The rage and rampage: Why are Nepal’s youth angry?

He talks of at least two instances when he ended up paying bribes to get work done — once, when he went to the bank to apply for a loan to start a small shoe business and the second when he had to when he bought a scooter on finance. In both cases, he says, he was made to run around until, defeated, he paid up. “Once I paid, I didn’t have to even enter the (government) office. The middlemen even had the official seals. It’s clear that the government is complicit,” he says angrily. “We struggle to get the simplest of work done while the children of politicians enjoy luxuries and fly abroad every month with the money they extort from us.”

Similar, everyday frustrations drove Durga, 32, who runs a hardware business in Kathmandu, to the streets. “That’s why people beat up politicians on the streets and set houses on fire,” he says. “If the recent events make corrupt officials afraid of trying the same tricks tomorrow, then maybe this anger will not go to waste.”

Kritika Dahal, 25, who recently graduated from the National Law College in Lalitpur near Kathmandu, says they were spurred to action by the realisation that something had to give.

“We were exasperated by the daily news of corruption, from minor government offices to the highest levels of power. Taxes we paid were never used properly. Roads, health infrastructure, and schools were inadequate, yet the children of politicians lived in luxury. That is what we protested against.”

Prakriti Thapa, 24, a student service officer at IIMS College in Kathmandu, says years of political instability worsened the frustration among the youth. “If there was a stable government, we could focus on development. But instead, the old leaders kept playing musical chairs with power, always trying to suppress the voices of young people,” she says.

After the first few protests in Kathmandu — at the Capital’s protest hub of Maitighar Mandala, near the military headquarters, and New Baneshwor, which houses the Parliament — on September 5, the demonstrations spread to other cities such as Pokhara, Biratnagar, Bharatpur, Butwal, among others.

On September 8, the protests in the Capital took a tense turn. The young demonstrators had marched peacefully from Maitighar Mandala to New Baneshwor. The police attempted to halt the crowd with force and water cannons, but were outdone by the swelling numbers.

On their way to the Parliament building in New Baneshwor, the protesters briefly stopped at an overpass to hang a banner that read ‘Wake Up Nepal’, before moving forward. It was then that the police stepped up their force, using tear gas and live ammunition, allegedly without prior warning. Within hours, 19 people lost their lives.

According to the Ministry of Health and Population, as of September 11, 34 people had died.

“My friend sitting next to me was shot and covered in blood. Suddenly, there was more gunfire. Police were aiming directly at people,” says Kumar Chaulagain, 24, a student in Kathmandu. A day later, he stood outside the main gate of the Parliament building, wearing the same T-shirt he wore to the protest site, the fabric stained brown with his friend’s blood.

That day, September 9, Kumar was among those who broke through the barricades and entered the Parliament building.

Inside, the enraged youth shouted slogans, loudly proclaiming, “Long live Gen Z Unity”. They sang Nepal’s national anthem and began tearing apart the chamber where legislators usually sat. And then, someone lit a match. The sky over New Baneshwor darkened with smoke as some in the crowd declared the start of a new era for Nepal.

“That was a moment of triumph. The blood of our friends demands justice. This is a clear message to the old parties. No one will dare to indulge in corruption ever again,” says Kumar.

But things soon spiralled out of control. Over the next few hours, Kathmandu descended into chaos — the Supreme Court on Ram Shah Path and ministries and other key government buildings in the historic Singha Durbar complex were set on fire, politicians and their families were targeted and their houses looted and set on fire.

In Budhanilkantha, protesters entered the home of former Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba and his wife and Foreign Minister Arzu Rana Deuba, and beat up the couple, forcing apologies out of them. The Nepal Army helicopter had earlier airlifted Prime Minister Oli, his wife Radhika Shakya, and other ministers from their residences, but Deuba’s family was left stranded. Social media footage showed the couple stumbling, injured and humiliated.

Prominent voices of the Gen Z movement have since then distanced themselves from the violence. On September 9, Tanuja Pandey, one of the Gen Z activists, shared a Facebook post that read: “Goons are killing the GEN Z Protest. Lets defend the properties now, thefts and looting are rampant now.”

Kritika Dahal, the law graduate, says, “The movement’s original intent was not destruction, but opportunistic elements took advantage of the chaos. The Gen Z movement could achieve significant reforms, but these reckless actions have pushed the country backward economically and socially.”

Sandesh Limbu, 19, a student from Jhapa, was among those injured in the police action on September 9. “When I raised my voice in front of Parliament, I was shot. Some people carried me to an ambulance,” he says from a bed at the Civil Hospital, near the Parliament building. “My father had warned me against joining the protests, but I never thought students would be shot.”

Despite his heavily bandaged leg, Limbu is happy with how things have turned out. “We are relieved that Prime Minister Oli was made to resign. History will judge what was good or bad, but for now, the Nepali Army has brought the situation under control,” Limbu says.

The way forward

While Nepal Army chief General Ashok Raj Sigdel has stepped in to mediate in the country’s political transition and to ensure an interim dispensation takes charge at the earliest, some point out that the events of the last few days could break Nepal’s hard-won, yet tenuous, democracy. Their reasoning stems partly from the involvement of figures such as Durga Prasai, a right-wing political activist who led a pro-monarchy movement some months ago, and Gen Z youth from monarchist backgrounds in the ongoing talks.

So far, Gen Z leaders have insisted that they don’t seek to replace Nepal’s democracy. “We are not searching for an alternative to the current system. We are moving forward within the framework of the constitution,” said Gen Z activist Raksha Bam, who took part in the Army-brokered negotiations. “In the present situation, under the doctrine of necessity, we must form a civilian government led by an independent and credible figure.”

On the evening of September 12, former Chief Justice Sushila Karki was chosen to lead the country’s interim administration.

Nabin Tiwari, a young political analyst in Kathmandu, too, says that monarchy is no longer an option. “Nepalis lived under a monarchy for 240 years and no one wants to go back to that age. We must preserve constitutional supremacy through democratic means,” he says. “What the country truly needs is for the same political leaders who have ruled for the last three decades to finally step aside. These are leaders I read about as a schoolboy but who are still clinging to power. That’s one of the reasons why public frustration boiled over.”

Kumar Chaulagain, the 24-year-old who was among those who protested at the Parliament complex, says the answer lies within themselves. “We still need a stable government that understands Gen Z’s spirit. The leadership must come from a new generation.”

The writer is a Kathmandu-based journalist