Generation Z took to the streets in Nepal on September 8 and 9, ultimately toppling the government in around 28 hours. This movement resembled a spontaneous chemical reaction that spun out of control, producing outcomes that were difficult to separate and refine.
It shattered the stereotype that this generation belongs only to the digital world. They proved they can also occupy the streets when necessary. Generation Z was the catalyst, but not the entire reaction. Because of the state’s brutality, on September 9, not just the youth but citizens from every demographic came to the streets. It was this demographic inclusivity, this nationwide solidarity, that ultimately pressured the government from all directions and forced its resignation.
The state had responded with repression, intimidation, infiltration, and excessive force. Innocent youths and students were killed.
The illusion of victory
However, the morale of Generation Z became so boosted that it shifted into an illusion. Instead of seeing themselves as one part of a national front, many began to act as though the victory belonged to them personally.
This illusion encouraged factional divisions, the rise of “me, myself, and I” activism, and the formation of separate alliances and Gen Z clusters. The bigger mistake was failing to truly understand that this was a national movement, not just a generational one.
Taking responsibility for the movement
The second issue lies in the responsibility after the protest. Many who now sit in safe rooms, forming alliances and speaking as representatives, were not the ones who suffered the beatings, arrests, or loss. This selective ownership, the “we succeeded” but “they caused the damage” attitude, is not leadership.
True responsibility includes accepting both the achievements and the mistakes. True representation includes those who were wounded, jailed, or lost their lives. The movement cannot be claimed as a personal badge of honour by a few elites, opportunists, influencer-activists, and populists who only appeared after the cost was already paid by others.
Generation Z was compromised from the beginning. The protest began primarily as a reaction to the social media ban, not with a clear structural movement and unified demands. Agendas multiplied, from arrests of top officials to system reform to the push for a directly elected prime minister.
This exposed the lack of a common purpose. The interim government emerged not as an imposition but as a compromise accepted by everyone at the time. If Gen Z had truly held a singular vision or a united demand, they would not have agreed to this arrangement in the first place.
A government for all citizens
Now, dissatisfaction has surfaced, but frustration alone is not justification. You cannot say “this is not our government” when you yourself accepted it at the table.
This government does not belong only to Generation Z, and it never did. It belongs to all citizens. The feeling of lost ownership stems from ego, not principle. If it truly belonged only to Gen Z, they would be leading it today, not Sushila Karki. She stepped in because the nation needed stability, not because Gen Z was denied something owed exclusively to them.
Generation Z became vulnerable to negative labels like “berojaar,” “gajedi,” “lucifer,” “vitti,” “dropouts,” and “terrorists.” They broke the stereotype of apathy but failed to defend their identity afterwards. Some leaders became contaminated catalysts, focusing on self-recognition rather than real change. They turned elitist, populist, opportunistic, and influencer-driven. This shift made them vulnerable to the narrative that the movement was planned from the start, undermining its true purpose.
The core issue: Structural and leadership compromise
The core issue lies in the structure of the movement. Many Generation Z leaders, frustrated by their government, are now susceptible to the idea of elections. Some see politics as a career extracted from Instagram and TikTok, driven by personal recognition rather than public service. They crave attention, but many of them aren’t even known by their own neighbours. Meanwhile, competent individuals remain silent, afraid of being attacked by damaging narratives. Their disconnect from real political work undermines the movement’s integrity and its future.
There is still time to correct the course. Until recently, Generation Z had a strong public image, but it is now weakening not because of elders or politicians, but because of our own instability, division, and ego. Nepal is not made of one generation; it is a country of all generations. We need activism that is rooted in community reality instead of identity labels. And importantly, we must accept a basic truth: Gen Z triggered the collapse of the government, but did not architect its replacement. We owned the protest, but not the political apparatus.
That is why those who now treat politics like a personal spotlight risk becoming performers instead of public servants. Leadership is not earned through social media visibility or street theatrics. It is built through consistency, durability, and institutional engagement. If we want to influence national direction, we must move from reaction to construction, from protest energy to policy discipline, and from impulse to accountability. The ballot remains the real instrument of political change, not the hashtag, not the microphone, not the stage.
