Tag Archives: news

The Rich Men’s Club That Nepal Never Had

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

Picture from Balen Shah’s Facebook!

Sometimes I wonder whether some of our newest political heroes in Nepal simply chose the wrong career.

Perhaps they should never have entered government at all.

Instead, they should have established a national institution called the Rich Men’s Club for Nepal’s Development.

Membership would be simple. You must already have enough money that politics cannot tempt you. You must sincerely love Nepal. And you must be fully convinced that everyone who governed before you was either corrupt, incompetent, or both.

Confidence has never been in short supply.

The Club would have obvious advantages. Its members could build schools without first declaring every existing school a failure. They could finance hospitals without turning administrative reshuffling into public spectacle. They could support universities without discovering halfway through that institutions cannot function when leadership is abruptly removed without due process.

They could fund scholarships instead of exposing how fragile national systems can be when handled without care. They could experiment freely and revise quietly.

Most importantly, they could spend their own money while testing their own ideas.

Citizens would applaud. Nobody would object. Everyone likes philanthropy.

What people fear is something else. They fear becoming unwilling participants in political experiments.

The problem begins when success in media, business, or public visibility starts to look like qualification for constitutional leadership.

Business rewards speed. Democracy rewards restraint.

Business celebrates disruption. Democracy survives because institutions are deliberately difficult to disrupt.

In a company, yesterday’s strategy can be abandoned overnight. In a constitutional system, institutions exist because they were built through long struggle and painful compromise.

That difference matters.

Yet recent political practice suggests a different understanding of governance. It resembles a simple pattern. Announce boldly. Receive applause. Encounter legal difficulty. Clarify. Revise. Then explain that revision shows maturity.

Repeat as necessary.

Citizens have already adapted. They no longer react to the first announcement. They wait for the correction.

The rise of the Rastriya Swatantra Party was built on real public frustration. That frustration was justified. Established parties have failed repeatedly on governance, accountability, and delivery. Rabi Lamichhane’s appeal came from positioning himself outside that failure.

That appeal translated into political power. It did not automatically translate into constitutional competence.

Rabi Lamichhane’s political brand helped create the belief that a new kind of leadership could rescue Nepal from old habits. But governing a republic is not the same as exposing a scandal on television or winning public applause for speaking hard truths. It requires respect for law, procedure, and the limits of authority.

Gyanendra Shahi has been among the clearest voices exposing that contradiction. He has criticized RSP for rising on public anger and then behaving as if it stands above the same political rules it used to condemn. That criticism matters because it comes from inside the wider opposition space and shows that the complaint is no longer only external. It is now part of the political conversation itself.

The same problem appears in the rise of Balen Shah. He came from outside the old political class. He had money, talent, visibility, and a public image built around independence. Many people trusted him because they believed he was not part of the corrupt machinery that had disappointed them for years.

That trust was understandable. It was also dangerous if it became blind faith.

If a person enters public office with wealth and good intentions, that is not a sin. The problem begins when he starts treating state institutions as if they were private projects that can be redesigned by instinct. Government is not a startup. It is not a foundation. It is not a club. It is the formal arrangement through which a diverse and often quarrelsome society manages power without destroying itself.

That is why constitutional norms exist.

This is where the richer satire lies. If these leaders already had money, and if they genuinely wanted to serve the country, then the honest path would have been to serve first through private or civic institutions. They could have built schools, hospitals, scholarship funds, local development trusts, research centers, and civic programs. They could have shown public spirit without touching the machinery of the state.

That route would have done two things.

It would have protected constitutional government from being treated as a laboratory.

And it would have given them the very thing they lack now, practical experience in handling complexity.

A country is not run by outrage alone. It is run through compromise, restraint, process, and an acceptance that every decision has consequences beyond the headline. A mayor, minister, or prime minister cannot simply act on impulse and then expect legality to catch up later.

That is why some of the actions associated with the current RSP leadership have created unease. Strong declarations often arrive before the legal foundation is secure. Public relations moves sometimes appear to matter more than institutional durability. Even the cabinet can look more like a showcase of youthful enthusiasm than a serious instrument of statecraft.

The home minister, the education minister, and others may all carry the burden of this same style. They are expected to perform change quickly, visibly, and dramatically. But performance is not the same as governance. And novelty is not the same as competence.

The problem becomes even clearer when this same instinct is applied to the poor.

A government can claim to be modern and disciplined, but if it shows little compassion toward sukumbasi, informal workers, and people living on the edge of survival, then it is not reforming the state. It is hardening it.

