NEPAL’S FIERCELY DEBATED ‘PROGRESS’

In Nepal, the intersection of women’s rights, indigenous struggles, and climate justice forms a complex yet deeply intertwined landscape. The GAGGA partnership is at the forefront of addressing these interconnected challenges from the community’s perspective.

At eight in the morning, the view from the offices of Tewa, a women’s fund organisation in Lalitpur, Nepal, is breathtaking. The sun casts a soft golden glow over the Himalayas, and the earthy, moist air creates a calming atmosphere. Against this serene backdrop, Cheryl P. Polutan reflects on her struggle for environmental and human rights in the Philippines. Despite the seriousness of her work, she exudes a light-hearted demeanor, her infectious laughter bringing warmth to the room.

This three-day meeting of the Global Alliance for Green and Gender Action (GAGGA) marks an interim evaluation that brings together various Asian groups and movements. Since its inception in 2016, GAGGA has aimed to promote gender, environmental, and climate justice worldwide. The discussions on the fourth floor of the Tewa building underscore that this collaboration is not just geographically focused but thematically broad. Despite differing contexts, NGOs, community organisations, and women’s and environmental funds unite to learn from each other and gain new perspectives.

As Polutan shares her experiences, the broader relevance of GAGGA’s work becomes clear. The meeting in Nepal highlights the global nature of these issues, demonstrating that the fight against climate change benefits from diverse groups and perspectives. GAGGA’s approach, which includes women’s voices, is essential for effective climate action. Addressing climate problems through the systemic redistribution of power and ensuring equal opportunities and access for all, regardless of gender, has become standard practice within the alliance.

Polutan, who has decades of experience with GAGGA partner Lilak (Purple Action for Indigenous Women’s Rights), highlights the importance of this approach in understanding and promoting women’s rights, particularly within marginalised and indigenous communities. “Our collective began with feminists and activists who saw the need to give indigenous women a platform to discuss issues affecting their communities and their rights.”

Silencing Opposition

This is the first GAGGA gathering in person since the pandemic, and Polutan values the opportunity to connect and share stories face-to-face. Indigenous women she works with are increasingly facing poverty, environmental destruction, and resource depletion. “The extremely patriarchal society does not help,” she notes. “Women are often confined to caregiving roles and have limited economic participation.”

Although the Philippines has gender policies and legislation, a glaring lack of women in politics persists, especially at the local level where tribal leaders—predominantly men—maintain power. For indigenous groups, violations of their land rights and increasing attacks on activists are pressing concerns. “Women who advocate for environmental and climate issues are particularly at risk,” says Polutan.

According to a recent Global Witness report, the Philippines is the most dangerous country in Asia for environmental activists. In 2022, sixteen activists were killed across the continent, eleven of them in the Philippines. This violence is often sanctioned by the state, which uses “red-tagging” to label activists as communist rebels, providing a pretext for targeting them. During Rodrigo Duterte’s final year as president, repressive policies expanded, including an intensified “war on terror” that aimed to silence political opposition.

She describes how Lilak has been “red-tagged” and how some indigenous activists within their collective have been falsely labelled as communist sympathisers. One outspoken activist, known for her criticism of mining, was placed on the police’s red list, making her a target for extrajudicial execution. “Once you are on the list,” she explains, “everyone essentially has the right to take you down at any moment.”

One indigenous woman closely involved with Lilak found herself on the red list and had to stop her work due to safety concerns. “The situation was dire,” she recalls anonymously. “We could not continue our work or protect our families. Thankfully, GAGGA’s rapid response grant helped us relocate someone quickly, providing much-needed relief.”

Despite hopes pinned on the new president, Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr., Polutan believes that human rights progress remains slow, and persecution continues. “We need to increase knowledge and resources for indigenous communities, particularly female activists,” she asserts. “Understanding how legislation affects their lives, communities, and environment is crucial, especially as civic spaces for organising and advocacy shrink.”

Nevertheless, they will continue to work with policymakers. That has occasionally paid off, like recognising indigenous peoples in national laws, for example, although the results are still minimal. “If we want to influence policy, it must be through conversations with the policymakers themselves, despite the challenges,” she says.

GAGGA’S Role

GAGGA plays a vital role in bridging the gap between “understanding” and “action.” The alliance, led from the Global South by the Central American Women’s Fund (FCAM), with Mama Cash and Both ENDS as partners in the Netherlands, integrates these overlapping issues holistically.

