There is something odd about the news that Nepal's Defence Minister is releasing a report on child care homes. You would think that in 'post-conflict' Nepal, where the priority should be issues like the integration of Maoist combatants and reform of the security sector, the defense minister would have other more pressing engagements. Even when the government of former Defence Minister Ram Bahadur Thapa was in political paralysis (a situation that exists today but for other reasons) he was not undertaking such activities.
Bidya Devi Bhandari is Nepal's first female defence minister. In the recent years of change, women in Nepal have had an amazing number of firsts. But neither Defence Minister Bidya Bhandari nor Foreign Minister Sujata Koirala can be viewed in the same manner. It has been argued that their appointments tar the victories of the many women in Nepal who have struggled and actually won elections to take positions in the CA and government.
Given that losing (even twice) does not affect the positions of men, the question might arise as to why women should be held to a higher standard. And shouldn't we be grateful that finally women are not just relegated to 'soft', 'feminine' posts like the Ministry for Women, Children and Social Welfare but head powerful, 'manly' ministries like defence and foreign affairs?
Furthermore, isn't Nepal finally joining the rest of South Asia in placing importance in kinship ties in propelling women into positions of high political power? In other words, while family relations have historically played a key role for women within Nepali political parties, such ties have not led to their holding of powerful state positions at the same level as Benazir Bhutto (Pakistan), Indira Gandhi (India), Khalida Zia and Sheikh Hasina Wajed (Bangladesh), and Sirimavo Bandaranaike and Chandrika Kumaratunga (Sri Lanka).
But our case is different for the obvious reason that all the above South Asian women actually won elections. They helped institutionalise the practice of multi-party, democratic politics and the legitimacy of people's votes.
Making explicit the contrast in Nepal is the commonly voiced refrain on Nepali streets: "Why did we have an election if politicians who were rejected by the people at the ballot boxes ended up in power anyway?" Why was so much money spent on the elections, from the technical and administrative expenses to the widespread publicising of the importance of Nepali citizens exercising their democratic franchise, if the bypassing of the peoples' will is seen as acceptable "given the exceptional political circumstances"?
In the past, rights and democracy activists have decried the equation of democracy with only periodic elections. The state of exceptionalism has negated the worth of even this exercise. And the threat of being punished by the people in elections has lost its value.
Putting aside the issue of nepotism, the early selection of the two female ministers behind closed doors of 'consensus' raises other issues, besides unaccountability, at a time when commentators have noted both the increasing willingness of foreign players to intervene directly in internal Nepali politics and the rising political independence of the army.
Firstly, if political malleability and the politics of the beholden are key for this government as a whole, one can guess this would especially apply for these particular ministries. It is hard not to suspect patriarchal calculations, albeit from different angles, of the advantages of having women in these posts to facilitate such dynamics.
Secondly, given Nepal's dominant militarised notion of national security and the concomitant masculinised domain of national security experts, it is unclear what substantive role can be played by a civilian female. We do remember, however, the well known practice of women being given election seats by their male political counterparts in the constituencies that they know will be lost. Nepali women have historically been set up by men to take the downfall.
Seira Tamang is a political scientist and chairperson of the research and policy institute, Martin Chautari, in Kathmandu.