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Honourable Prime Minister, continuity of citizenship by descent may come in time if a constitutional amendment is possible. But what can be done right now, without amending the constitution, is the full implementation of the non-resident Nepali (NRN) citizenship provisions already guaranteed within it. Please do that. That alone would mean a great deal. What non-resident Nepalis need at present is not a big reform, but a small, practical step.

Just as Nepalis at home contributed to bringing the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) to power, Nepalis abroad contributed equally. In the early days in particular, they generated the momentum for the party in the digital sphere. Families back home changed not only their sentiments but also their votes. The bell did not merely tinkle—it rang loud and clear. As a result, with an unprecedented mandate, the Balen government was formed.

During the election, the RSP did not only make 100 promises to the public; it also entered into a five-point agreement. If one revisits both these documents today, one can clearly see, under point 99 of the manifesto and point 5 of the agreement, the commitments made to non-resident Nepalis.

For the record, let us quote them here.

Promise

Respecting the emotional bond of non-resident Nepalis expressed in the phrase “Once a Nepali, always a Nepali”, we will, barring certain specific exceptions, stand in principle for dual citizenship and immediately remove administrative hurdles related to property rights.

Agreement

Current situation—weak implementation of NRN citizenship. Our goal—continuity of citizenship by descent. Whether in the manifesto or the agreement, both clearly mention continuity of citizenship by descent for non-resident Nepalis. In simple terms, this means dual citizenship. It was said that these promises and conditions would be fulfilled upon securing a majority. But now, not only has a majority been secured, but there is also nearly a two-thirds mandate.

Another point worth recalling is the background of RSP’s leader, Rabi Lamichhane. He himself was once a non-resident Nepali who lost both his parliamentary seat and his position as deputy prime minister due to the lack of continuity in citizenship by descent.

That was the past—the promises, agreements, and the personal background of the leadership in relation to non-resident Nepalis.

Now let us turn to the present. Ten days have already passed since the government was formed. The government has carried out what could be described as surgical strikes in areas such as arrests and disciplinary actions. But when it comes to the promises and agreements made with non-resident Nepalis, nothing has been done.

Those who must remind have begun doing their part. Officials of the Non-Resident Nepali Association have already visited the concerned ministers with delegations. Advocates have spoken out. Even on social media platforms of non-resident Nepalis, signs of disappointment are beginning to emerge.

Yet, despite all this, the government appears largely unmoved. It may have said, “We will do it.” But saying “we will do it” is an old habit. This government stands on the grave of that very habit. The public expects not assurances, but implementation. Not a big promise, but a small action. Overall, it expects delivery—and that too on time. But in the case of NRN citizenship, expecting on-time delivery is like hoping for the impossible. The process of obtaining it is so complicated and painful that it exhausts anyone.

Such is the ordeal of the process: To obtain this citizenship, one must first go to the district where one originally received citizenship. Most non-resident Nepalis have long since migrated elsewhere from that district. They may not have any relatives left there. Even reaching the district headquarters is not enough. To obtain a police clearance certificate and a ward recommendation, one must travel to remote villages. In hill districts especially, such villages may be miles away and require two to three days of travel. Some wards may not even have a police office, requiring officials to be brought from another municipality for verification.

Even obtaining a ward recommendation alone can cost up to Rs10,000. This is excessively high. In some wards, there may be no one who recognizes the applicant; in others, records may show that the entire family has already migrated. In such cases, ward chairs may refuse to recommend, and police may refuse verification. The resulting complications are deeply distressing.

Moreover, anyone arriving from abroad to obtain NRN citizenship is often treated as a source of extraction by local wards and police offices. The compulsion to “please” officials in order to get work done quickly and smoothly is even more disheartening. After completing all this, one must again return to the district office, where witnesses are required—something that is also difficult to arrange.

After completing all these steps, the office of the Chief District Officer that originally issued citizenship by descent provides a certificate confirming its renunciation. With that, one must then go to the district office that issued the most recent copy of the citizenship certificate. Only then does the process of obtaining NRN citizenship begin. Even this involves numerous complicated procedures—moving from one office to another, being told something is missing, and being compelled to pay extra. “Come tomorrow,” is often said—and to turn that tomorrow into today, additional payment becomes necessary. Only after completing this entire marathon of procedures does one finally obtain NRN citizenship.

What should the process be like?

NRN citizenship should be made into a dignified, almost sacred link between the state and its diaspora—a gift that keeps former Nepalis connected to their roots. Its value should reflect the meaning of belonging to one’s birthplace. It should inspire both enthusiasm to obtain it and pride in holding it. It should be accessible through a simple, single-window system. For that, the following steps are practical and achievable:

• Allow issuance through Nepali diplomatic missions abroad.
• Establish a dedicated mechanism within the Ministry of Home Affairs for applicants in Kathmandu.
• Introduce a “one appointment, one desk” system at the district level.
• Issue it immediately upon submission of original Nepali citizenship and passport, along with the foreign citizenship or passport.
• Enable a single online appointment system for the entire process.
• Fix a reasonable one-time fee, transparently administered.

