Former Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli seems to have walked down the same road as Bangladesh’s Sheikh Hasina, with strikingly parallel political trajectories now ending in turmoil. What began as simmering resentment among Nepal’s Gen Z—angry at rampant corruption, broken promises of the post-Covid recovery, and a sudden ban on 26 social media platforms—has exploded into a full-blown street revolt. The violence has already claimed more than 22 lives. Mobs torched the houses of ministers, MPs, and even former prime ministers, forcing many to flee to safer ground.
At its core, the crisis stemmed from the government enforcing sweeping rules without dialogue or transition. In a society where social media has become the primary tool of connection, protest, and survival, the Oli administration badly miscalculated the depth of resentment. Yet there is one striking difference from Nepal’s past upheavals: the absence of anti-India rhetoric. During my posting in Kathmandu from 1992 to 1998 while covering the restoration of democracy, I witnessed communists routinely accuse New Delhi of interference. This time, with communists in power, Oli has avoided pointing fingers at India — a welcome shift for bilateral ties. The Nepali Congress, traditionally closer to India, has also acted as a moderating influence. Meanwhile, Beijing has no incentive to encourage unrest as its relations with Kathmandu are currently smooth. For once, neither neighbour is being blamed, nor that neutrality is an opportunity Nepal cannot afford to waste.
With the police incredulous, the army has stepped in, urging protesters to abandon arson and destruction, and calling instead for dialogue. Yet even senior leaders have not been spared—an ex-prime minister from the Nepali Congress was injured in an attack, while cadres of the ruling Communist Party of Nepal (UML) and the Congress itself faced mob fury.
Nepal’s greatest challenge lies not just in quelling the violence, but in its leaderless character. The protestors—an amorphous blend of youth activists and anarchists—have no identifiable leadership to negotiate with. The original flashpoint, the social media ban, has already receded into the background. The demand now is larger: jobs, accountability, and a clean break from political rot.
For now, experts dismiss fears of an army takeover, insisting democracy is not in imminent danger. But unless the new government finds a way to address the grievances of a restless generation, the flames on Kathmandu’s streets could return stronger than before.
Ram Chandra Poudel, a veteran leader of the Nepali Congress who became the country’s third President in March 2023, resigned from office today in the wake of violent Gen-Z protests that saw his own residence come under attack. A respected politician with decades of parliamentary experience and close ties to the democratic movement, Poudel’s largely ceremonial role was meant to symbolize political stability, but his exit underscores the scale of Nepal’s current turmoil.>protestors did not spare his private residence which was set on fire along with Supreme Court building.
Balendra Shah—widely known by his stage name Balen—is the charismatic, independent mayor of Kathmandu, elected in 2022 after upsetting established party candidates with a campaign driven by his dual identity as a rapper and structural engineer. As a popular figure among urban youth, he embodies a new breed of pragmatic, non-partisan leadership. Shah combines infrastructure savvy—a master’s degree in structural engineering—with cultural appeal and direct-action style, earning him both praise and scrutiny from across Nepal’s evolving political spectrum.
Against this backdrop, the Nepal government's earlier decision to lift the ban on social platforms, the peace will return only when the leaderless agitators are brought to the negotiating table — an uphill task for any new regime. Nepal has always been a country where political battles spill onto the streets. From the People’s Movement of 1990 that dismantled absolute monarchy to the 2006 Jana Andolan that forced King Gyanendra into retreat, the country’s democratic journey has been paved with protest slogans, curfews and tear gas. On September 8 that familiar turbulence returned, but with a distinctly 21st-century twist. This time, the spark was not royal absolutism or constitutional deadlock, but the government’s abrupt decision to unplug the digital lifeline of its youth: social media.
Ex-Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli’s blanket ban on 26 major platforms — including Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, X and YouTube — instantly turned simmering discontent into Nepal’s most violent uprising in recent years. What the state described as enforcement of “digital regulation” was seen by millions as an assault on free expression and connectivity. For a country where over 90 per cent of internet users rely on these platforms for news, remittances, tourism promotion and even daily commerce, the blackout was not just inconvenient; it felt like suffocation.
The official justification was that the 2023 Social Media Directives and a Supreme Court order required global platforms to register locally, appoint representatives and curb harmful content. TikTok and Viber complied, but giants like Meta and Google refused the seven-day deadline, leading authorities to block them through telecom operators. Oli further argued that extremist elements hijacked the protests, while officials insisted the 26 defaulters were only being penalised. Yet on the streets, this looked less like legal enforcement and more like political censorship. The move exposed the state’s growing intolerance of dissent at a time when ruling politicians already faced allegations of corruption circulating widely online.
The eruption of anger was not merely about Facebook feeds going dark. It reflected deeper frustrations. Fourteen governments in 16 years, rampant corruption, and unkept promises of post-Covid recovery, spiralling prices and dynastic privilege have left citizens disillusioned. Social media had become the only real public square for Nepal’s youth, more than half the population, and cutting it off meant silencing their voice. The revolt spread without party banners or central leadership, making it harder for security forces to contain. Earlier bans on TikTok and tightening internet laws had already raised suspicion that the state was edging toward authoritarianism. Into this volatile mix entered pro-monarchy forces. Though marginalised since 2006, they staged a massive rally a few months ago that showed royalist sentiment was far from extinct. Analysts believe such elements infiltrated the current protests, adding muscle to the digital revolt.
For new regime, the challenge now is formidable as Oli failed and quit. Restoring credibility in a nation weary of revolving-door governments requires transparency and accountability, not blanket repression. New PM must also find a delicate balance between regulation and freedom. While misinformation, cybercrime and hate speech are legitimate concerns, equating governance with internet shutdowns risks branding the state as repressive. The fragile economy compounds his troubles. Inflation has eroded household incomes, youth unemployment remains high, and dependence on remittances leaves the country vulnerable to external shocks. The ban has worsened the outlook, hurting tourism, disrupting migrant communication and depriving telecom firms of vital revenue.
What began as peaceful demonstrations in Kathmandu and Pokhara with slogans for “digital freedom” escalated after police used rubber bullets, tear gas and mass arrests. One protester was killed, nearly 80 injured and curfews imposed, while Parliament itself was stormed. Instead of ebbing, the crackdown swelled the crowds, drawing in students, workers and civil society groups in scenes reminiscent of earlier democratic revolts. The unrest also unsettled the region. India reinforced border posts fearing spill over, while telecom providers warned of losses as 80 per cent of bandwidth traffic came from blocked platforms. Migrant families, whose lifeline is WhatsApp or Facebook Messenger, suddenly found themselves cut off.
The lesson from this digital revolt is clear. In today’s world, curbing online spaces is as combustible as curbing the ballot box. Just as past generations fought for political freedoms, today’s youth are battling for digital rights. Lifting the ban is only the first step, but dialogue with young citizens and leaderless agitators remains the real test. Unless the government engages constructively with platforms, rebuilds trust at home and strengthens democratic accountability, Nepal risks sinking deeper into its old cycle of protest, repression and instability — only this time fought both on the streets and in cyberspace.
(Writer is strategic affairs columnist and senior political analyst based in Shimla)
