For months now, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-home-minister-vs-the-media">Nepal’s media has been reporting</a> on depositors defrauded of their savings by crooked cooperatives. The spotlight got brighter after<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/heads-roll"> Home Minister Rabi Lamichhane was accused </a>of siphoning off savings from two cooperatives and investing it in his television company.
Given a chance to defend his case in Parliament, he resorted to whataboutery and accused the opposition Nepali Congress (NC) of even greater plunder. After the row brought the House to a standstill for over a month, a cross-party probe committee has finally been formed, but without naming Lamichhane personally.
Nearly 30 crisis-ridden cooperatives across the country which have more than Rs60 billion in depositors’ savings at risk will be probed by the committee. Another 500 cooperatives are said to be dodgy, and the government says it will be compensating depositors who had up to Rs500,000 in savings in cooperatives that have gone belly-up.
Economist Pushkar Bajracharya says that <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cooperatives-leave-nepalis-high-and-dry">Nepal’s cooperatives have had problems </a>from their earliest years because of lack of regulation and monitoring which allowed unscrupulous shareholders to invest the savings in questionable real estate deals (best case scenario) or fraudsters to decamp with depositors' savings (worst case).&nbsp;
“The lawlessness in the cooperatives sector meant that the hard-earned savings of depositors were misused or stolen,” Bajracharya says.
At the root of this <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/institutionalised-inequality">pandemic of plunder</a> in cooperatives is the culture of impunity where trusting Nepalis are cheated out of hard-earned savings with the promise of high interest rates. Like pyramid schemes, these are ways for deceitful individuals to cheat gullible depositors because they know they can get away with it.
This is similar to the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/nepal-s-corruption-carousel">rampant corruption at all layers of government</a> and across the country where the might of those who hold power seem to have the right to extort and defraud the powerless. In many cases shareholders in local cooperatives are even elected local officials.&nbsp;
There is even a sitting MP, Gita Basnet, who is accused of pocketing Rs165.8 million from her cooperative depositors, and she has been on the run. A mayor and his wife in Baglung siphoned off Rs3 billion from 1,500 depositors. Criminal cases have been filed against all of them in the courts.
Ironically, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/till-debt-do-us-part">crisis in Nepal’s banks and financial institutions</a> has turned out to be a bonanza for financially fragile daily newspapers which these days are filled with pages and pages of paid property auction notices by banks. These advertisements are from Class A, B, C or D financial institutions and point to an upsurge in loan defaults.&nbsp;
The Credit Information Bureau (CIB) Nepal monitors 129 financial institutions, and says the number of blacklisted borrowers has grown from 3,609 to 96,331 in the past ten years — nearly half of them made it to the list just this year. Bijay Kunwar of the CIB says the numbers shot up after despositers failed to pay back loans from microfinance institutions.&nbsp;
The real estate slump is at the bottom of this crisis. Those who had borrowed from cooperatives or banks to invest in property speculating, hoping for fast returns, were trapped with huge loans they could not pay back. The crisis began during the Covid crisis and continued with the economic slump in Nepal caused by the Russia-Ukraine war.
Many defaulters have rallied around businessman Durga Prasai, himself a wilful defaulter who failed to pay back bank loans for a hospital in Jhapa, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/street-politics">held nationwide demonstrations</a> earlier this year. Prasai urged his supporters to stop servicing their loans and to force banks to cancel their debt.
“Prasai’s debt cancellation campaign sowed confusion,” senior economist Keshav Acharya explains. “Some borrowers of cooperatives who wanted to pay back loans were stopped from doing so by activists. And bank borrowers covertly hoped for their loans to be waived.”
Nine months of data from Nepal Rastra Bank (NRB) for the past year shows that the wholesale and retail sectors had the highest proportion of credit (19.9%) and loans to real estate developers made up just 4.92%.
“Many borrowers took loans for business purposes but used a portion to buy property, but since there is a real estate slump it has led to banking defaults,” says Bhuvan Dahal, former president of Nepal Bankers’ Association.&nbsp;
The default crisis in turn has been a factor in record outmigration in the past year as Nepalis leave to earn money overseas to pay loans back home. If there is a way out of this crisis, it will be to henceforth provide loans for projects that create jobs and not in unproductive sectors.
Pinki Sris Rana

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Giving credit where it’s due

On 2 January 2023, Sita Adhikari (pictured above) was sitting in Narayan Chaur in Kathmandu, worrying about the Rs200,000 that she had deposited at Oriental Cooperative. She had saved the money to see through her old age, but it is now all gone. “I think I will die without getting that money back,” she said, chin resting on the palm of her hand. Adhikari is originally from Nuwakot, and spent her life alone and without any support. She was married in 1951 when she was 11 and her husband died three years later. In 1959, she came to Kathmandu, leaving everything behind. Now, she works in a household in Naxal. She had received Rs100,000 as part of her husband’s property, adding another Rs100,000 that she had saved and deposited the total amount in Nepal Bank Limited. After a kin told her that the Oriental would provide her a better interest rate, she deposited her money there. By the time she learned that this was a bad decision, it was already too late. When she needed money for medicine, she reached out to the cooperative. But the branch office was locked up. She has spent a decade since trying to get that money back. “It was all I had, the crooks stole it from me,” she added. Thousands of other depositers had also put their money at Oriental Cooperative, operated by a Sudhir Basnet, who is absconding. According to the office of Cooperative Management Committee, about Rs1.5 billion deposited by about 4,250 people at Oriental remains in limbo. Khagendra Kafle, chair of a victims’ committee, says that the depositors have been struggling financially and a dozen of them have already died.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230324100356_d20b1e6157630a9fcc7c765e073ee4e549975427f74b170efea0ad5547ca8db6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230324100356_d20b1e6157630a9fcc7c765e073ee4e549975427f74b170efea0ad5547ca8db6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Bishnu Bhagat Shrestha"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Chhetra Dhanchhawa of Bhaktapur had deposited Rs2.6 million at Basnet’s cooperative. The money was to take care of her son Bishnu who cannot speak or walk. she died at age 83 in 2021, the loan her family took for her funeral rites remain unpaid, and Bishnu is being looked after by his niece (pictured above). Devendra Prasad Pokharel, chief of Kathmandu Metropolitan City’s Cooperative Department, meets dozens of depositers who have lost all to collapsed <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18430#.ZB121HZByJA">cooperatives</a> daily. “Some have warned they will self-immolate at the department’s office if they do not get their money back,” he says. “It is so depressing I feel like quitting my job right now.” After the department receives complaints, it summons cooperative operators for a discussion. If the operators pay back the money within a certain period of time, the case gets closed. If not, the department sends a letter to the police for an investigation. “So far, we have already sent 2,800 complaints against 56 cooperatives to the police,” Pokharel adds. And of the 1,600 financial institutions in Kathmandu alone, complaints have been filed against 125. Binda Budhathoki, who runs a retail shop in Balkot has Rs40,000 still stuck in Nagarik Bikas Cooperative. On 1 February its officials were asking depositors to visit after a month because it had a cash crunch. Between July and December, the Cooperative Department under the Ministry of Land Management and Cooperative received 451 complaints against cooperatives. Registrar Rudra Prasad Pandit said, “We take complaints if it is under our jurisdiction, if not, we suggest they visit the authorities concerned in local units and provinces.” The <a href="https://lawcommission.gov.np/en/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Cooperatives-Act-2017-final-Eng-version-Dec-21-2018-1.pdf">Cooperatives Act 2017</a> has divided the work related to cooperatives’ registration and monitoring among the department, and provincial and local governments. There is no concrete data on how many cooperatives have not paid their clients’ money. Meen Raj Kandel, chair of Rastriya Sahakari Mahasangh, the umbrella association of cooperatives, says that as many as 32,000 cooperatives across the country have deposits worth Rs700 billion. But because of the fraud committed by some of them, there is widespread loss of faith in cooperatives.