What does one receive after obtaining it?

The constitution guarantees economic, social and cultural rights, excluding political rights. In practice, social and cultural integration is rarely an issue. The real need, however, is economic rights. Yet, paradoxically, this citizenship still lacks full recognition in government offices and courts, especially in matters of land and property. Outdated laws and regulations continue to obstruct it. In some cases, connections or informal payments may help—but that is neither reliable nor just.

One modest step was taken during the tenure of Chief Justice Sushila Karki: NRNs entering Nepal on a visa can obtain a free two-year multiple-entry visa. But this is hardly transformative. Those who paid $500 for an NRN identity card receive a 10-year facility. The disparity is difficult to justify.

What should be ensured?

Former Nepalis who have acquired foreign citizenship should not seek privileges beyond what is reasonable. But the rights guaranteed by the constitution must be delivered in full—without dilution. In practice, the only restriction should be political rights: contesting elections, nominating candidates, representing them, and voting. Beyond these, all other rights must be freely exercisable. This includes:

• The right to enter and reside in Nepal without a passport, similar to citizens by descent or naturalized citizens.
• The ability to enter Nepal using NRN citizenship itself—or, if not feasible, provision of a special travel document.
• Full legal recognition in all institutions and courts concerning economic, social and cultural rights.

Continuity of citizenship is not immediately possible

Despite political commitments, continuity of citizenship by descent cannot be implemented immediately. Nepal’s Constitution (2015) does not allow it. In fact, the current process begins only after renouncing citizenship by descent. In theory, the only difference between the two forms of citizenship is political rights. In practice, however, NRN citizenship fails to deliver even the rights it promises. Legal barriers remain, reforms have not been enacted, and even executive-level decisions have not been utilized.

As a result, obtaining it is difficult—and even after obtaining it, it often feels ineffective. Many describe it as little more than a piece of paper, acquired at the cost of emotional loss.

What can the government do now?

While political intent may exist, bureaucratic resistance remains the central obstacle. It is the bureaucracy that complicates procedures and restricts rights. The government must address this directly by simplifying processes, enforcing accountability, and ensuring that rights are actually delivered. Above all, NRN citizenship must be recognized for what it is: a legitimate form of Nepali citizenship enshrined in the constitution. It must carry dignity. The current absurdity—where its holders still require visas to enter Nepal—must end.

This is what can and must be done immediately. The promise of dual citizenship, or continuity of citizenship by descent, will require constitutional amendment, time, and a two-thirds parliamentary majority. That process cannot be rushed. But the political consensus— “Once a Nepali, always a Nepali”—suggests that such a future is possible.

Hope in Balen

The electorate did not merely vote for a party; it voted for a promise of change embodied in leadership. In many constituencies, voters chose the symbol to deliver that leadership. This mandate is not for incremental reform, but for meaningful delivery. It is not unconditional—it carries expectations.

Non-resident Nepalis may not vote directly, but their influence—on families, on public opinion, and on international perception—has been decisive. The government must now honor that contribution by acting—swiftly and concretely. Ensure that NRN citizenship is easy to obtain. Ensure that it works in practice. Ensure that rights are not just written but lived.

That is what a credible beginning looks like.

Good morning, Honourable Prime Minister.

Continuity of citizenship by descent may come in time through constitutional amendment. But what can be done now—without amending the constitution—is the full implementation of NRN citizenship provisions already in place. Please do that. That alone would mean everything. What non-resident Nepalis need today is not a big reform, but a small, decisive action.

The number of self-proclaimed geopolitical observers in Nepal—those who claim to detect American maneuvering behind every major development—has been steadily growing. Not long ago, they pointed to an alleged US hand behind the GenZ movement; now, as election approaches, they are putting supposed American backing under a media trial fueled by conspiracy theories.

But did the United States really micro-manage Nepal’s GenZ movement? And is that even a priority for Washington at present?

A closer examination of the position taken by Washington at the time, along with the silence it maintained in Kathmandu, suggests otherwise. However, the three key issues raised by the GenZ movement—unrestricted access to and use of social media, good governance, and the elimination of corruption—are long-standing priorities of the United States. In that sense, the overlap may simply be coincidental.

Convergence of issues may imply goodwill, but there is no evidence to suggest that the United States actively intervened on the ground. That said, a notable number of youths who had participated in the US Embassy’s American Youth Council in Kathmandu were seen at the forefront of the movement. If one chooses not to view this as coincidence, it does leave room for suspicion.

