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Inclusion For All? An Analysis of Inclusive Education Strategies for Marginalised Groups in Nepal
Wheelchair basketball match, Kathmandu (Access to photo granted by Engage Nepal)
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‘Inclusion For All? An Analysis of Inclusive
Education Strategies for Marginalised Groups in
Nepal’
Master of Science Thesis
MSc International Development Studies
July 2018
Samuel John
10855157
Word Count: 27,943
Supervisor: Dr. Simone Datzberger
Second Reader: Dr. Tina Harris
Graduate School of Social Sciences
University of Amsterdam
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr. Simone Datzberger for all of her support, feedback and patience during the writing process. I would also like to thank Dr. Tina Harris for her advice and support prior to and during the fieldwork period. I am grateful to all my respondents who kindly gave their time during fieldwork, in particular I would like to thank Phil Palmer for facilitating my visit to Damgade school, and Simone Galimberti for his assistance in introducing me to additional respondents. A big thankyou also to Shiva Dhakal and Rakesh Shrestha for accommodating me and helping me to find my bearings in Kathmandu. Completing this thesis would have been impossible without the ability to talk through ideas in coffee-fuelled study sessions, and for that I am grateful for the support of all my friends and classmates. Lastly, I would like to thank my mum for her grammatical wizardry and for being a constant source of support.
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Abstract
Education is a major element of development focus in Nepal, and is seen as a primary vehicle for change
that has long attracted the attention and funding of donors and (I)NGOs. The global mantra of ‘inclusive
education’ has entered mainstream government and donor policy and (I)NGO strategy as a way of
addressing the various forms of exclusion that remain ingrained in the country’s social fabric; particularly
regarding girls, lower caste Dalits and children with disabilities. This thesis focuses on how the rhetoric of
‘inclusion’ at the policy level is being interpreted and translated to practical strategies among key
stakeholders in Nepal’s education sector. It aims to answer the central research question as to why
inclusive education strategies for marginalised groups in Nepal have been limited in their application, as is
evidenced by their continued exclusion from the education system. Its contribution and relevance is drawn
from Nepal’s ongoing transition to a federal state structure, creating considerable upheaval and
restructuring that affects all of the relevant stakeholders and provides a unique contextual moment for
analysis. It explores the main challenges faced by Dalits, girls and children with disabilities, and analyses
some of the proposed strategies put forward by the government and (I)NGOs working in the education
sector. This is done through a textual analysis of key policy documents and primary data, gathered through
23 semi-structured interviews with various education stakeholders at both ends of the policy-practise
dynamic in the Kathmandu Valley. Drawing on existing theories of inclusive education, it analyses these
strategies based on their adherence to the concepts of ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ inclusion. The former
focuses on strategies that enable access and enrolment of margainlised groups to education, and the latter
on the quality of education and other factors aimed to keep marginalised children from dropping out once
enrolled. It argues that strategies of primary inclusion can only have lasting impact if they are
complemented with auxiliary inclusion, and vice versa. With a few exceptions, it finds that the
government has a preference for ‘primary’ inclusion, whilst non-state actors tend to prefer ‘auxiliary’
inclusion strategies. In addition, it finds that these strategies are adopted both internally to the classroom
and school environment, and externally to the wider community, necessitating a contextualised analysis of
inclusive education. Through this analysis, it finds three key limitations to the application of inclusive
education strategies; a lack of coordination between relevant stakeholders; government inefficiency in a
time of political upheaval as the country transitions to a federal republic, and a tendency for education
stakeholders to frame inclusion as primarily a socio-economic issue to the neglect of other confounding
factors.
.
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Table of Contents
Inclusion For All? An Analysis of Inclusive Education Strategies for Marginalised Groups in Nepal ................................................................................................................................................. 1
Acknowledgments ............................................................................................................................. 3
Abstract ............................................................................................................................................. 4
Table of Contents .............................................................................................................................. 5
List of Abbreviations ......................................................................................................................... 7
List of Figures ................................................................................................................................... 8
Chapter 1: Introduction ..................................................................................................................... 9
1.1 Research overview ............................................................................................................................................10
1.1.1 Marginalisation based on caste ...............................................................................................................10
1.1.2 Marginalisation based on Gender ..................................................................................................11
1.1.3 Marginalisation based on disability................................................................................................11
1.2 Overview of ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ inclusion strategies ..........................................................................12
1.3 Thesis Overview ...............................................................................................................................................13
Chapter 2: Contextual background ................................................................................................. 14
2.1 Overview ............................................................................................................................................................14
2.2 The impact of the 2015 earthquake ...............................................................................................................15
2.3 The aid industry’s involvement in Nepal’s education system ..................................................................16
2.4 The transition to federalism and its implications for education ...............................................................18
Chapter 3: Theoretical Framework ................................................................................................. 21
3.1 The origins and development of Inclusive education ................................................................................21
3.2 Conceptualising Primary and Auxiliary Inclusion .......................................................................................24
3.3 Inclusive Education in Practice ......................................................................................................................25
3.4 Limitations to the provision of inclusive education ...................................................................................27
Conceptual Scheme ................................................................................................................................................29
Chapter 4: Methodology .................................................................................................................. 30
4.1 Research Questions ..........................................................................................................................................30
4.2 Research Methods ............................................................................................................................................30
4.3 Consideration of quality criteria .....................................................................................................................31
4.4 Sampling and unit of analysis .........................................................................................................................32
4.5 Research Location ............................................................................................................................................33
4.6 Ethics and Limitations .....................................................................................................................................34
Chapter 5: Analysis of the main barriers to education for Dalits, g irls and children with disabilities ....................................................................................................................................... 36
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5.1 General issues ...................................................................................................................................................36
5.1.1 Low quality ................................................................................................................................................36
5.1.2 Poverty........................................................................................................................................................39
5.1.3 Public/Private divide................................................................................................................................39
5.1.4 The Urban/Rural Divide .........................................................................................................................40
5.2 Exclusion of Dalits ...........................................................................................................................................40
5.2.1 Active and passive exclusion of Dalits ..................................................................................................41
5.2.2 Socio-economic condition.......................................................................................................................42
5.3 Exclusion of Girls ............................................................................................................................................44
5.3.1 Cultural preference for boys ...................................................................................................................44
5.3.2 Issues surrounding hygiene and menstruation .....................................................................................45
5.3.3 Child Marriage ...........................................................................................................................................45
5.3.4 ‘Double disadvantage’ ..............................................................................................................................46
5.4 Exclusion of Children with Disabilities (CWDs) ........................................................................................46
5.4.1 Training and infrastructure......................................................................................................................47
5.4.2 Stigma .........................................................................................................................................................48
5.4.3 Multiple Discrimination ...........................................................................................................................50
Chapter 6: Strategies of Inclusion ................................................................................................... 51
6.1 Inclusive education at the government level ................................................................................................51
6.2 Strategies of Inclusion among non-state actors ...........................................................................................53
6.3 Targeted strategies ............................................................................................................................................56
6.3.1 Dalits ...........................................................................................................................................................56
6.3.2 Girls ............................................................................................................................................................56
6.3.3 Children with disabilities .........................................................................................................................58
6.4 General Limitations..........................................................................................................................................60
6.5 Summary ............................................................................................................................................................62
Chapter 7: Conclusion ..................................................................................................................... 64
7.1 ‘Primary’ and ‘Auxiliary’ Inclusion Strategies ...............................................................................................65
7.2 Summary of inclusion strategies for marginalised groups ..................................................................66
7.3 Why have inclusive education strategies for marginalised groups in Nepal been limited in their application? ..............................................................................................................................................................67
7.4 Policy Recommendations ................................................................................................................................68
7.5 Relevance and future research Agenda .........................................................................................................68
Bibliography .................................................................................................................................... 69
Annex A: Summary of Inclusion Strategies ..................................................................................... 77
Annex B: Operationalisation Table ................................................................................................. 79
Annex C: Research Transparency ................................................................................................... 79
Annex D: Equitable vs Equal distribution of aid ............................................................................ 81
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List of Abbreviations
AI Auxiliary Inclusion
CSO Civil-Society Organisation
CWD Children with Disabilities
DoE Deparment of Education (Nepal)
EFA Education for All
GPE Global Partnership for Education
HRC Human Rights Council
IEPPD Inclusive Education Policy for Persons with Disability 2072
INGO International Non-Governmental Organisation
NCE National Campaign for Education
NGO Non-Governmental Organisation
OECD Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development
PI Primary Inclusion
SDGs Susainable Development Goals
STC Save the Children
USAID United States Agency for International Development
UN The United Nations
UNDP United Nations Development Programme
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation
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List of Figures
Figure A: Perspectives on Inclusive Education page 23
Figure B: Conceptualising Primary and Auxiliary Inclusion page 25
Figure C: Conceptual Scheme page 29
Figure D: Categories of Respondents (Simplified) page 32
Figure E: Multiple Layers of Discrimination page 50
Figure F: Inroducing ‘Internal’ and ‘External’ dimensions of Inclusive Education page 62
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Chapter 1: Introduction
Multilateral acceptance of education as a basic human right has in recent decades been accompanied by
efforts to improve the access and quality of education for all children. Forms of exclusion remain
ingrained in the social fabric, of which the education system can serve as a microcosm for the wider social
milieu. Because of this, it is also perceived as a primary vehicle for change and empowerment that will
eventually permeate through the rest of society. Nepal, like many developing countries, suffers a twin
crisis of access to and quality of education, particularly in relation to children from lower caste
backgrounds, girls and children with disabilities. The government has acted on this partly through
matching its own policy rhetoric to that of Sustainable Development Goals1, specifically Goal 4: to ‘Ensure
inclusive and equitable quality education and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all’ (UN 2018)2 and in a recent
pledge to increase the education budget from 11% to 20% of GDP (Setopati 2018). The ongoing
transformation from a unitary state to a federal republic also entails a devolution of powers to the
municipal and provincial levels that are intended to improve the provision of state services, one of which
is the provision of an education system that is inclusive to all.
While the discrimination of marginalised groups, its effect on the education system, and the stark contrast
between rural and urban education have been well documented (Devtoka and Upadhyay 2015; Khanal
2015; Bhandary 2017), there has been less focus on the strategies adopted by the state and non-state actors
to address these patterns of exclusion. The post-earthquake and transition-to-federal context also provides
a significant set of ‘ruptures’ that ‘necessitate partial or complete re-evaluation of previously held knowledge, practises
and beliefs’ (Shakya, 2015), reinforcing the value of collecting primary data from the field and providing a
unique contextual moment for analysis. That the country is in a state of flux could potentially provide a
springboard for actors in education to evaluate and implement new strategies. However, the atmosphere
at the moment appears to be one of confusion. In many aspects of governance, changes outlined at the
policy level often lack a clear definition of how this translates to the implementation level. Provincial
offices still need to be set up from scratch, and the government is struggling to fund the expansion in
human resources needed to implement devolution to the municipal level. Even high-ranking civil servants
appear unclear as to what exactly their role will be under the federal system (CLU3). INGOs and donors
are also conflicted, torn between the current mantra of ‘state-led development’ (Booth 2012) and wanting
to continue working in education in a context with little or no firm leadership from the state. (DEU;
ILU3).
1 The SDGs are a UN-roadmap of international targets to achieve by the year 2030 (See Chapter 6). 2 For example, see ‘Inclusive Education Policy for Persons with Disability’ 2072 (2016) 3 Primary respondents are referenced in-text by codes. These are explained in detail in Annex A.
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1.1 Research overview The public education system in Nepal remains plagued by problems of low quality4, low motivation5, low
pass rates6 and high drop-out rates7. While this affects the school-age population in general, certain
sectors of society have been disproportionately affected. This research focused on these affected groups,
defined by three major forms of marginalisation that occur in Nepal’s schools; caste-based, gender-based
and physical and mental disability-based. It addresses the following questions:
Why have inclusive education strategies for marginalised groups in Nepal been limited in their
application? (Chapter 6 and Conclusion)
1. What are the main contextual factors surrounding public education in Nepal? (Chapter 2)
2. Why, and in what ways, have marginalised communities been excluded from public education in
Nepal? (Chapter 5)
3. What strategies have been implemented by the government, NGO and aid sectors and why?
(Chapter 6)
The forms of marginalisation addressed are not mutually exclusive, and double or triple forms of
discrimination are very common. Neither are they exhaustive of all forms of marginalisation in Nepal. The
rationale for focusing on them specifically and not on other forms such as religious and ethnic
discrimination is based on their applicability at the country level. Specifically, while particular forms of
religious and ethnic discrimination may exist in certain parts of Nepal, gender-based, caste-based and
disability-based discrimination are more widespread, and receive greater focus from the relevant
stakeholders in the capital (the majority of the fieldwork was conducted in the Kathmandu Valley). What
follows is a brief summary of each of the forms of exclusion, and an overview of some of the strategies
used that will be expanded on later in this thesis.
1.1.1 Marginalisation based on caste The Dalit caste8 make up an estimated 13% of Nepal’s population, spread out throughout the country
(HRC 2015). According to the Human Rights Council, Dalits constitute a group of communities who;
‘…by virtue of atrocities of caste-based discrimination and untouchability, are more backward in social, economic,
educational, political and religious fields, and are deprived of human dignity and social justice’ (HRC 2015). Collectively,
4 This is evidenced in high student-teacher ratios, 60:1 in lower secondary level for example (DoE 2018), and by the average literacy rate of 64.7% (UNDP 2017). 5 See Chapter 5 6 This is illustrated by the disparity between the pass-rates of final-year examinations between private schools (89.8%) and public schools (33.75%) (Acharya and Leon-Gonzalez 2016 7 Net enrolements drop from 97.2% in the final grade of primary school to 18.2% in the final grade of secondary school (DoE 2018). 8 Dalits themselves are a heterogenous community composed of 26 inner castes (HRC 2015), with differences in language and culture (Khanal 2015). While the experience of discrimination is similar between these groups, there is also a general tendency for Terai Dalits to be disproportionately disadvantaged in comparison to their Hill Dalit counterparts (HRC 2015). This also correspondents partly to the urban/rural divide discussed in chapter 3.
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Dalits form the poorest community in Nepal in terms of income, consumption and human development,
with roughly 42% living under the poverty line compared to a national average of 25.2% (ibid). A large
proportion of Dalits depend on elementary occupations, exploited in some instances by traditional labour
systems which offer only minimal payment, often in the form of rice or grains (HRC 2015). Caste
discrimination was also highlighted in the post-earthquake relief phase, as aid distribution was given to
Dalits last or withheld from them altogether (Pariyar 2015; Folmar et al. 2015; Nelson 2015). In schools,
explicit forms of discrimination such as Dalit children being made to eat and play separately from higher
caste children are becoming less common but do still exist in some more rural and conservative areas
(Bhandary, 2017: 76, Folmar 2007, Nightingale 2011). Implicit or passive forms of discrimination
surrounding Dalits, such as de facto segregation of ‘Dalit schools’ are more common, as shall be discussed
in Chapter 5.
1.1.2 Marginalisation based on Gender Educational disparity between men and women remains a significant issue, evidenced through varying
literacy rates (72% for men, 49% for women (UNESCO 2012) and by the percentage of the population
that has received secondary schooling (41.2% of men, 24.1% of women (UNDP 2017). Previous efforts
have had some successes, demonstrated by similar youth literacy rates for boys and girls (84% and 80%
respectively( UNESCO 2012), and through achieving gender parity in primary-level education (DoE
2018; GPE 2018). However, high dropout rates remain a problem, particularly in secondary school. In
some rural areas, child marriage continues to be the largest obstacle to girls’ completion of higher
education, with married girls ten times more likely to leave school than their unmarried peers (Girls not
Brides 2016). Coupled with the socio-economic strains of rural communities, girls may be kept at home so
their brother(s) can go to school or placed in a public school while the brothers go to private, as there is
more of a perceived ‘investment return’ in boys (NLU7). Girls, meanwhile, are considered as an economic
strain, partly due to marriage dowries. Many government schools also lack separate facilities for boys and
girls, sanitary products for girls are very rare, and in the most conservative communities menstruation has
a negative stigma that translates to segregation and humiliation in the classroom, greatly reducing the
incentive for adolescent girls to come to school (Bhandary 2017).
1.1.3 Marginalisation based on disability The 2015 constitution has been hailed as Nepal’s first ‘disabled-friendly’ constitution (NEU2), from which
other ’progressive’ policy changes such as the Disability Act (2016) have followed. Disability has become a
major focus of inclusive education, and there are now quotas for public sector jobs to include persons
with disability, as well as women and lower-castes (See Articles 22, 23 and 83 of the 2015 Constitution).
The main difficulty has been the translation of ‘progressive’ policy rhetoric into tangible change on the
ground. For example, the current education policy is to transition towards ‘integrated’ schools9. These are
9 See ‘Inclusive Education Policy for Persons with Disability 2072 (2016).
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said to include more longer-term benefits such as social inclusion, preparedness for society, wider visibility
and acceptance of disability, but in the short and medium term this is limited by lack of financial,
infrastructural and human resources and existing stigma towards people with disabilities (see Chapter 3).
This stigma exists in both rural and urban settings. In some of the more isolated, conservative rural
communities, disability continues to be interpreted as a sign of ‘bad karma’, or punishment for a sin in a
previous for life, which is seen as a mark of shame upon the family (Bell 2016). Disabled children are
likely to remain hidden indoors, particularly if they are a Dalit family and/or the child in question is
female, adding a further barrier to inclusive strategies and data collection (see Chapter 5). In urban areas,
disability is still seen as mostly synonymous with ‘inability’. The religio-cultural stigma is less common, but
more prevalent is the opinion that disabled people are an economic burden. In cases of numerous children
and limited resources, families will tend to focus on sending the ‘healthy’ boys to better schools, as in a
similar way to girls in rural communities, there is less ‘investment motive’ to send disabled children to
school (PLU2).
1.2 Overview of ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ inclusion strategies Drawing from previous theories of inclusion, this thesis introduces the concepts of ‘primary’ and
‘auxiliary’ inclusion, corresponding basically to the current education mantra of ‘access’ and ‘quality’ in
education respectively (see Chapter 3). Broadly, it finds that the government and major donors tend to
focus on ‘primary’ inclusion strategies that address the accessibility of schooling, both in terms of physical
infrastructure and provision of relevant resources in the classroom (braille books for blind children, for
example) and in terms of enabling students to access school through the provision of financial
scholarships (as outlined in Articles 23-24 of the 2015 Constitution). This approach has had some
successes in terms of enrolment rates, and primary-level attendance and completion in particular have
increased (DoE Flash Report 2017-2018). However, in secondary schools, success stories in enrolment
figures tend to mask gaping problems, as less than half of all children enrolled will reach the final grade of
high school, of which a similar proportion manage to pass their final exams (NLU7).
A lot of (I)NGO work in the area is focused on ‘auxiliary’ inclusion, largely in the form of ‘holistic’
approaches which aim to reduce family dependence on children for child labour whilst also increasing
community acceptance of marginalised groups. These approaches, whilst having an impact in certain areas,
are limited by the low quality of Nepal’s education system. This is particularly relevant to children with
disabilities, where a focus on physical accessibility and community acceptance is helpful but ultimately
redundant if the school lacks trained teachers and relevant resources. While some NGOs are involved in
teacher training in areas such as disability-inclusion and child-centred learning, this is only being adopted
on a small-scale, to the effect that only a ‘handful’ of Nepal’s 35,000 schools could be said to be actually
inclusive (PLU2). While the federal restructuring is intended to bring about new forms of accountability
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and flexibility in education at the municipal level, this is also limited by confusion as to the precise powers
of each federal body, which are already experiencing problems of underfunding (NLU6).