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023032411034_0566f5a5d46ab324ee0d912fc9e71db37b814c4b981f01f8f6fe32d45672aa53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023032411034_0566f5a5d46ab324ee0d912fc9e71db37b814c4b981f01f8f6fe32d45672aa53" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="suman nepali"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “On the one hand, the country’s financial outlook is grim, and the cooperatives have not been able to get returns on their investment,” he said. “On the other hand, all depositors have been thronging to cooperatives to ask for their money back. This is creating problems.” The problem is not new, it has just got worse. In 2013 the government formed a probe commission to investigate cooperatives after many people were left high and dry. It found the operators themselves had been taking large amounts of loans and not repaying the principal and interest for years. According to the commission’s report, 22,170 depositors had yet to receive a total of Rs7,607,995,000 from cooperatives.Including interest, the sum crosses Rs10 billion. That was ten years ago, and the problem has gotten worse since most of the guilty were never punished. The report recommended that cooperatives should be regularly monitored, there should be strong laws to control unruly financial and managerial decisions, and registrations be stopped for new cooperatives. In addition, it also suggested that operators should not invest without collateral and all financial transactions be done through banks or financial institutions. None of this was ever implemented. Lalupate Cooperative in Khotang collapsed without refunding its customers’ savings. The Dhangadi branch office of Shiva Shikhar Multipurpose Cooperative shut down without refunding depositers. The Credit Information Bureau has blacklisted 11 cooperatives just in the current fiscal year. Gauri Bahadur Karki, chair of the probe commission, blames greed and mismanagement. “The business of collecting money from the public and mobilising it in real estate or other business by a single individual or a family has increased the risk of theft of public’s property, this is a business that should have been strictly regulated,” he said. Civil Cooperative, for example, used at least Rs5.67 billion from depositers, invested it in real estate and other iffy sectors and never refunded it. Investigation has shown that the cooperative loaned Rs1.32 billion to former chair and adviser Ichha Ram Tamang’s Civil Homes without securing any collateral. Cooperatives issued loans again and again without recovering the previous credits. The Department of Cooperatives did issue guidelines related to liquidity, investment, utilisation of savings, and institutional good governance from time to time, but it has failed to monitor and take action against the cooperatives that show reluctance to implement them. There is a provision that the cooperatives should maintain liquidity up to 15%, and invest more than half of the total credit in the production-oriented business in order to minimise the investment in the real estate, but this has never been enforced. Rudra Prasad Pandit says cooperatives and real estate businesses have become co-dependent. In fact, cooperatives start facing problems when cracks appear in the real estate sector. Real estate transactions are now down to half in the last six months of the current fiscal year compared to last year. Last year, 394,307 properties were purchased and sold, but the number is now barely 189,937. This means cooperatives that had speculated on land have not been able to recoup the money. Complaints lodged at the Cooperative Department show that almost all the cooperatives invested in real estate plotting or land transactions. Savings schemes and cooperatives have become the tool of money laundering due to the lack of regulation. Economist Keshav Acharya says that cooperatives that should have been established for the public good have been infiltrated by the land mafia who collect the wealth of the public and gamble on real estate. The 2013 probe committee states in its report that the operators who were found involved in misappropriation responded that they were unaware of the laws. ‘The cooperatives should have been opened after thorough research. There is no one to formulate operation rules,’ the report states. For instance, investigation into Oriental Cooperative found that Basnet had taken most of the loans in the name of fake depositers, even establishing more than half-a-dozen sub-cooperatives in order to collect money from the public. The Auditor General’s report in 2023 notes that many cooperatives have failed to establish a system to identify suspicious transactions and to conduct a detailed study of the high and abnormal financial dealings from their own members. In addition, cooperatives have become the hotbed for people blacklisted by banks and other financial institutions. In fiscal year 2021/22, of the total 2,401,714 financial transactions above Rs1 million, 274,113 were done by cooperatives. And, although the details of all transactions above Rs1 million and all suspicious transactions should be sent to the Financial Information Bureau, the implementation is lacking. Adds Dipak Raj Pokharel of the Money Laundering Prevention unit, “There is little investigation into suspicious transactions through cooperatives.” A high-level task force led by the National Planning Commission in 2066 concluded that cooperative organisations were a risk-factor for the economy. ‘A great disaster could be on the cards due to the weak monitoring/regulatory organisational system and legal provisions,’ the report states. Adds economist Acharya: “The government has failed in its responsibility to protect the wealth of the citizens. The government became helpless in refunding the savings of the public and taking action against the fraud even though the crime continued in the name of cooperatives.” A former colleague of Acharya’s committed suicide after he did not receive the Rs5 million he saved in a cooperative. Even a former executive director of Nepal Rastra Bank has been cheated of Rs20 million he saved in a cooperative. Although the 2013 probe commission found 162 cooperatives, including their branches, as problematic and recommended for property management, the government has declared only 12 as such. No action for management of property and liability has been taken against many cooperatives that have failed to refund the savers’ money and have disappeared.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023032411034_8b8f53546869197478909c0d19bdb0945afa82e54f81c691915bfdc82c92cf8a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2023032411034_8b8f53546869197478909c0d19bdb0945afa82e54f81c691915bfdc82c92cf8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="suman nepali"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Trilochan Pangeni, suggests that that the risk has increased due to the politicisation of the cooperatives. He argues that law has been deliberately weakened by people in power so that the cooperatives could be let free. “While formulating the Cooperatives Act in 2017, a stern legal action against those committing irregularities in the cooperatives was proposed, but the political nexus derailed those provisions,” he added. In 2016, Nepal Rastra Bank drafted a bill making fraud in cooperatives subject to punishment as banking offence. During discussions in the Parliament, the bill was taken to the Finance Committee which had cooperatives campaigner Keshav Badal, Civil Cooperatives chairperson Ichha Raj Tamang and other persons associated with cooperatives as members. The conflict of interest in the Committee limited the definition of the cooperative organisation to include only the organisations licensed by Nepal Rastra Bank. As per this definition, the Act would incorporate only 15 cooperatives that had obtained permission from the central bank. As a result, the fraud committed in other cooperatives could not be brought to action for banking offences. Says Tol Raj Upadhyay of the Department of Cooperatives: “The power to regulate the cooperatives could be developed at the local and provincial levels. Even the federation has only 20 staff. The long-standing deterioration that crept under the lack of institutional regulation has flourished now.” <a href="https://cijnepal.org.np/how-nepals-cooperative-are-leaving-customers-high-and-dry/">Originally published</a> by Centre for Investigative Journalism (CIJ).