As speculation intensified, the United States eventually commented on the GenZ movement, stating that “Nepal’s youth movement is an example of how old governments can be replaced to create opportunities for democratic participation.”

That, essentially, was the extent of Washington’s official position. Yet even this statement has been interpreted in multiple ways, often shaped by individual interests. It would not be entirely incorrect to say that the United States appeared supportive of youth-oriented initiatives—but equating that directly with support for the GenZ movement would be an overstatement.

Similarly, the United States has said little about Nepal’s upcoming election. Its official stance has been limited to a standard formulation: “In Nepal’s case, we believe they will adopt a credible and peaceful electoral process. We are ready to work with whichever side wins.”

However, it would be unrealistic to assume that Washington has no preferences at all in Nepal. Its most fundamental and default interest remains ensuring that no government in Nepal tilts toward China. Beyond that, it seeks a post-election government with which it can work comfortably.

This raises a crucial question: which party—and which prime ministerial candidate—fits that description?

At present, three major political forces dominate Nepal’s electoral landscape: the Nepali Congress, the CPN-UML, and the Rastriya Swatantra Party. It is widely expected that the next government will emerge from within these three. All have already announced their prime ministerial candidates: Gagan Thapa for Congress, KP Sharma Oli for UML, and Balen Shah for RSP.

Formally declaring prime ministerial candidates before election is neither an established norm nor a standard practice in parliamentary systems. However, Nepal’s hybrid political system has seen such practices before—and this time, it has arguably taken on the character of a trend.

Even so, such declarations only hold if the candidates win parliamentary seats and go on to lead their respective parliamentary parties. This remains uncertain for all three candidates.

Both Oli and Balen are contesting from Jhapa-5, meaning one of them is bound to lose. That alone eliminates one prime ministerial prospect. At the same time, victory is not guaranteed for Gagan Thapa in Sarlahi-4 either.

The likelihood of any single party securing a majority appears slim. It is equally difficult to predict whether Congress or RSP will emerge as the largest party, though UML appears to be slipping into third place. Under Gagan Thapa’s leadership, Congress is not only competing for first place but also increasingly positioning itself to surpass RSP.

Even in this scenario, Oli remains a strong contender in Jhapa-5. If he wins while candidates from potentially larger parties lose, it could create an unusual situation: a prime ministerial candidate from a third-place party entering Parliament while those from leading parties fail. That would also raise further questions about RSP’s leadership, particularly as party chair Rabi Lamichhane—even if elected—faces legal challenges that may prevent him from taking the parliamentary oath, let alone becoming prime minister.

In such a fluid and uncertain political context, what might the United States prefer?

At present, Washington appears to be in a “wait and watch” mode. This does not mean it lacks preferences. Naturally, it would prefer a particular party to win and a certain leader to become prime minister. Its primary consideration remains that the winning side should not be aligned with China—something that is neither hidden nor surprising.

So, who might be in America’s “good books”?

First, consider UML and Oli. UML today is largely synonymous with Oli, who is firmly rooted in leftist politics. Even if relations are not always smooth, his ideological inclination is widely seen as closer to China—America’s principal global competitor. From this perspective, it is natural that UML and Oli would not rank highly in Washington’s preferences.

Moreover, Oli has often framed the GenZ movement not as a domestic political development but as part of a foreign conspiracy, implicitly pointing fingers at the United States. Such rhetoric further diminishes his standing in Washington’s eyes.

Turning to RSP and Balen Shah, the situation is equally complex. The party has yet to evolve into a fully institutionalized political force and remains closely tied to the persona of Rabi Lamichhane. With Lamichhane facing multiple legal cases, including allegations of financial misconduct, his political credibility has come under strain.

Balen Shah, presented as the party’s prime ministerial candidate, appears more as a strategic choice than a deeply rooted political leader. Though popular, he remains politically inexperienced, having emerged from a background in music and local governance. Comparisons with Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelenskyy are sometimes drawn, though such parallels may not be reassuring from Washington’s standpoint.

Given these factors, it is difficult to see either Lamichhane or Balen fitting comfortably within Washington’s strategic preferences—particularly for a country that emphasizes governance, institutional credibility, and anti-corruption.

This leaves the Nepali Congress and Gagan Thapa. Under Thapa’s leadership, Congress has sought to reposition itself within its traditional democratic space, moving away from the left-leaning alignments associated with former party president Sher Bahadur Deuba. For Washington, this likely signals the return of a familiar and historically cooperative partner.

Thapa also represents a blend of youth and experience. His academic exposure at Harvard University, though brief, has contributed to his international profile. From an American strategic perspective, neither Congress nor Thapa is likely to fall into China’s sphere of influence—something that provides reassurance for US policy toward Nepal.

Another key factor is India. In shaping its Nepal policy, the United States must also take into account New Delhi’s interests, particularly given the broader geopolitical balance with China. The notion that Washington views Nepal through a Delhi lens stems from this reality.

