Bhutan turns tourism into 'Gross National Happiness'

At the Takin Preserve: Bhutanese Prime Minister Tshering Tobgay
with me and visitors from the United Kingdom and United States.

Little more than a half century ago, the Kingdom of Bhutan was walled off to the world.

Today, tourists are welcome, but with strict controls that aim to leverage social and economic development.

Earlier this month, I traveled to Bhutan and had the privilege of meeting the prime minister, the Hon. Tshering Tobgay. The PM was visiting the Motithang Royal Takin Preserve in Bhutan, located just outside the capital, Thimphu.

Takin calf at the preserve.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The takin, by the way, is a large mammal native to the Himalayas, a genetic relative of sheep. One subspecies of takin is specific to Bhutan and is revered as the national animal. The preserve provides a sanctuary for the massive herbivores, thus also protecting the environment from their destructive appetite.

Tobgay was not at the preserve for a refresher on Bhutanese fauna; rather, the PM was escorting the 2025-appointed American ambassador to India and special envoy for south and central Asia, Sergio Gor, on a touristic and diplomatic visit. Gor was reciprocating a Tobgay visit to the United States in December.

Tobgay and Gor, at the PM's right, feed a takin.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A longtime Bhutanese politician, Tobgay is American educated. He earned a bachelor's in mechanical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh in the 1980s and then a master's in public administration at the Harvard Kennedy School in the 20-aughts. He published a book in English last year: Enlightened Leadership: Inside Bhutan's Inspiring Transition from Monarchy to Democracy (inset below).

Bhutan is a constitutional monarchy, though still leans heavily on the monarchy part of the description. The crown initiated a policy of democratization in 1952. A first national assembly was appointed the following year and given the power to impeach the monarch. Today, the king formally appoints the prime minister, though in practice the appointee is elected by the legislature. Similarly, final decisions of the Supreme Court formally are referred to the crown for approval.

Supreme Court of Bhutan, Thimphu.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

In modern international law, Bhutan is renowned for its commitment to "Gross National Happiness" (GNH), a national policy priority introduced in the 1970s. A holistic measure inspired by Buddhism and informed by factors such as health, education, and living standards, GNH has been embraced conceptually by the international community—Bhutan joined the United Nations in 1971—as an alternative to economic productivity, the conventional measure of a country's success. One Bhutanese host explained to me that GNH does not mean every person is happy; rather, GNH describes the aims that should justify national policy-making.

Bhutan opened to foreign tourism only in 1974 and allowed television and the internet only in 1999. It still guards its borders jealously, allowing a limited number of tourists who must book through state-authorized agents and pay a US$100-per-day sustainable development fee. When I visited, my visa was arranged wholly by the tour service I used.

However restrictive Bhutan's social and political conservatism, I could not argue with the results I saw on the ground. People I met in Bhutan expressed affection for the king and queen, often noting that the royal family lives in a modest home and champions public education. Schoolchildren I happened upon in Thimphu were uniformed and polite, while also cheerful and playful, and they spoke English confidently.

Buddha Dordenma, visible from Thimphu center.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The sustainable development fee seems to be well reinvested in infrastructure, such as paved roads, and touristic sites, such as the 177-foot Buddha Dordenma statue, completed in 2015, that towers over Thimphu. A travel companion told me that the winding rural roads we traveled were unpaved when he visited a couple of decades ago. In literacy and life expectancy, Bhutan significantly outpaces its cohort in the "medium" range of the U.N. human development scale.

Thimphu, capital of Bhutan.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Insofar as I heard any gripe about government policy from the Bhutanese, it was that high-quality healthcare remains elusive, especially in the countryside. Nevertheless, when an American travel companion asked my guide about the cost of treatment after the guide mentioned a family member's cancer, the guide narrowed her brow in puzzlement. Then she shook her head, understanding the question, and said, "free, of course."