GAGGA’s work is deeply rooted in the Global South, involving NGOs, women-led community organisations, and environmental and women’s funds across nearly thirty countries. These organisations are best equipped to address local issues due to their intimate knowledge of the landscape, language, and culture. However, they often lack access to funding and advocacy.

To address this, GAGGA provides financial, technical, and legal support while strengthening ties with gender-just environmental movements. This dynamic, interconnected ecosystem ensures that local insights and grassroots solutions influence global policy, moving beyond knowledge to action in the interplay between gender inequality and climate change.

Philip Alston, the former UN rapporteur on human rights and extreme poverty, emphasises that climate change is the ultimate challenge for humanity—especially for the poorer part. The need for gender equality is gaining ground within that discourse, although there is still a lack of data and information on the interrelationship. The effects of climate change are often depicted in a one-sided way, while environmental and natural disasters are more threatening to women and girls. There are forms of discrimination that reinforce each other when it comes to their gender, ethnicity, caste, race, or even disability, but now a new dynamic is emerging—’development.’

Such projects—dams, hydroelectric power plants, roads, and power lines—are often praised for their potential to stimulate economic growth and are symbols of modern infrastructure.

The dams, as “sources of renewable energy, crucial for the energy transition,” have led countries to a building frenzy: in Asia and the Pacific, energy production is growing faster than anywhere else. By 2030, 56 percent of all energy will come from there.

But now that the wave of new energy projects continues to stimulate the economy and countries want to meet the demands of their growing populations, it is difficult to find a good balance between human development and preserving the planet. The projects that were supposed to bring progress have also become a catalyst of vulnerability for marginalised groups. In Nepal, this dichotomy is unfolding visibly—the rights and heritage of the indigenous population are at stake. The Tanahu Hydropower Plant is at the centre of that long path to progress, with renewable energy as a spearhead in Nepalese policy: the plant is a source to address the most acute power shortages.

Indigenous communities face the heaviest burdens due to imposed development preferences. Their existence is threatened not just by displacement and loss of ancestral lands but also by profound disruptions to their way of life. As one leaves the vibrant city behind and ventures into the countryside, it feels like entering another world. The city’s bustle fades, replaced by narrow, winding paths that cling to the hills, twisting treacherously through the landscape.

These roads are busy, often filled with tourist buses en route to famous destinations. They pass by lush fields, trees, and plants, with the richness of Nepal’s natural beauty evident in the flowing rivers and the occasional waterfall. Despite this serene environment, the hardships faced by the indigenous communities here are stark, underscoring the deep contrast between development and the preservation of their traditional ways of life.

Feasibility Queries

Our final stop is at the Seti River, the intended location for the Tanahu plant. The once crystal-clear water now flows murky and discoloured due to a recent landslide, which occurs more frequently in these vulnerable regions. Looking upstream, you see another problem: a tunnel is being built above the riverbed. The Tanahu Hydropower Ltd (THL), a subsidiary of the Nepal Electricity Authority, was established in March 2012 to make the plant possible.

It is located 150 kilometres west of Kathmandu, near Damauli, in the Tanahu District of Gandaki Province, and the dam will span 140 metres—which raises logical questions. Is it wise to build a hydroelectric plant in an area prone to landslides? According to the environmental impact report, the project will have significant consequences for more than 750 households, 86 of which will have to leave their ancestral land. And add to that the expected loss of 660 tonnes of crops, raising concerns about food supply.

The Magars are an ethno-linguistic group originally living in West Nepal and Northeast India. Currently, seven percent of Nepalese belong to them. Over generations, a strong bond with the territories has developed, especially with the Seti River, which shapes their identity and culture. Within the community, women have traditionally been responsible for transmitting ecological knowledge, focusing on collective forest and river conservation. For example, they plant broom grass to prevent soil erosion, reduce landslides, and improve water quality. Additionally, Magar women are well-versed in medicinal plants, edible wild vegetables, water management, weather forecasting, and agricultural cycles.

The displacement of this community poses a significant threat to the transmission of all that essential knowledge to future generations—and will hinder adapting to the climate crisis. Despite the official right to informed consent, a report by the Indigenous Women’s Legal Awareness Group, funded by GAGGA, reveals that three-quarters of residents were never consulted, and eighty percent received no compensation. The project continues despite Magar protests, with roads built and camps set up.

