By Dipak Kurmi
In 2025, Nepal finds itself at the epicentre of a political storm unlike any the Himalayan nation has witnessed since the collapse of its monarchy and transition to democracy. What began as an outcry against the banning of social media platforms has snowballed into a generational revolt that has redefined the political landscape of Kathmandu. The resignation of K. P. Sharma Oli, a veteran politician who once styled himself as the guardian of national sovereignty, marks not only the fall of a leader but also the emergence of a new era in Nepalese politics—an era led, symbolically and practically, by Generation Z.
The irony is sharp. The very individuals once heralded as the architects of democracy in Nepal are now cast as villains by a new generation of citizens who see them as custodians of corruption, nepotism, and failed governance. The protestors’ immediate grievance—the abrupt blocking of Facebook, X, Instagram, WhatsApp, and 22 other social media and instant messaging platforms—was interpreted not merely as an administrative step on data localisation, but as a brazen attempt to stifle free speech. For young Nepalese, many of whom were born after the monarchy fell in 2008, social media is not just a pastime. It is their forum of self-expression, a marketplace of ideas, and the bridge to a wider global community. Denying access to it was akin to stripping them of a fundamental right.
The “Gen Z revolution,” as it is now being called, may be unprecedented in Nepal, but its DNA is familiar to students of contemporary history. For it echoes the convulsions of the Arab Spring, which began in Egypt in 2011 and spread like wildfire across North Africa and West Asia. Then too, the spark came not from abstract ideology but from a concrete grievance: the death of Khaled Said, a young Egyptian tortured by police after being accused of posting incriminating videos online. In Egypt, as in Nepal, the outrage over digital censorship and police brutality ignited a long-simmering cauldron of discontent. And in both cases, peaceful assemblies in iconic urban spaces became the crucible where anger transformed into mass mobilisation.
The Arab Spring found its stage in Cairo’s Tahrir Square; Nepal’s Gen Z protests discovered theirs at Kathmandu’s Mandala intersection. Both spaces, by their centrality, visibility, and accessibility, became symbolic theatres of resistance. In each case, what began as a protest over one issue escalated into a broader confrontation with entrenched regimes. The Egypt of 2011 and the Nepal of 2025 are separated by geography and context, but they share a critical insight: when ordinary citizens organise in defence of their dignity and rights, the state’s authority is challenged not only at the level of governance but at the very level of legitimacy.
The anger of Nepal’s young protesters was not simply about their right to scroll through Instagram feeds or exchange memes on WhatsApp. Beneath the surface lay deeper frustrations. The nation’s economy, long overdependent on remittances, tourism, and the services sector, offers limited opportunities to young graduates. Mountaineering may be Nepal’s global brand, but it cannot employ an entire generation. IT services bring in revenue, but not enough to absorb the thousands entering the job market each year. The outflow of migrant labour has left scars on the country’s social fabric, severing families and communities. When the government’s social media ban also cut expatriates off from their loved ones back home, resentment turned to rage.
Added to this is the corrosive reality of nepotism in politics. The “Nepo kids,” the privileged children of Nepal’s ruling elite, have long been the subject of derision on social media. Their lavish lifestyles stand in stark contrast to the hardships of ordinary citizens. These online conversations, simmering for years, suddenly found no outlet after Oli’s ban. What was once ridicule transformed into fury. The young, deprived of their digital commons, poured into the physical streets, finding solidarity in numbers and discovering their collective voice.
The parallels with the Arab Spring grow sharper here. In Egypt, it was Wael Ghonim, a Google executive, who started the Facebook page “We are all Khaled Said,” turning grief into a movement. The page became a rallying point for youth disillusioned with Hosni Mubarak’s three-decade-long rule. In Nepal, no single figure has yet emerged with the same international profile as Ghonim, but the spirit of decentralised leadership is unmistakable. This, too, reflects the evolution of digital-age protests: horizontal, spontaneous, and leaderless in appearance, yet unified in purpose.
But there is a fundamental difference between Cairo in 2011 and Kathmandu in 2025. Egypt’s uprising targeted a military-backed autocrat ruling with an iron fist for decades. Nepal, by contrast, is governed by elected leaders who rose to power through the very democratic process that protestors now accuse them of betraying. This distinction underscores the unique character of Nepal’s protests: they are not merely about regime change but about redefining the social contract between rulers and citizens in a democratic system. It is not monarchy versus democracy, as in 2008, but democracy versus disillusionment in 2025.