Rinpung Dzong, or "Paro Fort," a 15th-century monastery
and top tourist destination, in Paro, Bhutan's third-largest city.
Owned by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Thinking over what we had seen, some of my travel companions wondered aloud whether monarchy might not be so undemocratic after all. That struck me as curious after what I heard about some Nepali youth protestors speaking wistfully of monarchy there. Invariably upon such musings, an American, sometimes me, would say that the efficacy of monarchy might depend a bit too much on who is wearing the crown.

The United States does not have formal diplomatic relations with the Kingdom of Bhutan, thus Ambassador Gor's visit as special regional envoy. Gor has some personal connection to, well, at least the Asian continent. He was born in Uzbekistan—"Gor" is a chosen truncation of Gorokhovsky—and migrated with his family to the United States, via Malta. He graduated from secondary school in Los Angeles.

Amb. Gor

How did an L.A. immigrant wind up with an ambassadorship in the Trump administration? Gor has been involved in Republican politics since his post-secondary days at George Washington University. His recent ambassadorial qualifications include fundraising for President Trump and starting a Trump-reverent book publishing company with Donald Trump, Jr.

After the 2024 election, the President appointed Gor to head personnel appointments. President Trump later credited his "great friend" Gor with "nearly 4,000" party-loyal hires in the new administration. Presumably Gor himself included.

Carr, Trump threaten broadcasters unconstitutionally, experts attest, but the play's the thing

Late last week, on Sunshine Week, former Federal Communications Commission (FCC) officials, civil society organizations, and First Amendment scholars organized by D.C.-based TechFreedom, sent a letter to FCC Chairman Brendan Carr asserting the unconstitutionality of threats to revoke broadcast licenses and to prosecute broadcasters for treason.

I joined the letter, which observed that the Communications Act of 1934, while allowing the government broad discretion to regulate "as public convenience, interest, or necessity requires," also disallows censorship.

At risk of exhausting the word "unprecedented," that's the best way to describe the strong-arm tactics of the Trump Administration that have wrought havoc with late-night comedy and hammered historically stalwart network news into conformity. Accusing media of treason for not favorably spinning the Iran war is beyond the pale.

Early in the history of U.S. telecommunication regulation, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the government power to regulate in the public interest. The Court, like the public, was wary of seemingly miraculous new communication technologies. And transmission over unseen electromagnetic waves posed real technical challenges, such as interference and scarcity.

Even when the civil rights era sparked a sea change and invigoration in First Amendment jurisprudence, the peculiar prerogative of public broadcasting regulation persisted. 

Researchers and social activists raised alarms about the impact of television on child development. With "the first televised war" in Vietnam as backdrop, many commentators theorized a causal link between television and social unrest. Accordingly, First Amendment law enshrined the principle of "media balkanization," meaning government regulatory power varied by medium, as between, for example, a newspaper and a TV station.

Late in the 20th century, the status of the internet in the schema of media balkanization was much debated. The internet blurred traditional lines, such as between print and broadcast, and as between journalist and ordinary citizen. As the internet became pervasive in American life, and the technology improved toward handheld recording and video streaming, the prospect of internet regulation seemed ever less akin to broadcast licensing and more akin to censorship. 

Thus, in the 1990s, the Supreme Court charted a course away from disparate treatment of the internet. Still, balkanization doctrine has never been addressed definitively in the digital age, much less abolished. Internet abuses, from revenge porn to social media addiction, continue to bolster arguments for regulatory models tailored to the online environment. And conventional broadcasters still have a foot in the bear trap of FCC licensing, as the agency nears its centennial.

Carr and Trump's threats thus occur at a nadir of constitutional confidence in the government power to regulate by way of broadcast licensing.

Yet constitutionality might be beside the point. A lesson Trump learned well in a lifetime of litigation is that the powerful economic actors that dominate our society fear uncertainty and risk more than they fear impact and loss. That is to say, the Sword of Damocles is more dangerous for its potential than for its blade. 

The threat to censor, or to impose transactions costs in resisting censorship, has proven effective in compelling commercially minded media corporations to toe the official line. 

And therein lies an especially pernicious threat to free speech, because our legal system, thus far, has proven profoundly ill equipped to counter.

'Gen Z' favorite sweeps to victory in Nepal election

Teens celebrate secondary-school
graduation in Lalitpur. A youth
movement toppled the Nepali
government in September 2025.

