Corey Black, training JMC journalist Mahesh Khati in Pokhara

The grassroots journalism project is complete, and ten Jagaran Media Center affiliated Dalit journalists are now active on blogs and other social media platforms. Prakash Mohara and I crisscrossed the country, from Sunsari district in the east to Kailali in the west, and Baglung in the north, training and meeting journalists and local human rights-focused NGOs. The travels were often long and uncomfortable and difficult and plans fell through or were side-tracked, and creative problem solving was always on order.

The grassroots project’s premise is to extract caste-discrimination stories from the community, publish them on online platforms (Nepali media outlets do a poor job in publishing cast-discrimination cases), use these stories in advocacy and lobbying efforts, and try to provide local justice and accountability through newly affiliated local NGOs. On a macro level, it’s an attempt at making the JMC a media hub for Dalit news and advocacy in Nepal. While at the micro level, it’s intent is to provide justice to those whom justice has forgotten.

The first training occurred in the eastern district of Saptari with Rajkumar Paswan, trained by JMC a few years ago who now reports on local issues for National News Agency, Katwal Radio Magazine, edits and publishes his own magazine, New Kanchan Weekly, and is a founder and president of a local NGO, Rastriya Dalit Shamrakshyan Manch Nepal.

At first, the training was slow as Rajkumar’s English is poor and WordPress’ interface is in English. Another difficulty arose as WordPress (like most programs) doesn’t allow one to type blogs in Devnagari script. The blogs must first be written in Nepali on Microsoft Word, cut and pasted onto an online Unicode converter, and then re-copied onto WordPress as Unicode script. We practiced these steps more than a few times, and training then moved on to the uses of Facebook in advocacy and journalism, and sharing his blogs online with his friends.

I would either do the training in crowded Internet cafes, with curious onlookers swarming around a slow desktop computer, in free wifi areas at restaurants and tea shops, plugged into slow landlines at offices, or using my mobile Internet card at hotels (when a signal was available). Prakash would be by my side translating when Internet language didn’t translate well (or do the training himself near the end). The juxtaposition of computer and technology training and the surrounding area of rickshaw drivers and samosa stands and decrepit overcrowded Tata buses was pronounced, and seemed to disturb the natural order of things.

From Rajkumar in the east, we pushed further eastward through Biratnagar and Dharan and spent time in Dalit villages. In one, the Tharu Chaudharys ransacked, pillaged, and burned the Dalit village one early evening, accusing them of stealing business and jobs, forcing the villagers to flee with few possessions, and only returning some time later, on edge, and forced to rebuild.

In the north, we met and trained Prem Nepali and Mahesh Khati, two veteran JMC affiliated journalists. In the west, the same went for five other journalists. In each place we stopped, we met an interested NGO working on human rights and Dalit issues, and convinced them of the project and to hop on board. All the meetings were positive, and all were quite enthusiastic of helping out in their communities and changing backwards attitudes towards the Dalits.

We traveled six to eight hours on a bus between each stop and met the journalists and NGOs afterwards. We would bargain for hotel prices, try and find the best dal bhat and roti in town, and be in bed early, readying ourselves for the next bus ride and training session.

A few weeks have passed since the project was complete, and I hope it continues and prospers into 2012 and beyond. Some of the journalists post stories regularly, while others need more cajoling in their online activities. The JMC is enthusiastic about the project, and knows that it will be their focal point as a media organization in the second decade of the 21st century. Nepali media’s web presence is still at its infancy, but to stay ahead of the curve, the JMC must take advantage of their Dalit media niche and own that online space.

Crowds lined one of Pashupati’s bridges over the Bagmati River and opposing viewing gallery, pressing for a view onto the spectacle of an influential man’s last rites and cremation. For death here, and its aftermath, are public affairs. Mourning and grief and shock are communal, while the remains of the dead go up in smoke for all to experience (‘for all to see’ would be a misnomer, for it is a sensory experience: sight, sound, smell, taste, and thankfully little touch).

Onlookers watching the cremation, over the Bagmati River

Pashupati is the famed and historic Hindu temple of Lord Shiva that lines the Bagmati, and is the preferred and busiest cremation site in Nepal. At its northern edge, ghats jut out from the southern landscaped concrete bank like miniature helipads neighbouring steep descending steps into the calm water. The river is the centerpiece of this open-ended stadium of ancient rock and worship. Ghat attendants dressed in white stoke the fires of the departed with long bamboo poles, working in pairs and guiding the family through the Hindu ritual, while all else sit back and watch.

