Hate speech is not uncommon in Nepal. The most insidious forms of hate speech in this country do not just arrive as a slogan during protests or political campaigns. Sometimes, they quietly slip into daily life as a laugh, which is supposedly “harmless humour” and in “good faith.” In what forms does this hate manifest?
It is framed as a casteist nickname, such as “Bhaiya”– a derogatory term used in Nepal to belittle Madhesi men or “Dhoti”– a slur that mocks traditional South Asian attire and extending to Madhesi identity exchanged nonchalantly in classrooms, a slur muttered on a microbus, a viral TikTok skit mocking regional accents.
These “jokes” are often treated and dismissed, yet they reveal deeper fractures in Nepal’s democracy and are rooted in prejudice. Subtle hints of hate speech are constantly reinforcing hierarchies of caste, region, and identity that normalize exclusion long before violence erupts. This has been evident time and again in the online trolling of women and LGBTQI+ activists, caste-based killings in Rukum, and the Madhesh Andolan.
Nepali society has been inundated by another form of language on the public stage. In September 2025, the society witnessed a revolution that the country had not seen before. The Gen Z were frolicking with social media trends, memes, and hashtags. For weeks, calling out and trolling of the “nepo-kids” – children of politicians and public figures accused of exploiting public funds through their lavish lifestyle was plastered on the screens. These social media contents were a public outcry against rampant corruption and a consistent lack of accountability shown by the government and those in power.
It did not take Gen Z to turn these social media admonitions into rallying cries, fueled by the government’s ban on social media starting from September 4, 2025.. What initially was an assault on free expression turned violent and bloody on the streets of Nepal as a plea for change and a demand for action.
Together, these parallel realities of casual hate speech and digital-age protest slogans show how Nepal’s democracy is shaped by the struggle over language. There is no doubt that one has to acknowledge that words can wound and words can mobilize.
The question still to be answered is: who gets to decide which speech is silenced, and which speech is ignored?
Casual jokes, lasting wounds
You can see hate speech manifested in different forms of expression, disseminated offline or online. It includes images, cartoons, memes, objects, gestures, and symbols that are discriminatory and pejorative. Not only does hate speech call out characteristics such as language, economic or social origin, health status, and sexual orientation or disability, but it also deals with identity factors of an individual or a group, including various factors like race, nationality, religion, ethnicity, colour, gender, and descent.
You can find hate speech normalized in everyday Nepali lifestyle. It may appear as a throwaway joke on a crowded microbus when words inbuilt into our psyche slip out almost unconsciously. Although a “naive” teenager might call a passenger with a Madhesi accent “Bhaiya”, for the man in the front seat, it is almost a reminder that in the eyes of many, he will forever be an outsider in his own country.
It is more often than not brushed off as a joke or “just banter.” But deep down, this is precisely a preconceived notion of telling someone that they do not belong, or it is a “me vs them” narrative. Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu has identified this as “symbolic violence”, harm that is invisible but immensely corrosive to the social fabric.
Hate is normalized in this way precisely, through a cycle of repetition, laughter, and silence. The systemic hate and discrimination are masked in the language with a smile, so it often evades scrutiny. Peers will rarely object, teachers may not intervene, and the victims absorb the sting alone. But what begins as mere mockery in our social spaces can harden and turn into prejudice, which later turns into action. Hence, the consequences are not abstract.
From humor to hashtags: Gen Z’s awakening
If you look at the Gen Z of Nepal, memes, parodies, and TikTok skits with intrinsic humour have always been the lingua franca of the internet. They are a favourite pastime when the generation is doomscrolling or even poking fun at the authority. Yet when the government attempted to ban social media on the pretext of national security, humour flipped into something sharper.
It did not take long for the hashtags to trend, flooded with outrage, snowballing into mockery of the incompetence of the government and pure rage. The same youths who were amused at the “nepo-kids” memes or were sharing satirical videos started using the same formats as weapons of dissent.
Although many of the international media outlets failed to recognize, the protests were beyond just a few apps. They were channeling frustration at systemic elitism, entrenched corruption, and the inherited privilege of Nepal’s political dynasties. It was Gen Z’s awakening that led the memes mocking leaders to spread faster than state press releases. The viral jokes turned into political slogans. Ridicule transformed into resistance.
State, speech, and power
While Gen Z chose memes and hashtags as their weapons, the state has long chosen laws as its preferred shield. The Cybercrime Act of 2006, which from the start was plagued with vague language, gave the state sweeping authority to regulate online spaces. Content was criminalized based on “disruption of social harmony” or “harmful to the nation”. The language that the Act used was ripe for selective enforcement.
