Rebirth of radio.

A letter from Nepal.

by Ian Pringle

In a region where distances are mostly measured in days and the majority do not read or write, radio remains the most widespread means of mass communication. Radio factors as not only the most relevant media tool in Nepal's efforts to develop but one of the most significant influences overall.

The first time I hear the radio in Nepal is in a car. C&W. Garth Brooks. Day 2 in Kathmandu. I don't realise it's the radio until the announcer comes on, followed by an ad - seductive and promising. Deja vu.

In 1901, Nepal had one newspaper. Fifty years later, during the country's abortive mid-century experiment with democracy, the government created Radio Nepal. In 1995, five years after what is commonly referred to as the restoration of democracy, Radio Nepal established an FM service in the capital, bringing the total number of licensed radio services in existence to two.

I arrive to find a group of boys hanging out on the grass near my bike: Undivided attention is focusing on a shared but dislocated point, a voice and sound.

Eventful and ongoing, a story is unravelling around them on the grass. Two days later, I hear a farmer in the fields; a draught of music and a punctuating spade. A week later, on a walking road, a man passes me en route through the hills. Around him, like a cloud, a familiar song is playing from a radio perched on top of his backpack; a ubiquitous and unconditional companion.

FM Kathmandu, though officially a venture of Radio Nepal, is leased and programmed by broadcasters who have plugged Nepal into the global genre of pulp fiction. As if overnight, the airwaves leapt from the isolation of a single controlled voice to the babel of popular culture and commercial pluralism.

During the elections I am in a valley of a dozen villages and no electricity. The election–only the fourth in history–has an evident presence. A signature tune carries through open spaces: out of shops, from courtyards, across fields. At the head of the valley, the night before the election, they listen to the radio. At eight sharp I am presented with the English language news. Distant and distorted, it is nevertheless familiar and reassuring. Deja vu.

In 1997, a groups of journalists and media organisations succeeded in getting a license for a radio whose intentions were clearly stated to be in the public interest. Radio Sagarmatha began with non-stop Nepali music and gradually introduced public affairs and editorial programming. It was the first independent radio in South Asia.

In Kathmandu, the radio station gets a phone call to report rising tensions at the main traffic pass out of the valley. Later, another to share the tragedy of a boy who sets himself on fire, a signal for his television hero to rescue him.

By 1999, if nothing else, Radio Sagarmatha has brought to airwaves everyday voices, old music and new ideas.

When the ballot counting begins, all ears are close to the radio: a tie that binds in reflections and shared identity - perhaps a shadow of consensus. Before the end of 1999, there will be new voices on the airwaves in Nepal. At least one will be outside the valley and at least one will be based in a village.

The other day in a taxi, the driver was playing the station I work for. 'Hey bubba what station is this?' 'FM'. 'Which FM' 'FM radio.'

Deja vu.

Radio remains an extension of oral culture and shared experience, near at hand and close to the ground, live sound linking time and space.

TWO-WAY RADIO