1.3 Thesis Overview This thesis is primarily focused on the ways in which marginalised groups are excluded from Nepal’s
public education system and the successes and limitations of some of the ‘inclusion’ strategies adopted by
key stakeholders within the current context of political upheaval as the country shifts to a federal
structure. Data has been collected and analysed from a mixture of document analyses and from interviews
conducted with (I)NGO workers, teachers and civil servants (see Chapter 3 for methodology and Annex
C for a full list of interviewees). The majority of the research was conducted in Kathmandu, due to the
high concentration of relevant stakeholders based in the capital. A small case study of a village school was
also carried out during the course of the fieldwork. The following chapter (2) explores in greater depth the
contextual factors surrounding Nepal’s education system, addressing the first of the research sub
questions. The thesis continues with a theoretical framework (Chapter 3) which discusses what is meant
by ‘inclusive education’, its theoretical and philosophical background, and how its application can be
conceptualised into ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ forms of inclusion. Chapter 4 discusses the research
methodology and quality criteria. Chapters 5 and 6 focus on the primary data; the former addresses the
second sub-question of why and in what ways marginalised groups have been excluded from Nepal’s
public education system; whilst the latter deals with the third sub-question, with an overview and analysis
of current strategies being used by some of the key stakeholders in inclusive education. Drawing from the
findings, it introduces a further dimension of ‘internal’ and ‘external’ inclusion that complements the
primary and auxiliary forms of inclusion outlined in Chapter 3. Finally, the conclusion addresses the
central question, and finds that the new federal structure, whilst having the potential to implement
education-inclusion strategies that are adaptive to specific local diversities and needs, is currently in a state
of flux and is a source of considerable confusion among education stakeholders, forming a significant
barrier to successful implementation of inclusion policies. In addition, it finds that a general focus on
‘primary’ inclusion strategies that enable access and enrolment of marginalised groups to education are not
being adequately reinforced or coordinated with ‘auxiliary’ inclusion strategies, which are more concerned
with the quality of education leading to a greater school ‘survival rate’ of not only marginalised groups, but
of school-age children in general.
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Chapter 2: Contextual background
This chapter explores the contextual background that addresses the first of the research sub-questions and
provides added nuance to the discussion of the following chapters. It starts with a brief overview of Nepal
and continues with a more detailed discussion of contextual factors; including the long-term impact of the
2015 earthquake, Nepal’s shift from a unitary to federal state structure, and its dependence on foreign aid
and status as a ‘fragile state’. These factors have either directly or indirectly impacted Nepal’s education
system, with implications for inclusive education strategies.
2.1 Overview Nepal is a landlocked country sandwiched between India and China. Its population, based on the 2011
census, is 26.5 million, divided into 125 distinct ethnic groups and 123 languages. Demographically, it has
a relatively young population, with 40% being under the age of 16 (Lohani 2018). Geographically, it is
divided into three regions; Terai, Mountain and Hill. The southern Terai (plains) region bordering India is
a largely agricultural region home to 50% of the country’s population, including substantial minorities with
kin and cultural ties across the border. The Mountain region encompasses a large section of the Himalayan
range, home to 7% of the population, predominantly in isolated villages, with cultural and religious
similarities to neighbouring Tibet. The political and economic heart of the country is the Hill region,
dominated by the Kathmandu Valley at its centre. While there have been improvements in life expectancy,
mortality rates, sanitation and drinking water and literacy rates since 1990, high levels of inequality persist
between the ‘Hill Elites’ and largely impoverished communities in the mountain and Terai areas (Bell
2016). Nepal’s GNI, at $720, is roughly half that of India’s, and about sixty times smaller than the UK’s
(Brown 2017).10 Nepal remains one of the poorest countries in Asia, with 16.4% of the population still
living below $1 dollar a day (Karkee and Comfort, 2016). Its imports, valued at around $6.6 billion, are
roughly ten times what it exports, with nearly two-thirds coming from neighbouring India.
Nepal’s public education system is divided between primary (grades 1-5) and secondary education (grades
5-10). To complete secondary education, students are required to take the ‘Secondary Education
Examination’ (SEE) examinations11, after which they can choose to complete higher secondary education
(grades 11-12) which is also a prerequisite for tertiary education. The country currently has 35,223
schools, of which 29,630 (84%) are public, 5593 are private and 735 are religious (regulated privately, but
10 $1570 and $43,430 respectively 11 Up until 2017, these examinations were referred to as ‘School Leaving Certificate’ examinations, or ‘SLCs’. Respondents referred to SLCs and SEEs interchangeably, but both refer to the final-year examination held from March-June annually.
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use the national curriculum) (Regmi, 2017: 14). Since the abolishment of the monarchy in 2008 and the
adoption of a new constitution in 2015, the government’s education focus has been on ‘fundamental
reforms’ such as decentralisation, community involvement and teacher development, in a drive to improve
school performance (Regmi 2017). The School Sector Reform Plan 2016-2023 (SSRP) is currently the core
document of the Ministry of Education, and directly imitates SDG4, stating that it; ‘seeks to ensure that the
education system is inclusive and equitable in terms of access, participation and learning outcomes’ (Global Partnership
for Education 2018). The quality of education has also been described as ‘an increasingly important concern in
contemporary Nepalese society’, potentially due to the anticipated returns to education in the global labour
market (Acharya and Leon-Gonzalez 2016: 1).
2.2 The impact of the 2015 earthquake Nepal’s recent history has been described as a ‘…long-term entanglement of different slow and onset crises’, of
which the most recent was the 2015 earthquake (Lord 2017). The earthquake and its aftershocks killed an
estimated 9000 people, left 5000 people permanently disabled, displaced 2 million people from their
homes and flattened half a million buildings, including 13,000 schools. (Sharma 2016; Warner et. al. 2015).
It also occurred at a time of significant political upheaval, in which Nepal was struggling with political
transition and an ongoing peace process that began after the civil war (1996-2006) and the abolishment of
the monarchy in 2008. Frequent cabinet changes and stalemates over the formation of a new constitution
effectively meant that the country had ‘23 governments in 24 years’ (Senchurey 2015), which was further
exacerbated by longer-term issues such as chronic inequality, ‘rampant corruption’ and the lack of
effective government, particularly at the local level (Sharma 2016; Regmi 2017: 188). A recent article
described Nepal as a ‘fragile state’ trapped in a ‘distribution coalition’ that ‘…favours the interests of the political
elites ruling the country’, which is at a disconnect to the needs and requirements of the people (Lohani 2018). In 2017, for
example, the government was criticised for leaving citizens to ‘fend for themselves’ and doing little to help
while millions of Nepalis ‘struggled through two monsoons and two bitter winters’ (Brown, 2017), in temporary
shelters that are little more than ‘tents and tin-sheds’ (Amnesty International 2017a: 4) 12. This was
illustrated by one respondent, who commented:
‘…the President is K.P. Oli [the Prime Minister]s girlfriend, who just spent $900,000 on a bullet-proof car […]
That amount of money would’ve rebuilt 20-30 villages plus their schools, minimum.’ (NEU3).
Three years after the earthquake, only 16% of the $3 billion in reconstruction funds received by the
Nepalese government has been spent (Sangroula 2018)13. The National Reconstruction Authority, the
agency set up to distribute the funds, was criticised in 2017 as being ‘barely functioning’ (Brown 2017). It
is unclear what percentage or amount of this funding is expected to go into the reconstruction of affected
schools and classrooms, most of which are still operating as ‘Temporary Learning Centres’ (NLU3); but it
12 Under one estimate, only 5% of affected houses have rebuilt, while only a further 20% are in the process of rebuilding; with 75% still in temporary shelters (NLU3). 13 Part of this has gone to ‘reconstruction grants’ (around $2500) given to affected households. However, these have been criticized as being barely enough to cover the cost of clearing the rubble (RCRD)
16
was commented that most of the attention so far has gone on urban schools and schools in popular
(trekking) areas that are more likely to be ‘seen’ by outsiders, than on schools in the more isolated rural
areas that bore the full impact of the earthquake (TLU2). Many TLCs remain exposed to the elements
and lack basic provisions such as separate washing facilities, which are dissuading girls and other
marginalised groups from attending school in affected areas (NLU3). The earthquake response also
exposed patterns of caste-based discrimination. For example, many local political leaders did not pass on
information of aid drops to Dalit communities (Pariyar 2015); whilst in the Dolakha district, aid relief was
found to be distributed more on the basis of caste-hierarchy than on actual need, placing Dalits at the
bottom of the list despite their tendency to live in areas of greater risk Lord (2017). Amnesty International
(2017b) stated that there is a ‘…disproportionate burden on those very communities that need the government’s help the
most, pushing them to the back of the queue, or abandoning them altogether’. An article in the Nepali Times also
commented that whilst ‘Disasters affect everybody equally […] discrimination emerges during the rescue’ (Pariyar
2015). This provides evidence of lingering caste discrimination that was denied by many respondents (see
Chapters 5 and 6).
2.3 The aid industry’s involvement in Nepal’s education system
Nepal is one of the top ten recipients of Overseas Development Aid for education in Asia (OECD 2018),
and in the last year has received $60 million in grants for programmes relating to the Global Partnership
for Education (GPE). However, despite sixty years of donor involvement in education, the overall impact
is such that one author commented; ‘There is probably no greater indictment of international development in Nepal
than the derelict state of public education’ (Bell 2016: 377). While previous efforts such as the School Sector
Reform (2009) programme have had successes in raising primary school enrolment from 64% in 1990 to
92.6% in 2015, and in lengthening the period of free education from five years to eight years (Acharya and
Leon-Gonzalez 2016), efforts at the secondary level have been less successful (Craig 2016). In 2015 for
example, only 28% of public school pupils passed their school leaving exams compared to a target of 71%
(Bell 2016)14. Like other developing countries, a focus on ‘short-term’ indicators of success, such as
enrolment statistics in primary education, has been pursued at the neglect of longer-term qualitative
changes that could improve retention and pass rates at the secondary level (Riddell and Nino-Zarazua
2016). Indeed, previous studies have shown that education donors tend to take the ‘easy route’ in
providing an account to the public at home of the results of their intervention by ‘focusing mostly on reporting
on the numbers assisted’, rather than on actual quality (ibid: 24). A subsequent focus on short-term goals
limits capacity development, and may ultimately be ‘undermining’ the education sector in the long term
(ibid: 32).Similarly, Ferguson (1994) argued that in order to ‘move the money’, development actors tend to
‘portray development countries in terms that make them suitable targets’ (176), whilst also being at the behest of
14 Examinations that year occurred in March, and so were not affected by the earthquake or its aftermath.
17
what, where and how long the donors deem appropriate15. In the words of one respondent: ‘Sometimes a
project is for the project’s sake […] If you see on a national level […] how development is happening, in terms of the
resources, spending in the country, and then outcomes, you will not be satisfied. We have very little you can find’ (NLU7).
This limited impact of aid on the education is further exacerbated by a lack of communication and trust
between education stakeholders. For instance, a few respondents from smaller organisations cited the
humanitarian response to the earthquake as being the ‘final straw’, causing a reluctance to work in
partnership with larger aid agencies and INGOs, whom they perceive to be bureaucratically bloated,
ineffective and propping up a wider system of endemic corruption in all levels of governance in Nepal
(NEU1, NEU3, NLU3). This was illustrated in one respondent’s comment on a World Food Programme
scandal following the 2015 earthquake:
‘You’ve done something wrong, you’ve supplied food that’s rotten, because your purchasers bought rotten food, lied
on the bill and pocketed the difference. You’re not now gonna openly grab him, put him through a trial and then
make an example of him, because that makes you look bad. So you’re gonna sweep it under the carpet and tell the
locals that if they ever complain to the paper again they won’t get any more supplies from the WFP […] You’re
threatening people that have lost everything, for being honest? […] Lost any little respect I had after the earthquake
for the big boys, they’re all about money, they really are […] In poor countries, charity work is just a way to get
rich’ (NEU3).
This attitude was shared by several respondents, who presented a ‘go it alone’ attitude; by which they
purposefully avoid working in partnership with (or even in the same district/municipality as) larger
organisations (NEU3, NEU1, NLU3). In some cases, this attitude also emerged following failed attempts
to reach out to larger organisations only to be ignored or rejected (NLU5, NLU1). This has implications
on the wider applicability of inclusive education strategies. As argued by Riddell and Nino-Zarazua (2016),
‘sustainable education outcomes will not be achieved merely by reproducing yet more successful but individual projects’ (32)
Since the 2015 earthquake, international aid and development has been increasingly resisted by the
Nepalese government on ‘nationalistic and sovereignty-based grounds’ (Sharma 2016), possibly out of fear
of the creation of a ‘parallel state’ or ‘NGO republic’, as illustrated by Klarreich and Polman (2012) in the
case of the Haiti earthquake in 2010. However, the fact that the Nepalese government itself has been
criticised both internationally and domestically as being ‘poorly managed, inefficient, poorly resourced and corrupt’
(Karkee and Comfort 2016: 3) creates doubt that these ‘nationalist’ measures such as the ‘Prime Minister’s
Relief Fund’16 are little more than corruption in the guise of asserting sovereignty. There are also concerns
that the proposed ‘National Integrity Policy’, nominally intended to ‘streamline’ the aid sector, is actually
15 An example of this is the Save the Children Nepal website (2018), which talks almost exclusively about STC’s humanitarian response to the 2015 earthquake, which it also frames as ongoing, despite the fact that 80-90% of its earthquake work has finished (ILU3). 16 This effectively barred INGOs from engaging in independent relief activities following the 2015 earthquake and flooding in 2017 (Sangroula 2018)
18
designed to further curtail INGO involvement in rights, policy and advocacy work17, and would
effectively be used to ‘remove organisations that draw the government’s ire with little reason’ (Bader 2018). This
matches a comment made by one respondent who allegedly knew of colleagues that had ‘called out’ the
government on cases of blatant corruption surrounding the earthquake response and later had their visas
revoked (NEU3). A few respondents also gave examples of corruption in the education sector more
specifically. For example, one described how he had to add another $20,000 on to a $55,000 cost-estimate
of a school construction to effectively mask the fact that ‘various individuals’ from the department of
education take a cut from the construction cost. In other words: ‘The whole system to get [a] school built was
about having to lie about the cost, so that the government can then make more money when they build schools’ (NEU3).
Another case involved a school that has been receiving foreign volunteers over the past few years and
whose teachers have consistently lied to volunteers to elicit ‘donations’ from them. They reportedly hid
previous items that had been donated, including sports equipment and laptops, to prompt further
donations. Furthermore, they consistently reported having ‘record numbers of students’ to put pressure
on the NGO to provide funding for the ‘construction of classrooms’18. These instances further
demonstrate the strained relations between the government and NGOs, who are increasingly discouraged
from operating because of government ambivalence towards the sector and a culture of corruption at
multiple levels of Nepalese society.
2.4 The transition to federalism and its implications for education One of the key facets of the 2015 Constitution was the transition of Nepal from a unitary state with five
‘development regions’ and 75 districts to a federal entity composed of seven provinces and 753 ‘gaupalika’
(municipalities) with a range of devolved powers in different sectors including education. The move to
federalism was outlined in the peace process, as a concession to the Maoist party (now in power), and a
direct response to the chronic centralisation and geographic inequality that was one of the major
grievances which led to the civil war (Bell 2016). Federalism is significantly changing the administrative
functioning of the country, and the delineation of the new federal and municipal boundaries bears little or
no relation to existing district boundaries (Lohani 2018)19. Local administration is also shifting, as the new
gaupalika will absorb the size of five to twelve Village Development Committees (the former local
administrative unit); while each former district will now be replaced by seven to twelve municipalities. This
17 A similar policy in 2015 outlined a registration cost for rights-based NGOs in Nepal that ranges from $6000-$15,000 (NLU7). 18 This case emerged through various informal conversations with volunteers and workers from a particular NGO. Specific details have been omitted to maintain anonymity. 19 In 2015, this exacerbated political tensions between the ‘hill elites’ and the Madhesi population of the Terai region who perceived the new boundaries to be discriminatory and misrepresentational (Lord 2017). This led to months of protests and strikes and culminated in an ‘informal’ blockade at the Indian border that further crippled Nepal’s already damaged economy. The drawing of federal boundaries along ethnic lines was also mentioned by one respondent as a potential future area of conflict and discrimination (ILU2)
19
has created an atmosphere of confusion among education stakeholders (NLU3, ILU3). For example, one
interviewee from an INGO commented that: ‘…all of a sudden we don’t have a district system and everything goes back to the gaupalika […] So now instead
of one unit, it has become like 7 or 9 units, and we don’t know how many people will be there, who will be in
charge of what, how they will talk to each other, how they will centralise the data and information on education,
how it will flood back to the central level, so it’s all blurry…’ (ILU2).
Meanwhile, respondents from smaller NGOs remarked that if they were to work in the same municipality
as a larger organisation, they fear they would be ‘shouldered out’ or forced to relocate due to their
unwillingness to work in partnership, potentially leaving a whole municipality to one organisation that has
the capacity to only work in a few villages (NLU3).
The government has also struggled to provide adequate funding and staffing for the new offices (NLU3);
and the lack of training and human resource-allocation20 to the newly empowered gaupalika is such that
many new public servants (such as the new role of ‘local education monitor’) ‘don’t know about their own roles
and responsibilities’, or have a lack of experience, particularly in rural areas (NLU3)21. One senior civil
servant stated that:
‘[There is] a feeling that the local government is not in a position, financially-wise, resource-wise to deliver the
intended specialism. So this is creating a lot of confusion […] the local level is very ill-prepared […] to deliver the
intent.’ (PLU2).
It is intended that the gaupalika will eventually be ‘…in a position to devolve the curriculum, select teachers through
local institutions and create a tax-base’, despite the system being in ‘chaos’ at present (PLU2). Indeed, a
functioning local government administrating education without the need for ‘staggered approval’ through
various district offices has the chance to improve efficiency, whilst tailoring to the needs to the specific
communities themselves (NLU2). This was illustrated through one respondent, who described how:
‘…in the past we had to work through four organisations for one child. For health, we had to work with the
district health office. Then, for the social security we had to work with the women and children’s office. And for
education with the education office, And then local support, with the local office. Now all those four are in one
place. Integrated.’ (NLU6)
Furthermore, increased school monitoring is already having some effect; one respondent stated that even
though many education monitors are unclear on the specifics of their role, their presence is already having
an impact on teachers, who are ‘a little bit scared’ (NLU1). The gaupalika education office is supposed to
be governed in part by ex-teachers who ‘supervise, observe and train’ current teachers (TLR1). As these
offices would have a smaller area to administer than the old district level, each individual school would
receive more attention, which could have a positive effect on the overall quality (TLR1). However, this 20 It was also suggested that many public sector employees are reluctant to leave the existing district offices to
relocate to the more isolated municipal offices (CLU, NLU3). 21 One senior civil servant remarked that over 95% of elected people at the local level do not have a full grasp of their positions, although this may have been an exaggeration (RCRD).
20
also risks the recycling of an education system by the standards of the ‘old cohort’ of teachers, rather than
by new standards of inclusion and child-centred pedagogy (see Chapter 5).
In sum, current relations between the relevant stakeholders are characterised by mutual distrust and a lack
of coordination that have been exacerbated in the post-earthquake period and by a general culture of
corruption. This, mixed with the apparent confusion and inefficiency surrounding the transition to the
new federal state structure, amplifies a situation through which education stakeholders adopt inclusive
strategies that are inconsistent, uneven and disproportionate in their application (Bell 2016). The following
chapter takes a step back from contextual factors and focuses on establishing a conceptual understanding
of ‘inclusive education’ that is used to analyse the findings in the final chapter.
21
Chapter 3: Theoretical Framework
This chapter explores the philosophical and theoretical underpinnings of inclusive education and ways in
which it can be implemented in practice. It takes a step back from the contextual factors outlined in the
previous chapter to explore more abstract considerations of social justice through the lens of inclusive
education. It conceptualises ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ forms of inclusion and relates this to existing
theoretical stances. The development of inclusive education as a discourse will be explored, as well as
consideration of how it translates to practical implementation; laying the groundwork for the empirical
chapters.
3.1 The origins and development of Inclusive education
Inclusive education as a discourse has its origins in the disability movement, which urged a refocus of
education to draw attention to discrimination and the barriers of participation for children with disabilities
(CWDs) (Regmi 2017). The promotion of a ‘social model’ of disability also raised critique of ‘special
needs’ education and segregation (Stofile 2008), and instead promoted the reforming and restructuring of
‘ordinary’ schools. The concept of inclusive education has since come to mean many things, from the
specific inclusion of children with disabilities in mainstream schools (Florian 2008, Slee 2011), to the
much broader notion of social inclusion currently used by governments and the international community
as a way to respond to learner diversity (Forlin 2005; Armstrong et al. 2011) 22. Both ‘narrow’ and ‘broad’
perspectives of inclusion have received their criticism. The narrow definition has, in some cases, ‘resulted in
simply replacing the word ‘special’ with ‘inclusive’’ with little or no evidence of actual change (Florian 2008). On
the other hand, there is a fear that the wider definition has become so broad it has essentially become
meaningless, and risks downplaying important differences that require different teaching approaches
(Florian 2008). This research presents both approaches, depending on their use by specific stakeholders,
but ultimately adopts a broader understanding of the term to apply to all marginalised groups23. This is in
line with the Nepalese government’s own conceptualisation of inclusive education:
22 The Nepalese government has used both definitions over the last 10-15 years, and other education stakedholers use both. This is expanded in the final chapter. 23 ‘Inclusive education’ hereafter will be used in the broader sense, unless stated otherwise.
