Padma Devkota
On the 16th and 17th of August 2001, I felt the presence of America Nepal in what then seemed to me two drastically different ways. On afterthought, the experiences were different in terms of rational expectations, actors and the spatio-temporal frame of action but not in terms of essence: what America means to Nepal. Here, I intend to share these two experiences along with my afterthoughts with the hope that I will stumble upon an insight into a system of relationship between a superpower and a developing nation. At this point, my assumption is that such a system of relationship influences our everyday behavior, which, in turn, determines the growth of a nation along a particular line.
I will first narrate the two incidents separately.
Story No. 1: On Thursday the 16th of August, 2001, one of the agenda of the Faculty Board meeting of Tribhuvan University was to discuss the syllabus of the Nepal/America Interdisciplinary Studies (N/AIS) proposed by the Central Department of English (CDE), Tribhuvan University, Kirtipur. N/AIS, a one year diploma in American Studies would help collage graduates to fulfill the academic year requirement of American Universities, to come out of disciplinary bias, to think critically, and also to be aware of recent and contemporary national and global issues among other things. With the support of the American Center, Kathmandu, CDE organized two three-week long seminars, one in 1999 and the other in 2000. A detailed report of these two seminars along with the follow-up activities of the year 1999-2000 was submitted with the proposal. A total of thirty-four participants from nine disciplines benefited from these seminar discussions. Among some very important guest participants were Prof. Paul Lauter (AS specialist, Trinity College), Prof. Shreedhar Lohani (AS specialist, Tribhuvan University), Prof. Moti Nissani (Wayne State University), and many others. A lot of homework had gone into the making of the N/AIS syllabus.
Representing the CDE at the Faculty Board meeting, I tried to explain what American Studies was all about. However, the Dean politely suggested that this was not the place to discuss the syllabus at length. And then other senior members of the Faculty Board started commenting on the N/AIS proposal. Listening to what they had to say, I was left with the impression that none of them had actually read the proposal that was being discussed. Their objections to N/AIS diploma were centered on questions and comments raised during the discussion:
- Who knows under whose pressure the programme is being opened?
- Perhaps many trips to and from the US are involved in the AS programme.
- Who knows how much (American) money is involved in it?
- Is the programme like that of ASRC in Hyderabad? If so, we should be careful that it does not overshadow the English department itself.
- Should TU allow people to open Chinese Studies, Indian Studies, Pakistani Studies, etc. each time somebody proposes to do so?
- What portion of the economic burden will fall on TU if the programme is opened?
- Is it of national use? Do we need it?
- How will students/people benefit from it?
The meeting authorized the standing committee of the Faculty Board to make the final decision on the N/AIS diploma proposal. Despite the dean's earlier assurance, the syllabus did not get through the Faculty Board.
Story No. 2: On Friday, the 17th of August 2001, I gave a friend a ride to the America consulate at Panipokhari where he had a package waiting for him. We arrived outside its main entrance, a small doorway in the tall wall of the American Embassy compound. It took him less than ten seconds to get down form my scooter next to the footpath, which the American Embassy had encroached upon by driving metal poles along its edge. Almost before he had gotten off my Bajaj Chetak, a police agent came very efficiently forward waving his hand and blowing his whistle to shoo me off the road at once. I asked him if there was a parking area. He pointed to the footpath to the north of the Embassy's main gate.
Surprised, I asked him if it would be ok to do so and, with his consent, I parked my two-wheeler there. I then returned to the shadow of the tall wall near the consulate doorway to wait for my friend.
As I stood in the shadow of the tall wall, I noticed a small hole in it, probably a foot above the ground, from which water was leaking out and flowing over the footpath into the street. When my friend who still had not received his package joined me, I pointed this out to him. Both of us thought that this was a wrong thing for the Embassy to do. At this point, the same police agent accosted us again to tell us not to stand there. We told him that we did not find anything wrong in standing in the shade while our work was being done inside. When he insisted that we move away form there, we even told him that this was our footpath and that nobody had a right to tell us not to stand here. He, of course, did not agree. He said we should talk to his boss about that. He was only obeying orders. We asked him to call his boss or to take us to whoever it was, but he wouldn't do so either. Instead, he insisted that we sit in the open lounge just inside the narrow doorway.
