I’ve been working in Nepal as a volunteer for the last two years. My being here—the first time in my life I’ve ever been immersed in a culture vastly different from the Western template most Westerners daily take for granted [and trust me: I fully expect to go back to taking it for granted once my term of service ends, which it’s just about to (insert crying emoji here)]—has awoken within me—a near-constant changer of future career goals—a newfound passion for anthropology, especially from the point of view of language. Never mind that one time in Amsterdam, after a chance encounter with some British undergrad lads in an out-of-the-way hostel, I was told, in-between tokes, that the very thing I was most passionate about at the time (viz. phenomenology) had plenty of applications to the (by some people’s estimation) more practical former discipline. Since then, I’ve continued to circle the toilet bowl of long-term employment. It would be more than presumptuous to say that I’ve even begun my penultimate orbit around the innards of the basin; however, because I’m here—fascinated by the very concept of culture simply because I am fascinated by one very specific example thereof—it seemed appropriate to read perhaps the most famous and influential example of Nepali anthropological scholarship written by Nepal’s most famous and influential cultural anthropologist. Obviously I am biased since, prior to starting, I’d already experienced, though far from completely, those aspects of Nepali culture that make it so different even from its more immediate geographical neighbors—most of whom have more bustling economies and, to the Western outsider, more interesting cultural offerings. But even without having been primed beforehand, anyone even remotely interested in the broader idea of developing a nation on the outskirts of traditional economic success is liable to attain invaluable insight from reading this book. (Recent events have, for some, put foreign aid in a bad light. It’s never going to stop being a thing though; and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s good.) Most of this insight exists because the book is written by an insider who’s not only capable of recognizing his country’s unique advantages but also because its author was wholly unafraid of criticizing his government and even the members of his own social group (or “caste” in this case).
Before I continue, however, it is worth noting one important caveat. Broadly speaking, this book was not written that long ago (i.e., the mid-’90s). However, since 1950—namely, the first time in over 100 years that Nepal’s essentially feudal economy and (extremely) despotic government were adjusted in any way—it has continued to change rapidly, no doubt (I’d like to believe) owing at least in part to the changes that Bista himself proposed in the first edition of Fatalism and Development. To give you a taste, both a royal family massacre, which wiped out most of the Nepali royal family, therefore destabilizing the current monarchy [which had already undergone an assortment of changes (cf. पञ्चायत)] as well as a rather bloody civil war, the result of which was the development of a Nepali constitutional republic with lots of communist influence via China, both took place after the book was published. Even for me, then, much of what is presented as serious problems seem a lot more innocuous than they allegedly did to the book’s author. (Note: I'm talking about development per se, not the sociocultural problems that Bista claims are inhibiting it.) That said, I’ve only spent a small amount of time in a rather isolated community (i.e., a small village in central Nepal). It could be true, therefore, that less has changed (um, outside the obvious) than is apparent. Anyway, moving on.
Bista’s thesis is simple. Nepal is, and pretty much always has been, extremely diverse. Over its long history, however, its biggest problem has been the caste system. Even though Nepal developed its own variation of Hinduism alongside, for example, India’s, the caste system, as we know it today—or, rather, as it was known in 1995 (and I don’t think it’s changed much since then)—is really an import from Indian Brahmanism, essentially a different sect—not, Bista claims, a Nepali original. There is, actually, an ancient Nepali Hindu text that I’ve been meaning to get my hands on, but I’m not sure if it was written before or after the diffusion. [One interesting sidenote: Bista mentions that in Nepal’s early history, well before the unification of its many city states, which took place in 1744, the Tibeto-Burman peoples from the north, who were Buddhist, and the Indo-Aryan peoples (the Khas, I think) who settled in Nepal from what would eventually become modern-day India, who were Hindu, vied for power. The Hindus were victorious, which is one reason why Nepal is mostly Hindu today. It’s also why some of the various Tibeto-Burman ethnic peoples currently living in Nepal, like the Tamang for instance, are Buddhist. This tidbit interested me mostly because kombucha-chugging hipster spiritualists in the West like to make the claim that Eastern religions are less violent, or at least less territorial, and therefore somehow better, than Western religions. My understanding of “human nature” has always been that nothing—no religion, no political system—is more inherent than the movement toward tribalism. Religion’s just a tool, man—or, to put it more charitably, a complex manifestation of much of what we might call animalian instinct.] The reason why the caste system is such a blight on the Nepali way of life is because (1) it undermines the ethnic and cultural diversity that make Nepal such a treasure—both to itself and to the outside world—and (1.5) it’s fatalistic, meaning that it takes one’s situation, one’s nation’s situation, one’s nation’s situation’s future as fixed, unalterable, unmalleable. If Nepal’s goal is to enter the quote-unquote first world (i.e., if it’s ever going to develop), then it needs to throw away those institutions that are both psychologically and practically making it impossible to do so.
