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By Root 542 0

short hair makes sense. But this driglam namzha is appearing more and more. There is the new dress law: all Bhutanese citizens have to wear national dress in public or face fines and possible imprisonment. In the staff room, I leaf through back issues of the Kuensel, Bhutan’s weekly newspaper, which I rarely bother to read when it arrives, a week or two late. An article explains that the national dress rule is part of efforts to preserve and promote Bhutan’s national identity. A larger country can afford a diversity of customs and traditions which enrich and add color to the national image, but “for a small country like Bhutan, maintaining and strengthening a distinct national identity will always be a most important and vital factor for its continued well-being and security.” These messages seem particularly aimed at the southern Bhutanese of Nepali origin. According to the Kuensel, the southern people have expressed full support for strengthening Bhutan’s unique cultural identity by wearing national dress, speaking the national language, and following the ethics and practice of driglam namzha. The government announces that it will import machine-woven cloth to make ghos and kiras that can be sold at cost price to the people of southern Bhutan. The people of southern Bhutan express their gratitude.

This is the reason I have not read much of the Kuensel. Everyone is always expressing support and gratitude, no one ever seems to have a contradictory point of view. It seems strange, for instance, that the people of southern Bhutan would be so keen to wear the northern dress in the hot tropical plains, and that not a single person of Nepali origin expressed concern for preserving their own culture and language. Perhaps with time, an identity can be replaced, but it is hard to overwrite the names people call themselves. Either dissenting views were felt but not expressed, or expressed but not reported, but there must have been some people who were not happy with this idea.

I ask a class VIII student to explain the dress law to me. He says, “Our national dress is part of our culture.” I ask why it must be legislated then. He isn’t sure, but says that the Dzongda recently told his class the question why should not be allowed in Bhutan.

“Why ever not?” I ask, incredulous.

“Asking why is not driglam namzha,” he says. I stare, openmouthed, but in the end I say nothing. I am afraid to contradict the district administrator. Maybe it is not even true. Maybe it is a misinterpretation. Maybe I do not understand. Most definitely I do not understand. The question why should not be allowed? A completely different system of values is at work here, based on another history. Obedience to authority, respect for elders and preservation of the status quo form the bedrock of Bhutanese values. I tell myself to see the Dzongda’s statement objectively, as a part of a cultural context ... but I wonder if this is ever truly possible: what does “objectively” mean anyway?

Movement Order

Miss, your friend is here!” Sangay Chhoden comes to the library after school to tell me. I lock up and follow Sangay down the stairs to see who has come to visit. “Well, hello Medusa,” Leon says, looking at my hair which has been made particularly unruly by the July humidity. “I’m starving. What do you have to eat? Let’s make pizza.” We set off, skirting the playing field, but the soccer game comes to a complete stop anyway so that everyone can watch us walk away. “Does this happen to you in Wamrong?” I ask Leon.

“Oh, all the time. I can’t buy tomatoes in the market without the entire town talking about it. What’s the phillingpa doing, he’s buying tomatoes, how much is he paying, where did he buy them last time, how much did he pay then. It’s part of being here, I know, but it still gets on my nerves sometimes. We have such a strong concept of privacy and it just doesn’t exist here.”

I know exactly what he means. I sometimes long for anonymity, to walk down a crowded city street unnoticed, unremarked upon, to be surrounded by strangers who couldn’t care less