Grudgingly, we tried to comply. We did not want a brawl. Just inside the consulate doorway, there were a few narrow steps leading up to another secure, dark paned mental door. Red chairs were placed on either side of the steps along the length of the wall below the open sky. The chairs in the shade were occupied: those on the sunny side were not. People were also standing in the shadow of the southern wall, as no one wanted the hot sun full against his/her face.
I was angry at this arrangement and asked the Nepali girl employee if they had a complaint box. There was one at the far corner of the front office on the other side of an electronic gate. I asked the girl whether I should pass through the electronic gate or go around it to get to the complaint box. She told me not to go there and reminded me that the camera eye was observing us. Enraged by this warning, I told her that I did not care who was observing me. She was obviously not used to such answers. I asked her for a piece of paper and looked around for a place to sit down, or to stand, to write my letter of complaint. She pointed to the open lounge just outside the door. Outside, there was no hard surface to write on, no table, not even a proper place to sit and write. Outside, there was no instrument to write with. Outside, with the hot sun against my face, I wrote a letter of complaint, which I was not allowed to drop into the complaint box myself. Inside, the girl took the piece of paper and showed me out of the door immediately. I don't even know what she did with the letter of complaint I wrote.
Angry at the treatment I had received from the national muscles of an international superpower, I went to stand in the shadow of the tall wall of the embassy again, but closer to the Consulate entrance this time. Once again, a guard in a cream colored shirt came to order me to stay inside the Consulate doorway and not here on the footpath. I was tired of being pushed around. So I told him angrily that I was on Nepali soil and that his only alternative was to catch me and to turn me over to the authority whoever that was. The guard was confused. My friend's arrival with the package saved us both from further frustration. We left with questions in our mind and discontent in our heart.
Let us now review these two incidents in terms of what America means in Nepal. In story No. 1, the questions asked by the policy makers of the university generally reflect a certain habitual pattern of thinking conditioned by self-promotional practices in the academic arena. This habitual pattern of thinking, in turn, reflects a national character. For the Nepalese going to America is socially prestigious and economically uplifting. An America return receives undue respect in this society irrespective of his/her achievement or failure in the States. Even educationists secretly regard a Ph. D from the states as superior to one from elsewhere without further examination of the actual work that led to the degree. All this has gone into the mentality of these people who asked the first four questions cited in Story No. 1. Unfortunately, these questions had been thrown at a person who had decided not to seek permanent residence in the USA.
Like the last two questions about the need and utility of N/AIS, which are valid and professional, 'the sixth question, too, concerning the economic burden upon the university is expected and justified. The fifth question about whether the university should allow people to open Chinese, Indian, and other studies whenever they ask for it is blatantly stupid because, given the physical and economic feasibility of such programmes, the university should continue adding as many academic options as possible and useful. However, only the first four questions concern us directly for the moment. Coming from a university veteran the fourth question pointed directly to the fact that the questioner had not studied the proposal under discussion and was pronouncing instantaneous judgment on it. This tallies with my earlier observation that nobody seemed to have studied the proposal or the report that we had submitted to the Dean's office. This is even more evident from the first three questions, which are directed at probable furtive motives of the members of the English department rather than at the need, feasibility, or validity of the programme itself. The second and third comments are in reality inquisitions on the supposed selfish motives of people who have honestly sweated to improve the university's academic programme. Question one paranoically searches for ulterior political motives and maneuvers in a genuine academic proposal right from its inception. American Studies has been under attack especially from Leftists who suspect the word "America" in American studies.
Story No. 2 offers a rich text for the study of American presence in Nepal. I would like to highlight five significant features of this story. First, this story suggests that the more powerful a nation is the more security it seems to need. No other embassy in Kathmandu has "legally" encroached upon the space outside its precincts as the American Embassy at Panipokhari has done. In the name of security, it has encroached upon the right of Nepali citizens to use the footpath. This is in itself a minor instance of what a superpower usually does in the international field. Reinhold Niebuhr writes in The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness. "Nations, particularly great nations, are usually too proud to understand that their power might be a peril to other nations." Although the metal poles are not a peril in this case, the American Embassy has certainly failed to see how it invites the resentment of the Nepali people through an inordinate order and how a quest for more security than is necessary can innocuously counteract an important diplomatic mission of goodwill and friendship.
In fact, these metal poles were much discussed in the Nepali press when they were first being placed on the footpath, presumably with the consent of the Nepali government. Like most controversial issues and problems that arise in Nepal, this issue too fizzled out without any clear resolution. The presence of these metal poles on the footpath today is a text that also testifies to the failure of the Nepalese government to protect its own property and the freedom of its own citizens.
