September 16, 2025
Kathmandu – Nepal is a small republic, pressing between huge neighbors, breathing again through smoke and slogans. From Baneswar in Maitighar to Basantapur, from tea stands to public buses, the same uneasy annoyance was heard: Aba Ta Feri Ladnu Parchha (now we have to fight again).
In every generation, Nepal seems to be condemned as a replay of the cycle of hope and disillusionment, revolution and betrayal. However, this time, it was a little different. This time, young people (young people born after 1990) grew up in the aftermath of the Maoist war and socialized in the language of Tiktok and memes – are on the front. They called themselves “gen-g” (not Z gen; in the Nepal revolution, the word Gen-G became colloquial in posters and wall works), a digital generation that transformed despair into anger, and anger into collective action.
This is the maturity passed down from generation to generation: anger, yes, but also refusing to give up on democratic gains. Nepal’s federal, secular, inclusive republic (although weakened by corruption) has achieved historic achievements. Young people do not demand monarchy or dictatorship. They demanded action from a republic.
Rumors spin like autumn dust in Kathmandu: the army might hand over power to the palace, the “neighbor” could be a script event behind the curtains, and the Republic could collapse overnight. For now, these fears have not been realized. The Constitution remains intact, despite being broken.
President Ramchandra Paudel is both unexpected and symbolic, Sushila Karki, the interim prime minister, was the first female chief justice in Nepal, known for his integrity. Some imagined the 35-year-old mayor of Kathmandu, Balen Shah, to take the position. But he himself cleverly refused, knowing that accepting a temporary position would disqualify him from the upcoming election.
Therefore, Sushila Karki carries America’s fragile hope. Her name revolves around her comfort, but there is also a storm of suspicion. The streets have calmed down, but they have not stopped. The young anger still exists, waiting for another outbreak should be betrayed.
The fragility of symbols and trust
Sociology tells us that during a time of rupture, symbols carry more power than institutions. Kalky, though he became the symbolic answer to chaos. She embodies something rare: credibility is in a system of guardianship and lies corrupted. For a brief moment, her appointment seemed to turn the bleeding streets into a cautious prayer.
But Weber reminds us: Charm alone is not enough. Charm must be institutionalized or it disappears like smoke. Kalky’s mission is huge: to hold elections within six months to calm the dissolution of the parliament of rival parties and to rebuild trust in the republic.
The old-fashioned guards call this process loudly, making it illegal. The royalists whispered that it was time to restore their lost throne. Opportunists circle like crows.
In the teaspoons throughout the valley, someone heard the same suspicion: k garla ra? Ekdamai Garo Cha. (What the hell can she do? It’s very difficult.) However, there is also quiet admiration: kam se kam safa cha. (At least she is clean.)
These mixed sounds capture Nepal’s fragile trust. Symbols can soothe anger, but if they collapse, disappointment is deeper than before.
The names of Kulman Ghising, Rameshwor Khanal and Om Prakash Aryal have been elected to ministerial positions. Although their reputation for integrity and competence is widely admired, this may not be the moment when they provide the kind of substantive policy outcomes that the public may expect. The core mission of the provisional government must maintain a single focus on conducting fair and credible elections. However, including such respectable numbers – well recognized and appreciated throughout society – symbolic weight. Their presence may help win public trust, calm skepticism, and convince citizens to gather in the election process, which is the right path.
Hope hijacker
Every revolution is hijacked; Pratap Bhanu Mehta points out that revolutions of young people have more opportunities to be hijacked in large revolutions. The Gen-G protests began with primitive, true calls against corruption and political distortion. Young people and women, still young people in their twenties, parade banners, demand transparency, work, dignity. However, other troops joined the Royalist Party, hoping to reopen the palace with youth anger. New populist parties are eager to claim visibility; even old party factions that pretend to be wary people.
Reports show that these groups are the most violent – bankrupt property, burned vehicles, throwing stones – diluting the moral clarity of young people. The question spreads quickly on talk shows: is it about justice or power?
Durkheim calls this moment one of the “collective effervescents” which can put people in trouble. But effervescent is fragile. It can be redirected by skilled opportunists. It’s the double edge of rebellion: it awakens the possibility, but also invites hijackers. In this sense, young people are both powerful and vulnerable. Their voices are authentic, but their platform may be stolen.
Digital Squares and Street Politics
This uprising cannot be understood without understanding its digital heartbeat. The 1990 people’s movement used the streets as a stage. The 2006 uprising used FM radios, brochures and secret networks. The 2020s belong to Tiktok, YouTube, Discord or Reddit.
