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 When the earthquake struck in April 2015, many of us knew that a major one was due. There were projections of 40,000 deaths, 95,000 injuries and over half a million homeless­ness in the Kathmandu Valley alone—with roads and bridges collapsing—making it difficult for international rescue and relief to reach the survivors on time. The US military estimated in 2011 that “4,000 metric tons (MT) of food and water, or 1,000 MT of just food,” would be required per day to feed the survivors. This would require support of over 257 C-130 Hercules military trans­port aircraft missions per day to sustain the level of humanitarian operation.

As early as April 2011, the US Embassy in Kathmandu and the then US Pacific Command (now the Indo-Pacific Command) had tasked the US Army Corps of Engineers’ (USACE) Civil-Mil­itary Emergency Preparedness (CMEP) program with seismic assessments of critical infrastruc­ture at the TIA and development of an emergency response plan for the airfield.

As I reported in The Kathman­du Post in Sept 2011, US military concluded that the TIA’s capacity at the time could only support 40 landings and take-offs of C-130 and CH-47 Chinook transport heli­copters per hour.

While most of these warnings about the worst-case scenario were out in the public, it did not necessarily trickle down to the level of public discourse until the events of 2015. (There was a brief momentum in Sept 2011 follow­ing the Sikkim earthquake, but it quickly fizzled out.)

The fateful day

When the shaking began on that fateful afternoon of 25 April 2015, I was driving to a col­league’s house for lunch. As our car shook violently just minutes away from her apartment locat­ed in a high-rise in Lalitpur, my first instinct was to blame the mechanic—who had serviced my vehicle the previous week—for poor workmanship. If we had arrived a few minutes earlier, we would most likely have been trapped in an elevator. It took me a few more seconds to be aware of what was happening. After that the cries of animals and birds served as an earthquake alarm for the repeated aftershocks. I don’t know if we were halluci­nating, but there was a strange hissing sound that accompanied the aftershocks.

As dozens of us spontaneous­ly huddled together in an open space for safety in the immediate aftermath, there was pervasive fear about our own safety and that of our loved ones. There was also a sense of connection with the strangers. For several weeks afterward, all the tenants in our apartment building cooked and ate together. Prior to the quake, our interactions barely went beyond pleasantries when we passed each other. We even slept in our neighbors’ living room on the ground floor—with doors open in case we needed to flee at a moment’s notice.

The death toll and injuries from the earthquake could have been much worse had the earthquake not struck during day time—and on a Saturday when schools were closed. Many of us who came through the quake felt extreme­ly lucky and for months carried what psychologist call survivor’s guilt. A lot of the spontaneous public mobilization for rescue and relief perhaps stemmed from that guilt.

Sense of preparedness

Beside the tragedy, several sto­ries about how the earthquake offered lessons in humility were reported in the media. My favor­ite: a story involving another Lal­itpur high-rise and the adjacent slum. According to the story, some folks living in the high-rise looked down on the people living in the slum area and often argued with them. But after the quake, they pleaded to stay with the folks in the slum.

We all vowed to change our ways and prioritize safety, yet anecdotal evidence suggests that the level of building code com­pliance has probably gone down. For the first six months, many of us took measures to secure our cupboards and flowerpots and kept a go-bag ready. But four years later, that sense of readiness has evaporated.

But the biggest amnesia can be seen among our officials responsi­ble for disaster risk reduction and preparedness. As I argued in this space two weeks ago, the Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Act 2017—which was passed nearly a decade after it was first floated and two and half years after the earthquake—continues to treat risk reduction and response as a seasonal occupation. The Act puts no emphasis on specialized staff and rapid decision-making—which as a matter of common sense should be the hallmarks of a rapid response agency.

WikiLeaks publisher Julian Assange has been taken into cus­tody by the British Police. After almost seven years in the Ecua­dorian Embassy, he was dragged out, looking haggard and mag­nificent as Tolstoy with a giant white beard. The Ecuadorian Embassy had given him gener­ous refuge till a change of regime brought an end to his asylum status—who knew asylum could be revoked? Maybe the catshit had something to do with it. One of the demands of the embassy was that Assange clean up after his cat. Video footage has also surfaced showing him trying to learn how to skateboard inside the embassy.

Assange was probably a night­mare tenant. Kudos to the Ecua­dorians for suffering through seven years of a celebrity jour­nalist living in their premises. But now the question arises—what next?

First and foremost is the freedom of the press, which all democratic nation-states must uphold

First and foremost is the freedom of the press, which all democratic nation-states must uphold. Assange was involved in collecting information on war crimes conducted by the US mil­itary. This reportage is the job of a journalist, which he was in full measure. In keeping with the times, his methods of informa­tion collection involved a large amount of cyber data. Collecting information for the purposes of verifying a story, especially a story as massive as the one WikiLeaks was working on, has always been the professional prerogative of the press, and one that cannot be hampered by any state institution.