Reports of holding centers being emptied with demands for Rs 25,000, the public anger after flooding forced some of those centers to be shifted, and the outrage over how vulnerable families were handled all point to the same failure. Rules are necessary. But rules without study, without context, and without humanity are not governance. They are punishment dressed as order.

A state that cannot understand the difference between discipline and cruelty will eventually lose its moral authority.

Yubaraj Dulal has also spoken forcefully against the same double standard. He has treated RSP’s approach to the provincial question and its wider conduct as dishonest toward the people rather than as some innocent administrative adjustment. That matters because it shows the criticism is not just about style. It is about the party’s willingness to say one thing and do another when it suits power. The provincial question especially reveals the problem, because a federal structure built through sacrifice cannot simply be brushed aside by political impatience. The decision is not neutral. It is a political message about what kind of state the party thinks Nepal should become.

The same concern appears in the use of fines and enforcement. It is one thing to insist on order. It is another to impose penalties without asking who will suffer most. When poor people are punished harshly for violations that the wealthy can absorb with ease, the law stops looking neutral. It starts looking class based.

The death of Ganesh Nepali brought that cruelty into sharp focus. According to reporting and parliamentary debate, a poor ride-hailing driver was fined and then later died after a self-immolation attempt, turning a routine enforcement action into a moral scandal. Whatever one thinks of rules, no civilized government can dismiss such a case as ordinary administration. It should have forced a deeper reflection on how the state treats the poor, the desperate, and the powerless.

That is why public criticism of harsher fines matters. People are not rejecting rules. They are rejecting a system that appears eager to punish the weak while speaking gently to the powerful.

Nepal’s democratic institutions were not handed down by benevolent rulers. They were built through resistance against Rana rule, through the struggle against Panchayat, through democratic movements, and through the sacrifices of people who believed that the country should be governed by rules, not personalities.

Those sacrifices created a system that is imperfect but precious.

To break its norms in the name of change is not courage. It is carelessness.

To appoint near and dear ones to key posts while speaking the language of merit is not reform. It is old patronage in new clothing. To talk about efficiency while treating the poor as administrative inconvenience is not compassion. It is class arrogance.

This is why the idea of a Rich Men’s Club is more than satire. It is a warning. If people have wealth, sincerity, and public trust, let them prove themselves outside the state first. Let them learn how difficult public life is before taking control of it. Let them discover that running a country is not the same as funding a project or speaking in slogans.

If they do that, they may one day become better leaders. They may come to understand that institutions are not obstacles to be defeated but safeguards to be respected. They may also understand that justice without empathy is only a cleaner form of cruelty.

And citizens, having watched them serve without power, would trust them more when they finally do enter government.

That is the real irony.

If these men had chosen the private route first, they might have earned the authority they now assume.

Instead, they entered the state too early and began learning at the public’s expense.

That is an expensive education.

And in every democracy, it is the people who pay the tuition.

Ranstriya Swontantra Party’s First 100 Days: What It Was Meant to Be and What It Has Become

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

The first 100 days of the Ranstriya Swontantra Party (RSP) led government in Nepal were never going to be a routine political checkpoint. For a party that entered public life speaking the language of clean governance, efficiency, accountability, and a new political culture, the hundred day mark became a test of character. It was meant to show whether a movement that rose by criticizing the failures of old parties could actually do politics differently once it reached power. So far, the answer is mixed. The government has moved faster than many of its predecessors in some administrative areas, but it has not yet delivered the depth of change it promised.

That gap matters because the RSP did not rise simply as another electoral force. It came in as a political mood, almost as a correction to the old order. Its appeal rested on frustration with corruption, slow bureaucracy, elite capture, and the sense that the state had become detached from ordinary people. It also drew strength from a national anxiety that young Nepalis were leaving in large numbers because the country no longer seemed able to offer them a future. In that sense, the party presented itself not just as a governing alternative, but as a moral alternative. It said, in effect, that politics could be made cleaner, more efficient, and more responsive if the right people were in charge.

That promise created a high standard. The RSP was not judged against a weak baseline. It was judged against its own rhetoric. It told the country that it would reduce waste, cut bloated structures, choose qualified people, and put public interest above party networks. It suggested that reform would be visible, not merely theoretical. It spoke as if the old habits of favoritism, symbolic appointments, and empty performance could finally be broken. That is why the first 100 days matter so much. They are the first real chance to see whether the party meant what it said.