At present, neither Oli nor Balen appears to be in India’s good books. Balen’s past remarks on Hindi films and his invocation of “Greater Nepal” rhetoric have not been well received in New Delhi. Oli, meanwhile, has previously strained relations with India through statements on Ayodhya and by endorsing controversial territorial claims. He remains a leading figure of nationalist, India-critical politics in Nepal.

With both Oli and Balen falling outside India’s preference, Washington’s decision becomes relatively straightforward. In such circumstances, it is reasonable to infer that the Nepali Congress—and Gagan Thapa in particular—may well be in the “good books” of the United States as Nepal heads toward a highly uncertain electoral contest.

The author is a former journalist based in Washington, DC

The upcoming election is interpreted in conflicting ways: protesters see it as a “phoenix” rising from the graves of 76 GenZ martyrs, symbolising a contest between old and new politics, while UML Suprimo Oli and his party frame it as a battle between nation-builders and destroyers. In reality, it is a vote shaped by recent unrest and the deaths of civilians.

Nepal is once again preparing for a midterm election—an exercise that, by its very nature, is untimely. Unlike a scheduled general election, a midterm poll is triggered before a parliamentary term has run its course, often under conditions of political crisis. Such elections rarely occur in an atmosphere of readiness. Neither the state machinery nor the electorate is usually fully prepared. Yet political compulsion leaves little room for choice.

This will be Nepal’s second midterm election. The first was held in 1994 after then prime minister Girija Prasad Koirala dissolved Parliament. That decision came at a time of deep factional infighting within the Nepali Congress, which had fractured into two rival groups named 74 and 36 on the basis of the number of parliamentarians. The election that followed adhered to a familiar global pattern: the ruling party that initiated the midterm poll was punished by voters, while the main opposition benefited.

The Nepali Congress lost power, and the Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist-Leninist), or UML, came to power for the first time by forming a minority government under its chairperson, Man Mohan Adhikari. That episode remains a defining chapter in Nepal’s post-1990 democratic history.

Three decades later, the country finds itself confronting another midterm election—once again amid political instability, judicial intervention and deep public dissatisfaction with the political class.

The courts, dissolutions and the Oli factor

Following its rise to power in the mid-1990s, UML attempted to dissolve Parliament while leading a minority government. The Supreme Court intervened, ruling that such a move was unconstitutional. The decision triggered widespread political agitation, both inside the House and on the streets. That confrontation between the executive and the judiciary would set a precedent for future constitutional disputes.

In the years that followed, Parliament has twice been dissolved while UML was in power—both times under Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli. On each occasion, the Supreme Court struck down the dissolutions, declaring them unconstitutional and reinstating the legislature. Those rulings reinforced the judiciary’s role as a key arbiter in Nepal’s fragile constitutional order.

The main reason behind this mid-term election is widely seen as former Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli. The difference this time is striking: while he once tried and failed to force a mid-term election, he now cannot stop it, despite his efforts. The GenZ movement, which arose in response to Oli’s hardline policies, led to the death of 76 civilians. Following his removal from office, an interim government took shape. Acting on the demands of the GenZ protesters, the interim administration dissolved parliament and announced a mid-term election. Oli, along with his former coalition partner—the establishment faction of the Nepali Congress under Sher Bahadur Deuba—has approached the Supreme Court seeking the restoration of the parliament. Given the current situation, the election scheduled for March 5  is likely to take place before the court issues its verdict on the case, potentially making parliamentary restoration irrelevant.

Views on the GenZ protests and the upcoming election are deeply divided. Different groups are shaping their own narratives to suit their interests. Protesters describe the election as a “phoenix rising from the graves” of GenZ martyrs, framing it as a referendum between old and new political forces. Oli rejects this interpretation. He portrays the GenZ movement as a conspiracy of domestic and foreign actors to corner him and casts the election as a battle between those who would “destroy the country” and those who would “build it,” claiming the role of the nation-builder.

In reality, both these extreme narratives are misleading. The election is neither simply a contest between the old and the new, nor is the GenZ movement solely the result of a domestic-foreign conspiracy, as Oli claims. Rather, it is a vote standing over the graves of 76 innocent civilians, a measure of public opinion shaped by recent political unrest. How the Nepali people interpret and respond to it remains to be seen. The answer will become clear only after the March 5 election results.

Party politics and accountability

While UML has closed ranks around Oli, other parties have experienced internal upheaval. Within the Nepali Congress, youth leaders recently convened a special party convention that sidelined long-time leader Sher Bahadur Deuba. Deuba, a five-time prime minister, has faced sustained criticism for prioritising personal political survival over party renewal and reform.

