Fire rages through the Singha Durbar, the main administrative building for the Nepal government, in Kathmandu on September 9, 2025, a day after a police crackdown on demonstrations over social media prohibitions and corruption by the government. (Prabin Ranabhat / AFP via Getty Images)

Over the last month, the landlocked Himalayan nation of Nepal has witnessed its most explosive protests in nearly two decades. While the immediate trigger was a government ban on social media, the uprising quickly broadened into a nationwide revolt over larger socioeconomic issues such as corruption, unemployment, and the country’s authoritarian drift.

Tens of thousands of young people, many in their teens and early twenties, flooded the streets of Kathmandu, Pokhara, and Biratnagar. They tore down barricades, clashed with security forces, and filled the capital with chants of defiance.

The state’s response was swift and brutal: rubber bullets, water cannons, tear gas, and live fire. By mid-September, at least seventy-two people were dead and well over two thousand injured.

 Wave of Revolt

The “Gen Z movement,” as it is referred to, is part of a broader regional wave of revolt. From Colombo in 2022, where Sri Lankans compelled their president to flee, to Dhaka in 2024–25, where widespread protests led to the overthrow of Sheikh Hasina’s government, people across South Asia are rising against elites that have failed to provide even the most basic necessities of life.

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Nepal’s ‘Gen Z movement,’ as it is referred to, is part of a broader regional wave of revolt.

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Nepal’s role in this ongoing cycle holds particular significance, as it was just seventeen years ago that the country abolished its monarchy and established a federal democratic republic. The irony is bitter. The very generation born after 2008 and raised under the republic’s flag is now spearheading an uprising against the corruption, poverty, and betrayal that came in its wake.

To understand why, we must look back to the revolution that was aborted almost as soon as it began. For centuries, Nepal was ruled by monarchs who presided over a rigidly hierarchical and unequal society. That order began to collapse in June 2001, when a palace massacre killed King Birendra and much of the royal family, thrusting his brother Gyanendra onto the throne.

The new king soon revealed an authoritarian bent. In 2005, he dissolved parliament, imposed emergency rule, and censored the press. The resulting backlash became known as the People’s Movement II (“Jan Andolan II”) of 2006, when millions poured into the streets, defying curfews and bullets.

Workers, peasants, students, and women marched together, compelling the king to reinstate parliament. Two years later, in May 2008, the monarchy was formally abolished, and Nepal was declared a “federal democratic republic.”

During a period when the global left was grappling with the effects of neoliberal triumphalism, the Nepalese communists demonstrated a rare political resilience. The country’s Maoists, emerging from a decade-long insurgency, became the largest party in parliament. For many around the world, Nepal offered cause for optimism and proof that revolutionary struggle could still lead the masses toward victory.

 Aborted Revolution

The early years of the republic’s journey were filled with heady expectations. The Maoists promised land reform, equality for Dalits and women, and recognition for oppressed nationalities. The new republic was to be built on principles of social justice and democratic participation, creating the basis for a more egalitarian society.

Almost immediately, however, the revolution stalled. After winning nearly two-fifths of the seats in elections for a constituent assembly in 2008, the Maoists abandoned mass mobilization for parliamentary maneuvers. This was a field on which their domestic opponents had the support of the Indian state, which was anxious to prevent its neighbor from shifting too far to the left.

The Communist Party of Nepal–Unified Marxist-Leninist (CPN-UML) was a political rival and sometime ally for the Maoists. The CPN-UML was much less radical a force than its name might suggest. It had been an established player since the early 1990s with a record of serving in government, and it remained rooted in patronage politics.

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The early years of the republic’s journey were filled with heady expectations.

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The drafting of a new constitution dragged on for years while party leaders traded ministries and contracts. The radical energy that had toppled the monarchy was absorbed into the institutions of the state. After failing to enact the proposed new constitution, the Maoists lost much of their support in elections for a second constituent assembly in 2013, falling behind the CPN-UML and the Nepali Congress.