There have been some real signs of movement. The government has shown that it can act quickly in certain administrative matters. It has pushed digital governance, tried to streamline services, and projected an image of energetic reform. In a country where delay is often normalized and inefficiency is treated as a permanent condition, that speed has symbolic value. Citizens do notice when a file moves faster or when an office becomes less obstructive. Reform begins there, not only in speeches but in the small experiences of public life.

Yet symbolism is not enough. A government that claims to be transformative must be measured by whether it changes conditions for those who have the least power. That is where the early record looks much weaker. The poor, the unemployed, the landless, and the young people still leaving the country have not yet seen a level of change that matches the party’s promises. The state may sound more active, but that is not the same thing as being more just. In the end, people do not live inside policy language. They live inside jobs, rent, food prices, public services, and dignity.

The treatment of sukumbasi communities is one of the most painful examples of this contradiction. A party that presents itself as modern and humane cannot afford to handle landless and informal settlers as if they are merely a nuisance to be moved aside. Eviction without sufficient resettlement planning creates not just hardship but humiliation. It tells vulnerable people that they are still the ones who absorb the cost of state action. That is not reform. That is displacement with better branding. For a government that promised fairness, this issue has become morally and politically damaging.

The same contradiction appears in the question of migration. One of the RSP’s most attractive promises was that Nepalis would no longer have to leave the country in desperation. Its leaders spoke as if opportunity could be rebuilt at home and as if the state could become a place where young people might stay, work, and dream. But the reality has not changed in any meaningful way. People continue to leave because they still do not see enough hope inside the country. That is not a failure of messaging. It is a failure of results. A government may talk about bringing people back, but it will be judged by whether it can make staying worthwhile.

Swornim Wagle’s role also reveals something important about the character of this government. He has often been presented as a serious and technocratic figure, someone who can give the party an image of competence and discipline. But technocratic language has limits. It can explain what should happen, but it cannot substitute for what people actually experience. If health insurance remains weak for the poor, if welfare commitments are uncertain, and if economic relief does not reach the vulnerable, then the question is not whether the analysis sounds sophisticated. The question is whether the poor are protected. A polished argument in parliament does not mean much if the social reality outside remains unchanged.

There is also a deeper political issue here. The RSP built its reputation by attacking the culture of patronage. It said that public office should go to qualified people, not loyalists or relatives of the powerful. That was one of the reasons it attracted public trust. But once in power, any sign that appointments are being influenced by friendship, faction, or informal access weakens the party’s central claim. A new government can survive criticism of policy. It cannot easily survive the accusation that it is reproducing the same old network of influence it once condemned. That is why questions around appointments matter so much. They are not a side issue. They go to the heart of the party’s identity.

Taken together, the first 100 days suggest a government that is energetic but not yet transformative, vocal but not yet deeply credible, visible but not yet fully effective. It has shown that it can generate attention and move quickly in some areas. It has also shown that governing is far harder than opposition politics. In opposition, it was easy to identify what was broken. In power, every decision runs into institutions, budgets, legal limits, and public expectation. The party is now discovering that rhetoric is easy to distribute, but outcomes are much harder to deliver.

So the question is not whether the RSP has failed or succeeded in some absolute sense. The better question is whether it is becoming the kind of party it claimed to be. At present, the answer is uncertain. It still carries the hope of change, but that hope is no longer unchallenged. It has begun to look like a government caught between its moral image and the practical habits of Nepali politics. That is a dangerous place to be, because the public is willing to forgive early difficulty, but not the quiet return of old behavior under a new flag.

The real test will come in the next phase. If the RSP can move beyond appearances and produce real improvements in employment, welfare, service delivery, and public trust, then the first 100 days may later be seen as the rough beginning of something meaningful. If not, they will be remembered as the point when a promising movement started to resemble the politics it had once set out to replace. That is the core issue. The RSP did not come to power merely to govern. It came to prove that Nepali politics could be cleaner, fairer, and more responsive. After 100 days, that promise is still alive, but it is clearly weaker than it was before.

Money Cannot Buy Integrity

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra Panthee

Recently, while listening to CBC Radio’s Ideas program on The Age of Billionaires, I found myself thinking about a question that has become increasingly relevant in Nepal.

Can wealth eliminate corruption?

This question became especially important after the formation of Nepal’s new government. When ministers declared their assets, many people were surprised by the amount of wealth some of them possessed. Supporters argued that these were successful people who had already earned enough money and therefore had no reason to engage in corruption. According to this argument, wealthy individuals enter politics to serve the country rather than enrich themselves.

It is an attractive argument. Unfortunately, history and global experience suggest that things are not so simple.