Cooperatives leave Nepalis high and dry

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141132/636cfdc29c7e80680e0a0c01jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="661"/><figcaption>Photo: TOH EE MING / NEPALI TIMES</figcaption></figure>The one-size-fits-all regulatory policy does not seem to work for savings and loans (S&amp;L) cooperatives in Indonesia, and the country could benefit from Nepal’s experience with small and medium enterprises.In Indonesia, a small S&amp;L cooperative which has less than Rp10 million (approximately $690) of assets has to complete on the same accounting report structure as larger institutions with more than $690 million of assets. To give context to the figure, an average labourer in 17 essential sectors in Indonesia makes about $290 a month.If we are to enforce the same regulation and supervision for all the S&amp;L cooperatives, the smaller businesses would not survive. On the other hand, if the rules are too lenient, they could undermine market discipline with middle and large savings and loans cooperatives taking advantage of it.Indonesia needs to learn from the success stories of the cooperatives’ movement in other countries, notably Nepal, with its similar culture and socio-economic conditions to that of Indonesia.According to a 2013 Kathmandu University study by Nav Raj Simkhada ‘Problems and Prospects of the Cooperative Sector in Nepal for Promoting Financial Inclusion', more than three decades after the first cooperative was established in Nepal in 1956, the country saw minimal progress in the sector of small and medium-sized enterprises.Nepal’s <a href="https://www.ilo.org/dyn/natlex/natlex4.detail?p_lang=en&amp;p_isn=39064&amp;p_country=NPL&amp;p_count=118" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Cooperative Act 1992</a> however specified that the government would no longer directly promote cooperatives, shifting its strategy from a top-down to a bottom-up approach. Additionally, it also prevented cooperatives from any political interference, they are forbidden from making a donation or providing financial assistance to organisations working for a political party, religion or community.This allowed for the<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/cooperatives-replacing-money-lenders,1172" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> independent growth of cooperatives in Nepal</a>. There are now over <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18437#.YSJP4y1w3OQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">30,000 small, medium and large cooperatives </a>in Nepal with over 45 million members.The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18430" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">role of women</a> was particularly crucial in developing credit cooperatives in Nepal. For example, Women Awareness Centre Nepal (<a href="https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/build-women-savings-and-credit-cooperatives-nepal/updates/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">WACN</a>) has successfully established 41 microcredit organisations consisting of 30,000 women members.Another study conducted by Nepal Agriculture Cooperative Central Federation Ltd (<a href="http://asia.procasur.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/2.-Khairhani.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">NACCFL</a>) shows that <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/Nepal-land-of-our-daughters,2901" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">empowerment of women </a>through cooperatives had benefited not only the individuals but their families and communities, financially as well as socially.Indonesian small S&amp;L cooperatives should similarly focus on building community-based members only, instead of giving in to the temptation of rushing to expand the business.A few reliable members who know each other well can better manage the cooperative than thousands of those who are virtually strangers. Moreover, a large number of members create a large span of control wherein self-control and self-regulation are difficult to achieve.As a collectivist culture, Indonesians would choose to deal with their S&amp;L co-operative where they are comfortable and are treated as a family rather than with commercial banks. Members could become loyalists if they have a voice and are heard. This is fundamental for an S&amp;L cooperative to grow sustainability.Grants and direct subsidisation by authorities often create a beggar mentality and increase financial dependency, which is at the heart of the problem.Irsyad Muchtar in his recent book Indonesia’s 100 Largest Cooperatives revealed that some large cooperatives tend to avoid publishing results, and are closed to the press -- worried that it will shine a light on their tax evasion.<a href="https://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2021/06/23/who-should-supervise-savings-and-loans-cooperatives-in-indonesia.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Thus, the concept of </a>a two-tiered rules and supervision institutional framework for S&amp;L cooperatives is more suitable for the Indonesian context. In the first tier, the Financial Services Authority (OJK) should regulate and supervise medium and large S&amp;L cooperatives at the national level to protect large members from any potential fraud by managements and create sound business competition among credit institutions to avoid regulatory arbitrage.In the second tier, the small S&amp;L cooperatives should not be supervised prudentially by OJK. They need more empowerment programs conducted by the Ministry of Cooperatives and SMEs and local governments. The policy aims to increase opportunities for those to graduate to a level where they can compete with other financial institutions. We understand that small S&amp;L cooperatives exist because they serve mainly the poor who have little or no access to formal financial services, especially since they lack collateral and a stable income.However, the empowerment programs from the government should not be financial aids or subsidies. Robby Tulus, the former regional director of Asia Pacific International Co-operative Alliance, says that when initiating a business, the source of seed money is often the starting point for people.In the case of Indonesia, their first choice is to look for special subsidies from the government. This is in line with some Asian governments favouring direct control and subsidisation to the small S&amp;L cooperatives.Tulus suggested that cooperatives must learn to focus on their competencies and deliver the best services to their members, instead of setting up the business only to get financial aids from the government and make quick money from the members.The Indonesian government can still play an important role, it can provide continuous and intensive support programs to cooperative members, such as training on management and entrepreneurial skills, risk management, bookkeeping standards and intellectual property rights. It can also promote micro-entrepreneur members of small S&amp;L cooperatives to potential customers as well as Indonesian-made products to empower micro-enterprises.While undertaking these strategies collectively, Indonesia can learn from Nepal to gradually cut down on financial schemes such as interest subsidies, credit guarantee funds, and grants to small cooperatives and their members.This will in the longer term empower the cooperatives while also reducing their dependency on the second or third parties.<a href="http://whistleblowing-indonesia.blogspot.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bitra Suyatno</a> is a senior policy analyst at Indonesia's Ministry of Finance focused on financing service business issues. Currently, he is a team member on formulating Draft Law on Development and Strengthening of Financial Sector. The views expressed are personal.

