A week of youth-led protests convulsed Nepal in early September 2025, forcing Khadga Prasad Sharma Oli to resign as prime minister and prompting the installation of an interim government under former chief justice Sushila Karki. Demonstrations began after authorities abruptly blocked major platforms under Nepal’s social-media rules, a decision that galvanised students and young workers already angry about corruption, nepotism and scarce jobs. The death toll climbed quickly: initial reports on September 8 said at least 19 people were killed, rising to at least 51 as the week wore on and then to 72 by September 14, when the Health Ministry updated its figures and officials confirmed that government buildings, including the Supreme Court and the federal parliament complex, had been set ablaze. The increase to 72 dead, along with more than two thousand injured, underlined the scale of the violence and Nepal’s most severe political unrest in years, as confirmed when the toll was raised to 72.
The political denouement was swift. On September 9, Oli stepped down under pressure from protesters who defied curfews and clashed with security forces. The resignation ended his latest term as one of Nepal’s most durable political figures and cleared the way for an outsider to take charge. The presidency then turned to 73-year-old Sushila Karki, the former head of the Supreme Court, who was appointed caretaker leader on September 12 and sworn in later that day. Karki thus became the country’s first woman to lead a government, with a mandate to calm the streets and steer Nepal to new polls. Her appointment was accompanied by the dissolution of parliament and the scheduling of general elections for March 5, 2026, as confirmed when Nepal appointed Sushila Karki and set the March date. Supporters of the interim arrangement cited her reputation for probity from her 2016–2017 tenure as chief justice, while critics questioned the constitutional precedent of placing a former top judge in the executive even on a temporary basis, a concern explored in analysis of the constitutional questions around Karki’s appointment.
The spark was the government’s order to block “unregistered” social networks. The shutdown disrupted daily life and fuelled the perception that the political class sought to muzzle criticism rather than confront graft or privilege. With casualties mounting and businesses crippled, the authorities reversed course within days. On September 9, officials said the restrictions would be withdrawn, and access to platforms such as Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp resumed. The episode nonetheless left a deep mark on public trust, with many seeing the reversal as a tacit admission that the policy was both impractical and inflammatory, as reported when the government lifted the social-media ban.
The street clashes escalated after the ban took effect. Protesters—many in their late teens and early twenties—rallied first in Kathmandu and then in cities across Nepal, chanting against corruption and what they called the impunity of the political elite. Security forces responded with tear gas, rubber bullets and, according to multiple accounts, live ammunition in several locations. Fires consumed offices and archives as night fell; by midweek, large parts of the administrative heart of Kathmandu were blackened by smoke. Officials reported hundreds of arrests. As bodies were recovered from government buildings and burnt vehicles, the casualty count rose, reaching the 72 figure that now stands as the official toll for the week, with more than two thousand injured. The precise sequence of deaths remains under investigation, and families of victims have demanded accountability.
International concern grew rapidly. The United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) urged Nepal on September 8 and 9 to investigate the killings promptly and transparently and to ensure that any regulation of online platforms meets international standards, echoing long-standing concerns about freedom of expression and assembly. The OHCHR’s pressure statement, which specifically called for a “prompt, transparent investigation into the killings,” framed the protests as a stress test for Nepal’s commitment to civil liberties and the rule of law, as set out in the OHCHR appeal for investigations.
The security posture tightened midweek. Curfews were imposed across the Kathmandu Valley as the army deployed to guard parliament, the Supreme Court precincts and key junctions. The U.S. Embassy in Kathmandu advised on September 10 that Tribhuvan and Pokhara airports were operating even as curfews remained in force, and warned citizens to minimise movement. This advisory captured both the gravity of the situation and the authorities’ attempt to keep essential infrastructure open, as reflected in the embassy’s Demonstration Alert on airports and curfews. As the week ended and fires were brought under control, officials progressively lifted restrictions, culminating in the removal of the citywide curfew once calm returned. The shift from emergency policing to a cautious reopening was apparent when authorities lifted curfews in Kathmandu.
The political transition, although rapid, has taken on institutional form. After taking office, Karki moved to consolidate a technocratic cabinet. On September 15, she appointed Rameshwar Prasad Khanal, a former finance secretary, to the finance portfolio, Kulman Ghising, a veteran power-sector administrator, to energy, and Om Prakash Aryal, a rights lawyer, to home affairs. The choices signalled an emphasis on stabilisation and administrative competence rather than party horse-trading, a departure shaped by the urgency of restoring services and preparing credible elections. The initial line-up of ministers, and the pledge that the interim administration will govern only until the March vote, were laid out when Karki swore in three ministers.
At the heart of the protests lay a generational conflict with economic roots. Nepal’s economy relies heavily on money sent home by workers abroad; remittances have hovered around one-third of gross domestic product in recent years, cushioning household consumption but underscoring the scarcity of well-paid domestic jobs. The World Bank’s series on personal remittances for Nepal reports a 2024 value around one-third of GDP, reinforcing how dependent livelihoods are on migration rather than local opportunity, as shown in the indicator for remittances, received as a share of GDP. Youth unemployment has been persistently higher than the overall jobless rate; even amid headline GDP growth, formal employment has not kept pace with a swelling labour force. That mismatch created fertile ground for mobilisation when the state moved to restrict digital speech: as online campaigning highlighted the perceived privileges of political families, anger quickly translated into street action.
The social-media ban functioned as a catalyst as much as a grievance in its own right. In the span of a few days, disruptions affected small businesses that rely on messaging apps, families coordinating remittances, and students using social networks for study and community. When the government reversed the ban, it did so in the shadow of a spiralling human cost and growing economic anxiety, particularly in the tourism sector heading into the autumn trekking season. The brief closure of Kathmandu’s airport during the most acute clashes, followed by reopening, sent mixed signals to travellers; hoteliers and guides reported cancellations as images of burning buildings circulated online. Restoring confidence will require clear security guarantees and unambiguous election timelines.
