Reading, witnessing all those media, social media headlines, reels on the expression of the former Prime Minister, I had a silent question on my thought process regarding the needed decorum during and after the tenure of a public position. When I applied through an open competitive process for a public position at the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons (CIEDP), I was not a powerful insider, a politically connected figure, or someone born into institutional privilege. I was simply an applicant among many, carrying years of work in human rights, peacebuilding, and advocacy, but entering a completely different world: the world of public office.
At that moment, I underestimated how emotionally demanding the transition would become.
Many people imagine that obtaining a public position is a moment of celebration and prestige. In reality, it can also become a test of character, resilience, and psychological endurance. During the process, I experienced subtle and direct pressures from peer circles, social networks, and individuals who projected their own expectations, frustrations, insecurities, or political assumptions onto my candidacy. Some questioned motives. Some silently distanced themselves. Others treated the process like a competition of personal loyalties rather than professional merit.
What disturbed me most was how unhealthy public culture can become when merit, professionalism, and institutional processes are overshadowed by suspicion, jealousy, and personal narratives.I learned very quickly that once a person enters public life, people no longer see only the individual. They begin projecting their fears, disappointments, political biases, and frustrations onto that person. One becomes a symbol onto which many emotions are transferred, fairly or unfairly.
The social media environment made this even more difficult.
Like many public position holders, I experienced trolling, criticism, assumptions, and emotionally charged commentary from people dissatisfied for different reasons, some ideological, some personal, some political, and some simply reacting without understanding the complexities of transitional justice work. Public criticism is not new in democratic societies. However, many underestimate the emotional toll of sustained negativity, especially when one is genuinely trying to serve with sincerity and integrity.
There were moments when it became nerve-wracking.
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Public attacks can slowly create self-doubt, emotional exhaustion, hypervigilance, and loneliness. Even strong individuals are still human beings. Behind every public title is a person carrying emotions, family responsibilities, private anxieties, and internal struggles that the public never sees. One of the hardest lessons I learned was that public service often requires developing emotional armor without losing emotional humanity.
That balance is extremely difficult.
At times, I questioned whether people truly understood the weight of transitional justice work. Institutions like CIEDP operate within deeply sensitive political, historical, legal, and emotional terrains. Victims carry decades of pain. Political actors carry competing narratives. Society demands quick justice despite structural limitations. International actors observe closely. Media scrutiny remains constant. In such environments, every action is analyzed, criticized, politicized, or misunderstood from multiple directions simultaneously.
Yet despite all of this, or perhaps because of it the journey became profoundly transformative.
The pressure forced me to mature emotionally.
I learned that leadership is not the absence of criticism; it is the ability to remain grounded despite criticism. I learned not to react impulsively to every accusation, not to internalize every public opinion, and not to seek validation from social media applause or acceptance from every peer group. Public life teaches a painful but necessary truth: if one’s emotional stability depends entirely on external approval, public service becomes psychologically unsustainable.
I also learned the importance of institutional dignity.
As an activist earlier in my life, I was used to speaking from urgency, emotion, and direct advocacy. But a public office required another level of discipline. I realized that when representing an institution, one’s personal emotions cannot dominate professional conduct. A spokesperson does not merely represent personal views; they carry the credibility, seriousness, and trust of the institution itself. That realization transformed how I communicated, responded to criticism, and engaged with the public.
Another important transformation was learning humility under visibility.
Public office exposes both strengths and vulnerabilities. It teaches that titles do not protect anyone from criticism, misunderstanding, or loneliness. In fact, visibility often magnifies scrutiny. But it also teaches resilience, patience, and perspective. Over time, I began understanding that not every criticism deserves emotional investment. Some reactions come from pain, some from misinformation, some from politics, and some simply from the culture of digital outrage that dominates modern public discourse.I gradually stopped seeing criticism only as an attack. Sometimes it reflected public distrust in institutions accumulated over the years. Sometimes it reflected society’s frustration with delayed justice processes. Understanding this helped me respond with greater empathy rather than defensiveness.
Most importantly, this journey transformed my understanding of public service itself.
I entered public office carrying the heart of an activist. I emerged with a deeper appreciation for institutional responsibility, emotional discipline, strategic communication, and ethical leadership. I learned that real public service is not glamorous. It is often emotionally exhausting, morally complex, and psychologically demanding. It requires one to continue working even when misunderstood, continue listening even when criticized, and continue protecting institutional integrity even when facing personal attacks.
Today, I do not see those pressures and trolling experiences merely as painful memories. They became part of my political and emotional education. They strengthened my resilience, deepened my empathy, sharpened my judgment, and taught me the importance of balancing courage with composure.
Most importantly, they taught me this:
Recent public discussion around remarks made by former Chief Justice and former Prime Minister Sushila Karki has once again highlighted an important issue in public life: the expectations attached to individuals who have previously held high constitutional office.
At that level of responsibility, public communication is not viewed merely as personal expression. It is often interpreted through the lens of institutional experience and public trust. For this reason, tone, language, and framing carry additional weight, especially in a highly sensitive and politically aware environment.
Such moments also reflect a broader reality in public discourse today, where informal, spontaneous, or strongly worded statements can quickly gain attention and be interpreted in multiple ways. This reinforces the importance of clarity, restraint, and awareness of institutional legacy when engaging in public commentary. Ultimately, the discussion is less about individual intent and more about a continuing public expectation: that those who have served in the highest offices of the state remain mindful of the dignity, balance, and responsibility associated with such roles, even after their formal tenure ends.
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