22
‘Inclusive education is an education-development approach that ensures rights to life-long education in one’s own
community in a non-discriminative environment by respecting cultural, class, caste and geographical diversities.’
(IEPPD, 2016: 1)
Similarly, they state that inclusive education strategies are aimed at ‘…children who are denied education due to
whatever situational causes, or are at risk of dropping out from the school due to a lack of adaptive and accessible
environments and support systems’ (IEPPD 2016: 1).
Both narrow and broad conceptualisations can be seen in the evolution of ‘inclusive’ education at the
international institutional level and have been pivotal to the emergence and acceptance of inclusive
education into the mainstream. The UN Declaration of Human Rights (1948) laid the groundwork in
establishing education as a human right, reinforced with the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child
(1989), which ensured the right for all children to receive education free from discrimination on any
grounds. The World Declaration on Education for All (EFA) (1990), while not using the term ‘inclusive
education’ explicitly, made several provisions to promote equity among vulnerable and excluded children,
including girls, street and working children, remote populations and ethnic minorities as well as children
with disabilities (Regmi 2017). The Salamanca Statement and Framework for Action on Special Education
(1994) is considered as one of the key international agreements on the principles and practises of inclusive
education (Regmi 2017). This outlined the principal that schools should accommodate all children
regardless of physical, intellectual, social, emotional, linguistic or other conditions. Article two of the
Salamanca Framework also explicitly mentions that:
‘regular schools with this inclusive orientation are the most effective means of combating discriminatory
attitudes, creating welcoming communities, building an inclusive society and achieving education for all’ (Unesco
1994: ix, emphasis added).
This was further expanded by the Dakar Framework (2000), which recommended that schools respond
adaptably to the circumstances and needs of all learners, i.e. improving quality as well as access. The Dakar
Framework’s aim to get all children (with a focus on girls and marginalised groups) into free and
compulsory primary education by 2015 was also integrated into the Millennium Development Goals
(2000). More recently, the Incheon Declaration of World Education Forum in South Korea (2015) clearly
recognises ‘inclusion’ and ‘equity’ in education, while the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) have
also clearly adopted inclusion as a central goal (Lamicchane 2017). The mainstreaming of ‘narrow’
inclusive education, meanwhile, was expanded by the UN Convention on Rights of Persons with
Disabilities(2006), which outlined the role of governments in providing inclusive education for all learners
based on five criteria:
1. Ensuring that people with disabilities are not excluded from mainstream education because of
their disability
23
2. Providing additional facilities for people with disability to increase access in education on the
same basis as their peers in their own community
3. Making available the provision of reasonable accommodation to facilitate access
4. Ensuring the availability of support systems in mainstream schools to facilitate effective teaching
and learning
5. Ensuring availability of effective individualised support to maximise social, emotional and
academic progress within the parameters of inclusion.
Despite its acceptance into the mainstream, ‘inclusive education’ continues to lack a universally accepted
definition (Ainscow and Miles, 2008). As well as disagreement on the ‘narrow’ and ‘broad’ perceptions of
it, there are also different ways of framing it. Different ‘perspectives’ or drivers for inclusive education
have been suggested by Dyson (1999) and Regmi (2017). Many of these overlap, but some stand out in
regard to the actors focused on in this thesis. Firstly, the ‘efficacy-based’ perspective (Dyson 1999) focuses
more on the ‘cost-effectiveness’ of inclusive education, something which is often referred to at the
government and international institutional level. For example, The Salamanca Framework stated that
inclusive education would ‘improve the efficiency and ultimately the cost-effectiveness of the entire education
system’ (1994; ix, emphasis added). This is related to a ‘pragmatic perspective’ (Dyson 1999), which frames
inclusive education as a process of improving the schooling system in general (this is demonstrated in
section 3.3.). The political perspective (ibid), meanwhile, views inclusive education as a means to promote
equity and social justice in the wider community, and relates to what Regmi (2017) describes as a ‘critical
perspective’ that associates inclusive education with a qualitative transformation of the education system
as a whole (Giroux 2003). Through these latter two perspectives, inclusive education could be described as
a tool to break the cycle of ‘cultural reproduction’ (Bourdieau 1990) 24 of exclusionary practices through an
education system that embraces change and diversity These four approaches are outlined in Figure A:
Figure A: Perspectives on Inclusive Education (IE) (Drawn from Dyson (1999) and Regmi (2017))
Perspective Summary
Efficacy IE as a cost-effective model
Pragmatic IE as a means to improve general schooling
Political/Rights IE as a means to promote equity and justice
Critical IE as a transformational tool.
These approaches are not mutually exclusive, they often overlap and have a common thread in
envisioning an education system that in some way addresses exclusionary practises in society (Cologon
2013). That being said, particular perspectives do appear to act as drivers for education stakeholders in 24 Bourdieau (1990) argued that education is utilised by the dominant class to ‘reproduce’ the culture that reinforces their power and thus sustains patterns of marginalisation and inequality.
24
Nepal. Broadly, while the Nepalese government appears to adopt pragmatic and efficacy-based
perspectives of inclusive education, (I)NGOs and CSOs tend to have a focus that is more rights-based
and concerned with transforming the wider society (see Chapter 6). These drivers also inform the
strategies adopted by different stakeholders, as shall be outlined in the following section of this chapter.
3.2 Conceptualising Primary and Auxiliary Inclusion
Theoretical understandings of social justice in relation to inclusion advocate different strategies that
address the underlying forms in which exclusion occur. This includes a focus on (re)distribution that
challenges socio-economic inequalities (Young 1990; Fraser and Honneth 2003), as well as socio-cultural
and political ‘recognition’ which ultimately aims for full participation in the life of a community (Honneth
1996; Blunden 2004). Additionally, both of these approaches may require mainstream community to
accommodate to the specific needs of minorities (Norwhich 2013). Inclusive education specifically has been
interpreted as the minimising of exclusion in the public education system through constructive responses
to include groups that are underrepresented (Hay 2003; Stofile 2008). Farrell (2004) expands this by
arguing that inclusive education can be understood not only as the physical inclusion of marginalised
groups, but the active involvement of those groups within the school so that they are encouraged to
remain in education. Inclusive education is therefore about both quality as well as accessibility, ensuring
universal access as well as increasing participation and a sense of belonging in the learning environment
(Booth and Ainscow 1998). This was further developed by Tomasevski’s ‘4 A’s’ (2001), which divides
inclusive education between the right to education (accessibility and availability) and rights in and through
education (acceptability and adaptability). Tomasevski interprets accessibility as the elimination of barriers to
compulsory schooling, whether that be legal, administrative, financial etc. Availability refers more to
resource and fiscal allocations, such as matching the number and diversity of children. Acceptability is
concerned with quality criteria such as parental choice, language of instruction, and the enforcement of
minimal standards in education. Lastly, adaptability focuses on the inclusive capacity of schools to
accommodate the vast range of children in a given social setting.
This thesis attempts to synthesise the approaches mentioned above through the concepts of ‘primary’ and
‘auxiliary’ inclusion. Primary inclusion is focused on the access of schooling for all. This entails the removal
of physical or socio-economic barriers, and so relates to concerns of redistribution, as well as of
accessibility and availability. Auxiliary inclusion is more concerned with the quality of schooling. It is
‘auxiliary’ as it assumes a priori the existence of access through primary inclusion25, and instead focuses on
25 For example, elsewhere it has been argued that inclusive education is interpreted differently in ‘developed’ and ‘developing’ countries. In the former, the access (primary inclusion) of marginalised groups is less of an issue, and so inclusive education is primarily focused on the quality (auxiliary inclusion) of special needs education (Sharma 2015).
25
the retention of all children throughout both primary and secondary levels of education. This entails
addressing qualitative concerns such as patterns of socio-cultural exclusion, whilst adapting to the specific
needs of marginalised groups to provide an acceptable educational environment for all. In other words,
whilst primary inclusion focuses on freedom from barriers to schooling26, auxiliary inclusion ultimately
seeks the freedom for learners to reach their full potential once within the learning environment. The
approaches are summarised below:
Figure B: Conceptualising primary and auxiliary inclusion
Primary inclusion Auxiliary inclusion
Perceived driver of exclusion Socio-economic Socio-cultural
Positive and negative freedom
(Berlin)
Freedom from Freedom to
Recognition and Redistribution
(Fraser)
Redistribution Recognition
The Four As (Tomasevski) Right to education
(Availability and Accessibility)
Right in/through education
(Acceptability and Adaptability)
Educational focus Enrolment (Hay 2003; Stofile
2008)
Retention (Farell 2004)
Distributive and social justice
(Young)
Distributive justice Social justice
Value indicator Quantity
Access
Quality
Participation
As shown in Figure B, primary inclusion is more concerned with quantitative indicators such as the
number of students from x background or with y disability enrolled in public school. Auxiliary inclusion,
meanwhile, is focused on qualitative factors such as language of instruction, teaching quality and
pedagogical approach, but can also be analysed via quantitative indicators such as dropout rates. Examples
of both strategies will be listed in the next section (3.3.) and will be further utilised in analysing the
strategies of inclusive education outlined in Chapter 6.
3.3 Inclusive Education in Practice
In many developing countries such as Nepal, the enrolment of many marginalised groups remains low, and so the application of auxiliary inclusion strategies remains limited unless and until primary inclusion strategies are adopted. 26 Adapted from Isaiah Berlin’s (1958) discussion on ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ freedom
26
The practical implementation of inclusive education has been found to have a beneficial impact, not only
for children from marginalised backgrounds but also on the wider class and even on society in general
(Loreman 2014). It has been argued, for instance, that integrative schooling minimises the negative
perceptions of disability and resultant marginalisation, stigmatisation and abuse suffered by people with
disabilities in the general population (Rose et al 2011). In the broader sense, inclusive education is said to
facilitate social development (Jordan et al 2009), as it enables and encourages children of diverse
backgrounds to interact and form friendships (Finke et al 2009, Theodorou and Nind 2010), leading to a
wider acceptance of diversity in society (Wong and Cumming 2010). Pupil diversity, therefore, rather than
being a problem, has been shown to enrich the learning experience (UNESCO 2005; Pottas 2005). As
stated by Korkmaz (2011); ‘…when children attend classes that reflect the similarities and differences of people in the real
world, they learn to appreciate diversity’ (177).
Implementing Inclusive education (in the broader sense) necessitates a wide range of strategies, but
ultimately aims for a set of similar characteristics, as outlined by Loreman (2009). These can be
summarised in seven points, in which their applicability as primary (PI) and Auxiliary (AI) forms of
inclusion have also been considered:
1. All children being able to attend their neighbourhood school. (PI)
2. All schools having a zero-rejection policy when it comes to registering and teaching children. (PI)
3. All children learning in regular, heterogenous classrooms with same-age peers. (PI)
4. All children following substantively similar programs of study, with curricula that can be adapted
and modified if needed. (AI)
5. Modes of instruction are varied and responsive to the needs of all. (AI)
6. All children are involved and contribute to regular school and classroom-learning activities and
events. (AI)
7. All children are able to make friends and be socially active. (AI)
A similar list was outlined by UNESCO (2009) who also emphasised the need for flexible teaching and
learning methods adapted to different needs and learning styles, as well as the involvement of parents and
the wider community, and for a reoriented teacher-training programme to match the diversity of the
classroom. These strategies have also been advocated elsewhere (Westwood 2013; Ainscow 2005;
Brackenreed 2011), suggesting a broad conensus for what is framed here as ‘auxiliary’ inclusion strategies
such as training, flexibility and communication. Regarding children with disabilities, for instnace,
sometimes a ‘partial inclusion’ approach is recommended (Heiman 2004), in which children with special
needs or educational requirements attend smaller and more intensive sessions in a separate ‘resource
room’, with the aim of eventually integrating into the regular classroom over time (Pottas 2005). These
strategies are also ultimately dependent on the availability of necessary financial and human resources, and
the sustianed efforts of policymakers and education practitioners (Johnson et al 2014: Sharm et al 2013).
27
The application of ‘resource rooms’ in Nepal is also used partly as a way of counteracting large class sizes
in which teachers are unable to provide adequate attention to every students’ needs, and of addressing a
shortage of specialised staff by spreading them out through reserouce rooms. The implications and
associated challenges of this will be discussed further in Chapter 6.
3.4 Limitations to the provision of inclusive education
As seen in the table above, the practical implementation of inclusive education is limited by a number of
different factors at different levels. For instance, the conceptual fuzziness surrounding inclusive education
results in a lack of clear understanding among teachers on its underlying philosophy and ultimate aims
(Cologon 2013). Practically, there is also confusion among teachers between simple assimilation of new
groups into the existing classroom structure, and of more nuanced ‘inclusion’ that may also require a
change in pedagogical approach (Armstrong et al. 2011). Previous research has also indicated a negative
attitude among teachers towards the inclusion of children with disabilities (Westwood 2013). Many doubt
the feasibility of teaching a range of children with disabilities in a single classroom (Korkmaz 2011), and
worry that disabled students detract instructional time from other students, or that they require specialised
skills that the teacher is unable to provide (Jordan et al 2009). This concern is especially relevant in
developing countries such as Nepal, where the student-teacher ratio remains high (Korkmaz 2011)
Other factors include the absence of relevant materials and training programmes, a lack of funding and
inadequately trained personnel (Eleweke and Rodda 2001). This lack of quality teacher training leads to a
shortage of the desired skills and expertise pertaining to the effective implementation of inclusive
education (Westwood and Graham 2003; Slavica 2010; Vaugh et al 2011); whilst also reducing the
motivation and self-esteem of staff to adopt new pedagogical approaches (Jordan et al 2009). The lack of
financial resources further limits the effective implementation of inclusive education, even if it has been
nominally accepted at the international institutional level (Kalyva et al. 2007). The lack of educational
resources combined with issues of understaffing (Dagnew 2013) cause a significant barrier to the effective
practise of inclusive education, which is largely dependent on a low to medium student to teacher ratio
(Sharma et al. 2013). Globally, marginalised groups, including people with disability, also continue to face
negative attitudes, social discrimination and stigmatisation that hinder the wider acceptance of inclusive
education (Johnson et al 2014; Bailey 2015).
There is also danger in treating inclusive education as a top-down silver bullet that ignores local
circumstance. Young (1990), for example, advocated the importance of context, and of recognising what
28
may be dismissed as ‘background’ relationships of domination and oppression (Ackelsberg, 2008: 328). In
the context of structural inequality, formal ‘impartiality’ (the ‘anti-politics’ element of the aid industry, for
example27), ‘…may mask, and therefore leave in place, structural dimensions of domination and oppression’ (Young,
1990: 18). Therefore, ‘seemingly just and fair policies can lead to occurrences of injustice and unfairness towards some of
those whom they impact’ (McMenamin, 2013: 769). As social justice is more than just about economic
equality, there is a difference between giving all equal rights and equal opportunities within an existing
system (distributive justice) and altering the conditions under which the inequality or oppression arises
(social justice) (Ackelsberg, 2008: 328; see also Fraser and Honneth 2003). This is also true of inclusive
education, in which distributive justice and social justice can be related to primary and auxiliary inclusion
respectively (see Figure B). A focus on primary inclusion alone entails the same consequence as focusing
solely on distributive justice, in that it ‘inappropriately restricts the scope of justice’ by ignoring the social
practices that underlie the ability for people to ‘participate in determining their actions and their ability to develop
and exercise their capacities’ (Young, 1991: 21-22). Addressing social justice (or ‘auxiliary inclusion’) concerns
entail accounting for the plurality of social structural phenomena (Robertson and Dale, 2013: 428), as well
as focusing on participation and empowerment (Ackelsberg, 2008). This entails targeting what Sen (2000)
refers to as ‘passive exclusion’, exclusionary practises that persist even in the absence of ‘active’ exclusion
(deliberately exclusionary laws and policies, for instance). Regarding the Nepali context, Khanal (2015) for
example argues that focusing just on the formal school setting without considering sociocultural and
economic factors, will not adequately address the inclusion of Dalits in education; as ‘Only through [a] multi-
dimensional and committed approach will Dalit students…have access to the type of education to which they are entitled’
(Khanal, 2015: 718)28. Additionally, Young (1990) suggests that achieving equality and the participation
and inclusion of all groups ‘sometimes requires different treatment for oppressed or disadvantaged groups’ (158). This
can be illustrated in the equitable vs equal distribution of aid, for example; as the latter approach risks
reinforcing entrenched patterns of marginalisation (See Annex D).
There is also criticism that inclusive education is interpreted as a finite ‘end point’. Ensuring lasting access
and participation has been described as an ‘ongoing engagement in removing the barriers of active involvement and
participation in shared learning’ (Regmi 2017). In other words, inclusive education is not a static point that can
be achieved, but one that requires constant re-evaluation to match the ever-changing social reality.
Similarly, a critique of the social justice theory is that injustice is a permanent reality of life, and that shifts
in political, economic and cultural landscapes continuously disturb social patterns and produce new sets of
demands for recognition (Keddie, 2012); which make an ‘end point’ of social justice (and by extension,
inclusion) seem utopian. This is a valid concern in the abstract sense, but detracts from potential moves
towards social justice in the ‘here and now’. In the context of Nepal, the entrenched injustices based on
caste, gender and disability can and are being challenged, albeit in a haphazard manner. Just because new
27 See Ferguson (1990) 28 While this quote referred to the Dalit community specifically, it can also be applied to girls and other marginalised groups.
29
forms of injustice are likely to emerge in the future does not mean it is redundant to challenge the
injustices of the present.
Conceptual Scheme The following diagram illustrates the conceptual understanding of inclusion that will be used in the
analysis chapters. The middle section outlines the three main excluded groups in Nepal’s education system
(these are further discussed in Chapter 5). The box above this section outlines how different education
stakeholders (these are specified in Chapter 4) perceive these forms of exclusion and their underlying
motives for inclusion, as outlined in figures B and A respectively. This perception largely drives the
‘primary’ and/or ‘auxiliary’ strategies of inclusion being pursued to include the three target groups. For
example, an actor that perceives barriers to education to be primarily economic and/or is motivated by
efficacy or pragmatism-based concerns would relate most with primary inclusion strategies. Conversely, an
actor that perceives barriers to education to be primarily socio-cultural and/or is motivated by rights-
based concerns would be more focused on auxiliary inclusion strategies. Both strategies could also be
approached by the same actor simultaneously, although focus is usually on one or the other (as shown in
Chapter 6) These strategies are also further influenced by the contextual factors outlined in Chapter 2.
Figure C: Conceptual Scheme
30
Chapter 4: Methodology Having outlined the theoretical and contextual framework to this study, this chapter presents the research
questions that guide the following chapters before outlining the research methods, quality criteria and the
location of the primary data collection during the research period in Nepal from the 28th January-2nd
April 2018.
4.1 Research Questions
4.2 Research Methods This research used qualitative methodology, as it reflects the exploratory nature of the research questions
and allows for a more comprehensive picture of the social reality in Nepal (Flick 2015). Epistemologically,
the data collection was aimed at gaining an understanding of the given context in Nepal ‘through an
examination of the interpretation of the world by its participants’, to which qualitative methods were most suited
(Bryman, 2012: 380). Semi-structured interviews were the primary data collection method utilised in
Nepal, alongside analysis of secondary data, including relevant policy-papers, newspaper articles and
websites, as well as materials from respondents’ organisations such as booklets and leaflets. A common
feature of qualitative research, and one that applies to this thesis, is an iterative strategy that works on the
‘interplay between interpretation on the one hand and data collection on the other’ (Bryman 2012: 386). As a result, it
gives space to capture participants’ subjective experiences and views, which in turn have a role in shaping
Why have inclusive education strategies for marginalised groups in Nepal been
limited in their application?
What are the main contextual factors surrounding public education in Nepal?
Why, and in what ways, have marginalised communities been excluded from public education in
Nepal?
Wh t t t i h b i pl t d b th t id i d t d NGO t d h ?
