ICJ urges CA to amend statute draft to guarantee all human rights

Post Report, Kathmandu, Sep 02 2015
The International Commission of Jurists has urged the Constituent Assembly to amend provisions in the draft constitution to guarantee all human rights in accordance with Nepal’s international legal obligations.

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Main News

Trade Policy 2015: Export-oriented industries to get tax refund

Post Report, Sep 02 2015
Export-oriented industries in Nepal will get tax refund facilities on the purchase of raw materials, according to the amended Trade Policy 2015 unveiled on Wednesday.
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Civil Society urges govt to find political solution to crisis

Post Report, Sep 02 2015
Prominent civil society members have appealed to the government to find a political solution to the ongoing violent protests in Tarai against the state delineation, while also calling on the agitating groups to carry out their demonstrations peacefully.
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Biratnagar protest: Police fire teargas shells

Post Report, Sep 02 2015
A clash ensued between the security personnel and cadres of agitating Samyukta Loktantrik Madhesi Morcha (SLMM) at Mahabir Chok in Birtnagar, Morang on Wednesday.
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All Nepal Football Association (Anfa) on Tuesday indefinitely postponed its annual general assemby (AGM) which was scheduled for Wednesday.
The decision comes after Patan appellate court on Tuesday ordered the football governing body of Nepal to hold the AGM. The court was acting on the petition filed by Anfa vice presidents Karma Tshering and Bijay Narayan Manandhar and member Pankaj Nembang claiming that they have not been notified of the AGM so far.
Anfa president Ganesh Thapa had used same loophole to force the postponement of Nepal Olympic Committee (NOC) General Assembly on August 6.
Among the other Anfa executive committee meeting include the announcement of Rs 200,000 each to the members of the Saff U-19 Championship winning Nepali team. The ExCo also formed a five-member Anfa Academy steering committee under Anfa Deputy General Secretary Mani Kunwar.
The Anfa meeting also decided to provide Rs one million each to 10 hilly districts as development assistance. Among those districts set to receive the assistance are Ilam, Panchthar, Dhankuta, Sindhupalchowk, Dolkha, Palpa, Syangja, Lamjung, Baglung and Jumla.


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Our dishonourable Home Minister Bam Dev seems to live in a bubble and has no clue about how to maintain law and order in this land of ours. Why do we have the most incompetent people heading our government ministries? Our politicians only know how to spew venom and blame others instead of talking less and doing more and taking responsibility for their failures.

Why do only lazy bums and con artists want to become politicians in this country? Well, because it’s easy money if you do get into power and if even if you don’t, you can work out deals with the government to send some funds your way. Yes, our politicians find common ground only when they get to share the loot.
Why can’t our political parties send competent folks who can lead, instead of clueless clowns who only know how to loot the state funds so that the party and its cadres enjoy the loot while the common citizens get the boot?  It’s been more than 25 years since our clowns showed up and promised us a better future. And it seems that we will have to wait another two decades or more for peace and stability in this land.
This is not the first time that our clown is heading the Home Ministry but he seems to have other priorities—like how to plan for lucrative postings and promotions of officers and then extort from them. And on top of that, he find ways to get new stuff for the security personnel that they don’t really need so that he can fudge the bill and pocket some commission.
When our top government positions are for sale then you can’t really expect the person who paid for the post to do his or her job well. After all, the highest bidder will have to recoup his or her investment. And it’s the common citizens who will pay for it in the end.
You can teach an old dog new tricks. Yes, it’s possible. I have a dog and I have taught him to lay down and act like he is having a seizure whenever he wants to get out of the house and join his local stray friends in the neighbourhood.
But our old politicians don’t want to learn new stuff.  The world has changed since Bam Dev first showed up in Kathmandu with a few shirts and not even a rupee in his pocket. And like most of the politicians then, he also seems to have done much better than the rest of the country. Even as millions of our able-bodied young folks are being exploited for a few more dinars and ringgits, our politicians have made millions of rupees for themselves as they take the country down the drain.
Bam Dev thinks like a Shree Teen. He acts as if he owns this country and the citizens are nothing but a nuisance.
He drives around in a luxury vehicle, surrounded by armed security personnel. He is fully secured and does not have to worry about bandas. He gets freebies from the state and would rather offer more freebies to his band of thieves than provide security to the common citizens.
He should have been the first person to visit Tikapur. I guess our politicians are angry when mundrey gundas get killed, but do not feel that pain when police personnel are lynched. Well, it took our security heads four days to finally have the courage to visit Ground Zero and take stock of the situation there.
Bam Dev tells us that the attack on security personnel was pre-planned. Then that means that our security forces failed miserably to prepare for such attacks. It was an intelligence failure and we have no one but the Home Ministry to blame.
Yes, our Home Minister, the Home Secretary and all security chiefs should apologise for not doing enough to prevent the loss of lives of our security personnel as well as the protesters. I think the top civil servants in our Home Ministry and Bam Dev, as well, must resign and apologise to the families of the police personnel killed in Tikapur. But of course, that’s not going to happen.
Why do we need the Armed Police Force if they just want to be mute spectators while thousands of protesters surround police personnel and attack them with slingshots, spades and axes? Sending our Nepal Army to the riot zones is not the solution. Our Nepal Police must be better equipped with resources to prevent such incidents in the future. The role of the army is to protect us from foreign invasion. Well, we know we really can’t fight our dumpling and dosa chimekis but at least protect our borders and national parks from bideshi criminals and ghaerlu poachers. But don’t use the army against our own brothers and sisters. This is not just right.
If the Armed Police Force can’t do their job then it’s about time to disband them. Why do we have to pay their salaries just so that they can protect foreign embassies, INGOs and our incompetent corrupt clowns? Yes, our security personnel did their best even without adequate resources to carry out the rescue works during the earthquakes. Maybe we should just transform the Armed Police Force into a Disaster Management Force. Give them helmets and resources to help our folks during natural disasters instead.
It’s not only Bam Dev but our top leaders of our political parties as well who should take responsibility for the fire burning in Kaliali and other parts of the country. It’s been weeks and our Tarai area is suffering from bandas and violence. Our government doesn’t seem to care. If you really must deploy the army, then let them protect our highways, so that there will not be shortages of essential goods in the country, instead of asking them to shoot our own people.
The problem in this country is not with its people. We have been surviving so far without any help from the government, despite the shortages, load shedding, bandas and what not. It’s our politicians who need such violence and nataks for their own survival. But one day, the chickens will come home to roost. Today, our police personnel and protesters have lost their lives so that our politicians can strike deals with each other on how to share the loot. Let us not kill each other for things that really don’t matter to us. We are all brothers and sisters. We all need to learn to help each other and live peacefully together.
Our politicians are parasites, they will suck our bloods and hang us dry when their self interests are fulfilled. It’s sad that a bunch of politicians can take this hostage while we the silent majority can’t do nothing but only shake our heads in disbelief. Our politicians should be held accountable for all this mess. We used the ballot in the hopes that these leeches would do something good for this country, but our politicians think they can clean up the mess with bullets. I guess it’s about time to show these buffoons the door.