Second, story No. 2 is not only about physical encroachment but also about the art of ruling. All the uniformed representatives of the American Embassy I met were non-white natives. Had the confrontation been directly with the Whites, the resentment might have become more intense and the likelihood of a brawl greater. The British colonizers of India, especially Macaulay, were wise in choosing to educate a class of interpreters to rule the masses as this would both avoid a direct confrontation and allow for a stronger grip on the natives. It still seems to be a notoriously practical approach.
In the case of the Nepali guards at the door of the Embassy a bit of training and a good pay was enough to maintain order. Nanda R Shrestha's description of the Nepali guards at Fort Durbar, which he calls "a grand symbol of western modernity" and a mini-American colony ring the right bee here:
On the 16th and 17th of August 2001, I felt the presence of America Nepal in what then seemed to me two drastically different ways. On afterthought, the experiences were different in terms of rational expectations, actors and the spatio-temporal frame of action but not in terms of essence: what America means to Nepal. Here, I intend to share these two experiences along with my afterthoughts with the hope that I will stumble upon an insight into a system of relationship between a superpower and a developing nation. At this point, my assumption is that such a system of relationship influences our everyday behavior, which, in turn, determines the growth of a nation along a particular line.
I will first narrate the two incidents separately.
Story No. 1: On Thursday the 16th of August, 2001, one of the agenda of the Faculty Board meeting of Tribhuvan University was to discuss the syllabus of the Nepal/America Interdisciplinary Studies (N/AIS) proposed by the Central Department of English (CDE), Tribhuvan University, Kirtipur. N/AIS, a one year diploma in American Studies would help collage graduates to fulfill the academic year requirement of American Universities, to come out of disciplinary bias, to think critically, and also to be aware of recent and contemporary national and global issues among other things. With the support of the American Center, Kathmandu, CDE organized two three-week long seminars, one in 1999 and the other in 2000. A detailed report of these two seminars along with the follow-up activities of the year 1999-2000 was submitted with the proposal. A total of thirty-four participants from nine disciplines benefited from these seminar discussions. Among some very important guest participants were Prof. Paul Lauter (AS specialist, Trinity College), Prof. Shreedhar Lohani (AS specialist, Tribhuvan University), Prof. Moti Nissani (Wayne State University), and many others. A lot of homework had gone into the making of the N/AIS syllabus.
Representing the CDE at the Faculty Board meeting, I tried to explain what American Studies was all about. However, the Dean politely suggested that this was not the place to discuss the syllabus at length. And then other senior members of the Faculty Board started commenting on the N/AIS proposal. Listening to what they had to say, I was left with the impression that none of them had actually read the proposal that was being discussed. Their objections to N/AIS diploma were centered on questions and comments raised during the discussion:
- Who knows under whose pressure the programme is being opened?
- Perhaps many trips to and from the US are involved in the AS programme.
- Who knows how much (American) money is involved in it?
- Is the programme like that of ASRC in Hyderabad? If so, we should be careful that it does not overshadow the English department itself.
- Should TU allow people to open Chinese Studies, Indian Studies, Pakistani Studies, etc. each time somebody proposes to do so?
- What portion of the economic burden will fall on TU if the programme is opened?
- Is it of national use? Do we need it?
- How will students/people benefit from it?
The meeting authorized the standing committee of the Faculty Board to make the final decision on the N/AIS diploma proposal. Despite the dean's earlier assurance, the syllabus did not get through the Faculty Board.
Story No. 2: On Friday, the 17th of August 2001, I gave a friend a ride to the America consulate at Panipokhari where he had a package waiting for him. We arrived outside its main entrance, a small doorway in the tall wall of the American Embassy compound. It took him less than ten seconds to get down form my scooter next to the footpath, which the American Embassy had encroached upon by driving metal poles along its edge. Almost before he had gotten off my Bajaj Chetak, a police agent came very efficiently forward waving his hand and blowing his whistle to shoo me off the road at once. I asked him if there was a parking area. He pointed to the footpath to the north of the Embassy's main gate.
Surprised, I asked him if it would be ok to do so and, with his consent, I parked my two-wheeler there. I then returned to the shadow of the tall wall near the consulate doorway to wait for my friend.
