The streets of Kathmandu and cities across Nepal reverberated with a new kind of energy in early September 2025, as the country’s youngest generation—Gen-Z—took to the streets, demanding an end to decades of corruption and political stagnation. What began as a protest against a sudden ban on 26 social media platforms quickly evolved into the deadliest unrest Nepal had seen in decades, toppling a government in less than 48 hours and leaving a nation grappling with loss, hope, and uncertainty.
On September 8, thousands of young Nepalis gathered at Maitighar Mandala, a symbolic traffic island in central Kathmandu, their chants echoing calls for transparency, accountability, and a political system that finally works for the people. According to BBC, the protests were leaderless, fueled by months of frustration over the conspicuous wealth of politicians’ children—dubbed “nepo babies”—and the grinding reality that even educated youth were forced to seek work abroad due to poor wages at home. The trigger, however, was the government’s controversial decision to ban popular social media platforms, a move that many saw as an attempt to stifle dissent.
“We are no longer willing to stay silent or accept injustice,” said Tanuja Pandey, a 24-year-old protest organizer and environmental campaigner. “This is not just a gentle nudge; it's a bold challenge to a system that has hoarded power for decades.” Pandey, whose own family was nearly bankrupted by medical bills, was among those who helped draft guidelines for nonviolent protest. But as the crowds swelled—far beyond what organizers had expected—the mood shifted. Both Pandey and fellow protester Aakriti Ghimire described an initially peaceful, communal gathering that quickly spiraled out of control as older, masked individuals appeared, and violence erupted near the parliament building.
The police responded with tear gas, water cannons, and, according to eyewitnesses and reports, live rounds. “There is evidence live rounds were used and they are accused of shooting at schoolchildren as well,” BBC reported. The crackdown on September 8 left at least 19 dead, and the violence only escalated in the hours that followed. Protesters retaliated by setting fire to government offices, politicians’ homes, and the newly opened Hilton Kathmandu hotel. The wife of a former prime minister was left fighting for her life after their residence was torched.
By the end of the unrest, the death toll had reached 73, with the Ministry of Home Affairs declaring September 17 a national day of mourning. Flags flew at half-mast, candlelit vigils were held, and the pain of loss was palpable throughout the country. “Everyone is sad about what happened, the loss of lives—all young people like us,” Pooja Shrestha, a 22-year-old shopkeeper, told France24. “Things have improved now, and we hope the new government will bring the changes we need.”
The scale of destruction was staggering. According to the Kathmandu Post, financial losses could reach 3 trillion Nepalese rupees, nearly half the country’s GDP. Over 300 local government offices across Nepal were damaged, and the capital’s infrastructure was left battered. Even the offices of Kathmandu Post were attacked and set ablaze. The chaos extended to the prison system, with more than a third of Nepal’s 13,500 prisoners escaping during the protests. Police spokesperson Binod Kharel told AFP that about 5,000 escapees had since returned, many voluntarily.
Behind the violence lay a deep-seated frustration with Nepal’s political class. In the 17 years since becoming a republic in 2008, Nepal has had 14 governments, with no leader completing a full five-year term. “Nepal's politics resemble a game of musical chairs, with communist parties and the centrist Nepali Congress taking turns to rule,” BBC observed. Leaders like KP Sharma Oli—who resigned in the wake of the protests—have returned to power multiple times, while economic progress has stalled. GDP per capita remains under $1,500, and one in three households relies on remittances from family members working overseas.
The Gen-Z movement’s impact was immediate and dramatic. Within two days of the eruption, the government collapsed, and a curfew was imposed as the army took control. Former Supreme Court Chief Justice Sushila Karki, 73, was appointed interim prime minister, a move welcomed by many protesters. Karki has promised to restore order, address the demands for a corruption-free future, and oversee elections within six months. She declared the protest victims martyrs, promising state honors at their cremations.
Yet, the political old guard remained largely unmoved. As Republica reported, the top leaders of Nepal’s major parties—Sher Bahadur Deuba of the Nepali Congress and KP Sharma Oli of CPN-UML—showed no sign of stepping down despite the turmoil. Deuba, injured during the protests, remained silent from his hospital bed, while Oli was endorsed for a third term by his party’s statutory convention. Even within the CPN (Maoist Center), where Deputy General Secretary Janardan Sharma boldly called for Chair Pushpa Kamal Dahal’s resignation and sweeping reforms, the challenge was met with caution. Sharma’s 16-point proposal demanded a new electoral system, independent anti-corruption commissions, and an honest reckoning with the failures exposed by the Gen-Z uprising. Still, the party’s old guard clung to power, and other parties, such as the CPN (Unified Socialist) and Madhesh-based parties, watched warily from the sidelines.
The generational divide was stark. For many young Nepalis, the protests were a political awakening. “Our beloved has lost his life calling for change,” said Saubhagya, the great-uncle of Yogendra Neupane, a 23-year-old protester shot in the head during the unrest. “His blood and sacrifice should be recognised so that other young people won't have to hit the streets again in the future.”
But the trauma of the violence lingers. “We are proud, but there is also a mixed baggage of trauma, regret and anger,” Pandey reflected. The glorification of the army’s role in restoring order, and the involvement of controversial figures in post-protest negotiations, left many uneasy about the road ahead. As Rumela Sen, a South Asia expert at Columbia University, told BBC, it was “worrying” to see “an unprecedented glorification of the army as a voice of sanity and stability.”
Despite the uncertainty, the Gen-Z movement has undeniably altered Nepal’s political landscape. The streets, once filled with youthful impatience and the stubborn grip of entrenched leaders, now echo with the memory of sacrifice and the hope for genuine change. Whether this marks a true passing of the torch or a brief interlude before the old order reasserts itself remains to be seen. For now, Nepal stands at a crossroads, mourning its losses and daring to imagine a different future.