Putting Assange in jail is the equivalent of what the Nepal Police has just done to jour­nalist Arjun Giri, the editor of Tandav Weekly (tandavweekly.com), who was detained and charged under cybercrime law on April 15. His crime? Reporting on a financial fraud conducted by a member of a powerful family that rules Pokhara. Giri is a member of Nepal Journalists Forum, Kaski Chapter. Clearly if people had issue with his reportage, they should have printed rebuttals or put a lawsuit on him for defama­tion of character. Instead, they went to the police and put him in jail for cybercrime. Reporting on stories is not a crime—but often in tin-pot democracies like Nepal, where the police can be used for the ends of pow­erful families, this misuse of the law is possible.

The US however is not a tin-pot democracy. It is the home of the brave and land of the free. Journalism holds special respect there—at least it did, before Trump took a person­ally antagonistic position to the press and started to attack its members with impunity. Assange has done nothing that another bea­con of democracy, Noam Chomsky, has not done over a lifetime of critiquing the US military and its atrocities world­wide. The only difference is that Assange, a freewheeling Aussie with libertarian tendencies, has drawn the ire of his jealous contemporaries who will never break a story as important as this one, as Glenn Greenwald pointed out. “Narcissist” is a favorite insult to hurl at Assange, which is odd because he’s clearly sacrificed his life to a cause much larger than himself.

This much is clear: Assange, despite the vociferous insults heaped upon him by the corpo­rate American press, has already consolidated his legacy. Perse­cuting him now brings forth the opposite results desired by the US state. Extremely negative publicity is sure to follow any attempts to extra­dite him to the US. A friend of mine who studied Evangelicals used to say they love perse­cution—the more persecuted they were, the more their suf­fering elevated them towards Christ. Something similar is in operation here: the more Assange is persecuted, the more his already canonized image is going to solidify with the young and the moderates, globally.The US is already on shaky ground due to Trumpian isola­tion policies. Separating itself from rule of law and the freedom of the press is not going to make it more popular in the inter­national stage. Britain is caught between Brexit and the annoyed Europeans, and any attempts now to cozy up with the Trump regime is only going to make their position more tenacious on the European continent. The only solution now is a speedy legal resolution which drops all charges against Assange and his publica­tion, and a quiet flight back to Australia with his cat.

The author is a writer and filmmaker from Nepal. She has a BA in international relations from Brown University

 Just like in other countries, foreign missions, especially the rich and powerful ones with interests here, spend a lot of money on psy ops, or dissem­ination of “positive propaganda” to influence public perceptions about them, which may in turn affect government decisions.

There’s nothing wrong with it and many countries do it. While psy ops are getting sophisticat­ed and intelligent in other coun­tries, in Nepal’s case, for some strange reason, foreign missions seem reluctant to move beyond the traditional method, i.e., paying influential local writers and leaders to portray them in good light.

This method may have worked in the past, but times have changed and now we have a sig­nificant number of bright young students and scholars who are not easily brainwashed. Further, the years of reliance on this meth­od has only led to the creation of an army of pro-this and anti-that experts, and we the people have been forced to read and hear extreme views that hardly make any sense.

Maybe it’s already late for those of you working in foreign mis­sions’ intelligence desks in Kath­mandu to rethink your approach to dissemination of positive pro­paganda. I urge you to produce genuine thinkers, not some fanat­ically pro-you and anti-them you foes, who, for a few dollars more, will love your country more than you do. It’s your taxpayer money going to waste.

Therefore, how about creating people who genuinely like you and can’t stop talking good about you, or care about your concerns without you having to be directly bribed?

Too good to be true?

Actually it’s quite easy. Work with the academia to establish a major related to your country. Area studies is in decline in many countries, but young Nepali stu­dents and professionals these days are really into understanding their neighbors and the US. Peo­ple are buying books and reading about you. What they lack is a real academic program to help them put in perspective what they read in international bestsellers. For this you have to have academic programs that expose the real you to students.

Teach them your history, lan­guage, culture, foreign policy, lit­erature, and all things you. Teach them where you went wrong and where you are still wrong, but also where you are right. You can also make arrangements for the students here to interact with the students in your country, and have renowned professors teach them over the internet.

All you got to do is find area studies academics in your coun­try, devise a course and find a will­ing academic partner in Nepal. This is quite easy and won’t cost much—maybe a few computers, desks and chairs and, this being Nepal, some bribe money and fine wine and dinners. Enroll 10-15 students who meet strict academic requirements from all backgrounds—bureaucrats, junior diplomats, military officers to journalists, businesspeople and young people who are just curi­ous about you and would also be willing to pay for an academic degree.

For the first few years you need to bring in professors from your own country to teach us. But after that we will have enough people to do the teaching our­selves. Provide scholarships for a year to study at your finest insti­tutes to the best and the brightest students.