Wealth does not automatically produce integrity. Financial success is not a certificate of morality. Being rich does not guarantee good governance any more than being poor guarantees honesty.

The recent discussion on CBC Radio’s Ideas raised an important concern. Across the world, extreme wealth is increasingly shaping politics and public policy. Economic power often translates into political influence. As a result, policies may begin to favor those who already possess wealth and influence, while ordinary citizens are left to bear the costs.

Nepal appears to be facing similar questions.

Recent tax policies have provided relief for gold purchases and electric vehicles. These measures may benefit affluent and middle class consumers, but they raise legitimate questions about priorities when ordinary people continue to struggle with the cost of daily necessities.

At the same time, several ministers and public officials are facing growing public scrutiny regarding their decisions and conduct. Citizens who expected a new political culture are beginning to ask difficult questions.

This does not mean that wealthy people are inherently corrupt. Nor does it mean that every allegation is true. Allegations must be investigated fairly, and conclusions must be based on evidence rather than emotions.

However, one assumption deserves reconsideration.

The belief that rich politicians will automatically eliminate corruption has no historical foundation. Wealth alone cannot replace accountability, transparency, or strong institutions.

In fact, when wealthy and powerful individuals become involved in misconduct, the consequences can be far greater because their influence, networks, and resources are also much greater.

Ultimately, the issue is not whether politicians are rich or poor.

The real question is this.

Who benefits from public policy?

Do policies serve the majority of citizens, or do they increasingly protect the interests of those who already possess wealth and influence?

The true test of governance is not how firmly the state acts against the powerless. It is how fairly it treats everyone. A government that can easily remove street vendors, evict landless settlers, or confiscate the livelihood of the poor, but hesitates when confronting wealth and influence, risks creating two different systems of justice.

Nepal must ask itself whether development should benefit the many or merely preserve the privileges of the few.

Money can buy success.

Money can buy influence.

Money can even buy political power.

But money cannot buy integrity.

That must still come from character, accountability, and a commitment to the public good.

Members of Parliament Don’t Know Parliamentary Language and We Call It Okay

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

I teach David Bartholomae’s “Inventing the University” where he says entering a community means learning its language AND its culture. Understanding mere words, grammar, sentences is not enough. You must learn the values, the norms, the ways of thinking. Now look at our Parliament. Many MPs today have learned the words of democracy but not the culture of democracy. They can say accountability but skip Parliament when questioned. They can say the people but ignore parliamentary procedure. They can say revolution but refuse to learn the institution that gives them power.

This is populism at work. Populism teaches the vocabulary of change but not the culture of accountability. It teaches you to say the people but not to submit to institutions that represent them. It teaches you to say democracy but not to respect the rules of democracy. When Prime Minister Balen Sah skips Parliament and avoids answering questions, when MPs do not know parliamentary procedure and followers call it anti establishment, this is not revolution. This is performing ignorance and calling it virtue.

Balen Sah’s behavior is wrong. It is not just about one party. Other leaders like Harka Sampang are no better. But RSP has been especially responsible for ignoring the superiority of Parliament and normalizing this anti institutional attitude. The party has helped create a culture where skipping Parliament is acceptable, where parliamentary procedure is elite, and where accountability is optional.

Bartholomae would say you cannot participate in a community you refuse to learn. Parliamentary culture means the Prime Minister answers questions even when uncomfortable. It means rules apply to everyone not just the opposition. It means accountability through institutions not social media. It means respecting debate even when you disagree. It means you submit to the institution even when it costs you politically.

Many MPs have the words but not the culture. They have democracy vocabulary but not democracy practice. They have the appearance of representation without the substance of accountability. This destroys institutions built over decades. When leaders treat norms as optional, democracy erodes. When followers accept anti intellectualism as virtue, institutions lose authority. When populists say institutions are corrupt, they weaken representative democracy itself.

This is the destructive nature of populist anti-intellectualism. Populism while potentially serving as a corrective force poses significant threats to democratic norms. The pattern is clear. Institutional erosion happens when leaders treat norms as optional. Democratic accountability disappears when followers accept anti intellectualism as virtue. The research shows we need to strengthen checks and balances to counter the appeal of populism. But first we need to recognize what is happening. We need to name it. We need to teach people why institutions matter. We need to teach them that culture matters as much as words.

When we lose parliamentary literacy, we lose the ability to hold power accountable through institutional means. When we lose parliamentary culture, we lose the values that make accountability possible. We lose the ability to debate respectfully. We lose the ability to build consensus. We lose the ability to protect minority rights. We lose the ability to govern effectively.

