I guess I was overdue for one of these, a bhand, also known as a protest staged by any given group for any given reason. This is a serious sideshow, one that will freeze activities of entire neighborhoods, not to mention the streets that go through them. Some of the reasons for these bhands can be quite trivial, others will drag on for days.
But this is not about fuel prices or the quality of birdfeed. According to ‘The Himalayan’ daily newspaper, the murder of two UML (United Marxist Leninist Party) youths was carried out by YCL (the youth force of the Maoists, or the Maoists' answer to the Nazis‘ SA), prompting large and long demonstrations. Wow. The Far Far Left killing the Extreme Left. Even the Department of State couldn’t have scripted it any better.
The city seems innocuous enough early in the morning: Cars are still cutting each other off, motorcycles continue to zip through even the smallest openings in traffic unimpeded, cows stretch to occupy vital intersections near the Royal Palace, daring any vehicle to so much as graze their tails.
A closer look at the College then reveals the familiar pitch black billows of smoke, compliments of charring tires. Whenever you come across a bhand in Kathmandu, there is only one thing to do, and that is turn around. Unless you want to pull an Evil Knievel and entertain the angry mob by racing through the fire, or if you wish to receive a cracked skull by any of the protesters, you should leave quietly and quickly. People here will convert to Scientology before they let anybody cross their barriers.
So far, so bad. Luckily, I am not headed anywhere near the bhand. I am moving away from it. Smart money now says that I would be in the clear, right? Only if the bhand turns out to be an ordinary bhand and remains cemented where it originated. The charge of murder being levied at the government can change your perspective of things, however. Thus the bhand turns into a mobile one, and I tell my driver to hit the rubber and go home.
In the tourist quarter of Thamel, protesters clash with police and shop owners, which is remarkable, considering the police rarely gets involved in this kind of civil unrest. I go to Thamel later in the afternoon, and nearly every store is as closed as a World Wildlife Fund booth at a NASCAR ring. My driver Sam points out the gigantic holes in some of the windows, a time honored tradition of any angry mob. There will be no tourists in Thamel that day.
Hard to imagine why this government doesn’t have the confidence of its people. If the rebuttal to criticisms of the government is death, that can shut people up (though not in this country) or fan the flames of bhands coupled with reprisals. Any newspaper poll will reveal that the majority of Nepalis give the government here two years or less before they self-destruct.
The next day, I am told that they have reached a compromise, that there would be a panel created for a full investigation. Good idea. Not the panel, mind you. Nobody doubts that this will be a complete whitewash, and that its findings will sound as ludicrous as the deduction that these people were killed by cow bites rather than their own people. Simply the truce seems to make Kathmandu breathe more easily, a welcome exercise for a city that seems to be downright asthmatic when it comes to political stamina.
But this is not about fuel prices or the quality of birdfeed. According to ‘The Himalayan’ daily newspaper, the murder of two UML (United Marxist Leninist Party) youths was carried out by YCL (the youth force of the Maoists, or the Maoists' answer to the Nazis‘ SA), prompting large and long demonstrations. Wow. The Far Far Left killing the Extreme Left. Even the Department of State couldn’t have scripted it any better.
The city seems innocuous enough early in the morning: Cars are still cutting each other off, motorcycles continue to zip through even the smallest openings in traffic unimpeded, cows stretch to occupy vital intersections near the Royal Palace, daring any vehicle to so much as graze their tails.
A closer look at the College then reveals the familiar pitch black billows of smoke, compliments of charring tires. Whenever you come across a bhand in Kathmandu, there is only one thing to do, and that is turn around. Unless you want to pull an Evil Knievel and entertain the angry mob by racing through the fire, or if you wish to receive a cracked skull by any of the protesters, you should leave quietly and quickly. People here will convert to Scientology before they let anybody cross their barriers.
So far, so bad. Luckily, I am not headed anywhere near the bhand. I am moving away from it. Smart money now says that I would be in the clear, right? Only if the bhand turns out to be an ordinary bhand and remains cemented where it originated. The charge of murder being levied at the government can change your perspective of things, however. Thus the bhand turns into a mobile one, and I tell my driver to hit the rubber and go home.
In the tourist quarter of Thamel, protesters clash with police and shop owners, which is remarkable, considering the police rarely gets involved in this kind of civil unrest. I go to Thamel later in the afternoon, and nearly every store is as closed as a World Wildlife Fund booth at a NASCAR ring. My driver Sam points out the gigantic holes in some of the windows, a time honored tradition of any angry mob. There will be no tourists in Thamel that day.
Hard to imagine why this government doesn’t have the confidence of its people. If the rebuttal to criticisms of the government is death, that can shut people up (though not in this country) or fan the flames of bhands coupled with reprisals. Any newspaper poll will reveal that the majority of Nepalis give the government here two years or less before they self-destruct.
The next day, I am told that they have reached a compromise, that there would be a panel created for a full investigation. Good idea. Not the panel, mind you. Nobody doubts that this will be a complete whitewash, and that its findings will sound as ludicrous as the deduction that these people were killed by cow bites rather than their own people. Simply the truce seems to make Kathmandu breathe more easily, a welcome exercise for a city that seems to be downright asthmatic when it comes to political stamina.
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