In 2018, the Maoists and the CPN-UML merged to form a single Nepal Communist Party. At the time, the Maoists had fifty-three seats in parliament, while their partners had 121. With a decisive parliamentary majority, the new party had more power than any left force in Nepal’s history.

Yet instead of transformation, there was paralysis. Prime Minister K. P. Sharma Oli dissolved parliament in 2020 in a naked power grab, later reversed by the Supreme Court. The recently unified party soon split into its two component parts, leaving the left fractured and discredited.

A coalition with the Maoist leader Prachanda as prime minister held office between 2022 and 2024, before giving way to another Oli-led government that excluded the Maoists. It was Oli’s latest administration that introduced the social media ban, provoking the unrest of the last month.

 Flawed Ideology

Despite the heroic role that Nepal’s communist parties played in mobilizing millions of people, their programmatic limitations facilitated their seamless integration into the very capitalist system they once vowed to overthrow. At an earlier stage, sections of the parliamentary left, particularly the CPN-UML, had been prepared to settle for a constitutional monarchy. It was only the pressure of the mass upsurge in 2006 that forced the republic onto the agenda.

The Maoists, for their part, waged a decade-long People’s War and had deep reserves of support from the countryside, where unequal landholding structures had kept peasants in conditions of near-serfdom. Yet the rural insurgency, for all its militancy, was never anchored in a revolutionary strategy to dismantle capitalism itself. Anti-feudal struggles, however popular, do not automatically generate a socialist program.

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It was only the pressure of the mass upsurge in 2006 that forced the republic onto the agenda.

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The Maoist outlook, shaped by Stalinist-Maoist orthodoxy, prioritized armed struggle in rural areas but lacked a vision for workers’ power in the cities or the construction of socialist institutions beyond the battlefield. When the monarchy fell, this theoretical vacuum translated into rapid capitulation to parliamentary politics and neoliberal development models. The swift transition from anti-feudal insurgency to neoliberal governance was thus not so much an accident as the logical culmination of the movement’s ideological limits.

The consequences of this aborted revolution are now visible in the streets. By channeling a mass insurrection into parliamentary maneuvering, the communist leadership left a vacuum between popular aspirations and state institutions. The working people saw no change in their conditions, peasants saw no meaningful gains, and young people saw no future beyond migration or unemployment.

The same parties that once promised liberation became administrators of neoliberal reforms and brokers of foreign loans. For a generation born after 2008, the republic exists not as a symbol of emancipation but as a reminder of broken promises. The Gen Z movement is, in this sense, the delayed reckoning with the compromises of the Maoists and the CPN-UML — a revolt not only against the corruption of present-day rulers but also against the aborted revolution that delivered a republic without transformation.

What occurred was not the completion of a revolution but rather its premature termination. Insurgents who had once mobilized millions became bureaucrats defending privileges. The monarchy had been overthrown, but the revolutionary opening it created was slammed shut from within.

The ideological framework that underpinned this retreat was the doctrine of a two-stage revolution. According to the Maoists, the CPN-UML, and other left parties, Nepal’s first historic task was to complete a bourgeois-democratic transformation by dismantling feudal structures and establishing a republic. Only after this stage, at some undefined future point, would the socialist transition become possible.

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For a generation born after 2008, the republic exists not as a symbol of emancipation but as a reminder of broken promises.

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In practice, this theory provided both a political and moral justification for integration into the parliamentary system. Once the monarchy had been toppled, the leadership could present their embrace of constitutionalism, neoliberal development policies, and elite compromise as part of a “necessary stage” rather than a betrayal. By deferring socialism to an abstract horizon, they legitimized their own co-option and disarmed the very forces that had made revolution possible.

 A Republic Without Delivery

In theory, Nepal’s 2015 constitution enshrines an impressive catalog of rights: equality, education, health care, housing, food sovereignty, democratic space for all citizens, and so on. In practice, however, these rights have amounted to hollow promises.

