My career has entered its latter phase—more of it now resides in memory than in the years that remain. In my own case, the journey has been—and continues to be—profoundly rewarding, affording me the opportunity to engage with issues of enduring significance. I have been extremely fortunate to have a remarkable group of teachers and friends who have accompanied me throughout my academic journey.
Over the years, their insights and support have helped me think through ideas across numerous journal articles, books, book chapters, and op-eds. Their generosity has truly been a blessing.
Alas, there is, however, a more encouraging countertrend—the accelerating pace of scientific and technological innovation is creating seismic shifts that redefine how we learn and adapt. As Teller explained, these advances are reducing the time required to acquire new skills and making lifelong learning more accessible to a broader segment of society. This development, he argued, could make a profoundly significant difference in human progress.
Regarding the future of Nepali democracy, I hesitate to offer definitive predictions. What does seem evident is that it is unlikely to mature into a transformative national movement in the near term. The current democratic framework lacks both the scalability and strategic sophistication required to catalyze substantive change. Vision, while essential, is insufficient on its own.
What Nepal urgently needs are leaders endowed with intellectual acuity, persuasive charisma, strategic discernment, and the moral courage to act with conviction. Regrettably, I have yet to encounter a figure who embodies a compelling and revitalizing vision for the Nepali democratic project.
But I often wonder what fate awaits the political quintet of Khadga Prasad Oli, Sher Bahadur Deuba, Pushpa Kamal Dahal, Madhav Nepal, and Baburam Bhattarai—leaders who once held significant political power and influence—when history finally passes its judgment. Their paths highlight the dynamics of elite reproduction, in which authority remains within a close-knit circle that controls both symbolic and material capital while disguising self-interest through the rhetoric of public service.
Humanity is not driven solely by instinct; it is a historical being, continually engaged in the process of self-creation. Humans can build institutions that surpass immediate survival and challenge forms of domination once regarded as natural. This capacity for moral reinvention is precisely what gives political life its transformative potential.
Over the years, these privileged individuals, who asserted their authority while denying others the same opportunity, have cultivated a lifestyle that ordinary citizens cannot attain or challenge—a culture of selfism rooted in ego-driven and often aggressive individualism. This ethos has entrenched privilege and normalized moral disengagement from the suffering of those they govern. Traces of their legacy linger beneath the emerging layer of civic consciousness that movements like Gen-Z have begun to ignite.
Once again, Nepal’s political trajectory exposes the tragic duality of its leadership: defiant toward external influence yet authoritarian at home; nationalist in rhetoric but opportunist in practice. They are neither genuine democrats nor true patriots but embodiments of opportunistic power—leaders who mistake self-interest for vision, control for governance, and manipulation for leadership.
Each leader’s rise and fall mirrors the broader oscillation of Nepal’s political system itself: a pendulum swinging between defiance and dependence, conviction and corruption, promise and betrayal. The cycle persists, but the underlying structure remains unchanged—a telling metaphor for a crisis of dominance without resolution.
Their rise and fall exemplify what might be called Nepal’s pendulocratic condition—a political system perpetually swinging between patriotic resistance and personal pride. Here again, Oli’s defiance during India’s 2015 blockade and his decision to publish Nepal’s revised political map briefly elevated him to the status of a nationalist hero.
Yet the same resolve that propelled his ascent soon hardened into vanity, turning the patriot into a prisoner of his own legend. Cloaked in nationalist rhetoric and masculine bravado, he projected strength but concealed insecurity—what emerged was a façade of authoritarian narcissism.
Under his leadership, dissent was stifled, free speech curtailed, and public discourse manipulated through media control and digital censorship. In a society already fatigued by political cynicism, this regression alienated the very generation that had once hailed him as a symbol of resistance. What followed was not governance but performance—a state apparatus absorbed in spectacle rather than substance.
Long before his political decline, Oli had begun to erode the foundations of his own legitimacy: his party, his ideology, and ultimately his moral compass. His complicity in state violence against unarmed Gen-Z protesters marked the nadir of this degeneration. Such actions transcend mere abuse of authority—they constitute moral betrayals of the very citizens whose faith once endowed him with power.
One challenge with the term liberal democracy is that it represents many different ideas. However, I mainly focus on the nature of public governance. Upon closer examination, though, public sentiment today increasingly supports a welfare-oriented state—one that expands social protection, redistributes opportunities, and promotes equality in education, employment, and governance.
