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Letters From |
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Nepal |
Happy Trails
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| Bhutan's ethnic Nepalese refugees settle on resettlement |
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Published : 1 February 2011 |
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BRENDAN BRADY FOR THE CARAVAN |
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| Nandalal Dangal (second from left) and his family sit outside their home in a Nepalese refugee camp.
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HILE CHANTING AN INCANTATION,
a Hindu priest mixes a paste
of rice and dye into the dirt in an
attempt to summon luck and prosperity
for this audience. Both have
been in short supply for the Dangal
family, the eager recipients of his well-wishes. |
Nandalal Dangal, 43, is at first squatting in the narrow,
muddy alley in front of the wooden hut he shares with his
family but stands up from the ceremony to talk about his
tormented past. He was a 25-year-old student, he says,
when Bhutan’s state security forces pushed him, along with
tens of thousands of other ethnic Nepalese, out of the Himalayan
country.
“Soldiers would come to our house and tell us, ‘Leave
Bhutan: this is the policy of the government,’” he says.
Army and police personnel allegedly backed this message
with threats—and acts—of violence against Nepalese communities
in Bhutan’s south.
That was in 1991. Dangal and his relatives have spent the
past two decades idling in a refugee camp called Timai in
southeastern Nepal, where they landed after fleeing on
foot across a thin strip of Indian territory. Years later, bitterness
lingers, particularly because the government they
hold responsible has not only escaped with only minimal
international condemnation; in fact, it has been praised for its commitment to the well-being of its citizens.
The insulated Kingdom of Bhutan has long been driven
to preserve its purity through strict measures: it was one
of the last countries in the world to allow the introduction
of television and the internet. Its governing philosophy
emphasises “Gross National Happiness” above economic
growth, predicated on the idea that preserving indigenous
traditions are essential to the country’s well-being. In some
circles, these methods are highly rated. Bhutan was deemed
the happiest country in Asia by British researchers in 2006
and by its own government’s calculation, 97 percent of the
population is happy.
However, the experiences of Dangal and others living in
Nepal’s seven refugee camps suggest that ignorance—or selective
amnesia—may be a crucial factor in formulating such
positive assessments. The seed of the very unhappy exodus
that Dangal describes was planted in 1989 when, in response
to the country’s growing Nepalese minority, then-King
Jigme Singye Wangchuck declared his “One Bhutan, One
People” policy, enforcing the indigenous Ngalong culture,
language and religion. Bhutan’s Buddhist majority group derives
from Tibet; the Lhotshampa minority, to which Dangal
belongs, and who came to comprise between a third and a
half of the country’s population, are of Nepali Hindu origin.
Anecdotes from those in the camps suggest the south’s
Nepalese had few ties to Bhutan’s indigenous society—such separation was likely viewed as problematic, and disrespectful,
by administrators in Thimpu, the capital.
The controversial events that followed King Wangchuck’s
“One Bhutan” decree have not been extensively documented
by historians. Accounts by those who were swept away
and ended up in the camps suggest that official attempts
to strictly impose the majority culture ignited protests,
some quite hostile, and that the police and army responded
with a severe crackdown, employing intimidation, violence
and even murder to expel the southern region’s Nepalese.
(Whether these actions were undertaken at the behest of
the King remains unclear.)
The Bhutanese government has dismissed allegations
that any such campaign was implemented. It maintains, instead,
that most of those who left were illegal immigrants,
who had only recently arrived in the country. “That is the
claim of the Bhutanese government but we have proof,” says
Dangal, who, like most adults in the camps—90 percent, according
to international agencies working there—can readily
show a citizenship card. Furthermore, the exodus came
in one, concentrated episode—and included the old and the
infirm, who rarely retreat by foot across borders unless
forced to—indicating the likelihood that a single series of
traumatic events was the trigger.
This history remains painful for Dangal. But the monotony
of his life in the camp may shortly be about to end. Last
month, the 40,000th Bhutanese refugee departed for a new
life abroad—in this case, to the US state of New Jersey—
marking a milestone that underlines a self-fulfilling trend
for this beleaguered group.
In 2007, the UN, with assistance from the US and other
countries, set up a programme to allow refugees to resettle
abroad. Eighty-five percent go to the United States; the rest
to Canada, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Norway and
the Netherlands. Desperate for a change, more than 60,000
refugees signed up, but significant numbers held back.
Many were determined to wait for an agreement that might
allow them to return to Bhutan and reclaim their property;
others were deterred by anxiety about life in the West. And
some were pressured to remain by certain vocal elements in
the camps, who feared the resettlement programme would
reduce pressure from the international community for further
talks with Bhutan.
These hold-outs are rapidly capitulating, however. Of
the 73,000 remaining in the camps, only 18,000 have yet to
apply for resettlement, and even this number is falling by
1,000 per month, according to the UN High Commissioner
for Refugees (UNHCR), which, along with the International
Organization for Migration, is the main agency handling
camp and resettlement operations. Family and friends have
been the most influential advocates, says Michael Wells,
who works for the UNHCR in Damak, a town in southeastern
Nepal where camp operations are headquartered. “Resettlement
refugees are sending back information, giving
an even more positive and clear picture about what life is
actually like in resettlement countries,” Wells says.
Ran Singh Magar says he can’t resettle soon enough. At
first, he says, he was in no rush to leave. But corresponding
with his girlfriend, now in the US, and his brother, now in
Canada, has made him eager to take the leap. His brother
in Montreal intermittently sends cash via Western Union,
while his girlfriend urges him with text messages. “She’s
waiting for me,” Magar says. “She’s messaging me, ‘Just
come as soon as possible.’” For the handsome 28-year-old,
who earned an MBA via correspondence from a university
in India, the equation has become a simple tradeoff:
“Here we don’t have jobs. So we’re just waiting for the date
[to leave].”
As a resettlement consensus takes hold in the camps,
families are turning their attention to the nuts and bolts of
preparing for new lives abroad. For his part, Dangal faces
a delicate dilemma: he has two wives and will have to officially divorce one before the US—his intended destination—will accept him. In fact, about a quarter of all men
in the camps are confronted with this issue, as polygamy
is common in Nepalese culture. “Maybe we can live in the
same house with a different kitchen for each [wife],” Dangal
says—he isn’t far enough in his resettlement application
to have received much training about his host country’s
cultural norms. But he seems likely to take things in stride.
“Or maybe that won’t work,” he continues. “I will follow
the new protocol...whatever it is.”
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