Indonesia can learn from Nepal’s cooperatives

Nepalis worship the sun, and mark its seasonal passage with festivals. Adding to that spiritual reverence now is the economic relevance of solar power. Fast-flowing Himalayan rivers give Nepal a total feasible hydropower generation capacity of 48,000MW, of which only 3,600 has so far been harnessed. Yet, Nepal’s total solar power potential has been calculated to be nearly 10 times higher at 432,000MW. &nbsp; With over 300 days of sunshine a year, the country could produce 3.6 to 6.2 units of electricity per square meter based on its solar radiation levels.&nbsp; This potential, combined with decreasing installation costs of Chinese-manufactured photovoltaic cells and other means, is a viable and affordable alternative to Nepal’s over-reliance on hydropower which faces concerns about the destruction of riverine ecosystems, as well as risk from glacial lake floods caused by climate breakdown. However, restrictive domestic energy policies and geopolitical sensitivities mean Nepal is failing to diversify fast enough to tap this tremendous solar energy potential. Nepal’s hydropower generation is almost entirely from run-of-river projects that do not have large reservoirs. Many such projects in Nepal and across the Himalaya have been swept away by glacial lake outburst floods in recent years.&nbsp; Such risks and limitations to hydropower should have prompted the Nepal government to jump-start investment into solar farms, but the main reason is that the Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA) caps solar power at just 10% of total capacity. There is no official explanation, but it is likely due to the outdated perception that solar technology cannot supply a consistent energy stream at evening and morning peak loads.&nbsp; But today, there are plenty of ways around it, including pump storage schemes that use daytime solar power to pump water from a river to a reservoir and drain it to generate electricity at night. Battery technology is now more advanced, and affordable enough to make grid-scale batteries feasible.&nbsp; But then there is an issue of tariffs, which are much lower for solar at Rs5 per energy unit, and competitive bidding forces companies to lower it even further. But there is no bidding process for hydropower and licenses are given out on a first-come, first-served basis with a fixed rate of Rs6.5 per unit regardless of location.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112303118_c3280cddae6f3305d07319011dd9c187005822a9b905bb849c36b95e3ad0d516.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025112303118_c3280cddae6f3305d07319011dd9c187005822a9b905bb849c36b95e3ad0d516" data-rendition-name="original" width="1109" height="887" loading="lazy" alt="Here comes the sun"> </figure>  SUPPLY VS DEMAND Hydropower is supply-driven, while solar responds to demand, so under such a discouraging scenario, solar power accounts for only 5% of Nepal’s total energy mix. “Given the environmental risks to hydropower, investors are now demanding tariffs on hydropower to be increased. So the question to the government is, are you paying more money for hydropower or willing to buy more of the cheaper solar power,” said energy entrepreneur Kushal Gurung. Solar investors are lobbying the government to raise the cap on solar power to 30% and expand zoning policies so that solar plants can be built in areas with high potential, such as Dolpo and Mustang in the trans-Himalaya. These regions are sparsely populated, arid, have a cold climate and high solar radiation levels — ideal conditions for photovoltaics. Solar power’s biggest advantage is its cost-effectiveness compared to hydropower, with the operating cost of a hydropower plant up to four times higher than of a solar plant of the same generation capacity. Investors are no longer assured of a return on investment on hydropower due to climate risk which have increased insurance premiums. “Last year, when the government opened a bidding for 800MW of solar power, the private sector was ready to invest 3,000MW. Both banks and investors were convinced about the potential for solar energy, but the government and especially the bureaucracy, was not on the same wavelength,” added Gurung.&nbsp; Interim Energy Minister Kulman Ghising is said to be interested in increasing the cap on solar energy, but there is a question whether he will remain in office since he has launched his only Ujyalo Nepal party to contest elections in March. GEOGRAPHY AND GEOPOLITICS In 2018, Nepal’s only foreign private equity form Dolma Himalayan Climate Fund (DHCF) pitched a proposal to generate 150MW from a solar farm and store 20MW of it in battery systems in Mustang to meet seasonal and daily peaks. It got approval from Investment Board Nepal (IBN) and had already poured millions into the project when the Department of Mines instructed all developers in Mustang to halt their projects, citing the discovery of uranium ore. But insiders say the real reason was due to pressure from the Chinese government’s security concerns about a Western investor being involved so close to the border with Tibet.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112303118_5946a5f1ba63f34c88f900c6d12b37d0101effb76e8a7a5397cd6451c16cd5b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025112303118_5946a5f1ba63f34c88f900c6d12b37d0101effb76e8a7a5397cd6451c16cd5b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="450" loading="lazy" alt="Here comes the sun NT"> <figcaption>Photo: GHAM POWER</figcaption> </figure>  The same thing happened, but in reverse, when the Chinese company Risen Energy was interested in investing $190 million on a grid-connected 125MW photovoltaic generation system in Banke and Kapilvastu districts near the Indian border. Risen’s subsidiary, Risen Energy Singapore JV, was negotiating with IBN to commit $190 million in the project which would also store 20MW of daytime generation for morning and evening peak demand. But the agreement was not signed because the Indian authorities were concerned about Chinese involvement so close to their border. India has also refused to buy electricity from any hydropower plant in Nepal that has Chinese or other foreign investment or contractors. Indian state-owned companies are currently building or planning hydropower plants in Nepal to generate nearly 3,000MW, mostly for export.&nbsp; But not every Chinese-backed project has been blocked. In 2024, China handed over two solar-powered livelihood projects to a local community in Lalitpur — a community solar bathhouse and a rooftop photovoltaic power system. Funded by the Yunnan People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries, the projects aim to improve living conditions. The initiative forms part of the Chinese Embassy’s ‘Happy Community’ program (幸福社区, Xìngfú Shèqū) under the China–South Asia Poverty Reduction and Development Cooperation Center.&nbsp; Says Gurung: “Hydropower is a geopolitical mess, but it has well and truly started in solar power too. It now all comes down to how we handle it, and we need deft diplomacy to make sure our projects are not indefinitely delayed as has happened in the past.”&nbsp; LOW-HANGING FRUIT Despite domestic restrictions and geopolitics, there are still small-scale opportunities for solar energy entrepreneurs to cash in, such as net metering. Most industries in Nepal have enough rooftop space to generate 500KW to 1MW of solar energy. Combined, they would generate a substantial amount of energy to feed into the grid. Factories, supermarkets and chain stores are often bankable and trusted by financial institutions from which they could easily get credit.&nbsp; China could also take advantage of Nepal’s high solar power potential. Given that the United States has only imposed a 10% tariff on Nepal, China could set up PV manufacturing plants in Nepal.&nbsp; However, this requires government-to-government which could run into trouble, again because of geopolitics. The same applies for the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism which is a carbon tariff on carbon intensive products, such as steel, cement and some electricity, imported to the European Union.&nbsp; Chinese products have suffered under this mechanism but Chinese products made in Nepal can be competitive in the European market given lower carbon tax for Nepal. Clean energy has long been an area where Nepal hopes to attract Chinese investment — not only in hydropower, but also in solar and wind energy.&nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.&nbsp;

Nepal, here comes the sun

There were two Bhutans on display during Narendra Modi’s visit this month. The first: a trusted partner, modernising rapidly with Indian support, inaugurating hydroelectric projects, and signing healthcare deals. The second: a nation that <a href="https://www.fmreview.org/gazmere-bishwo/#:~:text=In%201990%2D91%2C%20about%20a,are%20therefore%20not%20Bhutanese%20citizens.">ethnically cleansed 17% of its population </a>and has never been held accountable.
