Listen To This Story

KATHMANDU, Nepal  — In the wider world, Nepal is normally known as a quiet Himalayan nation more concerned with mountain climbing than politics. These are not normal times. 

In the last few weeks, the mountain nation has erupted in protests with echoes that have shattered its prevailing sense of calm and reached far beyond its borders. Driven by young Nepalis, Kathmandu and other major cities were engulfed in demonstrations from September 8 to September 13, with highways blocked, shops shuttered, prisons stormed, and 74 people killed. 

The fury reflected more than soaring food and fuel prices. The protests erupted after the nation’s lawmakers decided to award themselves the equivalent of monthly cost-of-living adjustments 10 times higher than the salary of average workers, many of whom are facing near starvation because of rising prices. 

The spectacle of leaders shielding their perks while citizens struggle mirrors a pattern hardly limited to Nepal. At almost the same time that Nepal was exploding, French Prime Minister François Bayrou was being forced out of office with a no-confidence vote triggered by the government’s attempt to cut services to the public while lawmakers clung to their own privileges. In the United States, politicians slash social programs even as symbols of wealth and privilege multiply.   

Joblessness, rising prices, and a sense that politicians are insulated from hardship are familiar grievances in Paris, Washington, and beyond. But in Nepal, the explosion seems to have struck faster and more violently than elsewhere. Years of fragile democracy, weak institutions, and deep inequality created a tinderbox that ignited as soon as lawmakers were seen cashing in while ordinary families skipped meals.

What has distinguished Nepal from more volatile nations in the past is that Nepal’s population is thought to be easygoing and law-abiding, as compared to France and the US, which both have a long history of contentious, sometimes violent labor disputes. 

A Deceptive Calm

In the narrow alleys of Kathmandu’s Ason Bazaar, a row of shuttered shops bears the marks of stones thrown only days ago, and the clang of shutters being pulled halfway down mixes with the drumbeat of soldiers’ boots as Nepal’s army continues to patrol the capital. 

Yet in some ways Kathmandu again looks deceptively “normal”: Vegetable carts line the sidewalks, yellow taxis honk, and office-goers weave through the crowd. At the same time, the public mood is tense, as though one wrong move might shatter the uneasy calm.

The protests were the most violent the country has seen in nearly a decade. Demonstrators hurled stones, torched government vehicles, and blocked highways. Seventy-four people were reported dead, hundreds were injured, and dozens more were arrested. 

What began as anger over the rising cost of living quickly transformed into a broader protest against what many describe as systemic corruption and political betrayal.

Nepal is now counting on Sushila Karki, a former chief justice who was sworn in as interim prime minister on September 12, to defuse the violence. She is the first woman in Nepal’s history to head the national government. 

The hope is that her appointment will stabilize the country until fresh elections can be organized. Whether she can calm the streets remains uncertain.

What Triggered the Anger

The protests did not emerge overnight. In late August, leaked documents revealed that ministers and lawmakers were receiving monthly cost-of-living adjustments of around 180,000 Nepali rupees (about $1,350). That was on top of salaries and special privileges. By contrast, the average monthly salary of a factory worker is barely 15,000 rupees (about $110).

“It feels like they are living in another Nepal,” said Rajendra Chaulagain, a 27-year-old electrician from Bhaktapur, who joined the protests on the Ring Road. “We skip meals because rice has doubled in price. But our leaders are getting car allowances larger than our yearly income.”

Rising fuel prices and disrupted supply chains have driven Nepal’s inflation to new heights. In August, the government slashed subsidies on cooking gas and other essentials, further straining households. “That was the final insult,” Chaulagain said. “They cut our subsidies but increased their own perks.”

Corruption in Nepal is hardly new, but protesters cite specific cases that fueled their outrage.

One involves the so-called Chakrapath land deal, in which parcels of government-owned land in Kathmandu were sold at below-market rates to companies linked to ruling party politicians. Investigations suggested that the lower-than-market prices cost Nepal’s treasury nearly $50 million. 

“These are not abstract things,” explained Sanjana Gurung, a political science lecturer at Tribhuvan University. “People see crumbling hospitals, unpaid teachers, and roads full of potholes — then they read that ministers are cutting deals worth millions. It creates rage.”

Adding to the frustration, several corruption cases filed by the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority have stalled in the courts for years, often dismissed on procedural grounds.

