‘Politics is my compulsion, not choice’ may not be exactly what the Nepali people wanted to hear now. Such in-your-face demeanor has been Manange’s stock in trade. Bearing that sting, the important thing here is that Manange, with seeming effortlessness, deflected blame to our political culture, if not quite to the system itself.
To be fair, every Nepali regime has had its share of ruffians and louts who managed to leverage their brawn and brutality into political capital. The difference is that the Ranas and panchas did not flaunt much sense of impunity.
The regime leaders then protected their kith and kin fairly well – at times too well for our liking. As a general rule, though, the political class believed it was bound by the same rules that governed the rest of the people.
Now, having ‘emancipated’ the people from ‘tyranny’, our current crop of leaders can be expected to regard themselves as a class unto themselves. Incarceration and exile must stand for something. But expecting such treatment is not quite the same as asserting it as a matter of right.
Deep down, Nepalis understand that corruption is what lubricates the political machinery, especially amid the bedlam legitimized as democracy. A society deliberately splintered by those claiming to save it cannot expect its politics to remain untouched. It’s the end-of-history mindset gripping the ruling class that’s problematic.
If the price of nebulous newness is factionalism, then factions must reign over politics. With so many external state and non-state factors at play domestically, politicians must pretend to be for and against things at the same time. But even a professional contortionist has limits.
Popular allegiance – the ficklest of commodities during the best of times – oscillates with public attitudes toward personalities. And we are notoriously capricious when it comes to our likes and dislikes. Still, the people can’t be blamed for, say, failing to figure out who is justified in calling whom ‘lampasarbadi’ when that’s the default posture of the political class.
So when the going gets tough, it’s the toughies like Manange who get going. But, then, you’re forced to wonder: If every cabinet needs a don to survive, why isn’t the portfolio allocated commensurate with the urgency of the moment? Put differently, how is the youth and sports minister supposed to save Prithvi Subba Gurung’s government in Gandaki province except in ways we can’t fathom?
If Manange took the oath out of compulsion, maybe it’s incumbent upon the chief minister should explain why. Or perhaps Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Oli himself should clarify why his Unified Marxist-Leninist party backed Manange’s independent candidacy in the provincial elections. But, then, we crossed that bridge long ago, didn’t we?