Kathmandu, March 14—Rapper turned politician and Gen Z champion, "pugnacious" 35-year-old Balen Shah will be the next prime minister of Nepal.

This is an update to The Savory Tort Photo Essay, Kathmandu quiets for watershed election day (Mar. 5, 2026). (All photos by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

Shah's party won an outright majority in the Nepali House, which selects the prime minister, with 182 of 275 seats. (Read more at Al Jazeera.)

The victory comes six months after a self-described "Gen Z" protest movement toppled the government in Nepal in a mix of peaceful and violent demonstrations.

However much this sea change is identified with discontented youth, a coalition diverse in age, geography, and socioeconomic status is pinning high hopes on the incoming Shah administration.

A dry spell has accumulated smog in the Kathmandu valley.

Anecdotally, traveling in central Nepal in Kathmandu, Bhaktipur, Lalitpur, and more rural Nagarkot, I found no one unsupportive of the new regime. Many persons, young and old, shared their elation over the election result before I could ask.

Issues on the minds of voters are no surprise. People I spoke to a week after the election expect Shah to improve access to education and employment.

Secondarily, younger voters want to see improved infrastructure as a means to facilitate economic development. Older voters were prone to mention healthcare and social welfare, especially for persons unable to work because of age or disability.

Those secondary issues are related. Youth have left remote farming communities in search of economic opportunity in the capital region or abroad. The migration and brain drain undermine the tradition of multigenerational habitation and care for the elderly.

With Mr. Tamang Friday.

Kedar Tamang's life experience is illustrative. Tamang left his native farming community for Kathmandu, where he earned a master's in political science and built a career in tourism. A past president of the Tourist Guide Association of Nepal, Tamang balances a demanding work regimen in a scrappy field with care for an elderly parent and two teenage sons, not to mention pleas for aid from extended family in the capital and back home.

Tamang hopes Shah will effect development to make Nepal a world destination and leading player among non-aligned nations. But disillusioned by past regimes in Nepal's short democratic history, and cognizant that even renowned democracies such as America fail to meet their people's basic needs, Tamang mitigated his optimism with believe-it-when-I-see-it caution.

Kathmandu residents told me they saw substantial improvements in services and infrastructure when Shah served as mayor of the capital. Now the Nepali people hope he can deliver on a vastly greater scale.

Kathmandu quiets for watershed election day

 A Savory Tort Photo Essay

A usually busy intersection in the Thamel tourist district is nearly vacant.
Rickshaws offer transport with most taxis and busses banned. 

Kathamandu, March 5—The streets of Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, were strangely quiet and low-key festive today, as the country voted in the first election since "Gen Z" protests brought down the government in September. (All photos by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

(UPDATE, March 14: 'Gen Z' favorite sweeps to victory in Nepal election.) 

Voters queue at a polling place in Kathmandu.

The Army was visible throughout the city, along with a smaller presence of metro police, especially where people queued at polling places. Most businesses are closed, private motor vehicle traffic is banned, and a 9 p.m. curfew is in effect.

Democratic graffiti adorns a school wall.

Despite the fear of unrest that prompted the heavy security, people turned out to walk the streets with their families, smiling as they greeted neighbors. The mood is not jubilant, but neither is it tense. The election is coinciding with the Holi holiday.

A major thoroughfare is nearly deserted.

Of the soldiers I saw on the streets, most looked bored, and some laughed together. The BBC reported one minor incident at a rural polling station east of Kathmandu, where an argument resulted in assault on an election official. Police restored order after firing a shot in the air.

A recreational field, though outfitted for football, draws cricketers.

The capital city was not so serene when protesters toppled the government in September 2025. Seventy-seven people were killed in the unrest, including 22 protestors. Government buildings, including the Supreme Court and Kathmandu district courts, were attacked and burned.

The rides at Ferris Wheel Funpark are still. 

Protestors described themselves as "Gen Z" in a country in which more than half the population was born in the 21st century. The protest movement was remarkable for having been largely coordinated online, especially on the Discord platform. Discord's organization and posting permission system made it resistant to government surveillance and control.