As I stood in the shadow of the tall wall, I noticed a small hole in it, probably a foot above the ground, from which water was leaking out and flowing over the footpath into the street. When my friend who still had not received his package joined me, I pointed this out to him. Both of us thought that this was a wrong thing for the Embassy to do. At this point, the same police agent accosted us again to tell us not to stand there. We told him that we did not find anything wrong in standing in the shade while our work was being done inside. When he insisted that we move away form there, we even told him that this was our footpath and that nobody had a right to tell us not to stand here. He, of course, did not agree. He said we should talk to his boss about that. He was only obeying orders. We asked him to call his boss or to take us to whoever it was, but he wouldn't do so either. Instead, he insisted that we sit in the open lounge just inside the narrow doorway.
Grudgingly, we tried to comply. We did not want a brawl. Just inside the consulate doorway, there were a few narrow steps leading up to another secure, dark paned mental door. Red chairs were placed on either side of the steps along the length of the wall below the open sky. The chairs in the shade were occupied: those on the sunny side were not. People were also standing in the shadow of the southern wall, as no one wanted the hot sun full against his/her face.
I was angry at this arrangement and asked the Nepali girl employee if they had a complaint box. There was one at the far corner of the front office on the other side of an electronic gate. I asked the girl whether I should pass through the electronic gate or go around it to get to the complaint box. She told me not to go there and reminded me that the camera eye was observing us. Enraged by this warning, I told her that I did not care who was observing me. She was obviously not used to such answers. I asked her for a piece of paper and looked around for a place to sit down, or to stand, to write my letter of complaint. She pointed to the open lounge just outside the door. Outside, there was no hard surface to write on, no table, not even a proper place to sit and write. Outside, there was no instrument to write with. Outside, with the hot sun against my face, I wrote a letter of complaint, which I was not allowed to drop into the complaint box myself. Inside, the girl took the piece of paper and showed me out of the door immediately. I don't even know what she did with the letter of complaint I wrote.
Angry at the treatment I had received from the national muscles of an international superpower, I went to stand in the shadow of the tall wall of the embassy again, but closer to the Consulate entrance this time. Once again, a guard in a cream colored shirt came to order me to stay inside the Consulate doorway and not here on the footpath. I was tired of being pushed around. So I told him angrily that I was on Nepali soil and that his only alternative was to catch me and to turn me over to the authority whoever that was. The guard was confused. My friend's arrival with the package saved us both from further frustration. We left with questions in our mind and discontent in our heart.
Let us now review these two incidents in terms of what America means in Nepal. In story No. 1, the questions asked by the policy makers of the university generally reflect a certain habitual pattern of thinking conditioned by self-promotional practices in the academic arena. This habitual pattern of thinking, in turn, reflects a national character. For the Nepalese going to America is socially prestigious and economically uplifting. An America return receives undue respect in this society irrespective of his/her achievement or failure in the States. Even educationists secretly regard a Ph. D from the states as superior to one from elsewhere without further examination of the actual work that led to the degree. All this has gone into the mentality of these people who asked the first four questions cited in Story No. 1. Unfortunately, these questions had been thrown at a person who had decided not to seek permanent residence in the USA.
Like the last two questions about the need and utility of N/AIS, which are valid and professional, 'the sixth question, too, concerning the economic burden upon the university is expected and justified. The fifth question about whether the university should allow people to open Chinese, Indian, and other studies whenever they ask for it is blatantly stupid because, given the physical and economic feasibility of such programmes, the university should continue adding as many academic options as possible and useful. However, only the first four questions concern us directly for the moment. Coming from a university veteran the fourth question pointed directly to the fact that the questioner had not studied the proposal under discussion and was pronouncing instantaneous judgment on it. This tallies with my earlier observation that nobody seemed to have studied the proposal or the report that we had submitted to the Dean's office. This is even more evident from the first three questions, which are directed at probable furtive motives of the members of the English department rather than at the need, feasibility, or validity of the programme itself. The second and third comments are in reality inquisitions on the supposed selfish motives of people who have honestly sweated to improve the university's academic programme. Question one paranoically searches for ulterior political motives and maneuvers in a genuine academic proposal right from its inception. American Studies has been under attack especially from Leftists who suspect the word "America" in American studies.
