For seven decades, Nepal has drawn upon a powerful metaphor: a “yam between two boulders.” Articulated by Prithvi Narayan Shah, it captured the geopolitical realities of his time—a call for prudence, survival, and strategic caution in a precarious neighbourhood. That insight was not a limitation but a foundation. It preserved sovereignty when many nations lost theirs.
But it was a strategy for survival—effective then, insufficient now.
What followed was a foreign policy that remained reactive and cautious, often leaning one way or another depending on who was in power. Nepal experimented with the language of equality and equidistance, but these were gestures, not strategies. The shift we face today is not one of choice. The world has changed around us, and our politics has finally caught up.
This is not merely a shift in rhetoric. It is a structural transformation in the global order—defined by great-power competition, economic fragmentation, and technological rivalry. In such a world, ambiguity is not prudence; it is vulnerability.
The earlier era has run its course. Nepal today is no longer simply between two powers but within a more complex geopolitical landscape shaped by India, China, and a resurgent United States. The old metaphor, while historically accurate, is no longer sufficient to describe present realities.
Yet small states are not powerless. They matter when they are strategically consistent, economically relevant, and diplomatically disciplined.
The rise of 35-year-old Balendra Shah reflects a broader generational shift and a public demand for direction. It presents an opportunity to reinterpret Nepal’s strategic identity—building on the wisdom of the past while adapting to the realities of the present. The moment is not just political; it is strategic.
Net Neutrality in Nepal
The government’s vision of Nepal as an economic “bridge” is a useful starting point. But a bridge must be real—it must move goods, energy, and capital. Without infrastructure, trade corridors, regulatory credibility, and investor confidence, it remains a metaphor.
And a slogan is not a doctrine.
Without a coherent doctrine, even the most popular government will drift. The task before the prime minister is to translate public energy into institutional clarity—moving from rhetoric to durable policy. This requires a shift from personality-driven diplomacy to system-driven statecraft, anchored in a professional diplomatic corps capable of long-term negotiation.
That begins with abandoning comforting illusions. The long-invoked idea of “special relations” has often masked asymmetry. Respectful partnerships—especially with neighbours—will remain essential, but they must be grounded in clarity of interest, not ambiguity of sentiment. States have permanent interests, not permanent emotions.
Nepal’s relations with India, China, and the United States must be equal in principle, even if different in practice. To sustain that balance, Nepal must become economically relevant. Hydropower exports, cross-border transmission lines, and transit logistics should not be treated as development projects alone, but as instruments of statecraft—binding partners to Nepal’s stability.
Equally important is institutional continuity. Nepal has seen 15 governments in 18 years; no foreign policy can survive such churn. The current political moment offers a rare “stability dividend.” It should be used to produce a public foreign policy white paper—something no government has yet delivered—enshrining a doctrine of active neutrality: structured, transparent engagement with all partners based on national interest.
Such a doctrine must be ratified across party lines. Without cross-party ownership, no strategy will outlast a single government.
Nepal can learn from other landlocked states. Kazakhstan has balanced Russia, China, and the West with pragmatism. Mongolia has built a “third neighbour” policy to diversify its options. Their lesson is simple: predictability is power. When partners understand your red lines, they are less likely to test them.
But there are cautionary lessons as well. Zimbabwe’s “Look East” policy brought coherence through a formal foreign policy framework, but at the cost of new dependencies. Nepal must avoid that trap. Diversification must be real, not rhetorical.
Clarity, in this sense, is deterrence. Ambiguity invites pressure.
The real test of any doctrine, however, lies in execution. Nepal’s foreign policy challenges today extend beyond traditional border disputes to questions of functional sovereignty.
The priorities are immediate and measurable: repatriating Nepalis from foreign conflicts; ensuring the safety of millions of workers in the Middle East; negotiating energy trade with India while treating Chinese projects as commercial engagements rather than political alignments; and safeguarding digital infrastructure amid the intensifying US-China technology rivalry. At the same time, Nepal must invest in crisis-response mechanisms for citizens abroad and build digital sovereignty through data protection and diversified technology partnerships.
These are not symbolic challenges. They are tests of state capacity.
No slogan will resolve them. Only clear, written, and consistent policy will. Execution—not articulation—will define credibility.
The “yam between two boulders” was never a symbol of weakness. It was a strategy of survival rooted in realism. But every strategy must evolve. What ensured survival in the 18th century cannot alone secure prosperity in the 21st.
The geopolitical environment has changed. The pressures are more complex, the actors more numerous, and the stakes far higher. Yet the objective remains constant: to safeguard sovereignty while advancing national interest.
That requires a doctrine that is pragmatic, economically grounded, institutionally anchored, and resilient to political change.
Nepal does not need new metaphors. It needs a strategy.
And, more importantly, it needs the institutions to sustain it.
(The author writes on Nepali politics and foreign policy.)
