulation after another to curb press freedom. It censors the internet. It makes a sweeping decision on ownership of traditional guthis in the country without even consulting the stakehold­ers. Most recently, it arrested a comedian on the dubi­ous charge of stepping on public sensibilities.

The communists the world over and throughout history have been high on discipline. (Lenin famous­ly wanted to maintain ‘iron discipline’ in his Bolshevik Party.) They like structures. But it is difficult to give defi­nite structures to a diverse society like Nepal’s. In fact, any democratic society is riddled with contradictions, and the more diverse it is, the more contradictions there will be. But rather than taking it as a natural part of the democratic process and trying to manage these contradictions in a democratic way, the federal govern­ment seems intent on imposing its own vision of a silo-like, monochromatic society.

Voted in with an overwhelming mandate, the ruling communists claim unsullied democratic credentials. They are no Bolsheviks of yesteryears, they protest. Having long fought for the cause of democracy, they claim to be aware of their duty to protect people’s free­doms. They rather blame the recent public backlash against the government as part of the opposition’s dirty politicking. But no one’s fooled. Rather than issuing empty promises to safeguard people’s rights and free­doms, the government would do itself and the coun­try a huge favor if it refrained from restricting people’s constitutional right to free speech. If they want to be heard, it is the democratic government’s duty to listen to them. The undemocratic way of trying to muzzle them is self-sabotage.

 Two recent instances illustrate a signature shortcoming of Nepal’s post-1990 demo­cratic dispensation. In his budget speech for 2019/20, Finance Minister Yubaraj Kha­tiwada increased the yearly discretionary spending cap of federal MPs in their respective constituencies from Rs 40 million to Rs 60 million. The Constituency Development Fund has been arbitrarily increased, at the insistence of MPs from across the political spectrum, even though this fund has historically been grossly misspent. People’s chosen representatives conveniently ignored the pressure this year from the media and the common folks not to do so.

Only a handful of opposition MPs criticized the increase in MPs’ spending capacities. True, Nepali Congress leaders were unanimous in their public objection to the “populist” and “wasteful” budget. Yet most of them were curiously absent from one place from where they could get the government to rethink its budgetary priorities. The ongoing discussions in the federal parliament over the recently presented budget has turned into a farce, as speakers address the assembly without even a tenth of its 275 members in attendance. Most senior leaders of the ruling and opposition parties are missing, as are most ministers.

Sadly, this kind of shameless dereliction of duty and open loot of state coffers by people’s chosen representatives have been a constant over the past three decades. The political system changed, as did the composition of the parliament, which is now a lot more inclusive than it was even a decade ago. And yet the self-serving nature of our MPs remains the same. Upon seeing the empty chairs in the parliament on such important occasions, people are bound to ask: Why will the parliamentarians turn up after they have already gotten all the money they want? Such cynicism of the parliamentary process is troubling. It reflects a deep mistrust of the political class, which only seems interested in enriching itself even if their country is going to the dogs.

A more charitable interpretation would be that our lawmakers are humans and it must be mighty difficult for them to refuse such large sums of money that come with few strings attached. Were we in their place, the vast majority of us would probably do the same. But the point is, we are not in politics, suppos­edly the highest public service. After taking the oath to selflessly serve the country and the people, this attempt of our MPs to suck their poor state dry is morally repre­hensible. In the long run, it is also detrimental to their political career.

 As Finance Minister Yubaraj Khatiwada out­lined the roadmap to the country’s pros­perity in the federal parliament on May 29, many Nepalis were preoccupied with the bomb blasts in the national capital just a few days earlier. Many wondered why the government and the Communist Party of Nepal (CPN) led by Netra Bikram Chand ‘Biplob’ were not talking. But talking about what? The party’s demands are either vague or too radical. When APEX asked Chand about his demands, he replied: “The long and short of it is that we want an end to the way the crony capitalist class is impoverish­ing the people and bankrupting the country by captur­ing the economic, political and cultural arena and key sectors like education, health and real estate.”

Typical communist-speak. But what exactly does ending the reign of the ‘crony capitalist class’ entail? Wholesale nationalization of health and education? His party has also been bombing and taking ‘physical action’ against multinationals, which it accuses of suck­ing the country dry. Apparently, kicking them all out is the only viable option. Another of his contentions is that top Maoist leaders like Pushpa Kamal Dahal and Baburam Bhattarai ‘betrayed’ the revolution when they agreed to lay down arms in 2006. His party will thus push for the conclusion of the ‘incomplete peo­ple’s war’.

As Home Minister Ram Bahadur Thapa informed the parliament recently, the CPN has over the past few years been busy raising a militia to wage yet another bloody revolution. The party has been openly extort­ing businesses and NGOs to add to its war-chest. It has killed innocent people and made life difficult for every­one, and in doing so it is behaving more like a criminal outfit than a political party.

Yes, the Oli government has been rather harsh in dealing with Chand’s party. But it is also disingenuous of Chand to claim there has been no initiative for talks from the government’s side. Chand himself admits that there were many ‘informal’ approaches, which appar­ently amounted to nothing. It isn’t hard to guess why. In his own words, “we are not afraid of talks, but we are not convinced that they will address the issues raised by our revolution.”

The government should always be open for talks with a political party that has legitimate political demands. But how can there be meaningful talks when Chand refuses to abandon his violent and criminal ways? If the CPN wants the government and the civil society to consider it a credible political outfit, it should fore­swear violence and declare itself ready for uncondi­tional talks.