What we gain is chaos. What we gain is personal rule. What we gain is the illusion of representation without the reality of accountability. What we gain is the words of democracy without the culture of democracy.

We need to teach democratic literacy the way we teach academic literacy. We need to teach students and citizens how institutions work. We need to teach them why rules matter. We need to teach them that accountability is not optional. And we need to teach them the culture of democracy, not just the vocabulary.

David Bartholomae taught us that learning a new language is hard. It requires effort. It requires humility. It requires practice. Entering a new community means learning to speak like its members. But it also means learning to think like its members. It means learning its values. It means learning its culture.

Entering a democratic community means learning the language of democracy. It means learning parliamentary procedure. It means learning to hold power accountable through institutions. It means learning that rules protect us all not just the elite. And it means learning the culture of democracy, which means submission to process even when it is uncomfortable.

When MPs refuse to learn this language and culture they are not revolutionaries. They are illiterates. And when their supporters say it is okay they are complicit in the destruction of democracy.

Democracy requires language. It requires culture. It requires institutions. It requires people who know how to participate in the code even when it is uncomfortable. Populism promises to give power to the people but it delivers power to the leader. It promises to disrupt the system but it disrupts democracy itself. It teaches the words but not the culture. It teaches the vocabulary without the values.

Balen must answer questions in Parliament. MPs must learn parliamentary procedure. RSP must stop normalizing disrespect for institutions. Other populist leaders must stop treating Parliament as optional. Accountability is not optional. That is the point.

Democracy is not a protest. It is a practice. And you cannot practice if you do not know the language or the culture.

A Reflection on Rabi Lamichhane’s Hindustan Times Article

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

I started reading Rabi Lamichhane’s article “How can an aspirational Nepal and rising India reconnect?” in Hindustan Times and felt compelled to share some thoughts on how we remember Nepal’s recent political transformation.

The article frames Nepal’s transformation as a “peaceful ballot-box revolution” focused on development and aspirational vision. However, the historical record shows that the 2026 election was called because of the September 2025 Gen Z protests, which resulted in:

  • 19 people killed when police opened fire on protesters
  • Over 300 injured with tear gas, rubber bullets, and live ammunition
  • Parliament building damaged during the protests
  • $21 billion in damage — half of Nepal’s annual GDP
  • School kids in uniforms brought to the streets

More than 800,000 new voters registered—two-thirds of them Gen Z. The movement wasn’t about RSP specifically; it was about accountability, anti-corruption, and demanding a political system that serves ordinary citizens. The 2/3 RSP majority we see today is a direct result of this Gen Z movement.

When the article describes this as a “peaceful ballot-box revolution,” it risks erasing the young people who died to make this election possible. The families of the martyrs deserve to be acknowledged in any narrative about Nepal’s transformation.

On border relations, the article’s call to “resolve disputes through dialogue” is constructive, especially after PM Balen’s recent parliamentary remarks on border encroachment sparked debate. What would strengthen Nepal-India ties is not just aspirational vision but transparent governance, accountability for all parties, and respect for democratic institutions.

The warm reception Rabi received in India reflects genuine interest in Nepal-India cooperation, which should be welcomed. However, for that cooperation to be sustainable, both countries need leaders who balance diplomatic engagement with domestic accountability.

When RSP’s 2/3 majority enables governance, it also brings responsibility to ensure that power serves all citizens, not just party interests. True reconnection between Nepal and India will come not from rewriting history, but from building relationships grounded in mutual respect, transparency, and honoring the Gen Z generation whose uprising made this new political moment possible.

We should all remember: accountability today strengthens democracy tomorrow.

When Fraud Wears a Suit: The Quiet Rise of Financial Crime in Ontario, Canada and Beyond

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

What would you do if your life savings disappeared not through a robbery, but through documents you believed you could trust?

Across the Greater Toronto Area and beyond financial crime is becoming harder to see and easier to fall into. It no longer happens in dark alleys. It moves through contracts investment pitches and professional networks that appear legitimate on the surface. Some of the most damaging crimes today wear suits speak confidently and promise opportunity.

What makes this even more concerning is how risk now cuts across industries we normally trust Insurance real estate and investment spaces are not immune. Whether it is a policy that is not fully explained a property deal that hides risk or an online investment promising life changing returns the pattern is often the same. I came close to falling into one of these traps myself. A few years ago I saw an online promotion claiming that Elon Musk wanted Canadian ordinary people to become millionaires through a limited opportunity. It looked convincing professional and urgent. That is exactly how these schemes work not by appearing suspicious but by appearing credible.

