By Prof. Dr. Taimoor ul Hassan
In Nepal in 2025, the word “change” is everywhere. Political parties invoke it. Protesters chant it. Social media amplifies it. But what does “change” mean when the system keeps reverting to variation rather than transformation? What many demand as change is in fact reformism: small adjustments rather than a restructuring of power, economics and governance. Nepal’s recent crisis shows how reformism fails when it substitutes for genuine systemic change.
Nepal has had 14 different governments since becoming a republic in 2008. None has completed a full five-year term. This instability is not just political turbulence— it is evidence of a system that does not allow durable governance. (Firstpost, September 2025) Time and again leaders come in promising to reverse corruption, inequity, and stagnation, but end up entangled in the same patterns: power concentrated in the hands of old elites, promises made in proximity to elections, performance collapsing soon after.
In early September 2025, a new flashpoint emerged. The government attempted to enforce registration rules on social media platforms, blocking several major ones when they failed to comply. That triggered mass protests led by Gen-Z, anger fuelled by unemployment, economic disparity and perceived corruption. At least 19 people were killed in clashes, over a hundred injured, and the ban was lifted after widespread unrest. (Reuters, September 9, 2025) Following that, the prime minister resigned, parliament was dissolved, and an interim government was formed with elections scheduled for March 2026. (Reuters, September 13, 2025)
These events are neither isolated nor occasional. They are the outcome of repeated reformism: tweaking parts of governance, changing leadership, but leaving the underlying structures : the patronage, the lack of accountability, the weak rule of law intact. When systems are weak, when judiciary, bureaucracy, military and political parties are interlinked through informal networks of loyalty rather than merit, mere reformism cannot address the core issues.
The collapse of monarchy in 2008 was a landmark event. The promise was clear: a federal democratic republic, more inclusion, better justice, improved livelihoods. A new constitution came in 2015. Yet ten years later, many Nepalis still see minimal gains. Rural neglect, unequal access to services, corruption scandals, nepotism persist. Unemployment remains high especially among educated youth; many are driven to seek work abroad. In the cities, frustrated citizens see the same old families dominating politics; in rural areas, they feel unheard.
The recent ban on social media platforms showed how fragile the social contract has become. The immediate cause was a regulation requiring registration of platforms, but for many young people, it represented censorship, authoritarian overreach, betrayal of promises of freedom. The protests that followed were spontaneous, leaderless, generated via digital communication, powered by a generation that has grown up with connectivity and global ideas , yet faces local constraints.
When politics becomes about personalities rather than public interest, reformism becomes convenient for elites. They can promise change, swap leaders, modify legislation, and yet maintain power structures behind the curtain. Democracy becomes majoritarianism; institutions devolve into performance theatres. In the name of reform, the powerful protect themselves, the weak remain vulnerable.
Gen-Z protests show two things clearly: one, that youth are no longer willing merely to accept cosmetic reform; two, that they expect change that reaches into the economic and political foundations. Yet they lack a blueprint. They demand jobs, transparency, justice, but political actors are unprepared to offer structural alternatives. So the vacuum fills with instability.
The military, long a central actor in Nepal’s complex governance structure, naturally looms large when reform fails. When civilian institutions fail to deliver, when protests escalate, when elections are distrusted, people’s hopes fall back on the idea of a caretaker authority. But armies are products of the same system: shaped, funded, and legitimised by the very order that reformism refuses to displace. When the military steps in, whether directly or behind an interim government, the root issues often go unaddressed: accountability, equitable justice, inclusive governance, transparent economy.
What, then, might real change look like? First, it would require rethinking power: stronger independency for judiciary, true merit in bureaucracy, and decentralised governance that allows rural and marginal communities real voice. Second, it demands economic justice: tackling corruption, ensuring public services reach all, enabling livelihood opportunities locally so youth do not feel forced to migrate. Third, there must be regulatory and legal frameworks that protect speech and dissent without being used as tools for suppression.
Elections alone are not enough. Leadership changes must be accompanied by institutional reforms. Constitutions are necessary but not sufficient. Laws must be implemented, not hollow texts. Civil society, media, and youth must have spaces for oversight. Transparency must go beyond declarations to practice.
Nepal’s recent appointment of its first woman interim prime minister and the scheduling of new elections are hopeful signals. They show that protests can force accountability and that institutions still respond, at least partially, to public pressure. But these are early steps. Without structural change, they risk becoming symbolic; another cycle of reformism.
This moment holds potential. Gen-Z’s activism is disrupting the old pattern. Social media ban protests, economic discontent, demands for inclusion are forging a new political culture. Whether Nepal can transform this culture into institutional reform is the essential question. If it can, the 2025 crisis will be remembered not as yet another failure but as the turning point.
If Nepal and other countries like it wish to move beyond reformism, they must push for change that is systemic: economic, judicial, political. They must demand accountability of old elites, reform of power structures, laws that protect rights not just on paper. That is hard work, more difficult than replacing faces or promises. But it is the only path to lasting justice and dignity.
Note: Prof. Dr. Taimoor ul Hassan is a professor of Mass Communication and editor. He writes on media, politics and democratic transformations.
