Lingua Franca

The issue of language has come up for us again and again as we try to make sense of our field research. Certainly, we had been expecting something of a language barrier, since none of us students speak more than the very few words of Nepali that our friend from Kathmandu taught us in the pre-departure workshop. However, with our professor speaking Hindi (closely related to Nepali), a large number of interviewees who spoke passable (and at times, extremely good) English, and someone to serve as translator in the majority of our interviews, language issues were not foremost in our minds.

But in retrospect, we are realizing that the language barrier played a significant role in our research. We were able to communicate, certainly, but sometimes the language barrier would rear its head and we would be stalled in frustration. For example, sometimes the interviewees would speak to us in broken English, despite the presence of a translator. At other times, we could sense that the translator was not asking our questions quite how we had phrased them, or not wording the responses in quite the same manner as they had been given. And other times, even when there were no obvious problems, it was simply hard to tell if we understood each other. Did we mean the same thing by the words and concepts we were using?

My research focus during the trip was justice, and my findings on the subject were in some ways disappointing and in nearly all ways far from what I had been expecting. Throughout our interviews, I was left with a nagging feeling that we were not on the same page as far as the concept of justice. I felt that we did not have the same idea of it, that we were not visualizing it in quite the same way, and this was standing in the way of having an open, honest discussion.

But in the end, how much of an effect did language really have on our research, and how can we tell? This is a question I am still struggling with, and I do not have an answer. I do believe that we had these communication problems, but I sometimes wonder if I am using this explanation too much, as an easy way out to explain the difficulty of my research. As I struggle with my findings and analysis of justice in Nepal, I am inclined to say that there was miscommunication, but what if I am using language as a scapegoat, and blaming it for the fact that I heard things I did not want to hear? How can we ever really know how much of a role the language barrier played in our research?

Witchcraft

Yesterday, one of my friends here in the US who has been highly interested in our trip to Nepal sent me the link to a news story. It was about a woman in a remote Nepali village who had been accused of witchcraft, and of causing the drowning death of young boy. As punishment, the woman was severely beaten and then burned to death.

Unfortunately, this was not the first time I had heard of this. When we were in Bara district in the south of Nepal, we heard multiple examples of this problem from a single organization. This organization helped to defend the women accused in these cases, and they explained to us some of the culture behind these accusations. Only women are ever accused of witchcraft, though both men and women have been known to make accusations of witchcraft. These women are always Dalit (from the lowest caste), and are usually either single or widowed. Additionally, the organization explained to us a common belief that “women are born witches”, because they can keep a child inside them for nine months: only something supernatural could do something of that nature. Women accused of witchcraft are often forced to eat feces, because it is believed that is the only way to get the witch out.

One story this organization told us had a happier ending than that of the news article. In this case, a woman’s young son had been bitten twice by a snake, and she accused a local Dalit woman of using witchcraft to harm her son. But the accused, with help from this organization, was able to fight the accusation: it turned into a big case and eventually the accuser was forced to apologize and pay compensation. Unfortunately, in this more recent news story, the accused was not so lucky.

Coming from a Western background, we might be tempted to dismiss this entire talk of witchcraft as nonsense from the very start. However, I think these cases are just one example of the extremely complicated relationship between ‘culture’ and ‘development’. A ‘developed’, just society should not have this practice where the underprivileged are accused of witchcraft in order to explain the problems of others, but at the same time, is it right to completely dismiss something that has been a part of Nepali culture for centuries? It is a sensitive issue, and it is hard to figure out how certain aspects of culture can fit in as a society moves forward. But no matter what, the horrifying results of these types of problems, such as a woman being burned alive, must be stopped.

On the Road

We spent a lot of time joking and laughing about our driving adventures in Nepal: the incredibly poor conditions of the roads, and how insanely unsafe most of the drivers are. If you’ve been following our blog, you’ve already heard some examples about our terrifying experiences in Bara and Rolpa. And the single-lane, curvy mountain road to Dolakha, with gaping ditches and cracks in multiple areas where a small river was running across the pavement? Don’t even get me started. After we got back, it took me some time to adjust to driving where you actually have to stay in a lane and where people use their turn signals to turn, not to indicate that it’s OK to pass them.

But all jokes aside, the terrible conditions of the roads have many more serious implications for Nepal. First of all, road accidents have claimed the lives of more people in Nepal than the entire ten years of civil war. There are varying statistics, but it seems that about 1000 people are killed in road accidents in Nepal every year – that averages out to about three people each day. Even when the accidents don’t result in death, the medical bills and potential loss of employment and income must have a staggering impact on this already poverty-stricken country. The total cost – human, social, and economic – of this issue is enormous.

We saw some evidence of at least a weak effort to address this problem: on the road to Dolakha, we were laughing at signs with safety slogans like “Speed thrills, but kills” and “Speed is a five letter word – and so is death” (I wonder if the Nepali translations come out sounding a little better?). But beyond these rather feeble efforts, with all the other problems the country faces (compounded by a simple lack of funds to make meaningful changes), how can this issue even compete for attention?