Financial fraud is not victimless, and it is rarely obvious. In Ontario patterns have emerged through warnings and reported cases. Misuse of real estate trust funds high risk promissory notes marketed as safe mortgage fraud through misrepresentation and unregistered investment schemes are becoming more visible. Vulnerable groups including seniors newcomers and those unfamiliar with financial systems are often targeted. Organizations like the Ontario Securities Commission and the Financial Services Regulatory Authority of Ontario continue to issue alerts, yet many people only encounter these warnings after losses occur.

There is also a growing frustration that nothing seems to happen when financial crime occurs. The truth is more complex. These cases involve extensive documentation multiple actors and the challenge of proving intent. Investigations take time and legal thresholds are high. This creates a gap between public expectation and visible accountability. That gap slowly erodes trust and discourages victims from speaking out.

Behind every case there is a human story. Financial fraud takes more than money. It takes security dignity and peace of mind. People have lost retirement savings home equity compensation funds and years of stability. Victims are not reckless. Many are careful people who believed they were making responsible decisions. Families trying to build a future seniors seeking stability and newcomers trying to navigate a new system often carry the heaviest burden.

Unlike street crime financial fraud hides behind legitimacy. It uses complex paperwork, legal language trusted intermediaries, and emotional connection. It often relies on urgency and familiarity. By the time doubt appears the damage is already done.

There are warning signs that should never be ignored. Promises of high returns with little risk pressure to act quickly lack of transparency unverified professionals and appeals based on trust or community. If something feels rushed or unclear it is worth pausing. That pause can protect everything you have worked for.

In a complex financial environment awareness becomes your strongest protection. Verifying credentials through the Ontario Securities Commission or the Financial Services Regulatory Authority of Ontario seeking independent legal advice and asking direct questions are no longer optional steps. They are necessary habits. Reporting suspicious activity to organizations like the Canadian Anti-Fraud Centre also helps protect others.

This is not about creating fear. It is about closing the gap between trust and understanding In fast growing regions like the Greater Toronto Area opportunity and risk move together. Fraud thrives where awareness is low and blind trust is high.

A healthy society does not rely only on punishment after damage is done. It builds people who can recognize deception before becoming victims. When fraud wears a suit awareness becomes the first line of defense.

Before trusting a financial promise remember that due diligence is always cheaper than regret.

RSP’s First Month: Visible Action, But the Real Test is Still Ahead

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

The RSP government has opened its tenure with speed, energy, and a clear effort to project competence. Its one-month progress report is packed with concrete measures, from telecom and postal reforms to digital service upgrades, cybersecurity steps, and administrative discipline tied to the 100-point governance roadmap. That is a promising start. But a promising start is not yet proof of lasting reform.

What stands out most in the report is its focus on visible, everyday services. Extending prepaid package validity, introducing choice in PAYG billing, improving data-usage alerts, advancing 5G readiness, expanding one-time KYC, and improving passport delivery are practical changes people can understand. In a political culture where governments are often accused of producing more slogans than results, that kind of specificity matters. It gives the administration something tangible to point to.

The report also suggests a government that understands that reform is not only about high-level announcements. Its emphasis on zero pending files, business process re-engineering, and better coordination across agencies shows some awareness that the machinery of government must be fixed if public service is to improve. That is a welcome sign. Administrative reform is often boring, but it is usually the difference between public frustration and public trust.

Still, one month is too short a period to treat these measures as full achievements. Many of the report’s items appear to be starts, not finishes. A policy can be introduced, a system can be launched, and a directive can be issued without yet producing durable institutional change. That distinction matters. Citizens do not ultimately judge governments by the number of announcements they make, but by whether those announcements improve the way the state actually works.

That is why the 100-point roadmap should be read as a test, not a trophy. Roadmaps are useful only if they can be translated into deadlines, measurable outcomes, and real accountability. The report shows movement, but movement is not the same as transformation. Some projects appear to be operational, while others are still at the stage of preparation or coordination. The real challenge is whether this initial momentum can survive beyond the first month.

There is also an important political dimension here. Every new government wants to create a story of competence early in its tenure. That is normal. But the more strongly a government advertises early success, the more closely it will later be judged on whether that success endures. Public trust is not built by momentum alone. It is built by consistency, follow-through, and visible results that ordinary people can feel.

