[Via Communist Internet... http://www.egroups.com/group/Communist-Internet ] . . ----- Original Message ----- From: Downwithcapitalism <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> To: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> Sent: Sunday, June 24, 2001 3:44 PM Subject: [downwithcapitalism] The new Red Army Boston Globe. 24 June 2001. In Nepal, a new Red Army emerges. Excerpts. JAJARKOT -- At a time when hard-core communism has all but disappeared from its one-time bastions in Moscow and Beijing, a hardy band of barefoot Maoist guerrillas in the hills of this Himalayan kingdom are busy plotting global revolution. Tucked away 185 miles west of the capital, Katmandu, in a hilltop headquarters -- reachable only by hiking for days from the nearest goat-pasture-cum-landing-strip --the ragtag but well-read rebels expound their lofty goals, unconcerned that they are out of step with [how procapitalists like to perceive] history. It is a just a matter of time, said Baburam Bhattarai, the Indian-educated intellectual godfather of the Maoists, in an oft-quoted phrase, before "we will hoist the hammer-and-sickle red flag atop Mount Everest." Virtually unnoticed by the outside world, this small group of Johnny-come-latelies to class struggle is mounting a serious challenge to Nepal's struggling young democracy. With scant outside support, little training, and no shoes, a fighting force equipped mostly with antique muskets and homemade grenades has exploited the government's neglect of its rural population to establish a foothold in almost every corner of a country that is one of the world's poorest. In just five years, the armed struggle has spread to 68 of Nepal's 75 districts, embroiling two-thirds of the country's 24 million people. The insurgency has taken an estimated 1,700 lives of police, suspected rebels, and hapless civilians, though the rebels have not touched the tourists, the leading source of foreign currency. They have ambushed police stations, chased out village chiefs and landlords, held elections, and set up their own governments. In seven of 75 districts, they have taken over; in two dozen others, they move at will and hold public gatherings. Their strategists say that, like Mao Zedong's guerillas, once they control the countryside, the capital will fall, too. In April, the insurgency took a savage turn. Rebels overran two police posts, slaughtering more than 80 constables and shocking a nation that has been largely opposed to using the army to crush the rebels. The insurgency blossomed on fertile ground. A decade into Nepal's experiment with democracy, living conditions have hardly changed in rural areas, and the public is disillusioned with a system crippled by corruption and political infighting. With the country now in tumult following the June 1 massacre of the royal family and Parliament paralyzed by the opposition, the Maoists in the mountains are poised to make new gains. Sitting cross-legged last week in a mud-and-log cabin on stilts guarded by teenage boys with hunting rifles, Comrade Jiwan, the 36-year-old primary school teacher-turned-party chief in the Maoist stronghold of Jajarkot, said the fall of the Soviet Union and China's moves toward a market economy are merely "small setbacks in the long-term goal." "I'm not swimming against the tide," Jiwan said coolly, looking more like a mild-mannered science teacher than a ruthless rebel leader in his black-and-electric-blue tracksuit jacket and plaid pants. "We want to bring the rest of the world that's against us to the right direction." His 24-year-old aide-de-camp, Comrade Avash, added passionately, "It is not our aim to establish a popular government only in Nepal, but to run a global revolution." Their success in Nepal -- despite a lack of support from their ideological cousins across the border in China, the birthplace of Maoism -- is rooted in disappointment over the failure of democracy to deliver a better life. When the king instituted democracy in 1990, "people had a lot of hope," Jiwan said. But, he said, landowners, usurers, and police continued to exploit the poor until people could take it no more. In February 1996, the Maoist branch of the Communist Party of Nepal, at one time the third-largest party in Parliament, launched a "people's war," striking simultaneously at police posts, banks, and other symbols of state power in six districts. They found a ready supply of recruits among the 100,000 rural youths who fail high school exams every year and have no job or school to go to, said Chitra K. Tiwari, a Washington, D.C.-based specialist on the insurgency. The Maoists are now believed to muster 2,000 to 5,000 armed regulars, backed by about 10,000 militia fighters. In a half-dozen districts, they have forced police and civil servants to retreat into barricaded headquarters; converted, silenced, or eliminated opponents; elected leaders; and created "people's" courts and banks. A half-day's hike through rocky hills and muddy rice paddies from Jiwan's hideout, the embattled government official in charge of developing this region sits trapped in his office, guarded by sharpshooters in a decrepit palace on a peak. The government, he admitted, controls less than 1 square mile of Jajarkot's 820, and has been prevented by the rebels from implementing desperately needed road and water projects. The impoverished region was ripe for a Maoist takeover, said development officer K. B. Rana, because the government failed to deliver the most basic services. With the Maoists now running elections, collecting taxes, and arming local militias, even meaningful government programs cannot get off the ground. In Jajarkot, annual per capita income is just half the $220 national average, and the typical person gets 1.3 years of schooling, according to United Nations figures. Thirty percent of the district's schools have no buildings; classes are held on the grass or in a shack. And no matter how well-intentioned a civil servant may be, he can never claim the moral high ground against the rebels, Rana said. "The Maoists are sacrificing their lives." In the Maoist strongholds of Jajarkot, Rukum, and Salyan, villagers tell miserable stories about life under Nepal's age-old feudal system, confirming the rebels' charges that police sometimes raped village women, that moneylenders charged outrageous interest rates, and that corrupt local officials filed false court cases against their enemies. A 19-year-old from a village that is two days' walk from Jajarkot headquarters said that before the Maoist takeover, richer residents exploited poorer ones in many ways, including charging 25 percent interest on loans and tripling charges for late payments, often forcing the poor to sell their cattle or houses. When Maoists began preaching about people's rights, police targeted the houses that hosted them, taking away all family members and often raping the women, he said. The Maoists fought back with hunting rifles, warning landlords and "capitalists" to move away, threatening police until they stopped patroling, and burning down government offices. Six months ago, the Maoists held elections in the village. Unopposed candidates, all Maoists, were elected to the 13 posts. They have undertaken no land collectivization or formal development programs, but a team of volunteers helps all-female households with their farming and pitches in when anyone builds a house. They force teachers who used to shirk their duties to come to school every day. They collect "taxes" by taking a percentage of the teachers' government paychecks, a cut from the sale of livestock, and "donations" from shopkeepers. Compared with bloody insurgencies in Kashmir and Sri Lanka, where casualties have numbered in the tens of thousands, the toll in Nepal has been relatively low, in part, perhaps, because police are ill-equipped and ill-trained to fight a guerrilla insurgency. The slain King Birendra had resisted deploying the army, but after the vicious April attacks on police stations, he was pressured to deploy soldiers alongside development workers. But twice as much money has been allocated for a new paramilitary police force as for development, and one top official in Katmandu privately called the operation "more search and destroy than hearts and minds." Yet persuading people who live in rebel strongholds to rally behind a distant government in Katmandu will not be easy. A 25-year-old Jajarkot police constable was recently kidnapped by Maoists and held for 11 days, forced to attend educational programs, and urged to quit the police. The Maoist did not mistreat the policeman, but they did not convert him either. "If I rejoin the police, I'll be in trouble," the young man said nervously, checking to make sure he wasn't overheard. "But if I quit and go back to my village, the Maoists will come and take me into their army. I still don't know what I'm going to do." PHOTO ATTACHMENT. The CPN(M) on the move. Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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