His removal—though controversial—was widely seen as a symbolic attempt of younger party members to assert accountability within the organisation. Many argue that Deuba’s leadership had come to embody the stagnation and transactional politics that voters increasingly reject.

UML, by contrast, has taken no comparable steps to discipline or sideline Oli. Instead, its party convention reaffirmed his leadership overwhelmingly. For critics, this reinforced the perception of UML as a party centred on a single individual rather than collective leadership.

That perception appears to be resonating in Oli’s home constituency of Jhapa-5, where political dynamics have shifted. Reports suggest that voters there are less concerned with party affiliation than with identifying a candidate capable of defeating Oli. The constituency has become sharply polarised between his remaining loyal supporters and a growing group of voters seeking change.

Into this contest has stepped Balen Shah, who resigned as the mayor of Kathmandu Metropolitan City to challenge Oli in Jhapa-5. While some view his move as politically risky, others see it as a calculated attempt to capitalise on public frustration with established leaders.

Vote sans issues in a shallow democracy

Beyond individual contests, the broader nature of Nepal’s elections has remained largely unchanged despite repeated political transformations. The country has experienced multiple systems—monarchy, Panchayat rule, constitutional monarchy and now a federal republic. Yet electoral behaviour continues to be shaped less by policy debates and more by personality, identity and patronage.

Multiparty democracy is often regarded as the most advanced political system, with periodic elections serving as its core mechanism of accountability. In theory, parties present clear agendas, voters choose among them, and those who fail to deliver are voted out.

In practice, Nepal’s democratic exercise remains underdeveloped. This will be only the third such election under the current republican framework. Political agendas are weakly articulated, candidates often lack policy clarity, and voters are still adapting to the idea of elections as instruments of accountability rather than ritualistic exercises.

Campaigns continue to be influenced by caste, religion, region and personal networks. Despite the formal abandonment of the Panchayat system, the personalised nature of politics has endured. Many figures who once opposed multiparty democracy have successfully reinvented themselves within it, moving across parties while retaining influence and access to power.

Elections have also become increasingly expensive. While parties now contest elections rather than individuals, the underlying culture has not changed. Campaigns are often likened to financial investments, with candidates expected to recover their costs once elected. As a result, parties tend to favor wealthy contenders over ideologically committed activists, reinforcing corruption and public cynicism

Social media, new faces and an uncertain verdict

This election is unfolding in a dramatically altered information environment. Nearly every voter now carries a smartphone, providing access to social media platforms that amplify messages at unprecedented speed. Algorithms often reward emotionally charged content, enabling misinformation and disinformation to circulate widely.

Populist narratives have gained traction, particularly around figures portrayed as political outsiders. Online discourse suggests growing enthusiasm for newer faces such as Balen Shah and Rabi Lamichhane, as well as other non-traditional political actors. Whether this digital momentum will translate into votes remains uncertain.

Despite the noise, most analysts agree that no single party is likely to secure a clear majority. Nepal’s electoral system, combined with a highly polarised electorate, makes such an outcome improbable. Even alliances between major parties may struggle to cross the threshold needed to form a stable government.

As a result, post-election coalition bargaining appears almost inevitable. While such arrangements are common in parliamentary democracies, Nepal’s experience has been marked by instability and frequent government changes.

Ultimately, while the election may help restore procedural legitimacy and stabilise constitutional processes, few expect it to resolve Nepal’s deeper political challenges. Governance failures, entrenched corruption and weak institutional accountability remain unresolved.

As the country heads toward polling day, many hope the election will serve as a genuine democratic exercise—one in which voters prioritise competence and integrity over loyalty and identity. Whether that hope will be realised will become clear once the ballots are counted.

For now, Nepal waits—once again placing its faith in the ballot box to chart a way forward.

The author is a senior Nepali journalist based in Washington, DC

The optics were striking. On the day KP Oli secured his third term as CPN-UML chair, Rabi Lamichhane emerged from custody a free man. As Nepali media dissected the moment and its aftershocks, verbal hostilities between the two former political twins resumed almost instantly. The result has been a surge in media frenzy—and the transformation of a consequential political moment into yet another episode of mass entertainment.

Oli and Lamichhane share not one but many similarities. Both possess tongues that rarely stumble. They repeat the same lie umpteen times till it sounds ‘true’. These Nepali incarnations of Goebbels have, on the strength of rhetoric alone, turned their parties into private clubs and their leaders and cadres into mere operatives.

They do nothing for anyone other than themselves—indeed, they do not even think about it—but they keep covering the truth with their palms, claiming everything they do is for the country and the people. They are factories of misinformation and disinformation, as well as proponents of the “deep state” and conspiracy theories. Whatever they say becomes party policy, program, and ideology. Thus, on one side stands “Oli ba,” and on the other “Rabi dai.” Though their lineage may differ, both are gods within their respective parties. They openly declare that they can never be wrong.

