On the face of it, why a prime minister of a party enjoying a near-two-thirds majority in parliament would use a medical-emergency-induced national lockdown to plot the division of his own or another political party remains inexplicable. Oli’s assurance that the ordinances he drew up with much abruptness and President Bidya Bhandari promulgated with much alacrity, was not aimed at splitting his already fractious Nepal Communist Party (NCP).
The premier’s party rivals, including Pushpa Kamal Dahal ‘Prachanda’, Madhav Kumar Nepal and Jhal Nath Khanal, seemed reconciled to the reality that the prime minister had reserved that right, for now. They found it easier to see the Samajbadi Party – a marginal player, at best – as the immediate target. Instead of suffering a devastating split, the Samajbadi Party ended up merging with the Rastriya Janata Party Nepal.
Subsequent revelations that Oli-inspired – if not entirely instigated – elements had used tactics barely distinguishable from kidnapping to engineer the defection of a group Samajbadi dissidents and ensure their integration into the government – and ultimately the NCP – added to the blow.
Predictably, Oli rivals have used the sordid and ignoble chain of events to question his judgment and even challenge his leadership. The pandemic having given our ailing prime minister a respite, Oli knew internal opposition against him was only bound to grow. External players, for their part, were not oblivious to the wider opportunities amid geostrategic shifts still under way.
India has been widely credited with engineering the midnight merger of the Madhes-centric parties. New Delhi ostensibly wanted a strong political force capable of standing up to Oli. That line of reasoning is premised on the belief that Oli is pro-China. Amid the convoluted logic of Nepali politics, couldn’t the opposite be equally true? Maybe the Chinese, not exactly assured by Oli’s postures, were wary of what a pandemic-bruised West might be up to in league with New Delhi.
After all, it was only after Beijing pulled the carpet from under King Gyanendra’s direct rule in March 2006 that New Delhi was able to provide momentum to the 12-Point Agreement. (No one accuses China of blatant interference in Nepal during those tumultuous weeks, do they?)
Dahal is palpably ebullient at this turn of events. Further recalcitrance on Oli’s part would set the stage for collaboration among the ex-Maoists, Madhesi parties and the main opposition Nepali Congress, with or without the former rebel-in-chief at the helm.
So, is it time for Oli to wave the white flag? Maybe not. Admittedly, President Bhandari, who has allied herself fully with Oli these past few years, has seen the writing on the wall. Yet how do we know she reads it the same way everyone else does?
Bhandari knows there is little she can redeem by switching to the anti-Oli camp so late in the day. She also knows that the mood in the NCP and the political class in general does not resemble that of the country.
Oli, for his part, is a pragmatist with sharp survival instincts. What if he were to come out publicly against the 12-Point Agreement, describing its character and content as the source of our national tribulations. He wasn’t a signatory and continued to make not-too-oblique noises against the deal for the first couple of years.
Would such audacity automatically brand Oli as a monarchist, say, in the league of Keshar Jung Rayamajhi. Perhaps not, considering the number of republicans who continue to rail against Delhi Compromise 2.0. If the monarchy ended up benefiting by default, well, it would be far-fetched to single out Oli for opprobrium.
And even if the royalist tag stuck, would it be that bad? It certainly would for a lot of Oli’s peers. Why would that be enough to make Oli feel the same way?