Suvash Darnal, the 31-year old Dalit leader and founder of my affiliated organization (Jagaran Media Center), died in a tragic car accident in Washington four weeks ago. His transfer to Nepal was delayed overseas in bureaucratic entanglements and Hurricane Irene, only touching down in his home country two weeks later, after the fact. There was an initial public viewing in an open casket hours after his arrival, followed by a procession through Kathmandu’s streets to his last destination.

The cremation itself, and the process leading up to it, is more graphic and moving than I had expected. The body is first publicly stripped of its clothes and carefully shrouded in cloth, and then placed on a waiting wood pyre. And this being a procession of a famed resident, it was held in a VIP section with an accompanying viewing area, with a bright orange cloth awning over the ghat. Close family and friends paid their last respects with flowers, while the immediate heirs conducted the last rites – the senior male of the bunch lighting the pyre.

As the flames build and consume the mass of wood and straw and body, being in attendance is no longer a passive experience. The smoke and smell of the burning body wafts over the crowd, while crackles and pops boom from exploding pressure pockets and collapsing supporting wood beams of the pyre, followed by shrieks from family and friends. The ghat attendants continually stoke and monitor the flames, adding kindling and straw ever so often to ensure a strong burn. At times, it all appears to be only a burning mass, while at others, open pockets reveal glimpses into the process at hand, as the harsh reality of what’s being done in front of you becomes undeniable.

A ghat attendant at Pashupati monitors the cremation

It is strange to comment on these affairs, as it was a mentor and friend’s funeral that I am writing on, and I do not have an impartial perspective. Experiencing a friend’s being go up in smoke while his charred remains turn to ash before your eyes was something else, but I am in a sense thankful.

The life he lived is over. The public cremation verifies this, and there is no possibility for delusion and denial that his end was but a bad dream. You reflect on the individual and their life as the slow process goes on. Over three hours as the body and pyre burn, your thoughts on the person’s life evolve with the cremation. At first, they are strong and vivid as it starts with the first crackles and puffs of smoke, but over time, finality and contentment take hold.

There is a common saying on death and the cycle of life in most religions, that we’re born into this world naked of the womb, and depart it equally naked and bare. In much of the West, our lives and that of the community are more private than they are here. In these shadows of the Himalayas, time passes in the community as part of a larger social family, or at least in more plain view. As part of this cycle, death and bereavement are no exception. Back home, it takes place within walled confines with a guest list, while here, there is no such barrier. A life is public, and ends in public, naked in a shroud on the shores of the Bagmati, all watching the fire.

August 9: Social media’s vindication from a narcissistic, techno-utopian, and impersonal medium to one of seriousness and influence was qualified with the Arab Spring, or so the story goes. Facebook groups like “Khaled Said” and “April 6^th Youth Movement” gained popularity as revolutionary hubs for information and direction while protesters flooded the streets of Cairo and Tunis demanding change, and got it.

Journalists are still on the ground in the Arab world covering these events, with social media often being a key source for their information and reporting: following and posting Tweets, Facebook, Google+, Flickr, and YouTube updates. Reporters now use these tools to interpret events, getting immediate ‘analysis’ from whomever deems themselves qualified to interpret, while developing contacts and establishing a narrative for their forthcoming reports.

Presenting to Nepali journalists and editors on social media. Prakash Mohara is translating.

As events unfold and gunshots are fired and protesters marching and buildings burning and falafels eaten and noses picked and deals reached, they are Tweeted and updated and photographed and filmed for the world to see and read, instantaneously. Activists and journalists feed off this stuff as it identifies locations of activity, and warns the cautious of places to avoid. All this, though, is presupposing that the state apparatus has not ‘shut the Internet down’, as has been done in many revolutionary countries of late.

Internet penetration in Nepal is relatively low, standing at 8 percent, compared to 8.5 in India, 10.9 in Pakistan, 30 in Egypt, and 33 in Tunisia. Within that 8 percent, nearly 50 percent are on Facebook in Nepal, with smaller percentages on Twitter – faring slightly better on the Internet penetration-to-Facebook user ratio than India or Pakistan, although with the massive caveat that Nepal’s population is small (est. 30 million). Internet users in Nepal are mostly middle-upper class and urban, while those on social media are the younger cohort – not unique. (As a point of reference, the U.S. and Canada have Internet penetration rates of 78 and 79 percent, respectively.)

