Opinion The revolution shall be memed: How Gen Z is rewriting the language of protest
Nepal’s Gen Z has shown that politics is no longer only speeches at podiums or slogans on walls. It is reels, memes, laughter, selfies, sarcasm and irony.
Nepal Gen Z leaders Rakshya Bam, Tanuja Pandey, Sudan Gurung and Balendra Shah. (Photos from their social media profiles) 
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When history books are written, they will not capture the cadence of a TikTok reel or the irony of a meme. But the protests in Nepal have made one thing clear: Every generation invents its own language of dissent, and Gen Z has found theirs. In Kathmandu, the images of protest were unforgettable, a way of communicating through chaos. They became the vocabulary of a generation that has run out of patience with polite petitions and hollow promises.
For too long, older people have insisted that politics must look a certain way – serious, solemn, steeped in the weight of ideology. Gen Z disagrees. Their grammar of protest is not the pamphlet but the meme, not the manifesto but the reel. They dance as parliament burns, they write sarcastic slogans, they speak through selfies and rap verses. To outsiders, this looks flippant. But for a generation that has grown up inside the internet, performance is politics and irony is armour. Memes are not an escape from reality but a way of surviving it. When the world feels absurd — unchecked corruption, chronic unemployment, fragile democracy — it is no surprise that their language of protest is absurd too.
It’s nearly a fact now that Gen Z understands optics better than any strategist. A protest photo travels faster when it looks sharp, a reel garners empathy when it blends rage with humour. Gen Z understands this; it curates them for maximum circulation. That is why, in Nepal, the protests were never confined to the streets of Kathmandu. They lived online, on Instagram grids and Discord channels, where solidarity multiplied in likes and shares.
In Nepal, jokes about nepotism — ministers boarding private jets in designer clothes — went viral before many accounts were deleted. The laughter was not trivial — it proved lethal for the aura of untouchability around the elite. Mockery stripped away the distance between rulers and the ruled. A generation that had been invisibilised by politics made itself impossible to ignore by making power look ridiculous. Weeks before the D-days of protest, online campaigns with the hashtags #NepoBaby and #NepoKids – referring to the nepotism and corruption of the country’s elite – began trending widely across TikTok, X, Facebook and Instagram, alongside images of children of high-ranking officials as they lived lives of luxury.
Young Nepalis also turned to Discord, a platform usually associated with gamers and fan communities, to elect their country’s interim leader. Inside the server, users organised candidate speeches, live debates, and multiple rounds of voting. Moderators compared it to a national election — except faster, participatory, and free of traditional party machinery. One participant joked online: “Nepal’s parliament is basically a Discord server now.” Behind the memes, though, was a serious point — Nepal’s youth had bypassed a gridlocked political system and built an experiment in participatory democracy on their own terms.
Third, the anger in Nepal, where the median age is just 25, had been building. Endless corruption scandals and ongoing political instability, with musical chairs among three parties that gave the country 14 prime ministers in 16 years has left young people feeling increasingly disenfranchised. The protest began with an opposition to a draconian and clumsily enforced social-media ban and finally drove the anger out onto the streets.
This language of protest is hardly unique to Nepal. It can be seen across South Asia, from Sri Lanka to Bangladesh. The reasons are clear: Nearly 40 per cent of the region’s population is under 18, yet this so-called “youth dividend” is squandered by poor education, joblessness, low wages and bleak living standards.
Critics often dismiss this language as unserious. But satire has always been a tool of resistance. Court jesters in monarchies once spoke truths that ministers could not. Cartoonists have long captured injustice in a single sketch. Today’s jesters are TikTokers and meme-makers, delivering cutting commentary in formats the powerful don’t quite know how to control. There is, however, a paradox in Gen Z’s politics: The very tools that amplify them can also flatten them. A reel can spread awareness, but it can also trivialise trauma. The performance meant to expose injustice can be mistaken for nihilism. And yet, even in this danger, one thing is clear — this is not apathy or disengagement.
Gen Z has been called the anxious generation, the gig generation, the distracted generation. But in Nepal they proved they are also the unafraid generation. In the 1960s, students with their rock music and long hair were dismissed as hippies before they reshaped politics. Today’s protesters with their TikTok dances and memes are dismissed as clowns. But history has always remembered the clowns as prophets.
Nepal’s Gen Z has shown that politics is no longer only speeches at podiums or slogans on walls. It is reels, memes, laughter, selfies, sarcasm and irony. Because if we cannot read the language of our time, we will once again misunderstand a generation that is not disengaged, but desperate. Not apathetic, but angry. Not silly, but serious — in their own tongue.
sudhanshu.mishra@indianexpress.com
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