Rage in 2025, repair in 2026

“Two lakhs and your job will be done.”

We overheard a bureaucrat casually say this to a single mother in a government office. Corruption is a given in Nepali society.

From Social Studies books in school to conversations at dinners, it was always understood that a key reason why our country fails time and again is the kleptocracy.

Seeing it play out in front of our eyes was disconcerting. The woman pleaded that she did not have that kind of money: “हामीसंग तेत्रो पैसा छैन सर, मिलाइदिनुस न”.

If it is so normal for people to need social or economic capital to get the simplest things done, what happens to those who have neither? Corruption is not just stealing money, it steals time, agency, it steals dreams, robs citizens of their rights, it steals their future.

The very system supposed to protect the underserved serves the already privileged, further widening class, caste and gender gaps.

Everywhere, we saw recurring normalisation of corruption. We saw no future for ourselves in a country rotten to the core.

We sought escape just like the 65,000 Nepali youth who leave the country every month searching for opportunities beyond our borders. The system was driving us out.

We saw and experienced the dysfunction, but stayed silent. We carried the discontent, and accepted it as the norm. That shared silence broke on 8 September 2025.

The collective anger was not just towards corruption by politicians and bureaucrats, but the impunity and opacity of the system. The rot at the top infected every level of the state, legitimising and seeping into mundane everyday transactions.

The GenZ protest became the turning point. Engulfed by a sense of helplessness, we gathered at Maitighar Mandala that Monday morning to vent our pent up frustration.

The protests escalated into a massacre, and then devastating destruction. We needed to channel the rage and remorse into reform, and not deepen the crisis. Our anger was not just directed at the political Troika, but also at the entire culture of impunity and the systemic barriers to progress.

We were not alone in this bureaucratic hell, it was a national collective experience. We were saying enough is enough, and we will not accept it anymore.

SEEKING A SAVIOUR

But here is the thing: we are so so used to heroic stories and movies that end with the protagonist saving all of humanity that we often fall into the trap of looking for a singular saviour in real life as well.

Even during this national crisis, we turned to individuals in the hope that they would correct historical wrongs overnight. We conveniently avoided pointing out our own hypocrisy. It was us who vilified the Big Three serial prime ministers for ruining the country, yet here we are expecting one single person to save us all.

In conversations with friends before September, they would be resigned to their fate and would say “यस्तै हो अब देशमा केहि हुँदैन”. We realise now that disengagement is a trap.

The more we withdraw, the more we become isolated from the countless people and their active efforts to make this nation better. Hopelessness takes root when good people do nothing and evade their own responsibilities.

So, if we can neither rely on a singular hero nor live in a bubble of hopelessness, where does that leave us? It leaves us with each other. In our disillusionment with new saviours, we began to notice a different group of people.

These were not leaders on the podium reciting a million promises, but ordinary citizens who made the extraordinary decision to stop waiting and start building. They were the living embodiment of accountability, and we wanted to join in.

While we are hopeful and full of ideas, we still lack real-world knowledge to navigate these systemic issues ourselves. This truth hit home during our time with Incubate Nepal, a research program that gave our project, Bureaucrazy, its initial headstart. What began as an eight-week student project quickly revealed its scope as far larger.

Bureaucrazy is an AI-enabled platform built voluntarily by us high school graduates led by three female mentors. It was initially designed to help students get two crucial documents (No-objection Certificate and Letter of Equivalence) for education overseas.

We were building solutions for our own generation, hoping to smooth a path we had found frustratingly rough. When we took our prototype to the very bureaucrats it was meant to assist, we were met with skepticism.

Their reluctance was clear, but it only fueled our determination. Today, Bureaucrazy has evolved beyond its original purpose. By integrating updated AI and expanding our databases, it now answers questions on various bureaucratic processes, from student documents to the ongoing national elections.

We are continually updating it, solving problems as they crop up. Being confronted with both our own limitations and systemic inertia was a deeply personal and humbling experience.

Corruption stole our roads, our education, our resources, but it did not steal our spirit. Every day, we are more hopeful, not because the problems have vanished, but because we now know with certainty that there are people already at work, patiently and skillfully building a better country.

When we work on bureaucrazy.co, when we meet honest bureaucrats, when we talk to young people navigating ways of entrepreneurship, we know that this country is not lost.

Maybe we cannot fix everything at once, but we can keep showing up. We can keep building small pockets of hope until they connect into something larger. And one day, living in our Motherland will not feel like a burden that one has to escape, but a place full of possibilities.