Even before the Gen Z revolution, journalists, activists, and content creators had felt its bite. A comedian was briefly detained in 2019 for a satirical sketch on corruption. In 2020, many gendered abuse targeting women leaders went unpunished, whereas several Facebook users were investigated for posts that critiqued the COVID-19 response. In 2022, accusing youth activists in Janakpur of “provoking division”, the police questioned them for posts on Madhesh identity. There is something we can note from all these cases; none of these cases involved hate speech; all involved critique of those in power.
This patterned double standard was omnipresent. It took the state no time to flag sharp political commentary as criminal, but casual casteist or misogynistic slurs circulated openly everywhere on social media with little state response.
When Nepali Gen Z stormed the streets, the pattern was very well established. What was different about the Gen Z protests? It was the scale— students, creators, and ordinary social media users in thousands decided to speak up against the silencing. The contradiction at the heart of state power: everyday hate speech is excusable, but public accountability is intolerable, was exposed through their slogans, mocking, satirical, yet deeply political.
Digital culture: Amplifying harm and hope
Social media has proved to be a double-edged sword. Exclusion was normalized under the guise of humour when comedy skits mocked LGBTQI+ communities, rampant racism, and casteist remarks went viral. Alternatively, the same platforms became lifelines for mobilization. Protesters used social media to map police barricades, stream chants, and use memes to turn elite arrogance into punchlines.
One viral trend, “Nepo Kids,” encapsulated this heated tension. It all began with satire; the well-connected children of Nepal’s political families were the subjects of mockery. As protests grew, it was a shorthand critique of entitlement and inequality.
This shows the paradox of Nepal’s digital culture. The same digital tools that reinforce stereotypes also provide the grammar of resistance.
Regional lens
Nepal’s story does not just unfold in isolation. When we look at this through the regional lens, across the border in India, WhatsApp forwards that initially start out as “jokes” about caste or community have fueled mob violence and lynchings. A little further in Sri Lanka, justification for civil war atrocities culminated through decades of casual anti-minority language.
These regional instances underline a dangerous truth: the groundwork for real-world exclusion and violence is often laid by what is dismissed as “mere humour”. Nepal stands at a crossroads.
Compared to its neighbours, Nepal’s Gen Z has shown unusual agility in turning humour into critique. We are yet to find out if this energy can prevent escalation.
Lessons from the Gen Z revolution
It is imperative to understand that the recent protests in the streets of Nepal were not just about TikTok or Twitter. They were more about the meaning of free speech in a fragile democracy. When the youths shouted and bellowed slogans like “Hamro voice, hamro choice!” (Our voice, our choice), they were not only taking a stand for apps, they were demanding dignity, fairness, and participation.
The Gen Z slogans and memes were messy, sometimes contradictory, but we have to give it to them, they were undeniably fresh. They celebrated inclusion while mocking elites. They channeled frustration but offered hope. Nepal has a political culture dominated by recycled leaders. In this status quo, GenZ insisted that expression— whether a meme or a march— was the core of democracy.
Breaking the cycle of casual hate
Casual hate seeks refuge in laughter, but these days, young Nepalis challenge it headstrong. It is evident that many schools and organizations are teaching critical media literacy skills. It is absolutely important to dismantle stereotypes that are smuggled through comedy. Creators, too, are reimagining humour as a space of solidarity, proving that satire does not always need a victim.
The streets of Nepal have given birth to new movements. Protesters have taken the very words meant to demean them and turned them into chants of defiance. Instead of silence, they chose to reshape the rhythm of public speech.
Reform is urgent and inevitable at the policy level. Both dissent and dignity must be protected by the cyber laws. Without reform, power will keep punishing commentary and critique while prejudice escapes unchecked.
The Gen Z revolution in Nepal has been a testament to the fact that while language can divide, it can also ignite solidarity. Nepal’s future now not only depends on whether young people keep speaking, but also on whether the nation is ready and willing to hear them.
The question now is no longer if laughter will echo in Nepali society. The deeper probe has to be, what kind of laughter? One that tears down? Or one that lifts everyone up?
The answer to this question demands accountability at both the individual and the institutional level– whether it is a scenario where a teacher refuses to ignore a casteist remark in a classroom or a predicament where the government ensures that cyber laws punish prejudice rather than dissent. The Gen Z revolution has introduced a profound intergenerational shift. It is a new political language that the older structures must either adapt to or risk being dismantled by.
However, for this momentum to outlast the moment, resistance on the streets is not enough. It must be coupled with long-term reform that embeds dignity and inclusion into law, culture, and education alike.
Only then can laughter in Nepal move from tearing down to lifting everyone.