For those who demanded systemic change, the resignation of a veteran prime minister was a watershed but not an endpoint. Protesters’ slogans focused on corruption probes and equal opportunity rather than on a detailed policy programme. Translating that energy into institutional reform will test the interim cabinet’s capacity and the willingness of parties to accept constraints on long-standing patronage networks. Karki pledged compensation to families of the dead and medical care for the injured, and promised inquiries into alleged abuses by security forces. Delivering on those promises would establish early credibility; failing to do so could rekindle unrest or erode the political middle ground needed to run an election in six months’ time.
The legal and constitutional questions are significant. Nepal’s basic law envisions checks and balances among the executive, legislature and judiciary; placing a former chief justice at the helm, even temporarily, blurs those lines. Proponents argue that an interim government is a pragmatic response to exceptional circumstances and that Karki’s lack of party affiliation enhances neutrality. Critics counter that the move risks setting a precedent for judicial figures to enter politics after leaving the bench, potentially weakening judicial independence over the long run. The debate is likely to intensify as the interim administration makes decisions on policing, procurement and electoral administration, all areas more commonly overseen by a partisan cabinet. These issues, including the balance between stabilisation and constitutional orthodoxy, are examined in reporting on the constitutional concerns surrounding the caretaker arrangement.
The security narrative remains contested. The government has justified initial force as a response to arson and attacks on public property, and announced efforts to identify those responsible for burning state buildings. Protest organisers insist that the worst violence was committed by a small minority or provocateurs, and accuse the police of resorting to excessive force. Establishing a credible record of events will require granular investigations: ballistics analyses where live fire is alleged, chain-of-command reviews within police units, and protections for witnesses who come forward. The OHCHR’s call for prompt and transparent inquiries sets a benchmark; Nepal’s own National Human Rights Commission is well placed to contribute, but only if given access and authority. The interim government’s ability to support such a process without appearing to criminalise protest will shape the legitimacy of the eventual findings.
International partners have responded cautiously. Neighbours and donors have prioritised stability and the resumption of normal economic activity while avoiding overt prescriptions for Nepal’s politics. Travel advisories and embassy alerts have focused on practical matters of safety and movement, such as the status of airports and curfews, while multilateral agencies have emphasised rights standards and due process in any post-unrest legal actions. The measured tone reflects both respect for Nepal’s sovereignty and a recognition that external pressure can backfire in polarised environments. For now, technical assistance for investigations and election administration is likely to be more welcome than political commentary.
Economically, the damage is still being tallied. The immediate costs include destroyed infrastructure, lost working days and a hit to tourism revenues. The indirect costs could prove larger: reduced investor confidence, delayed remittance-funded homebuilding, and a risk that young Nepalis who can leave will accelerate plans to work abroad. Because Nepal’s growth model leans heavily on external labour markets and inflows of foreign currency from remittances, the domestic labour shortfall caused by outward migration has long constrained productivity. A programme that couples anti-corruption enforcement with targeted investment in power, logistics and digital connectivity could boost medium-term job creation, especially if paired with vocational training aligned to the needs of small manufacturers and service exporters. Such a programme would sit comfortably within Karki’s technocratic framing, but it demands political backing from parties and provincial leaders who have often prioritised distribution over reform.
The information environment is another fault line. The short-lived platform blocks highlighted tensions between enforcing national regulation and respecting freedom of expression. Policymakers say they want social-media companies to register locally, respect data-handling rules and remove harmful content. Civil-society groups insist that blanket bans are disproportionate and counterproductive, and that the remedy lies in transparent takedown processes, independent oversight and targeted sanctions on accounts that incite violence. The interim administration could usefully publish a clear legal basis for any future action, including notice-and-appeal mechanisms and judicial review. Doing so would reassure both users and platforms that Nepal will not resort again to sweeping shutdowns.
The street dynamics now appear to be easing. Shops are open in central Kathmandu, schools are preparing to resume, and transport is operating under normal hours. Yet the mood is brittle. Protesters want tangible evidence that investigations are under way and that compensation promises are honoured without delay. Police unions, for their part, call for protections for officers who acted under orders. Business associations press for swift repairs to damaged offices and for clarity on the fiscal outlook. Balancing these demands will define the interim cabinet’s early months.
For outside observers, the lesson is familiar: attempts to curtail online space in societies with large, digitally connected youth populations can quickly widen into broader political crises if underlying grievances are left unaddressed. Nepal’s experience in September 2025 illustrates how a regulatory action—framed as enforcement of existing rules—can catalyse a crisis when public trust is thin. The test for the interim leadership is whether it can stabilise the streets while laying groundwork for reforms that offer younger citizens a stake in the system. Early steps, such as appointing technocrats to key ministries and pledging transparent investigations, are necessary but not sufficient. Only credible actions—indictments where warranted, procurement transparency, and a clear, rights-respecting framework for digital governance—will meet the demand that echoed across Kathmandu’s boulevards: equal rules for the powerful and the powerless.
Nepal now has a narrow window to move from improvisation to institution-building. The timetable to March 5, 2026 is ambitious but feasible if political actors resist the urge to reopen every question at once. A transparent inquiry into the killings, compensation paid without bureaucratic delay, open engagement with civil society on digital-platform regulation, and a well-resourced election commission are the cornerstones. If those pieces fall into place, the country may look back on September 2025 as a shock that jolted politics toward accountability. If they do not, the quiet that returned after the curfews were lifted will prove illusory, and the next spark—online or off—will be more dangerous. For now, the facts are clear enough. What comes next will determine whether those facts describe the end of a crisis—or just its first chapter.
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