Before the internet democratised access to news outlets from around the world, Nepal rarely appeared in foreign press. Until the early 1990s, the little Nepalis could read about their country in international media was limited mostly to Indian publications and magazines that circulated in Nepal, primarily Time, Newsweek, Asiaweek, Far Eastern Economic Review and The Economist.

One only read about newspapers like The New York Times or The Guardian, not actually read them. In fact, the only words from British or American outlets we had access to were the review blurbs in books, with citations from country-specific newspapers and magazines the books were published in. The advent of email and the growing availability of news on the internet, albeit gradually in the initial years, meant someone abroad taking the trouble of copying and pasting could share interesting content with us in Nepal.

References to Nepal were few and far between, in any case. Even stories of mountaineering prowess from Nepal revolved around feats by westerners. The fame garnered by climbers like Ang Rita Sherpa and Appa Sherpa through their multiple ascents of Everest was yet to come.

Stories about Nepal generally dealt with politics. And since, by default, it meant criticism of the king and the system he headed, the zealous censors at the Anchaladheesh Karyalaya would promptly prohibit the sale of the offending issue. At least in one case, that of Blitz published out of Bombay, the left-leaning publication was banned altogether for years. According to the grapevine, it earned the proscription by describing King Birendra as ‘the richest king of the poorest country’ for his lavish coronation bash of 1975.

In any case, copies of the prohibited material easily slipped in via the Indian border and were passed around surreptitiously. By the 1980s, photocopying had entered the scene, so one did not have to get hold of the actual publication to read contraband news. Learning what foreign journalists had to say about Nepal became relatively easier.

The stories were usually bland, often riddled with factual inaccuracies, and far from subversive—not exactly samizdat, the clandestine literature of the Soviet world. What all usually had in common was a supposedly infallible source—the unnamed Western diplomat posted in Kathmandu, who could hold forth on any question posed to (usually) him. The world, hence, learned about Nepal and all its intricacies through the eyes of a foreigner here on a three-year rotation.

Newsworthy Nepal

Stories from Nepal have become more common internationally in recent decades, although positive ones are rare. Otherwise, it is usually something terrible that draws the world media’s gaze. The 1990 political change did not generate the same level of interest since we were nowhere close to the interconnectedness of today. Reportage grew over time, although arguably the first instance of Nepal appearing in the global news in the digital age was once again due to Everest—the tragic spring season of 1996, which saw a record number of deaths on the mountain while also publicising the till-then little-known phenomenon of commercial Everest climbs.

Of course, the big story was the June 2001 royal massacre, an incident that appeared to hark back to the ‘mediaeval’ era. Hordes of reporters descended on Kathmandu to inform the world why, as one of them memorably put it, Crown Prince Dipendra ‘drank some scotch, smoked some hashish, and then committed regicide, patricide, matricide, fratricide, sororicide, and finally suicide’. The newshounds must have been pleasantly surprised to be rewarded with a bonus for their troubles when they discovered a raging communist insurgency ongoing in Nepal.

Journalists fanned out into the countryside to write stories not only of the very improbability of it all, but also about Nepal’s poverty, the corrupt political system, caste and ethnic inequality, police brutality and Maoist excesses, a terrain tailor-made for guerrilla warfare, and so on, providing the rebels with the kind of publicity the preceding five years had barely scratched the surface of.

International press has found reason enough to cover Nepal since then. The 2006 People’s Movement II, followed by the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Accord and elections to a Constituent Assembly, drew attention. The cantoning of thousands of guerrillas was newsworthy as was the spectacle of their leader taking over as the country’s elected prime minister sometime later. The peaceful ouster of the king was just something that happened on the side.

While Everest has never ceased to fascinate newsrooms for one reason or another, the devastation wrought by the 2015 earthquake once again riveted the world’s attention on Nepal. The wholesale destruction of a rich cultural heritage was deeply mourned. Then came the Gen Z uprising of last year, and scenes from the Kathmandu streets were beamed across the world. The ouster of a gerontocratic leadership by the youngest cohort of adults in the nation captivated a global audience, many of whom doubtlessly mused whether something like that could be replicated in their own countries. And, of course, who could resist the election of the rapper-turned-mayor-turned-prime minister?

Nepal was back in the headlines earlier this year due to the unfortunate demise of the intrepid Nirmal Purja. But nothing could beat the devastating floods of Bhotekoshi/Trishuli in sheer newsworthiness. With the global debate on climate change and its impacts providing the backdrop, people the world over could watch in almost real time the frightening scale of the disaster captured by hundreds of smartphones hooked to social media. Foreign journalists were back, but their human-interest stories were no match for the visuals with their almost-voyeuristic feel, which everyone could access anywhere. 

Vox pop is a form of journalism whereby reporters talk to ordinary folks in everyday settings to get their unfiltered opinions on a variety of issues. What we saw unfold along many stretches of an otherwise sleepy river was vox pop in its most extreme form. For scenes like those, there was no need for a medium—whether a media person, a climate expert or even the expat diplomat of yore—to explain what had happened.

I want to end with an aside. It has always been somewhat of a mystery how people who have just gone through a terrible tragedy, such as the loss of family members and homes in the case of the Bhotekoshi/Trishuli disaster, are still able to talk to (sometimes obnoxious) reporters about what befell them—and often in great detail. Perhaps the catharsis of relating such a traumatic experience is itself the beginning of the long healing process. One can only hope that thousands who have lived through this horrendous event will find such strength.