By Dr. Janardan Subedi---------------

Let us not be unfair. Tapas are delicious. They come in small, colorful portions, often beautifully plated, and meant for tasting rather than nourishing. In fact, they perfectly capture the essence of Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli’s recent visit to Spain—a delightful sampling of diplomacy without a full-course agenda. If Nepal’s only takeaway from this official excursion was a photo opportunity, inflated rhetoric, and a few pat-on-the-back press statements, then surely our Prime Minister has succeeded in bringing back… well, some tapas.

But this isn’t just about a single trip. It is about a syndrome. A pattern. A spectacle of governance where symbolism substitutes substance, and the national interest is boiled down to a travel itinerary. Spain is a nation of culture, innovation, and technological sophistication. But our Prime Minister, ever the lover of grand theatrics and vague metaphors, seems to treat diplomacy like he treats poetry—full of style, void of substance.

And so the question lingers like the aftertaste of stale chorizo: What exactly did Nepal gain from this trip?

Oli and the Art of Diplomatic Tapas

Mr. Oli fancies himself a statesman. A global voyager. A modern Bismarck with a Nepali passport and a permanent smirk. But he is also a man who believes humor is governance that words are weapons, and that travel equals triumph.

So he flew to Spain—not alone, but with a bloated entourage of sycophants, civil servants, and well-fed cronies—and came back not with trade deals, green technology, or educational partnerships, but with talking points and tapas. Spain, a country leading in renewable energy, water conservation, migration policy, and agro-innovation, was there for the taking. Nepal, with its hydropower dreams, remittance dependency, and youth outflow crisis, had every reason to engage.

Yet, the trip was strategically equivalent to sipping sangria at sunset and calling it statecraft. While Nepali citizens waited for relief, the Prime Minister’s inner circle reportedly dined on Spanish tapas daily, posting selfies and ceremonial grins as if diplomacy were an Instagram tour. Is this what accomplishment looks like?

Oli’s Vision: A Cartoon of Itself

Let us now talk about vision. Or, more precisely, “Oli Vision.” This is a special brand of imagination unencumbered by facts, planning, or institutional memory. Under this vision, Nepal will soon export electricity to Singapore, pipelines will carry water through the Himalayas, and the country will leap from least-developed to first-world status through the power of optimistic speeches.

In Oli’s world, humor replaces policy, and self-praise replaces self-awareness. His greatest achievement is not governance but the narration of it. He speaks of independence while signing questionable deals; he boasts of nationalism while sending secretaries to lobby constitutional sabotage. And all the while, he believes his greatest enemy is “external meddling,” when in fact the most consistent traitor to Oli… is Oli himself.

Yes, Oli is a man betrayed by his own mythology. He is the self-sabotaging messiah of Nepali politics. His career has been a long soliloquy of contradictions—preaching austerity while practicing excess, demanding loyalty while abandoning allies, mouthing “rule of law” while bending every norm in sight.

Governance by Performance Art

Consider this: during the very week Oli was abroad tasting tapas, Nepal was facing a series of crises—ranging from civil service controversy, citizenship debates, inflation pressures, and corruption trials involving senior bureaucrats. Yet the Prime Minister chose to be absent, traveling through Europe with the gravity of a monarch on a Mediterranean sabbatical.

This is not diplomacy. It is diplomatic escapism. It is a form of elite tourism masked as strategic engagement. Oli’s Spain visit is part of a broader performance art—governance as theater, where every speech is a script and every journey a distraction.

And now comes the scandalous aftertaste—according to emerging reports, several individuals from Oli’s official entourage have been left behind in Spain, raising serious concerns of yet another visa misuse episode. It has sparked speculation that the entire trip may have served, in part, as a diplomatic cover for discreet immigration laundering—a repeat of past embarrassments Nepal has endured under various administrations. If true, this does not just make the visit wasteful; it makes it deeply unethical and diplomatically dangerous. How can a Prime Minister preach national dignity abroad while tacitly enabling covert backdoor exits for the few?

