A century ago, Walter Lippmann argued in Public Opinion (1922) that the political world is largely beyond the direct experience of ordinary citizens. People depend on media to learn about events, interpret public affairs and form political opinions. This makes the media more than a channel for information. Through their choices about what to report, emphasise or leave out, media organisations help shape how the public understands reality.
Scholars of social constructivism, including Friedrich Kratochwil, have similarly examined how shared understandings and political realities are shaped through language, norms and social interaction. In the digital age, these processes extend beyond traditional newsrooms to social media platforms, where algorithms, content creators and online communities influence what people see and discuss.
This shift has raised concerns about the health of democratic debate. Francis Fukuyama, among other political thinkers, has explored how changes in the information environment can weaken the shared factual foundations on which democratic deliberation depends. At the same time, digital platforms have widened access to information and enabled people, particularly younger citizens, to participate in political conversations that were once dominated by established institutions.
Indonesia’s 2024 presidential election illustrates this dual dynamic. With young voters accounting for a substantial share of the electorate, Prabowo Subianto’s campaign used TikTok-friendly imagery and the viral #JogetGemoy dance to cultivate a more approachable public persona. The campaign demonstrated how entertainment and social media aesthetics can shape political communication, although their precise influence on voting decisions cannot be separated easily from other electoral factors.
Nepal’s September 2025 Gen-Z demonstrations brought similar questions into sharp focus. The protests challenged the established political order and were followed by Balendra ‘Balen’ Shah’s rise to the premiership in March 2026. The movement was driven by widespread public grievances and youth mobilisation, but its reach and interpretation were also shaped by digital media.
Among the platforms that attracted particular attention was Routine of Nepal Banda (RONB), founded by Victor Paudel. Operating through Routine of Nepal Pvt. Ltd. in Kathmandu, the network built a substantial audience across Facebook, Instagram and TikTok. Figures cited in discussions of its reach put its following at more than 5.1 million on Facebook, 1.7 million on Instagram and 1.6 million on TikTok, spread across nine thematic networks.
Such reach gives RONB considerable capacity to influence public attention. It does not, by itself, establish that the platform determined electoral outcomes or directed the political transition. However, its role raises important questions about how large digital publishers shape political narratives, how audiences interpret their content and what accountability should look like when a private platform becomes a major source of public information.
The politics of framing
For many young Nepalis, social media has become an important source of news and public affairs coverage. Founded in 2011, RONB built its audience through practical updates, breaking news and widely shared human-interest content. This broad appeal gave the platform access to an audience extending beyond the readership of traditional newspapers.
Its political content, however, has also attracted scrutiny. Critics have pointed to earlier posts, including the use of the term “Chortantra” around Republic Day in 2071 BS and posts opposing reservation policies in 2072 BS, as examples of its engagement with contentious political debates.
RONB’s influence became a subject of greater discussion during Balen Shah’s 2022 campaign for Kathmandu mayor, when he ran as an independent candidate using the Lauro election symbol. The platform’s political posts, including content featuring the Rastriya Swatantra Party’s (RSP) bell symbol, attracted attention for their presentation and tone.
Punchy captions, emphatic punctuation and expressive emojis can make political content more accessible and shareable. They can also simplify complicated policy questions into easily understood narratives about political change, leadership and corruption. Critics argue that some of RONB’s political coverage reinforced a contrast between reform-minded figures and an established political class seen as resistant to change.
Such framing may influence how audiences perceive political actors, but its effects should not be assumed to be uniform. Audiences interpret content differently, and online engagement does not necessarily translate into political agreement or votes.
A study by Kantipur analysing 4,754 posts across 24 prominent Facebook pages offers one indication of the platform’s political visibility. According to the study, nearly half of the sampled RONB content was explicitly political. The RSP accounted for 16.5 per cent of the coverage, compared with 5.5 per cent for the Nepali Congress and 5 per cent for the CPN-UML.
These figures raise questions about the distribution of political attention on high-reach platforms. However, the share of coverage alone does not establish whether the content was favourable or unfavourable, nor does it prove that exposure changed voters’ preferences.
RONB’s use of teasers such as “Ting Ting… fresh news is coming!” ahead of major political developments also illustrates how anticipation can become part of digital news consumption. Repeated exposure to particular political actors and events may increase their prominence in public discussion. Whether this creates a bandwagon effect, however, depends on the content, the audience and the wider political environment.
What gets covered, and what gets left out?
Media influence is shaped not only by what is published but also by what receives less attention. This is particularly significant for digital platforms whose audiences may encounter individual posts without seeing a comprehensive account of the day’s news.