31
the research focus as it progresses (Corbin and Strauss 2008). Indeed, qualitative data allows for insight
into what interviewees see as relevant and important. As stated in Bryman (2012):
‘…the emphasis [is] on how the interviewee frames and understands issues and events…what the interviewee views
as important in exploring and understanding events, patterns and forms of behaviour’ (471).
At the level of textual analyses of secondary sources, a qualitative approach is also useful at emphasising
the contextual factors that underly the motives and differing ways in which the relevant actors in Nepal
interpret policy documents, helping to explain how certain policies for inclusive education get (or do not
get) translated into practise.
4.3 Consideration of quality criteria Qualitative research suffers from the ability to generalise findings across social and temporal settings, as it
has a tendency to employ case studies and small sample sizes (LeCompte and Goetz 1985). However, this
research has taken into the account the limitations of validity and reliability inherent in qualitative research
by addressing the alternative quality criteria of ‘trustworthiness’ and ‘authenticity’ (Lincoln and Guba 1985;
Guba and Lincoln 1994; Bryman 2012). Trustworthiness subdivides into four elements, comparable to
terms traditionally used in quantitative research. This consists of credibility (internal validity),
transferability (external validity), dependability (reliability) and confirmability (objectivity). While other
quality criteria have been proposed (for example, Yardley 2000), the ‘trustworthiness’ and ‘authenticity’
criteria have been used here as they purposefully relate to traditional understandings of validity and
reliability. More detailed consideration of each criteria is listed below.
• Credibility can also be described as the importance of gaining respondent validation of research
findings. This was achieved through follow-up discussions with most respondents29 in which my
interpretation of the ‘main points’ from previous interviews were addressed.
• Transferability highlights the tendency of qualitative findings to be limited to the ‘contextual
uniqueness’ of the social world being studied (Bryman 2012; Yardley 2000). This entails providing
‘thick description’ of the contextual background (Geertz 1973). In the case of Nepal, its transition
from one political system to another is a unique moment in Nepal’s history, but in some ways this
could also provide an element of comparability with other countries in processes of peaceful
political transition.
• Dependability can be compared to an ‘auditing’ approach, by which all records of various phases
of the research process are kept accessible. It also involves the use of peers as auditors to add
29 This was not possible in every case. Some respondents’ schedules meant they only had limited availability, making a second meeting impossible within the time frame of the fieldwork.
32
validation to the research process. Interview transcripts, codes and notes from the field are not
included in this thesis, but are available upon request to the author.
• Confirmability entails the notion of ‘acting in good faith’ and not allowing personal views and
theoretical inclinations to sway the conduct of the research or its findings. While this is impossible
to entirely prove or disprove, I believe it is demonstrated in my flexibility of research focus whilst
in the field. Initially, I had anticipated one of the major contextual factors to be the long-term
reconstruction of the seventeen districts that were affected by the 2015 earthquake and its
aftershocks. After my first few interviews I found this factor to be more in the background, and
so altered my research to focus less on the post-earthquake phase and more on what initial
respondents were identifying as the pressing contextual factors at the foreground of the education
system in Nepal. This ultimately led to consideration of the ongoing implementation of inclusive
education policy into practise whilst the country shifts from a unitary to federal state structure.
Authenticity refers to the wider impact of the research (see also Yardley 2000). This is a less popular set of
criteria as it places the researcher in a position of agency that is relatively uncommon in social science
research (usually limited to action research, for example) (Bryman 2012). Criteria such as ontological and
educative authenticity, by which respondents are led to better understandings of their own social milieu
and the perspective of others through the course of the research, are difficult to verify and highly unlikely
to be achieved considering the brevity of the fieldwork process. Catalytic and tactical authenticity, by
which the research acts as an impetus for respondents to enact social change, is even less likely in this
case. While some respondents have asked for access to the research summary, its scope to promote
practical change is limited.
4.4 Sampling and unit of analysis Units of analysis consisted of policy documents and individual respondents from the field. Sampling was
targeted on individuals from three different backgrounds, each constituting a key stakeholder in the
policy-making level of Nepal’s public education system: expatriate (I)NGO workers, Nepalese (I)NGO
workers, and public-sector employees working in education, consisting of teachers, professors, civil
servants (see Figure D). The rationale for this was to capture multiple perspectives from individuals with
different backgrounds and positionalities within the education sector. Several initial interviews were
arranged via email prior to the start of fieldwork, from which my list of contacts and potential
respondents snowballed. Altogether, 23 interviews were conducted over the 10-week fieldwork period. Of
these, 19 out of 23 were recorded, with five involving two or more respondents, meaning that 31
respondents were used altogether. Each interview followed a similar structure and set of topics, although
the specific questions varied depending on the direction of the interview. The table below provides a brief
overview of the three general categories of respondents. To ensure anonymity, each respondent is
allocated a unique code. This is explained further in Annex A.
33
Figure D: Categories of respondents (simplified)
Education workers ‘Local’ (I)NGO workers ‘Expat’ (I)NGO workers
• 6 teachers (3 in
Kathmandu, 3 in
village)
• 2 university professors
• 3 Civil servants (from
one interview at the
ministry of education)
• 12 from NGOs
• 5 from INGOs
• 3 from NGOs
• 2 from INGOs
4.5 Research Location The majority of the research was carried out in the three adjacent cities of the Kathmandu Valley;
Bhaktapur, Patan (also called Lalitpur) and Kathmandu itself. The underlying rationale for this was the
ability to access a large number of INGOs, NGOs, government offices, and education professionals
within one place. The research also included a brief case study at a rural school in Damgade village in
Lamjung district, to provide an example of the rural-urban contrast
*Source: Topographical Survey Branch, Survey Department. H.M.G. Nepal 2002. Graphis: Times Creation. Kathmandu
The Kathmandu Valley is located in the Central Development region of Nepal, and since the formation of
Nepal in the eighteenth century it has been the administrative and financial heart of the country.
34
Traditionally the home of the Newar ethnic group, the rapid population expansion in recent decades has
brought a wide range of ethnic, cultural and religious groups from across Nepal to the capital, and has
largely eroded the boundaries between its three constituent cities, merging into one large urban
conglomeration, which stands in stark contrast to a largely rural country. Kathmandu’s position as the
capital also makes it the home of the ‘Hill Elites’, largely a population of higher caste Hindus that have
historically dominated Nepali politics. Lamjung district, in contrast, lies adjacent to Nepal’s second city of
Pokhara, with a lower-caste, predominantly Gurung population. The different demographic in each
location also provides a contrast between the ‘elite’ policymakers and the subaltern beneficiaries at the
implementation level.
4.6 Ethics and Limitations
All respondents were aged over 18, and were capable to independently respond to the interview questions
free of assistance or interpreter. Respondents were contracted through email, phone calls, texts and social
media, through which my positionality as a student researcher and a brief overview of my research focus
was outlined. In initial communication, I invited potential interviewees to ask any questions that they may
have before agreeing to meet, and answered all that were asked in order to ensure informed and prior
consent to their being interviewed. Interview locations varied, but were always chosen with the input of
the respondents. This was either at their place of work or in a café, usually one suggested by the
respondent, where they felt safe and comfortable for the duration of the interview.
Out of the 24 interviews undertaken during the fieldwork period, 19 were recorded on an iPhone, which
was placed face-down between myself and the respondent. In each case, interviewees were asked for their
permission to be recorded beforehand. Throughout the interview process, interviewees were aware that
they could stop at any time if they wished. All interviews, whether recorded or not, were preceded with a
briefing of my research topic as a complement to prior correspondence to ensure informed consent. Each
respondent was additionally asked whether they wished their responses to remain anonymous. Time-
permitting, most interviews were also accompanied with small-talk either before or after the main
interview itself, this the respondents at ease, and established a sense of trust . Following the interviews,
respondents were also given my details and were invited to contact me if they had any questions regarding
the research. Where appropriate, I also asked respondents if they could recommend any individuals or
organisations that I could contact to further my research.
There were a couple of occurrences whereby a one-on-one interview had been arranged, but another
respondent joined in halfway through at the request of the initial respondent (usually a colleague who had
relevant knowledge/insight). This meant that I was unable to provide the same degree of prior and
informed consent with all respondents. However, in each case I was able to provide debriefing of new
respondents after the interview, explaining my role and research focus, and verifying their consent.
35
Based on my first few interviews, I realised that as most of my target respondents had a good
understanding of English it was not needed. In the rural case study, this limited respondents to those that
could speak English. Unfortunately, in some cases respondents seemed to struggle to fully express what
they were trying to say, or misunderstood certain questions, something that might have been avoided with
a translator. However, the majority ran smoothly, and avoided some of the difficulties involved in using a
translator. (see Temple and Young 2004)
My data collection was also mostly focused on respondents who predominantly came from the English-
speaking ‘hill elite’. Time limitations prevented a full appreciation of how different strategies and policies
translate to practice, and how they are perceived by the ‘beneficiaries’ of certain programmes etc. While
many of the respondents themselves talked at length about the urban-rural divide and had experience at
both policymaking and implementation, this is, of course, from their particular perspective. It is also likely
that my position as a white European male researcher from a ‘Western’ university brought with it certain
stereotypes and expectations. It is possible, for example, that respondents may have said what they
thought I ‘wanted’ to hear. However, there is a breadth of data from the interviews which reinforces the
freedom the interviewees had to go ‘off topic’ and move the focus to what they gave subjective
importance.
Approaching the topic of marginalisation and exclusion was also sensitive, particularly when interviewing
groups that may be creating marginalisation themselves. In certain cases, respondents strongly denied that
any cases of discrimination existed, and that if they did it was mostly ‘historical’. While it is impossible to
claim a purely objective ‘truth’, the contextual backgrounds and position of respondents will be considered
to add nuance to their own perspectives, with the aim of situating all respondents and their overlapping
levels of complexity to an overall social picture of the Nepalese education system in a period of political
flux. The being said, the brevity of the fieldwork only allowed me to gain a vague overview, and the
efficacy of what can be drawn from the findings would be best utilised in concert with further research at
the implementation level.
36
Chapter 5: Analysis of the main barriers to education for
Dalits, girls and children with disabilities
This chapter draws on primary and secondary data to provide an overview of the main barriers faced by
the key marginalised groups in the Nepalese education system, thereby addressing the second of the
research sub-questions as to why and in what ways marginalised communities have been excluded from
public education in Nepal. It starts with a consideration of some of the wider limitations of the education
system that have a negative effect on the general student population, with disproportionate impact on
Dalits, girls and children with disabilities (CWDs). These consist of low educational quality and high
dropout rates in Nepal’s public schools, as well as the divide between public/private schools and
urban/rural settings. The specific barriers faced by Dalits, girls and CWDs are then further explored,
followed by a brief overview of how they can, and often do, overlap in multiple layers of discrimination.
5.1 General issues
5.1.1 Low quality Between 1990-2017, and despite a decade-long civil war during that time, net primary school enrolment
rates in Nepal increased from 64-95%, with near gender parity (GPE 2018). This is often used by
government ministries and education organisations as a key flagship success, and while near-universal
primary schooling is an achievement, focusing on that draws attention from the low quality of both
primary and secondary schooling30, as well as the high dropout or attrition rates in the latter. In 2016
report by the Department of Education found that only 18.2% students make it to the end of secondary
school, demonstrating the effects of an approach that focuses on enrolment over quality (Riddell and
Nino-Zarazua (2016). Issues of low quality teaching, inadequate teacher-training, and insufficient funding
lead to high drop-outs among the student population in general, with a disproportionate impact on
marginalised groups.
30 A study by USAID (2014) found that 34% of second graders and 19% of third graders could not read a word of Nepali, while only 12.8% were able to read with fluency and comprehension
37
The quality of both primary and secondary (public) schooling was questioned by respondents in the field.
As one remarked: ‘[The]…Nepalese education system isn’t about teaching you to solve problems, it’s just about memorising the
answer’ (NEU3). Teachers have also been criticised for still practising the ‘chalk and talk’ method of teaching (ILU3 15:20),
or for ‘teaching from the textbook’ (TEU). One respondent described how she had worked with a local teacher
with seventeen years of experience, but despite the teacher agreeing to adopt more child-centred learning
techniques, she found that: ‘Three year olds, four year olds were writing ‘Banana’. And I’m like ‘huh?’ These kids know how to write
banana? I was shocked, you know? So when I sat with the kids and I asked ‘what is this letter?’[…] they don’t
know what is ‘A’, ‘B’ or ‘N’, but they know how to write the word ‘banana’ because it’s just repeating […]
People don’t learn how to think for themselves’ (NEU1).
Several respondents from NGOs stated that most teachers in public schools are not teaching out of love
for the job; ‘...generally people just ‘become teachers’’ (NEU1). Another respondent referred to a survey which
asked teachers how and why they took their jobs: ‘No-one said that it’s because ‘I wanted to be a teacher’. No-one said that. ‘I really love to do this profession’, no-
one. They said; ‘Because I didn’t get a job, that’s why I came to a teaching job’. Some are saying that because ‘oh
my uncle said this’ and someone said that, ‘because the school is next door to my house’, something like that’
(NLU7).
These findings match the responses of teachers interviewed in the field, whom either became a teacher
having tried and failed to get other jobs, because they had family members and/or friends that were
teachers, or because they perceived it to be a ‘safe’ career (TLR1; TLR2; TLR3). No-one mentioned a
particular passion for teaching as their primary motive. This apparent lack of passion or sense of a ‘calling’
for the teaching profession in Nepal has a negative impact on teacher motivation and teaching practice,
which in turn has a negative impact on students.
Relating to this is the perceived security of a teaching job. It was described for instance that; ‘…in the public
school, the teachers are permanent. Once they get enrolled, their job is permanent, so they can work for 20 years, or up to the
age of 60’ (TLU2). The strength of the teachers’ unions and pervasiveness of party-politics in schools also
make it hard for the government to intervene in actively firing teachers (NLU7)31. One respondent
remarked’ ‘It’s not easy to get teachers fired […] if they do wrong’ (NEU1). This impacts the quality of teaching.
One respondent, a director of a rehabilitation center for former street children, described going in to a
partner school to observe how children from her center were being integrated:
31 Nepal’s three major parties; the Congress Party, the United Marxist-Leninist party and the Maoist party have teacher-activists that politicise public schools and universities. It was commented, for instance, that a UML headteacher is more likely to fire a teacher from a rival party that one from his own (TLU2).
38
The kids were already in the classroom and I said; ‘where is your teacher?’ I look out the window and he is
ploughing his field! He is not in the school, and no-one is there to say ‘Hey! Get your arse over here, you are
teaching kids!’ (NEU1). Elsewhere, it was stated elsewhere that teachers often ‘do not do their work properly. Sometimes they go to the
school at 11 o clock. Sometimes they do not go to the school, nobody’s taking care.’ (NLU1). Furthermore, this
effectively removes the repercussions for not adopting new teaching practises related to inclusive education
such as child-centred pedagogies. This is also reinforced by teachers being predominantly ‘old’ and less
inclined to ‘be changed or retrained’ (TLU1). As such, ‘traditional’ teaching methods persist, in which the
teacher holds a status of indisputable authority in the classroom: ‘Teachers are always right, even if they are
wrong’ (NEU1).
This lack of incentive is further reinforced by low wages (TEU, PLU1) 32 and a few respondents
mentioned that teacher indifference to inclusive education would continue as long as there is no financial
incentive to change teaching practise (TEU, NEU1). As one NGO worker remarked; ‘You see motivation and
benefits? Compared to doing nothing?’ (NLU7). Elsewhere. respondents from an INGO described that when
they visit schools; ‘...they [teachers] demand like, a table, chairs for buildings or something like that, but they never
demand teacher training. And teachers, they study for 30 years and they do not know about the current updates…’ (ILU1)
Therefore, a lack of nominal interest in teaching, coupled with low wages creates a teaching atmosphere
that is characterised by low motivation and sustained by a system that does not hold ineffective educators
accountable. One respondent argued that the combination of low motivation, low pay and low
accountability provides little to no incentive for teachers to adapt, despite training provisions, leading to a
situation of ‘garbage in, garbage out’ in the classroom (NLU7).
The increased demand for an inclusive education under a new federal structure has also created an
additional strain on the public education sector, which has seen budget cuts from 17% to below 10% in
the last 5-10 years. (PLU2). Respondents commented that the government ‘lacks resources’ as well as the
required ‘interest’ and ‘commitment’ to promote and design new (inclusive) curricula and to transmit the
knowledge and skills to the community level (NLU2). The director of a disability-advocacy organisation
mentioned that the government has been unable to fund staff for 8-10 months: ‘…the resources that the
government sends the municipality is not enough […] There is such a huge disparity, you know, government staff doesn’t
work properly’ (NLU6 43:21). In sum, there appears to be a lack of engagement that characterises every level
of the Nepali public education system, from teacher apathy to government ineffectiveness.
32 The disparity between Grade 1 teachers (NR15,000-20,000) and Early Childhood Development (ECD) teachers
(NR3000) also demonstrates an institutional neglect for early learners at the age that forms the basis for later learning
(NEU1).
39
5.1.2 Poverty Poverty is a major barrier to education and a primary reason for low attendance figures and high dropout
rates. Respondents highlighted that a significant number of dropouts in rural areas occur during the
planting and harvesting seasons, with many poorer agricultural families having to rely on their children for
labour (NEU1). One respondent said he worked in a community in the Terai region that experienced 90%
dropout rates largely as a result of the demand for child labour (NLU1). This is further conflated by a
school governance system that takes a relaxed attitude to truancy. This was summarised by one expatriate
NGO worker:
‘The Nepalese education system is quite relaxed. If there’s a festival, ‘have a day off’. When the rice needs planting,
kids don’t go to school for two weeks. When the rice needs harvesting, there’s no holiday, they just don’t turn up […]
There’s a death in the family, ‘I need to shave my head and sit outside my house for thirteen days’; ‘no worries
Baboo, see you later’. There’s just no…you don’t go to prison as a parent for not sending your kid to school in
Nepal…you can do what you want.’ (NEU3)
Poverty is also a common and exasperating factor in why marginalised groups are excluded from the
education system. For example, the Terai area, one of the country’s poorest regions, is also home to a
large Dalit community and a disproportionately large number of child marriages. Meanwhile, people with
disabilities are also in disproportionately high numbers in poorer areas, partly due to reduced access to
health facilities (PLU2) (NLU2). While the relationship between poverty and other forms of
marginalisation are not mutually exclusive, it exists to a large enough extent that one NGO director
remarked ‘Marginalised is economically marginalised’ (NLU1).
5.1.3 Public/Private divide
Marketisation has led to a widescale withdrawal of middle-class students from publicly funded schools;
The existence and proliferation of private schools appears to have reinforced segregation, as marginalised
and poorer communities are much more likely to go to public school (PLU1) 33. As a result, it reproduces
an education system that is effectively making ‘…two kinds of citizens in the country’ (NLU7), as is reflected in
the disparity between pass-rates of final-year examinations between private schools (89.8%) and public
schools (33.75%) (Acharya and Leon-Gonzalez 2016). This makes inclusive education difficult, as those
enrolled in public schools will likely consist of those who are marginalised by wider society, segregated
from other children who are placed in private school. Furthermore, private schools are external to the
regulatory frameworks and follow different curricula to the public-school system and so may ignore
inclusive strategies altogether (Poudyal 2017). For example, while schools are nominally expected to
provide free scholarships to 10% of all students in the school, this has not been implemented in reality
(HRC 2015). It was repeatedly mentioned that in cases where families have several children, non-disabled
boys are given preference for schooling, either attending private school while girls/children with
33 Meanwhile, many public school teachers send their children to private schools. (Khanal 2015,TLU2).
40
disabilities are sent to public school, or attending public school whilst the others are excluded entirely
(NLU2, NEU2, NLU6, NLU4, PLU2). Teacher respondents that had experience working in both public
and private schools also found that parents of private school children are more ‘invested’ in their children,
both financially and otherwise, whereas parents from poorer backgrounds tend to be less educated and
less concerned about their children’s education (TLR1).
