On Monday 8 September I drove into Bouddha on the north eastern corner of Kathmandu from my home in Besigaun. It was just like any other day at this time of year with the streets crowded with cars and scooters and local buses stopping at every junction, their conductors with the doors swung open, shouting out their lists of destinations, cramming passengers into every available space for a 20 rupee bus ride into town. I was on my way to Yaks recording studio around lunchtime to continue work on an audio project and once settled into the soundproof room on the 5th floor of the building began my session reading from the script. Less than two hours into the recording I took off my headphones, surprised by the noises filtering through the walls and into the mic rendering the session useless. That’s not normal. I waited a few minutes, and then, rather than making a complaint to the management, I decided I had done enough for the day and packed up. As I left, I noticed the workstations in the design studio all vacant. Something is not right.
It wasn’t until I arrived home around 4pm that the news of the shooting and killing of Gen-Z protesters outside the parliament buildings became apparent. The shock of the tragedy was starting to reveal itself on social media. It was only then that I connected the commotion outside the recording studio with the protest taking place in other parts of the city and I began to realise the gravity of the situation. The videos of protesters in what appeared to be quite harmless situations being shot and killed by the Nepal Police was something I had never expected to see in Nepal, or anywhere else for that matter. It wasn’t until I woke the following morning to the angry sounds of demonstrators in our neighbourhood that I realised that the Nepal I had known as my second home for the last 13 years would never be the same again. I was overwhelmed with sadness for this country and its people who have bravely worked hard and suffered so long to lift themselves out of poverty despite the setbacks caused by natural disasters, economic hardship and political incompetence.
So what was it that brought Gen Z out onto the streets to protest that fateful Monday morning in September? On the Thursday before, the government announced that they were blocking 26 social media apps—ostensibly because those companies were not registered in Nepal, and until they registered and paid their dues, they would be banned from conducting their business in Nepal. That, in principle, seemed fair enough to me. Businesses should be registered, but why had the government waited more than 15 years to implement the ruling? This was not a step-by-step plan which would have caused mild irritation to most Nepalis. It was a serious threat to millions who depend on social media as vital sales channels through which they conduct their small businesses. A blanket ban, instantly executed, wreaked instant economic hardship on a significant proportion of the entrepreneurial sector of the population and sent them into panic mode overnight. Added to that, the younger generation understands the value of social media as their main avenue of expression through which they can express their grievances and frustrations with the current situation in Nepal. The older generation in government positions were largely ignorant of the importance of social media to the younger generation and dismissed them out of hand. They misjudged the situation and ignored the signals coming from the young to their peril. By Tuesday morning the ban on social media had been lifted, but the damage had already been done.
To understand better just how dependent Nepalis are on social media, one should be aware that Nepal’s economy depends to a large extent on remittances from family members working abroad—mostly in the Middle East, Japan, Korea and Malaysia. These families, split families, through no fault of their own, are torn apart because of a lack of well paid jobs in their own country. They rely heavily on social media to keep connected—to keep the fragile thread of family alive—and to dream of a life where they can live in the same house as their loved ones, instead of decades in forced exile just to survive. The children of these migrant workers are using the savings of their parents and leaving the country by the million every year to study abroad and take jobs in a variety of professions in the developed world, with never the intention to return. Nepal is haemorrhaging its young blood faster than it can ever replace it and the cost to the nation is literally a question of life or death.
This blocking of social media was the spark that ignited the flame of discontent that motivated Gen Z to get out on the streets of Kathmandu and protest their dissatisfaction to the government. But the protest was not about the blocking of social media – that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The protest was about the rampant corruption in government, cronyism and nepotism and lack of transparency in a government hopelessly entrenched in its ways—turning a blind eye to the chronic needs of its people. The evidence of corruption became even more apparent when the social media profiles of the grown-up children of members of the government and other political parties showed them living in lavish apartments around the world, having expensive holidays and sporting Rolex watches and Gucci handbags and driving cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, while their fathers were apparently only earning a measly 400 USD a month in Nepal.