In this context, I presented to eastern Nepali media editors and journalists on social media and its journalistic and political/social uses. Most in the room had never interacted with these tools in a serious manner, if at all. Many were new to email and Google, with the most progressive bunch having a Facebook account and an idea of Twitter. My goal was to introduce the concept while contextualizing its popularity in recent political affairs, and not to discourage those in the room that it’s a fruitless endeavour considering Nepal’s poor level of development and technology.

I first identified, through translations by my colleague Prakash Mohara, the various free tools of social media and how they’re useful in journalism and activism. I then went into a brief synopsis of the development of the Tunisian and Egyptian revolutions and the role social media played in those, while mentioning that social media, to some degree, aids the reporting in ongoing revolutionary struggles.

It had to be addressed that social media is only a modern communication tool of international reach to bypass governments and is but a facilitator of social movements, just as the fax machine was in 1989 in East Berlin, and the underground press in occupied territories in the world wars. In other words, causation still lies at the feet of the brave storming the streets, not at the tired fingers updating Twitter – although they can be one and the same, with mobile devices.

I proceeded to then offer my own ideas on how those in the room could use social media in their reporting, and address Nepal’s hierarchical, corrupt, and unrepresentative political and media culture, especially as it relates to caste and human rights issues. While Nepal’s Internet and social media usage is largely an urban and middle-upper class affair, and their reporting is both urban and rural, this should not be a hindrance to their uptake of the technology. What it allows these eastern Nepali journalists and editors is an opportunity to reach a wider audience and develop better contacts and circulate stories nationally and internationally and affect power structures.

Presentation on social media and political influence

Importantly, for the purpose of my talk and the Dalit-focused organization I represent, is that journalists no longer have an excuse to not publish or circulate stories that would help Nepali democracy that are not being published: human rights abuses, caste-discrimination cases, corruption at all levels, etc. Social media is a medium that can bypass entrenched prejudices and power, and allows untold stories to gain social salience.

If newspapers refuse to publish certain controversial stories, such as caste-discrimination, then as one committed to the ethics of journalism, equality, social justice, etc., then one’s interest is to get these stories out via blogs, Tweets, Facebook updates, photos and videos, etc. And as social media use in Nepal is urban and middle-upper class focused, then that in itself speaks to the influence and power and money of those that can be reached with these tools, along with the international human rights community that can be accessed in an instant.

As my talk went on, some at the back were talking amongst themselves, maybe about lunch or my irrelevancy to their work. One or two were resting on their arms on the table, while a respectable-enough interested cohort at the front, was engaged. They were taking notes and nodding their heads in thought and asking questions and wanting to learn, while the rest remained entrenched in their views.

One astute journalist asked about journalists’ safety in Canada, as Nepal has recently seen a lot of violence against journalists, and how safe and accurate social media is. Good point. Most social media tools can afford the user some amount of anonymity, as fake names can be used to avoid identification. But that’s a two-way street, as misinformation and propaganda can be spread anonymously, and repressive security personnel can pose as allies and arrange unfortunate meetings. The latest social media tool, Google+, makes anonymity difficult, which has helped recent revolutionary activists avoid persecution and allowed them to continue in their struggle.

It was hypocritical of me, in a safe and secure position, to advise those in the room to report freely on the Internet on subjects that could bring them harm. I’ve personally dealt with Bangladeshi activists in exile for their exposés, and witnessed the trauma and personal anguish that followed their torture by security forces. The business of journalism in repressive and corrupt societies is a difficult game, and there is no other way to say it appropriately, but it requires guts and sacrifice. If one is committed to truth and transparency, then social media can be a conduit for acting on one’s ideals, with caution.

August 8: We had traveled throughout the night, and were in Janakpur in the east for journalism training. The JMC, sponsored by the Finnish government, conducts trainings for aspiring and established journalists. The aspiring ones are generally Dalits, and the goal is to get them working for the Nepali press, and hopefully be more representative of the Dalit cause in their reporting. While the media veterans are trained in social issue reporting, human rights, and Dalit awareness.

At this session, all in the room were non-Dalit media editors and journalists from radio, television, and print in the surrounding districts. The session began with introductory remarks by various leaders of journalism organizations, most extolling the importance of covering social issues and the ugliness of caste-discrimination in Nepali society.

Introductions followed, and each was asked to state how much they report on caste issues, and how important it is to them and their organization. The majority spoke confidently of their passion for the Dalit cause, and how frequently they reported Dalit stories – missing the obvious point that their mere presence in the room suggests that they are probably not, in fact, reporting Dalit issues.

