On September 4, 2025, Nepal’s government made a move that would shake the nation to its core: the sudden blocking of 26 social networks and messaging platforms, including Facebook, WhatsApp, Instagram, X (formerly Twitter), YouTube, LinkedIn, and Signal. The official reason, as reported by ForkLog and Rest of World, was that these platforms had failed to comply with new rules from the Ministry of Information. These rules required digital services to register with the government and pay a new tax, as well as appoint a local representative. But the ban quickly revealed itself as a flashpoint for deeper frustrations simmering among Nepal’s young people—frustrations over corruption, economic stagnation, and a political system many saw as hopelessly out of touch.
The immediate fallout was dramatic. According to Rest of World, Nepal’s youth—many of whom depend on social media for income, information, and community—were outraged. The ban threatened not just their livelihoods but their sense of connection and voice in a country where opportunities are scarce. As Anup Kaphle, editor in chief of Rest of World, explained, "There are people who earn their living through Instagram Reels, TikTok, and YouTube, including journalists." Discontent that had been brewing for months quickly boiled over.
On September 8, 2025, youth-led protests erupted in Kathmandu. Organizers, using platforms like Discord and Instagram, called for peaceful demonstrations. They shared flyers with QR codes, coordinated through encrypted chat apps like BitChat, and found creative ways to bypass government internet blocks using VPNs. The initial rally was peaceful, but tensions escalated when protesters tried to approach the parliament building. Police responded with tear gas, water cannons, and, shockingly, live ammunition. According to ForkLog, 19 people died on the first day alone. The violence only intensified from there.
By the end of the week, the protests—dubbed the "Gen Z Protests" by local and international media—had turned into full-blown riots. Demonstrators set fire to the parliament, the president’s and prime minister’s residences, and party headquarters. Even the historic Singha Durbar palace complex, a symbol of Nepal’s government since 1908, was not spared. The unrest claimed at least 72 lives (some sources report 75) and left more than 2,100 injured. Amid the chaos, over 13,500 prisoners escaped from jails. The government, desperate to regain control, lifted the social media ban but imposed curfews in major cities and deployed the army to the capital.
The political fallout was swift. On September 9, Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Sharma Oli resigned, unable to withstand the pressure from the streets. The government complex was in flames, and the state’s authority seemed to be crumbling. In a remarkable twist, the country’s military leadership turned to a Discord channel known as "Nepal’s parliament"—an online space with over 145,000 members—for help selecting an interim leader. According to ForkLog and Kaphle, more than 78,000 votes were cast in real time on Discord, resulting in the selection of former chief justice Sushila Karki as interim prime minister. Karki, who had already made history as Nepal’s first female Supreme Court chief, was officially appointed to the role on September 12.
In the aftermath, President Ram Chandra Paudel dissolved parliament and called for new elections, scheduled for March 5, 2026. The interim government promised compensation for the families of those killed and pledged an investigation into the violence. By September 13, the situation in Kathmandu had stabilized enough for the curfew to be lifted, but the scars—physical and political—remained.
To understand why these protests were so explosive, it’s necessary to look at Nepal’s recent history and social structure. As ForkLog notes, the country has endured decades of political instability: a monarchy toppled in 2008, a decade-long civil war, and a republican period marked by revolving-door governments and rampant corruption. The caste system, though officially abolished, still shapes social and business networks, reinforcing inequality. High import duties and state monopolies on essential goods create opportunities for smuggling and bribery, while ordinary citizens face strict limits on buying foreign currency. Public sector wages remain low, pushing many officials toward illicit earnings. The result is a yawning gap between the elite—often connected to political clans—and the majority, with the median age just 25.
Against this backdrop, Nepal’s youth have become a force for change. Many are forced to seek work abroad, sending remittances that make up about a third of the country’s GDP. Every day, nearly 2,000 Nepalis leave the country in search of better opportunities. At Kathmandu’s only international airport, the scene is “jarring,” Kaphle recounts: "You see thousands of people just there to wave goodbye to their loved ones." The frustration is palpable. While privileged elites flaunt their lifestyles on social media—fueling the viral "nepo baby" hashtag—most young people are left behind, struggling for a foothold.
The protests were not just about the social media ban, though that was the spark. They reflected a broader disillusionment with corruption, nepotism, and a political system that seemed incapable of delivering change. As Kaphle observed, "The narrative was that while all these young people are going abroad in hopes of better lives—and send remittances that essentially help run the economy—there are privileged elites living in luxury and their kids are flaunting those things on Instagram."
The movement also highlighted the changing role of technology and media in Nepal. While traditional media outlets like Kantipur Publications found themselves under threat—sometimes seen as part of the establishment—new, social-media-native platforms like Routine of Nepal Banda and In-Depth Story became crucial sources of information for Gen Z. Yet, as Kaphle pointed out, these platforms often relied on mainstream reporting or hearsay, raising questions about accuracy and accountability. Discord, in particular, emerged as a central hub for organizing, mobilizing, and even decision-making—a striking evolution from its reputation elsewhere as a platform for gaming or misinformation.
Externally, Nepal’s crisis played out under the watchful eyes of its powerful neighbors, India and China, both eager to expand their influence through economic projects and political lobbying. The United Kingdom, with its historic ties and status as a major aid donor, also remains a player. Meanwhile, a monarchist movement has gained traction, calling for a return to a Hindu kingdom—an idea that resonates with some Nepalis exhausted by corruption and chaos.
In Kathmandu’s Thamel district, the tourist heart of the city, small business owners like Rajnesh and Shivaram feel the impact of these upheavals daily. Both rely heavily on foreign tourists and face bureaucratic hurdles that stifle their businesses. Rajnesh lamented, "Most of my buyers are foreigners. But I am forced to buy silver, my main material, from the state. It, in turn, buys it from India and then sets prices for us." Shivaram, who sells antiques, described the complex paperwork required to export goods, especially those with cultural or historical significance. Both expressed skepticism about the prospects for policy change or the legalization of cryptocurrencies, which some of their clients have shown interest in.
Nepal’s future remains uncertain, but the events of September 2025 have made one thing clear: the country’s youth, armed with digital tools and a desire for change, are now a force that cannot be ignored. As the world watches and as new elections approach, the challenge for Nepal’s leaders will be to channel this energy into lasting reforms—tackling corruption, building a digital economy, and creating opportunities for the next generation.
The echoes of Nepal’s Discord revolution will linger, a vivid reminder that in the digital age, even the world’s youngest and most restless citizens can set history in motion.