THE people's war' in Nepal took a nasty turn on February 27, when six Maoist activists were killed in police firing in the western hill district of Rukum, one of the three areas most affected by the latest incidents of Maoist-led insurgency that had begun 15 days before. Events seemed to be moving inexorably towards a bloody showdown between the government forces and activists of the United People's Front (UPF), who have declared an all-out war against the establishment.
Security was beefed up at Pipalkot village in Rukum after Maoists chopped off the hands and legs of a brother of the village chairman. A dozen or so suspects have been rounded up but many more hard-core guerrillas, including women cadres, are at large and could strike any time.
This resurgence of violence has come at a time when the wounds had just begun to heal after last October's grisly inter-party clashes in the mid-western hill district of Rolpa, and the subsequent government crackdown on the guerrillas. It started in mid-February, when masked men chanting Maoist slogans began attacking police outposts, political figures and administrators. The reign of terror spread quickly, with its epicentre in Rolpa. The tiny and ill-equipped police force—scattered in remote mountain outposts—is still facing the brunt.
On the surface, it's business as usual. On February 19, Nepal celebrated its Democracy Day with the usual fanfare, though the air was thick with fears of the people's war spreading. The Communist Party of Nepal (Maoist), in a touch of wry irony, chose that day to claim responsibility for the spate of violence. In another week, the Maoists had terrorised over 10 hill districts.
Led by Dr Baburam Bhattarai, a scholar and non-believer in parliamentary democracy, the CPN(M) is a faction of the UPF, a loose alliance of extreme left forces who came together in 1991 to win nine seats in the 205-member Parliament in Nepal's first general elections after restoration of democracy. Infighting over the contentious issue of parliamentary participation and personality clashes weakened the party; in the 1994 polls, the UPF was completely wiped out. But analysts never wrote them off, knowing their appeal among the rural peasants.
Says UPF ex-parliamentarian Lila Mani Pokharel: "Successive governments only paid lip-service to the rural people. We've given a voice to a community increasingly isolated in a consumerist world." Such claims apart, the message is clear. The global demise of socialism notwithstanding, Nepal remains a fertile ground for communism.
The 1991 polls showed this, when the CPN(UML), UPF, NWPP—all communist parties—emerged among six national parties. In 1994, the CPN(UML) pulled off an upset to finish the largest party in a hung Parliament. The communists also demonstrated their diverse support-base, achieving outstanding success in the politically conscious Kathmandu areas.
With over 70 per cent of population below the poverty line and most employment opportunities confined to a handful of urban centres, analysts say Marxist slogans sound like the Gospel to the neglected sections. Argues Pokharel: "The Maoists merely articulate the people's aspirations. When you see no solution within the current set-up, there's little else to do but topple the system."
Over 40 years of national planning has failed to uplift the rural economy. Buzzwords like poverty alleviation and regional equity remain mere embellishments in successive budget speeches. "The planner's dream that urban prosperity would finally percolate down to the grassroots has remained just that—a dream," says Raghab Pant, an economist.
The urban-rural disparity is striking. Most of the 10 joint venture banks, 37 financial institutions and other finance companies all operate within Kathmandu valley. Life expectancy in Kathmandu has gone up to 75, and it is 34 in the far-western district of Mugu. "Nepal remains far too Kathmandu centric. Who wants to go the villages!" remarks Pant.
For all this, people like Assistant Home Minister Deepak Prasad Baskota treats the 'people's war' as a law and order problem. And many officials claim the Maoists have criminal motives. Of course, there are those who advocate caution. Says Sridhar Khatri, a noted analyst: "It's a political problem. The government should treat it accordingly. Over-reacting with a show of strength will serve the Maoist purpose."
Analysts draw a parallel between the Maoist "people's war" and Peru's Shining Path Movement. Both Peru and Nepal are mountain countries with isolated valleys and high ridges, giving rise to a wide variety of cultural traditions. Both have large rural populations, subordinated by ruling urban elites, with a sharp divide between the two. Direct transnational investment and ownership has been long entrenched in Peru, while Indian interests are taking hold in Nepal, particularly after liberalisation, writes Stephen Mikesell, a research scholar, in Himal magazine.
On February 22, seven leftist parties met in Kathmandu to condemn the recent Indo-Nepal accord on the Mahakali river. The mainstream CPN(UML) has also come under attack for its "collusion...in the Tanakpur accord." Thus, a groundswell of anger against the urban monster is redoubled by a suspicion of the foreign monster. All in all, just the recipe for a backlash.
