By Rabi Raj Thapa
Prominent American writer Isaac Asimov once wrote, “My ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” This axiom perfectly describes Nepali leaders who seem to believe that they know everything. However, whatever they may claim, their promises do not seem to align with the words of President Abraham Lincoln in his Gettysburg Address (1863): “…and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Today, Nepal’s Temple of Justice is facing a crisis of public trust and confidence. Fingers are being pointed at the former Chief Justice and several Supreme Court justices. Meanwhile, the incumbent government appears to have lost confidence in its own Chief of Nepal Police. Yet, the problem is that it can neither indict him nor remove him from office. Those suspected of wrongdoing, who are expected to be behind bars today, are instead roaming around like free birds, while law enforcement agencies appear to be shaken by the actions of those entrusted with adjudicating the law.
As a matter of principle, an adviser to the executive head of government—whether the Prime Minister of Nepal or the President of the United States—should hold a comparable position in terms of status, role, and responsibilities. However, the ground reality in Nepal appears to be quite the opposite.
In the United States, the title of Senior Adviser to the President is generally used for high-ranking political advisers who may not possess formal government decision-making authority but can nevertheless exercise considerable influence over government policies and decisions. Their primary responsibility is to provide strategic advice, analysis, and recommendations to the President on key national and international issues. A similar advisory role may exist in parliamentary systems, where advisers serve the Prime Minister or whoever heads the executive branch of government.
However, the general perception in Nepal is quite different. An adviser, particularly a security adviser appointed at the discretion of the Home Minister or the Prime Minister, is often perceived as having been downgraded to an insignificant position. Such an adviser may be regarded as little more than a scarecrow or a figurehead, with no meaningful authority or influence over an army or police brigade commander.
The political drama created by the government’s decision has seriously damaged its own credibility and stalled police investigations. Those investigations should have been focused on breaking up the deeply entrenched nexus of organized criminal networks that have, by now, captured both political and state power.
There are numerous ways to transfer the command of the police without creating damaging ripple effects on morale, organizational cohesion, and esprit de corps—that is, the collective sense of unity, enthusiasm, loyalty, and pride shared by members of the Nepal Police.
However, this kind of statecraft and government decision-making reflects an entirely ad hoc and autocratic approach, reminiscent of the old political establishment that Nepali people rejected because of its involvement in countless white-collar crimes, corruption scandals, and other forms of political misconduct.
The famous American writer Isaac Asimov once wrote about what he called the “cult of ignorance.” He described it as a phenomenon running through the country’s politics and culture, sustained by a false understanding of what democracy actually means. In a democracy, every citizen has an equal vote. If my vote is as good as yours, then my opinion must be as good as yours. And if my opinion is as good as yours, then my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.
Asimov observed that politicians worked hard to speak the language of Shakespeare and Milton as ungrammatically as possible so that nobody would suspect them of having received a proper education. That is precisely what Deuba, Oli, and Prachanda seem to be trying to demonstrate today as they re-emerge as the undisputed custodians of the grand republican experiment they once championed—an experiment that, by now, has brought the country to the brink of ruin. They had too many advisers and henchmen, including power brokers and middlemen, who ultimately helped lead them to their political doomsday.
Today, Gen-Z leaders seem to be following the same pattern, albeit with the added value of the slogan, “Don’t trust anyone over 30.” They also appear to be losing the trust and confidence of their own peers in Parliament and within their respective parties. However, when a leader loses public trust and confidence and refuses to trust even a single individual, that leader may eventually end up placing all their faith in the crowd. The opinion of the majority then becomes an authority in its own right—one that can be extremely difficult to challenge or argue against.
The real problem arises when a person lacks knowledge but refuses to acknowledge that deficiency. Experiments in psychology have shown that people who lack skills, awareness, or experience may overestimate their own abilities, defend their ignorance and incompetence, and present themselves as talented, knowledgeable, and confident. This is the trap hidden within Asimov’s analogy. Such people love to declare, in effect, “My ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”
This, perhaps, is the maze of judicial and political imbroglio in which Nepal finds itself today.
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