Questions about RONB’s editorial priorities have emerged during episodes of political and administrative controversy. During the cooking gas shortage in the summer of 2083 BS, for example, established news outlets including Kantipur, Onlinekhabar and Setopati reported on supply problems and their implications. Critics questioned RONB’s comparatively limited attention to the issue, pointing instead to posts about subjects such as local carrom competitions in Dang, National Tea Day and promotional material for the film Ba Ek Yoddha.
The comparison raises a legitimate question about the priorities of a platform with a large public audience. Yet differences in coverage do not, on their own, demonstrate deliberate suppression. Platforms have different editorial models, and a conclusive assessment would require a systematic comparison of their output, including the volume, prominence and timing of relevant posts.
A more contentious example concerns the clearance of settlements along the Bagmati corridor. Heavy equipment was used to dismantle settlements, with reports putting the number of affected settlements at around 3,500 and the number of people affected at approximately 20,000. The United National Squatters’ Front reported that 12 squatters died following the evictions, including Indra Bahadur Rai, who drowned in the Balkhu river.
Media critics questioned whether RONB’s coverage adequately explained the circumstances surrounding the clearances and Rai’s death. They argued that reporting the discovery of a body without sufficient context, while highlighting municipal police assisting displaced families, could leave audiences with an incomplete picture of the wider dispute.
These are serious criticisms, but they require careful examination of the original posts, their publication dates and the information available to the platform at the time. Establishing that an omission was deliberate, or intended to protect a political figure, requires evidence beyond the absence of a particular story.
RONB also faced scrutiny after Balen attracted criticism for a social media post threatening to “set fire to Singha Durbar”. The platform subsequently published an announcement about the birth of his daughter that critics described as unverified or incorrectly dated. Some media observers interpreted the timing as an attempt to shift public attention away from the controversy. That interpretation, however, should be distinguished from an established account of the platform’s intentions.
The broader issue is not whether every platform must cover every controversy. It is whether audiences can distinguish a selective feed from a comprehensive account of public affairs, particularly when a platform’s reach gives its editorial choices substantial influence.
From news aggregator to mobilisation hub
RONB’s role during the September 2025 demonstrations provides another perspective on the relationship between digital media and political mobilisation.
During the protests, the platform shared updates about crowd movements, security arrangements and rally routes towards New Baneshwor. It also drew on Nepathya’s protest song “Gaun Gaun Bata Utha”, connecting the demonstrations to a wider cultural vocabulary of collective action.
For young citizens who rely heavily on social media, such updates can be useful in understanding unfolding events. They can also help protesters coordinate, share information and respond to rapidly changing circumstances. In periods of unrest, however, the same speed and reach can amplify unverified claims or expose people to danger if information about security arrangements and crowd movements is inaccurate.
As the demonstrations escalated on September 9, RONB published emotionally charged material alongside reports about political residences that had not all been independently verified. Following the breach of the parliamentary complex, it released drone footage accompanied by the declaration: “Those you sought to bring to their knees have already knelt!”
The tone of such posts matters because it can do more than relay events. It can invite audiences to interpret political developments as a victory, defeat or turning point. Yet determining whether a particular post accelerated the protests, influenced participants’ decisions or contributed to the prime minister’s resignation would require evidence beyond its publication and subsequent circulation.
RONB’s activity during the demonstrations nevertheless illustrates how a large digital platform can move between several roles: news aggregator, source of real-time updates, forum for political expression and channel through which audiences interpret events. These roles may overlap, but they carry different responsibilities, especially when public safety is at stake.
Questions about institutional ties
The influence of major digital platforms has also brought their relationships with political and administrative institutions under scrutiny.
In 2022, municipal records prompted questions about the allocation of one crore rupees by Kathmandu Metropolitan City to an e-sports tournament involving DRS Gaming, an organisation reported to have links to Victor Paudel and Kumar Ben, a mayoral aide who was later appointed chief adviser to the prime minister.
The allocation raised questions about transparency, public spending and potential conflicts of interest. Establishing whether a conflict existed, however, requires clarity about the organisations involved, the nature of their relationships and the decision-making process behind the allocation.
Similar questions emerged when former RONB personnel joined the executive secretariat. Surendra Bajgain became the prime minister’s press coordinator, while Vivek Mishra took up a role as information and communication technology adviser. The appointments prompted discussion about the movement of personnel between influential digital media platforms and government communications teams.
Such appointments are not, in themselves, evidence of improper conduct. They do, however, make transparency about professional relationships, public responsibilities and potential conflicts of interest important to maintaining public trust.