Public services are underfunded and riddled with corruption. The pandemic exposed the system’s internal rot leading to an eventual collapse. One could witness hospitals running out of oxygen and families carrying bodies to cremation grounds after being turned away from emergency wards.

Meanwhile the economy continued to slide southward, with inflation climbing above 7 percent in 2022–23 and food and fuel prices soaring. Youth unemployment rose to 20 percent. For a generation raised on the dream of republican prosperity, the reality was stagnant wages, rising costs, and the constant pressure to migrate abroad.

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For a generation raised on the dream of republican prosperity, the reality was stagnant wages, rising costs, and the constant pressure to migrate abroad.

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The economic base of the republic shifted dramatically after 2008. Agriculture, once the backbone of the economy, declined sharply, leading to the collapse of farming incomes. This drove millions to emigrate under pressure of economic distress.

Today remittances from Nepali workers abroad account for nearly a quarter of GDP — one of the highest rates in the world. Villages have been emptied of young men; families survive on wire transfers from the Gulf, Malaysia, and India, while coffins return to Kathmandu airport with grim regularity.

At home, Nepalis are left with few viable alternatives to migration. Abroad they are treated as disposable labor. This cycle captures the depth of the crisis: a republic that promised dignity and opportunity has instead outsourced survival to its migrants.

It’s true that this remittance economy reduced absolute poverty, but it entrenched dependency and inequality. It also reshaped Nepal’s class composition. A precarious, informal urban workforce and a vast diaspora sustain the country, while the state proves incapable of generating decent jobs at home.

 Unfinished Tasks

The Maoist promises of change were not fulfilled: caste discrimination endures, women still face systemic inequality, and indigenous groups remain marginalized. What was intended to be a republic for the marginalized became a state dominated by recycled elites.

Its failure to deliver tangible benefits led to an increasingly authoritarian approach to dissent, with the harassment of journalists, the surveillance of activists, and the repression of protests. The democratic openings established in 2006 gradually diminished.

Elites turned to nationalist diversions, shifting their focus between India and China while attributing the unrest to “hidden imperialist hands.” Both the Left and the Right accused the United States of orchestrating the current protests. While it is true that imperial powers seek to exert influence in Nepal, this narrative has become a convenient excuse to evade accountability for the hunger, unemployment, and disillusionment that are fueling the unrest.

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The uprising has already disrupted the existing political landscape, even though it has yet to fully transform it.

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The current Gen Z movement represents a resurgence of protest after years of a political status quo that has favored the elites while leaving millions impoverished. People born after 2008 are leading this movement, rejecting the established practices of the republic they have inherited. Their demands go beyond free speech and formal civil and political rights; they openly denounce corruption, inequality, and the betrayal of revolutionary promises.

The uprising has already disrupted the existing political landscape, even though it has yet to fully transform it, resulting in Oli’s resignation and the establishment of an interim government. Whether this energy can be organized into a lasting process of transformation remains an open question.

 Political Forces

The turmoil and the resulting political instability has created openings for Nepal’s right, hitherto marginalized in the mainstream. Monarchist forces, brandishing royal flags and holding out the promise of stability with a return to the past, have become more prominent. Their appeal gains credibility in the face of widespread disillusionment with the republic; however, their agenda promises only an authoritarian regression.

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The turmoil and the resulting political instability has created openings for Nepal’s right, hitherto marginalized in the mainstream.

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Looking at the situation, it is difficult to imagine a successful rollback to monarchist rule since the balance of class forces that enabled its overthrow has not fundamentally shifted. The republican order, however crisis-ridden, rests on the alliance of urban middle classes, organized youth, and historically marginalized groups who see the Nepali monarchy as synonymous with exclusion and authoritarianism. These constituencies may be fragmented, but their collective memory of mass struggle and the images of Jan Andolan II still act as a brake on royalist restoration.