Also in the mix is, according to Bista, (a) the necessity of having a strong patriarchal figure—that is, a king—(which they did have at the time this book was published but as of right now no longer do) and (b) concerns regarding an overreliance on foreign aid—to such an extent that it makes Nepali leadership unable or unwilling (or both) to take care of themselves. I can speak to the existence of a lot of foreign aid today—not just from the West but also from India, China, Japan, and South Korea. It’s ubiquitous, seems to come with some kind of ulterior motive (yes, even ours), and, from the Nepali side of things, is, in terms of projects, more interested in how things look than how they actually are. [Every Nepali person I’ve ever met—even some of the younger ones—has, if asked about it, made the claim that Nepal’s government is ridden with corruption. I can never tell if this feeling is based on evidence or is, rather, just a general mistrust of the government either because it isn’t the kind they want (e.g., not socialist enough, too different from the monarchy they grew up with) or because it’s relatively new.]
So that’s the problem. The solution, according to Bista, is also pretty simple; but for all the apparent development that has taken place since the mid-1990s, it still seems from my perspective mostly unaddressed. The ruling caste—the Bahun (Brahman) and the Chhetri—need to give up some of their power (both in government and in industry) and allow their historically lesser appreciated outsider ethnic groups (e.g., Magar, Tamang, Newari, and Limbu) to participate. (These are Bista’s ideas, not mine. I do agree with him, however.) He thinks this because these ethnic groups are less fatalistic, more hardworking, and, in many ways, more skilled than the ruling class. Brahmans were the ruling caste hundreds of years ago. Even though the government is now democratic, it still mostly represents the same group of people it did back then. (These are my ideas now. I’d like to think that, since they are based on his own, Bista would agree with them though.) So the real shift was from, despite masquerading as something else, monarchy → aristocracy, which tends to be what happens when a monarchy collapses. How this situation might change is anyone’s guess.
I can say—purely anecdotally—that Nepali Brahmans and Chhetris seem a lot less interested in making things more fair—that is, castewise—than they do having a form of government that they agree with. It’s almost as if the constant political instability of the country is distracting the citizenry from the actual point of government. From the government’s side, and to their credit, there are programs meant to empower low-caste families. In the village in which I work, for example, Dalit families (this is the infamous untouchable caste, the lowest in society; importantly, it’s not an “outsider” group like the abovementioned) receive scholarship money every year, allegedly to help them pay for uniforms, school supplies, and textbooks. This is money that the government awards because these families are always poorer than the members of other castes—and there are, of course, very tragic, historical reasons for this. While this gesture is, I think, great, it perhaps misses the point. In my village, Dalit, even if they are given respect to their faces, once they walk away they are insulted or pitied. This isn’t something that money can change, at least not right away. Political representation, however, just might do the trick. It seems, however, that the opinion of Dalit people, at least within my community, is so low that they are expected to be incapable (e.g., intellectually) of rising above the lot they’ve always been given. In many ways, the situation is very similar to the Reconstruction Era in the United States.
More than anything, Fatalism and Development is an example of a developing East Asian country assessing itself on its own terms, free of any overt Orientalist bias, and offering advice on how it might improve itself. The intended audience is not the West but is instead Nepali leadership, academics, social workers, and laypersons. Therefore, the book should not be read by an outsider (i.e., म) as some kind of faulty first attempt at scholarship. The writing is clear, the ideas are insightful, and the claims are well-researched. Any anthropologist will tell you, at least in our era, that no outside observer understands a specific person’s culture better than said culture's boots-on-the-ground representatives. The same, too, is true of any language. A native speaker, even a rather lazy one, knows their language instinctually. That's a hard thing to learn, an even harder thing to teach. Layman though I am, I’d recommend this book not only to anyone—Nepali, American, whichever—working and living in Nepal but also to any person with an interest in anthropology, foreign aid and developmental work, and South Asian religion, culture, and politics. एकदम राम्रो, दाइ !