Investigative reporting by Himal Khabar has also examined networks connecting political insiders with Men’s Room Reloaded (MRR), a Facebook group criticised for its positions on constitutional reservations and its support for strong leadership. Journalists have reported facing coordinated online criticism when raising questions about municipal decisions and delays, including rescue operations at the flooded Upper Trishuli-1 project.
Online criticism can be a legitimate part of public debate. Coordinated harassment, threats or attempts to intimidate journalists are different matters and can undermine scrutiny of public institutions. Claims of coordination should nevertheless be supported by evidence that distinguishes organised activity from independent users expressing similar views.
Legal questions about digital media accountability have also arisen. The Patan High Court issued a show-cause order to Routine of Nepal Pvt. Ltd. concerning its commentary on judicial traffic rulings. Such an order should not be treated as a final finding of wrongdoing. It does, however, illustrate the legal and ethical questions that arise when influential platforms comment on public officials and institutions.
Taken together, these episodes make a case for greater transparency in the relationships between digital publishers, political actors and public institutions. They do not automatically establish that those relationships have been used to coordinate political messaging or protect particular individuals.
Digital popularity and democratic accountability
Supporters of Balen Shah argue that his premiership should be assessed over time rather than judged through isolated controversies early in a five-year mandate. That is a reasonable caution. Governments need time to implement policies, and the political consequences of the Gen-Z demonstrations cannot be understood solely through the social media activity that accompanied them.
At the same time, political transitions can establish precedents long before their full consequences become apparent. The negotiations following the protests, including discussions at Army headquarters in Bhadrakali and the emergence of former chief justice Sushila Karki as a prospective leader through online discussions on Discord before formal ratification, raised questions about the relationship between popular mobilisation and constitutional procedures.
Some analysts have described the prospect of a leadership model centred on a popular, technocratic executive as “technocratic Caesarism”. The term refers to a form of leadership that draws legitimacy from claims of efficiency, direct public support and the ability to act decisively, potentially at the expense of institutional checks and deliberation.
Whether this description adequately captures Nepal’s political trajectory remains open to debate. Digital mobilisation can challenge entrenched interests and bring neglected public concerns into the political mainstream. It can also encourage the perception that popularity, visibility or online acclaim provides sufficient justification for decisions that would ordinarily require legislative scrutiny, due process and public accountability.
The distinction matters. Democratic legitimacy is not derived from popularity alone, but neither is it confined to traditional institutions. It depends on the interaction of public participation, constitutional procedures, independent journalism and mechanisms that allow citizens to question those in power.
This is why the accountability of high-reach digital platforms deserves serious discussion. Such platforms do not necessarily have the same resources, editorial structures or obligations as established news organisations. But when they function as major sources of public information, their practices around verification, corrections, transparency and political content have consequences beyond their own audiences.
Traditional media, too, must earn public trust through accuracy, independence and accountability. The answer to declining confidence in established news outlets is not to dismiss them as obsolete, nor to assume that social media offers a more authentic reflection of public opinion. Both forms of media can inform citizens, and both can mislead them.
The challenge is to preserve a public sphere in which claims can be checked, competing interpretations can be heard and powerful actors can be held accountable, regardless of where they communicate.
Conclusion: who shapes the public square?
Nepal’s Gen-Z revolt represented a significant challenge to the established political order. It reflected public grievances and the determination of young citizens to demand political change. Its digital dimensions were integral to how the protests were communicated, experienced and understood.
RONB’s reach makes it an important case study in the changing relationship between media and political power. Its content helped circulate information, frame political developments and connect audiences to events as they unfolded. Questions about its editorial choices, political coverage and institutional relationships also illustrate the need to examine how concentrated digital influence operates.
It would be an overstatement to attribute Nepal’s political transition to a single platform or to describe the movement as simply engineered through social media. Political grievances, public participation, leadership, institutional decisions and the actions of many other media organisations and citizens all contributed to the outcome. The extent to which RONB shaped individual attitudes or political decisions remains a question for further evidence-based research.
Nevertheless, the broader lesson is clear. Digital platforms are not merely passive channels through which political events become visible. Their decisions about prominence, timing, tone and omission can influence what audiences encounter and how they interpret it. That influence warrants scrutiny without presuming that every editorial choice reflects political intent.
When a small number of platforms command a substantial share of public attention, citizens need the media literacy to question what appears in their feeds, journalists need the freedom to investigate powerful actors, and platforms need transparent practices that allow their work to be assessed.
Nepal’s democratic future should not depend on whether citizens trust a particular feed, personality or institution without question. It should depend on their ability to examine competing claims, access reliable information and hold all centres of power accountable. The central question is not simply who controls the feed, but whether the public retains the means to challenge the narratives that emerge from it.