Sitai Kami, 51, lives nearby and is distressed by the lack of consultation and compensation. “Strangers came onto my land for inspections and took pictures without informing us,” she says. She first heard about the construction when her mother had just passed away. “It was not certain yet, but five years later, we were approached about compensation and promised it would be fair. We were still quite ignorant at the time.”

The Magars have historically had collective land ownership. However, with the territorial unification of the nation and the land reform law, paper proof is now required, often leaving indigenous groups without proper documentation. The result is that indigenous groups across the country have historically lost their territory—and many a time, they are not well informed about their rights, which poses another obstacle. The process for compensation is bureaucratic, and many are left without fair compensation.

“We only want what is ours and what is fair,” says Kami. “The plant’s officials say we need to register our land so they can compensate us. We do not know how far the reservoir will extend, and we cannot stay here to die.” It seems as though she has already accepted the fate of her community, but she has one wish: substantial compensation to make it elsewhere—and the land was their happiness in life, so it is worth it.

Proper Compensation

In the village of Paltyang, a group of Magars faces displacement. In a small hall meeting, Chairman Tej Bahadur Thapa recounts his struggles advocating for his group’s rights, including rude treatment from government officials and unfulfilled promises of fair compensation.

“One of them said that if we asked for more money than we were already getting, he would chop off his head and serve it,” indicating how unlikely that scenario is. Thapa says the Asian Development Bank’s re-evaluation of compensation is not acknowledged by the plant’s officials, prompting the Indigenous Women’s Legal Awareness Group to file a complaint.

International financial institutions, including the Asian Development Bank, Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA), and the European Investment Bank, are co-financing the Tanahu plant, touted as a source of clean energy. However, their intent to stimulate growth conflicts with the economic, social, and cultural rights of indigenous people.

Now that the hydroelectric plant is nearing completion, there does not seem to be much left among the Magars who want to be heard and compensated. It is a plea for empathy, understanding, a fair solution, and a future where their rights are recognised and honored.

Arzoo of the Indigenous Women’s Legal Awareness Group describes their efforts to engage with project leadership and challenge the lack of consultation and compensation. “We have been providing legal support to this community since 2016. Over time, we have had conversations with the project’s leadership—something often rejected before, so that is progress.”

She continues: “We have called for funding to stop until the community’s concerns are addressed, but our influence is limited.” As advocates for climate justice, they challenge powerful companies, and sometimes they strike back. Arzoo and the others always need government permission to properly do their work on-site, which sometimes can be difficult. The women’s concerns go beyond relocation; they are about their livelihoods, which cannot be separated from the land and the river, and the impact covers their entire existence—it is a matter of survival. They felt secure, as deeply rooted as they were, but now uncertainty prevails, even about their reception in some new area.

In the small hall, the women are hesitant, preferring to avoid the conversation. It takes a while before Shova Thapa, the leader of a women’s group, stands up. She highlights the sleepless nights over their children’s future and losing their bond with the land. 25-year-old Uma Sara Ranathapa adds that the pressure on the women’s shoulders will only increase as they have to juggle household chores, fetching water and vegetables, and the additional costs if they relocate.

Although Nepalese law allows women to own land, there is generally an opposite view, revealing the deep roots of patriarchy once again. One man reveals that due to the twenty percent tax reduction—as an incentive—the land is often registered in the wives’ names. Usually, the head of the family is the owner, and upon their death, it shifts to his wife, but only if they were married for a long time. Eventually, it goes to a son, if there is one. So, the woman is a temporary landowner. The assumption is that if the land is in a woman’s name, she might take another man.

In Kathmandu, Raju Pandit Chetri, director of PRC with fifteen years of experience in climate change negotiations, reflects on the challenges facing women’s organisations. “Acceptance of women’s organisations here is difficult, and many municipalities are reluctant to support them. However, it got better once the gender policy was on the table, and they have since worked with clubs like Tewa.”

The collaboration between PRC and Tewa, facilitated by GAGGA, has united women’s rights and environmental advocacy. Their joint initiative aims to empower women to advocate for climate and gender policies in local governments.

In 2019, they started an initiative to empower women to advocate for climate and gender policies in local governments. “We now organise an annual national conference,” Chetri says, “which has raised awareness among women’s groups about climate finance and improved municipal recognition of their contributions, leading to their funding. Allocations for women in leadership roles have increased diversity within indigenous communities.”

The partnership between PRC and Tewa demonstrates the potential when women’s rights are central to environmental justice. Their work underscores the importance of collaboration in addressing climate change and gender inequality, emphasising that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Edited by Pius Okore.