In the streets of Kathmandu, a pirate flag flutters alongside the Nepali national banner. Not just any pirate flag, but the pirate flag from One Piece: the iconic anime about freedom, loyalty, and rebellion. Earlier this month, the same flag appeared in Indonesia during anti-government protests, and now, for Nepal’s Gen Z, the flag has crossed borders to become more than a fandom: it is now also a symbol of resistance. What began as online outrage over the privileged lifestyles of politicians’ children has spiraled into the deadliest protest Nepal has seen in decades. In recent days, over 20 people have been killed by security forces, government buildings have been set ablaze, and soldiers now patrol the streets after curfew. The initial spark? A now-repealed ban on 26 major social media platforms, including Instagram, TikTok, and WhatsApp. But the fire was already lit.
Thousands of young Nepalis have flooded public squares and government complexes, refusing to back down. This is no longer just about a ban or even corruption. It’s a generational uprising redefining what dissent looks like in South Asia.
Background & Triggers
Nepal has spent the past two decades trying to reinvent itself. After a brutal civil war between Maoist insurgents and the Nepali Kingdom ended in 2006, the country abolished the monarchy and became a federal democratic republic. The abolition of the monarchy and adoption of a federal democratic republic carried promises of peace, equality, and development. This was supposed to be a new beginning. But nearly twenty years later, many young Nepalis see only broken promises.
Nepal’s postwar governments have been marked by instability, elite entrenchment, and a political system that feels increasingly out of touch; elements demonstrating that the democratic experiment has failed to deliver. The federal system, once imagined as a way to decentralize power and ensure inclusion, now feels bloated, unaccountable, and designed to protect elite interests. Gen Z Nepalis were raised in the shadow of civil conflict, promised democracy by the 2006 Comprehensive Peace Accord and subsequent political leaders. But now the gap between expectation and reality, what was promised and what people now live with, has become impossible to ignore.
The spark that gave rise to the protests came from a viral “nepo baby” campaign: a series of online posts exposing the lavish lifestyles of politicians’ children – from foreign vacations to luxury apartments. This campaign fuelled suspicions that public money and state resources were being siphoned off to bankroll their privileges. In a country grappling with youth unemployment, inflation, and mass migration abroad, the images struck a nerve. Then came the tipping point – Nepal’s government abruptly banned 26 social media platforms, including Instagram, WhatsApp, and Facebook after they failed to register under new rules backed by an August 17 Supreme Court order. Officials said registration was needed to curb fake accounts, hate speech, and online fraud. Human rights groups have condemned the move, labelling it as censorship.
Though the ban was lifted just days later, it had already done its damage. By then, protests had erupted across Kathmandu and other major cities. The movement quickly morphed into a full-scale reckoning with power, privilege, and the political system itself.
The Protest Culture
This uprising doesn’t look like the protests of the past, such as the 2006 People’s Movement that ended the monarchy, or the 2015 demonstrations during the constitution-writing process. This time, there are no formal parties leading the charge and no clear figureheads delivering speeches from podiums. Instead, this is a decentralized, youth-driven movement with a language all its own – part meme, part manifesto.
Protesters carried everything from sarcastic meme posters to TikTok-themed placards, turning the symbols of banned platforms into emblems of defiance. This was a rebellion wrapped in pop culture: at once familiar and irreverent. Others wore cosplay or livestreamed the demonstrations on TikTok. The tone of these demonstrations were marked by both biting humour and deep frustration.
This is protest as performance – both online and off. Nepal has one of the highest rates of social
media use per capita in South Asia, and platforms like Instagram and TikTok have become key organizing tools. Young people use viral videos, satirical hashtags like “#NepoKids,” and memes to narrate the movement in real time – framing dissent with irony and creativity.
In recent days, the youthful defiance has collided with government resistance. Security forces have responded with live ammunition, rubber bullets, water cannons, and mass arrests. Yet as tear gas clouds rise and gunfire echoes through the streets, the One Piece flag still waves; just this time over barricades, burning buildings, and bloodstained pavement. What began in memes has now become gravely serious.
The Deeper Crisis
The Nepal protests have suddenly become one of South Asia’s most urgent crises. What began as an online revolt has spiraled into the deadliest protest Nepal has seen in decades. Security forces opened fire on demonstrators, killing at least 70 people and injuring hundreds more. The military now enforces curfews, soldiers patrol Kathmandu, and protesters have torched government buildings including Parliament, government ministries, the offices of Kantipur Media Group, and even the Prime Minister’s residence.
Although this generation doesn’t remember the monarchy firsthand, they’ve inherited its aftermath: broken infrastructure such as long-delayed irrigation projects, limited opportunities with a youth unemployment rate of over 20 per cent, and a state where nepotism permeates job opportunities, land deals, and contracts. Calls to reinstate the monarchy, heard at some protests, aren’t necessarily about loyalty to kings. Instead, they’re a rejection of the current system’s hypocrisy which limits opportunities for the masses.
On Tuesday September 9, Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli resigned under pressure, alongside several senior ministers. On September 12, former Chief Justice Sushila Karki was appointed as interim Prime Minister while resistance continues in the streets. Parliament is paralyzed after the lower house’s dissolution and courts are silent as the Supreme Court is now damaged. In Kathmandu, ministries, the president’s residence, and police stations have been torched as curfews and soldiers replace civic order.
At the same time, no unified ideological platform has emerged among protesters. Some want reforms, others want revolution. What unites them is a loss of trust – not just in politicians, but in Nepal’s entire architecture of power.
This situation is not unique to Nepal. Across the Global South, Gen Z is mobilizing outside of old ideologies and institutional frameworks, not because they don’t care – but because they’ve stopped pretending these systems ever worked.