Democratic politics matters not simply because it provides a system for choosing leaders through periodic elections, but because it holds the promise of institutionalizing justice, dignity, inclusion, and accountability.
A substantial body of political science literature supports this view, demonstrating democracy’s multidimensional nature and impact.
Among the most influential contributions to this discourse is the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) project—an extensive, multi-year research initiative that conceptualizes democracy through seven interlinked dimensions: electoral, liberal, majoritarian, consensual, participatory, deliberative, and egalitarian.
Together, these dimensions create a holistic framework that seeks to transcend the minimalist view of democracy as merely a matter of voting.
One paradox of Nepal’s electoral system lies in its mixed model—particularly the combination of first-past-the-post (FPTP) and closed-list proportional representation.
While the proportional system was designed to enhance inclusivity, it has also fostered a culture of patronage, where party leaders wield disproportionate control over candidate selection.
The decade-long civil conflict led to thousands of deaths, mass displacement, and widespread suffering. Yet its leaders not only escaped accountability but ascended to the highest political offices, using the war’s legacy as political capital.
This has undermined internal democracy within parties, discouraged merit-based political advancement, and reinforced loyalty to individuals rather than to institutional principles.
Although Nepal may not exhibit the most extreme forms of electoral manipulation seen elsewhere, the enduring grip of populism and demagoguery—compounded by systemic corruption and the materialist ambitions of political leaders—has, over eighteen years of republican rule, profoundly eroded the integrity of the nation’s political landscape.
In the current Nepali context, public sentiment appears increasingly conflicted, with many questioning whether the political changes brought about were ultimately beneficial or harmful—reflecting a growing sense of disillusionment and skepticism among citizens.
The deeper significance of democratic politics lies not merely in the existence of institutions, but in how power is distributed and exercised within them. It should come as no surprise that democracy requires more than ideological pluralism or formal participation; without meaningful civic agency and mechanisms of accountability, what emerges is a pseudo-democratic environment in which ordinary citizens struggle to gain real political traction.
Empirical studies—across both established and transitional democracies—by astute political observers have consistently revealed persistent asymmetries in political influence and representation. Elite domination, institutional capture, and structural inequality remain prevalent, even in systems that outwardly adhere to democratic norms.
This exposes a fundamental tension between the normative ideals of democracy and the lived political reality—a disjuncture that ultimately undermines both the integrity and the transformative potential of democratic governance.
This tension is especially pronounced in post-conflict or post-authoritarian contexts. Countries emerging from violent struggle often face complex challenges in building sustainable peace and functional democratic institutions.
The democratization literature offers a sobering picture: most post-conflict states fail to achieve robust governance or accountability, and many remain mired in corruption, elite capture, or political fragmentation. Lohaus and Bussmann, in their influential study “The Politics of Survival or Business as Usual?
Exploring the Effects of Armed Conflict on Corruption” (Journal of International and Development, 2021), argue that these states are especially vulnerable to corruption. This vulnerability is not coincidental but structural: conflict often weakens formal institutions while empowering non-state actors and informal networks.
These actors, having gained prominence during war, persist in the post-conflict period and maintain power through ritualized political practices that operate outside formal democratic frameworks.
Nepal offers a textbook case of this paradox. Despite the formal abolition of the monarchy and the promulgation of a republican constitution, the country remains dominated by entrenched elites and patron-client politics. Beneath the symbolic achievements of democratic transition, deep-rooted inequalities continue to flourish, camouflaged by the rituals and rhetoric of democratic formality. Antonio Gramsci’s concept of cultural hegemony is particularly relevant here.
Gramsci argued that ruling classes maintain power not merely through coercion, but through the manufacturing of consent—embedding their worldview so deeply into the fabric of society that it appears natural, legitimate, and unchangeable.
Nepal’s political reality starkly contradicts the democratic ideal. While democracy promises to empower the marginalized and to open new spaces for identity, voice, and justice, the actual political environment remains tightly controlled by elites.
Political leaders across the spectrum manipulate laws, institutions, and narratives for personal or factional gain. Their dominance extends into social, economic, and security spheres, creating a tightly woven power structure that serves narrow interests while marginalizing the majority.
Elite-driven narratives—whether about nationalism, peace, or development—often obscure systemic dysfunction and protect the status quo. Gramsci’s insight resonates clearly in Nepal, where citizens are reduced to passive participants, called upon only during elections.
Substantive political decisions, meanwhile, are made in closed and non-transparent forums. Michel Foucault’s postmodern notion of power/knowledge offers a compelling lens through which to understand the operation of hegemonic narratives.
Foucault conceptualizes power not as something possessed, but as omnipresent—embedded in discourse, institutions, and everyday practices.
His work disrupts traditional binaries such as power versus freedom, showing instead how freedom itself can be shaped, conditioned, and constrained by the very structures that claim to enable it. This has profound implications for how authority and legitimacy are rationalized in modern politics.
As Mathew Seet argues in his insightful essay “A Foucauldian Perspective on the Denationalization of Terrorists: Sovereign Means, Biopolitical Ends” (2021), power operates through ostensibly rational frameworks to achieve biopolitical control.
In this context, the search for a stable political alternative requires not just institutional reform, but a critical interrogation of the knowledge systems and discourses that sustain existing hierarchies.
