McCarthy's Nightmare

(with NEW! Nat'l Geo style intro)

"As i stared out into the sea of red shirted, bandanna wearing, slogan chanting Communists, my thoughts were, first; How did i arrive in this predicament, and second; how will i extricate my capitalist/imperialist (depends on where you're from) passport wielding self from in front of this podium with the hammer and sickle so prominently displayed? When the first speaker began those of us trapped in the press box began snapping photos destined for the AP wire or various publications of major importance in the realm of world affairs. They would then describe to the world the rally celebrating the legitimizing of the Communist Party Nepal (Maoist) better known to western media receptors as "the Maoists." But let me start from the beginning...

Agent Ford and I were just settling back to finish reading our morning paper in the garden of the local Tibetan Peace Guest House when our reverie was disturbed by loud honking and cheering. Never ones to pass up a scene, ( a trick we learned from the Chinese, who happily pause all goings on to gawgle at traffic accidents, arguments, minor domestic disturbances and foreigners) and due to our well honed spidey-senses, we knew something was afoot. I quickly settled the bill while Don went to collect our image capturing devices, what the french reer to as "les appereil-photo." With the swiftness, we descended from the relative calm of our secluded guesthouse area to the din of the dusty street below.

"Blazes!" cried Donald, "It seems the Maoists are out in force this afternoon, and they seem to mean buisness." It was true, along the street were forming orderly lines of red cap'd Nepalis, from children in school uniforms to mothers in saaris, rapidly being organized by others clad in the ubiquitous red-visor-thingy.
The air rang of celebration, and with the signing of the peace treaty between the government and Maoist forces, it rang with good cause. As the lines began a cheering march forward, we slid up the sidelines like a young Deion Sanders and Terrell Owens. Soon, however, the crowd became too much even for such deftness and fleetness of foot as that possessed by such as we, and we were swept along with the current of chanting Maoists.


Swept along, that is, until the beaver dam known throughout the world of image viewers as the “Line of baton and shield wielding police creating a barrier” stood in the way. Seperated by the masses, Don and I took our considerable initiative in capturing the moments for the world. At one point, divided by no more than 25 yards stood the crowd of chanting Maoists, and the line of demarcation established by the urban camo clad baton wielders. Tense was the moment while the heretofor beligerrent Maoists discussed alternate routes with the head of police. Catcalls flew, and tensions flared, but cooler heads prevailed on this day of celebration and the march was re-routed towards the center of town, where the rally was to be held.
Unbeknownst to the impromptu embedded journalists like us, this stream was only one of many, and when we reached the rally grounds we joined a veritable ocean of people.


Say what you will about the tenants of national socialism, but the maoists can set up a rally. Even rows of people were rapidly seated within viewing range of the stage. In order not to be seated among the masses, and subjected to 4 hours of speeches in a foreign tounge, Donald and I took separate routes to try and reach the stage. I was luckily adopted by young man who helped me to push through the crowds, right to the front, where I was pressed beyond the rope leading to the press area. Free from the crush of the masses, I had a moment to survey my surroundings. 180 degrees from right to left saw army green jackets and red hats, bandannas displaying and affinity for either Che Guevara, Bob Marley, marijuana or the great U.S. of A. As far as the eye could see were people craning to see, from the tops of buses, bridges, boxes and curry carts. Directly behind this view stood the podium, and the crowding photographers.



“I see you’ve made it in, but do you have a Press Pass?”
I whirled to see none other than my partner and erstwhile photo-journalism major brandishing a recently acquired press pass.
“This is so dope.”
“Totally.”
High fives (dap, big twist, etc.) completed, we began, through the rhetoric aimed at creating a new Nepal, to document the moment. No less than 5 speeches, accompanied by song, dance and more song, led us to a quickly descending sun and a crowd with empty stomaches. With instructions to disperse peacefully, the crowd began their dusty shuffle back to their homes and neighborhoods to waiting curries and discussions on the future of the fragile democracy.


Afterword: Befriended by a “(do the little finger quotes here) punk-journalist,” Don and I were invited to dinner and homemade liquor at his friends’ house. But that’s another post altogether, as “Raj Against the Machine” (a nickname) insinuated himself into our lives enough to awaken us this morning with his head sticking therough our open window. And that leaves out the guy with the 2Pac tattoo, and “the world’s last surviving Megadeth fan.”