The resignation of K. P. Oli, swift and unceremonious, signals both the power and the peril of mass mobilisation. On one hand, it represents a victory for the people, proof that when citizens rise together, even seasoned leaders must bow to their demands. On the other, it raises uncomfortable questions: will Oli’s departure resolve the structural issues of nepotism, corruption, and unemployment? Or will it simply usher in another cycle of disillusionment, with new faces perpetuating old practices? The Arab Spring provides a sobering answer. While Mubarak fell in Egypt, the aftermath saw political instability, the rise of authoritarian alternatives, and eventually, the return of military dominance. The euphoria of protest gave way to the despair of dashed expectations.
Nepal’s Gen Z must contend with this cautionary tale. Social media may be their weapon, but true change demands institutional reform, sustained political engagement, and the difficult work of governance. The danger lies in believing that toppling a leader is equivalent to transforming a system. Without structural change, the frustrations that fuelled the protests will resurface.
Yet it would be a mistake to dismiss the protests as naive or transient. Their very occurrence marks a tectonic shift in Nepal’s political culture. For the first time, a generation that grew up in a republic, not a monarchy, has asserted its political agency on a mass scale. They have made it clear that democracy cannot be reduced to the ballot box, nor can it survive on the legitimacy of leaders whose children inherit power like property. The movement has reframed the debate around rights, freedoms, and accountability in Nepal’s democracy.
The central role of social media in this story deserves emphasis. If the Arab Spring was called a Facebook Revolution, Nepal’s movement might be more accurately described as a Revolution for Facebook. In Egypt, citizens used social media to organise against the state; in Nepal, they organised to reclaim access to social media itself. This subtle distinction is profound. It signals how digital platforms have become so entwined with modern life that their absence is felt as an existential loss. The streets of Kathmandu became an offline protest for the right to be online.
At a global level, the Nepal protests highlight the fraught relationship between governments and digital platforms. States argue for sovereignty over data, regulation of content, and protection from misinformation. Citizens, however, view access to these platforms as an extension of their freedom of speech. The tension between control and liberty, regulation and rights, is playing out not only in Nepal but across democracies worldwide. What makes Nepal unique is the scale of backlash provoked by what seemed, on paper, a regulatory decision. The protestors saw through the veneer of legality and perceived an attempt to silence dissent. In their response, they revealed a generational truth: for Gen Z, digital freedom is as non-negotiable as physical freedom.
The bloodshed that accompanied the protests is a grim reminder of the stakes. Like in Egypt, where peaceful protests met brutal crackdowns, Nepal’s uprising has been stained with violence. The lesson is as old as history: when rulers underestimate the collective anger of citizens, repression often backfires, fuelling further unrest. The young of Nepal have paid with their lives to affirm a principle—that access to information and expression is not a privilege granted by the state but a right inherent to citizenship.
Looking ahead, Nepal stands at a crossroads. The resignation of Oli has created a vacuum, but nature and politics abhor a vacuum. The next leaders who step forward will have to contend with a citizenry far less tolerant of old habits. The slogans of development and democracy will no longer suffice unless they are matched by transparency, inclusivity, and opportunities for the young. The diaspora, too, must be re-engaged, for their remittances are the lifeblood of Nepal’s economy, and their alienation during the social media ban revealed the fragility of those ties.
For the wider world, Nepal’s protests offer both a warning and an inspiration. They warn of the perils of curbing digital freedoms in an age where young citizens live as much online as offline. They inspire by showing that even small nations, often overlooked in the global order, can produce movements that resonate with universal themes of dignity, justice, and freedom.
In the final analysis, the Gen Z revolution in Nepal is not only about Facebook, WhatsApp, or Instagram. It is about reclaiming the promise of democracy itself. It is about a generation refusing to inherit the failures of the past without protest. It is about demanding that those who govern do so not by entitlement but by trust. And it is about proving, once again, a timeless truth: when citizens stand united in the pursuit of freedom, no ban, no censorship, and no leader—however entrenched—can withstand their collective will.
(the writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