Story No. 2 offers a rich text for the study of American presence in Nepal. I would like to highlight five significant features of this story. First, this story suggests that the more powerful a nation is the more security it seems to need. No other embassy in Kathmandu has "legally" encroached upon the space outside its precincts as the American Embassy at Panipokhari has done. In the name of security, it has encroached upon the right of Nepali citizens to use the footpath. This is in itself a minor instance of what a superpower usually does in the international field. Reinhold Niebuhr writes in The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness. "Nations, particularly great nations, are usually too proud to understand that their power might be a peril to other nations." Although the metal poles are not a peril in this case, the American Embassy has certainly failed to see how it invites the resentment of the Nepali people through an inordinate order and how a quest for more security than is necessary can innocuously counteract an important diplomatic mission of goodwill and friendship.
In fact, these metal poles were much discussed in the Nepali press when they were first being placed on the footpath, presumably with the consent of the Nepali government. Like most controversial issues and problems that arise in Nepal, this issue too fizzled out without any clear resolution. The presence of these metal poles on the footpath today is a text that also testifies to the failure of the Nepalese government to protect its own property and the freedom of its own citizens.
Second, story No. 2 is not only about physical encroachment but also about the art of ruling. All the uniformed representatives of the American Embassy I met were non-white natives. Had the confrontation been directly with the Whites, the resentment might have become more intense and the likelihood of a brawl greater. The British colonizers of India, especially Macaulay, were wise in choosing to educate a class of interpreters to rule the masses as this would both avoid a direct confrontation and allow for a stronger grip on the natives. It still seems to be a notoriously practical approach.
In the case of the Nepali guards at the door of the Embassy a bit of training and a good pay was enough to maintain order. Nanda R Shrestha's description of the Nepali guards at Fort Durbar, which he calls "a grand symbol of western modernity" and a mini-American colony ring the right bee here:
My understanding is that most of these guards are in fact, ex-Gorkha mercenary soldiers who had served either in the British or Indian Army. They are hired to protect this Little America from the natives. With smiles glued on their faces, they stand at the gate, dutifully saluting every white face that enters the compound. Those guards do not even bother to check their IDs because their white faces are enough to serve as an unmistakable proof that they are legitimate and that they pose no threat to both American purity and security. Here color definitely sells and defines one's character as well as humanity. And those sentries…well, they see themselves as privileged to have the opportunity to serve the Americans. Whenever they talk about their employment, their faces gleam, exuding a sense of hollow pride.
Of course, in the name of security, America has been forced to show more muscles today than before 9 am on September 11, 2001. The Nepalese government too has tightened security outside the American embassy and elsewhere. However, under normal circumstances, a nation full of natives must not be looked upon with suspicion as if they were the same as a clandestine group of faceless terrorists against which these American embassy guards are virtually powerless anyway.
Moreover, the tightening of security outside the American embassy in Kathmandu after the September 11 terrorist attack on the WTO twin towers has exposed another truth: the Nepali government respects its citizens rights just as much as the embassy employed guards respect our right to use our own footpath. The editorial of The Kathmandu Post of September 14, 2001, deplores this fact:
A meeting was held primarily to tighten security and prevent any untoward incident in this country. It was the first time that government felt such a need… Unfortunately, the government never took seriously the need to maintain law and order in this country…The Maoists, who moved about with arms, have looted banks, killed innocent people and crippled public administration, all because of lack of security. Yet, the government neither tightened security measures nor took such developments seriously.
The sad reality in Nepal is that outside consulate gates, in restaurants, in government offices, and elsewhere, the Nepali citizen is always made to feel less important than a white person by Nepalis themselves. This can be partly explained by the fact that the White person has more money than the wheat-brown Nepali. In any hegemony of power, no desire can contradict self-interest. This law is functional at the levels of national policymaking, academic policy making and of proper enactment of duty as a guard at a foreign embassy's gate.
Third, story No. 2 is also about a police agent who places higher priority on a foreign embassy's rules and regulations than on the nation's laws. That he should find it ok for me to park on the footpath but not to stand in the area restricted by the embassy speaks of a mentality that accepts the superiority of the American government over that of the Nepali government in Nepal. This case of prioritized fidelity is outrageous.
Fourth, story No. 2 is about the mistreatment of Nepali visitors at the American consulate. This mistreatment is also invited by the Nepalese themselves who, for the sake of a visa or a green card, will suffer almost anything at the hands of those who provide it. Hot sun, rain, long queues on the footpath (sometimes starting even at 2:00 a.m.) exorbitant prices for the visa, just about anything. With personalized American dreams in their hearts, all that these visa seekers want is to go to the USA regardless of the possibility of a Dick Whittingtonian misadventure. This is America's success at the cost of an economically weaker nation.