Nepali journalist on his 'Dalit' awakening

One reporter shared a personal story of frequenting a local restaurant, and only finding out some time after his first visit that the cook was a Dalit. At first shocked and appalled, he then realized that nothing had come of it – not death, not ailment, not torment, not bad luck, not metamorphosis into something awful. Since that momentous day, he boasted that his family had stopped practicing caste discrimination and held everyone in equal regard. That, is the plight of Nepal’s Dalits!

Finally, one young radio presenter shot up, and said the roundtable discussion seemed like a farcical Constituent Assembly (CA) member meeting to her – everyone saying they were covering the issue in question, one upping each other as the discussion went around the table, and not admitting any failings. Some smiled and giggled and blushed in quasi-agreement without protest, and an air of shame hung in the room as this proud and confident young woman continued in her reality-check. Bravo!

Breakout groups and discussions followed on how they could report Dalit stories more effectively, and what issues are not being reported. Presentations were made, and promises pledged that journalism would thereafter be more socially inclusive.

FNJ Dhanusa District President, Ramses Jha

The day finished with Ramses Jha, the President of the Federation of Nepali Journalists (FNJ) of Dhanusa District, delivering a harsh critique on Nepali journalism. He laid bare to everyone that most Nepali journalism was lazy and easy, and mostly covered the political leadership (their every speech, move, event, press conference). These events and words and speeches are covered as is, while those who report it know full well it’s full of misinformation and lies. It’s a top-down leadership focused media, reporting on the easy stuff in city-centers. If this continues, the Dalits and other minority groups will never achieve equality. He finished by saying that real journalism is hard work, and that the most pressing issues are in the communities and villages, away from everybody’s gaze.

Next up, in the morning, was me, and my presentation on social media and its political power. More to come on that…

Suvash Darnal (source: Advocacy Project)

Few people I’ve personally met have left an indelible impression on me for their greatness, as in over the course of our conversations, an existential crisis gradually looms as the value of my being gradually fades into inconsequence and my ego dissolved, as compared to this looming impressionable tower of an individual. Their ideas, vision, drive and sensibility wow one’s senses to admiration, while their accomplishments shrinks one’s own worth to embarrassment and forces one to rethink the life plan and work ethic.

At 31 years of age, Suvash Darnal had already founded or co-founded three Nepali organizations of political and social influence, while traveling the world lecturing and learning from leading institutions and making friends and admirers of international leaders. His entire being was self-made, and his life a true rags to riches story to which the American Dream can only be envious. A soft-spoken man of conviction who aggressively pursued his ideals without prejudice or malice towards his foes, he grew to become one of, if not, the most respected and influential Dalit leaders in Nepal and south Asia, elevating an entire segment of the population’s plight onto the national and international stage, eliciting uncomfortable and revolutionary debates in a prejudiced society.

While in the United States pursuing a month-long fellowship at Stanford University’s Center for Democracy, Development and Rule of Law, and visiting Washington, D.C. to meet political leaders, he was killed in a tragic car accident leaving Dulles International Airport. The only passenger to die in the SuperShuttle van, the accident was needless and inexplicable in its tragedy, and the driver is now charged with reckless driving.

Suvash’s life began of humble origins in a small Nepali village in Palpa district, maturing to become the first Dalit to graduate high school in the area. He soon moved to Butwal, the closest large city, thinking he was destined for India as a labourer. He quickly developed relationships with other passionate Dalits, and moved to Kathmandu with nothing but energy and ideals, and initially sold cheap watches, roadside. Him and his friends soon began photocopying and distributing Dalit news stories across the city, and writing for small publishing houses.

Streetwise and ambitious beyond rationality, he co-founded the Jagaran Media Center at the age of 20, quickly growing it into the largest Dalit media organization in south Asia. Their mission was to empower Dalits with information, get Dalit stories published in the mainstream press, train Dalit journalists, hold public officials accountable, and ultimately, create a more equitable and just Nepali society free of caste-based discrimination.

Once the JMC was firmly established, and as Nepal’s progress towards democracy backpedalled under King Gyanendra’s autocratic rule in the early 2000s, and wanting to play his part in his country’s political history, he co-founded the Collective Campaign for Peace (COCAP). It became a hub for the civil democratic movement at the time, and was influential in the monarchy’s collapse. Soon after, he set his sights on establishing a Dalit-focused policy think tank in 2009, initially called the Nepal Center for Dalit Studies, renamed the Samata Foundation. Its goal is to bridge the gap between government policy and caste discrimination, and is now the leading hub for Dalit research in Nepal, if not south Asia.