This shouldn’t cost you extra either given that you are already providing scholarships to medi­ocre students and the ones with political connections or those rec­ommended by your “old hands”. Therefore, just send two brightest students studying about you to your country and limit the num­bers of “highly recommended mediocre students.” The two real students will make the best of the opportunity and significantly boost bilateral relations at the people’s level.

If you do this, in 10 years, you will have more than 100 profes­sionals from all fields saying good things about you. The risk is, some may only focus on your flaws and be critical of you, but many who study about you will be support­ive and they will understand why you do the things you do.

This is probably the best and the cheapest way—think of the money you will be saving in jun­kets, scholarships to undeserving candidates, seminars and con­ferences where no one says any­thing new or of value, drinks and dinners and payments and gifts to some to show yourself in a good light.

Also, you will be doing our gov­ernment a favor by providing it with the manpower that under­stands and speaks your language, which in turn will help this coun­try be more sensible in its deal­ings with you. And for those of us outside of the government and academia, we will be getting to read something sensible about you that doesn’t reek of stale pro­paganda. Now that will help to better understand and like you.

In the aftermath of the rare tornado that hit Bara and Parsa on March 31, killing 29 people, injuring over 400, and rendering over 1,000 homeless, the discus­sion over the extreme weather event has ranged from serious to trivial. The tragedy has led many to ask pointed questions about our preparedness to deal with disasters and the overall govern­ment mindset. The savagery of the winds was so unprecedented that some are struggling to find an appropriate name for the disas­ter in Nepali. With or without a name, it would be a mistake to treat this as a one-off extreme weather event.

In the past five years, Nepal has been hit by many major disas­ters: the Jure landslide (2014), the Gorkha earthquake (2015), the Bhotekoshi floods (2016), nation­wide floods (2017), the Bhaktapur floods (2018), to name a few, and every new disaster shows more cracks in our system.

Disaster mainstreaming has been a major development agen­da for at least a decade now. Both our development partners and the government have spent bil­lions of rupees on training, equip­ment and policy alignment to better prepare for disasters. Given Nepal’s poor ranking on several vulnerability indices, these invest­ments are needed. On a global scale, Nepal ranks fourth, 11th and 13th in terms of vulnerability to climate change, earthquake and flood risks respectively. On an average more than two deaths a day are attributed to disasters, according to the Ministry of Home Affairs (MoHA). But after every disaster most of us are left scratching our heads as to why those investments have not trans­lated into effective early warning, rescue and relief, and post-disas­ter recovery and reconstruction.

Fiefdoms

Rescue and relief are closely guarded fiefdoms of the home ministry. Our system is designed to do some rescue and a lot of relief post-disaster. (Whom the relief actually goes to is a different story—and hence the fight for the turf.) Despite the rhetoric and sleek tweets, the MoHA’s system is not designed for early warning or mitigation. It performs through an antiquated system of an ad-hoc committee of whoever is available in the district. In other words, there is no emphasis on special­ized training and personnel and continuity of services.

Given the high turnover of gov­ernment staff, there is lack of cohesion and internalization of standard operating procedures at the district and local level from one year to the next. Disaster risk reduction and preparedness is a highly specialized field. Yet how many of the people put in charge of such critical operations have specialized skills within our gov­ernment system?

This is not to say that there is no capacity in the country. Our military and paramilitary organi­zations have shown remarkable progress in their disaster response capacity. The Armed Police Force (APF) effectively responded to the 2018 Bhaktapur floods as they could deploy ample training and stock rescue gears, including rub­ber inflatable flotillas—in collabo­ration with the UNDP and other development partners.

In comparison, the civilian side of the administration remains woefully unprepared and unin­terested. Perhaps that is why the government handed over the task of building shelters for the survi­vors of the Bara-Parsa tornado to the national army. Given the fast approaching monsoon, the gov­ernment had little choice.

Specialization

But the general lack of interest in building the capacity and the specialization of the civilian side of the administration on disaster preparedness and response is baffling. Take for instance the Disaster Risk Management Act 2017, which was passed nearly a decade after it was first floated (delayed and diluted primarily due to entrenched interests within the home ministry). It has made every attempt to keep the disaster risk reduction and management responsibility within the MoHA structures. As a result, instead of creating an agile agency with spe­cialized staff, there is now anoth­er bureaucratic web weighed down by two additional layers of bureaucracy.

The original idea was to cre­ate a nimble National Disaster Management Agency led by a high-powered individual—prefer­ably a cabinet minister. Instead, the Act creates a National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority within the MoHA that reports to an Executive Commit­tee led by the minister, which in turn reports to a council chaired by the prime minister. So, in a nutshell, the Authority is nothing but a secretariat, which in turn presides over another ad-hoc sec­retariat-like structure in the form of district committees. Disaster management is more than just rescue and relief—and clearly it is not a seasonal occupation. While the army and the armed police are there as a last resort, the civilian side needs to get its act together on mitigation and response before another bigger disaster-induced tragedy strikes.