Kathmandu’s streets have seen protests before, but nothing on the scale-or with the consequences- of September 9. What began as a legitimate, peaceful uprising against corruption, nepotism, and the erosion of accountability has ended in bloodshed, arson, and national trauma. The so called “Gen Z protests,” sparked by the government’s sweeping ban on 26 major social media platforms, were meant to be a show of youthful defiance against an establishment deaf to public outrage. The timeline is telling. On September 4, the Ministry of Communications and Information Technology ordered the Nepal Telecommunication Authority to block all non registered social media platforms, including Facebook, WhatsApp, Instagram, X, and YouTube. The official justification-failure to register locally, appoint grievance officers, and remove flagged content-was procedural. However, for a generation that organises, debates, and mobilises online, it was a direct assault on their voice. By September 8, thousands of young Nepalis, many in school or college uniforms, were on the streets. The protests were leaderless, unaffiliated with political parties, and reportedly coordinated by Hami Nepal, a youth focused non profit. Kathmandu’s independent mayor, Balendra Shah, openly backed them. The grievances were clear, the demands legitimate. But within 24 hours, the movement was unrecognisable. This happened when the protest was hijacked, weaponised, and turned a peaceful movement into one of the darkest days in the country’s democratic history.On September 9-now “Black Tuesday”-armed gangs infiltrated the demonstrations. What followed was not protest but organised destruction. The Parliament and Supreme Court were set ablaze. Shopping malls, private homes, and even Kathmandu’s Hilton Hotel were torched. Former Prime Minister Jhalanath Khanal’s wife, Rajyalaxmi Chitrakar, died after their residence was set on fire. At least 30 people were killed, over 400 injured. The question that now demands an answer is simple: who were the arsonists? Gen Z protesters have distanced themselves from the violence, insisting the rampage was the work of outsiders. If that is true, then Nepal faces a far more dangerous reality- one where legitimate dissent can be infiltrated and discredited by actors with their own agendas. Were these criminal gangs exploiting chaos for looting? Were political saboteurs seeking to delegitimise the movement? Or was this a calculated provocation to justify a crackdown? The government’s response has been equally troubling. Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli resigned on September 10, but his departure leaves unanswered the central questions of accountability- both for the social media ban that ignited the protests and for the security failures that allowed the capital to burn. The army’s deployment came only after the damage was done. Kathmandu today bears the scars-charred government buildings, gutted businesses, and a shaken public. But the deeper wound is to Nepal’s democratic fabric. If peaceful protest can be so easily derailed into an orgy of violence, the space for civic action shrinks, and the temptation for heavy handed state control grows. The truth about Black Tuesday will not emerge without an independent, transparent investigation-one with the power to follow the trail from the first stone thrown to the last building burned. Anything less will leave Nepal vulnerable to the same cycle: genuine grievances drowned in chaos, and the people’s voice silenced not by law, but by fear.
Thursday, September 11, 2025