On May 31, 1981, I had been a missing journalist in Nepal for four months already. After a Habeas Corpus writ to the Supreme Court, I was presented alive in the court but not released. After Amnesty International adopted me as the Prisoner of Conscience in 1982, the California Chapter took over my case until I was released.  Because of my life threatening situation in Nepal, with the help of the then American Ambassador Mr. Carl Coon I came to the United States in April 1983. A kind couple from Clarks Grove, MN, Beverly and Dr. Earl Thompson had sent me an air ticket to visit them. Their older daughter Jolyn and her boyfriend then, now husband, Tom received me warmly in the Minneapolis airport, drove to the Thompson home at 2 am and the host couple was waiting for me with love and warmth. I do not remember when and who had ever shown me so much care and love in my life. During two months in Thompsons’ house, they took me around the town meeting their families and friends. Everybody welcomed me with genuine interest.

I started visiting a local library to find information about the famous Harvard University that the King of Nepal had attended. In Cambridge, MA, I found another kind person who had visited me in Kathmandu, Leslie Klein. She invited me to stay with her. I got a very warm welcome. She was not sure about my Harvard mission because it was already June and classes would start for the international students in July. I met another welcoming person at Harvard Institute for International Development, HIID, Dr. Nancy Pyle. She suggested to apply for the Maison Fellowship program, a mid-carrier MPA at the Kennedy School of Government for International scholars. Within fifteen hours I went back with my hand written application and typed personal statement in Leslie’s typewriter.

Three weeks later I got the acceptance letter with Harvard scholarship for the summer program. How to find funding for the two semesters regular program was my next concern. Dr. Pyle presented my case to the director of the Ford Foundation, New Delhi, Dr. Lincoln Chen, the pioneer of the oral rehydration solution. Among my international class friends, two were the princes from Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, the rest were mid-range government servants from various countries who were funded by the international agencies like the World Bank, USAID, etc. Those types of agencies having their country offices in Nepal would never fund me because I was an anti-government, pro-democracy activist who spent almost three years in jail. Nonetheless, The Ford Foundation appeared as my savior, Dr. Chen paid my full tuition. He must have felt proud that I made to the doctoral program on my own merit. Out of over 100 students, only 10 made to the doctoral program and I was one of them. Since then, I have been buying only Ford motor vehicle while in the US because of the Ford Foundation’s financial help for my MPA at Harvard.

My two advisors professors Jonathan Moore and Donald Warwick were very supportive, encouraging and positive about my course selection, and guided me through the program. Half way through, by reading my papers and observing my class participation, they thought I might be a doctoral material to do research into the politics of education. They suggested me to meet Professor Noel McGin at the school of education. He encouraged me to apply for EdD. All my professors were beyond my expectation. All the Americans I was associated with were so divine

The Boston Globe even published my article on the day the King of Nepal’s arrival at Harvard. That evening, Harvard President Derik Bok had invited me to the red carpeted dinner. The King was a State guest of US President Ronald Reagan. Every night before going to bed, I have been meditating for forty-five years in silence. My conscience, momentarily, expresses graduates to my Harvard professors, administrators, and other American diplomats and friends for being so warm, kind, loving and caring at the time of my desperate need. My real feelings have been that I was lifted by a crane from hell and brought to heaven, the heaven of democracy.

Thirty years passed by wandering around between America, Africa, India and Nepal. Since 2013, I am back to the US again, following my three America-born sons. They would not get Nepali citizenship because of my marriage to a foreigner. I would like to retire and die in Cambridge, but my sons have been living in Charlottesville, Virginia. After I recovered from my jet-lag, I went to the downtown. My eyes went to a visitor’s center. I entered there and a soft-spoken middle-aged gentleman handed over a map and a brochure. On the front page it read “Virginia is for Lovers”, and I got melted down. My husband and our sons took me around and I fell in love with this place because I could see mountains around as high as the Nepali hills. I started my baby steps to live in the US after 14 years, visiting Nepal every six months.  My pleasant old memories from Cambridge days started coming back again.

In due course of time, I found out about the Fashion Square Mall. I loved shopping. So it was like a bear finding a honey pot. Whenever I needed to be myself I would go to there and called it my “Mall Therapy”.  One day I was checking a set of washing machine and dryer at Sears, I heard a voice following me, “Are you a Muslim”? I did not pay attention because I was not a Muslim, and I did not even realize he was asking me. He kept on following me, so I stopped and threw a question, “What makes you think I am a Muslim and even if I am so what? “So you speak English, go back to your country”, he said and his eyes turned evil. The only reason I got a little scared was what if he had a gun! My eyes focused at his right hand in the pocket, walked breathlessly out of Sears into the mall to another store. It was a threading parlor managed by a Nepali friend. I shared with her what just happened. As she became busy with her clients, I pondered, what had started happening in a democratic nation. After an hour, still a little anxious, I drove back home.

I told my husband and sons about what happened. They made me aware that the new President had stirred up the racial slur.  I always felt we were human. First time I felt it was threat to humanity and human dignity. I did not go out of our house for several months. During this time I discovered that I was the only brown person in our neighborhood but this did not worry me. Everybody was so cultured and friendly here. I started visiting to the downtown open mall but nothing like the Fashion Square Mall, all indoor shopping and food court. So I continued my mall therapy and whenever I had my visitors, I would take them for shopping. Since the President started talking about banning immigrants, I saw more and more foreign faces in the mall and the invisible faced Muslim women’s presence became quite visible. Unwittingly, I started looking around the man’s eyes if he would harm these new comers. I did not see him or could not recognized.

Starting August, 2017, I could spot confederate flags on jeeps and SUVs on roads around. If they saw us, one of them would shout something unpleasant or show their middle fingers. One day I needed something at JCPenny which was located on the other end of the mall from sears. After shopping, as I stepped out of the store to go to the Starbucks coffee shop which was in the middle of the mall, I saw about twenty men, women and several children making noise. I did not think any unusual sight because people of that number could visit the mall at a time. A young girl of seven years standing at the edge of the play area looked at me and said, “Guess what”? I asked, “What? She replied, “I am a red neck” in such a sweet expression, I cannot even imitate her. I said, “you are so sweet”, then tried to walk towards the coffee shop, some of the individuals from the crowed tried to stop my way. So I felt scared. I found myself surrounded by them. I managed to call my husband to come urgently. I talked to him in Nepali which they did not understand. I was slowly trying to exit with heavy shopping bags in my both hands, they were shouting their bad slogans toward me and other brown individuals. As I was able to exit, there were about ten more people outside. I took deep breath, my husband arrived, a white man, I coolly took a ride and he waved them. I took many deep breaths. Never again mall therapy, I thought.

Within a week, it was clear what those conservative white individuals were up to. August 11-12 was their pre-planned demonstration. I did not step out of my house. I watched in the news that a human rights counter activist, Heather Heyer was killed in the downtown. I was so sad with tears dropping from my eyes. Why a white young woman was killed by white men. The answer was simple: she was a supporter of brown and black people. She was fighting for our rights. She was as good a soul as all the Americans I had met three decades ago. Next day, my husband Dr. Anthony Willett and I went with a lovely flower pot, and wrote in a card, “rest in peace, we will continue your mission”. I cried for a while with deep emotions.

My sons’ country is run by extreme right-wing and brown skinned people like me are facing threats. My country is being run by Marxist-Leninist-Maoist. I am a democrat. They could have skinned me to death and my husband and children were targets of terrorist murders since 2002 since I started working there. Either path seems spiky with thorns. But I do not give up to live.

(Dr. Pokhrel is currently living in Virginia, USA)