So where did all that money come from to furnish these people with such lavish lifestyles? To my mind you don’t have to look further than the half-completed infrastructure projects littering the countryside. Projects lying unfinished for five years or more – disintegrating before my eyes, washed away by a monsoon of diverted funds. But what do I really know about the inner workings of the governing of this country? Very little. I don’t have the evidence. I just see unfinished projects everywhere and a population whose patience has run out. Add to that the pictures allegedly showing the children of government officials living lifestyles abroad well beyond the reach of many middle class Europeans and you have a powder keg of emotional dynamite ready to blow up the Houses of Parliament. That is what happened.
On the day after the Gen Z protest, the public took to the streets in anger and frustration at the government’s lack of empathy for the loss of life of their children. There were no apologies—no statements of regret. No taking responsibility for this act of aggression. For every child murdered by the Nepal Police there were thousands who came out into the streets. What followed became one of the blackest days in Nepal’s history—a day of utter devastation with historic government buildings, hotels, police stations and businesses set on fire and routes for fire engines blocked by the mobs to prevent any access to the properties by the emergency services. Ministers were tracked down and subjected to mob violence, their houses ransacked and burned to the ground—the stashes of their ill-gotten wealth reduced to flames, floating into the smoke-filled sky.
This morning I ventured out into a city reeling from the shock of the events of the previous three days. With no interim government yet established, the army has taken control of the city, imposing a curfew with twice daily access to shops and essential services amounting to five daylight hours split between early morning and late afternoon. I set off with my camera and international press card to take a few shots of what I had only witnessed on social media. It was a heartbreaking reconnaissance. The streets were littered with burned out carcasses of cars and trucks. The local police headquarters was a blackened skeleton of brick and concrete. The army stopped me the second I parked my scooter outside the burned-out shell of the local superstore, ignored my press card and told me in no uncertain terms to leave the area immediately. I left.
But the feeling on the street was not one of fear or trepidation. People were going about their business shopping at the small local stalls and supermarkets with only the slightest sense of anxiety to get home before the 10am curfew. Electricians were busy repairing cables damaged by the rioting and local groups were clearing the streets of the flotsam and jetsam of the days before. On social media there was progress being made by representatives of the Gen Z generation–the young hopefuls on whose shoulders the future of Nepal now rests. And they have a strong contender to take responsibility for an interim cabinet who has the advantage of age and experience to guide them. Former Chief Justice of Nepal Sushila Karki is perceived by most of my close friends as good news for the country. She is smart, honest, and a woman with a commendable track record. And she knows the law. There is a lot of work to be done to undo the decades of corruption and poor governance, but I get the feeling that the will of the Nepalese is strong enough to endure the years it will take to achieve a more fair and balanced society that will turn this tragedy into a solid and lasting period of prosperity not only for Gen Z but for future generations to come.
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Index asked Gary to speak to Nepalis about their hopes and fears following the violence of the last few days.
Suraj Ghimire told him, “Right now, leaders from different parties are trying to break the unity of the protesters, taking advantage of divisions and pushing their own agendas online. They think this will help them regain power, but the people have spoken, the ones that were out on the streets don’t want them back. What they want is simple and clear: the president’s resignation and the dissolution of the current parliament.”
Rajan Ghimire, a humanitarian, development and rights activist, recounted his thoughts on the past three days.
“Day 1: The morning began with optimism, but by the afternoon I felt deep anger at the government’s brutal response toward the youth.
Day 2: I started the day still angry, but by midday that anger gave way to fear. In the evening I felt a growing sense of hopelessness. Near my home, there is a gas station with a garage attached. After hearing that people had set fire to Bhatbhateni in Koteshwor, I was alarmed to learn that someone set a vehicle on fire in the garage near the gas station. We feared the gas station might explode. Thankfully, the fire was contained, but none of us could sleep that night.
Day 3: The day passed under a cloud of uncertainty, not knowing what would happen next.”
He added, “Thankfully no major infrastructure damage was reported but we lost human lives. It feels as if our country has been pushed back by years, even decades. I hold on to hope that we can rise from the ashes and rebuild but I remain confused about how.”
Medical student Nabin Poudel said, “The ongoing Gen Z movement is undeniably legitimate, embodying years of accumulated frustration over systemic corruption and decades of ineffective leadership. Yet, the prolonged indecision regarding the dissolution of the lower house and the formation of an interim government threatens to deepen political instability rather than resolve it.”
The winter 2025 edition of Index on Censorship magazine will look at both the silencing of Gen Z around the world and how influencers like Charlie Kirk, who was murdered in September, became important voices for this demographic.