Both face serious allegations. Oli is confronted with numerous corruption-related questions, including grave accusations in the Giribandhu Tea Estate land scandal. Yet, by placing loyalists throughout state institutions—from the Supreme Court to the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority—he has remained untouched, like water rolling off a duck’s back. Rabi, on the other hand, faces charges of cooperative fraud, organized crime, illicit wealth and an ongoing criminal case over dual passport. While the cooperative and illicit wealth cases are civil, organized crime and dual passport are criminal offenses. If the judgment in either of the two cases goes against him, his political career will be over. That is why he desperately reaches the Ministry of Home Affairs—to suppress the cases. 

Once the UML–Congress government was formed, his usefulness as a 21-seat bloc ended. Subsequently, he was not only suspended as an MP but also spent a long time behind bars.

On the basis of evidence, Ravi is weak in these cases, but by hiring top-tier lawyers he has not only exploited every loophole in the law, he has also not hesitated to engage in bench shopping when necessary. Most recently, he had lawyers fall “ill” twice until a favorable bench took shape. On the third attempt, with a bench to his liking, the hearing proceeded and—for the first time in Nepal’s judicial history—an extraordinary decision was made to free him. This has raised serious questions about the judge’s competence and allegations of bench shopping, which have now reached the Judicial Council as a formal complaint.

Those raising questions have even pointed fingers at Prime Minister Sushila Karki, who herself is a retired chief justice. Notably, Karki had been calling charges against Lamichhane as fabricated, and, upon his release, she rolled out the red carpet at Baluwatar for him. But let’s not forget that Lamichhane is still an accused in state-led cases involving serious charges, including organized crime.

Welcoming a defendant of the state at the official residence of the head of government is hardly appropriate. In this context, suspicions have arisen that Lamichhane would not have been able to come out on bail had Karki not been the PM. Some even say Lamichhane was set free simply to counter Oli, who has been openly attacking PM Karki.

No sooner was he released than Lamichhane threw his weight behind the government and lashed out at efforts to restore the House, calling them a conspiracy. He went further, without naming Oli, by saying that “some forces who fled to disrupt elections are active; there is no need for that—once you win the party election, you can win the general election as well.” Oli, meanwhile, has questioned the verdict and the competence of the judge. The UML chief has accused Lamichhane of returning his favor with hostility, adding that he had played no role whatsoever in the latter’s arrest or release.

Indeed, Oli has contributed significantly to bringing Lamichhane to where he is today. When Lamichhane came to Nepal in 2015 on a family visa using an American passport, it was Oli who allowed him to host the program ‘Sidha Kura Prime Minister Sanga’ on Nepal Television. Ironically, that very job—taken while on a visa that did not permit employment—became a noose around his neck, ultimately forcing him to renounce his US citizenship. In the meantime, he also obtained a Nepali passport, and that dual passport has become the Achilles’ heel of his political life.

Oli also played a decisive role in making Lamichhane deputy prime minister and home minister twice. The UML chief defended Ravi by pushing to defer the dual passport case and opposing the cooperative fraud case. Their alliance lasted till the formation of the UML-Congress coalition government under Oli in mid-2024.

However, suspicions have now emerged that all this may have been part of Oli’s strategy to ultimately disgrace Lamichhane and end his political career. It cannot simply be dismissed as coincidence that Ravi landed in jail while Oli was prime minister. Having understood the inner story of his own political rise and fall, Lamichhane has since been locked in a constant power struggle with Oli.

There is no need to wait for Sunday to say this: between the two, it is no longer just fierce political rivalry—it has escalated into outright enmity. Lamichhane believes Oli is the one who sent him to jail; Oli sees Lamichhane, equally eloquent, as a challenge to his politics. Both seem to have concluded that only by sidelining the other can their own political fortunes advance.

Oli and Lamichhane stand on opposite sides regarding the Karki government and the elections it announced after dissolving parliament. Lamichhane has not only recognized this government but has fully supported it, calling Oli’s push for restoring the House a conspiracy. His firm stance that elections must be held on the announced date of March 5 under any circumstances has strengthened the government’s election campaign. Meanwhile, Pushpa Kamal Dahal, chair of the Maoist party—the third-largest force in the dissolved parliament—has also entered the election campaign, saying there is no alternative to elections.

The country is now almost sharply divided over the elections scheduled for March 5. The UML and Congress establishments favor restoring parliament, joined by some smaller parties that were part of Oli’s previous government. Reports suggest this camp is nearing a majority of the dissolved House and is preparing to approach the court with supplementary petitions seeking restoration.

