The most sophisticated way to read journalism isn’t merely to analyze what is written—it is to pay close attention to what is carefully, strategically left unsaid. Kantipur’s recent long feature on Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah is, by conventional standards, an impressive piece of documentation. It traces his political journey from constitutional-era activism to his disruptive mayoralty and now to his growing national ambitions. It acknowledges controversies, administrative shortcomings, and raises legitimate questions about whether disruption at the municipal level can scale to national governance.
Yet it is precisely this apparent comprehensiveness that invites deeper scrutiny. When Nepal’s most influential establishment newspaper—one that spent years dismissing Balen as a “social media mayor”—suddenly produces an exhaustive, balanced profile at the exact moment he becomes electorally viable at the national level, the question is not simply what does the article say? The more important question is: what does it choose not to say, and why?
These silences are not accidental. They are rhetorical.
Silence as Power, Not Absence
Rhetorician Cheryl Glenn reminds us that silence is never empty. In her work on the rhetoric of silence, Glenn argues that silence functions as an active communicative force—it protects power, shapes legitimacy, avoids accountability, and guides interpretation without openly arguing anything. Institutions, especially powerful ones, often rely on silence not because they lack information, but because silence is strategically useful.
Reading Kantipur’s Balen feature through this lens reveals something crucial: the article’s power lies not in misinformation, but in selective omission.
The Missing Mirror: Media’s Own Role
The most striking absence in the feature is any serious self-reflection. The article is written as if Kantipur has always understood Balen’s political significance, merely documenting it now in fuller detail. There is no acknowledgment of the years during which he was treated as a novelty act rather than a serious political challenge. There is no examination of why tens of thousands of Kathmandu voters saw something the establishment media did not.
If this were fully honest journalism, the feature would have included a section titled something like: “Why We Got Balen Wrong.” That would require confronting uncomfortable questions: Why were his early interventions framed largely as authoritarian spectacle? Why were unverified accusations amplified while governance outcomes received less attention? Why did the media fail to recognize a structural shift in voter sentiment?
This silence serves a clear function. Acknowledging such misreading would undermine institutional authority. Instead, Kantipur performs what might be called narrative revisionism—rewriting the past as if skepticism never existed, thereby preserving credibility while adapting to new political realities. As Glenn would suggest, silence here works to protect institutional power.
The Money Question That Goes Unasked
Another conspicuous silence concerns political finance and business relationships. The article briefly mentions that Balen used a Land Rover Defender worth approximately NPR 4.2 crore during his campaign, borrowed from businessman Kamal Malpani of Timure Industries. This remarkable detail is presented without follow-up.
Why would a businessman lend such an asset to a mayoral candidate? What expectations, if any, accompany that support? Have any municipal decisions benefited related business interests? These are not “gotcha” questions—they are the foundation of democratic accountability journalism.
The absence of financial investigation is particularly striking given that transparency and anti-corruption form the core of Balen’s political brand. If those claims are robust, scrutiny should strengthen them. If such scrutiny is avoided, the silence itself becomes meaningful. As Glenn notes, silence often enables legitimacy by keeping inconvenient complexities out of public view.
The Strategic Minimization of Rabi Lamichhane
Perhaps the most politically consequential silence is the near-erasure of Rabi Lamichhane. In an 18-page feature about RSP’s prime ministerial prospects, the party’s founder and most prominent mass leader barely appears. This is not editorial oversight; it is narrative positioning.
By minimizing Rabi’s presence, the feature subtly frames Balen as the natural face of RSP’s national future, discouraging comparison, debate, or scrutiny of internal party dynamics. This silence matters because Rabi represents a more unpredictable challenge to establishment media. With a media background and a history of confrontation with Kantipur, his potential premiership carries greater institutional risk.
Balen, by contrast, is politically disruptive but media-naïve—less likely to challenge media power directly. Through silence, Kantipur may not be endorsing anyone outright, but it is shaping the field of acceptable political imagination.
The Absent Voices and the Policy Vacuum
The feature also avoids systematic engagement with municipal staff perspectives. Beyond headline conflicts, we hear little from those who actually work within Kathmandu Metropolitan City. Are they empowered reformers or reluctant executors? Is governance institutionalized or personality-driven? These questions determine whether Balen’s model can scale nationally—but silence keeps that ambiguity intact.
More striking still is the lack of substantive policy exploration. A long profile of a prime ministerial aspirant offers little insight into positions on federalism, foreign policy, economic strategy, or social justice questions. Silence here serves both subject and publisher: Balen remains broadly appealing, and Kantipur avoids alienating readers by forcing clarity.
Reading Through the Silences
None of this requires assuming a conspiracy. Institutional behavior rarely does. What we see instead is the cumulative effect of editorial caution, power preservation, access maintenance, and strategic adaptation. As Cheryl Glenn teaches us, silence often operates most effectively when it appears natural, neutral, or accidental.
Kantipur’s feature is not inaccurate. The facts presented are largely verifiable. But journalism’s responsibility is not only factual accuracy—it is contextual completeness. When omission consistently aligns with institutional interests, silence becomes a form of rhetoric.
The lesson extends beyond this single article. In moments of political transformation, media does not merely document change; it participates in shaping it. That participation often happens not through loud endorsements, but through quiet exclusions.
Kantipur’s Balen feature is valuable reading—but only if we listen carefully to what it does not say. In the politics of silence, absence is never neutral. It is power speaking softly.