The Betrayal of the People

The real cost of such performative governance isn’t just financial. It is psychological. It wears down the civic imagination. It dulls the capacity of citizens to expect better. When the Prime Minister treats foreign policy like a vacation, it sends a message: the people do not matter.

While millions of Nepali youths are desperate to find employment, build skills, or secure dignity abroad, the Prime Minister enjoys international lounges and media spotlights without even pretending to bring something back home.

Not a single MOU of significance. Not a single economic roadmap. Not even a plan for deeper consular access. Just PR photos and polite applause.

One wonders: was he in Spain to serve the nation or to escape from it?

The Irony of Nationalism

Oli loves to wrap himself in the national flag. He conjures images of sovereignty and pride whenever cornered. Yet his administration has done little to protect economic sovereignty or cultural dignity. During his previous terms, Oli oversaw ballooning foreign debts, lopsided deals, and regulatory incoherence. And now, he travels west as if to cleanse his domestic sins with international saltwater.

Spain may be exotic and historic, but diplomacy isn’t a bucket-list activity. It is not about where you go, but what you bring back. For Oli, the journey seems more important than the destination, the speech more important than the content, and the performance more important than the result.

He could have signed bilateral agreements on skilled labor exchange.
He could have initiated energy cooperation or tourism investment.
He could have elevated Nepal’s visibility in the EU policy corridors.

But none of that happened. Because none of that was even planned.

The Crisis of Credibility

Let us return to our core point: this is not about Spain. It’s about a political class that no longer respects the seriousness of governing. Oli represents that class in its most theatrical and tragic form.

He is not just out of touch—he is out of ideas.
He is not just ineffective—he is affectively exhausting.
He is not just misleading others—he is misleading himself.

And the danger is not that Oli travels. It’s that he believes the travel itself is governance. That optics are outcomes. That jokes are justice.

His greatest tragedy is that he once had a chance to rise above the clutter and craft real policy, build real institutions, and cultivate real trust. But he chose mirrors over windows, and microphones over ministries.

A People Left Waiting

While Oli dines abroad, the people wait. They wait for jobs that never arrive, for roads that remain dust and promises, for justice that fades behind political bargaining. They wait for leaders who see beyond the next headline, who treat diplomacy not as a vacation but a vocation. But in the Oli era, waiting has become the national posture. A nation of queues—at passport offices, at embassies, at hospitals, at food lines—governed by those who never stand in one.

And therein lies the tragedy. A gap not just between rich and poor, or powerful and powerless—but between the governed and the government itself. Oli’s Spain visit didn’t bridge this gap. It deepened it. Because when leadership becomes a spectacle, people become spectators. When diplomacy becomes theatre, the nation becomes a waiting room.

So, as the PM’s aircraft touches down and his entourage walks down the steps with rehearsed smiles and jetlagged pride, let us not be fooled by the flags and fanfare. Let us instead ask: who paid for this show, and who got left behind?

Nepal did not need more stories, more one-liners, more charm offensives.
Nepal needed homework.
Nepal needed homework done—on labor agreements, climate collaboration, migrant protections, tech partnerships, and sustainable tourism.
We needed a statesman, not a slogan artist.

Tapas, Yes. But What About Tomorrow?

Tapas are meant for tasting, not feeding. And Oli’s governance—domestic and foreign—offers small tastings of drama, distraction, and delusion, but no meal of substance. Nepal is hungry for leadership, thirsty for integrity, and desperate for delivery.

When the PM’s visit ends with no parliamentary briefing, no public disclosure, and no policy update, it confirms what many fear: Nepal is not being governed. It is being narrated.

So, what did Nepal get from Oli’s trip to Spain?
Not green technology.
Not labor diplomacy.
Not even serious press coverage.

We got tapas. And not even the full plate.

But the next time he boards a plane, let us ask in unison:

Did you bring anything back for the country—or just another story for yourself?

Because Nepal is not a stage. It is a struggling republic.
And its future deserves more than a laughing, traveling salesman of nostalgia.