Sandeep Lamichhane Acquittal: Nepal's Hero Worship Hinders Justice for Women

Cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane's acquittal has failed every survivor of sexual violence and harassment.

In 2022, Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of the Nepali national cricket team, was accused of rape. The young woman, identified pseudonymously as Gaushala 26 by the police, alleged that Lamichhanne had raped her in a Kathmandu hotel.

(Photo: Kamran Akhter/ The Quint)

(Trigger warning: Mentions of rape, reader discretion is advised)

In 2022, Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of the Nepali national cricket team, was accused of rape. The young woman, identified pseudonymously as Gaushala 26 by the police, alleged that Lamichhanne had raped her in a Kathmandu hotel.

Lamichhane was eventually taken into custody by the Nepal Police for investigation, but his status as national celebrity influenced his treatment. Despite his history of not cooperating with the police, he was freed on bail and was returned to the national squad by the Cricket Association of Nepal (CAN) while his case was still pending in the courts.

In January 2024, after several long delays, Lamichhane was found guilty of rape by the Kathmandu District Court, which sentenced him to eight years in prison.

The verdict was widely seen as a victory for women. Lamichhane had the entire country behind him while Gaushala 26 was victim-blamed and harassed. Many of us saw it as a late but necessary reckoning for powerful men who had long abused and preyed on young women.

But last week, the Patan High Court tossed cold water over that victory by acquitting Lamichhane of all charges.

This acquittal has reopened wounds and failed not only Gaushala 26 but every survivor of sexual violence and harassment in the country. It compels us all to confront the grim reality and ask – is justice possible for women in Nepal?

Of Victim-Blaming and Shaming

Nepalese people rushed to take sides when Lamichhane was first accused of rape in 2022. While some rallied behind the survivor, distraught by the accusations, others summarily declared Lamichhane innocent and accused Gaushala 26 of attempting to profit off of his fame and wealth.

But from the very beginning, the support for Gaushala 26 was overshadowed by the support for Lamichhane. The overt victim-blaming and misogyny were hard to ignore. The court of public opinion unjustly placed the burden of proof on Gaushala 26 and relentlessly harassed her with derogatory comments, intimidation, and threats.

Some even went as far as trying to expose her legal name and identity. There was also widespread abuse against those who voiced their support for Gaushala 26.

While Gaushala 26 continues to suffer in silence, Lamichhane has faced very little consequence. Many have prioritised his contribution to national sports over the trauma and anguish of the survivor. In fact, the Prime Minister of Nepal honoured Lamichhane while he was still accused of rape.

Many other powerful individuals support or continue to reward him. This only reinforces existing power imbalances, making it even harder for survivors of sexual violence – who often lack similar social and political capital and face stigma and retaliation – to come forward. This environment deters future reports of sexual violence and normalises such behaviour, perpetuating a culture of silence.

The divisiveness of this case is alarming but reflects deep societal and institutional attitudes towards women in Nepal. We cannot examine such instances of violence against women in a silo.

It is worth noting that cases regarding violence against women only seem to garner public sympathy when there is horrific violence and/or fatality, much like India's infamous Nirbhaya case in 2012.

Here in Nepal, the 2018 case of a 14-year-old minor, who was raped and murdered in a sugarcane field near her home, remains unsolved despite widespread public outcry.

The suspicious deaths of another 14-year-old minor (whose body was found hanging from a tree in October 2018) and a 13-year-old (her body too was found hanging from a tree in 2020) were both shrugged off as suicides by the authorities despite clear evidence of rape and violence.

The justice system remains the scaffolding on which the patriarchal state is built.

Vitriol Not Limited to Just Survivors

Blaming the victim or survivor is always the first resort of a society entrenched in patriarchy.

In any other crime, the natural response would be to sympathise with the victim or survivor, but when a woman alleges rape, large sections of society go out of their way to defend the alleged perpetrator and delegitimise her.

This was what happened with the short-lived #MeToo movement in Nepal.

When women came out to share their stories of abuse and harassment at the hands of their teachers, college professors, family members, and colleagues, they were only met with a barrage of questions about their character, motives, and sexual history.

All too often, vitriol is not just limited to the survivors but also to the few who speak up in their support.

In Nepal, women in general face widespread abuse and harassment online but outspoken feminists often feel the brunt of that kind of online violence. This violence comes in the form of threats of rape and bodily harm. This attitude is not surprising in a country that consistently treats its women as second-class citizens, whether through restrictive citizenship rights, arbitrary restrictions on movement, or a tokenistic approach to leadership.

The acquittal of Lamichhane is a setback for the feminist movement in Nepal because it only serves to embolden a society that is already accustomed to devaluing women, silencing victims, and normalising violence.

Compared to Gaushala 26, Lamichhane has insurmountable power and authority in Nepal.

He is surrounded by the country's leaders and his legions of fans. Gaushala 26 has no access to the kinds of resources that Lamichhane has.

In a society where hero worshipping is the norm, Lamichhane – so often called the 'treasure of the nation' – was the clear favourite.

Yet, his initial conviction gave us hope that maybe justice would be done against all the odds. But now, we are once again forced to ask – where do women and girls of Nepal go for justice?

(Hima Bista is a women's right activist in Nepal and is the executive director of Women LEAD Nepal, an organisation grooming young Nepalese women to become future leaders and change catalysers. She is one of the founders of the #Rageagainstrape campaign and has been an adjunct lecturer in the field of human resources at Kathmandu University. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)