I get into the safa tempo all sweaty and covered in the valley dust. There is room for only two. I sit opposite a woman in a yellow kurta suruwal trying to cover her head with her cotton shawl—there are drops of sweat on her forehead and nose. She looked like she could use a shower right then. While everyone waited for the empty seat beside me to fill up, I tried to think of insignificant things. But my mind kept going back to the poem that a friend had recently sent on my Facebook messenger. It was called “Bhumiputra”—son of the land. The son of the land in a perpetual struggle to belong. I had known what the poem meant—it was meant for the Tharus who had lost their lives, the Tharus who have been misrepresented, the Tharus who have been discriminated against, her Tharus, her sons of the land. But I asked anyway what the poem was about. She replied, “to Tharus”. Her angst, her frustration, and her knowledge all got mixed into words that are familiar to our tongue—words of wisdom. I refrained from replying; after all, what do I know of the plight of Tharus, when was I ever taught about their history, and when have I ever sat down with them to talk about their concerns?

Our land is no longer the fertile land my father studied, or my mother sowed corriander seeds on. It is soaked in the blood of the sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, friends and foes who came with hopes and continued to struggle. One day, perhaps, when a farmer ploughs the land, she will discover that the colour of our soil is no longer brown but shades of maroon. However, what is scarier is that it will not surprise her. For generations and generations, Nepalis will have grown accustomed to the red soil. Stories about how the soil used to be brown will become a part of the myth no one will be willing to believe. My friend’s poem will also become one with the red soil and run through its veins.
A young boy, probably around 13 years old, got into the tempo. He looked like he was going for an interview, dressed up in a checkered shirt and cotton pants. As he settled beside me, he took out a smartphone from his right pocket along with the earphones. As the tempo stuttered to life, he pushed the earphones onto his ears, turned on the phone, pressed the password, opened an app for music, scrolled through an extensive list of songs, and selects a Hindi song. I guessed it was his favourite.
I tried to imagine what the boy does—he was too young to own a mobile phone (or go for an interview), but he was traveling on his own and looked self-sufficient. Perhaps he’d bunked his classes? But where was his uniform? Perhaps, he wasn’t as young as he looked. He continued to listen to his music. I got back to thinking.
Our land is no longer the fertile land my father studied, or my mother sowed coriander seeds on. I think of the vegetable garden that I never get to stroll on nowadays. A guava tree, a peach tree, some mint bushes, and a patch for vegetables. For a long time, my mother used to tend to the garden on her own—she always made sure the seasonable vegetables grew on the season, that the right amount of mixture of organic and chemical fertilisers were put on the plants, and that the trees were pruned on time. My father was never around much, but he would give his occasional comments. But to be honest, it was the flowers that my mother really cared for. She would look after the flowers without needing to consult my father. She knew exactly when the flowers needed to be watered, or when they would bloom, and when they needed the nutrients. I wonder what her reaction would be if she were to one day dig one of the flowerpots and discover that the soil had turned red.
I looked outside the window and realised my stop had arrived. The kid was still beside me. I got off and started to walk towards New Road Gate. As I took a left turn, an old man with a pipe coming out of his stomach was being showered with five-rupee notes. It was a bizarre scene; his face wrinkled with untold stories, his head raised to look at the passersby, his body lost in his yellowed overalls; a rag in front of him was covered with five-rupee notes. I do not know what to make of Kathmandu.
“I miss my son,” said my friend as soon as I met him. His eyes glistened with the longing for his two year old son in Karnali. He recounted what he had heard in the news, the death of an innocent infant by protestors. The horror was evident on his face. I did not know what to make of Kailali, or Karnali. I do not know what to make of anything. All I know is my friend’s longing will also become one with the red soil and run through its veins.