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The principle of the thing: Nepal’s king and the rule of law

Nepal's 1990 Constitution, wounded by the royal action of 1 February, must be revived and Parliament restored. The country must be saved from both the constitutional waywardness of a Pakistan and the legislative faint-heartedness of a United States of America.

On 1 February 2005, Nepal's King Gyanendra dismissed the government led by Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba. He justified this decision by invoking Deuba's failure to hold elections and his inability to tackle a Maoist uprising nearing its tenth anniversary. Even as the king's televised announcement came to a close, security forces seized and imprisoned leaders of the Deuba government, key political party figures and human-rights activists. The king subsequently constituted a solidly royalist ten-member Council of Ministers under his own chairmanship and imposed a state of emergency. Sweeping restrictions on the press followed, with army officers appearing in Kathmandu's editorial rooms to vet copy. In addition to the right to free expression and publication, rights to peaceable assembly, information and privacy and the right against arbitrary detention were suspended.

The state of emergency was formally lifted on 29 April. Nevertheless, notable political leaders and human-rights activists remain under arrest, decrees curbing freedom of the press are still in place, and peaceful political protest remains disallowed. Some activists are still in exile, leery of returning to Kathmandu. Most importantly, significant changes have been brought about in the structure of government and there is large-scale use of ordinances to move matters forward in the absence of Parliament and an elected government. The king's 29 April announcement, in short, has had no internal effect, suggesting that it was intended solely for international consumption, as part of an effort to mend the palace's credentials. For all practical purposes, then, Nepal remains in the state of emergency announced on 1 February. Any serious discussion of political possibilities for Nepal's short-term future, therefore, must treat the state of emergency as de facto in force.

The emergency has done greatest damage in the country-side. Relative quiet in Kathmandu contrasts with an ominous silence from outside the valley. There, the conflict between the Royal Nepal Army (RNA) and the Maoist insurgency has intensified. Without the restraints imposed by an active human rights community and an alert press – as both sectors remain shackled and unable to fulfill their functions – the combatants now fight free of compunction. In the meantime, the government has been culpable of supporting lynch mobs that carry out attacks on alleged Maoists, reminding one of the move to create village militias a year ago, which was thought to have been abandoned after the public outcry against it. The Maoists continue to inflict brutal and sadistic punishments on those who refuse to acquiesce to their control, and have of late also been guilty of attacks on public transport that have killed scores.

It is thus Nepal's rural populace that suffers the direct consequences of a state of emergency and its chilling effect on speech: a deepening militarization of a conflict that is unlikely to be settled by arms alone.