So the fairest reading of the report is balanced. The RSP government has made a fast and visible start, and that should be acknowledged. But it has not yet proven that this start will become a sustained record of reform. The one-month report shows intention, direction, and energy. What it does not yet show is whether the government can turn those qualities into lasting change.

Two Democracies, One Problem: When Governments Block the People’s Right to Know 

Posted on by
Reply

In Ontario, Canada, the Doug Ford government just passed changes to freedom of information laws. These changes exempt the premier, cabinet ministers, and their staff from disclosing emails, texts, and other records related to public business. Across the world in Nepal, the Right to Information Act of 2007 exists on paper. But it routinely fails when citizens seek records about political corruption, elite wealth, or government spending. These are not isolated incidents. They represent a global pattern. Governments promise reform while quietly making it harder for citizens to verify those promises.

The parallel is striking. Ontario’s changes came after court rulings demanded access to the premier’s phone records in connection with the Greenbelt scandal. Nepal’s RTI system has existed for nearly two decades. Yet political offices consistently delay, redact, or deny requests about ministers’ assets, public procurement, or the implementation of reform roadmaps. In both cases, ordinary government agencies must disclose information. But the political leadership creates exemptions for itself.

This is not about partisan politics. It is about a fundamental principle of democratic accountability. Citizens have a right to know how decisions affecting their lives were made. Freedom of information laws exist precisely because governments cannot be trusted to tell their own stories accurately. When leaders exempt themselves from these laws, they are saying their work is too sensitive for public eyes. The public is left to accept official narratives without the records to test them against reality.

In Nepal, the stakes are particularly high. The new government’s 100‑point reform roadmap promises anti‑corruption measures, faster service delivery, and transparent governance. But without strong RTI enforcement, citizens have no way to verify whether these are real commitments or political theatre. Journalists requested details about ministers’ recently declared gold holdings and property. What did they receive? Delays, partial disclosures, or outright denials. The same pattern repeats with questions about arrests of former leaders, implementation of the roadmap, or the budget allocations for promised reforms.

Ontario offers a cautionary tale. The FOI changes there were framed as modernization for the digital age. Yet critics, including the province’s privacy commissioner, warned they would make government less transparent than even some authoritarian states. The timing also mattered. The changes came after court losses over access to political records. That timing suggested a deeper motive. Leaders wanted to shield decision‑making from scrutiny.

Both situations reveal the same structural flaw. Democratic governments often weaken the very mechanisms designed to hold them accountable. Nepal’s RTI Commission exists but lacks teeth. Ontario’s Information and Privacy Commissioner can complain but cannot compel disclosure from the political elite. The result is predictable. Leaders control the flow of information while citizens struggle to separate fact from spin.

This matters most for Nepal because the new government came to power promising to break decades of corrupt governance. The public wants to believe in that promise. But belief without verification becomes blind faith. When citizens cannot access records showing how ministers accumulated their wealth, whether arrests followed due process, or if the 100‑point roadmap has concrete timelines and budgets, skepticism grows. Transparency is not a luxury. It is the foundation of trust.

The solution is straightforward but politically difficult. Nepal should strengthen its RTI law. It should mandate timelines for political office responses, create real penalties for non‑compliance, and give the National Information Commission power to compel disclosure. Ontario should reverse its exemptions and recommit to the principle that no public official is above public scrutiny.

Around the world, democracies face this same test. When governments limit access to information, they limit the public’s ability to govern itself. Nepal and Ontario show that the problem transcends borders, political systems, and cultures. The right to know is universal because the need to hold power accountable is universal.

Leaders promising reform should welcome scrutiny, not evade it. Citizens demanding accountability should insist on records, not just rhetoric. When governments exempt themselves from transparency laws, they are not modernizing democracy. They are undermining it.

Canada’s Changing Reality: A Wake-Up Call for International Students

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra Panthee

Recent discussions about Canada’s slowing, and in some cases declining, population are more than just statistics. They reflect a deeper shift in immigration policy, economic pressure, and the consequences of rapid population growth over the past few years. For prospective international students and foreign workers, especially from countries like Nepal, India, and others, this changing reality demands serious reflection.

After listening to Ron Butler on the Angry Mortgage Podcast on March 20, 2026, one thing becomes clear. A system built on rapid expansion, aggressive recruitment, and unrealistic promises is now being forced to correct itself. When such systems correct, it is often the most vulnerable, young international students, who pay the price.

For many young people, the journey begins right after high school. They come to Canada as students, but for many, education is not the primary goal. The real objective is often permanent residency or citizenship. There is nothing inherently wrong with that aspiration. The problem begins when that dream is sold through misinformation, consultants, and brokers who promise easy pathways that no longer exist.