While building a more equitable and representative Nepali media landscape, being center stage in the collapse of a monarch and transition towards democracy, influencing Nepali public policy, attending international symposiums, and studying abroad via prestigious fellowships, he happened to edit, write, and/or publish two books: A Land of Our Own: Conversations with Dalit Members of the Constituent Assembly and a translation of the work of iconoclastic Indian thinker and Dalit activist, Dr. Amedkar.

Clearly, this was a man with a restless mind occupied by transformative and revolutionary ideas, all in the hope of helping his fellow countrymen escape a historical cycle of oppression. At 31, Suvash had already become a leader of the Dalit movement in Nepal, and was representing its interests and vision internationally, most recently at the U.N. in Geneva. From humble beginnings to a movement’s leader, one can only speculate as to what great heights this man could have reached in the years to come: Prime Minister? President? Overseeing the end of Dalit oppression in Nepal? South Asia? Who knows.

My time with Suvash was memorable, and much too brief. We had many long conversations at his Samata Foundation office and at the JMC, always beginning with discussions on political theory, philosophy, and the state of Nepali public and political discourse. We shared our admiration for Amartya Sen’s The Idea of Justice, discussed a recent paper by his Stanford professor Francis Fukuyama, and had a similar life goal of establishing a respectable home library – for the books we read are mementos to our evolving thoughts and maturing minds.

Suvash helped me to navigate the labyrinth of cultural peculiarities of Nepali politics, institutions, and media. He advised me on how to proceed during difficult times in my work and stay in Nepal, and provided guidance and ideas for projects I was involved in. Always supportive, thoughtful, and critically engaged, his presence and influence on my life and relatively short time in Nepal cannot be overstated.

Suvash was a man I admired for his charm, compassion, vision, intellect, and unflinching commitment to a noble cause greater than himself. Since his death, the days have passed slowly and aimlessly, and it’s difficult to grasp the reality and impact of his passing. He was too young, too visionary, too influential, too kind, to leave us suddenly under such tragic circumstances.

The vacuum left by his sudden departure is substantial, and the Dalit community is now reeling by the tragedy. He was the guiding light to so many individuals, causes, and ideas, and the loss of such an influential figure cannot easily be replaced.

Lessons to be learned from his passing are hard to come by, as it was such a senseless and careless accident. But as American poet Henry Longfellow once said, “So when a great man dies, for years beyond our ken, the light he leaves behind him lies upon the paths of men.” For Suvash’s influence and importance will now be the guiding light for those he lead and inspired, and for those that will ultimately follow in his footsteps and fill the void.

To borrow from Cormac McCarthy, we must carry his fire, in his honour, and for the movement he inspired. The fight for Dalit justice and an equitable Nepali society will continue, and those committed souls working under his soaring shadow will not let the Dalit cause languish. He was a towering giant of influence, and his deeds and vision will not pass in vain.

Suvash leaves behind a wife, Sarita, and a young daughter.

Nepali media tends to focus it’s reporting on the political leadership and its business: meetings, speeches, events, power struggles, etc. Most is rife with misinformation and lies – promises and actions occupy two segregated parallel universes in Nepali politics – but is reported nonetheless as is. It’s lazy and easy journalism, and social issues do not get the attention they deserve in the press.

The Jagaran Media Center (JMC) is a Dalit caste run media house and NGO, focusing most of its activities on Dalit journalism and human rights training. The Dalits they represent are the untouchables and downtrodden of Nepal, constituting 20 to 25% of the population. They are the lowest caste of Nepali society, and are often denied basic human rights like access to land, food, water, shelter, education, honest jobs and wages, information, and security.

Through the Hindu caste hierarchy system, the lowly Dalits are denied the freedom to marry other higher castes, and families face persecution in communities where inter-caste marriages do occur. Dalits are often raped, beaten, or killed for superstitious reasons, while many Dalit women are accused of witchcraft and force-fed their own feces when natural phenomena interfere with the natural cycle of things (i.e. a diseased cow dies in a community).

Dalits are underrepresented (if at all) in Nepali politics and media, so their plight is generally ignored. Police rarely provide justice to victims of caste-discrimination cases, politicians languish in establishing enforceable socially equitable laws and upholding those that are passed, while the Nepali press does a poor job in reporting all things Dalit.

Thus, the journalism project I am leading with Prakash Mohara of JMC comes in. The goals of the project are two pronged. One is to extract Dalit caste discrimination stories and cases out of communities in 10 different districts, while using our new network of grassroots civil society organizations (CSOs) to provide justice and democratic accountability to the community.

