They stopped the bus just as we left a small town check point, five miles away from our drop point into the Kali Gandakai river in Nepal. We were going rafting. The man whose job it would be to extract our money boarded first. He smiled widely, with his eyes as well, and he looked at us with great friendliness, as if we'd been waiting for him a long time. "Hello," he said, "We are Maoists."
He proceeded comfortably down the center aisle, introducing himself to each of us individually with an out-reached hand. He had the well behaved and welcome demeanor of distant cousin who we'd enthusiastically invited to dinner, and who had finally arrived.
We all sat squarely in our seats, leaking disapproval through our postures. Those who had already encountered Maoists on their treks and had been taxed heavily per day, grumbled. But he held his hand out to each of us indiscriminatley, and we limply placed our fingers in his palm. There seemed, strangely, nothing else to do.
He rode with us to the drop point, holding a crumpled receipt book in his hand. A receipt is given to tourists when they are taxed, so if they are stopped again within the same locality they can avoid being taxed again. A second Maoist had also boarded our bus. He was young, angry and on a power trip. But harmless all the same.
At the drop point, those who had already been taxed during long treks began to complain. Even though this was a different locality, they had already handed over thousands of rupees to a cause they didn't support. Now each person was being asked for 300 rupees more for a three-day rafting trip.
The angry Maoist stood behind the smiling Maoist, and repeatedly barked "no discount! no discount!" to the complaining trekkers.The smiling Maosist ignored him completely, and with twinkling eyes offered 200 rupees as a good, and final, compromise. An act of good will intended to show us the inherent fairness of their cause.
We all paid up. And knowing we were in no personal danger, (Maoists almost always remain very polite and non-violent with tourists, but they are firm, and if we don't pay, the guides who accompany us are held responsible.), we gathered around the smiling Maoist and took turns asking our questions and expressing our indignation.
The Dutch couple wanted to know what exactly was being done with the money, and why after destroying Nepal's infrastructure for seven years, the Maoists were taking such pride in building it up again with extorted tourist money. The Canadian couple attempted to debunk the Maoist's insistence that they had the support of the whole country, and argued that by extorting tourists and threatening hard-earned family businesses, they were doing far more damage than good.
The Poles argued that communism in practice does not, and never has, worked. But their English was not good enough to drive this home. They walked away exacerbated. Spencer, a Londener who looked more menacing than the Maosists by far, listened in at the rim, interjecting occassionally with: "You're just a bunch-a bandits, arechnt ya?"
I simply wanted to know why the smiley Maoist thought he could demand money from tourists, despite our opposition to their movement. Why did he feel it legitimate to raise money in this way? By way of example I invited him to Australia, and mentioned I was a staunch conservationist. I then demanded 500 rupees so I could save trees that would provide oxygen to my children. "You are in my country, you must support my cause," I said. "I will follow you until you give it to me."
Of course, all of our reasoning and posturing was entirely futile. Our Maoist cousin smiled and with great patience attempted to answer each question. He claimed that if we knew what they stood for, we would support them of our own free will. For this reason, taking our money now was legitimate. If we would read their manifesto, we would give it to them freely.
This logic made complete sense to him, and as his unhappy cadre pulled him away towards a newly arrived tourist bus, I thought to myself, this is what happens when people stop asking questions, when the end justifies any means, and when a goal or a belief is accepted hook, line and sinker.
When we stop asking questions, we lose the power to reason, or more precisely, we lose the desire to reason. Our only security is in our convictions, and so all else becomes black and white, either for or against. You're with us or you're with the...
I put on the life jacket and helmet that had been handed to me, and proceeded to the rafts for the safety briefing. All the while I thought of the Dalai Lama, of his advice to the Tibetan people, and whether it had any place here. In the face of great injustice, which Nepal's rural poor certainly suffer at the hands of the corrupt monarchy, their nobility, their inherent goodness as human beings, is in many ways squandered in their representation by harsh Maosist policies. Unfortunately, they do not have a Dalai Lama, or even a politician, to provide them with an alternative way, an alternative vision, so these people have not a speck of hope outside of the promises made to them by Maoists. For these reasons I understand and empathise with their choices.
But for us, in our own lives, is there something to learn here? Is it better to stay true to your personal ideals in choosing what to stand for and how, even if it means that your goals may not be reached as fast, or maybe not even in this lifetime? Is there tangible benefit in not relinquishing the ability to act in hard times with as much integrity as we do in good, and according to the same principles? Is this even possible? Or at least worth striving for? And if by doing so we can inspire one other person to do the same, have we done anything important?
Do we partake in the injustices of our aggressors and lose ourselves while gaining a victory? Is there any victory if in the process you have lost yourself, and provided the war grounds for the next generation?
Our raft slipped into the Kali Gandaki river. The morning sun glistened playfully in the swaying green waters and I dropped my fingers into the icy stream. The memory of the Maosists was already receding. My questions sighed deeply, and shuffled reluctantly to the back of my mind. My five rafting partners smiled at each other expectantly, and I joined in.
"Forward all!" yelled Setu, our rafting guide. We heaved forward and pushed our paddles back. We slid deeper into the river, excited for the rapids we could see just ahead.
