APRIL 10, 2008
For one day the abrasive bleating of car horns vanished. In its place came the silent will of the people, on foot, walking to polling booths with a desire and enthusiasm that built on itself throughout the day.
When the polls closed at 5:pm, there was a nation-wide exhalation of
relief and even giddiness. The people had surprised themselves and the
world. Voting turnout was over 60%. Out of 20,889 polling stations
dotting Nepal -- the most topographically challenging country in the
world -- only 33 polling stations had been closed due to voting
irregularities. The prevalence of armed police reassured the public – a
welcome change after 10 years of civil and military strife. In fact,
the low level of violence became the hallmark of Election Day.
To be sure, there were irregularities reported and, in my case,
personally observed: wine shops open even though there was a ban:
polling officials who had been intimidated and even briefly abducted
the day before; a voter I photographed at the booth who couldn’t have
been more than fourteen years of age. But the overall feeling was that
law and order had prevailed.
And
if one thinks about it, the logistical hurdles overcome were truly
inspiring. As a Western observer, I wondered how many Americans would
have walked kilometers over rocky paths or empty sun-baked highways in
order to place their vote in a national election? Technically, the
voting may have seemed rudimentary. Although an electronic voting
system had been set up in one constituency in Kathmandu as a trial
test, many more ballot boxes were transported to respective regional
headquarters on oxen carts. But in the end, what mattered was that the
people of Nepal carried it off.
BUT WHAT COMES NEXT?
On Election Day, I canvassed three districts – Morang, Sunsari and Dhankuta, all in far southeastern 
Nepal – pinpointing various polling stations that had experienced
tampering in the past. I also examined a station, set up exclusively
for the Armed Police Force (APF). I began at 6:30am at sea level (near
the Indian border) and gradually ascended to hilly regions of 3000-plus
feet, where the southern fringe of tea 
plantations rolled northeast to Darjeeling. Along the way, poll
officials’ optimistic reports gained momentum. “No incidents.”
“Everything peaceful, very peaceful.” 
But as the sun began to drop in the west and I motored down toward
the plains of Biratnagar, I had cause to wonder if my impressions
hadn’t been a bit too rosy.
In the district capital of Dhankuta,
I got a phone call urging me to make a detour to the regional hospital
in Darang, where Ganga Das, a 38-year-old had been ambulanced after a
critical beating at the polling station in Bhutaha. I arrived at the
hospital too late. Ganga had died. The police officer in charge
debriefed me. Ganga had no political alliance. Nevertheless, minutes
after casting his vote, he unwittingly walked into a street skirmish
between opposing party supporters of Communist Party of Nepal (United
Marxist-Leninist), Nepali Congress and MPRF (the largest of the Madeshi
parties.) The fatal blow to Ganga’s head was delivered by a lathi
(bamboo stick) from an assailant unknown.
My car continued
south. By dark, my assistant, the driver and I drove down the empty
streets of Itahari, a medium-sized town. We were forced to slow and
finally halt by a group of young thugs, approximately 25 in number.
There was no security anywhere. These young guys, smitten and decked
out in punk rock accoutrements – spiky hair (one bleached blond), black
T-shirts (one with “Ramones” blazoned across the front), and earrings
and pierced eyebrows. Once they realized that they had pulled over an
international observer vehicle, they waved us on. Clearly not everyone
in Nepal was happy that night about the peaceful results of the
elections.
We approached Biratnagar around 8:45pm. Again the
streets were dark and empty. We slowed down while passing a squad of
armed police facing off with townspeople packing a sidewalk along
closed shops. We sped on. It was only after arriving at the hotel that
I learned that it was not a confrontation with the police, but rather
the safe retrieval of an unexploded bomb.
APRIL 11, 2008
The
process toward a representational government has just begun in Nepal.
Election Day was a good beginning. But this morning’s newspapers
featured a full-length advisory from the Election Commission about the
arduous road to making final calculations of the voting: final
tabulation might be as long as three weeks from now. Clearly it was up
to the people – the same people who had behaved so admirably on
Election Day – to shift gears into patience. 
And what about the people who had opposed the elections? How likely was patience from them?
By
mid-morning today, I was already hearing a variety of rumors and
recriminations and breaking news items: captured polling booths in many
districts; Maoists youths making trouble in a town I had visited only
the day before; a ballet box dumped into a river in Dhading late last
night; representative-hopeful Sujata Koirala (the Prime Minister’s
daughter) blaming the Home Minister (from the same party as Sujata) for
tampering with her constituency; a bombing in Birgunj; ballot boxes
being sent to wrong districts; ballot boxes that arrived at regional
headquarters with nothing inside – the list, some since verified, goes
on an on. By late afternoon, the number of polling stations that had
been invalidated rose from 33 too 60.
An international observer
has limited value. As I play back reports given to me by various
polling officials, I wonder how many were telling me the complete
truth. Nepalis seem to agree that, on the local level, officials just
want the elections to be over. The last thing they want is a second
voting due to irregularities. And there is also this: Particularly in
the remote areas, officials who have been intimidated or threatened by
opposing groups aren’t very likely to spill the beans to a foreigner.
It is their families that they worry about – their loved ones, who
might face retribution long after the international observers have
returned to the safety of their own homes.
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