Modi chose to see only the <a href="https://kuenselonline.com/news/pm-modi-concludes-bhutan-visit-with-prayers-for-peace-and-prosperity">first </a>during his <a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/india-announces-rs-4000-cr-concessional-credit-line-to-fund-energy-projects-in-bhutan/articleshow/125253915.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&amp;utm_medium=text&amp;utm_campaign=cppst">11-12 November visit</a>, granting $450 million in credit, offering birthday tributes to Fourth King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, and inaugurating another hydropower project.
New Delhi has opted for strategic silence on Bhutan’s systematic persecution of the Lhotshampas in the 1990s. The displaced remain scattered across the world and in refugee camps in Nepal, their property seized, their citizenship revoked.&nbsp;
Now, on that same contested land Bhutan is building the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/small-bhutan-dreams-big">Gelephu Mindful City (GMC)</a>, a megaproject intended to <a href="https://kuenselonline.com/news/pm-modi-announces-inr-40-billion-credit-line-new-rail-links-and-land-for-bhutanese-temple-in-varanasi">connect directly to Indian infrastructure</a>. The victims are gone, and democratic India’s values remain conspicuously absent.&nbsp;
With no Lhotshampas left to challenge the official narrative and India unwilling to raise it, Bhutan continues to suppress dissent with impunity.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, social media influencer Raghu Pati Subedi was arrested on the Assam side of Gelephu after returning from a visit to relatives in India. His family members reportedly came under intense pressure, including threats of arrest, accusing them of hiding his whereabouts. After his arrest, he was transported to Thimphu and imprisoned.
This was not an isolated incident. It is part of systemic repression that first gained international attention in the 1990s, when over 100,000 Nepali-speaking Lhotshampa were systematically stripped of their citizenship and forcibly exiled. This mass expulsion, which human rights organisations have characterised as ethnic cleansing, created a decades-long refugee crisis that continues to define the regional political and human rights landscape.&nbsp;
EXODUS
The Lhotshampa crisis of the 1990s was not a spontaneous event but the culmination of years of state-led discrimination. Through a series of legislative acts, notably the 1985 Citizenship Act and the 1989 Driglam Namzha, the ‘One Nation, One People’ policy, the Bhutanese state systematically dismantled the rights of its Nepali-speaking citizens.&nbsp;
The use of the Nepali language was suppressed, the traditional dress of the ruling ethnic group was mandated, and citizenship was revoked en masse, rendering a significant portion of the population stateless in their own homeland.
The new manuscript I am editing has harrowing accounts by the authors of those atrocities. The parallels with what happened to Subedi recently are striking and troubling, showing that even after 35 years the regime has not changed its spots. The methods may have evolved, but the repression against dissidents remains disturbingly consistent.
This refugee exodus was an immense and unasked-for burden on Nepal. Despite being a country grappling with its own political instability and limited resources, Nepal accommodated them on humanitarian grounds. Nepal has consistently advocated for a durable solution centered on the refugees’ right to safe, voluntary, and dignified repatriation.
For years, it engaged in bilateral talks with Bhutan, culminating in a joint verification process. However, these efforts ultimately foundered on what Nepal described as ‘continued rigidity and non-implementation of the agreed decisions by the Bhutanese side’.
Nepal fulfilled its moral and humanitarian duty, but the international community largely failed to hold Bhutan accountable. Bhutan’s rulers deflected global attention with the masterful narrative of Gross National Happiness (GNH), while the grim reality in the refugee camps persisted.&nbsp;
Ultimately, with repatriation proving impossible, Nepal acquiesced to a third-country resettlement program led by a group of eight countries, including the United States, Canada, and Australia. From 2007 to 2016, more than 113,500 Bhutanese refugees were resettled in <a href="https://www.unhcr.org/media/nepal-factsheet">one of the largest group resettlement programmes globally</a>, though 6,365 remain in refugee camps in eastern Nepal.
While this solution provided a lifeline for thousands, it was a tragic capitulation to Bhutan’s ethnic homogenisation project. The refugees’ right to return to their homeland has been denied. It is a cautionary tale about the limits of international diplomacy in the face of state intransigence.
Bhutan’s global brand is one of its most successful exports. The <a href="https://www.gnhcentrebhutan.org/">Gross National Happiness </a>doctrine, which promotes holistic well-being over just economic growth, has captivated the Western imagination and policymakers. It offers a vision of a mindful, environmentally conscious, and peaceful Himalayan kingdom. This carefully cultivated image has historically aimed to shield Bhutan from the level of scrutiny applied to other nations with similar human rights records.
The GNH facade, however, cracks under the weight of documented evidence. The same kingdom that champions ‘happiness’ has, for decades, maintained a justice system that human rights groups allege relies on torture, coerced confessions, and draconian laws to silence opposition.
The 1992 National Security Act, with its vague definitions of ‘treasonable acts’ against the Tsa-Wa-Sum (King, Country, and People), has been a primary tool for suppressing political dissent, particularly from the Lhotshampa.
Overlooked by the international community and ignored by global powers including India, in responding robustly to the ethnic cleansing of the 1990s sent a clear message to Thimphu: such actions could be undertaken with impunity. The monarchy emerged unscathed, its reputation burnished rather than tarnished.&nbsp;
This historical impunity now echoes in the case of Raghu Pati Subedi and the <a href="https://www.cijnepal.org/new-list-of-political-prisoners-expected-to-set-off-discussion-on-bhutans-human-rights-record">continued imprisonment of dozens of political prisoners</a> of conscience. The global community’s reluctance to challenge the GNH narrative has, in effect, become a form of complicity.
The arrest and sentencing of a social media influencer demonstrates how old tactics have been adapted for the digital age. Subedi, 40, was a new kind of threat to the state-controlled narrative and he had to be made an example of.&nbsp;
As the founder and administrator of the popular Facebook page ‘The Don of Asia’, he bypassed traditional, state-influenced media to speak directly to about 78,000 followers. His content, informational and satirical videos on rural poverty, corruption, and the GMC project, was the kind of social media activism that was deemed intolerable.
