“What a year this week has been.” When I read that on a Nepali friend’s Instagram story, I let out a big sigh in recognition. It felt so true. Hard to believe that just a week ago the “Gen Z” protests took place, and now the government as Nepal knew it has been toppled, the first female Prime Minister of the country has been sworn in, and a new election is scheduled for March 2026. That I happened to be here to experience this revolution feels surreal.
Last Monday, when I heard that thousands of “Gen Z” protestors were taking to the streets and marching towards the Parliamentary Building in Kathmandu demanding an end to government corruption and inequality, I wasn’t surprised. Since arriving in Nepal, talk of how corrupt the systems of governance are here has been a common theme in conversations about daily life. My Nepali friends often complain about the political situation, saying how the government is “no good,” that they have been forced to learn how to live with the corruption, struggling for the simplest things while the powerful have it all. Through my work at DEPO, I’ve seen how difficult it is to get things done with government offices – it’s all about who you know, how persistent you are, and sometimes whether you’re willing to play along with backroom deals.
This entrenched corruption doesn’t just frustrate daily life – it’s one of the main reasons so many Nepali youth choose to leave. Last year alone, nearly 840,000 Nepalis left – many never return, while those who can’t afford to leave still dream of a life abroad. A week before coming to Nepal, I met up with a Nepali girl living in Canada. She spoke so fondly of her home, assuring me I would have an amazing time. I asked her when she was planning on returning and her answer was: “I love Nepal and I miss my family so much, but for my own future and pursuing a career I will not be able to live there.” I remember feeling so sad for her and confused, but now I fully understand what she meant.
In the weeks leading up to the protests, there was a trend on social media called “Nepokids,” highlighting the lavish lifestyles of the children of corrupt politicians and revealing the amount of wealth they had. Then, on September 5th, the government banned 26 social media platforms overnight – cutting the population off from their way of communicating with one another. Many Gen Z believe the ban was due to the rise in online discussions of corruption, while the government claimed it was because these platforms had missed a deadline to register under new regulations.
At first, when I heard about the protest on September 8th, I felt proud of the Gen Z for their courage, cheering them on quietly from my apartment. But that pride quickly turned to horror as news and images flooded my feed: water cannons, tear gas, young protestors carried lifeless by their friends, still in their school uniforms. Horrific. I reached out to all of my Nepali friends, checking in on them, making sure they were safe, trying to provide some support for the pain they were feeling. The Nepal Police had been given authority to open fire on the protestors to disperse the crowds, resulting in at least 19 deaths that day and a rising death toll of 34 over the next couple of days as more succumbed to their injuries in the overrun hospitals. My heart bled, and I felt so shocked and enraged at such a brutal act. How could a government authorize the murder of their own youthful citizens?
I slept very poorly that night, images of the violence haunting my dreams, and when I opened my curtains Tuesday morning, it was eerily quiet outside. My coworkers instructed me to stay indoors because they had heard that more protests were planned. And then the chaos began.
Protestors vandalized and set fire to high-level politicians’ homes, ministry buildings, police stations, hotels, supermarkets, and Singha Durbar, a significant cultural landmark and government office. Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli resigned in the afternoon, and the ban on social media platforms was lifted. Still, the rioting continued to escalate, with many people taking advantage of the chaos to loot vandalized businesses and wreak havoc on the streets by setting cars, buses, and tires ablaze. It was anarchic. The Gen Z felt their protest had been hijacked by rioters and raised their voices online, asking for the violence to stop – they had succeeded in toppling the government, now it was time to rebuild!
Still reeling from the shock, I tried to make sense of the chaos around me. I spent most of the day on the rooftop with Bhairaj and Nazira, listening to the chants and yells of rioters, hearing bursts of gunfire and explosions, and watching flames lick the sky as smoke filled the valley. It was scary, and I was still feeling sick from the horrors of the previous day.
My family and friends back home were concerned for my safety, asking if I thought I would have to leave. The thought made me so sad – I didn’t want to leave. I love it here, especially because of the people. During the riots, a friend told me: ‘All our country can offer is nature and nothing more to its visitors. It’s embarrassing.’ But I disagreed. What makes Nepal so special is its people. I didn’t want to leave them behind; I wanted to stay and support the people I love.
That evening, the Nepalese Army took power, quelling riots and arresting those who had damaged property. The next few days passed in a blur, the country suspended in political limbo. A curfew was put in place with no outside movement allowed from 10am – 5pm and 7pm – 7am. Groups of military soldiers patrolled the streets, and I walked by a group stationed on my street as I went out to buy groceries in my two hours of freedom. Their uniforms and guns put me on edge, but when I made eye contact with one of them, he smiled at me so kindly that the tension eased for a moment.
I was constantly checking my phone for news and updates on the situation, but it was hard to find reliable news sources in English, so I mainly relied on my Nepali friends to keep me in the loop. International news framed the Gen Z protest as if it were mainly about the social media ban, which is so far from the truth. It was a blatant example of how stories can be twisted, and how careful one must be about the amount of misinformation out there.
On September 12th, a new interim Prime Minister was sworn in: former Chief Justice Sushila Karki. The first female PM of Nepal, she was put forward as a candidate because she received the most votes from a poll run over Discord by anti-corruption youth protestors. Yes, you heard me right – Discord! Over 100,000, mainly Gen Z, users voted. It felt surreal that a country’s next leader was chosen this way, but it fit the spirit of this youth-led movement. And with the decision made, the entire valley seemed to exhale: the skies opened up, and a heavy monsoon rain fell. I stepped into it, letting the tension wash off my body.
PM Sushila Karki is making moves, starting a new commission to investigate corruption and ensure transparency for future governments. My Nepali friends are supportive of her leadership, and there is an air of hope for the future of Nepal. Many also remain skeptical, thinking it likely that the old corrupt leaders will weasel their way back into power. In the words of one of my friends: “This is Nepal. You never know what’s going to happen. All you can do is breathe and remain positive.”
I remain hopeful – perhaps naively so – but I want to believe that change is possible for the beautiful and resilient people of Nepal. They deserve a system that is just and rooted in equality. My friends deserve to experience the same kindness, respect, and generosity that they so freely show me in their daily lives.
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A week ago, Nepal was on fire. Today, September 17th, has been declared a national day of mourning. Offices will be closed, and people will honour those that died during the violence of last week. The protestors who lost their lives last Monday have been declared Martyrs. Thousands of people are joining their funeral processions, and candles will be lit in remembrance in the evening.