What often goes unspoken are the consequences of believing these promises. As Dr. Punya Sagar Marahatta has consistently warned through his awareness posts—such as his writings on “Diploma Mills” and his recent reflections on March 29—many students arrive with expectations shaped by consultants, only to encounter a completely different reality. Instead of stable work and a clear path forward, they face financial pressure, isolation, and deep uncertainty. In some cases, this leads to serious mental health struggles. There have been tragic incidents, including the recent death of a student in the Niagara region, along with several similar cases in the past. Others have experienced homelessness or have been forced to return home after exhausting their resources. These are not isolated stories but part of a broader pattern that demands urgent attention. Efforts to regulate and monitor consultancies, both in Nepal and abroad, are not just policy discussions—they are a necessary step to prevent further harm to vulnerable students. I say this not as an outsider, but from personal experience.

I say this not as an outsider, but from personal experience.

I came to the United States for my PhD on a teaching assistantship. I prepared for TOEFL and GRE, applied directly to universities, contacted departments and professors, and secured funding. Because I was funded, my focus was entirely on study. That is what studying abroad is supposed to look like.

In early 2010, my journey toward Canadian permanent residence began. At the time, an acquaintance of mine had repeatedly failed to obtain a U.S. visa. In his search for alternatives, he discovered Canada’s high-skilled immigration program, which allowed him to apply for permanent residence for himself and his family. He saw this as a pathway for his family to settle in Canada, with the added advantage of making future travel to the United States easier. Inspired by his approach, I followed his steps, even though my own family was living in the U.S. at the time. The job prospects there were uncertain, and as my dependent, my wife was unable to attend school or work. I applied under the same high-skilled category. However, Canada later decided to eliminate that immigration category. Fortunately, because we had submitted our application before the rule change, our case was still considered. The process took a long time, but finally, we landed in Toronto in April 2013.

Since then, my life has been defined by movement.

While I was based in Texas, I would come to Toronto only during semester breaks. Later, after securing my position at Syracuse University, I found myself about a four-hour drive from Toronto, making frequent weekend trips to stay connected with my family. This back-and-forth life was not ideal, but it was a conscious choice shaped by both professional commitment and family responsibility.

After graduating from the University of Texas, I joined Centennial College as a contract professor in January 2014. In July 2015, I received a job offer from Syracuse University and continued working in both places for some time.

Many people asked me why I did not simply stay in Canada with my family instead of commuting so frequently between the US and Canada.

The answer was simple. It was not that full-time positions at community colleges were hard to obtain at the time. In fact, I could likely have secured a full-time role at Centennial within two or three years. My decision, therefore, was about the kind of academic career I wanted. I chose to remain connected to a top-tier university environment like Syracuse University, where I could focus on research, intellectual growth, and long-term academic development.

Today, with the recent decline in international student numbers, my contract teaching at Centennial is no longer there. Looking back, I feel that decision was the right one.

This is exactly the reality many students are not told.

Over the past few years, a troubling ecosystem has developed around low-tier private and community colleges. Consultants, mostly based in home countries, have been selling a dream. Study well, get a good job, secure PR, build a future. Families take loans, sell land, and invest everything. But what many students encounter instead is a harsh reality. High living costs, unstable work, and an education that often takes a back seat to survival.

If a student is truly committed to education, there is a better path.

Studying abroad in countries like Canada or the United States can be transformative, but it makes the most sense at the graduate level, especially with scholarships, teaching assistantships, or research assistantships. Funded students have the time and stability to focus on learning. In contrast, those who arrive after paying large sums to private colleges often find themselves forced to prioritize work over study.

More importantly, pursuing graduate study does not require paying consultants. Students can apply directly through university websites, meet admission requirements, and contact faculty members themselves. This route is transparent, merit-based, and far more reliable than depending on intermediaries.

This is not an argument against immigration. Canada has long benefited from newcomers, and a well-managed system remains essential. But as Ron Butler also suggests, the recent model driven by volume rather than capacity has reached its limits.

To students and families,
Do not confuse marketing with reality.
Do not confuse shortcuts with opportunity.

Studying abroad can still be a powerful and life-changing experience, but only when it is approached with clarity, preparation, and realistic expectations.

Otherwise, what is sold as a dream may turn into a very expensive lesson.

Kantipur’s Balen Feature: Reading Journalism Through Its Silences

Posted on by
Reply

Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

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.