Furthermore, the difficulty of traversing many roads and even the complete lack of roads in some areas means that parts of the country remain extremely isolated, cut off from communication and what aid and development the government has to offer. As the government tries to establish itself and its power over the country, and hopefully try to improve the lives of its people, I imagine they will find themselves thwarted by this fairly basic yet incredibly pervasive problem. We thought Rolpa was disconnected from Kathmandu, but at least we could get to Rolpa from the capital: what about the villages where even such poor roads simply don’t exist?

While the poor roads may seem like the least of worries in Nepal, it’s actually a very daunting problem. And after spending just two weeks travelling on these roads, it certainly isn’t a problem that I would be eager to tackle.

 

A view out the bus window of the road to Rolpa

Waiting, Waiting

If we took everything we heard in Nepal at face value, we might be under the impression that everything in the country, including peacebuilding and economic development, hinges on the Constitution. Nepal has been trying to rewrite their Constitution since the signing of the peace agreement five years ago. The latest deadline will arrive this May, and many are not optimistic about the odds of meeting the date, though some people we talked to thought it might be conceivable that a draft would be completed by then.

From numerous organizations working on a wide range of issues, we heard again and again that little could be done because the country was in a transition period, at least until the Constitution was established. Development was stalled. Any pursuit of justice would have to wait. Infrastructure? We can focus on it after the Constitution.

I don’t mean to diminish the importance of having a strong Constitution, by any means. After all, it is essential to a strong rule of law and many other institutions that will eventually lead Nepal into more peaceful and prosperous times. However, we all became frustrated after hearing this line again and again. At the end of the day, to the people on the ground, it is simply a piece of paper. A Constitution isn’t a panacea that is going to fix the plethora of problems that Nepal faces. When a Constitution finally is put in place, people aren’t going to wake up the next day to find their lives dramatically changed.

Will it be easier to address other issues after a Constitution is agreed upon? Maybe. But is there work that can be done in the meantime? Absolutely. The lack of a Constitution can’t be used as an excuse to wait, to not act, to watch passively as so many problems run rampant in this country. It may even be that parties will find more similarities and more areas where they can work together if they shift just a tiny piece of their attention to another issue, rather than being blinded by the issue of the Constitution.

Trimtabs

One of our most impressive meetings took place on our last day in Nepal, with Search for Common Ground in Kathmandu. Not only are their projects fresh and inventive; their general outlook on how to deal with conflict situations is insightful and seems applicable to nearly any case. For example, rather than making grandiose plans for change that are always hard to implement and make people accept, SFCG focuses on the details, those tiny changes that in the long run have huge effects on society. They call them ‘5 degree shifts’: small when they start out, but as the angle extends, they become wider and wider.
I was particularly struck by their stress on ‘trimtabs’, or rudders – that tiny piece of a ship (or society) that, when turned, steers the entire giant mechanism. So what are the trimtabs in Nepal? What are those most basic of issues that could change all of society for the better?
As soon as I started thinking about this, one example came immediately to mind: a youth club in Bara district told us that, in all their programs and classes, they make an extra effort to make sure that kids of all castes and ethnicities are mixed together, sitting side by side at lunch, working on projects together. When they’re brought together like this from an early age, it helps to paint over the divisions and prejudices that plague society in so many ways. When these kids grow up, won’t their mindsets be different from their parents and grandparents, and won’t they provide a whole new base for change?
The larger issue is the discrimination present throughout Nepalese society: between ethnic groups, castes, and genders. The larger issue is the weakness, or perhaps lack of, an overarching Nepali identity that can bring all of these people together. But the small detail we can focus on to bring real change in the long run is to throw these kids together from the very start, and let them see that their ‘different’ peers aren’t so different after all.
So what are the other trimtabs we can look for in Nepal?

Time is Teaching Them

In one of the very first interviews we conducted in Nepal, I heard something that has stuck with me throughout the rest of our trip. We were talking with a lawyer who had been attacked by the Maoists for ‘suppressing the People’s Revolution’, and still has the brutal scars to prove it. When we asked him how he feels about those who were so cruel to him being in government and legitimate positions of power, he didn’t speak about revenge or express any anger. He simply said, “Time is teaching them.”

Since then, we have come to learn that many who supported the Maoists have become disillusioned now that the revolution is over and the hard work of rebuilding the country has begun. The Maoists have been unable (or unwilling?) to fulfill their promises to marginalized groups such as ethnic communities and lower castes. Some say that, to a certain extent, life has become better after the war and the changes instigated by the Maoists, but many others express less support. Even in Rolpa, where the Maoist movement was born, many individuals expressed fear at the idea of former Maoist combatants being integrated into the security forces. In short, the Maoists have found their new position to be full of challenges.

At dinner the other night, a new Nepalese friend made a remark that it’s easy to criticize a regime or a leader, but much harder to actually lead. I think this is the same sentiment expressed by the lawyer. Time is showing the former rebels just how hard it is to be in charge, to lead a country. Time is challenging them to do a better job than the regime that came before them. While it’s no excuse for human rights violations and other atrocities that have been committed by both parties, it’s important for us to remember, even in our research, how easy it is to criticize and how hard it is to act. Hopefully, time will also teach all those in the Nepali government, Maoist and other political parties alike, how to make life better for their people.

