Agencies worldwide have reported on Nepal's governmental overthrowing but few, if any discussed the parameters that led to the uprising in the first place.

Nepal has rewritten its own history more times in a generation than most countries do in a century. Monarchy to Maoist Communism between 1996–2006, republic in 2008 to a shiny new constitution in 2015. Each transition promised stability. Each ended in fresh chaos. The Democratic reform was supposed to cure the disease of nepotism but pre-existing power structures found a way to creep in.

The latest leader violently ousted —K.P. Sharma Oli didn’t just bend the state to his will. He bent it toward his own circle. Critics long accused him of hollowing out institutions, but under his watch, nepotism became brazen.

A concept known as Afno Manche (one's own people) prevails in Nepal's political and administrative life. It refers to a circle of personally connected associates who are favored for positions regardless of their skills or merit. This network-based approach undermines the impersonal, merit-based principles of a modern bureaucracy.

Take Anjan Shakya, Oli’s own sister-in-law. She was nominated to Nepal’s National Assembly, after already serving as ambassador to Israel.

Then came the cabinet of confidantes. Khagraj Adhikari, described as one of Oli’s closest allies, was handed the powerful Home Ministry. Nayankala Thapa, wife of former Home Minister Ram Bahadur Thapa, landed the post of Minister for Communication and Information Technology.

“Nepo Kids” isn’t just a hashtag for most Nepalis — it’s a structural reality, where surnames open doors ordinary graduates can’t even knock on.

The bureaucracy is a tale of its own — Entry-level jobs are auctioned through bribes; promotions dependent less on merit than on party connections. Public service commissions are notorious for leaks of exam papers to politically connected candidates. For citizens, the experience of governance is where palms are greased with files that move only if a broker whispers in the right ear.

The ousted leader — Oli himself, was once hailed as a nationalist reformer, instead, he ended his tenure mired in accusations of authoritarian drift and cronyism.

Each cycle of democratic depression or authoritarian fatalism common in "communist" notions of politics deepened the cynicism. Elections were less about visions for Nepal and more about rearranging the existing spoils.

The Boiling Point

By September 2025, the façade cracked. K.P. Sharma Oli’s government moved to ban 26 social media platforms for “failing to register.” On paper, it was about compliance. In reality, it was a veiled move to silence critics and monopolise control over the national narrative.

In a country where social media had become the only channel to hold power to account, the ban felt less like regulation and more like censorship to the protestors.

The response was instant. Kathmandu’s student hubs — Patan, Kirtipur, Maitighar Mandala — lit up first. Then Pokhara, Butwal, Biratnagar. Tens of thousands, mostly Gen Z, poured out with placards scrawled in permanent marker: “Stop Looting Our Future,” “No Jobs, No Hope, No Justice.” They played a card from Bangladesh's playbook — organising on social media through VPNs and plain old word of mouth. The ban meant to suffocate dissent instead oxygenated it.

And it wasn’t just students. Teachers joined, unions trickled in, even doctors and civil servants — long silent — stood in solidarity. Ordinary frustrations fused into one voice: the corruption scandals, the joblessness, the daily humiliation of dealing with a system rigged against the young. The protests evolved from anger at a social media blackout into a referendum on three decades of broken promises.

The state’s response was brutal. Riot police fired tear gas into university campuses. Armored vehicles rolled into Kathmandu’s Ring Road. Mobile networks mysteriously went dark in protest zones. The government even authorized live rounds “to maintain order.” That’s when the body count began.

Seventy-two people dead. Seventy-two. Not from foreign wars, but from bullets and batons aimed at citizens asking for dignity. Most were under 25. Some were shot point-blank while livestreaming. Others were beaten in alleys after protests dispersed.

By early September, Nepal wasn’t just in protest. It was in open rupture: young versus old, future versus past, democracy versus the shell of democracy. The state had fired on its own children.

And nothing — not curfews, not bans, not bullets — could unring that bell.

The Gen Z is out to change the world and it is showing up first where the cracks are the deepest.