By Andrew Rose
America News World
Published: September 20, 2025
In a dramatic turn that underscores the seismic shifts in Nepal’s political landscape, former Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli made his first public appearance in 10 days on Thursday, September 19, 2025. Whisked away by army helicopter from a military barracks where he had been holed up since his abrupt resignation, Oli arrived at a modest rented house in Bhaktapur, a historic town just east of Kathmandu. The 73-year-old veteran politician, whose fourth term as Nepal’s leader ended in chaos, was greeted by a small cluster of loyal supporters. But the cheers were muted against the backdrop of a nation still reeling from the fiery unrest that toppled his government.
Nepal’s September 2025 crisis erupted like a monsoon storm, fueled by a youth-led uprising that exposed deep fissures in the Himalayan kingdom’s fragile democracy. What began as online grumblings over a government-imposed social media blackout quickly snowballed into the deadliest protests in decades. Gen-Z activists, armed with smartphones and a fierce sense of injustice, took to the streets of Kathmandu and beyond, decrying corruption, nepotism, economic inequality, and censorship. The spark? A nationwide ban on platforms like Facebook and TikTok, ostensibly to curb “fake news” and fraud, but widely seen as a desperate bid to silence growing dissent against the elite.
By September 8, the demonstrations had swelled into a tidal wave. Thousands of young Nepalis—many in their teens and twenties, burdened by unemployment rates hovering around 20% and remittances from abroad forming a lifeline for families—marched on government buildings. They weren’t just chanting slogans; they were venting years of frustration over “nepo kids,” the children of politicians flaunting luxury cars and lavish lifestyles on social media while ordinary citizens scraped by in one of Asia’s poorest nations.
Videos mocking the opulence of figures like Sayuj Parajuli, son of a former chief justice, went viral on Viber and other uncensored apps, turning viral outrage into real-world fury.
The government’s response was swift and brutal. Police clashed with protesters, firing live rounds into crowds in Kathmandu’s teeming streets. By the end of that first day, 19 lay dead, with hundreds more injured—figures that would climb to over 50 in the ensuing days.
The violence only inflamed the movement. Defying an evening curfew, demonstrators stormed the Parliament building, setting it ablaze in a blaze of orange flames that lit up the night sky. Smoke billowed from Singha Durbar, the administrative heart of Nepal, as well as the Supreme Court and the president’s residence at Sital Niwas.
Protesters torched Oli’s private home in Balkot, his ancestral property in Jhapa, and another in Damak, reducing symbols of his power to charred ruins.
Oli, a hardline communist from the Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist-Leninist), had risen to power in July 2024 through a coalition with the Nepali Congress. His tenure was marked by ambitious infrastructure promises—roads snaking through the Himalayas, hydropower dreams to light up the nation—but critics lambasted him for cronyism and stifling dissent. The social media ban, enacted just days before the protests peaked, was the final straw. “This wasn’t just about TikTok,” said Gaurav Nepune, a 34-year-old protest organizer from Kathmandu, in an interview with Reuters. “It was about a system that treats youth as afterthoughts while the elite feast.”
As the death toll mounted, cracks appeared in Oli’s administration. Home Minister Ramesh Lekhak resigned on moral grounds late on September 8, followed by Agriculture Minister Ram Nath Adhikari and Health Minister Pradip Paudel the next day.
Even allies jumped ship: 21 MPs from the Rastriya Swatantra Party and all from the Rastriya Prajatantra Party tendered their resignations, while defections plagued Oli’s own UML party.
Rumors swirled of a military push behind the scenes; reports suggest Army Chief Ashok Raj Sigdel urged Oli to step down to avert a total collapse.
On September 9, Oli submitted his resignation to President Ram Chandra Poudel, citing an “extraordinary situation” and a desire to “facilitate a political solution.”
The announcement was met with jubilation from crowds outside Parliament, who waved Nepali flags amid the acrid smoke. But Oli didn’t linger. Fearing for his safety, he and several ministers fled to the Shivapuri military barracks on the outskirts of Kathmandu, a fortified enclave that became their sanctuary. For 10 tense days, his whereabouts were a mystery, spawning wild theories—from asylum bids in Dubai to secret bunkers in the Terai plains.
The Nepal Army denied rumors of President Poudel’s resignation, insisting order would be restored.
The army swiftly deployed troops to patrol Kathmandu’s streets, enforcing curfews and guarding key sites. Tribhuvan International Airport shuttered temporarily, stranding travelers and halting flights from neighbors like India and China. Internationally, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Volker Türk, condemned the crackdown, urging restraint and dialogue to honor Nepal’s post-conflict democratic gains.
The U.S. State Department reaffirmed its partnership with Nepal, emphasizing stability and governance, while India’s Air India canceled flights to Kathmandu amid the turmoil.
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In the power vacuum, an unlikely coalition emerged. Gen-Z leaders, coordinating via Discord servers with over 100,000 virtual participants, nominated Sushila Karki, Nepal’s former Chief Justice, as interim Prime Minister.
The 68-year-old jurist, known for her no-nonsense rulings on corruption cases, was sworn in on September 12, marking a historic first for a woman in the role.
Her cabinet expansion on September 14 signaled a push for stability, drawing from independent voices and youth representatives.
Among the protest heroes is Balendra “Balen” Shah, the 35-year-old rapper-turned-Kathmandu mayor, whose cleanup campaigns and anti-corruption stance have made him a Gen-Z icon. Shah, with nearly 800,000 Instagram followers, called Oli a “terrorist” in the protests’ heat but later urged calm.
Oli’s relocation to Bhaktapur—a UNESCO heritage site famed for its ancient temples and pottery squares—feels symbolic. The rented house, secured after his properties were razed, offers a low-profile refuge far from the capital’s chaos. Supporters who turned out on Thursday waved party flags, but the turnout was sparse, a far cry from the adoring crowds of his heyday. “He’s a fighter,” one backer told local media, “but the youth have redrawn the map.”
As Oli settles into exile-like obscurity, Nepal stands at a crossroads. Karki’s interim government faces the Herculean task of organizing elections, rebuilding torched institutions, and addressing the grievances that ignited the blaze: job creation for a generation where 40% are under 25, anti-corruption reforms, and digital freedoms. The Gen-Z movement, decentralized and tech-savvy, vows to hold leaders accountable—no more “nepo kids” in power.
Yet shadows linger. Whispers of UML loyalists plotting a comeback persist, and economic scars from the unrest—disrupted tourism, halted remittances—could deepen divides. Former King Gyanendra Shah, in a rare statement on September 9, called for internal resolution, evoking Nepal’s monarchy-era ghosts.
For now, the army maintains a watchful peace, but as one protester scrawled on a charred wall: “The revolution scrolls on.”
Oli’s emergence marks not a return, but a poignant end to an era. In the land of Everest, where summits are hard-won, Nepal’s youth have scaled their own heights—forcing change at gunpoint and hashtag. Whether this fragile dawn endures remains the nation’s next steep climb.