Tea in Rolpa

Everywhere we have gone in Nepal, we have been given cup after cup after cup of tea. Without fail, a few minutes into each meeting, someone will come into the room carefully balancing a huge tray of tiny teacups. The meeting will derail for a few minutes as we all gather a cup. We are offered tea so much, in fact, that when we had meetings back to back all day, we were sometimes forced to be slightly rude and turn down that fifth cup of tea.

This is why, when we were in Rolpa, one of the reasons (albeit one of the less important reasons) why we perceived a cold welcome and high tensions is that we weren’t offered a single cup of tea. In four different meetings in the town, we did not see a single cup of tea. We were bemused and took it as another sign that the local inhabitants were not particularly comfortable with our presence.

However, at dinner the other night, a Nepalese man with whom we were sitting offered some information that significantly changed this perception. Because of its location and inaccessibility, when trade with east Asia brought tea to the rest of what is now Nepal, Rolpa and some of the surrounding areas missed out. To this day, people in Rolpa do not drink as much tea as their countrymen, preferring instead a type of locally or home brewed alcohol. Thus, the lack of tea that we took as bordering on a slight actually has cultural roots going back hundreds of years. This example was just a reminder to keep an open mind and remember that there may be a very simple, though unexpected, explanation behind these types of awkward moments and misunderstandings.

And now we can move on to complaining that we weren’t offered any of their locally brewed drinks.

Home Away From Home

I never would have thought it would be such a relief to get back to Kathmandu, but after 9 challenging days of travelling throughout numerous districts in Nepal, we were ecstatic to return to Kathmandu and the now-luxurious-seeming Hotel Annapurna! I’m still processing most of what we saw in the districts, but I feel that after these 9 days we have taken many important steps towards understanding the ‘real’ Nepal. Kathmandu is fascinating, but life in the districts varies dramatically from life here in the capital, and is in many ways much more gritty and real. From the poverty of the villages of Bara to the smoggy skies of Birgunj, the gorgeous landscapes of Pokhara to the winding roads and high tensions in Rolpa, even these very few days of travel in this country have given us a huge amount of insight into the real challenges that the Nepali people face everyday. What we’ve heard has made me both frustrated and hopeful for the future of this country, but most importantly, our experiences have given me a lot of empathy for the people of Nepal, and enabled me to understand them and their situation much better.

After a day of being typical tourists in Kathmandu, we’re headed out to one last district tomorrow before our final return to Kathmandu. Looking forward to our last adventures!

Driving

During our time in Bara district, we drove out into the countryside to visit a rural school and village. While the entire evening was incredibly insightful and will likely be one of my strongest memories of the trip, I have to admit that the drive out there and back was the most memorable part of the evening. At first sight, our driver looked fairly harmless, but little did we know that we were in for the ride of our lives. As soon as he was behind the wheel, he became a maniac who clearly believed that if he drove fast enough and honked his horn loudly enough, everyone else on the road would surely get out of the way. Throughout the course of the drive, he put this theory to test multiple times and, sure enough, proved it right – though I don’t think he accounted for the side effect, which was multiple heart attacks in all of his passengers. Our reactions alternated between speechless terror, hysterical laughter, and cursing in a variety of languages. It didn’t seem that he spoke English, but if he did, then he has the best poker face in the universe, because our reactions each time he swerved away from a goat or motorcycle at the very last second must have been hilarious. Tumbling out of the car at the hotel at the end of the night was pure relief, and I can’t think of many other moments when I’ve felt more alive.

Despite how amusing the drive was, in another way it was one of the most uncomfortable parts of this trip so far. Here we were, roaring along these tiny, bumpy roads that were obviously not intended primarily for the use of vehicles, throwing up clouds of dust into the faces of the villagers trying to cook dinner outside their homes along the side of the road. Our driver showed a remarkable lack of concern for them, coming dangerously close to hitting bicycle riders, animals, and once, even a child. Similarly, when we were ready to leave later in the evening, our driver backed the car up into the crowd of villagers who had gathered to see us, barely even looking and just expecting them to get out of his way. Throughout all this, I sat in the backseat and cringed, unable to meet the eyes of anyone outside the window, imagining how they must perceive us: these foreigners coming in with no concern for them or their well-being. Or was it just me, being overly sensitive, who perceived it this way? Did the villagers care or even really remark that we went by? At the end of the evening, while I sit here writing and reflecting, do they even remember the crazy cars that passed by today? We joked a lot about our experience that evening, mostly because there was nothing else we could do, but in the end, this is the part of that experience that has stuck with me. I don’t like the position we were put in this night, and though I know it may be nothing more than this individual case, I was disturbed by our driver’s attitude towards his poorer countrymen. This lack of empathy is symbolic of much larger problems, which are present far beyond the borders of this country.