On one hand, the government and the Election Commission insist elections will be held no matter what. On the other hand, Oli is not only saying elections won’t happen but is openly mocking the idea. Deuba may want to follow Oli’s lead, but strong pro-election sentiment within Congress prevents it from openly opposing elections. Leaders of parties not represented in the dissolved House publicly pray for elections yet cannot deviate from their factional party lines. Fearing they may not get tickets, they remain silent.

All existing circumstances appear to favor elections. There is consensus that elections are the only way to put the constitution back on track. If elections are held, Oli too will have no choice but to participate. Still, there is no certainty that elections will happen. Suspicions persist that this government is being run by some invisible force that may not want elections.

This may all be just another conspiracy theory. Yet, at a time when the constitution is not fully functioning and various domestic and foreign interest groups are raising their heads, it is hard to dismiss the possibility that something is quietly brewing. Nepal’s state apparatus has never reached such a fragile juncture.

Whether or not to restore the parliament? The ball is in the court of law. In recent times, Nepal’s judiciary has become the umpire of politics—no one knows when or for what foul it will blow the whistle. Judges increasingly resemble party activists, delivering verdicts largely aligned with party interests. One of the judges who released Lamichhane on bail, Justice Acharya, was previously the district secretary of the Arghakhanchi Congress before his appointment.

At present, the Supreme Court includes justices appointed on the quotas of Oli and Deuba, who are themselves litigants seeking the restoration of the parliament. Pressure from Dahal may also be exerted through them to secure a favorable verdict. If the pressure works, parliament will be restored, and elections will not happen. But a court already weakened by the GenZ movement may take a middle path—scheduling hearings only after March 5. Once elections happen, the court could rule, based on precedents, that restoration has become irrelevant since a new parliament has already taken shape.

The greatest challenge in global politics today is populism, with authoritarians, who hijack internal party democracy and climb to power, ruling the world. Oli and Lamichhane are Nepal’s “models” of this trend. That is why both are a serious problem for Nepal, not the solution, as these verbose stuntmen want to rule by feeding the public fodder in the form of speeches.

In any case, once again, Oli and Lamichhane stand face to face in Nepal. At present, Oli ba’s children and Rabi dai’s brothers and sisters are tearing into each other nakedly on the streets and on social media. Oli’s followers were already at that level; now Lamichhane’s supporters have join-ed them. Watching this spectacle, one feels that Oli and Lamichhane are cult leaders, and those holding various positions in UML and RSP their devotees.

Otherwise, what greater farce could there be than the grand procession with bands and fanfare when Lamichhane—arrested on criminal charges such as organized crime and fraud—walked free on bail, by effectively accepting the charges against him?

This columnist has consistently argued that Lamichhane and Oli share the same political lineage: populism. In that sense, they are political look-alikes ‘Swange Bhai’, persons of the same political DNA. Populism is the greatest challenge facing global politics today. Therefore, both are a problem for Nepal, not the solution.

Be that as it may, this “brotherly” fight has once again begun from a new front. Who will win and who will lose? Let’s leave this question to the future. One thing, though, is certain: whoever wins, Nepal and the Nepali people will lose, for these new Badshahs of populism are no longer just individuals; they have become a tendency. The mindset of only I matter is the problem—not the solution.

Some people still ask whether the GenZ movement existed solely to place Sushila Karki in KP Sharma Oli’s chair, dissolve the House of Representatives two years ahead of schedule and push the country into yet another election costing billions. It did not—and it certainly should not have. Yet the “Oli-like” tendencies now emerging in Prime Minister Karki, the evolving political landscape and the likely faces poised to win if elections proceed on March 5, have together created a climate of growing doubt. As a result, what began as a transformative moment risks being remembered as a political detour.

Unfinished revolution

In the aftermath of the GenZ uprising, Nepal’s political sphere has entered a period of rapid churn—splits, mergers and reconfigurations have become weekly rituals. Dozens of new parties have emerged, led by individuals seeking to capture the energy generated on the streets. Older parties, meanwhile, continue to recycle their leadership and structures in an attempt to remain relevant. The once-entrenched dominance of the big three—the Nepali Congress, CPN-UML and the CPN (Maoist Center)—has weakened to an extent, and non-establishment voices within major parties now enjoy more space to speak.

However, these shifts—loud, visible and dramatic—fall significantly short of what the moment demanded. The sacrifices made by GenZ protesters called for substantive political transformation: a rethinking of governance, the dismantling of patronage networks, and above all, a generational transition in leadership that Nepal has delayed for far too long. Instead, the agenda of the movement has been diluted. Old political habits, long discredited, have resurfaced in new packaging.

The GenZ movement itself has fractured, as mass protest movements often do, but it remains undeniably a force. The current government exists because young people took to the streets. It is also true that even if ministers belong to older generations, they cannot simply dismiss the movement’s aspirations. Public support for its core concerns—integrity, transparency, accountability, generational inclusion—remains robust, despite early signs that partisan loyalties are slowly reverting to traditional alignments.