Burned in the 2025 protests, the old Supreme Court building stands vacant.

Partly triggering the protests was a government attempt to shut down communication and social media outlets, including Google's YouTube, and Meta's WhatsApp and Facebook. The government alleged the shutdown was part of a plan to impose online service taxes. But the move followed swirling allegations on social media of government corruption.

Set back from the road and begun already in 2021,
a new Supreme Court building is 85% complete.

Online coordination resulted in real-world assemblies, some peaceful and some violent, and boycotts of schools. The protests might have been sparked by the online shutdowns, but youth anger had reached a boiling point over reported corruption, nepotism, and lack of economic opportunity. 

A medical student in Kathmandu won't vote because his hometown is 16 hours away.

Youth unemployment surpassed 20%, while the national economy was increasingly propped up by fees and remittances derived from emigration, rather than domestic development. Stories of "Nepo Kids," elite youth with political connections flaunting wealth, meanwhile went viral online, stoking resentment. 

The "Supreme Court Annex," foreground, hosts court staff presently;
the new court building rises behind.

Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli was forced to resign in September. In the absence of a working government, the Army took control. Despite some violent clashes, the Army did overall maintain the peace and sought to restore civilian leadership.

The Nepali Bar Building:
Lawyers are helping to restore case files lost in the protests,
including 20,000 files of past and present Supreme Court cases

The military command negotiated with protesters, and as a result, former Supreme Court Justice Sushila Karki was installed as interim prime minister, pending the present elections. Though 73 years old, Karki is highly respected by conservative government supporters and youth protestors for her independence and relative political neutraliity.

Army Headquarters, Kathmandu:
The Army worked to restore civilian government after the protests.

Now voters are choosing 275 representatives for the national House, and its composition will determine the next prime minister and the social and economic direction of the country. 

Amid the 2025 protests, a football friendly between Nepal and Bangladesh
at Dasharath Stadium was canceled.

The ousted Oli is in the running. Some voters are uneasy about the instability on display in September and see a conservative choice as a return to normalcy.

A mural outside Dasharath Stadium depicts Nepali prowess
in a wide range of sports and games.

Oli faces a colorful challenger in Balendra Shah, a once rapper and structural engineer turned politician, and, until he resigned in January, mayor of Kathmandu. The Shah campaign features rap lyrics that bemoan corruption and unemployment, resonating with youth. If 35-year-old Shah outperforms Oli in the election, the result will be viewed as a sea change for Nepal.

In Thamel, election news blares from the wall in a restaurant.

A third candidate with youth appeal is Gagan Kumar Thapa, president of the Nepali congress. Though 49 years old, he has a history of activism and presents as a less volatile option than Shah, who is known to be prickly and ornery toward media.

Though many voters want reform, there is disagreement about how best to accomplish it. Conservatives fear that the youth movement and Shah in particular might be so hellbent on economic improvement as to be willing to cede democracy to incompetence, or worse, authoritarianism. A strand of the protest movement did suggest restoration of the monarchy.

Of the vast slate of candidates up for election, many are first-time politicians, and a third are party independents. For voters' part, a million people, in a country of 29.6 million in sum, have registered to vote for the first time. 

At the same time, there are logistical as well as political challenges to representative democracy in Nepal. The country is three and a half times the size of Switzerland and covers famously mountainous terrain with relatively few roads. In fact, the lack of highway and transportation infrastructure as a prerequisite to economic development is on the youth movement's list of complaints. Ballots must be transported in places for hours by foot and helicopter.

Meanwhile, archaic voting laws require people to vote in their home towns, even if they have long relocated for work. One of the reasons for relative quiet in Kathmandu is that 800,000 people, according to a BBC estimate, have left the city to vote.

In Kathmandu today I met a medical student who had not voted. His hometown is 16 hours away, he said, and he could afford neither the trip nor the time away from studies.

Despite logistical challenges, the Nepali election chief told the BBC that he expects to report results no later than March 9.

Belan Shah's "Nepali Political Rap" at YouTube