Oped»
Living with Haakimdom
- (un)common sense
JUN 22 -
Often, public toilets are stinking hell holes in most of our government offices, colleges and schools. They are the worst nightmare for women. But several years ago at the Red Cross Blood Bank on Exhibition Road, things were quite different: its toilets were clean. This was something unique for any public institution in Nepal. On top of that, this blood bank was used by many every day who came to donate or take blood. My friend Teeka Bhattarai once asked the then chief of the Red Cross office why it was different in his institution. (I have to confess that I don’t know how things are there at present.)
“It was simple,” he said. “I do not have a separate toilet for myself. I use the same ones that the public uses.”
While most of the toilets in our public institutions stink, haakims of those institutions often have their own private toilets. They often keep it locked and they have cleaners dedicated to the singular task. When haakims do not have to worry about the toilets they have to use, they are often unconcerned about the ones the general public uses in their offices. I think this is true not only about toilets, but just about anything.
For instance, what would a haakim do if she or he has to use Kathmandu’s streets the way commoners do—by walking or bicycling or riding the most chaotic tempos, micros and buses? Photoshopped tourism promotional ads aside, Kathmandu’s streets are the most insecure, its air one of the most polluted and its water one of the most unclean in the world. Juxtapose this with what haakims do. By haakim I mean heads of a plethora of public offices that directly or indirectly have bearing on how Kathmandu’s streets, air and water will be. They include the leaders of our political parties. They include our president, vice-president, prime minister, ministers and their entourage. They include the officers in our municipalities. They include elected or nominated office-bearers of the local governments. They include our donors who work on urban issues in Kathmandu. They include our tourism industry investors and executives. They also include some of the think tanks that purportedly carry out research on Kathmandu’s urban problems.
Let’s look at what most of these haakims do. All of them have vehicles for their own use and most of these vehicles are publicly owned and operated. They have their chauffeurs. Here it begins: driving in Kathmandu streets is a nerve wracking business and most of the hakims don’t do that. Let’s ask what would they do if they themselves had to drive their own vehicles? Will they buy big Land Cruisers that block the thoroughfares? Will they park their vehicles wherever they like when they or their family members go on personal shopping tours? For now, the burden of driving is offloaded to the chauffeurs including the stress of getting angry with other drivers, pedestrians, and the cyclists.
Now that they have vehicles for their personal use and at least one chauffeur, let’s look at what kind of vehicles they would use. Most have air-conditioning in their vehicles. Therefore, they close their windows and doors tight and cool themselves off during the scorching summer months and warm the car in the frigid winter. They don’t have to breathe the dust and pollution their vehicles and others like them churn up as they chug along the roads.
A picture of a haakim’s home-office-market-home routine might look something like this:
They live in air conditioned homes and many have begun using air filters inside their homes. In the morning on weekdays, the chauffeurs, who probably live in low-class houses in one of the most polluted or remote corners of the city, would come fetch the hakims at the hakim’s house gate. The haakim will come out of their mansions and palaces only to board an air-conditioned car. Of course the car has to meander through the chaotic traffic as everyone else is also rushing to get to their offices. But haakims shouldn’t worry, the chauffeur will wrack their brain and honk and weave through the small streets. For the haakims such as our president, his deputy, the prime minister and ministers, there are police on the streets keeping the roads free for them and their cavalcades to pass through. They reach their offices that are air-conditioned—at least the haakim’s. And the haakim has the key to his private toilet.
What these haakims do have is influence over what Kathmandu’s air, water or living spaces will look like. Their decisions on taxation will determine whether Kathmandu’s streets are flooded with private cars or public buses. Their investment on public infrastructure will determine whether there will be bicycle paths and pedestrian walkways or multi-lane speedways and perennially gridlocked asphalt roads. Their land policy will determine whether one of the most fertile lands on earth is paved over with asphalt and cement or will be used for producing healthy food or for a children’s playground. Their financial policy will determine whether land and houses become objects of multiple rounds of speculation or a livable abode. Their decisions on our engineering schools will determine whether they produce engineers and architects that are imaginative enough to design ecologically sound and aesthetically pleasing buildings and public spaces for people or just learn the art of mastering concrete structures. These haakims, however, often do not live with the consequences. Or they are too callous to care. Or maybe they are deeply disconnected from the consequences of their own actions.
They have been shielded, not completely for sure but as much as they could, from the ravages of their decisions. They have sent their kids to study overseas and they often pressure them not to come back. Though Nepal is a place they live as haakims and be shielded from the consequences of their own actions, they know this place does not hold a good future for their children. It’s a place for Nepal’s tourism industry investors and executives to make money, but not a place where they see a long-term future.
I am sure that the chief at Exhibition Road’s Red Cross Blood Bank when I visited was an exception in our public offices. There might be a few other enlightened haakims. But for now, most of the haakims have shielded themselves from the consequences of their actions. Let’s do a thought experiment and ask: what would these haakims do if they were the ones who had to walk on the street, drink water straight from the tap, ride bicycles, and take public buses? Or, what kind of public toilets will they keep in their offices if they do not have their private ones and they have to use the same ones as the commoners?
Anil Bhattarai
anilbhattarai@gmail.com
Posted on: 2010-06-23 08:28
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