And fifth, story No. 2 is about neglect. The embassy should certainly do something about water running out of the small hole in its wall.
To tautologize, the parties involved in a dominant-subordinate relationship can never be at par with each other. This is especially true when the relationship between a superpower and a developing nation is defined as a political, economic or social one. Culturally and intellectually, is the situation any different? Certainly not, especially when veteran policy makers within the university ask questions such as the first four that I've cited in Story No. 1. Our only hope is that within the Nepali academia a group of intellectuals equipped with the right tools and proper attitudes to question the existing state of affairs is beginning to form itself. The critical perception of this group, backed up by an interdisciplinary approach to national problems, will certainly help raise the consciousness of a people that has long been brainwashed by political leaders into accepting their roles as dependents of a generous world. These intellectuals no longer believe in institutionalized beggary on an international scale euphemistically called foreign aid in the name of development. They believe instead in good educational programmes and opportunities that will awaken people to the realities of national human resources and the self-sufficiency of the Nepali people for survival. Confidence must come with understanding. Understanding must come with critical habits of the mind. Critical habits of the mind must come with training as is promised by the N/AIS diploma proposal.
The Kathmandu Post July 25-26, 2002
Moreover, the tightening of security outside the American embassy in Kathmandu after the September 11 terrorist attack on the WTO twin towers has exposed another truth: the Nepali government respects its citizens rights just as much as the embassy employed guards respect our right to use our own footpath. The editorial of The Kathmandu Post of September 14, 2001, deplores this fact:
A meeting was held primarily to tighten security and prevent any untoward incident in this country. It was the first time that government felt such a need… Unfortunately, the government never took seriously the need to maintain law and order in this country…The Maoists, who moved about with arms, have looted banks, killed innocent people and crippled public administration, all because of lack of security. Yet, the government neither tightened security measures nor took such developments seriously.
The sad reality in Nepal is that outside consulate gates, in restaurants, in government offices, and elsewhere, the Nepali citizen is always made to feel less important than a white person by Nepalis themselves. This can be partly explained by the fact that the White person has more money than the wheat-brown Nepali. In any hegemony of power, no desire can contradict self-interest. This law is functional at the levels of national policymaking, academic policy making and of proper enactment of duty as a guard at a foreign embassy's gate.
Third, story No. 2 is also about a police agent who places higher priority on a foreign embassy's rules and regulations than on the nation's laws. That he should find it ok for me to park on the footpath but not to stand in the area restricted by the embassy speaks of a mentality that accepts the superiority of the American government over that of the Nepali government in Nepal. This case of prioritized fidelity is outrageous.
Fourth, story No. 2 is about the mistreatment of Nepali visitors at the American consulate. This mistreatment is also invited by the Nepalese themselves who, for the sake of a visa or a green card, will suffer almost anything at the hands of those who provide it. Hot sun, rain, long queues on the footpath (sometimes starting even at 2:00 a.m.) exorbitant prices for the visa, just about anything. With personalized American dreams in their hearts, all that these visa seekers want is to go to the USA regardless of the possibility of a Dick Whittingtonian misadventure. This is America's success at the cost of an economically weaker nation.
And fifth, story No. 2 is about neglect. The embassy should certainly do something about water running out of the small hole in its wall.
To tautologize, the parties involved in a dominant-subordinate relationship can never be at par with each other. This is especially true when the relationship between a superpower and a developing nation is defined as a political, economic or social one. Culturally and intellectually, is the situation any different? Certainly not, especially when veteran policy makers within the university ask questions such as the first four that I've cited in Story No. 1. Our only hope is that within the Nepali academia a group of intellectuals equipped with the right tools and proper attitudes to question the existing state of affairs is beginning to form itself. The critical perception of this group, backed up by an interdisciplinary approach to national problems, will certainly help raise the consciousness of a people that has long been brainwashed by political leaders into accepting their roles as dependents of a generous world. These intellectuals no longer believe in institutionalized beggary on an international scale euphemistically called foreign aid in the name of development. They believe instead in good educational programmes and opportunities that will awaken people to the realities of national human resources and the self-sufficiency of the Nepali people for survival. Confidence must come with understanding. Understanding must come with critical habits of the mind. Critical habits of the mind must come with training as is promised by the N/AIS diploma proposal.
The Kathmandu Post July 25-26, 2002
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