Nepal: The Nation Butchering Its Own Children

I write this from Kathmandu, a city shaken by absolute horror. At the time of writing, 22 people have lost their lives, hundreds have been wounded, and countless others have been scarred in ways that will never heal. The same streets that once greeted weary backpackers with easy smiles now run red with the blood of Nepal’s youth.

Nepal has always lived on fault lines. A decade ago, the earth gave way, toppling temples and taking thousands of lives. But there is another fracture, older, deeper, and ideological that is now laid bare. To outsiders, the uprising appeared to start with a ban on social media, with the government blocking twenty-six platforms, including Instagram and YouTube. For a generation raised online, this felt like suffocation, but the powder keg was packed long ago with graft, greed, and generations of despair. These young people grew up watching their parents bow to bribery, and their siblings leave for opportunities denied at home, such as the chance to experience government competence. Back in Kathmandu, they find the same crooked cast clinging to power, shuffling through office like second-rate actors in a never-ending farce. Youth unemployment soars while politicians’ children parade their privilege on the very platforms their fathers tried to ban. The hypocrisy is so blatant that a “NepoKid” and “NepoBaby” campaign, inspired by global debates over inherited power, recently caught fire on TikTok and Reddit.

What began as mockery online has spilled into the streets. The protesters — some still in school uniforms — have watched Nepal’s vast potential squandered by leaders more interested in lining their pockets than lifting up the people. Corruption here shapes daily life: handed to a cop, taken by a clerk, and pocketed by the powerful. When the demonstrations began, protesters carried only water bottles and branches, but the state answered with bullets. Officials claimed they were rubber, but witnesses swear otherwise. Live rounds tore through young bodies as children were shot by the very forces meant to protect them. My fiancée, who is from the capital, showed me a line from a Nepali that went viral: when elected leaders not only fail to protect children but actively hunt them, they lose every shred of moral authority.

This brutality cannot be separated from Nepal’s turbulent past. Violence has long haunted this landlocked nation. In the 1990s, a Maoist insurgency promised equality and revolution, battling the monarchy and the state for a decade. Villages were burned, schools destroyed, and thousands killed. The war ended in 2006, but the damage endures. The dream of a “New Nepal” quickly soured into factional squabbling. Former rebels entered parliament, traded fatigues for fine suits, and mastered the same old game of deceit.

In 2001, Crown Prince Dipendra gunned down King Birendra and most of the royal family before taking his own life. It was one of the darkest days in modern Nepali history, leaving the nation stunned and suspicious. What followed was relentless instability: constitutions scrapped, coalitions collapsing, and prime ministers rising and falling with dizzying speed. In Nepal, dysfunction appears to be the default setting, and that dysfunction fuels today’s fury. This is a nation where promises are plentiful but progress is rare. Roads are built with foreign aid, only to crumble within months, and power cuts still plunge homes into darkness despite Nepal’s vast hydropower potential.

The youth have had enough. Unlike their parents, who learned to tolerate and adapt, they refuse to accept rulers who treat the nation as a family inheritance. They know their country is rich in resources, and won’t let looters dictate their destiny. That’s why they took to the streets, not only in Kathmandu but also in Pokhara, the lakeside city known for its stunning beauty. Damak also rose up. Nepal’s history is repeating itself. When leaders refuse to listen, the streets speak out.

Curfews now cage the cities, and soldiers line the streets. But locking down a generation that has already tasted freedom — through travel, study, and screens — is a battle the state is unlikely to win. Nepal stands at a crossroads. Prime Minister Oli has just announced his resignation, the latest casualty of a political class that clung to power for decades while offering nothing but paralysis. From this chaos will come either rebirth or ruin. What cannot be denied is that Nepal’s youth have found their voice. No decree, no censorship, no bullet can still the cry now rising across this proud and troubled land.