The Gen-G protests did not start in the square, but were in the comment section, memes and live streams. When Baneshwor’s teenagers upload videos of police violence, these clips travel faster than any newspaper’s title. The digital realm became a new public realm, responding to Habermas, but changed due to the algorithmic era.
On Tiktok, Oli and Deuba are ridiculed by imitating songs. Regarding the Reddit thread, anonymous youth drafted a manifesto that demanded free health care, fair taxes, and while blasting Nepobaby (hint that their career success was attributed to their parents in the political field). On YouTube, young creators uploaded a heated speech on Nepal’s corruption and “poison in the blood of the nation.”
This digital rebellion spreads to physics. Things that like and share become parades and hymns. Baneshwor, Maitighar, Ratna Park – All became an extension of digital sharing; during the protests, young protesters were seen on the screen of Cantilpole TV.
The collapse of state violence and legitimacy
The response of the bloodthirsty country is predictable but devastating. Instead of conversation, it sent out police officers with batons, tear gas and rubber bullets. Teens are almost only 20-28 years old, injured or dead. In Chitwan, a young girl was filmed crying, holding her injured brother and asking, “Why did they shoot us? We’re just shouting.” The clip spreads, shaking anger across the country.
When the government kills young people, it loses its moral right to rule. When the monarchy collapsed, when the Lana regime fell, it was the truth, and it still is today. Institutions – police, parliament, cabinet – are not used as guardians but predators. Giddens reminds us that institutions are the “structural backbone” of modern life. When this backbone fractures, society collapses and distrust.
Nepali are no strangers to betrayal. But this time there is a primitive nature. Whether at the tea stalls in Jhapa or in the bus queue in Pokhara, people whispered on TV news: Sarkar Afnai Chhora Chhori lai Marna Tayar Cha. (The government is ready to kill its own children.) This sentence contains the deepest sociological significance of distrust, when the state was no longer a father, but a predator.
Angry flames and renewed buildings
Yet even when the blood was dry on the streets, something else was born: insisting that this republic, no matter how broken it was, could surrender. The youth slogan announced: “2063 KO Ragat 2082 Ma Raja Lyauna Bageko Hoina.” (The blood of 2006 was not brought back to the king in 2025.)
This is the maturity passed down from generation to generation: anger, yes, but also refusing to give up on democratic gains. Nepal’s federal, secular, inclusive republic (although weakened by corruption) has achieved historic achievements. Young people do not demand monarchy or dictatorship. They demanded action from a republic.
Sociology teaches that anger may arise if it is directed into the building. The challenge now is to institutionalize this energy. Strengthen the Election Commission and therefore cannot be purchased. Reform bureaucracy so that driver’s license does not require bribes. Create space for young people in local governments, not as symbolic ward members, but as decision makers.
If this did not happen, today’s anger would fade away. But if that is true, the Gen-G rebellion not only marked a breakdown, but also a rebirth.
Between the Tea Shop and Tiktok: Daily Politics Change
Perhaps the most lasting change is not in parliament, but in daily conversations. Teahouse debate now hosts a fierce debate about youth futures, unemployment, and digital taxation. The bus reverberated, and the debate Balen rejected the Premier League. The farmers in the hinterland yelled loudly about whether the Republic would protect its crops. Immigrant workers in the bay send money while living in protest Tiktok.
Politics is no longer out of reach. It goes into the kitchen, teahouse, smartphone. Gen-G forced ordinary Nepali to see the state as a distant ruler, but as responsible servants. Whether this perception continues depends on developments in the coming months. But this shift is undeniable: the Republic now belongs to public dialogue, not just parliamentary elites.
The bilateral edge of rebellion
The Gen-G movement is continuous with Nepal’s long history of uprising, but its form, character and horizon are very different. It is digital, scattered, ironic, poetic. It is angry at corruption but protection of democracy. It is easily hijacked, but resilient in refusing to return to the monarchy. It is fragile, but historic.
This is the double edge of rebellion: it can be liberated or can be stolen. It can build mechanisms or burn them. It can inspire a generation or drain it. The deeper edge will depend not only on youth but also on opportunists around, and whether characters like Sushila Karki can protect the fragile commitment of the transition.
Currently, Nepal is at a threshold, a fragile but luminous threshold. The smoke from Kathmandu has rained, but the memory remains. The young man said: They will no longer roll quietly, no longer accept debris, no longer succumb to bending. Their anger reshapes the political grammar. Whether this grammar becomes poetry or tragedy is still an unfinished story in Nepal.
CP Aryal teaches at Kathmandu University in Nepal, School of Arts.