Accusations of foreign involvement continue to circulate, as they do in every major political upheaval in Nepal, but none has yielded anything of substance. Those who marched know they were not deployed by external actors. Their grievance was domestic, immediate and undeniable: a political system that had become immune to public outrage and unresponsive to genuine reform.

A crisis of legitimacy

With political authority drifting away from parties and toward ad hoc arrangements, the country urgently needs an election to restore legitimacy. Yet preparations by both old and new forces appear woefully inadequate. Established parties fear a public rebuke; they sense that voters may not forgive their role in years of stagnation. New political forces, despite their enthusiasm, remain fragmented and uncertain of their electoral prospects. Many lack the organizational depth needed to contest nationwide elections effectively.

The interim government, meanwhile, has adopted a posture of comfort. If elections occur on time, it benefits from appearing cooperative; if delays arise, its tenure simply stretches on. This ambiguity has eroded public trust. The youth who risked their lives for political renewal now watch a government drifting without urgency.

Amid this uncertainty, efforts to use GenZ factions as political instruments have become increasingly visible. Some youth leaders, disillusioned with the government’s performance, now argue that the Karki administration has failed to uphold the spirit of the movement. They have even floated former Chief Justice Kalyan Shrestha as a potential alternative prime minister—an idea that reveals both dissatisfaction and desperation.

Where Karki has fallen short

There is some truth to their criticism. Karki’s government has not lived up to the transformative mandate it inherited. But this reflects not only her leadership; it reflects the unchanged landscape around her. The constitution remains the same. Senior officials, courts, the bureaucracy and long-established political networks remain largely untouched. The interim government is composed of loyalists with limited experience, each carrying their own political weaknesses and personal constituencies.

Brokers—old and new—have already penetrated the government’s inner circles. Even within GenZ itself, personal rivalries and factional disputes are beginning to surface. In such an environment, prolonged interim politics risks turning the state into a venue for narrow interest-seeking. National interest is often the first casualty. Nepal now stands uncomfortably close to that precipice.

Karki’s elevation to the premiership was itself an experiment. She was appointed despite two constitutional constraints—she was not a member of the House, nor was she eligible for the executive role as a former chief justice. Her defenders justified her selection on grounds of maturity, legal expertise and her public reputation as a principled opponent of corruption and political patronage. These were compelling arguments at the time.

But her conduct in office has weakened the aura of moral authority she once enjoyed. Her unrestrained public remarks—claiming she accepted the post under pressure, or that she refuses to meet senior political leaders—have undermined the dignity of the position she holds. The office of the prime minister demands gravitas, restraint and an ability to navigate political complexities quietly and effectively. Instead, her comments have amplified doubts about her political temperament.

More serious, however, are her appointments. Attorney General Sabita Bhandari and Chief Personal Secretary Adarsha Kumar Shrestha, both controversial figures, have become liabilities for the government. Bhandari’s appointment contradicts the anti-nepotism sentiment that defined the GenZ movement. Shrestha, a temporary court clerk, was elevated without a clear merit-based justification. Both have since been linked to allegations of misconduct, including involvement in an illegal ova-trafficking case and the appointment of relatives to government positions.

Yet the government has taken little meaningful action. In one case, its response appeared to shield the accused while sidelining qualified GenZ activists who had expected at least some acknowledgement of their contribution. Such decisions cannot be reconciled with the ethos of the movement that brought this government to power. Instead, they echo the same arrogance of authority that GenZ rose against. Karki’s defense of her appointees mirrors, in troubling ways, the very tendencies associated with Oli.

The risk of betrayal

This raises a difficult and painful question: Did the GenZ movement simply replace one leader with another, without altering the system that produced them?

It did not—and it must not be allowed to. But if the current trajectory continues, the perception that the uprising achieved little beyond a change of faces will deepen. That would be a profound injustice to the martyrs of the movement. It would reduce their sacrifices to a historical footnote and burden their families with needless grief and unanswered questions.

The coming weeks offer a narrow but meaningful window for course correction.

What Karki must do—now

1.  Avoid replicating the authoritarian tendencies of her predecessors.

2. Exercise restraint and dignity in her public remarks.

3. Ensure that constitutional reasoning—not personal networks—guides all decisions.

4. Pursue accountability in cases linked to her controversial appointees; and

5. Ensure that the March 5 elections are held on time, without ambiguity or political bargaining.

Nepal cannot afford another wasted moment. The GenZ uprising was not merely a wave of youthful anger; it was a profound demand for dignity, accountability and a new political culture. Whether that call becomes a turning point—or fades into disillusionment—now rests largely with the prime minister.

The country waits. The youth watch closely. History will decide whether the promise of a generation was fulfilled—or betrayed.

The author is a senior Nepali journalist based in Washington, DC