In each of the 10 districts we’re targeting (three in the east, two in the north, five in the west), we have identified a Dalit journalist to report on caste discrimination cases. His or her duty is to report these stories (that would otherwise not get press coverage), and publish them on a blog we have set up and trained him/her on, which will be hosted on JMC’s redesigned website (about to be launched).

Using this information, our partnered CSO in the district in question will attempt to provide justice and democratic accountability to those affected. Using Nepal’s new “untouchability” bill as legal strength in its investigation, the CSO will attempt to unite the community, police, victims, and perpetrators. The goal is provide justice to cases that otherwise wouldn’t receive it, while promoting a more transparent and honest Nepali democracy.

The second goal is advocacy, both at a national and international level. By hosting the blogs of the 10-targeted journalists, along with profiles of the associated 10 CSOs, the JMC will have a new network of Dalit media spread across the country, reporting on Dalit issues. The JMC will be able to use these sources to lobby their established network of national media houses to cover the reported caste-abuse cases and follow-up activities. Further, the JMC will be able to more effectively lobby lawmakers in Kathmandu to be more cognizant and equitable in their judicial duties towards the Dalits, having documented cases of Dalit discrimination hosted on JMC’s website that cannot be ignored.

At the international level, social media tools will be used extensively to advocate on behalf of the Dalits, and will try to attract international attention and pressure to the issues. Through avenues such as Twitter and Facebook, along with the JMC’s established network of international partners and organizations, it will reach out and try to engage the international community. Ultimate goals of these activities are to have Dalit cases brought forward and investigated at various human rights commissions (i.e. U.N.), and receive press coverage by popular international news outlets.

Ultimately, the JMC aims to be a media hub for the Dalit cause in Nepal, and be the destination for Dalit news that generally gets ignored in most other media. The aim is to firmly establish the project, grow it organically and sustainably into other districts across the country, and partner with an international organization for support.

The project is ambitious, with many moving pieces operating at once. However, it is realistic in its goals, and can achieve sustainable and influential results over the long run. There is potential for Dalit empowerment and promotion of a more inclusive and accountable Nepali society in the districts it operates, and is a formula that can be replicated through organic growth in other districts.

If some have suggestions or tips for this project, please share them in the comments section. It’s only the beginning.

Our hired jeep (and driver) is late to get the crew at JMC headquarters, so we finally hit the road at 8pm, four hours late. We start off by picking up “spare parts” at the garage, and head for dinner in the downpour in Kathmandu – still no progress.

Our jeep in the rain, going southeast from Kathmandu

Beers and Nepali red wine fill the table, along with a feast of curry dishes, lentils, dried meats, naan bread, and rice. We down the drinks and stuff our faces, while the driver sticks to the Asian Red Bull – the original syrupy kind in the small gold can. The driver had been driving all day, having taken a Constituent Assembly member to Pokhara in the north, so was already tired.

Up and over the mountains is our direct route, trying to shave off a few hours of our trip to Janakpur – in the southeast on the Indian border. We sail past dormant small towns on the outskirts of Kathmandu, on paved single lane potholed roads. The rain’s coming down hard, but the jeep is holding up.

The road goes rugged and the pavement switches to mud trenches and stones in an instant. The road now swerves directly up via a series of tight switchbacks. Those who had done the trip before, all say, “so the journey begins,” with a laugh.

As they say this, Bollywood music is playing, and it appears to be some tragic love song. An Indian Britney Spears incarnate is pouring her heart out, yearning for adolescent love, and our heads are thrashing uncontrollably like bobble-head dolls in our seats on the bumpy trail – AC/DC tunes would have been more appropriate.

Ten-foot high hemp plants now line the route, while evidence of past mudslides pass us every 200 meters. One had washed half the road away, pushing it over the cliff. We can only tell that we’re driving in the mountains because of the odd flickering light bulb hundreds of meters directly above and below, placing us on the edge of something steep and invisible in the night.

We pass other jeeps every 30 minutes, and share information on the state of the roads to the other drivers – each telling the other foolishly to be wise and rest until clear skies and daybreak. The same goes for those manning the police and military checkpoints along the route, advising us to rest. Hell no we say, “we’ve got a journalism training workshop to attend in the morning, and this Canadian guy in the back knows a thing or two about social media!” On we press in the rain.

