Why Nepal's political elite were targeted and why we should be careful

Demonstrators carry an injured victim (C) during a protest outside the Parliament in Kathmandu on September 8, 2025, held to condemn the government over social media prohibitions and corruption. [AFP] On September 9 in Kathmandu, Nepal, thousands of Gen Z youth stormed Parliament, set it ablaze, overran police barricades, and forced Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli to resign. The trigger was the government's sudden decision to ban social media platforms, but the rage had been building for years over stocked corruption, widened inequality, and the sense that the ruling elite was callously hoarding wealth while the majority sank deeper into poverty. The sight on social media of ministers running helter-skelter through the streets like stray dogs, chased by angry protesters, was a powerful image that captured the raw fury of a betrayed generation. It was not just Parliament that was attacked; the homes and businesses of Nepal's political class were razed, sending a chilling message that those who had fattened themselves on public resources would no longer enjoy the comfort of their ill-gotten wealth. For Kenyans, these scenes carried an uncomfortable familiarity. They recalled the fiery events of June 25 last year when youth stormed Parliament and set part of it ablaze. Although the building mostly survived, the flames spoke loudly in that, for the first time since independence, they were ready to burn political betrayal to ashes. To many Kenyans and especially the youth, Parliament had long ceased to be a people's house. It had become instead a marketplace where MPs auctioned their loyalty, passed punitive laws, and rubber-stamped executive excesses. Burning it, albeit partially, therefore was not just an act of rage but a declaration that the institution no longer represented the people but had become an enemy of their future. Watching Nepal unfold on our screens live has rekindled that memory, and on social media, young Kenyans are openly regretting that they "did not finish the job." Many have been asking why their movement, which shook the political establishment so deeply, was allowed to fizzle out before it could force real change. Scrolling through X and TikTok timelines, one feels the hopelessness. Kenyan Gen Z are posting that they still no longer believe in promises of reform, that the system is too rigged to ever produce leaders who care about ordinary people not today and not tomorrow. They are saying the Constitution has become a trap, recycling the same families, the same faces, the same corruption, and the same betrayal every five years. Others are saying Nepal has proven that it is possible to bring a bad government to its knees if citizens are united and determined. They point to how Nepal's youth, after years of bad governance, entrenched corruption and failed reforms, simply refused to be silenced any longer and acted in one accord. The ban on social media was the last straw, but the deeper anger lay in a political system that had become completely unresponsive. Kenya's youth see themselves in that mirror and feel a bitter recognition. Meanwhile, the Kenyan political class is still reacting in the same predictable way. Senior government officials and Kenya Kwanza aligned bloggers have been warning about the consequences of failed states, repeating that it is better to "suffer in peace than to plunge into chaos." They list Sudan, Sri Lanka, Somalia and other countries that descended into crisis, insisting that such paths only multiply poverty and destruction. Yet what they offer is not a serious reflection on why the youth are angry, but the recycling of fear, the same fear that has been sold to citizens for decades. Instead of asking why young Kenyans feel suffocated by bad governance, corruption and exclusion, leaders are busy warning that mass protests will bring bloodshed and make the country a failed state. Instead of taking responsibility for inequality and joblessness, they have been busy preaching and reminding Kenya the consequences of a military state and coups as opposed to democracy. However, the young people on social media, are calling out this as mere fear-mongering, saying it is simply a way for leaders to scare them so that they continue to cling onto power while silencing demands for justice. Perhaps, to understand why the rage in Nepal took the form it did, one must look at the country's political arrangements. After years of monarchy and civil war, Nepal shifted to a fragile federal democracy, but power remained concentrated in a few political families. Corruption scandals became routine, service delivery stagnated, and the gap between leaders and ordinary citizens widened dangerously. When the social media ban came, it was seen as not just a restriction of speech but an attempt to silence the only platform where youth could organise and express themselves. That is why they poured into the streets. For Kenyans, the parallel is striking. Our own youth know too well the anger of watching politicians parade wealth, buy mansions, and flaunt their luxury while ordinary families struggle to put food on the table. They are living the frustration of seeing public wealth stolen while their own university dreams fade under a broken funding model. They are watching free primary education slip away and patients die in hospitals because the health scheme under SHA, is not working. They know the humiliation of being told to wait patiently, to obey, and to accept suffering as a way of life in silence. The lesson from Nepal is not that destruction is the answer. Violence comes with its own heavy costs, and ordinary citizens often suffer most. But the deeper truth is that the anger, which exploded in Kathmandu, is alive here in Nairobi, and across the country. Unless leaders start listening, open real space for youth participation, dismantle exclusion, and move from empty talk to an honest fight against corruption, it is only a matter of time before Kenya faces an eruption on a scale the country is not ready for. As young Kenyans are saying online, it is meaningless to warn about the risk of state collapse when millions already live in its ruins. Poverty is collapse. Joblessness is collapse. Watching a political class loot the nation while citizens sink deeper into debt and despair is the real collapse. What the youth are demanding is not chaos for its own sake but a reset, a chance to build something new on the ashes of a system that has failed them repeatedly. The choice before Kenya is simple but urgent. Political class can continue to sell fear, repeating the same tired warnings that have done nothing to ease suffering, or they can confront the reality that the system is broken. Nepal has shown what happens when leaders ignore their youth for far too long. It has shown what happens when greed is allowed to grow unchecked, when corruption becomes the foundation of governance, and when the voices of the young are dismissed. Robert Wanjala is an investigative journalist. wanjala.robert@gmail.com

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