In the heart of Kathmandu, the great white dome of the Boudhanath stupa rises above traffic, prayer wheels, and murmured chants. From its golden spire, the painted eyes of the Buddha gaze calmly in all directions—an ancient symbol of compassion, protection, and refuge. For decades, those eyes welcomed Tibetans who crossed the Himalayas seeking safety after fleeing Chinese rule.
Today, another kind of gaze shares the sky.
Across Kathmandu and its borderlands, thousands of surveillance cameras now sit on poles, rooftops, and street corners. Their lenses do not blink. For many Tibetan refugees in Nepal, these electronic eyes have quietly reshaped daily life—turning a place of sanctuary into one of constant caution.
From Refuge to Surveillance Zone
Nepal has long stood as a cultural and spiritual crossroads, especially for Tibetans escaping repression after the 1959 uprising in Tibet. For years, thousands arrived annually, carrying little more than prayer flags, family memories, and hope.
That flow has nearly stopped. According to Tibetan officials, the number of refugees entering Nepal each year has dropped from the thousands to single digits. Tightened borders, stronger political ties between Kathmandu and Beijing, and the spread of advanced surveillance have together sealed what was once a porous Himalayan passage.
Nepal is not alone. Chinese companies now export surveillance systems to more than 150 countries worldwide—installing cameras in cities, providing censorship tools, and building monitoring networks. For governments with limited budgets, these systems offer low-cost, high-efficiency policing. For vulnerable communities, they can feel like an invisible net.
Technology With a Complicated Origin
There is a deep irony at the core of this story. Much of the surveillance technology China now exports globally is built on foundations originally developed in the United States. For decades, American tech companies shared software, hardware, and expertise in exchange for access to China’s vast market. Over time, Chinese firms absorbed that knowledge, expanded rapidly, and became global leaders in surveillance technology.
Today, companies such as Hikvision, Dahua, Uniview, Huawei, and Hytera supply Nepal with cameras, communication systems, and data infrastructure. Many of these systems include facial recognition, night vision, and artificial intelligence capable of tracking individuals across crowded spaces. Some rely on cloud services provided by American firms, a legal but controversial connection that continues despite U.S. sanctions on certain Chinese companies.
Life Under the Lens
For Tibetan refugees, the consequences are deeply personal. Cameras are not just tools to deter crime; they are instruments of prediction. Nepali police have confirmed the use of “predictive policing,” a system that analyzes movement patterns to identify people likely to protest—often leading to preemptive arrests on sensitive dates such as March 10, marking the 1959 uprising, or the Dalai Lama’s birthday.
Without refugee identity cards—now rarely issued under political pressure—many Tibetans cannot work legally, open bank accounts, or travel. A quiet legal limbo has settled in. As one café owner put it, speaking anonymously, “Now you can only be Tibetan in private.”
Families respond in the only way they can: by leaving. The Tibetan population in Nepal has fallen from over 20,000 to perhaps half that number or less.
The Border That No Longer Breathes
Along the northern frontier, surveillance becomes even more tangible. China has built a 1,389-kilometer network of fences, sensors, cameras, and drones—often described as a “Great Wall of Steel.” Observation domes loom over valleys that once sheltered refugees and resistance fighters alike.
In Mustang and other border districts, residents report pressure to remove photos of the Dalai Lama, restrictions on traditional movement, and frequent joint patrols between Chinese and Nepali authorities. Even digital conversations are not always safe. One man, Rapke Lama, believes he was arrested after Chinese authorities monitored a simple WeChat exchange. He spent months in detention before returning to Nepal physically weakened and emotionally shaken.
A Quiet Ending
Near Kathmandu, the Tibetan reception center that once housed exhausted newcomers now stands nearly empty, its gates locked. Silence has replaced the bustle.
Surveillance does not always arrive with force. Sometimes it arrives as infrastructure—smooth, efficient, and quietly permanent. It watches festivals, markets, prayers, and protests. It learns patterns. It remembers faces.
For Tibetan refugees in Nepal, the struggle today is not always loud or visible. It is lived in lowered voices, careful steps, and decisions to disappear elsewhere. Under the unblinking eye of the camera, freedom has not vanished entirely—but it has grown fragile, watched, and profoundly uncertain.
Krishna Paksha Thapa, (with a stage name KanxeY) is an author, artist and a storyteller from Nepal Based in Israel with a passion for design, art and illustration. Discover his artworks, stories, and creative journey at Kanxey.com.
(Blog - www.krishnathapa.com)
