KATHMANDU, Nepal -- On September 4, Nepal's government abruptly banned all major social media platforms, claiming they were spreading "anti-national disinformation." Within hours, Kathmandu's streets began to swell with anger. Young Nepalis took to the roads, protesting not just the blackout, but decades of broken promises from the political parties that once led the country's revolution.
Once hailed as liberators, today's leaders preside over corruption, cronyism, and a republic that fails its youth.
Police in riot gear confronted protesters almost immediately. Helmets wet from water cannons clattered to the ground as officers charged into the crowds, scattering students, gig workers, coders, and unemployed graduates. Hundreds of young protesters, their T-shirts drenched and their faces hidden by scarves, crouched behind overturned trash cans.
For a generation that lives, organizes, and dreams online, the blackout felt like a direct attack. Instagram vanished, TikTok sputtered, X refused to load. Even messaging apps lagged. "They pulled the plug on our voices," said twenty-one-year-old protester Aayusha, standing barefoot on the slick road as she rinsed her eyes from tear gas. "We already feel invisible. Now they want us to be silent too."
By September 8, Nepal's youth-led protests had spiraled into deadly unrest. Clashes left streets littered with stones and tear gas shells as at least nineteen people were reported killed and dozens more wounded. Hospitals struggled to treat the injured while the government tightened curfews, signaling a deepening crisis.
In the midst of it all, someone in the crowd waved a cardboard sign reading, "We were promised a future" before being swallowed in a cloud of gas. By the time dusk fell, the capital resembled a city in revolt. Makeshift barricades burned. Police vans cruised the streets blaring curfew warnings. And still, the young kept coming -- a flash flood of discontent that stunned Nepal's complacent political class.