5.1.4 The Urban/Rural Divide
Perhaps the most significant variation in the provision of public schooling is Nepal’s stark urban-rural
divide. In rural areas, traditional or ‘conservative’ attitudes are more prevalent (PLU2), as is the isolation
of certain marginalised communities that are ‘mingling’ with others in urban areas (PLU1). A professor
from Tribhuvan university noted: ‘…qualified teachers, they stay in the urban areas…so the quality of services and
education is pretty much questionable in the more rural areas than in the urban areas’ (PLU2). Teacher-respondents
that have had experience in both contexts argued that rural public schools tend to have less materials, are
of lower quality and are slower to change than urban public schools. Another respondent added that in
rural schools, ‘…either you’ll not get a teacher or there’ll be a teacher but he’s always on leave […] so dropouts are very
very high in rural areas’ (NLU1), as students are unlikely to receive individual assistance or feedback (Khanal
2015: 714). For example, in Lumbini (a poorer, mostly rural area), it was suggested that ‘…it’s still not
accepted that kids ‘have’ to go to school there…It’s like, oh, why are you going to school when we should take care of your
brothers’ (TEU).
Urban areas also have a higher concentration of Civil Society Organisations, many of which have started
schools, day-care centres and other facilities for children with different needs. The difference between
urban and rural can be summarised in this quote from the director of a disability-rights organisation: ‘…there is a big difference. Like if you compare in Bhaktapur, we have been working since 22 years. So because of
that, you know, our data shows that more than 85% of children are in schools in some way, you know? Whereas in
those schools, those in remote areas, maybe 25%-20% in school. So that would be the huge gap.’ (NLU6 15:43)
5.2 Exclusion of Dalits
Despite the establishment of the National Dalit Commission in 2002 with the mandate to implement free
and compulsory education to Dalit children, there has been little improvement in Dalit participation in
education (Khamal 2015: 712), particularly at the secondary level at which Dalits make up 6.5% of the
student population and 5% of teaching staff, despite making up 13% of the general population (DoE
2018). The disparity between castes is also reflected in literacy rates, which vary significantly between
being above 80% in urban Brahmin and Chhetri communities, and below 30% in rural Dalit communities
41
(Devtoka and Upadhyay 2015). In the Terai area, only 11.9% of Dalits complete the eighth Grade of
schooling, far below the already low national average of 41.7% (HRC 2015). Despite comprising 13% of
the national population, Dalits comprise only 1.6% of those with an SLC qualification and above, and only
0.8% of those with a Bachelor’s degree (HRC 2015). Previous research has also suggested the endurance
of exclusionary practises in schools, such as the segregation of Dalit children from high-caste students,
preventing Dalits from sharing water or food with non-Dalits, (Bhandary 2017; Folmar 2007; Nightingale
2011), and preventing Dalit children from ‘meaningful participation’ in school activities (Khanal 2015:
714).
5.2.1 Active and passive exclusion of Dalits
Attitudes to the perseverance of caste-based discrimination varied among fieldwork respondents.
Individuals from the department of education, for example, appeared adamant that it ‘used to exist’ five to
ten years ago but that caste-based discrimination no longer occurs, repeatedly referring to the inclusion of
Dalits in the constitution and other policy documents (CLU). This attitude is not surprising, considering
their positionality as government employees, although they highlighted an absence of ‘active’ caste-based
exclusion in Nepal, at least at the level of government policymaking. Indeed, the provision of scholarships
and Dalit quotas in the public sector are examples of ‘primary’ inclusion policies, although the impact of
this is questioned by the ‘improper’ and ‘untimely’ distribution of scholarship schemes, for example (HRC
2015). This attitude to caste-based discrimination is also in contrast to that of another respondent from an
NGO background, who stated that ‘…technically it’s illegal, but obviously it’s still very much in full effect, and you’ll
find that certain castes will only help their own kind’ (NEU3). The top two castes of Brahmin and Chhetri
continue to dominate positions of authority, occupying the majority of government, policy and army
positions. Senior figures in school management such as chairpersons, headteachers and so on were also
described as being predominantly from the Brahmin caste (ILU1).
While Dalit quotas exist in most government institutions, caste hierarchies still exist in other sectors,
constituting a visual indicator of low social mobility, which in turn leads to low motivation among Dalit
children and families who were described as having fewer aspirations than others (NLU1; ILU1). In some
cases, Dalit communities have internalised exclusionary practises, to the extent that they have a
‘hopelessness condition’ that perpetuates low expectations from parents and students alike, who do not
‘see the point’ of getting educated beyond learning how to read and write (ILU1, see also Khanal 2015).
One respondent (a teacher) argued that; ‘[only] the upper castes know the value of study’ and added a relative
improvement in lower-caste socio-economic status through the provision of scholarships has not been
matched with an increased drive for education (TLR3). Indeed, Khanal (2015) found that few Dalit
parents in the rural community receive long-term quality education, and so ‘…easily sacrifice their children’s’
education for the income they can generate’ as they do not perceive much value in education (715). Furthermore,
42
it was found that even Dalit parents that are receiving education scholarships for their children still refrain
from sending them to school (ibid).
Many respondents framed caste-based discrimination as a fading occurrence among older generations,
most common in the rural areas (TLU; NLU7). One respondent described taking his Dalit colleague from
the city back to his family in a rural area:
‘I went to my home town, I tried to take [a] Dalit to my house, but my mother wouldn’t allow it. So I had to be
[…] ousted from the community because I was eating with them’ (NLU7)34.
In the cities, more ‘subtle’ or ‘indirect’ forms of discrimination were described (NEU2; ILU1). For
example, one respondent described an incident where a researcher was interviewing two Dalit girls in their
apartment in Kathmandu and was asked to avoid the word ‘untouchable’ in case their landlord heard it.
They had had difficulty finding a room and had only got that one after changing their surnames to one of
a higher caste (NEU2). Furthermore, a lecturer from a private university remarked that he knew of
numerous Dalit students in his class that had changed their surnames to avoid discrimination from their
peers and other staff (PLU1). Another respondent stated that in many schools, students continue to use
‘Dalit’ as a derogatory term; ‘oh, she looks like a Dalit and so on’ (ILU1). Similarly, an expat teacher described
how, when introduced to a fourteen year old girl that was getting married, her colleague told her ‘…these
Dalit girls, they are all like that, they’re just looking at the boys and they just run off or they want to get married or they get
pregnant…’ (NEU1). Instances of de facto segregation were also mentioned; one respondent referred to a
school that had 67 students, of which only two were not from a non-Dalit family. While the economic
conditions were similar, the non-Dalit families mindset was described as ‘oh there is a school for Dalit children,
so we don’t want to or like to send our children in that school’ (ILU1 33:30). This attitude is also internalised, as
evidenced by the Vice-Principal’s description of the rural school visited during fieldwork as a ‘Dalit
school’. In many mixed communities, it is predominantly Dalit children that go to government schools,
creating difficulties for policy-makers and INGOs alike. One respondent commented:
‘How can we mix up? The government provided scholarships to the Dalit children…but the behavioural attitude
and also the mainly social norms base the rules…there is no change’ (ILU1)
5.2.2 Socio-economic condition As mentioned above, many rural Dalits also come from low socio-economic backgrounds, and many in
rural communities study exclusively in public schools ‘largely because poverty renders access to private schooling
impossible’ (Khanal 2015: 714).)35. Dalit families also tend to have more children than other castes, creating
an economic strain that requires the older children to look after the younger ones and thereby miss out on
education (Bhandary 2017). This has a knock-on effect on the education of Dalit children:
34 The same respondent later discussed the scholarships and quotas available for Dalits, suggested that they had contributed to gradual changes, and that the same Dalit friend ‘does not have any difficulties’ in the city (NLU7). 35 Additionally, private schools tend to be concentrated in urban areas.
43
‘Some children from Dalit community don’t go to school because they have no time to do homework, because their
parents always engage in daily wage labour […] they need to take care of siblings and cooking and other things. So
they do not have proper dress for going to school. And that’s why they are discriminated in indirect way. (ILU1).36
Meanwhile, a criticism of teachers was that, whilst not actively discriminating Dalit children, they were
doing so indirectly by failing to understand their socio-economic situations. For example, lower castes and
poorer students remain disadvantaged in their inability to do homework due to demands for physical
labour required by their families. One teacher remarked that; ‘…a lot of kids don’t touch their books from 4pm to
10am the next morning’ (TLR3). So, while they may treat a wealthy Brahmin child no differently than a poor
Dalit child, they also hold the same expectations:
‘…teachers say ‘why are you dressed like that? Your shoes are not…your homework is not there’. So they
[students] don’t like to continue their education…’ (ILU1)
Many public schools have also ignored the constitutional requirement to teach in mother tongues,
continuing to teach in Nepali and effectively excluding many Dalit children for whom Nepali is a second
language (Khanal 2015)37.
In casual conversations, more subtle attitudes emerged that perceived Dalits (and other marginalised
groups) as ‘lazy’ and ‘dependent’ on government scholarships. This relates to Fraser and Honneth’s (2003)
argument that remedies for ‘maldistribution’ may exacerbate ‘misrecognition’. In other words, the attempt
to address socio-economic elements of inclusion has indirectly reinforced other forms of social stigma.
Respondents also suggested the uneven distribution of scholarships (NLU6) was being disproportionately
dominated by the wealthier and more centralised Dalit communities, to the detriment of more isolated
communities; further reflecting a rural/urban divide whilst also cementing a perception of all Dalits being
‘greedy’38.
More explicit forms of caste-based discrimination were demonstrated in the post-earthquake period, as
was highlighted in Chapter 2. Additionally, an emerging, albeit indirect indicator of enduring caste-based
discrimination is the high number of Dalits who convert to Christianity. This is disproportionately higher
than any other caste-group, and suggests the egalitarian message of Christianity still very much resonates
among Dalit communities (Pattison 2017). It was suggested that low caste people ‘…want to convert a lot of
times to Christian because then there is not caste and then they are just the same’ (NEU1); and that lower castes are
targeted in particular ‘…because they are easy to convert and they are already oppressed’ (PLU1). Since reclassifying
from a ‘Hindu-state’ to a secular state in 2008, Nepal has been viewed as one of the ‘last wildernesses’, and
is becoming a hotspot for evangelical missionaries from the US and elsewhere who come to Nepal to 36 Khanal (2015) also argues that the inability to complete homework due to physical labour has a ‘double-dip’ effect; because as well as putting students behind it also makes them reluctant to go to school for fear of being punished. 37 For example, a study conducted by USAID (2014) found that 55% of second grade children that were not native Nepali speakers scored zero on reading assessments. 38 This attitude was not attributed to any particular respondent, but came up in general conversations while in fieldwork.
44
‘reach the unreachable’ and save souls (Coburn 2017). One respondent commented ‘…they target the
marginalized groups because they are easy to convert and they are already oppressed’ (PLU1 21:16). Indeed, there was
one particular view expressed that held adherence to Hindu and Buddhist belief as a causational factor to
low educational attainment and dropouts. Specifically, supposed nightmares of snakes (the Hindu god
Shiva is often depicted in snake form) and of dead bodies (referring to the common practice of public
cremation) led to sleep deprivation which ultimately contributed to low attainment in schools. Dropouts
among girls were also attributed to ‘snakes in their bellies’, which caused irregular or painful periods.
While this is certainly a fringe perspective, it came from a source of considerable influence39 that reflects
an ongoing religious shift in Nepal. As well as raising potential religious tensions in a country that prides
itself on religious co-existence, it also forces continuous discussion on the prevalence of caste-based
discrimination that policymakers have become increasingly quick to deny.
5.3 Exclusion of Girls
Recent data shows that the number of girls dropping out of school is not significantly different to boys. In
fact, the number of girls that remain in schooling up to grade 10 (57.6%) is slightly higher than the
number of boys (56.5%) (DoE 2018). However, this figure alone risks overlooking the varying causal
factors for why boys and girls drop out. Many boys drop out prior to completing secondary school to find
work abroad40. Meanwhile, although the involvement of girls in primary school has increased to a point of
gender parity (GPE 2018), adolescent girls in particular continue to face forms of exclusion that account
for their dropout rates. Part of this comes from a shortage of female teachers particularly at secondary
level that could act as ‘role-models’ for girls’ education. While in primary school teachers make up 44.5%
of the staff, by upper secondary this share decreases to 19.2%, for instance (DoE 2018). Other common
barriers can be grouped into three topics: a cultural preference for boys and conservative attitudes that
devalue girls’ educational pursuits; issues surrounding menstruation and hygiene; and the continuing
practise of child marriage. This section ends with brief outline of the experience of ‘double disadvantage’
among Dalit girls.
5.3.1 Cultural preference for boys A major barrier towards full gender parity in secondary as well as primary education is the socio-cultural
norms that reinforce historical discrimination of gender (Parajuli and Das 2013). As with caste
39 The individual who said this reportedly had meetings with Nepalese MPs and was involved in a network of private schools throughout the country. 40 Every year, over half a million Nepalis migrate for work to Malaysia and the Gulf Countries, and 30% of Nepal’s national income comes in the form of remittances sent back to families in Nepal (Lohani 2018). Many of these jobs do not require a School Leaving Certificate, and so appeal to the 65-70% of young people (mostly young men) who tend to leave high school after Grade 8 (NLU7). Furthermore, many wealthier, educated Nepalis choose to study and work in Europe and America due to better employment prospects; ‘We have a saying in Nepal’ said one lecturer, ‘brain drain is better than brain in drain’ (PLU1).
45
discrimination, gender-based discrimination was described by respondents as being more pronounced in
the rural areas, for example:
‘Nowadays it’s changing slowly in the cities, but in the village […] they have discrimination in the education
between daughter and son’ (TLU1)
Parents ‘typically find it more difficult to see the benefits of educating their daughters compared to their sons’ (Pherali
2011). This preference is rooted in cultural perceptions that sons can better provide old-age support for
parents, preserve the family name and protect the family’s property (Bhandary 2017).
The perception that sons are more likely to ‘take care’ of their parents at old age is aligned with the
perception of daughters as a source of expenditure, who ‘…will go to the other’s house after marriage’ along
with their dowry (ILU1; see also Bhandary 2017). As a result, ‘…even a highly-educated daughter has less
decision-making power than a less educated son’ (Bhandary 2017: 11). Girls are thus often ‘discouraged from pursuing
education that leads to a better-paying career in the future’ (NCE 2018). It was also added that the more
conservative families in the Muslim minority keep girls at home, as their parents do not want them going
to a non-Madrasa school; described as ‘…discrimination in the sense that they get marginalised and excluded from the
school environment’ (ILU2).
5.3.2 Issues surrounding hygiene and menstruation Beliefs surrounding menstruation continue to dominate in certain parts of Nepal. It is not unusual for girls
to stay away from school for at least five days during menstruation, partly out of fear of bringing a bad
omen to their personal lives, families and the wider society if they come near a temple during their period
(Samiti 2018). Menstruating girls are often not allowed to touch books, and are often hidden inside the
house (ILU1 20:09). In the far western parts of the country, menstruating girls still experience the practise
of Chhaupadi, having to stay in a cattle shed for four days whilst on their period due to concerns about
‘impurity’ (NEU2). Even in areas with less conservative attitudes towards menstruation, a lack of separate
toilets, provision of sanitary towels and washroom facilities remain an issue (ILU1/NEU1).
5.3.3 Child Marriage Nepal outlawed child marriage in 1963, and in July 2014 the government pledged to end the practise by
2020. By 2016 this goal had shifted to 2030. Nepal still has the third-highest rate of child marriage in Asia,
with 37% of girls and 11% boys marrying before the age of 18, and 10% of girls before the age of 15
(Aryal 2018). Underage marriage is a common reason for dropout rates (USAID 2018), particularly in the
Terai region (NLU1), where over 50% of marriages involve girls under the age of twelve (Bhandary
2017). In the most conservative communities, girls face negative stigma if continuing education after
marriage, and also if they finish education and marry ‘too old’. Girls who marry young also tend to suffer
from pregnancy-related complications such as infant and maternal mortality, malnutrition and
psychological problems including depression and suicide (Aryal 2018). One respondent described the
situation of twelfth graders in her village:
46
‘Most of the girls will live in the village, around 7 or 8 were boys and 46 were girls […] The girls think ‘okay, I
don’t go city and I study here until 12th grade, and then parents find a boy and get married’ (TLU2).
In many Hill Dalit communities, there is a culture of ‘elopement’, in which girls of around 14-16 run away
with an older boy. General acceptance of the practise among the community, and the fact that it ultimately
saves parents the expense of a wedding, means that ‘girls are often encouraged to elope, even if indirectly’ (Khanal
2015: 717).
5.3.4 ‘Double disadvantage’ Girls in Dalit communities in particular have been described as ‘double disadvantaged’ because of the
intersectionality of their low caste and gender status (Khanal 2015: 716). Dalit women are ‘underprivileged,
underrepresented and exploited in all spheres of society’, being at the bottom of all socio-cultural, political,
economic and educational status indicators (ibid). Nearly half of Dalit women encounter violence within
their homes, with only an estimated 4.4% of incidents being reported to the police (USAID 2014). The
National Campaign for Education highlighted a lack of safety and security in schools as one of the key
causes of girl-absentees and dropouts, particularly among Dalit girls (2018). This is reinforced with data
from studies such as one carried out by USAID (2014) which found that 72% students in public schools
have seen their peers involved in gender-based violence. Dalit women are also more likely to be subjected
to ‘Chhaupadi’ and other exclusionary practises, which reinforce the stereotype that lower-caste women
are not competent to receive education; an attitude that has become internalised by many lower-caste
women themselves (Bhandary 2017). In addition, there has been ‘…a lack of disaggregated data regarding the
status of Dalit women, which has been the main challenge in tracking the progress of Dalit women’ in general (ibid: 19).
Indeed, this lack of explicit consideration of Dalit women as a disaggregated statistic could also be said to
be form of exclusion in itself.
5.4 Exclusion of Children with Disabilities (CWDs)
While there are a wide range of disabilities with their own specific characteristics and challenges (Forlin
and Chambers 2017)41, children with disabilities share a common experience of difficulty and exclusion in
public schooling; while the government’s implementation of international commitments towards disabled
people has been criticised as ‘slow and haphazard’ (Joshi 2018). One estimate puts the number of children
with disability at ‘about 74,000’, of which 60% are out of school (PLU2). A study conducted in 2015 also
found that the learning achievement of children with disabilities (20-30%) is lower than the national
standard of 43% (NLU6). An expert on inclusive education in Nepal further outlined the issue of dropout
rates:
41 . CWDs are usually divided into children with a physical disability and children with a mental or ‘intellectual’ disability. Both are also categorised under ‘mild’, ‘moderate’, and ‘severe’ forms.
47
‘…if we had a hundred students enrolled, you would see that 5 to 10 children would be with disabilities. These five
children, they’ve started grade 1, then after 10 years […] maybe one will go through to Grade 10. Those other four
will just disappear between grades, Grades 3, 4 or 5, then they disappear…’ (PLU2)
In other words, assuming that 5-10% of children in schools have a disability, only 10-20% of this number
will make it to the end of grade 10, meaning 80-90% will not complete secondary schooling. This is a
broad estimate, and even umbrella organisations such as the National Federation of Disabilities Nepal
(NLU4) have little or no statistical data and can only make educated guesses drawing from data available
on the general student population (NLU4). Indeed, both inclusive policy documents (IEPPD 2016: 4) and
respondents (NLU4; NLU6; PLU2) acknowledged the lack of adequate human resources, data collection
and surveys, and research and practise on managing adaptive and inclusive learning. This absence of
disaggregated data on children and other persons with disabilities could also be seen as a form of
exclusion in itself, as was argued above in the case of Dalit women. One respondent commented that
CWDs tend to constitute those left-over’ in otherwise high enrolment figures (NLU2). As argued
elsewhere, many children (and adults) with disabilities remain ‘…invisible and segregated in society’ due to
a mixture of poor infrastructure, a lack of disability-inclusive training and enduring cultural stigma towards
disability (Engage 2017: 8). Each will be addressed below:
5.4.1 Training and infrastructure In both rural and urban schools, a shortage of trained teachers and education personnel limits the
feasibility of inclusive schooling, and there is generally a poor understanding of disability and a low
priority for disability-inclusive education among education stakeholders (Joshi 2017). During fieldwork, it
was found that organisations which were focused on education in general (i.e. not specifically on CWDs)
had little or no involvement with children with disabilities. with a few respondents claiming that no
children with disabilities existed in the areas where they were working (TLR1, TLR2, NLU3). In the rural
school visited during the fieldwork, teachers that had worked there for 20 years could not think of any
children with disabilities that had attended the school. Some suggested that those with mental or
intellectual disabilities may have been previously dismissed as being ‘weak minded’, and were not
identified as a child with disability. Mainstream teacher-training does not provide specialised information
on children with disabilities, or on how to identify and categorise different disabilities such as Downs
Syndrome, dyslexia or autism for example (ILU1). In addition, teachers are often not aware of children
with less ‘visible’ disabilities such as low-vision or hearing impairments, leading to frustration for teachers,
parents and the students, who become increasingly dissuaded from going to school for fear of being called
out or ridiculed by the teacher. One respondent commented that it takes
‘…a really sensitive and sensible teacher to […] figure out a kid has a problem in the class, otherwise they don’t
even see it, he just keeps failing until he drops out’ (NEU1 48:45).