Subedi was arrested in early 2025 and sentenced to 24 years in prison. The charges allegedly stemmed from Subedi’s social media criticism of the GMC, a flagship project of Nepal-born Bhutanese fifth King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck.&nbsp;
For <a href="https://thenewamericansmag.com/2024/11/18/the-kings-gelephu-mindfulness-city/#:~:text=Ganga%20Lamitare%2C%20who%20owns%20four,ancestors%20in%20building%20the%20nation.">Bhutanese refugees like Gangaram Lamitare</a>, the GMC represents a bitter irony, a development rising on their confiscated ancestral lands.&nbsp;
Gangaram, who owns four acres where the GMC’s international airport is now under construction, says: “Many people from villages fled at night in 1990, leaving everything behind to escape oppression. Now, the Bhutanese king and ministers are spreading falsehoods worldwide, calling this land vacant, which actually belongs to those forced to leave the country.”&nbsp;
There are signs that international support that has benefited Bhutan may be waning. The United Nations has become increasingly vocal and last year the <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/sites/default/files/documents/issues/detention-wg/opinions/session101/a-hrc-wgad-60-2024-bhutan-advance-edited-ve.pdf">UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention</a> said the detention of several Bhutanese political prisoners was arbitrary and illegal under international law.&nbsp;
In April 2025 from a group of six UN human rights experts raised grave concerns about the use of torture, denial of fair trials, and the ‘severe chilling effect’ of Bhutan’s legal framework on civic space. These developments owe much to the consistent advocacy of the Hague-based Global Campaign for the Release of Political Prisoners in Bhutan (GCRPPB) since its formation.
However, they also reflect broader shifts in international human rights scrutiny. This places Bhutan’s key international partners, particularly the European Union, in a critical position. Bhutan enjoys lucrative benefits under the EU’s ‘Everything but Arms’ trade scheme, which grants developing countries tariff-free access to the EU market contingent on respect for human rights.&nbsp;
The EU is also a significant provider of development aid to Bhutan which provides it with substantial leverage. In April 2025, members of the <a href="https://bsky.app/profile/saskiabricmont.bsky.social/post/3lmrn5mkmrs2q">European Parliament formally called on Bhutan</a> to release all political prisoners. This action signals a growing recognition that trade and partnership cannot be divorced from human rights obligations.&nbsp;
“Bhutan’s international partners and investors, including the EU, should make it clear that they expect Bhutan to comply with its human rights obligations and release them without further delay,” says Meenakshi Ganguly, of Human Rights Watch.&nbsp;
Bhutan stands at a crossroads. Its desire for deeper global economic integration is colliding with its unresolved history of human rights abuses. The international community now has a choice: either continue being charmed by the myth of a happy shangri-la or insist that the kingdom adheres to democratic values it professes to the world.&nbsp;
Nepal’s recent Gen-Z uprising offers a lesson to Bhutan. In September, when authorities attempted to ban 26 social media, Nepali youth took to the streets and, within hours, toppled the entire pro-establishment political apparatus. Their message was clear: in an age of digital connectivity and mass mobilisation, authoritarian tactics such as detaining social media influencers are both unjust and ultimately unsustainable.
This incident echoes the prophetic warnings of Devi Bhakta Lamitare, Bhutan’s first-generation democratic leader, who died in exile in India in 2022. In his seminal 1970 book
Dankindo Bhutan, Lamitare chronicled the systematic suppression of people’s rights and envisioned a path toward liberation.
Before his death, I worked with him to update and edit this work, which the Bhutan Media Society published posthumously in 2023. In a December 2020 interview I conducted for the book on the Ganga riverbank in Haridwar, Lamitare laid out a stark three-front offensive: political mobilisation from within India to awaken resistance inside Bhutan itself, relentless pressure on New Delhi to champion democracy, and a global ‘pamphlet war’ waged by resettled Bhutanese in the West.&nbsp;
Only through such sustained action, he argues, can Bhutanese citizens win the right to choose their own rulers, a principle India, the world’s largest democracy, should be championing, not abandoning.
Binod Dhungel is the Nepal correspondent for Reporters Without Borders.
<a href="http://linkedin.com/in/dhungelbinod" target="_blank">linkedin.com/in/dhungelbinod</a>, @BinodDhungel

Bhutan imprisons social media influencer

Youth protestors who sustained injuries at the hands of state security forces during the September protest staged a sit-in at Maitighar Mandala on Friday, protesting what they have called the interim government’s inadequate efforts to address the demands of the GenZ movements. The demonstrators also sought to bar the UML from gathering at Maitighar, where party chair K P Oli was expected to announce its Youth Volunteer Force on Friday. The organisers consequently relocated the event. Friday’s demonstration at Maitighar comes as UML and GenZ representatives agreed to sit down for talks in Simara, where a curfew was imposed this week after youth protestors and party cadres clashed near the airport as demonstrators sought to stop UML leaders from flying in for a political event to Simara from Kathmandu.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251121131148_c0b3bfb861f73bee456efbd12f523af55ce3c258742c39e1dea7dbf768774ea5.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251121131148_c0b3bfb861f73bee456efbd12f523af55ce3c258742c39e1dea7dbf768774ea5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2160" height="1440" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Maitighar"> <figcaption>Youth protestors who sustained injuries at the hands of state security forces during the September protest staged a sit-in at Maitighar Mandala on Friday. Photos: SUBASH SHRESTHA</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251121131152_85f3606728d137b334d782ac1b5d1ed6383544493f96ebcc0398fcd9f0c5add7.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251121131152_85f3606728d137b334d782ac1b5d1ed6383544493f96ebcc0398fcd9f0c5add7" data-rendition-name="original" width="2160" height="1439" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Maitighar"> </figure>  &nbsp;Nepal’s interim government is increasingly cautious about the nation’s sensitive security situation in the lead-up to the 5 March election, as evidenced by pro-monarchy businessman Durga Prasai’s midnight arrest earlier this week over his inflammatory remarks as he called for protests this month. On Thursday, the Supreme Court ordered the government to present Prasai before the court within 24 hours.&nbsp; As it stands, the UML’s inauguration of a youth collective amidst its disregard for the demands of Nepalis for party reforms and a change in leadership highlights party chair and former PM K P Oli’s continued lack of remorse for the excesses of 8 September.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251121131144_aaa296e2e812ef5f6473064bc4b679bf605e14e06ac0ec9be1d6d047b56f96f9.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251121131144_aaa296e2e812ef5f6473064bc4b679bf605e14e06ac0ec9be1d6d047b56f96f9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2560" height="1707" loading="lazy" alt="UML Youth Volunteer Force NT"> <figcaption>The UML launched its Youth Volunteer Force on Friday. Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251121131148_bfa8df3fc382195b4cdb9c4804cd67e169d2d9c0b8d218e61bbef0c4c9dbdaad.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251121131148_bfa8df3fc382195b4cdb9c4804cd67e169d2d9c0b8d218e61bbef0c4c9dbdaad" data-rendition-name="original" width="2560" height="1706" loading="lazy" alt="UML Youth Volunteer Force"> </figure>  Families of those killed and injured on 8 September have demanded that the ousted PM and home minister be held accountable for state brutality.