I have seen many people living in degrading conditions on this trip, but nothing can compare with the 300 destitute families we met during a brief visit to the village of Geta, in the West.

These families (none of whom are Dalit) used to be bonded laborers, which meant they were “owned” by their employers until they were freed by the government in 2000 and moved to a location by the side of a river. After their homes were washed away by floods – not once but three times – they decided to move here to a patch of land by the side of the road. Their flimsy shelters can barely support a plastic cover. At least bonded labor offered them some sort of security.

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Bonded labor is a form of slavery and is, of course, illegal. Yet tens of thousands of Nepalese Dalit are trapped by a system that is uncannily similar to bonded labor. To judge from what we are seeing on this short trip, many of them also agonize about exchanging the security they know for a freedom that might leave them even more impoverished.

Freed into poverty: these families were freed from bonded labor four years ago

They are known in Nepalese as Balighary Khalo Pratha, which I am told is impossible to translate. (One attempt comes out as “masters and customers.”) They are not an official Dalit sub-caste, but they are condemned to a system that is equally rigid and unyielding in that they do not receive a wage for their work.

According to Resham Pariyar, who runs the Victim Welfare Development Program, a Dalit advocacy group in the town of Nepalgunj, as many as half of all the Dalit in Nepal – 2 million people – may be Balighary.

Resham’s group works with 1,562 Balighary families in four districts, and we visit a small cluster of 15. These families originally came from a hilly district, where they were in danger of starving, and set up here along the road to Nepalgunj. They make their living from servicing the needs of wealthier families from the upper castes. The fifteen families we meet include tailors, goldsmiths and blacksmiths.

None of them had any money at hand when we visited, because none of them are paid in cash. Instead, they receive 300 rupees ($4.2) worth of rice from each of the families, once a year. The rice is unhusked, and they have to find the money to buy thread and service their sewing machines if they break down.

One of the Balighary, Dal Bahadur Pariyar, repairs the clothes of 65 families and in return receives about 9,000 rupees worth of rice. This amount of rice only allows him to feed his large family for five months in the year. His neighbor Sagun Pariyar sews for nine families, and receives 2,700 rupees worth of rice. At the going rate for sewing, he would earn over 40,000 rupees of cash.

As well as being a form of slavery, this system generates child labor because many of the Balighary are forced to send their children to work in the fields or in far-off Kathmandu. Some earn a small income by doing seasonal laboring in India, and this allows Sagun Pariyar to send his daughter to the local school. Here he is charged 70 rupees a month, even though education until level 8 is meant to be free in Nepal.

Nothing, it seems, is working for the Balighary.

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Resham Pariyar, who runs the Victim Welfare Development Program, is a former Balighary himself, and he is determined to end the practice. He remembers how his uncle was caught in a storm and forced to seek shelter in a village of non-Dalit, only to be turned away. He eventually crept into a barn, where he was stung by a poisonous snake and died.

Resham’s first challenge is to make the Balighary aware of their rights, much as the Youth Club in Lahan is trying to conscientize the villagers of Ghudigawm Gudi. The organization has formed committees in 25 villages, and to judge from our visit here it is succeeding in its first goal, which is to awaken a sense of outrage and injustice in the Baligray.

But doing something about it is another matter. The Balighary are terrified that if they stop work and demand a fair wage, their employers will simply take their clothes to be mended in the town. The Balighary are completely dependent on those who exploit them, explains Resham. This adds to their sense of desperation and entrapment.

What would happen if the Balighary called the bluff and withheld their labor? Their employers would have to start paying a real wage to someone, and my guess is they would cut a deal with the Balighary. But the Balighary are understandably reluctant to find out.

The activists: Bhim (above) is a reporter in Nepalgunj for the JMC; Resham Pariyar heads the Victim Welfare Development Program

Resham says that he has talked to the employers and that they are willing to pay the Balighary for piece-work, provided the Balighary receive training to improve their skills. The Balighary know this to be a fob off, and that the quality of their work is not in question, but they lack the confidence to respond. They meet regularly with the other side, but Resham says they are so terrified of angering their employers that they do not even raise their own problems. This trap is psychological, as well as economic.

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Resham Pariyar faces an impasse, but he also knows that it takes a long time to change a society. The question is whether his group will have the opportunity. Like most of the organizations we are meeting, he can call on committed volunteers to work in the villages, but volunteerism won’t pay the rent. The group’s main grant, from Action Aid, has run out and so far no one has stepped forward to fill the gap.

The group will shortly embark on a project of HIV/AIDS monitoring, which will pay two salaries but only last for six months. There’s a big problem with this sort of support. First, how to sustain the activities once the grant finishes – and this is crucial, because it will create expectations. Second, how to ensure that the group is not diverted from doing what it does best, namely advocating on behalf of the Baligray. There are times when donors need to invest in advocacy for its own sake.

Tomorrow: the Badi women and prostitution