This is further exacerbated by other factors such as large class sizes which limit the ability of teachers to
focus on individual students (NEU1), and a health system that does not provide the services that would
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help with the identification of some conditions: ‘…and then the teachers don’t know, parents don’t know, and they
are there. So there is not any intervention plan at all. (NLU6).
The ability of CWDs to enrol in education, both in inclusive schools as well as ‘special schools’, is very
limited, especially in rural areas. According to one respondent, only 20-40 ‘mild’ to ‘moderate’ disabled
children will reach school per district, with the rest staying at home (NLU6). However, even children with
mild to moderate disabilities are more likely to go to school than those with severe disability; ‘…they are the
ones who are left out […] support services are not available’ (PLU2). In Bhaktapur, a city which is relatively
‘accessible’ and home to a national disability organisation, there remain over 120 children out of school
due to a lack of facilities to provide transportation or home-schooling for children with severe conditions
(NLU6). Elsewhere, the government was criticised for failing to ‘…come up with a concrete way of home-based
education’ for children with very severe or multiple disabilities (ILU3). Another major concern for children with
severe disabilities or learning difficulties is what happens to them when they are considered too old for
schooling, with a ‘huge gap’ existing in transition management from education to the world of work
(PLU2) which is also limited by resource constraints.
5.4.2 Stigma In the 2011 national census, 1.94% of the Nepalese population reported having ‘some kind of disability’
(Code for Nepal 2016)42. More recent surveys suggest this figure is likely higher at around 3.6% (Engage
2017); however, both estimates are significantly lower than the global average of 15% (WHO 2011).
Reasons for this disparity are at least partly due to a mixture of inefficient data collection. conflated by
negative attitudes to disability which may be disincentivising people to identify themselves or their
relatives as disabled (PLU2). Stigma against CWDs exists in numerous forms, at all levels of Nepali society
and in both urban and rural contexts. As stated by a professor of inclusive education: ‘I would say
conclusively, that attitude is the largest discriminator’ towards inclusion of CWDs (PLU2). The government, for
example, was criticised for being ‘not very responsible towards children with disability’, and harbouring doubts that
CWDs can continue education despite writing policies and curricula that pledge the opposite (ILU1). Joshi
(2017) argues that policy-makers also ‘embrace stereotypes about persons with disabilities’, solidifying certain
mindsets that are hard to change. There is also resistance from school management when it comes to
admitting CWDs into an ‘inclusive school’, as noted by one respondent:
‘…they don’t want to bring…they try to say, to convince them [parents] that there are special schools, ‘your child
will be taken care properly’, that sort of thing. You know, that exclusion that looks like their own goodness is
there, the child’s future is there’ (NLU2).
42 This is also divided into categories including physical disability (36.3%), visually impaired or blind (18.5%), hard of hearing or deaf (15.4%), speech related (11.5%), intellectually handicapped (2,.9%) or multiple disabilities (7.5%)
49
Another respondent argued that a lot of school principals do not like to support inclusive programmes
because a lot of CWDs ‘distract other children’ and cause an extra demand on teachers;
‘…you go in the mainstream school and they say ‘oh no, we don’t have any specialised teachers, specialised
materials. We don’t know how to teach these children. Please take them in other schools’ (ILU1)
Particularly in rural areas, teachers traditionally maintain an aura of educative authority, and so if they do
not believe they are able to teach children with disabilities, this attitude will likely pass on to parents and
the wider community43. This stigma has also been internalised by CWDs themselves, many of whom
think they are unable ‘…to get themselves included or integrated with their peers and comrades. [They] are preoccupied
with this notion that it will be very difficult’ (PLU2). Often it can indeed be very difficult, as many children with
disabilities experience bullying at school as well as disrespect from the wider community (Regmi 2017a).
One respondent also referred to an internalised hierarchy among CWDs, describing how;
‘…the child with visual disability thinks himself superior to a child with intellectual disability […] they think this
child with this kind of disability has an ego compared to the intellectual disability, who has a lower ego’ (PLU2).
Particularly in the more conservative rural areas, inclusion of CWDs in public education is limited through
religious and cultural stigma: In some communities, disability is associated with ‘bad karma’, or the
consequence of wrongdoing in a previous life (Joshi 2017) 44, so the children are often hidden away to
avoid shame (ILU1). Some parents for example,
‘…think […] It’s a bad thing to have a child with disability, particularly those children who are severely disabled.
Their parents are going through a lot of trauma and prejudices from the communities and societies, which is why
they don’t tend to send their children back to school […] they don’t want to be like, further discriminated or be the
talk of the town’ (ILU2).
This leads to exclusion from not only schools, but from other social-cultural gatherings and events also, to
the extent that many children with disabilities remain ‘invisible’ to the wider community (PLU2). This also
affects top-down efforts to identify children with disabilities. In other cases, parents are unaware or refuse
to accept their child is disabled. One respondent described how she taught a girl that was ‘extremely
autistic’, but when she tried to talk to the parents; ‘…they just blame us…’ (NEU1). In other cases, children
displaying symptoms of epilepsy were described as being ‘possessed’ by an ‘evil spirit’ or ‘demonised’
(NEU1). Previous research indicates that most families of children with disabilities have no planning for
the future life of their disabled children, and in adult life the notion of independence for many persons
with disabilities is ‘more or less abstract’ (Joshi 2017). This also translates to policymaking, with the
popular opinion that investing resources in CWDs is seen as a ‘waste of money’ due to a lack of awareness
of the capacities and potential of people with disabilities (NLU4). In many areas, the ‘traditional view’ that
‘regards disability as inability’ still dominates (PLU2).
43 ‘…if the teacher doesn’t know that they can teach children with disabilities, then how could the parents know it?’ (RCRD). 44 Previous studies have indicated that 30% of parents in believe that disability as the result of ‘fate’. Maudslay (2014)
50
5.4.3 Multiple Discrimination The three forms of discrimination listed above can and do often intersect to create multiple layers of
discrimination. A common example mentioned was the ‘double’ or ‘triple’ layer discrimination of being a
girl, a Dalit and/or also a person with disability (ILU2; ILU1). As one respondent remarked; ‘…if the girl is
a Dalit and if she is disabled or something, you can imagine her life…’ (ILU3). It is not uncommon in such
circumstances for their parents to also be illiterate and unable to find out about scholarships and services
available (ILU3). While it was argued in numerous instances that caste-based discrimination is on the
decline, particularly in urban areas, disability-based discrimination was described as being ‘more prominent’
(PLU2
). Furthermore, while education has been a major tool for breaking down gender and caste-based
discrimination, discrimination against CWDs was said to persist in both uneducated and educated
backgrounds (PLU2).
Figure E: Multiple layers of discrimination
Caste-based discrimination
Gender-based discrimination
Disability-based
discrimination
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The next chapter addresses the main policies and strategies adopted by the Nepalese government, donors
and the NGO sector regarding inclusion of these groups in Nepal’s education sector. It follows with a
table outlining their relation to the forms of discrimination described in this chapter.
Chapter 6: Strategies of Inclusion
This chapter addresses the final sub-question, analysing what strategies are currently in place regarding
inclusive education. It begins with an overview of how inclusion is being interpreted at the government-
policy level, before looking into how this has been interpreted and implemented by (I)NGOs and other
education stakeholders. It also addresses some of the targeted strategies that focus on the inclusion of
each of the main groups outlined in the previous chapters, adding ‘internal’ and ‘external’ dimensions of
inclusion to the ‘primary’ and auxiliary’ dimensions conceptualised in Chapter 3. The organisations and
stakedholers referred to here are a small segment of the breadth of NGOs, INGOs, CSOs and other
actors working in inclusive education across Nepal. The specific strategies addressed are also not
exhaustive, but they do provide a snapshot of ways inclusive education is interpreted and approached by
different stakeholders.
6.1 Inclusive education at the government level The 2015 constitution outlines numerous provisions for inclusion in the functions of state, establishing
quotas for Dalits, women and persons with disabilities. Nepal elected its first female President in 2015,
and the 2017 local elections (Nepal’s first in over 25 years), saw 13,000 women elected to Ward
Committees, of which half were also Dalits. (Rai 2017). One editorial commented; ’The real winners of the
local elections are not political parties, but women’ (ibid). The representation of both women and Dalits in local
52
government has been seen as a positive step that act as an inspiration for marginalised communities (ibid).
Inclusive rhetoric is also found in the School Sector Development Plan (2016-2023) which directly
imitates SDG4 in stating that it; ‘…seeks to ensure that the education system is inclusive and equitable in terms of
access, participation and learning outcomes’ (GPE 2018). This also matches the intentions of donors such as the
Global Campaign for Education to ‘…improve access, equity, quality and relevance of secondary education’. (GPE).
Matching the pattern of the its donors,45 the government has mostly framed inclusive education in the
broader sense, encompassing children with disabilities as well as other marginalised groups. For example,
as well as committing to the 10-year Incheon Strategy and Plan of Action to ‘make the rights’ real for
people with disabilities during the period 2013-2023 (IEPPD 2016:5)46 the constitution also guarantees the
right of women to ‘obtain special opportunity in education, health, employment and social security on the
basis of positive discrimination’ (Article 22). A separate policy document also pledges to provide ‘child-
centred teaching-learning processes to fulfil social, cultural and educational needs’, and the ‘transformation of all education
schools into ‘disability-friendly’ and ‘girl-student friendly’ centres’ (IEPPD 2016: 8). Articles 23 and 24 of the
Constitution meanwhile stipulate the legal provision of scholarships ‘from primary to higher education’, as
well as ‘proportional inclusion’ of Dalits in ‘all bodies of state’. Article 31 also specifies the right for every
community in Nepal ‘to get education in its mother tongue’. Finally, Article 191 outlines a ‘National Inclusion
Commission’ with a mandate to ‘study and research works for the protection of the rights and interests of…persons with
disabilities…and marginalised communities’. Other policies have additionally stated the aim of ‘personal learning
plans’ and teaching methods that reflect the specific needs of disability, including alternative evaluation
and assessment methods (IEPPD 2016:). There has also been reference to the provision of ‘orientation’ for
students, families, teachers and school administration for inclusive education, reinforced with ‘continuous training and support
for staff’ and a ‘disability-adaptive alternative communication means’ that will be developed and standardised (ibid).
These policies were generally considered to be a positive step forward by respondents (NLU4, NEU2).
However, there remains a ‘huge gap’ between policy and implementation. (NLU6); and the policies
themselves have been criticised in previous studies for having a ‘lack of clear and precise structures, mechanisms
and provisions’ (Regmi 2017: 174). It has also been argued that policymakers ‘are often not aware of the ideology
backing inclusive education’ (Joshi 2017); and that conceptual confusion between ‘special needs’, ‘integrated’
and ‘inclusive’ education leads to confusion on its implementation among teachers and other education
personnel (PLU2). This was evidenced by respondents from the Department of Education, who largely
framed ‘inclusive education’ in the narrower (disability-focused) sense, with one remarking that the
definition has varied between narrow and broad over the last 15 years (CLU). Another suggested that a
lack of clarity on inclusive education links to wider confusion regarding how the education system is to
respond to the transition of federalism: 45 In 2016, approximately $60 million in funding was distributed to the provision of reading materials in 15 languages , and in scholarships to marginalised communities, including over 900,000 Dalits, 40,000 CWDs and 1.8 million girls (GPE 2018). 46 This includes the provision of ‘capable human resources’ and adaptations to curricula, textbooks, learning materials and examining systems throughout the education system to match the needs of CWDs (IEPPD 2016:8).
53
‘If you came a year, two years ago, we would be able to tell you everything about the education system in Nepal. But
now nothing is certain, we don’t know if we will even be here in one year’ (CLU2).
Regarding children with disabilities, the government claim there are 380 Resource classes, 32 special
schools and 22 integrated schools under operation for the education of deaf and hard of hearing, blind
children, and children with intellectual disabilities; with an estimated 74, 820 children with disabilities
enrolled in high school. (IEPPD 2016:3). However, these figures were questioned by the director of a
disability-rights organisation, who stated:
‘…they say there are 384 resource classes. But when we see, when we go to the villages […] in most of the rural
districts there will be two or three, like one for the blind, one for the deaf and one for the intellectual disability. In
most of the cases, there are huge populations, and they just provide school facilities for 10 children, 8 children […]
in one district!’ (NLU6).
This suggests that inclusive schools and schools with inclusive elements such as resource classes remain
low in number and tend to focus only on certain parts of the disability spectrum. Furthermore, even when
resource classes are in place, there are additional problems, such as a shortage of braille books and trained
sign language interpreters, that limit their effectiveness (ILU2). There were also complaints of a shortage
of trained human resources, not only in schools but also in wider governance structures and in education-
focused INGOs (PLU2). In short, as one respondent remarked; ‘…We have an inclusive education policy […]
but in line with [that], the government is not doing [anything] to cope with the situation’ (NLU4)47. While there is a
disability register, and a small financial allowance available through that, this has been criticised as being
too small an amount (NEU2) and ultimately ineffective as many families are unaware that such allowances
and scholarships exist in the first place (ILU1). CWDs are supposed to get 40,000 rupees ($370) per year,
paid monthly. However, one respondent from a disability-rights organisation complained that money is
distributed ‘maybe twice a year’ at arbitrary dates that in some cases do not come to beneficiaries until late
in the school year (NLU6). Referring back to the concepts of inclusion discussed in Chapter 3, it appears
that the government’s primary strategy is one of ‘primary’ inclusion that is focused on quotas, scholarships
and the physical accessibility of schooling. While auxiliary strategies such as individual learning plans and
inclusive ‘orientation’ are nominally in place, in reality these are not being carried out on a wide scale.
6.2 Strategies of Inclusion among non-state actors
Many of the strategies adopted by non-state actors that could be interpreted as constituting a mixture
of‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ forms of inclusion. This section presents some of the divisions and similarities
47 Similarly, another added: ‘In our government policy…just they implement in paper…lines in paper’ (NLU5)
54
between different approaches to inclusion, before addressing some of the targeted strategies for each of
the marginalised groups outlined in the previous chapters.
Divisions between respondents on inclusive strategies were largely drawn from tensions between their
strategies and the demands of donors (ILU1, NLU7, NLU3). For example, respondents from one NGO
were highly critical of others that used ‘flagship’ projects to appeal for further funding, to the deprivation
of other schools in the district that received little to no funding or assistance (NLU3)48. In contrast,
another respondent argued that making a couple of ‘exemplary’ or ‘model’ schools was a way of ‘winning
the confidence of parents’ and the wider community as to the feasibility of inclusive schooling; which was
preferable to more incremental changes at the wider level which tend to be met with suspicion and
disbelief (NLU7). In a different case, one respondent argued that one of the most successful methods of
providing access to schools in remote rural areas is to build a hostel (which is also accessible to CWDs)
for students that would otherwise have difficulty going to school. However, she added that most donors
do not understand why funding for inclusive education projects are being put into hostel-construction and
not into inclusive educational materials for the classroom; i.e. things that are easy to demonstrate as
‘inclusive’. (ILU1):
‘…sometimes it is challenging to convince the donor […] provid[ing] support to construct hostel building is not part
of inclusive education. Inclusive education is the principle [that] all children can join in school from their
neighbourhood schools, from their home. [But] if we don’t focus on the hostel, nobody can join the school’ (ILU1).
There are also tensions between larger and smaller NGOs which may be further antagonised by the
federal restructuring (see Chapter 2). However, among these various actors there is general agreement that
more information is needed regarding the shift to federalism and the specifics of ‘local empowerment’,
and that better data-gathering and statistical knowledge is required to effectively implement policies.
Government inefficiency was repeatedly cited as a principle barrier, and seemed to create confusion
among stakeholders that are nominally supposed to work under government leadership; as demonstrated
on this excerpt from a conversation between two respondents:
‘We can’t tell the government what to do, and we can’t act without their input’ (DEU)
‘But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Because the government is unable to act by itself…’ (DEUa)
Several respondents indicated a preference for a ‘holistic approach’ to quality and accessible inclusive
education (ILU2, ILU3, NLU3, NEU3,). The rationale for this is based on the understanding that the
reasons for not enrolling or for dropping out of education are not confined to the classroom but are also
the result of extraneous factors such as parental attitude or socioeconomic circumstance. This is done in
different ways, from a ‘continuum of care’ approach that focuses on students both in and out of school
(ILU2) to a ‘community homestay’ program whereby targeted communities benefit financially from 48 Specifically, they referred to an example in which one high school with 400 students received $830,000 from an INGO, whilst the other schools in the district received nothing (NLU3)
55
volunteers who also promote the adoption of child-centered pedagogies in schools (NEU3) One
respondent outlined his NGO’s rationale for a dual approach to education and healthcare:
‘If you want to talk about education, there comes also health issues. If you talk about health issues, the water and
sanitation, if you have no water or sanitation, children cannot continue their education. We cannot manage the
quality of education if there is no water, separate toilets and all that. So we are trying to implement a comprehensive
approach’ (ILU1).
Respondents from another organization describe how they divide their time and resources between the
introduction and advocacy of child-centered learning in the classroom, the empowerment of women
through collective microfinancing programs, and agricultural development. They outlined their approach
as such:
‘To educate the children, we need to support the parents, otherwise they cannot support the education of their
children. That’s why we have to work in the women’s empowerment and agriculture. To empower the women, we
need to work in agriculture […] always women are called dependent, actually they are working 12 hours a day.
But still they are called ‘dependent’. Why are they dependent? Because they don’t earn cash! (NLU3).
Their women’s cooperative microfinance program mobilized 700 women and raised 30 million rupees into
a group fund, part of which went into ‘different types of inclusive education programs’ (NLU3).49 The focus on
agriculture, whilst related to women’s empowerment, also involves the introduction of new farming
techniques and materials which reduce the dependence of lower income families on their children for
labour.
Other organisations were more focused on targeting parental attitudes towards elements of inclusion
education and child-centered pedagogy, for example:
‘…parents [were] beginning to ask questions, because our ways of teaching and learning is more kind of children
making noise rather than, you know, pin-drop silence. Whereas Nepali culture, you know, had such a perception
that pin-drop silence classes is the best class […] We are the other way around, they didn’t understand what [the
organisation] is doing. Children are singing, playing, you know, not really ‘studying’. That’s what they are saying,
and then we had to bring our parents to educate them. That’s why […] another area is kind of ‘whole community’,
and the school is part of the community, that is what we see now’ (NLU7).
These various interpretations of ‘holistic’ approaches have their successes, but are also limited by a lack of
coordination. Generally, there appeared to be little understanding or awareness between education
organisations on what they were doing or where, and in some cases would be unaware of each other’s
existence despite working in the same geographic area for the same demographic (NEU1; NLU5; ILU1)
49 This project also improved the women’s status and standing in the community, and was described as a contributing factor to the unprecedented number of women elected at the municipal level in the 2017 elections (NLU3).
56
Respondents from different organisations were divided in the way they conceptualize inclusive education.
Many disability-focused charities took the narrow approach, but conceded the presence of multiple layers
of discrimination for female and Dalit CWDs that warrant multi-faceted strategies of inclusion. Other
charities with a broader educational focus priorities inclusion of girls and Dalits, but tended to have little
or no strategy in place for CWDs. On numerous occasions, respondents stated that there were simply no
disabled children in the areas they worked in (NLU3, TLR1). Particularly in rural areas, children with
disabilities are so spread out and so often hidden that many appear to ‘slip off the radar’ of many
organisations. The next section outlines some of the specific strategies adopted for the inclusion of each
specific group.