Institutionally the post-2008 state was refashioned to consolidate republican legitimacy through the promulgation of a new constitution, the restructuring of representative bodies, and integration into global democratic norms. Internationally as well, major powers have little incentive to underwrite a monarchical return, since the republic better secures their interests in stability, development aid, and access to markets.

In the absence of an ideological outlet, royalist symbolism can gain visibility in moments of disillusionment with corrupt republican elites. Yet it functions more as a protest vocabulary than a coherent political project. Without a decisive realignment of both domestic classes and global actors, the monarchy’s revival remains more of a specter than a realistic alternative.

The greater challenge lies with the Left. Nepal is one of the rare countries where avowed communists have commanded parliamentary majorities. Yet they squandered that opportunity by abandoning mass mobilization for bureaucratic deals. The task now is to reconnect with the anger in the streets.

Trade unions, peasant organizations, and student movements must be revitalized. Experiments like Balen Shah’s independent mayoralty in Kathmandu show the hunger for alternatives. The Left can either answer this demand with a program of radical democracy and social transformation or watch authoritarian and reactionary forces fill the vacuum.

 Reconstructing the Left

The Left in Nepal, despite having a strong organizational base, social roots, and a place at the center of the country’s republican transformation, has lost much of the popular trust it once commanded. Decades of factionalism and opportunism have hollowed out its credibility. To regain relevance, the Left must not only reverse the relationship between party and people but also liberate itself from the Stalinist-Maoist orthodoxy that has ossified its political imagination.

A central barrier is the persistence of the two-stage theory, which the left leadership has consistently used to justify alliances with reactionary forces and to sideline radical demands under the guise of tactical necessity and pragmatism. This approach has stifled any potential for deepening democracy or advancing socialism. Breaking away from this framework is crucial if the Left aims to present a program that resonates with the experiences and struggles of workers, peasants, and youth.

PQL: To rebuild trust, the Left must demonstrate internal democracy through open debate, leadership rotation, and transparent decision-making.

Bureaucratic and monolithic organizational methods derived from twentieth-century Soviet and Chinese practices distort the concept of democratic centralism, transforming it into a practice of bureaucratic centralism. This distortion leads to the suppression of dissent, unaccountable leadership, and political parties that operate more as patronage machines than as vehicles of emancipation.

To rebuild trust, the Left must demonstrate internal democracy through open debate, leadership rotation, and transparent decision-making. Furthermore, it should create mechanisms that ensure accountability to grassroots members rather than to factions of career politicians.

The material crises that ordinary people face underscore the urgency of this transformation. Inflation, mass migration, youth unemployment, and agrarian collapse have rendered slogans such as “People’s War” or “New Democracy” meaningless. Unless the left grounds its politics in concrete programs — plans for rural and urban employment; investment in public health, education, and climate adaptation — it will continue to cede ground to royalist nostalgia and right-wing populism.

At stake is not only the future of Nepal’s republican experiment but also the credibility of the left itself. The alternative to renewal is marginalization, a politics trapped between empty revolutionary rhetoric and cynical coalition maneuvering. The task, then, is to re-imagine socialism as a living, democratic project, rooted in people’s voices, accountable institutions, and a readiness to confront capital in all its global and domestic forms.

Seventeen years after the monarchy’s fall, Nepal’s revolution remains unfinished. The republic promised equality and justice but delivered instability and betrayal. Yet the current uprising proves that the people have not abandoned the streets, nor their capacity to shape history.

Nepal’s crisis is not only about failed leaders; it is about a revolutionary process aborted in its infancy. The question now is whether the left can reclaim that radical promise or whether Nepal’s future will be determined by the false stability of monarchists, nationalists, and imperial powers.

The crowds filling Kathmandu’s squares are a reminder of a simple truth — the struggle that began in 2006 is not over. The republic was never the conclusion. It was only the beginning.

Sushovan Dhar

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