Janardan Subedi
In his reflective piece published in The Rising Nepal, Deputy Executive Editor of this daily, Ritu Raj Subedi, laments the moral decay within Nepal’s major political parties. He narrates the disillusionment of senior figures like Ganesh Man Singh, Krishna Prasad Bhattarai, Bhim Rawal, and the late Pradeep Nepal—leaders who once stood tall for ideology, sacrifice, and national purpose, but later distanced themselves from the parties they helped build.
It is a moving account. The image of Pradeep Nepal requesting a simple funeral, without a party flag or honors, is especially powerful. His rejection of symbolic recognition — despite a lifetime of dedication to the communist movement — reveals a deep personal disenchantment with the state of party politics today. These stories deserve our attention. They reflect a broader crisis of political ethics, institutional memory, and accountability.
Patronage politics
But Subedi’s piece, rich in sentiment, leaves an important question unasked: Were these exits only a result of ideological betrayal by the party, or do they also reflect the limits of these leaders’ own legacy? Nepal’s political parties did not suddenly lose their moral compass. The culture of authoritarianism, factionalism, and patronage politics took decades to grow—and many of the very leaders who now appear disillusioned were once key players in shaping these dynamics. Bhattarai and Singh fought for democracy, yes—but they also presided over internal feuds. Bhim Rawal spent over four decades in the UML and rose to top ranks under KP Sharma Oli’s leadership before becoming a critic. Their silence in moments of internal decay must be weighed alongside their exit.
Disillusionment, after all, often comes when power recedes. This does not invalidate their later critiques—but it does complicate the narrative. For instance, Ganesh Man Singh’s resignation from the Nepali Congress is presented as a moral protest. But it also occurred after internal clashes, factional defeats, and diminishing influence within the party. Similarly, Rawal’s departure from UML came after he was politically marginalized, not before.
We must ask: why did these seasoned leaders not build alternative institutions, mentor a new generation, or push for internal reform while still in positions of influence? Why did the parties they built fail to institutionalize values, discipline, and internal democracy? These are not just stories of betrayal by others—they are also about a collective failure to preserve ideological integrity over time.
Ritu Raj Subedi rightly draws attention to how today’s parties neglect their veterans. The indifference shown to Pradeep Nepal in his final years is shameful and telling. But this symptom is tied to a deeper illness—Nepal’s parties now function more as electoral syndicates and patronage machines than as ideological movements. They serve power first, principle second—if at all.
This transformation is not unique to one ideology. The Nepali Congress, once guided by BP Koirala’s vision of democratic socialism, now drifts without conviction, often allying opportunistically with forces it once opposed. The communist parties, once rooted in anti-feudal and anti-imperialist struggle, now trade revolutionary rhetoric for cabinet positions and factional dominance. The result: institutions emptied of meaning and leaders scrambling for relevance.
Political message
Pradeep Nepal’s rejection of the party flag at his funeral was more than a personal act—it was a political message. It was a quiet declaration that ideology without humanity, sacrifice without solidarity, and power without compassion are meaningless. His parting wish invites us not just to mourn the past, but to reckon with the present. Subedi’s piece, then, should be read not only as a tribute but also as a call to reflection. What does it say about our democracy that those who once dreamed of transformation chose to exit silently rather than resist publicly? What happens when political memory fades and parties forget those who carried them through their hardest years?
There is no doubt that Nepal’s politics today suffers from moral exhaustion. But the solution does not lie in nostalgia alone. It lies in rebuilding institutions, in nurturing a culture where dissent is not punished, and where political service is honored not only in death, but also in life. If we are to revive the democratic and ideological promise of Nepal’s early political generations, we must go beyond lamenting their disillusionment. We must ask: what kept them silent for so long, and how do we ensure the next generation does not follow the same path?
Only then will the exits of our senior leaders be seen not just as endings, but as warnings worth heeding.
(Dr. Janardan Subedi is Professor of Sociology at Miami University, Ohio, and writes on political sociology, democracy, and South Asian governance.)