There’s a growing public consensus in Nepal, as in some other countries around the world, that the political class, irrespective of party lines, is above all determined to protect itself.

While government offices were ransacked in Kathmandu and Pokhara, another crisis was rapidly unfolding in the prisons. Within two days, at least 13,500 inmates escaped from three detention centers. The public was both alarmed and puzzled. 

“Normally, the prisons are overcrowded but secure,” said a retired police superintendent who once oversaw corrections. “They are not fortresses, but high-walled compounds with barbed wire. The escapes happened because officers were exhausted, some even absent, drawn away to the [street] protests.”

The prison escapes triggered new fears, especially among members of the public who had been involved in the cases that led to convictions. “My brother’s killer is one of those who escaped,” said Mina Thapa, a shopkeeper in Lalitpur. “I ask, who will protect us when even the prisons are emptying?”

Some of the families of victims were blunt in condemning the escapes. “Our son’s killer is free because the guards fled like rats,” said Hari Bahadur Singh, after their son’s murderer escaped from Banke District Jail.

By September 14, at least 3,700 escapees had been rearrested, but more than 10,000 remained at large, deepening public unease.

‘We Cannot Afford Silence’

Demonstrators wasted no time in linking the escapes to corruption: A repeated slogan screamed by the crowd said, “If the jails are broken, so is the nation.” 

Among the demonstrators, Anil Bohora, a 34-year-old schoolteacher, carried a hand-drawn placard saying “Enough Is Enough.” 

“We cannot afford silence anymore,” Bohora said, “When guards are helping prisoners escape, when politicians steal from hospitals, when our salaries cannot buy food — what is left for us but the streets?”

Interim Prime Minister’s Challenge

The appointment of Karki as interim prime minister has led to cautious optimism. 

Karki, who served as Nepal’s first female chief justice, built a reputation for confronting corruption within the judiciary. 

In 2017, she was controversially suspended after ruling against the government in a corruption-related appointment case.

“She represents integrity in the eyes of many,” said Gurung, a university lecturer. “But politics is different from the bench. She now has to balance competing parties, a restless street, and a fragile state apparatus.”

Karki has pledged to hold fresh elections within six months and announced her first priority is to cap lawmakers’ allowances. But whether Nepal’s parliament, dominated by powerful parties, will cooperate remains uncertain.

The Generational Divide

The protests are driven largely by young Nepalis, who say they feel abandoned by the political class. Unemployment remains stubbornly high, and that has forced a sizable portion of Nepali youth to migrate abroad for work. 

At the Maitighar Mandala, a monument in Kathmandu, a group of college students waved banners calling for systemic change. “We don’t just want cheaper fuel,” said Pratima Shrestha, 19, who studies economics. “We want leaders who stop stealing. Otherwise, we will all leave this country.”

Her friend Nabin Lama, nodding, added: “Our parents tolerated corruption because they believed in stability. But our generation is ready to risk instability for change.”

Over the past year, the cost of cooking gas rose by nearly 40 percent. Fuel prices climbed steeply after subsidies were removed.  A kilo of rice that once cost 45 rupees ($0.32) now sells for 80 rupees, and even the prices of basic vegetables fluctuate wildly.

“The numbers don’t lie,” explained Sudarshan Regmi, an economist at a Kathmandu thinktank. “The average household income is about 25,000 rupees ($175) per month. But urban families spend over 70 percent of that just on food and utilities. There is no space for savings, health care, or education.”

For families without members abroad sending remittances, survival often comes down to loans from neighbors or informal lenders. This dependency traps many in cycles of debt. “I borrowed 50,000 rupees for my daughter’s school fees,” said Himal Poudel, a taxi driver in Pokhara. “Now I cannot pay it back because fuel costs eat half of what I earn.”

Ironically, the remittances sent by Nepalis working abroad — nearly $9 billion annually — help keep the economy afloat, but they also constitute an incentive for youth to leave. 

Roughly 1,500 Nepalis leave daily for jobs in other Asian countries.

“Our villages are emptying out,” said Ramesh Karki, a returnee migrant from Qatar who joined the protests in Butwal. “The government depends on our labor abroad, yet they do nothing to create jobs here. It’s a betrayal.”