6.3 Targeted strategies
6.3.1 Dalits Generally, inclusion strategies for Dalit children appear to overlap with those for the inclusion of all
children from a lower socio-economic background. One organization referred to ‘awareness training’ to
ensure that Dalits and non-Dalits ‘eat together, walk together, group together’ (NLU3), but otherwise no
specific inclusion strategies were discussed. As mentioned in the previous chapter, most respondents
downplayed caste as an issue. Previous research has also advocated ‘poverty reduction’, employment
generation’ and ‘homework assistance programmes’ as inclusion strategies (Khanal 2015), reinforcing a
perception of Dalit inclusion as essentially synonymous with poverty-reduction strategies. While many
Dalit communities are indeed poor and do benefit from economic inclusion strategies, a focus on this
alone tacitly closes the debate on the enduring socio-cultural aspects of caste-based exclusion. In other
words, whilst an economic focus may enable Dalit children to attend school, it does little to address de
facto segregation of ‘Dalit schools’ and the other forms of exclusion outlined in the previous chapter. In
his 2075 (2018) Nepali New Year address, Nepal’s Prime Minister, K.P. Oli, outlined a specific campaign
whereby citizens with the means were invited to support ‘vulnerable’ children with their education. Both
he and his predecessor initiated the campaign by taking guardianship of two Dalit children each, a move
which one commentator argued ‘…could go a long way in transforming the education landscape of the country’
(Galimberti 2018). Furthermore, the provision of government quotas and unprecedented representation
of Dalits (and Dalit women in particular) may be an indicator of changing cultural perceptions, but full
inclusion and acceptance is a gradual process.
6.3.2 Girls Strategies of inclusion of girls in schools are predominantly focused on three aspects; challenging the
practice of child marriage, eliminating gender-based violence in and around schools and establishing ‘girl
friendly environments’ in school through the provision of separate washrooms and sanitary products.
Regarding child marriage, it was suggested that ‘primary inclusion’ strategies such as the provision of
government scholarships to girls in certain targeted areas has had a positive impact (NLU1). This provides
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financial incentive to keep girls in school, whilst also reducing the financial pressure on families to ‘marry
off’ their daughters at young ages. That being said, conservative religio-cultural attitudes have limited the
effectiveness of the scholarships, particularly in the Terai (plains) region, where approximately 35% of
girls are married by the age of 15 (NLU7). One response to this is the adoption of ‘auxiliary inclusion’
programs such as the ‘Sisters for Sisters’ mentoring scheme, where 100 ‘big sisters’ (educated young
women) work in 25 schools, training teachers and providing psycho-social counselling and support to
around 1000 girls in districts with high levels of child marriage. The presence of the ‘big sisters’ is aimed to
act as inspiration for girls to stay in education. This program also complements other initiatives such as
‘play for change’, which aims to include girls through support, and make the school environment more
fun (NLU7). While these approaches have had some success, it is limited by human resource factors. For
example, particularly in rural areas, it is difficult to find ‘big sisters’, as most educated young women move
to the cities, and those that do volunteer usually do so on a short-term basis. Most village schools are also
dominated by an ‘old cohort’ of teachers that are resistant or even resentful of the introduction of new
techniques (NLU7). Meanwhile, although scholarship provision may be having a positive effect on
enrolment, it is ‘having little or no impact on girls’ learning and education outcomes (NEU3,).
This relates to the other two areas of focus. In earthquake-affected areas for example, numerous
organisations referred to ‘building back better’ both in terms of resilience and in terms of providing
separate washroom facilities for girls and other physical changes such as wheelchair accessibility (NEU3,,
ILU3; DEU). Providing separate washrooms so far has been found to have a positive impact on girls’
enrolment (NCE 2018). There was, however, little reference to changes being made in schools in areas
unaffected by the earthquake, and an estimated 30% of schools continue to lack separate toilet facilities
(GPE 2018). A major area of focus is the enabling of safe and secure conditions for girls in schools,
regarded as ‘one of the key causes of girls being out of school’ and ‘worsening the meaningful learning of girls’ (NCE
2018). USAID and UNICEF, for example, are launching a Zero-Tolerance, Gender-Based Violence-Free
program, This project aims to reduce the prevalence of school-related gender-based violence and improve
equitable learning outcomes for adolescent girls and boys in Nepal over the next three years. Planned
approaches include teacher and student training, the mapping of services for gender-based violence
survivors and advocacy and awareness activities. This is also intended to reduce child marriage and the
practice of chhaupadi (segregation during menstruation). However, while respondents discussing this
approach were optimistic about its potential, it has yet to be implemented and so its effectiveness remains
to be seen. Furthermore, its advocates appeared to have little or no knowledge of strategies adopted under
previous programmes, or of consideration that they may be repeating historical mistakes (DEU; see also
Li 2007).50
50 Li (2007) demonstrated the issue of ‘layered improvement’, in which new ‘improvement projects’ essentially build on the failures of previous ones, often ignoring the reasons for the previous failure, while also potentially creating new problems as a result. When new interventions build on the foundations of previous (failed) interventions, they the risk of becoming even further removed from the ‘reality’ on the ground, and thus is even more likely to fail.
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Compared to children with disabilities, inclusion strategies for girls were generally framed as more feasible
and effective. Initiatives such as the ‘Sister for Sister’ programme, while not without their own limitations,
demonstrate potential auxiliary inclusion methods that could keep girls in schools. The provision of
psycho-social counselling (NLU7, NLU3) complements strategies focusing on gender-based violence such
as proper playground supervision and redesigned classrooms that prevent bullying, assaults and abuse
(NCE 2018). The implementation of holistic strategies that make girls feel safe and included in the school
whilst also involving and informing parents on the value of education have the greatest impact. However,
in the most conservative and isolated rural areas, attitudes are slow to change and traditional attitudes
around menstruation, child marriage and a cultural preference for boys are likely to remain as limitations.
6.3.3 Children with disabilities Several respondents commented that policy shifts in recent years could ’transform’ the living conditions of
persons with disabilities (NEU2; NLU4, NLU2)51. However, scholarship provision remains limited, one
respondent remarked; ‘…you get, I think, 2000 rupees per month. And that’s nothing really’ (NEU2). Furthermore
whilst scholarships and some physical changes have led to improved accessibility and enrolment
(particularly in primary schooling), ‘…after some time they [children with disabilities] go back or they don’t feel you
know, comfortable to continue their education.’ (NLU2). This further emphasizes the need for strategies that do
not only focus on the physical environment, but also on what ‘auxiliary inclusion’ areas of focus such as
‘acceptance, capacity, awareness and need’ (NLU2). This was also the opinion of certain respondents, one of
which specifically mentioned Tomasevski’s four As as a direct influence to his organisation’s response to
disability-inclusion:
‘…we have to create support for the availability of opportunity, accessibility to opportunity and
acceptability of opportunity, which is also followed by adaptability of opportunity. So all these approaches,
they seem to be intertwined. If you do not have access to available opportunities, or they are not acceptable to you,
then it is not accessible or adaptable’ (PLU2).
Another actor referred specifically to ‘…activities that improve inclusive access to educational opportunities as well
as improve the quality of learning environments’ , partly through increased community participation and
accountability in creating disabled-friendly school environments (Save the Children 2018). Stated aims
include ‘auxiliary inclusion’ strategies such as increased CWD enrolment, bolstered by the expansion of
individual education plans and the provision of disability-related training to teachers.
Other organisations advocate the transformation of perceptions of people with disabilities from passive
beneficiaries to active participants ‘…in turning Nepal in[to] a more just and equitable nation’ (Engage 2017:
51 One senior civil servant also stated that the government are ‘…finalising a master-plan for special needs education’, covering a period of 13 years and matching SDG 4, and with the aim ‘..to include children with and without disabilities in a regular education system’ (Basu 16:19).
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4) 52. Indeed, these same organisations observed that many CWDs turn down scholarships on a matter of
principle as they do not want to be considered a ‘charity case’ or a ‘passive’ victim (NEU2). This draws on
the definition of inclusion as a ‘…connection to the network of community development […] to participate in a process
of changing one’s life and collective life’ (Busatto, cited in Engage 2017: 16). One organisation attempts to do
this through a wheelchair basketball programme; described as ‘…a powerful and innovative tool to raise
awareness about the rights of all persons who, perpetually, are discriminated and experience on a daily basis vulnerabilities,
exclusion and insecurities’ (Engage 2017: 4). Although their focus is extra-curricular, they involve themselves
in public schools through awareness programmes and through wheelchair-basketball matches, which are
often held in school grounds; ‘…we go to the school and talk to the children…we have the players who share the stories
and then they play’ (NEU2). Often, members of the successful team are also given an ‘awards ceremony’ by
their schools, and the wheelchair-basketball League becomes a source of pride for the winning players and
their respective schools.53 The League is also inclusive of both male and female CWDs, with four of the
ten teams being all-female (Shrestha 2017). In addition, they aim; ‘…to open up the eyes of the employment sector,
you know, that people […] with disabilities, there are a long list of what they can do, of what they are doing’ (NEU2).
While this doesn’t address inclusive schooling specifically, it is one example of how auxiliary strategies of
inclusion that are external to the school can have an indirect impact on CWDs, through promoting a
wider acceptance of disability in the community.
Recent studies have found that in lieu of disability-specific training, younger teachers with disabled
students have made several adjustments in their teaching, including inclusive strategies (Lamicchane 2017).
Basic pedagogical adjustments included explaining and interacting with particular learners more, reading
whilst writing on the board and placing students with visual impairments in the front bench with the most
‘academically sound’ students. This demonstrates the potential of adopting (limited) inclusive strategies
even in the absence of adequate training and resources. Furthermore, the provision of ‘skill-based classes’
for disabled students prior to their placement in mainstream classes has been framed as a unique
‘innovation’ to Nepal that occurred prior to the institutional acceptance of ‘inclusive education’
(Lamicchane 2017). This has been effective in the past, particularly with students with visual impairments,
who remain in resource classes until they gain the independent learning skills that enable them to integrate
into the main classroom. The government has also implemented a policy of providing opportunities to
qualified individuals with visual impairments to teach in mainstream schools that could be a model for
elsewhere; as a strategy it enables individuals with visual impairments to become ‘economically
independent’ but also helps to ‘falsify social stigma which holds that disabled people cannot contribute to society’
(Lamicchane, 2016: 16).This entails a perspective of inclusion as a transformative tool which was shared
52 An example of this would be the blind lady that opened Nepal’s first Braille library, who commented; ‘…the opportunities are available only to 10% among us; we should bear in mind that this 10% should work towards empowering the remaining 90%’ (Pant 2017). 53 The League itself is sponsored by the Swiss Embassy and Turkish Airlines. Previous players also took part in the 2018 Paralympic Games in Rio de Janeiro.
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by most respondents; and demonstrates the representation of teachers from marginalised groups as
another potential strategy of auxiliary inclusion. .
Organisations that were focused on people with disabilities held two primary criticisms; under-funding
and insufficient resource allocation from the government, and the tendency to frame disability as a purely
‘medical problem’ requiring a humanitarian response, rather than a longer-term development issue
(NLU4). The former criticism highlights the disparity between government policy and their ability to
adequately fund inclusive strategies. For example, the 2016 Disability policy made reference to a ‘mobile
education system’ for the severely disabled, which one respondent remarked was ‘impossible’ considering
current budgetary constraints (PLU2). Additionally, whilst children in ‘resource classes’ are expected to
enter mainstream classes after 2 or 3 years, this mainly refers to children with hearing problems and visual
impairments; ‘…Children with other kinds of disabilities are rarely transferred into regular classrooms’ (PLU2). It
therefore appears that primary inclusion strategies, such as the provision of materials for blind and deaf
children in ‘resource classes’ or the provision of wheelchair accessibility, enable students with these forms
of disability to integrate in the wider classrooms. Children with other forms of disability such as
intellectual disabilities/learning difficulties, meanwhile, may require more ‘auxiliary’ forms of inclusion
such as individualised lesson plans and greater attention from the teacher that are perhaps more difficult
to implement. This ties in with the wider issue of framing CWDs as a homogenous ‘marginalised group’
that overlooks the vast disaprities between different disabilities. This variation is a challenge in itself, and
makes any ‘blanket approach’ to disability inclusion problematic from the onset (ILU1; ILU3). For
example, children with visual and hearing-related disabilities have had greater success through resource
classrooms, and are less likely to drop out in comparison to children with other types of disability, such as
those with learning difficulties (PLU2). This, mixed with an absence of relevant data, means there is a lack
of tailored curricula and educational materials available; ‘…especially [for] children with autism, children with
downs syndrome, children with intellectual disabilities’ (NLU4).
Numerous stakeholders from disability-focused organisations were also critical of a wider lack of focus on
disability issues among the NGO and INGO sector (NLU6: PLU2). One respondent commented :
‘They have not been able to really internalize that this is a developmental issue, and this is a rights issue [...]. My
experience, 32 years of experience shows that, you know; they just…it’s just one of charity, still. Still their working
style is like that’ (NLU6).
6.4 General Limitations
Existing strategies have made and are making steps that address many of the demands of ‘primary
inclusion’, or, in other words, steps to promote the accessibility and enrolment of girls, Dalits and
children with disabilities. Inclusive training was also argued to have had some successes. For example, one
respondent commented that the training of teachers to use sign language in order to better include deaf
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students had shown a positive effect, and had ‘…established a model that inclusion is possible, generally possible.
[That] it can be translated into real facilitation’ (PLU2). However, the level of implementation remains low, at
the time of the interview this training programme had only been adopted in a ‘handful’ of Nepal’s 35,000
schools (PLU2). One respondent compared the implementation of inclusive policy to ‘Pouring from a big jug
of water to a small jug of water’ ; in other words, the demands of inclusive education currently exceed the
government’s capacity to address it (NLU7).
The government has pledged to increase the education budget to 20% of the national budget (GPE), a
move that has been welcomed by activists and donors, who have pledged to supplement the rise with an
additional $4.4 billion (Setopati 2018). However the current education budget stands at only 11% (PLU2),
of which 85% is spent on teacher salaries, further limiting the scope for the provision of inclusive
education policies, particularly in the context increased budgetary train due to the federal restructuring
(Setopati 2018).54 The effectiveness of funding is further limited by corruption (Bell 2016, NEU3)55 and
misuses of scholarship funds among parents and public schools( Galimberti 2018). Scholarships are also
described as ineffective due to ‘…insufficient quotas, lack of fixed and transparent policies, no effective mechanism of
identifying target groups, a lack of monitoring and political interference’. (Galimberti (2018).
As noted previously, another major limitation is a lack of dissemination of information about scholarships
and about post-school opportunities (NLU1). These were said to be disproportionately ‘…received by the top
level of people, and the bottom level is just not there’ to the point that many parents ‘…do not know about the services of
government provision’ (ILU1). This was framed elsewhere as more of an urban-rural divide, in which rural
parents are not only less informed, but also more likely to hold on to conservative beliefs that (re)produce
patterns of exclusionary behaviour. As such, it was argued that inclusion ‘…is more possible in urban areas
compared to rural’ (PLU2). In some cases, even when they may be aware of scholarship information, parents
would be reluctant to get an ID card to register their child as disabled due to cultural stigma; ‘…they don’t
want to send to school or they don’t want to give recognition of these children’ (ILU1) (PLU2). An area of resistance to
inclusive education in both urban and rural settings comes from parents of CWDs who opt to keep their
children in special schools, which tend to have lower dropouts and more specially-trained staff. One
respondent described the difficulty of convincing them to send their children to inclusive schools:
‘…we are trying to convince them that special education really separates children, puts your child nowhere. They are
not in the community, not in the home, in the market […] we have to replace special schools with inclusive schools.
But it’s very difficult to communicate that with parents’ (PLU2).
54 A recent news article argued that ‘…the quality of education has dwindled due to the inadequate investment in education’ (Setopati 2018). 55 Elsewhere, problems of ‘opaqueness in budget spending’ and ‘irregularities in several districts’ have been mentioned (Serotapi 2018).
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In special schools, however, ‘…there is a separate school teacher who takes care of those children’,56 whereas
integrated schools were said to be ‘…not properly equipped. They don’t have enough capacity to deal with the different
disabilities…’ (NLU2). Furthermore, in many integrated resource-schools, it is only the resource class
teacher that is properly trained and is ‘properly caring for these children’ (ILU1). Many integrated school hostels
are also inadequate, with no separate rooms or toilets, and in some cases no accessible toilet for CWDs,
who are dependent on caretakers. (ILU1). Other organisations are also critical of the tendency to simplify
disability to concerns of physical accessibility inside the school: ‘…there is a thought [that] making only a
ramp[…] can fulfil all the things. And that is [a] very…charitable thought’ (NLU4). Accessibility into the
classroom is rarely complemented with accessible wash facilities, infrastructure and roadways connecting
the school to the wider community (ILU2).
Another criticism of inclusive education is that constitutes a top-down imposition from donors and
international society to implement the latest educational ‘trend’ (Maudsley 2014). Indeed, strategies for
educational inclusion, and the public education system in general, rely heavily on external funding from aid
agencies, meaning that existing programmes have largely become ‘highly centralised with top-down
implementation with little engagement from the main stakeholders such as parents, teachers and communities’ (Khanal,
2015: 712). Maudelsy (2014) argues, for example, that: ‘…donor definitions of inclusive education for students with
disabilities and learning difficulties can too easily be imposed…without allowing for a thorough analysis of the disability
context of particular countries’ (418). In a similar vein, one respondent commented that NGOs and INGOs;
Another respondent remarked that NGOs and INGOs ‘…have failed to bring the issue of disability as a cross-
cutting issue of development […] Their perspective is defined by whatever they have, operations are limited […] They do not
carry the national interest, they carry a separate motive, which is little heard by the government’ (PLU257). This matches
another respondent that argued that a lot of organizations are too ‘…focused on their specific task’, where a
broader-minded approach would be more appropriate (NLU6). Furthermore, problems of taking a
‘blanket approach’ to inclusive education were also raised by respondents (ILU3), who noted that inclusive
education entails being adaptive to the specific requirements of the students, which vary widely from
school to school, and certainly from one part of the country to another.
6.5 Summary
Generally, most strategies for inclusive education can be summarized in three aspects; the provision of
resources and physical accessibility, the adoption of holistic approaches that involve the parents and
wider community, and a move away from teacher-led learning towards adaptive teaching methods that
respond to a diverse range of classroom needs. These factors add a new dimension to strategies of
inclusion, which occur internally (within the school) and externally (in the wider community). As stated by
56 Another respondent added that; ‘Parents, if given the choice, would definitely [prefer] special education, because special education is…people are a little more prepared, you know? Teaching style’ (PLU2) 57 An ‘unseen rivalry’ between the government and (I)NGOs was also described, in which the former is ‘hesitant to borrow and learn’ from opportunities created by the latter (PLU2)
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Khanal (2015): ‘‘Inclusion should not be viewed as being only about what happens within the school gates, since it is equally
important to address barriers within the community’ (710). One respondent also specified the need ‘…to fight
discrimination on different fronts’’ (PLU2). Therefore, in addition to ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ inclusion,
inclusive strategies can also be demonstrated to have ‘internal’ and ‘external’ dimensions, whereby the
former is concerned with ‘what happens within the school gates’ and the latter with wider community
barriers to inclusion. This is further demonstrated in Figure F below:
Figure E: Introducing ‘internal’ and ‘external’ dimensions of inclusive education.
Forms of inclusive
education
Primary Auxiliary
Internal Concerned with physical factors such
as accessibility to school infrastructure,
and the availability of school places and
resources for marginalised groups.
Favoured by the government and by
donors, as it shows ‘visible’ changes
that are easy to quantify.
Concerned with qualitative factors such as
the adoption of child-centred pedagogies,
the acceptability of the learning
environment and the adaptability of
teachers to new learning pedagogies. This
appears to be being adopted in a smaller
scale by several NGO through initiatives
such as the ‘Sister for Sister’ programme
outlined above.
External Addresses physical and socio-economic
barriers to schooling. The most
common example of this is the
provision of scholarships to reduce
family dependence on child labour.
Another example is the construction of
hostels next to schools for children
that would be otherwise unable to
attend (as mentioned above).
Addresses socio-cultural barriers to
education among the wider community
regarding acceptance of marginalised
groups and the value of inclusive
education itself. An example of this in
practise is the Wheelchair Basketball
League outlined above.
