When tens of thousands of young Nepalis poured into Maitighar and New Baneshwar earlier this month, they were not just protesting a government order to shut down 26 social media platforms. They were voicing a generational frustration that has been simmering for years—against corruption, unresponsive politics, and the lack of opportunity in a country where most young people dream of leaving. Within days, the ban was reversed. The prime minister resigned, and a caretaker government led by Sushila Karki was sworn in. But the wounds are real: independent reports confirm live ammunition was used against demonstrators, many of them teenagers. Lives were lost. Trust was shattered.
To dismiss these protests as a mere reaction to a “digital rights” issue would be a mistake. The attempted blackout was just the spark. The fire was fueled by something much deeper—an exhausted public watching elite impunity, widening inequality, and shrinking opportunity. The fact that the protests spread from the Valley to towns and campuses across the country shows the breadth of discontent. This was not just about Facebook and TikTok; it was about fairness, dignity, and a government that has long stopped listening.
Symbols told their own story. In Kathmandu, young people carried the pirate flag from One Piece, a Japanese anime. This was not random cosplay. It was their way of declaring mutiny against a rigged system, of insisting that they would no longer be spectators to their own future. Across Asia this year, Gen Z has used pop culture to voice defiance. Nepal’s youth found their own language in it, and the political class would do well to understand what it means.
But the protests are not only about domestic politics. They are also about how a small state manages its sovereignty while balancing powerful neighbors and global players. I have long argued that Nepal’s path in today’s multipolar order is not about blind neutrality, nor about bandwagoning with one power. It is about hedging: building relationships with all sides, extracting economic and developmental benefits, while preserving space to maneuver. That strategy only works, however, if the domestic foundation is sound. The September uprising showed how fragile our foundation has become. If bullets replace dialogue, no amount of clever foreign policy will restore Nepal’s credibility abroad.
The journalist’s question
A journalist recently asked me: Do you see involvement of international powers—especially the United States—in these protests? My answer was deliberate: Nepal is not a closed autocratic country, and it is obvious that a democratic yet geographically exposed and economically constrained nation will always sit within fields of influence. Influence is inevitable in an open society where capital, technology, platforms, and civil society networks flow freely across borders. Narratives amplify, training and resources circulate, and youth connect globally. But to jump from influence to orchestration would be misleading. The grievances that drew our young people to the streets—corruption, unemployment, the silencing of voices—are born at home. They cannot be explained away as foreign imports.
This is not about denying influence. It is about defending an agency. Our young people are not puppets of Washington, Beijing, or New Delhi. They are citizens demanding a state that works. To reduce them to instruments of geopolitics is not only wrong—it is dangerous. It invites real interference by suggesting that domestic legitimacy does not matter. The right response is not paranoia but reform: stronger institutions, predictable rules, and accountability that makes external leverage less decisive.
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The domestic hedge
What Nepal needs now is not only to hedge abroad but also to hedge at home. That means four things:
Rule of law as strategy. Nothing insulates a small state more than predictable institutions. Independent investigation into protest deaths, genuine accountability for corruption, and enforceable asset declarations are not luxuries—they are strategic necessities.
Digital rights with balance. The social-media ban showed how blunt measures backfire. Nepal should instead craft proportionate, transparent rules that protect citizens without shutting down livelihoods or criminalizing expression.
Economic dignity for youth. Hydropower deals, IT services, and tourism must translate into jobs that keep young Nepalis home. Policy whiplash—like sudden platform bans—only deepens despair and drives talent abroad.
Codified foreign policy criteria. Engagement with India, China, the U.S., Japan, or the EU should be transparent and based on published standards: debt sustainability, environmental safeguards, and national-interest tests. This is not neutrality—it is principled pragmatism.
What the movement changes
This movement leaves three permanent marks.
First, the cost of state violence has risen. Any government that repeats such heavy-handed crackdowns risks political suicide.
Second, the digital commons can no longer be treated as a toy of the state. Attempts to control it by decree will only spark wider defiance.
Third, Gen Z has announced itself as a political force. Parties that treat them as noise will be outpaced. Parties that integrate them as leaders, not token candidates, will thrive.
A sober path forward
None of this means ignoring the risks of unrest. Protest is not a license for vandalism or intimidation. But the answer to violence is justice, not mass punishment. The interim government now faces a narrow window in which to prove that Nepal’s system can still correct itself. Its mandate is formally to conduct elections within six months, yet elections alone are not enough. Without justice, any vote will be hollow. The far greater mandate is to respond to the voices of Gen Z—the very citizens whose courage forced this transition.
Political parties have argued that the solution must be sought from the constitution. But constitutions are not sacred texts; they derive their legitimacy from the people. When citizens demand accountability, their voice is more fundamental than any document. Gen Z is demanding not only ballots but a break in the cycle of impunity. Their message is clear: punish the corrupt, remove the heads of constitutional bodies installed through party quotas, reopen corruption files, and send the guilty to prison. From now on, those who loot the state should expect imprisonment, not electoral opportunities.
The interim government should not delay in acting. Even small, symbolic measures—such as prosecuting dormant cases, enforcing asset declarations, or removing compromised officials—would send a message of zero tolerance that citizens can see and feel. Every concrete step would prove that governance is not only about speeches and processes, but about actions that directly affect lives.
This is also a moment of a generational test. The outgoing prime minister belonged to the Baby Boomer generation, and his replacement, Sushila Karki, is of the same cohort. Yet what will matter is not her age, but whether she can demonstrate that she understands the urgency of the new generation’s demands. If she leads only as a caretaker of elections, she will fail. If she leads as a steward of justice, even in the short span of six months, she can restore faith in the possibility of renewal.
Because in the end, sovereignty does not begin in foreign ministries. It begins in Kathmandu’s streets and in the daily lives of citizens. If young people believe the state listens, then influence from abroad is manageable. If they conclude the state is deaf, then every foreign actor gains leverage. The Gen Z protests of September 2025 are not an aberration. They are a generational awakening. Their message is not nihilism; it is insistence on a future where corruption is punished, opportunity is shared, and dignity is real. If the interim government understands that its mandate is larger than elections—that it must give justice to this voice—it will not only stabilize the present but strengthen Nepal’s sovereignty in a turbulent world.
If it fails, history will not forgive.