Diaspora groups have voiced solidarity online, amplifying images of burning tires and chanting crowds. In cities like London and Sydney, Nepali students staged small demonstrations outside embassies. The message was clear: Disillusionment with the political elite extends far beyond Nepal’s borders.

Life on the Streets

At the protest sites, daily rhythms of resistance emerged. In one Kathmandu neighborhood, demonstrators gathered each morning around tea stalls, discussing rumors of government resignations before marching toward the parliament building. 

By midday, chants filled the air: “Ghosh Khaucha, Janata Laucha!” (“The corrupt eat, the people suffer!”).

Street medics in makeshift tents treated those hit by tear gas, offering saline washes for burning eyes. Volunteers distributed bottled water and biscuits. 

Despite the chaos, a sense of camaraderie prevailed.

“We may not know each other’s names,” said Milan Tamang, a 22-year-old college dropout carrying a megaphone, “but we are united by our anger.”

The nights were the most tense. Protesters lit bonfires at intersections, singing revolutionary songs. Meanwhile, armored police trucks circled nearby. Clashes often erupted when crowds tried to block highways or approach government compounds.

Nepali police, tasked with controlling the protests, found themselves stretched thin. Officers in riot gear fired tear gas shells and used water cannons, but in many areas they were overwhelmed. “We faced groups larger than anything we had seen before,” admitted a mid-ranking officer who requested anonymity.

The government’s solution so far has been to call on Nepal’s army, a move that has alarmed human rights groups. Soldiers carrying rifles now patrol Kathmandu’s key intersections. 

The army insists it is only “assisting in maintaining order,” but rights advocates warn that, once deployed, the military could go further, leading to protests that are even more violent.

“There is a fine line between law enforcement and suppression,” said Shyam Rimal, director of a local rights organization. “If the army becomes too visible, protests may only intensify.”

Behind the chaos, Nepal’s political heavyweights are repositioning themselves. Former Prime Minister Khadga Prasad Oli of the Communist Party of Nepal has emerged as a voice of opposition, accusing rival parties of “mismanaging the crisis.” Sher Bahadur Deuba, leader of the Nepali Congress Party, has called for dialogue but remains cautious about taking direct responsibility.

Analysts suggest both leaders are trying to seize an opportunity in the turmoil. “Each hopes that fresh elections just might return them to power,” said Regmi, the economist. “But the public sees them as part of the same corrupt establishment.”

Interim Prime Minister Karki’s advantage is that her past career has not been part of all that. “She has no party baggage,” said Gurung, the university lecturer. “That gives her a narrow but valuable chance to reset politics.”

Echoes of Past Uprisings

Despite Nepal’s reputation for political calm, street movements have reshaped the country’s  politics in the past. The 1990 People’s Movement reduced the power of Nepal’s absolute  monarchy, established in 1768. 

Nepal’s second revolution, the 2006 Democracy Movement, known as Jana Andolan II, paved the way for a republic. For many older citizens, the current unrest feels like déjà vu. But younger protesters insist this wave is different. “In 2006, our parents fought for democracy,” said student activist Pratima Shrestha. “Now we are fighting to make democracy honest.”

Still, the danger is real: Past uprisings led to months of instability and violence before a compromise was finally settled. “History shows us change comes,” said Bohora, the schoolteacher. “But it also shows us the cost is high.”

On the street, there is little patience for half-measures. “If allowances are cut but corruption continues, we will return,” vowed Chaulagain, the electrician. “We have nothing left to lose.”

Karki faces a daunting six months: She must restore public trust, secure consensus for elections, and prevent the unrest from escalating further. Any misstep could return the capital to flames.

“Nepal is at a crossroads,” said Gurung. “Either this moment produces real reform — or it will deepen disillusionment so much that the next exodus of youth may not just be for jobs abroad, but for permanent escape from politics altogether.”

As night falls over Kathmandu, bonfires flicker at intersections and chants echo across streets still patrolled by soldiers. For many Nepalis, the protests have already changed something intangible. Defiance has replaced fear. Across the country, people speak openly of political failure, corruption scandals, and inequality. 

Whether Karki can turn that anger into reform remains uncertain. But Nepal’s turmoil carries a broader lesson: From Paris to Washington to Kathmandu, when citizens see leaders shielding themselves from the sacrifices they demand of others, it’s easy for faith in democracy to collapse overnight.