“I don’t know,” I sighed.
And we left it at that. Neither of us had words to express the hopelessness we felt, watching, from so far away, our country in trouble. I tossed and turned in my bed in “the land of opportunities”, close to tears, not knowing what to do with myself. It felt like a crime, getting my daily bread without any problem as people back home had to work their way around an “indefinite” strike. There was a pit in my stomach and I was unable to sleep. I prayed, not sure who I was praying to.
The indefinite strike was called off six days later, but even after the deadline for the Constituent Assembly has been extended, the problems are far from solved. In the weeks since the strike was called off, there have been threats and apologies. Different political and non-political groups have thrown our deadlines at the political parties, and in the truest fashion of Nepali politics, those deadlines were missed. And as there has been for a long time now, there is uncertainty. In a year, the 601 representatives we elected were not able to come up with a constitution. The chances of them accomplishing anything in half the time seem slim. Amidst all this, we, the Nepali people continue to be scared and frustrated, yet optimistic. “Things have to get better,” we tell ourselves. They can’t get any worse.
When the Maoists withdrew their strike, I celebrated the people’s victory. I celebrated my people and their commitment to save the country.
On the night of May 6, as the sun was rising in Nepal and my parents and my brother and many of my friends were heading out to protest against strikes, I stayed awake venting – on the phone, on Instant Messenger, on Skype, and on Facebook. And while sharing my feelings usually makes me feel better, sometimes I fear sounding superficial as I am complaining from thousands of miles away, about situations I neither have to deal with, nor understand, nor am trying to fix. That day, while I was feeling sadness and fear and restlessness all at once, my best friend placated me: “Just remember, we have to go back once we’re done studying and do something,” she said. We promised each other that we will return to Nepal.
But despite that knowledge, the restlessness remains. Two years ago, Nepal had the chance to start over, to create an environment in which people could forgive and forget, and trust. Little by little, day by day, the chances of meeting the deadline became slimmer. For a month almost, it had been more than obvious that the May 28 deadline to frame the new constitution would be missed, and that we, the Nepali people, will continue being punished for our politicians’ mistakes and their manhandling of power. We have yet to finish paying for their lack of concern with our comfort and our peace of mind. But somewhere, there is still a speck of hope that keeps us going. It is that speck of hope that fuels protests and initiatives.
When the Maoists withdrew their strike, I celebrated the people’s victory, not against a party, but against fear and oppression. I celebrated my people and their commitment to save the country from entering into a quagmire. I hope that the large crowd that gathered that day showed political leaders of every party that no matter how immature they choose to be, the Nepali people are politically mature. And more importantly, I hope that amidst all the anxiety and frustration, it made young Nepalis proud of their country and their people.
A few years ago, I had first come across an essay written by a 15-year-old South Korean boy, Ban Whi Min titled Have You Ever Cried For Your Country? It was about how a generation of South Koreans had sacrificed their individual comfort for the sake of their country. Today, many Nepalis are crying for their country, and a lot of us are willing do whatever we are passionate about and good at to make our country and the world a better place. We want to become teachers and engineers. We want to be inventors, marine biologists, and neurologists. We are interested in International Human Rights and in space-discovery. And when we are wronged, we unite regardless of our political beliefs and stand up for ourselves. But while we’re working on it, we need to be patient with our country and let it flounder. And each time our eyes sting when we hear of our country stumbling on the way to stability, we will have to remind ourselves that the overused saying is really true – we are the hopeful future, and we can make all the difference.
aadhikari@agnesscott.edu
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