Bereft of allies, disgraced former communications minister Gokul Banskota has reached back to two luminaries of the much-maligned partyless Panchayat system in order to build an image of morality and rectitude.
Claiming that he had resigned on the basis of corruption allegations made by one individual, Banskota insisted he had done so to facilitate the official investigation. In doing so, he compared himself to former prime minister Kirti Nidhi Bista and education minister Kesar Bahadur Bista.
To recapitulate, Kirti Nidhi Bista had resigned after a massive fire engulfed Singha Durbar in 1973, laying waste to the government secretariat. Keshar Bahadur Bista of sports had quit his post in 1988 after a hailstorm triggered a stampede during a football match at Dasharath Stadium, claiming dozens of lives. “Has anyone else set such an example,” Banskota asked in a tweet the other day.
Kirti Nidhi Bista wasn’t caught on tape conspiring to set the secretariat on fire. Nor was Keshar Bista ever heard imploring Mother Nature to invoke her fury on football fans. But that’s not the point.
Insulted and humiliated, Banskota has recovered enough to seek retribution. He probably realizes that what he’s been accused of doing is unprecedented in its boldness and biliousness. But he also knows that he’s not the only one who’s been doing it.
With unfeigned acerbity and straight-faced misrepresentations – if not outright fabrications – Banskota quickly established himself as Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Oli’s attack dog. Unlike other members of the Oli coterie, Banskota didn’t feel he had been catapulted to that place. He won the election with a respectable margin and undertook his government responsibilities with loyalty and vigor. More importantly, from his perspective, he did so in the full public glare as the official government spokesperson, not from an obscure advisory perch.
The allegation that Banskota demanded a commission of Rs.700 million in the procurement of security printing press has several shades of gray. The audio leaked concerned an old meeting about a deal that did not go through. It may have been a conspiracy to commit a crime, but it certainly wasn’t one.
Moreover, the ‘we’ that was heard repeatedly suggests a wider cast of characters. If corruption has been institutionalized as the lifeblood of a moribund political system – something more and more people do feel these days – why should Banskota take the fall?
And what about the proximity of the case to the exoneration of former speaker Krishna Bahadur Mahara of rape allegations the alleged victim subsequently recanted but no one was ready to entertain? Establishing allegations of moral turpitude as a regular component of politics risks diverting attention from real crimes. Banskota isn’t a credible messenger of these legitimate concerns. But Twitter does tend to work in marvelous ways.
Banskota probably feels Oli has tried to reciprocate loyalty – as much as a beleaguered prime minister could. Oli stood by his communication minister as long as he could and has let him use his private residence. So, it’s not the prime minister who’s in his crosshairs.
Yet the weird thing is that Banskota felt compelled to reach back to a political era he personally has spent much ink denigrating for its depravity and dissoluteness. Could he really not find more recent examples, or was he just lazy? Keep thinking.
