News Desk
KATHMANDU — In the early hours of Tuesday morning, as smoke billowed from the charred remains of Nepal’s Supreme Court and the Singha Durbar government complex, a generation long dismissed as “too online” proved it was anything but passive. The resignation of Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli, followed by the collapse of his cabinet and the Nepal Army’s emergency takeover of security operations, marked a seismic shift in South Asia’s political landscape. But this wasn’t just a coup of power—it was a coup of narrative.
Nepal, once hailed as a beacon of press freedom in the region, has become the latest cautionary tale of what happens when aging political elites attempt to script the future without consulting its protagonists: the youth.
The protests that erupted across Nepal this week were not spontaneous. They were the culmination of years of frustration, exacerbated by a controversial social media ban imposed by Oli’s government last week. The ban, ostensibly aimed at curbing “misinformation,” was widely interpreted as a desperate attempt to silence dissent. For Gen Z Nepalis—digital natives raised on TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter—it was the final straw.
Within hours, encrypted group chats turned into mobilization hubs. Protesters flooded the streets of Kathmandu, Pokhara, and Biratnagar, defying curfews and clashing with security forces. At least 22 people were killed, and hundreds injured. Government buildings were torched. The Parliament complex was vandalized. Even Oli’s private residence was set ablaze.
“This isn’t just about social media,” said Sudan Gurung, a 23-year-old protest organizer and emerging face of the movement. “It’s about a system that refuses to listen. We’re not asking for chaos—we’re demanding a future.”
KP Sharma Oli, 73, had returned to power for a fourth term last year, despite widespread criticism of his authoritarian tendencies and alleged nepotism. His administration was marred by corruption scandals, economic stagnation, and a growing disconnect with the country’s youth. The social media ban was intended to quell criticism—but instead, it ignited a firestorm.
As protests intensified, key ministers began to resign. Home Minister Ramesh Lekhak, Youth and Sports Minister Teju Lal Chaudhary, Agriculture Minister Ramnath Adhikari, and Water Minister Pradeep Yadav all stepped down within 48 hours. Oli, reportedly advised by Nepal Army Chief General Ashok Raj Sigdel to relinquish power, submitted his resignation citing “adverse conditions” and the need for a constitutional solution.
Sources close to the Prime Minister’s office suggest Oli had considered fleeing to Dubai before the army intervened. Helicopters were seen evacuating officials from ministerial quarters to Tribhuvan International Airport, which was later shut down due to nearby fires.
The Nepal Army, in a public statement, affirmed its commitment to safeguarding national sovereignty and appealed to youth for restraint and unity. But for many protesters, the military’s involvement is viewed with skepticism.
“We don’t want another unelected authority telling us what’s best,” said Thapa, a 19-year-old university student. “We want accountability. We want elections. We want to be heard.”
The army’s intervention may have prevented further bloodshed, but it also underscored the fragility of Nepal’s democratic institutions. Since abolishing its monarchy in 2008, Nepal has seen 14 governments—none completing a full five-year term.
Nepal’s crisis is not isolated. It echoes the youth-led uprisings in Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, where Gen Z activists have challenged entrenched political dynasties and demanded reform. In Sri Lanka, mass protests in 2022 led to the resignation of President Gotabaya Rajapaksa. In Bangladesh, students have repeatedly mobilized against corruption and inequality.
South Asia’s aging leadership—often insulated by privilege and nostalgia—has struggled to adapt to the aspirations of a generation that grew up in a globalized, hyperconnected world. The result: a widening chasm between rulers and the ruled.
“When old men try to control the destiny of a generation they don’t understand, this is what happens,” said political analyst Ramesh Bhattarai. “Democracy doesn’t die—it gets sent to the ICU. And it’s the youth who bring it back to life.”
Perhaps the most tragic irony of Nepal’s descent is that it was once considered a model for press freedom in South Asia. Independent media flourished after the monarchy’s fall, and journalists played a critical role in shaping public discourse. But in recent years, that freedom has eroded.
Oli’s government routinely targeted journalists, revoked licenses, and pushed legislation to criminalize “anti-national” reporting. The social media ban was merely the latest attempt to muzzle dissent.
“We used to look to Nepal as a lighthouse,” said Bangladeshi journalist Farhana Islam. “Now it’s a warning.”
As of Wednesday morning, Nepal remains in a state of emergency. The army has assumed control of security operations, and interim leadership discussions are underway. Protesters continue to occupy public squares, demanding new elections and constitutional reforms.
International observers have called for restraint and dialogue. But for Nepal’s youth, the message is clear: they will no longer be spectators in their own story.
“This is our country,” said Gurung. “We’re not just inheriting it—we’re rebuilding it.”
Nepal’s uprising is a wake-up call for the region. It reveals the limits of authoritarianism in an age of digital empowerment. It shows that democracy, even when battered, can be revived by those who believe in it most. And it warns that ignoring the voices of youth and marginalised is not just shortsighted—it’s dangerous.
South Asia must learn from Nepal, just as it should have learned from Sri Lanka and Bangladesh. The future is not a gift handed down by elders—it is a right claimed by the young.
And in Nepal, that claim has been made loud and clear.