We eventually rest for two hours on the side of the road, by a military base. Our crazy driver heads for the roof for a nap, in the rain, protecting himself with a strange blue tarp sleeping bag contraption. Sleep barely comes to us, and we continue on as the military brass start their early morning exercises at 4am.

We eventually go up and over three mountains, and descend into the terai plains as day breaks into sunshine. The roads are smooth and straight, and the fast wind relieves the jeep cabin of stale alcohol breath and B.O. smells.

Prakash, Amit, and Dipak of JMC, celebrating our arrival in the terai

We swerve around two dead dogs, pass road side monkeys foraging on garbage, and witness masses of Madhesis dressed in orange worshipping a Lord Shiva festival along the rivers.

We’re finally in Janakpur, 10 hours later, exhausted and a bit hungover (except for the driver, of course). Time to rest, and get to this journalism workshop. I also have to prepare a presentation on the concept of new/social media for Nepali news editors, but that can wait until later.

Before the workshop begins, while we’re eating breakfast after a quick nap, the leader of the CPN UML party’s (Marxist-Leninist) youth wing is shot three times  in a drive-by in Janakpur’s market, a short walk from our tables. We’re scooping rice into our mouths and rehydrating, and the town down the road is lighting up in gunfire.

Now on to the real work…

We had come back to our guesthouse in Tulsipur from dinner around 10pm, staying late at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. En route, crossing the rubble streets, lined with vegetable stalls and shops, the only movement disturbing the night was the odd wild dog gnawing on garbage, and a few flickering household lights. Without streetlights, the town’s streets were dark and deserted, and it was as if walking in a post-apocalyptic version of London from 28 Days Later, emerging from a coma to a vanquished civilization. Did we miss the outbreak, and the evacuation? Where is everybody? It’s only 10 o’clock, and we were only gone for two hours.

Here, people wake and kids play as soon as the first rooster crows at daybreak, and all shutter inside soon after the last handful of dal bhat is shoved into mouths at dinner. Television sets sometimes play Nepali and Indian movies and shows into the night, but not late. As soon as the sun stops shining its light, most public activities stop. This is no town of nightly social gatherings, or sipping drinks and tea at local establishments.

In Kathmandu, Nepal’s biggest and most energetic and diverse city, the situation is only a little different. On a Friday night, one can run out of options quickly as the police shut most establishments down early (except for the odd tourist bar), and be in bed sipping tea, thinking “it’s still early for a Friday, and I’m in bed?!” And as you’re driven home in a taxi, you wonder where all the people are, and why everything is so dark – this being the Nepali night of celebration after a six-day workweek. There are no streetlights again, nor stoplights (Kathmandu has one working pair), and few people are walking about (most trying to peddle hashish to lingering tourists in Thamel), outnumbered by the roaming wild dogs.

Nepal is a country shy of the night, and is a place Hemingway would have little patience for.

Apart from evident reasons of poverty and little disposable income to spend on socializing, along with the strains imposed by grueling long workdays, something else is at play here. For this, one must look to the remnants of war and the long shadow it has cast over the Nepali psyche.

Nepal’s Civil War lasted 10 years, between 1996 and 2006, and was between Maoist guerrillas and government forces, ending in a 2006 peace agreement. Throughout the conflict, 15 000 people were killed and around 150 000 were internally displaced. As the conflict matured, tensions and violence mounted, paralyzing most of the country in blockades, curfews, and fear.

Maoist guerrillas would often march into towns, ransacking the place for goods and supplies, destroying factories and police outposts, and whatever other lewd behaviour that came with it. The same can be said of government forces, terrorizing locals and throwing about accusations and threats of sympathizing and supporting the Maoist enemy. Maoists controlled rural Nepal, while government forces controlled Kathmandu, the prized possession.

After the peace agreement of 2006, social and psychological effects of the war linger – one being the fear and horror that would occupy some nights. Not knowing how the night would begin, or end under the curfews. Whether it would be peaceful or violent, whether one’s restaurant’s supplies or farm animals would still be left in the morning, whether one’s children were safe, or whether one would be assaulted and disappeared. As the curfews and the violence became the norm over 10 long years, the fear of the night became engrained.

Pinky, a manager at Backwards Society Education (BASE) has told me that it was not like this in Tulsipur before the conflict. People would stay out later into the night, socializing and hanging out at shops and restaurants and each other’s houses. The sun’s set did not automatically mean an end to the day.

The curfews, and the fears they inspired, changed the meaning of Nepali darkness. For those too young to remember, or not yet born, its lessons are imparted on them by their forefathers and an altered social landscape.