While each of these forms of inclusion are being adopted by different actors in different parts of Nepal, a
common issue is the lack of coordination between various stakeholders. The 2015 earthquake reinforced
an atmosphere of distrust, disillusionment and suspicion between the government, smaller NGOs and
international organisations/INGOs (see Chapter 2), leading to the current situation whereby the
government tries to limit the influence of the others whilst providing little or no guidance on how
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education stakeholders are to be involved under the new federal structure. This is further exacerbated by
the way different education stakeholders frame ‘inclusive education’ and its beneficiaries. Ultimately, this
affects the targets of inclusive education, who continue to receive half-measured responses in the latest
cycle of educational development that is unsustainable in its current form. Annex A summarises the
strategies addressed in this chapter, as well as their individual strengths and limitations.
Chapter 7: Conclusion
This thesis has analysed inclusion strategies for three of Nepal’s most excluded groups: lower-caste Dalits,
girls, and children with disabilities, at a time of significant political upheaval as the country transitions to a
federal state structure. It has explored the ways in which these groups are excluded and how these forms
of exclusion are often intensified in more isolated and rural areas. Finally, it has presented and analysed
policies and strategies of inclusion adopted by key stakeholders in Nepal’s education system. Drawing on
prior theories of inclusion, this thesis introduces the concepts of ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ inclusion, which
broadly equates to strategies that target ‘accessibility’ and ‘quality’ in the public education system. Based on
the primary data, their practical application in Nepal is further divided into strategies that are ‘internal’,
focussing primarily on the schooling environment, and ‘external’, applying more ‘holistically’ to financially
empowering marginalised groups and working towards their acceptance and inclusion into the wider
community. This final section summarises how ‘primary’ and ‘auxiliary’ strategies have been used both
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‘internally’ and ‘externally’ by different stakeholders, as well as brief summaries of how they have been
applied to Dalits, girls and children with disabilities, respectively. It then addresses the main research
question of the thesis, outlining the principal factors that have limited the application of inclusive
education in Nepal. Finally, it provides some policy recommendations and potential areas for future
research.
7.1 ‘Primary’ and ‘Auxiliary’ Inclusion Strategies
Nepal’s public education system is affected by ‘twin crises’ of low enrolment and high dropout rates,
corresponding to concerns of both access and quality, which disproportionately affect marginalised
groups. This thesis argues that while primary and auxiliary forms of inclusion are being utilised, it is done
haphazardly by different stakeholders with little or no coordination between them. Broadly, this can be
divided into the primary inclusion strategies preferred by the government and major donors, and auxiliary
inclusion strategies adopted by the (I)NGO sector.
The Nepalese government and major donors have so far appeared principally concerned with tackling
concerns of access to education. This is demonstrated through ‘primary’ inclusion strategies such as the
provision of scholarships to challenge socio-economic barriers to schooling, and a pledge to increase
education funding from 11%-20% of GDP. Previously, this approach has led to high enrolment figures
which are an easy and presentable ‘success story’, and an indicator of educational development that match
international targets. However, not only does this disregard concerns of quality within education, it also
reflects a tendency to frame ‘inclusion’ as primarily a case of socio-economic enabling, to the detriment of
addressing the socio-cultural patterns of exclusion that often exist alongside it. Indeed, strategies of primary
inclusion can only ever have a limited impact if strategies of auxiliary inclusion are disregarded. Furthermore,
it was argued by numerous respondents that these ‘primary’ inclusion strategies are inadequate in
themselves. For example, scholarships were said to be too small, distributed arbitrarily, and limited in their
outreach due to the inadequate distribution of information about them to the very communities they are
intended to empower. Meanwhile, the fact that 85% of the current education budget is spent on teacher
salaries demonstrates the limited space for implementing inclusive education strategies. While the pledged
funding increase may alleviate this longer term, there is a long way to go before the education system will
be able to provide adequate resources for inclusion inside the classroom.
INGOs and NGOs, while differing in their specific areas of focus, generally adopted more nuanced and
‘holistic’ approaches that were more focused the quality and acceptability of the education system, which
sought not only enrolment, but also retention in a schooling environment that is welcoming and adaptable
to diverse needs. Many adopted strategies of auxiliary inclusion sought not only qualitative changes
internal to the school (teacher training, child-centred education, extra-curricular clubs etc.), but also to
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address non-school (‘external’) factors such as parental and community attitudes to education and ways of
reducing socio-economic dependence on child labour. However, while these strategies have shown
successes at the project-level, their wider impact is also limited by a chronic lack of resources, a lack of
coordination, as well as confusion over the restructuring of the Nepalese state.
7.2 Summary of inclusion strategies for marginalised groups
For lower-caste Dalits, current strategies are focused on their lower socio-economic status. Government
respondents, besides mentioning the provision of quotas for Dalits and other marginalised groups,
downplayed and in some cases denied the continued existence of caste-based discrimination. Respondents
from the NGO sector tended to offer a more nuanced perspective, recognising that while outright or
‘active’ discrimination is becoming less common, ‘passive’ discrimination continues. This is demonstrated
by the de-facto segregation in some areas that sees public schools as synonymous to ‘Dalit schools’, and
more indirectly through practises by Dalits themselves, such as the changing of surnames to those of
higher castes or converting to Christianity to escape the enduring impact of the caste system. The
‘mother-tongue’ approach to schooling addresses the issue that many Dalit communities do not speak
Nepali as a first language, and could improve their enrolment and attainment, particularly in primary
schooling. More generally, the expanding presence of Dalit (and Dalit women in particular) in the public
arena, such as in the gaupalika, also has potential to bring further changes; a greater number of Dalit
teachers for example. However, the de facto segregation of Dalits is likely to continue as long as the public
education system is perceived as being of much lower quality than private.
For girls, both primary and auxiliary forms of inclusion have been adopted. Scholarships for girls in
poorer areas aims to tackle socio-economic constraints that act as a barrier to schooling and an additional
motive against child marriage. Currently, there is also a regional focus on tackling gender-based violence in
and around schools, a qualitative issue that if adequately addressed will improve enrolment. Certain NGOs
are also aiming to address parental attitudes and promote girls’ interest in education. Generally, for both
girls and Dalits, the situation in the cities is such that visible forms of discrimination are becoming
increasingly rare (although the practise of Dalits changing surnames continues). However, for girls, and
Dalit girls in particular, the practise of child marriage, cultural attitudes surrounding menstruation, and the
general preference for boys endures in many rural areas. While this is partly alleviated by strategies that
target poverty, changing the religio-cultural attitudes among conservative communities is more
challenging. Showing the value of education is becoming increasingly important, but needs to be
reinforced with adequate information on the opportunities that exist after schooling. While the majority of
boys and girls do complete primary school, the perception exists that after (or instead of) secondary
school the only options are for boys to go to work in the Gulf and for girls to remain and get married.
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Children with disabilities remain one of the most marginalised groups in Nepal, and disabled girls from
lower-caste backgrounds suffer from double and triple forms of discrimination in both urban and rural
settings. Perceptions of ‘disability as inability’ and of disabled persons as passive victims and economic
burdens is exacerbated in rural areas by perceptions of disability as the result of ‘bad karma’ and general
stigma, which leads to their being hid away from the community and from schools. Inclusion strategies
such as the provision of resource classrooms have had some successes, particularly for blind and deaf
children. However, the number of these classrooms remains low, as is the number of trained staff and the
availability of disability-friendly learning materials. Facilitation for children with intellectual and severe
disabilities remains low to non-existent. In cases where accessibility remains impossible, home or mobile-
schooling has been adopted as a potential alternative, although this also remains limited by resource
factors. Generally, strategies of inclusion for children with disabilities are mostly concerned with internal
changes in the school; whether that be physical/adaptability changes, the provision of disability-friendly
materials, trained human resources or the adoption of child-centred pedagogies. Activities such as the
Wheelchair Basketball League are examples of auxiliary inclusion through raising awareness and the aim of
changing perception of children with disabilities as active members of society. However, while this is
effective in urban areas with a higher concentration of disabled persons, this is more difficult to achieve in
rural areas, where visibility remains just as much an issue as accessibility and quality of education.
7.3 Why have inclusive education strategies for marginalised groups in
Nepal been limited in their application?
Drawing on the arguments presented in this thesis, it can be concluded that strategies of inclusive
education in Nepal are limited by three main factors. The first relates to the lack of coordination between
relevant stakeholders, who despite addressing both primary and auxiliary forms of inclusion between
them, are often acting independently and are thus having a limited impact overall. This has been
exacerbated by the contextual factors outlined in Chapter 2: namely a culture of mistrust between NGOs,
INGOs, International Organisations and the government following the response to the 2015 earthquake;
and the general confusion caused by the current transition to a federal state structure. This also relates to
the second factor; the inefficiency of the government to facilitate the transition to federalism and to
adequately implement its own inclusive policies. This perpetuates existing issues such as data collection,
resource allocation, and teacher training (as outlined in Chapter 5) that act as major barriers to the
successful implementation of inclusive education. Finally, the third factor is the limitations caused by the
way inclusive education and its associated strategies are framed. This occurs in numerous forms, from
donors being reluctant to fund hostel-building projects because they are not demonstrably ‘inclusive’, to
the criticism of NGOs adopting a ‘humanitarian’ approach to disability that focuses only on short-term
fixes at the expense of long-term development. The government’s tendency to frame inclusive education
as primarily a socio-economic issue whilst downplaying other forms of discrimination is another example
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of this. Generally, most actors also projected exclusion as something that happens only in rural areas,
perhaps downplaying the persistence of discrimination in the cities. In summary, it appears that inclusive
education is best implemented through holistic strategies that not only seek to ensure students have access
to education, but also encourage students to remain in school, through auxiliary inclusion strategies to
improve the quality and acceptability of education within the school. Out of school, this is further boosted
through ‘external’ strategies that work simultaneously to reduce the socio-economic barriers to schooling
whilst also aiming for greater cultural acceptance of marginalised groups and their right to receive
education.
7.4 Policy Recommendations While the transition to federalism has been a source of confusion and frustration for stakeholders, it also
presents a moment to reflect and revaluate how the provision of accessible and quality inclusive education
could be implemented under the new system. The devolution of powers to the gaupalika creates potential
for local education systems that are more accountable, with greater levels of monitoring and with greater
capacity to adapt to the specific requirements of each individual school. The new federal entities could be
used to generate research and surveys, identifying communities and individuals who are excluded from the
education system, and the most effective strategies to include them. As the education budget increases
(assuming the government upholds its pledge), increased funding could also be put into primary inclusion
strategies such as the provision of materials for children with disabilities and the expansion of scholarships
for marginalised groups; increasing the amount given to individual recipients whilst also disseminating
information on their availability through the new local governance structures. This could also be
complemented with auxiliary inclusion strategies such as the wider implementation of inclusive (re)training
programs for teachers, and greater coordination with actors implementing ‘external’ strategies that work
for the acceptance of marginalised groups in the wider community.
7.5 Relevance and future research Agenda While the various patterns of exclusion in Nepal have been well-researched and documented, there has
been less focus on strategies being adopted in response to these forms of exclusion, particularly regarding
inclusive education. This research aims to contribute to a wider discussion of the current limitations to
inclusive education in Nepal, and of how different stakeholders are attempting to translate inclusive policy
into practise. As stated above, the current context of political transition is one of confusion but also one
of opportunity. Future studies could follow-on from this and look more closely at how inclusive education
strategies will be adopted under the new ‘gaupalika’ municipal bodies over the next few years, as new
system sets in. The research also brought up other areas of interest, which whilst not directly related to
this topic, could warrant further investigation:
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• The use of new or ‘smart’ technologies in inclusive education: specifically for the inclusion of
children with disabilities.
• The impact of missionaries on Nepal’s education system: since transitioning from a ‘Hindu state’
to a secular republic in 2008, Nepal has seen increased missionary activity and Christianity is now
the fastest growing religion in the country. While the constitution outlines freedom of religion, it
also places a ban on proselytising, meaning a lot of missionaries have had to operate indirectly,
partly through education organisations. Converts to Christianity are also disproportionately high
among the Dalit population, reigniting a debate on the endurance of caste-discrimination in the
country.
• The response to the 2015 earthquake: much of the money donated following the 2015 earthquake
has yet to be spent, while many of the affected population are still living in temporary shelters.
Research could be carried out to ‘trace the money’ and compare government expenditure of the
reconstruction fund with micro-projects organised through remittances from the Nepalese
diaspora. Research could also be done into current reconstruction efforts, whether communities
are ‘building back better’ in more resilient ways etc.
• The effect of international volunteering on the Nepalese education system: supporters claim it
introduces new teaching pedagogies, improves the English ability of both staff and pupils and
brings ‘voluntourism’ money into local communities. Critics state it risks creating a culture of
dependency and abandonment issues for children that outweigh any positive impact it could have.
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Annex A: Summary of Inclusion Strategies
This table summarises the findings of Chapters 5 and 6. The left column outlines the main forms of exclusion outlined in Chapter 5, while the ‘Strategies’, ‘Benefits’ and ‘Limitations’ reflect the discussion of Chapter 6. As summarised above, these strategies tend to be adopted by different stakeholders with little or no coordination. Broadly, Primary Inclusion (PI) strategies tended to be preferred by the Nepalese government and major donors, whereas Auxiliary Inclusion (AI) strategies are preferred by (I)NGOs and CSOs. This table omits specific actors, focusing instead on the merits and limitations of the strategies themselves.
Category Main issues Strategies Benefits Limitations
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Caste Low socio-economic background Cultural stigma
1. Scholarships (PI)
2. Holistic approaches (reduced financial pressure for families) (PI)
(Both): Aim to reduce the impact of poverty as a barrier to education.
(Both) Entails a perception of low-caste as synonymous with poverty Downplays socio-cultural elements of discrimination
Girls Child marriage Lack of separate facilities Security Cultural preference for boys
1. Scholarships (PI)
2. Provision of separate facilities/sanitary products (AI)
3. Holistic approaches (community acceptance of girls’ schooling) (AI)
1. Aims to remove the financial pressure that acts as a contributing factor to child marriage and girls’ exclusion from schooling
2. Increases girls’ perception of safety in schooling.
3. Could complement with 1, shifting community attitudes
1. Does not address socio-cultural attitudes towards girls’ schooling
2. Limited by resource constraints
3. Limited by resource constraints.
Children with Disabilities
Cultural stigma Lack of resources Inadequate teacher training Low self-esteem Lack of accessibility
1. Scholarships (through ID cards) (PI)
2. Accessible accommodation (PI)
3. Mobile or Home-schooling (PI)
4. Holistic (sports for development) (AI)
5. Resource-classes
1. Aims to provide CWDs with the resources necessary to access schooling
2. Enables access to schooling for children that would otherwise be able to get there
3. A potential plan b for severely disabled students that are unable to access schooling through 2.
4. Leads to greater visibility of persons with disabilities, with aims to challenge negative surrounding disability
5. A way of introducing CWDs into regular classroom settings that has shown previous success
1. Reinforces feeling of ‘special’ treatment, reinforces ‘charity’ mentality.
2. Limited by resource constraints. Also difficult to ‘sell’ to donors.
3. Does not involve an ‘integrative’ aspect, and so is more akin to ‘special’ schooling than inclusive schooling.
4. Harder to implement in rural areas where persons with disabilities are more scattered and socio-cultural stigma is stronger.
5. Only works for certain disabilities. Also currently limited in scope due to funding constraints and reluctance of teaching staff to be (re)trained for inclusive education methods.
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Annex B: Operationalisation Table Concept Dimension Variables Indicators Education Formal education
Primary and lower
secondary education*
National and global
education policies
Quality of education
Dropout rates
Pass rates
Literacy rates
Perceptions**
The role of teachers
Marginalisation Exclusion from the
public education
system based on caste
and/or gender
Cultural norms
Dropout rates
Pass rates
Literacy Rates
Perceptions
Socio-economic
situation
Poverty in relation to
other social groups.
Strategies of
inclusion
Focus on strategies
adopted by (I)NGO,
IOs, and Ministry of
Education to include
marginalised groups.
Discourse in education
policy documents from
NGOs, IOs and the
Ministry of Education
Policy discourse
Perceptions
*The rationale for this that most dropouts occur before upper secondary level, particularly amongst the
marginalised groups considered in the research.
**This includes the perceptions of educators, government employees and (I)NGO employees.
Annex C: Research Transparency The following table outlines each of the interview respondents, referenced in-text by a code that specifies their profession, background and setting. In some cases interviews were arranged with one respondent, but others joined during the course of the interview. For these, respondents that are directly referenced in the thesis are marked with (*), while additional respondents from the same interview are put in italics. Code: T=Teacher N=NGO worker I= INGO worker P=Professor C=Civil servants D=Development Worker L=Local/Nepali E=Expatriate/foreigner
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U=Urban R=Rural
Names Sex Profession/Organisation Date Location Reference Arjun M Teacher (local) 30.1.18 Cafe in
Thamel TLU
Pankaj M NGO director (local) 31.1.18 Cafe in Thamel
NLU1
Maureen F NGO director (expat) 1.2.18 Cafe in Patan NEU1 Jeevan M Lecturer (local) 2.2.18 Cafe in
Thamel PLU1
Olivia F Teacher (expat) 2.2.18 Cafe in Thamel
TEU
Simone* M NGO director (expat) 6.2.18 Office in Patan
NEU2
Ankit M NGO worker (local) 6.2.18 Office in Patan
NEU2a
Prayan M NGO worker (local) 6.2.18 Office in Patan
NEU2b
Maya F NGO worker (local) 6.2.18 Office in Patan
NEU2c
Phil M NGO director (expat) 8.2.18 Cafe in Thamel
NEU3
Garima F Teacher 14.2.18 At the home, Kathmandu
TLU2
Laxmi* F INGO worker (local) 16.2.18 Office in Patan
ILU1
Kavin M INGO worker (local) 16.2.18 Office in Patan
ILU1a
Sudarshan M INGO worker (local) 23.2.18 Office in Kathmandu
ILU2
Baba M NGO director (local) 5.3.18 Cafe in Kathmandu
NLU2
Sunita* F NGO director (local) 6.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
NLU3
Aadi M NGO worker (local) 6.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
NLU3a
Laxmi M NGO worker (local) 9.3.19 Office in Kathmandu
NLU4
Shiva M INGO (local) 9.3.19 Office in Kathmandu
ILU3
Restha M Vice-Principal 12.3.18 Damgade School
TLR1
Krishna M Teacher 1 12.3.18 Damgade School
TLR2
Kamal M Teacher 2 12.3.18 Damgade School
TLR3
Meena M NGO director (local) 16.3.18 Office in Bhaktapur
NLU5
Basu M Professor 19.3.18 Cafe in Kathmandu
PLU2
Shaunabh M NGO director (local) 21.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
NLU6
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Shudarson M NGO director (local) 23.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
NLU7
Ganesh* M Civil Servant 26.3.18 Department of education, Bhaktapur
CLU
Tulasi M Civil Servant 26.3.18 Department of education, Bhaktapur
CLUa
Sarthak M Civil Servant
26.3.18 Department of Education, Bhaktapur
CLUb
Laura* F International Development Agency
28.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
DEU
Amesh M International Development Agency
28.3.18 Office in Kathmandu
DEUa
Annex D: Equitable vs Equal distribution of aid In the context of the earthquake, it was found that there was a ‘lack of baseline information of knowledge on local
need or resources’ that led to the imposition of a ‘blanket’ approach to relief provision (Hall et al. 2017: 42).
This meant that ‘efforts to identify those in greatest need, or finding the most appropriate relief provision, were limited’
(ibid). This could also be related to the ‘blanket approaches’ to inclusive education, particularly regarding
CWDs, for which a ‘lack of knowledge’ is also a major issue. The below figures are abstractions of how
aid distribution can relate to existing forms of marginalisation. Figure i depicts aid distribution that is
primarily driven by equal or ‘blanket’ distribution (represented as a straight line). This blanket-distribution
merely adds a layer to the pre-existing marginalities (represented by peaks and troughs). While overall
there has been an absolute amount of aid distributed, these have fallen on existing patterns of marginality.
Figure ii, meanwhile, shows the schema of a more equity-focused distribution; by which the distribution is
an inversion of the inequalities on the ground; with more focus given on the areas/groups traditionally
overlooked by societal structures. The result is something that resembles a more ‘level’ reception of aid
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(represented by the straight line). While there will always be some form of disproportionate distribution
(due to difficulties in access, corruption and so on), equitable distribution would in theory tackle some of
the pre-existing socio-cultural forms of exclusion that would otherwise impact the general distribution.
Figure i
Figure ii
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Universiteit van Amsterdam
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