From TikTok to the streets: Nepal's Gen Z revolution and the global cry for system change

The once vibrant capital of Kathmandu—home to Thamel’s bustling tourist streets, the scent of momo dumplings, and the warm humility of the Nepali has in recent days been turned into a battlefield.

Clouds of tear gas now hang where prayer flags once swayed.

Streets that echoed with Buddhist chants now ring with chants of young protesters.

The city is wounded. Shells of burnt-out vehicles dot the streets. T

he police on patrol outnumber vendors. The Nepali people—famous for their culture, spirituality, and quiet obedience to religion—are now cleaning up after nights of rage, fire and bullets.

It all began on a Monday morning when thousands of young Nepalis poured into the streets of Kathmandu, demanding an end to corruption.

By afternoon, chaos erupted. Mobs on motorbikes stormed through Parliament’s barricades.

Crowds clashed with police, who responded with rubber bullets, tear gas, and even live rounds.

What sparked this upheaval was not a single moment, but years of pent-up frustration.

Scandals had piled up—from shady Airbus aircraft deals to politicians’ children flaunting luxury cars and vacations on TikTok while the majority of Nepalis faced unemployment and rising prices.

The last straw came when the government abruptly restricted social media apps—Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and WhatsApp—sparking fury among digitally savvy Gen Z. Though the government quickly rolled back the ban, the damage was done.

By Tuesday, the protests intensified. The Prime Minister resigned, but young people were too angry to stop. They torched government buildings, the PM’s private residence, and even media houses accused of being too cosy with the political elite.

Since abolishing the monarchy in 2008, Nepal has cycled through 14 governments, yet corruption, unemployment, and stagnant growth remain the reality for most citizens.

By evening, the army eventually stepped in under General Ashok Raj Sigdel, who enforced a strict curfew, patrolling streets and securing Parliament.

Their presence restored some order, but a leadership vacuum emerged. Into that vacuum, one name began to echo through the chants of protesters: Balen Shah, Kathmandu’s rapper-turned-mayor. Famous for his anti-corruption stance, Shah has built a loyal youth following.

Many young Nepalis see him as the face of a new Nepal—untainted by the rot of the old system.

Prime Minister Oli’s resignation left frantic negotiations between President Ramchandra Paudel, the military, and protest leaders desperate to channel unrest into a transition.

The compromise came with Sushila Karki, a 73-year-old former chief justice revered for her clean record.

On Friday, President Paudel dissolved the 275-seat parliament and swore Karki in as Nepal’s first female prime minister, heading an interim government until elections scheduled for March 5, 2026.

Karki is no stranger to confrontation. As chief justice in 2016–17, she challenged corruption in the judiciary and survived an impeachment attempt many saw as political revenge.

To the youth, her image of integrity stood in stark contrast to the politicians they condemned.

What makes Nepal’s uprising unique is how it mirrors global Gen Z movements. This is not the first time young people have taken to the streets demanding systemic change. From Kenya to Sri Lanka, from Bangladesh to Indonesia, Gen Z is refusing to inherit broken systems.

In Sri Lanka’s Aragalaya movement of 2022, young protesters rose against inequality, corruption, and nepotism—ultimately collapsing the government. In Bangladesh in 2024, youth-led demonstrations against corruption and joblessness forced historic concessions, even ushering Nobel Peace Prize winner Muhammad Yunus into interim leadership.

Close to home, Kenya’s Gen Z protests of 2024 reshaped politics by blending digital activism with mass mobilisation. TikTok and X (formerly Twitter) became both a megaphone and a mobilisation tool.

From Nairobi to Mombasa, young Kenyans demanded accountability, a stop to oppressive finance laws, and an end to police brutality.

Tragically, their calls were met with live bullets, arrests, and enforced disappearances.

Nepal followed a similar script. What started as memes, hashtags, and TikTok skits mocking politicians quickly spiralled into marches, barricades, and torched buildings.

Like Kenya, digital activism morphed into street activism, and peaceful calls for reform were met with state violence.

Even Indonesia’s recent student protests relied not on traditional party structures, but on hashtags and networks of young digital natives. This shows a pattern: Gen Z does not wait for political parties—they are building leaderless movements powered by memes, smartphones, and collective outrage.
Nepal’s Gen Z is not asking for a return to monarchy, though older generations flirt with nostalgia for the stability the palace once symbolised. What they want is a government that works. They want jobs, a chance at a better life, and a country where corruption doesn’t eat away at every opportunity.

Corruption has been Nepal’s chronic disease. Billions lost in shady deals. Politicians are enriching themselves while unemployment among youth hovers above 20 per cent and a GDP of $44 billion. Entire rural villages are surviving on remittances sent home from migrant workers in the Gulf.

For young Nepalis, TikTok wasn’t just for dance videos—it became the only space to vent frustrations, share political satire, and organise.
As Kenya’s Gen Z continues watching, perhaps they can take a lesson or two from Nepal: the fight is not just about ousting leaders. It is about building a new system where accountability and opportunity are not hashtags—but reality.