Every night, I can be found lying on my mattress-less bed, reading under a ceiling fan, with nothing else to do. Hemingway’s become a good companion here, appreciating his bar hopping and social ideal more than ever, although still amazed and frightened of his alcoholism.

Looking on. Bus ride in Nepal.

The best, and funniest, description of Nepali bus travel I’ve ever come across, courtesy of AP Fellow Chelsea Ament’s text messages (sorry Chelsea):

“Get this. They just filled the luggage compartments with goats, as well as filling the roof rack w/ goats. They are peeing and its running down my window… loving this bus ride… so much”

“It is dripping through the roof onto the seat i was originally sitting in. Thank god i moved or i would have been showered in goat piss. I guess it could still happen…”

“The goats on the roof are screaming. Im telling PETA”

“Blog title: Goat Busters”

Wretched! Enjoy the travels fellow Fellows.

Can our seemingly altruistic actions, conversations, policies affect the progression of history in unintended ways, altering relations and behaviours of individuals, networks, or systems? Is equilibrium forever on the precipice, only needing a nudge to tip its fine balance, one way or another? Reference here is to the butterfly effect and chaos theory, where actions in one non-linear system can lead to larger changes down the road.

In Nepal’s terai (plains) southern region, the Tharu people have braved its tough climate and geography for some 600 years. Arriving from India, they had to clear its dense jungle to grow crops and defy its fearsome wildlife and virulent malarial mosquitoes. The few Tharu that survived and prospered had natural anti-malarial immunities, and were the only Nepalese that could survive in the terai year round – Darwinian evolution, epitomized. Other upper-caste Nepalese from the hills would come in the mosquito-free winter months for agriculture and hunting, but had to depart once the mosquitoes appeared in the hot springs and summers.

Nepal's western terai, Bardiya District

Researcher Thomas Cox notes that in the 1950s and ‘60s, USAID and other aid agencies implemented anti-malarial programs in the terai, mostly eradicating the disease from the region. As malaria vanquished, the upper and educated castes of Nepal’s hills moved in permanently, clearing and claiming most of the jungle’s remaining land. Once settled and organized in the region, the upper castes (including Brahmans, Chetri and Thakuri) forced most Tharus off their land, or took advantage of their illiteracy and tricked them into legally signing away their land, or using their land as debt collateral at inflated prices. All told, close to 80 percent of the Tharu had lost their land by 1980.

Without land and its means of production, the Tharu were helpless and took loans from the upper castes to pay for basics like food, medicine, clothes, etc. As a way of paying back the loans, Tharu were used as bonded or tenant labourers for meager wages of 10 to 20 rupees per day (15 to 25 cents). Tenant labourers were paid a small percentage of the crop towards the debt, while bonded labourers worked under similar conditions, but paying back debt incurred generations ago (reinforced by Nepal’s old legal code). As these labourers’ wages are so low, they’re forced to go further into debt with landlords and masters. And through this system of bondage, Tharu families send their children to work in the fields (kamaiya) or as domestic servants (kamalari) – robbing them of a childhood, friends, education, and chance of a brighter future.

Rescued ex-kamalari girls relax at their hostel in Magragadhi, Nepal

Another brief malaria example is courtesy of Dambisa Moyo, and her criticism of Ashton Kucher’s Twitter campaign that lead to a donation of close to 90,000 malaria nets ($1 million) to Malaria No More. Malaria No More does not source local malaria nets, and the flood of nets from abroad ran the local net producing industry out of business, leaving scores unemployed. Yes, good was done and malaria rates went down for those recipient communities, but local capacity was reduced, nets will need to be replaced (by whom and with what money?), and Africa’s ability to sustainably address their own issues was not addressed.

So, foreign aid flaps its altruistic wings on one side of the ocean, and causes a hurricane on the other, with the wreckage only beginning to be cleared. The innocence of eradicating one deadly disease leads to the robbery and enslavement of an indigenous people on their own land. Our grand actions from afar, schooled in our detached and isolated institutions, can often have disastrous unintended local consequences in foreign lands.

Examples abound of this inverse relationship of altruism and misfortune, and serve as a lesson that reality is often more complex than first conceived, and it’s understanding requires deep analytical thought. Of course, not all aid and generosity has negative and unintended consequences. Much good has and continues to be done.

Our ability to predict outcomes and the future is quite limited, as the social world is an infinitude of processes competing against each other. An innocent butterfly once flapped its wings, and a tornado appeared over the plains years later.