I was in the United States when the monarchy was abolished in Nepal. There was little coverage of the event on American television and like other Nepalese expats watching from afar, I found myself calling home for updates and scouring numerous websites to watch the momentous events of that time unravel.
It was clear from the news reports that people had mixed feelings. The celebrations felt smaller and less intense than those at the end of King Gyanendra’s direct rule in 2006 or King Birendra’s in 1990. Nonetheless, thousands thronged the squares and streets of cities and towns across the country singing, dancing, clapping and waving flags to welcome the new political order. [break]

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No king or royalty could now claim exemption from the country’s laws or interfere with its democratic politics.
My thoughts went back to the time I first wondered what it might have been like to have a President instead of a King. The year was 1986. I was in the fifth grade. School was closed for the Dashain holidays and I was visiting my uncle, a life-long pro-democracy activist, in Biratnagar. I used to read to him from a book of trivia I had brought along with me and he often quizzed me about the names of Prime Ministers and Presidents of different countries. One evening over dinner, I asked my uncle the difference between a republic and a monarchy.
What started as a simple civics question quickly morphed into a lengthy discourse on the history and politics of Nepal. The political climate at the time was rife with news about the Namita-Sumita murders, the kickbacks allegedly received by the Palace and the massive deforestation undertaken by the Panchayat to fund the 1980 referendum. Ram Raja Prasad Singh had set off bombs across the country to bring about political change and the people debated, albeit in hushed tones, the rights and wrongs of such actions. I listened fascinated as my uncle shared his opinions about the political issues of the day.
Somewhere during that conversation, the seeds of political awakening and republicanism were sowed in my formative mind. Four years later when the Panchayat was overthrown in 1990, I was disappointed the revolution had not gone far enough and abolished the monarchy once and for all. Having witnessed up-close the excesses of the palace and their supporters, I had never sympathized much with the monarchy even when it was at the peak of its popularity just prior to the royal massacre.
I was happy, cautiously so given the fluid political climate of the day, to see the monarchy go on 28th May 2008. Yet something gnawed at my political conscience that day. The monarchy, by then a reviled institution held responsible for much of Nepal’s ills, was not removed through a referendum as many had advocated—a process that would have given every Nepali an equal say on the matter—but rather through an act of a born-again parliament whose electoral mandate was nine-years old and getting stale.
Few may shed tears for the monarchy today but it remains important to examine the manner in which the monarchy was dismissed because that marked a turning point in Nepali politics and set a dangerous precedent that continues to have a bearing on our politics to this day. The political players of the time justified their actions based on the consensus that existed among the major parties. A consensus that came about, it can be argued, as the result of political necessity rather than any deeply held convictions on the part of the parties, particularly the Nepali Congress and UML.
By seeking legitimacy in such a consensus, the parliamentary act that abolished the monarchy opened the doors for the major parties to claim the unfettered right to bring about any subsequent political change, regardless of scope or size, solely on the basis of consensus amongst party leaders with little regard for democratic due process.
This mindset directly contributed to the breakdown of the parliamentary process, the failure of the Constituent Assembly to draft a constitution and the resulting political dire straits the country finds itself in today. The installation of Chief Justice Khil Raj Regmi as the interim head of government also has the same underpinnings of consensus trumping due process.
The failure to follow due process time and again has weakened democracy and diminished the stature of our political leaders. Consensus may be necessary for some aspects of governance but consensus alone does not guarantee democracy, peace or stability or even the ability to hold an election for that matter. Consensus certainly does not make right political wrongs and this seems to be lost on our leaders as they put the final touches for the election and bicker over whether people with criminal convictions should be allowed to run for public office.
Five years into the republic, it is imperative we learn from our shortcomings and not repeat the mistake of cutting corners for the sake of political expediency. Nepal’s political classes have to demonstrate that governance means more than just lurching from one crisis to another where enormous effort is expended each time to find a consensus, only to see that consensus die before the next crisis is around. The people deserve leadership that remains true to the principles of democracy, rises above its narrow political interests and finds lasting solutions to the country’s problems.
Mainstream voices have largely remained mute about the onslaught against the democratic process and outside meddling, leaving it to the fringe parties many of which, until recently, had scant regard for parliamentary democracy, to step in and fill the vacuum. As the country gears up for the next election and early signs point to an electorate up for grabs, it might serve the mainstream parties well to return to their roots and practice the democratic ideals of due process and the rule of law if they are to have a viable future in the republic they helped create.
The writer is a social entrepreneur currently working on governance and development issues in Nepal.
Republic Day to be celebrated for three days