&nbsp; This week, Human Rights Watch published a <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2025/11/19/nepal-unlawful-use-of-force-during-gen-z-protest" target="_blank">comprehensive report</a> concluding that security forces fired indiscriminately on youth-led protestors on 8 September.&nbsp; The human rights watchdog urged the Sushila Karki-led interim government to investigate the excessive use of force as well as arson, vandalism and mob attacks on individuals on 9 September. The government has created a judicial commission to inquire into the deaths of 76 people over two days of protests.&nbsp; “The recent violence in Nepal included serious human rights violations, and those responsible should be held accountable, whether they are security forces or political actors,” said Meenakshi Ganguly, deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch.&nbsp; She added: “The government should ensure that the investigations are independent, time-bound, and transparent, and that no one found responsible for breaking the law is unfairly protected from proper prosecution.” HRW’s investigation was based on testimony from 52 witnesses, victims, journalists, healthcare workers, politicians, and sources close to security forces. Researchers also verified photos and video footage shared on social media and with researchers; and visited the scenes of protests, properties subjected to arson and vandalism, and hospitals.&nbsp; A police officer said that officers opened fire with lethal force five minutes after the District Administration Office declared an emergency curfew around Parliament. Witness accounts and analysed footage did not show grave and imminent danger to life that would justify the intentional use of lethal force, stated the human rights watchdog in the report.&nbsp; The protestors and witnesses identified security forces who fired live ammunition at the protestors by their uniforms as members of the Armed Police Force (APF) and Nepal Police’s Special Task Force (STF). &nbsp; “They literally aimed at us and started shooting,” said one witness who sheltered behind a barricade as police continued shooting.&nbsp; A retired senior police official said police had failed to follow procedures for dispersing protests and using lethal force.&nbsp; Pathologists at a Kathmandu morgue told HRW that they determined 35 cases of death caused by “high velocity gunshot wounds” to the head, neck, chest, or abdomen.&nbsp; The witness recounted being taken into custody along with 33 other protestors by STF officers in riot gear, and said that police police personnel beat him with batons. Detainees were threatened and their IDs destroyed. Several witnesses said that the mob attacks on businesses, politicians, media companies, and educational institutions were very targeted, noting the absence of security personnel on 9 September as arson and violence raged across the capital.&nbsp; Some suggested that the violence may have been instigated by infiltrators associated with various political movements.&nbsp; On Discord, the platform where a significant number of demonstrators organised, participants noted that while there were calls for peaceful movement in the days leading up to the protest, some on the platform advocated for violence.&nbsp; Human Rights Watch has said that any credible allegations of criminal acts contributing to the violence must be investigated.&nbsp; Said Ganguly: “The authorities should recognise that widespread impunity for human rights violations in the past helped enable the violence that occurred this time in Nepal. It is crucial to reverse the decades-long tendency by successive governments in Nepal to bury investigations and stall prosecutions, and to bring about accountability and security sector reform.”

Security forces targeted protestors disproportionately: HRW

&nbsp;Nepal has finally become famous the world over for something else besides Mt Everest — the GenZ Movement. The 8 September protests in Kathmandu may have been triggered by what happened in Jakarta a week previously, but it inspired street uprisings all over the world. This week, Mexico’s GenZ are clashing with riot police. Last month, the president of Madagascar fled to Dubai. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-genzs-inspired-filipinos" target="_blank">Philippines</a>, Morocco, Peru, Timor Leste all have seen similar anti-government protests against corruption, nepotism and poor governance. A Himalayan republic, a Latin American federation, a Southeast Asian archipelago, or a North African kingdom may have little in common, their histories, religions, languages, and political systems are worlds apart. But <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/10/19/world/gen-z-revolutions-protests-louvre-heist-gaza.html" target="_blank">the common thread</a> running through these demonstrations were the simulacra and symbols spread on social media platforms.&nbsp; The young crowds marching through the streets of these countries were holding up the same icons. They painted the same images on cardboard, waved the same flags, stitched the same badges on their backpacks. They chanted &nbsp;the same references from the same corners of the internet.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_2ff7cf4ce7a9590359ed18753f4977648a6db83e95dd62d602a3f81e9eec42c4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251122031128_2ff7cf4ce7a9590359ed18753f4977648a6db83e95dd62d602a3f81e9eec42c4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1250" height="1047" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption> One Piece reference meme on Instagram, 115K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  To anyone who did not grow up online, this looks random. To anyone who did, it feels like the most obvious thing in the world. A new kind of global identity has formed — one that cuts across nationalities and cultures. In Nepal older relatives mock the ‘जेन्जी’. My neighbour asked me if ‘GenZ’ was a new political party.&nbsp; Around the world, when youth-led protests appear, reporters and politicians ask the same question: ‘Who is the leader?’ The answer is the same: there is no leader.&nbsp; Some names come up more prominently, as people did during <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-historic-youth-dissensus?fbclid=IwY2xjawNPQnZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHk5Nazeqz3K9aNddXa-dQfCbwtId0nLclQwHzIYhTfg8tzGWXZMBJ5pjm5Qx_aem_a5JoyT1FRqzCVtnnPM7zUw" target="_blank">the Nepali protests</a>: Sudan Gurung. Miraj Dhungana, Rakshya Bam and other organisers who appeared in livestreams and interviews. But look closely and the leader is hiding in plain sight. The leader is not a person. The leader is the internet meme.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_b2319eb8d7abec7ed5e12baf1a53e0a27cfd7a49ee15c058c47cdf2603a7fa8a.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251122031128_b2319eb8d7abec7ed5e12baf1a53e0a27cfd7a49ee15c058c47cdf2603a7fa8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="662" height="1038" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Aurafarming, 233K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-meme-revolution" target="_blank">Memes today</a> are doing the quiet organising work that pamphlets and party cells once did. They offer identity, coordinate action, level power differences, and they do it without any central command. This is not because memes cause revolts. It is because memes are the connective tissue of a generation that grew up on the same visual language, the same jokes, the same references, and the same sense of shared digital childhood. Older generations did not share cultural symbols in the same way. Whether they read a certain comic book or watched the same cartoon depended on class, religion, caste, the country, or neighbourhood they grew up in. These divisions created stratified cultural memories.&nbsp; Today, an entire global cohort has been raised on the same visual media. The same YouTube creators. The same TikTok jokes. The same anime storylines. It is truly what McLuhan predicted the Global Village would be.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_136d009a48d8f8daee82ada1b220e0b0c8ec482b52dcd44e0942e2185a70421b.