Political discourse in Nepal—whether concerning the peace process, foreign treaties, or development agendas—is often curated by ruling elites to justify and perpetuate their control while masking deeper structures of inequality and exclusion.
The phenomenon of governance in Nepal has received surprisingly little critical scrutiny in terms of its political consequences. Jürgen Habermas’s idea of communicative action—dialogue that is free from domination and rooted in reason, inclusion, and mutual respect—remains more aspirational than real in Nepal’s political culture.
The public sphere is deeply fragmented, dominated by populist slogans and shallow ideological posturing. Citizens are rarely allowed genuine space to deliberate, question authority, or shape policy outcomes.
Dissenting voices are either ignored or actively targeted, and there remains no shared consensus on the function and purpose of democratic institutions.
Institutional incoherence, where formal structures are in conflict with each other and with informal power centers, has produced a dysfunctional political system incapable of delivering coherence, stability, or progress.
A particularly dangerous feature of this political system is the normalization of meta-corruption—corruption not as an anomaly, but as an intrinsic feature of governance.
From procurement scandals to impunity for wartime atrocities, Nepal’s democratic institutions have become tools for elite consolidation rather than public service.
The rule of law is applied selectively: used as a weapon against critics while protecting those in power. Institutions meant to enforce accountability are either hollowed out or strategically neutralized.
This crisis is not merely institutional—it is also deeply historical. Since the 1990 political transition, Nepal has been governed by a class of political leaders who often act more like autocrats than democratic statesmen. Girija Prasad Koirala, Pushpa Kamal Dahal, and Khadga Prasad Oli exemplify this tendency.
Koirala, despite being celebrated as a democratic leader, signed the highly controversial Tanakpur Agreement with India, effectively handing over critical water resources to foreign interests.
Yet, paradoxically, he continued to win elections, raising important questions about public memory and political accountability.
Yet if we examine the actions of Sher Bahadur Deuba, Madhav Kumar Nepal, and Khadga Prasad Oli, it becomes clear that each played a significant role in compromising Nepal’s sovereignty—most notably by endorsing the Mahakali Treaty, which effectively facilitated India’s capture of vital water resources through parliamentary ratification in 1996.
Despite such anti-national precedents, these politicians have returned to power repeatedly through democratic elections—exposing a vulgarized and hollowed-out version of Nepali democracy, where electoral success is decoupled from national accountability.
This recurring cycle prompts a troubling question: Has the electorate’s memory weakened, or has its capacity for critical evaluation eroded?
This sequence of events leads to a disquieting realization: Democracy, in the absence of public vigilance and accountability, can become an empty ritual—one where elections are held regularly, but real power remains concentrated, unaccountable, and self-serving. Democratic institutions without democratic culture cannot deliver justice or inclusion.
The Maoist insurgency, led by Pushpa Kamal Dahal ‘Prachanda’ and Baburam Bhattarai, marked another grave chapter. Framed as a revolutionary struggle, it normalized violence as a political tool.
The decade-long civil conflict led to thousands of deaths, mass displacement, and widespread suffering. Yet its leaders not only escaped accountability but ascended to the highest political offices, using the war’s legacy as political capital.
Can democracy be so vulnerable that it rewards—even legitimizes—those who once dismantled its foundations?
At a time when governance stands at a crossroads and public trust in the political system is rapidly eroding, Nepal’s major parties increasingly operate as personalized instruments of control. In such an environment, the prospect of adopting institutions that genuinely safeguard democratic accountability appears increasingly remote.
The Nepali Congress is effectively run by the Deuba couple, while the UML and Maoist parties remain tightly controlled by Khadga Prasad Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal, respectively.
Within these parties, leaders are often revered as near-deities, and their followers resemble upasak—devotees—who obey commands unquestioningly, rather than engaging as critical political actors.
Over nearly two decades of republican populism, this system has been sustained by voter behavior driven more by short-term material incentives than by a vision for structural change.
This rising interest offers hope that leaders from outside the entrenched political establishment—figures who think beyond the conventional framework—could yet emerge to challenge the status quo.
The electorate, captivated by transactional politics, often overlooks systemic dysfunction in favor of immediate gains, further reinforcing elite dominance.
This sequence of events leads to a disquieting realization: Democracy, in the absence of public vigilance and accountability, can become an empty ritual—one where elections are held regularly, but real power remains concentrated, unaccountable, and self-serving. Democratic institutions without democratic culture cannot deliver justice or inclusion.
And yet, democracy remains important—not as a finished product, but as an evolving promise. It offers a pathway toward shared power, dignity, and justice.
However, unless citizens reclaim their voice, demand accountability, and challenge domination, democracy risks becoming a hollow shell. Its rituals may persist, but its substance—freedom, sovereignty, and collective dignity—will continue to erode.
There is no “end of history,” particularly in the context of Nepal, where recent years have witnessed a growing political awareness and engagement among the younger generation.
This rising interest offers hope that leaders from outside the entrenched political establishment—figures who think beyond the conventional framework—could yet emerge to challenge the status quo.
Much like the unexpected rise of Donald Trump in the United States or the political entry of Mark Carney in Canada, Nepal, too, may see the ascent of unconventional leaders before the window for transformative change closes.
(Views expressed in this opinion are the writer’s and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Khabarhub — Editor)
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