By P.R. Pradhan

Nepal today is trapped in a web of corruption carefully designed and nurtured by political leaders, bureaucrats, and their brokers. A striking example is the abrupt transfer of Kumar Prasad Dahal, Director General of the Department of Commerce, Supplies and Consumers’ Protection, to the National Inclusion Commission. His fault was attempting to regulate the exorbitant fees charged by powerful private schools.

Dahal introduced the idea of a Maximum Retail Price (MRP) on school fees after uncovering rampant malpractice—schools charging parents 10 times the prescribed amount, evading taxes, running unauthorized foreign programs, and deceiving parents with misleading advertisements. He barely lasted five months in office before being removed, clearly under pressure from vested interests.

His attempt to regulate Ullens School—owned by Foreign Minister Arzu Rana Deuba—and Nightingale School—run by Youth and Sports Minister Tejulal Chowdhury—provoked particular outrage. Alongside them, schools such as Little Angels, United, Rato Bangla, Pathsala, Machhapuchchhre World School, Millsberry, Bhaktapur Modern, Premier International, Brihaspati, Rai School, Rosewood, Galaxy, Sifal, Alok Vidyashram, Kathmandu Euro, Kavya, KMC, Nisarga Vatika, Valley View, Nobel Academy, Creative Waiting Education, DAV, Swastishree Gurukul, and Genius were also asked to review their fee structures. The businessmen and politicians behind these schools pressed the government relentlessly, resulting in Dahal’s transfer.

In an interview, Dahal lamented that the country has reached a state of near-lawlessness, where even committed officials cannot enforce rules. Middlemen and brokers, he warned, now manipulate state revenue in amounts larger than the annual national budget.

While a handful enrich themselves, ordinary citizens face neglect. Farmers cannot obtain fertilizer during the planting season. Sugarcane farmers are denied subsidies that the government had promised but now claims it cannot afford. Yet, in broad daylight, a nexus of politicians and businessmen orchestrates massive looting. Leaders have reduced themselves to commission agents, collecting kickbacks in exchange for serving brokers’ interests.

Illegal land grabbing further exposes the rot. Influential businessmen, backed by political leaders, have seized prime public land in Baluwatar, Balmandir, and other areas. Instead of reclaiming these properties, the government seeks to legalize theft by drafting a land bill that would distribute state-owned land to party cadres.

Even within political circles, the corruption is openly acknowledged. Nepali Congress leader Shekhar Koirala recently remarked that “wherever there is government land, there is UML,” citing the misuse of King Birendra’s property by the Yeti Group.

Meanwhile, major scandals pile up. The “visit visa” scam implicates government insiders, yet Prime Minister Oli insists he is untouched by corruption. His own principal secretary, however, is accused of taking massive bribes in the Bhutanese refugee scam. If the Prime Minister is indeed innocent, why has he failed to release the Special Bureau of Investigation’s report? Why block the formation of a parliamentary committee to probe the visit visa scandal?

The answer is obvious: none of the major political parties wants a strong, independent anti-corruption body. An autonomous commission would threaten the very system that sustains them. They thrive on corruption, and their political survival depends on shielding it.

Nepal’s tragedy is not just corruption—it is planned corruption: deliberate, organized, and protected by those in power. While farmers wait for fertilizer, students and parents are exploited, and national assets are looted, a small elite grows richer. Until the culture of political protection for corruption is dismantled, the dream of a just and accountable state will remain an illusion.