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251122031128_136d009a48d8f8daee82ada1b220e0b0c8ec482b52dcd44e0942e2185a70421b" data-rendition-name="original" width="738" height="1012" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Masked K P Oli, 63K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  This has also created the perfect environment for <a href="https://observer.co.uk/news/international/article/revolution-20-frances-political-future-could-be-won-or-lost-by-bots-and-memes" target="_blank">memes to become political tools</a>. They are instantly recognisable, emotionally charged, and open for remixing. They allow young people to signal their values without stating them. They compress identity, anger, humour, and belonging into something that the rest of the world dismisses as unserious. The perfect example of a GenZ meme is the famous skull and crossbones in protest flags from Kathmandu to Manila to Mexico City. The Strawhat Pirates from the <a href="https://www.france24.com/en/asia-pacific/20251006-one-piece-manga-revolt-morocco-indonesia-nepal-madagascar" target="_blank">anime One Piece</a>, is a show with over 1,000 episodes and a global fanbase that spans continents. One Piece follows Luffy, a justice driven pirate who travels across a world ruled by corrupt older elites who hoard power and suppress dissent.&nbsp; It is not hard to see why that story resonates with young people who feel locked out of political systems built by generations before them. I even printed stacks of my own flyer that explained memetic warfare using Minecraft visuals and handed them out in the crowd. Each one linked to a Telegram group with the Strawhat Pirates logo called MemePack HQ.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031144_1b12e920be6e312e1dc8768d318c1d1332e32694293b48984089867e7e525a27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251122031144_1b12e920be6e312e1dc8768d318c1d1332e32694293b48984089867e7e525a27" data-rendition-name="original" width="1100" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Meme Movements"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_08b720667a9ff36537e58992c8a8030b090900847de5eecd479bbb3fc727349d.png" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251122031128_08b720667a9ff36537e58992c8a8030b090900847de5eecd479bbb3fc727349d" data-rendition-name="original" width="696" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> <figcaption>Indonesia-Nepal comparison, 17.7K likes(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  CULTURE EXPOSURE The Strawhat logo is not the only symbol making people protest. That would be like saying video games cause real world violence. Instead, the logo works like a modern version of mythology. It packs meaning for those who understand it. It represents loyalty, rebellion, chosen family, and resistance against unfair structures. It works as a rallying flag because it is already a shared story. And unlike older myths, it is accessible regardless of religion, caste, language, or national identity. Across Nepal, the Strawhat symbol has shown up on posters, badges, and protest outfits. But it is only one piece of a larger ecosystem of youth symbols. From Nepali meme pages remixing political speeches into ironic audios, to posts that place politicians into familiar pop culture formats, to clips that exaggerate the absurdity of daily life under slow moving governance, these are not just jokes. These are narrative units. Each post is a tiny story with its own punchline and its own political edge. Each TikTok video or meme functions like a religious shlok, a short piece of narrative that carries layers of meaning depending on who consumes it. Someone who has spent years studying a religion, in this case, inside GenZ online culture will recognise the symbols instantly. Someone outside this world will only see noise. This creates a literacy divide that is not about formal education but cultural exposure.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_2d09f075663678fe92d4e4dcc631ee6ad1aa8a99996f4c4a3649e4bf4d85132f.png" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20251122031128_2d09f075663678fe92d4e4dcc631ee6ad1aa8a99996f4c4a3649e4bf4d85132f" data-rendition-name="original" width="810" height="1208" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_d591c4dc857864cc833ffc6baece3f4c2798bbaf70b557f965463fc8f802900e.png" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20251122031128_d591c4dc857864cc833ffc6baece3f4c2798bbaf70b557f965463fc8f802900e" data-rendition-name="original" width="568" height="1124" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>  Protesting youth spent countless hours scrolling, interpreting, remixing, and responding to content. They built a shared symbolic universe across borders without planning to. This is why their political movements feel leaderless. They are not following individuals. They are following stories that define what justice looks like. Stories that define who the villain is. Stories that define how to respond when power is abused. In Nepal, memes about broken roads, delayed passports, political inheritance networks, and bureaucratic absurdity circulated for months before they became slogans or chants. By the time people took to the streets, the narrative groundwork had already been completed by thousands of posts liked and shared in private. The protests did not emerge from nowhere. They emerge from years of digital storytelling. Which is why the government’s ban on 26 digital platforms on 5 September became such a rallying force. The platforms that distribute these memes are not neutral, they are actually designed to maximise engagement because engagement translates to ad revenue. Right now, there is an engineer in Silicon Valley getting paid an enormous salary to find the perfect colour shade for a singular pixel on your screen so that you linger for fractions of a second longer.&nbsp; Algorithms reward content that trigger emotion. Sometimes the emotion is delight. Sometimes it is envy. Often it is anger. When rage becomes a business model, movements built inside these systems can feel powerful but unstable. The platforms democratise attention but centralise emotion. They allow anyone to broadcast, yet they shape the emotional tone of what becomes viral.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251122031128_f22baab05910305ea435045824b25b796d5630715e2e17c3f3c0991e8371843c.png" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20251122031128_f22baab05910305ea435045824b25b796d5630715e2e17c3f3c0991e8371843c" data-rendition-name="original" width="974" height="1156" loading="lazy" alt="Meme movements"> </figure>  GenZ sits inside this tension. Empowered by the ability to speak without gatekeepers. Trapped inside systems that monetise their attention and amplify their frustration. This is why these leaderless online movements feel both organic and volatile. The algorithm filters which stories rise and which fade. It becomes an unintentional political actor. Not elected. Not accountable. Yet influencing millions. When the state is no longer the primary distributor of information, and when the algorithm becomes the new filter of reality, the public is left with a new responsibility. We have to learn to read memes the way past generations learned to read pamphlets or manifestos. A 15 second video can carry more political weight than a two hour speech. A symbol on cardboard might represent a decade of digital storytelling. Older generations often dismiss these images as childish. They are actually literacy markers of a new political class, one that does not wait for leaders. A political class fluent in remixing power, raised on global stories that feel more honest than the institutions they inherited. The youth did not create these platforms. They inherited them. But through memes they found a new language, one that lets them organise without permission. One that lets them build solidarity without needing meetings or manifestos. One that allows them to resist systems that feel too old to reform. It is time to take that seriously. Nobel Rimal is a researcher of digital culture and political communication who studied and participated in the meme driven mobilisations during the Nepal protests&nbsp;