In the crisp autumn of September 2025, the streets of Nepal pulsed with the energy of a generation fed up with the status quo. What began as a wave of youth-led protests against government corruption quickly morphed into a national reckoning over power, privilege, and the future of democracy. As thousands of young Nepalis rallied for accountability, a swirl of controversies, social media bans, and accusations against civil society organizations—most notably the Barbara Foundation—added new layers to an already volatile situation.
The spark was unmistakable. According to reporting by The Hindu, the protests erupted in response to mounting corruption charges against the incumbent government. Discontent simmered over chronic unemployment and the mismanagement of public funds by political elites. Demonstrators, many of them young and digitally savvy, demanded not just transparency but a fundamental shift in how Nepal was governed. The call for change was unmistakable—and, for many, long overdue.
Yet, as the protests gained momentum, the government’s response was swift and severe. In a move that only fueled public anger, authorities imposed a blanket ban on 26 social media platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok, and Discord. For a generation that had come of age online, the ban was more than an inconvenience—it was a direct affront to their ability to organize, communicate, and express dissent. As The Hindu put it, these platforms are “ominously integrated in people’s lives and a blanket ban was nowhere near acceptable.”
Ironically, it was these very platforms that had helped ignite the protests in the first place. Youth organizers, some using pseudonyms like “Jalebi” and “Ghost” on Discord, leveraged social media to mobilize supporters, share information, and coordinate actions. The digital realm became a crucible for political awakening, transforming passive frustration into active resistance. Social media, once dismissed as a playground for entertainment and distraction, had become the beating heart of a new kind of political activism in Nepal.
But this new digital activism also brought new risks and complexities. As The Hindu observed, social media didn’t just amplify voices—it also enabled the rapid circulation of misinformation and made movements vulnerable to appropriation. In the chaos of the protests, narratives were quickly hijacked. What started as a fight for democratic rights was soon recast by some as a push to reinstate the monarchy, with former King Gyanendra’s supporters seizing on the unrest to advance their own agenda. The lines between genuine grievance and political opportunism blurred, leaving many protesters frustrated and confused.
Amid the turmoil, the Barbara Foundation found itself in the crosshairs. As reported by The Kathmandu Post, the foundation—long respected for its work empowering remote communities and promoting good governance—faced accusations from pro-monarchy supporters and others of hijacking the Gen Z uprising. The criticism was sharp: controversial businessman Durga Prasai publicly accused the foundation of steering the protests for its own ends. The allegations didn’t stop there. Some critics claimed the foundation was influenced by Western interests and linked to the youth network Hami Nepal, which itself was accused of receiving funds from anti-China organizations.
For the Barbara Foundation, the scrutiny was both unwelcome and, in their view, unfounded. Founded in 2010 by the late Barbara Adams—a pioneering journalist, environmentalist, and naturalized Nepali citizen—the foundation had always focused on grassroots empowerment. Its stated mission was to transform lives in Nepal’s most disadvantaged villages through education, income-generating activities, and the promotion of democratic norms. After Adams’ death in 2016, the foundation was restructured under the leadership of renowned ophthalmologist Dr. Sanduk Ruit and a diverse board of professionals.
In recent years, the foundation had prioritized post-earthquake recovery, sustainability programs, health projects, and environmental movements. It had also become known for its support of investigative journalism, awarding fellowships and organizing talk events on pressing social issues. During the Covid pandemic, the foundation honored 87 frontline healthcare workers and recognized journalists for outstanding reporting. According to its general secretary, Mohna Ansari, a former member of Nepal’s National Human Rights Commission, “Everyone in the foundation has their own professional lives. They are on the board with a pure aim to serve the community to the extent they can. Neither the foundation receives donations and grants from any organizations nor it funds others.”
In a press conference on September 14, 2025, Dr. Ruit firmly rejected any suggestion of a partnership with Hami Nepal or involvement in the Gen Z uprising, stating, “Since ‘Hami Nepal’ is a network of youth spread across Nepal, we collaborated with them during the Covid pandemic. However, we have no financial relationship whatsoever with that organization or its officials.” The foundation’s funding, they stressed, came almost entirely from the late Barbara Adams’ estate, supplemented by modest contributions from Nepali donors. Their financial records, shared with the press, showed a transparent balance sheet and a steady annual budget for fellowships, awards, and public events.
Still, the controversy around the Barbara Foundation reflected deeper anxieties about the role of civil society in moments of political upheaval. As Nepal grappled with the aftershocks of the Gen Z protests, suspicions and conspiracy theories abounded. The foundation’s experience was emblematic of a broader pattern: in times of crisis, even well-intentioned organizations can find themselves caught in the crossfire of competing political narratives.
The Nepal protests also resonated far beyond the country’s borders. Observers drew parallels to global movements like #BlackLivesMatter and #DalitLivesMatter, both of which harnessed the power of social media to mobilize marginalized communities and demand justice. As The Hindu noted, these movements, though thematically diverse, shared a common thread: the use of digital platforms to create new forms of solidarity and challenge entrenched power structures. Yet, as seen in Nepal, the same tools that enable mass mobilization can also be used to spread misinformation, sow division, and undermine trust.
The risks were not lost on those watching from the sidelines. Sociologist Zeynep Tufekci, cited by The Hindu, has warned that social media-driven activism, while empowering, can also destabilize traditional forms of leadership and organization. Without clear direction or long-term structure, digital protests are vulnerable to manipulation by elites, the whims of algorithms, and the fleeting nature of online attention. The fate of Nepal’s Gen Z uprising, like many before it, now hangs in the balance—caught between the promise of digital democracy and the perils of digital discord.
As the dust settles, one lesson is clear: efforts to censor or ban social media are more likely to inflame tensions than restore order. The voices of Nepal’s youth, once confined to the margins, have found new power in the digital age. Whether that power leads to lasting change or dissipates in the chaos of competing narratives remains to be seen. For now, the country stands at a crossroads, its future shaped as much by hashtags as by history itself.