A line from Macbeth captures Nepal’s political mood with unsettling precision. Shakespeare’s doomed king sees life as a poor player stumbling across a stage — noisy but empty, full of sound and fury yet signifying nothing. For anyone observing Nepal’s politics with even modest attention, the comparison feels uncomfortably direct. The country’s political class produces an endless performance, but very little substance. The lights stay bright. The noise keeps rising. The meaning keeps thinning.
This did not happen suddenly. Nepal’s disorder grew from the country’s layered social divisions, its fragile economic foundations, and a political culture shaped by corruption and decades of mistrust and factionalism. Every new government arrives with public ceremonies and fresh commitments, but within weeks the old habits return. Leaders speak of the national interest while guarding personal gains. Parties protest one another’s opportunism while practising the same tricks behind closed doors. Even on calm days, the system hums with calculations about who gains what, and at whose cost.
The fracture is clear in how distant politicians and the government have become from the people they claim to represent. A proper national dialogue is almost nonexistent. Political parties prefer their own echo chambers and ride their own bandwagons. Civil society, once vibrant, has splintered into clusters that rarely coordinate. And Generation Z, increasingly vocal and impatient, finds itself forced to protest to be heard at all. Politics has turned into a contest of blocking one another rather than solving anything. When young Nepalis demand fairness, accountability or transparency, politicians respond with shrugs, reactionary pushback, and at times outright aggression. Everyone is busy flexing “power” in the name of power, yet no one seems interested in making the country strong.
This distance between the rulers and the ruled has created a quiet heaviness in the country. People want direction and real change, but what they get is showmanship and a hunt for quick miracles. They want politics that listens before it reacts. They want a government that feels present. Instead, they see institutions locked in dispute, policies drifting without ownership, and leaders who appear more absorbed in palace games than in public responsibility.
Macbeth’s final words about signifying nothing are grim, but they capture a temptation that exists in many political societies. If nothing really matters, then no one must answer for anything. If every action dissolves into futility, leaders can shrug off the weight of decision-making. Why bother? Nepal, in subtle but unmistakable ways, has been leaning towards this shrug. The country’s hesitation does not announce itself loudly, but the signs are everywhere: stalled legislation, indecisive governance, reactions instead of plans, and a political class that seems more comfortable enduring uncertainty than resolving it.
Chhau Macbeth performed
This drift is not only domestic. It is also international. In the field of international relations, scholars often use the term “intermestic” — a blend of international and domestic — to explain how a country’s external pressures and internal problems merge into one reality. Nepal’s intermestic pressures are no longer theoretical; they are already at our doorstep. Migration, remittances, energy security, trade imbalances, border management, climate vulnerability and geopolitical pressures all cross the line between home and abroad. Yet Nepal’s response has been hesitant, reactive and fragmented.
The clearest symbol of this hesitation is the country’s lack of a foreign minister. In a world where visibility, reliability and communication shape strategic relevance, Nepal has become hard to engage. International partners do not know whom to approach for decisions. Multilateral forums operate without Nepali clarity. Commitments made by past governments float without follow-through. Even friendly nations struggle to understand Nepal’s position because there is no singular voice authorised to speak for the country.
Foreign policy is not ceremonial paperwork. It is a national asset as vital as a functioning judiciary or a capable central bank. It influences the price of fuel, the flow of students abroad, the treatment of migrant workers, the prospects of tourism and investment, the security of water resources, and the direction of Nepal’s development partnerships. Yet political leaders often treat foreign affairs as an afterthought. Some see it as a bargaining chip. Others see it as a space to reward loyalists. Very few treat it as the strategic portfolio it is.
There is an old saying: you can try to ignore world politics, but world politics will not ignore you. Nepal has spent too long pretending it can remain on the sidelines. But the world is moving faster than Nepal’s political machinery can adjust. India, China, the United States, Europe, Japan, Korea and the Middle East have their own expectations of engagement. Even smaller states, once quiet, are asserting themselves. Nepal cannot afford to drift while the world rearranges itself.
This government came in with a mandate to conduct federal parliamentary elections — a mandate that depends on credibility and international legitimacy. To maintain that credibility, it must show consistency abroad and steadiness at home. International support does not appear by itself. It requires negotiation, persuasion and a clear spokesperson who can explain Nepal’s decisions. At present, Nepal lacks that spokesperson. Embassy appointments are stuck. The foreign service is trapped in legal and bureaucratic disputes. The institutions meant to project Nepal’s identity abroad are weakened by indecision.
The internal side of this intermestic challenge is equally serious. Nepal needs a government that understands the relationship between domestic confidence and international positioning. A country unsure of itself cannot represent itself with strength. With economic growth projected to slow sharply next year — the World Bank now forecasts Nepal’s growth rate to drop to just 2.1 percent in FY 2025/26 — leaders must recognise how deeply Nepal’s economy is tied to foreign labour markets, how critical energy plans depend on cross-border agreements, and how meaningful investment can only happen when policy is predictable and stable. These connections demand a foreign policy that is steady, well-informed and highly visible.
Here lies a rare opening for Nepal’s first woman prime minister. History does not offer these moments often. She is positioned to correct the drift, stabilise the country’s outward posture, and realign foreign policy with the pressing needs of domestic politics. Her leadership can set a tone that moves beyond symbolic gestures and towards strategic clarity. She can ensure that Nepal speaks with one voice to the world, not many. She can insist on coherence where there is currently confusion.
But leadership requires decisions. The first is straightforward: Nepal needs a foreign minister. Not eventually. Now. Without one, the country remains in a diplomatic fog. Country after country is forced to guess Nepal’s intentions, and no nation enjoys guessing games when state interests are at stake. Appointing a capable, credible foreign minister would end the uncertainty and restore a basic line of communication with the outside world.
A foreign minister cannot solve every problem. But the absence of one solves nothing. It leaves Nepal silent in rooms where decisions about the region are being made. It reduces Nepal’s leverage. It invites misinterpretation. It signals a country unsure of its direction at a time when clarity is essential.
Nepal stands at an uneasy intersection. Domestic frustration is rising. International visibility is fading. The intermestic challenges are undeniable. The prime minister cannot change everything at once, but she can change the country’s posture. She can show that Nepal is ready to speak, ready to plan and ready to move.
The path begins with a decision that should never have been delayed: appoint a foreign minister. Give the world someone to talk to. And in doing so, remind the country that silence is not destiny. Decisions still matter. Words still matter. Direction still matters.
(The author is a youth leader of the Nepali Congress and a former Emmy-nominated journalist.)