Nonetheless, these objectives are often hindered by fragmented, technocratic reforms that ignore investment in human capabilities or the inclusion of marginalized groups in meaningful decision-making. Such piecemeal reforms, often called modernization, simply reproduce dependence on elite benevolence rather than encourage civic empowerment. These management-style changes embody a passive revolution—small, gradual adjustments aimed at maintaining existing hierarchies while pretending to make progress.
I believe that government embodies the state, and its long history of democracy under the rule of law can be seen as a series of experiments aimed at transforming the state’s authority into a genuinely public institution—one that defends individual freedom within its framework. These experiments continue to this day. Essentially, ruling classes maintain their dominance not just through coercion but also by manufacturing consent—by shaping norms, institutions, and cultural narratives that make their rule seem natural, legitimate, and even self-evident.
Nepal’s path toward reform remains a contested landscape, marked by a lasting tension between an entrenched political oligarchy and a self-aware citizenry demanding structural accountability. The Gen-Z movement, through its civic activism and intellectual vigor, has prompted a reconsideration of state responsibility—particularly the notion that the state must adopt a more ethical and interventionist role in governing politics, regulating the economy, and organizing social life. In this way, Gen-Z represents a form of counter-hegemonic consciousness, a moral and intellectual revolt against a ruling bloc whose legitimacy has progressively declined.
As Adam Smith observed, society is not upheld by the benevolence of the butcher or the brewer but by their self-interest. However, self-interest must be guided by collective morality to serve the common good. Political systems weaken when self-interest becomes detached from ethical restraint. In Nepal, politics has turned ruthless because it has become habitual—an instinct for survival rather than a moral calling. Political actors often act with callous pragmatism, leaving little space for empathy, gratitude, or civic virtue.
On the other hand, especially since the restoration of democracy in 1990, it appears that Nepal’s political elite, academics, writers, and journalists have a narrow outlook, believing that the political climate will keep worsening, which endangers the core of democracy. The absence of discussion on development and democratic pluralism has hidden the ongoing presence of clientelism, corruption, and patronage, turning public institutions into tools for private gain.
The rise of Gen-Z indicates a break from this ideological consensus. It exposes an organic crisis—a situation in which the ruling class has lost moral authority, and the governed no longer give their consent to be led by the old order.
The next question is how a new moral-intellectual project might emerge from this crisis. If Gen-Z signifies an early-stage counterforce, its potential lies not only in resistance but also in its capacity to establish a new ethical and civic “common sense.” It aims to transform moral outrage into a unified vision—turning spontaneous protests into a sustainable, institutional movement. This involves a war of position—a slow, deliberate effort to reshape culture, consciousness, and political norms from within.
Nepal finds itself at a crossroads between a passive revolution and moral-intellectual renewal. The first supports the old elite cloaked in the appearance of modernization; the second promotes an ethical rebuilding of citizenship and authority. Only the second path holds the promise of genuine democracy. The pendulum will stop swinging uselessly only when Nepali politics ceases to revolve around personalities and begins to focus on principles—when self-interest is transformed into collective purpose and governance reflects shared human dignity rather than domination.
Nepal’s main challenge, therefore, is not only administrative modernization but also transformative governance—a redefinition of moral and political authority that can fundamentally change the relationship between rulers and citizens. Genuine reform requires dismantling the structural dominance of elites and creating a new social alliance that connects moral renewal with institutional change. Only this kind of integration can lead Nepal beyond its cycles of exploitation and toward a truly democratic future.
We are often reminded that history provides not only a record of past failures but also a fertile ground for change. I find myself increasingly disillusioned with certain views on evolutionary theory—particularly the notion that humans are simply hairless apes neatly placed within a linear story of our ancestors. However, reductionist explanations of human evolution—treating society as just an extension of biological competition—fail to capture the moral and cultural dimensions of political change.
While scientists rarely dismiss a hypothesis based on a single disconfirming example—preferring instead to explore alternative explanations—I remain convinced that evolutionary theory offers a broader and more fertile framework for examining the fundamental questions that give science its distinctive purpose. From a positivist perspective, each individual is viewed as possessing certain inherently good qualities, while those we dislike are often regarded as inherently bad.
However, negative actions such as harming or killing others seldom lead to fulfillment; instead, they bring about the perpetrator’s own moral and psychological misery. Humanity is not driven solely by instinct; it is a historical being, continually engaged in the process of self-creation. Humans can build institutions that surpass immediate survival and challenge forms of domination once regarded as natural. This capacity for moral reinvention is precisely what gives political life its transformative potential.
Although unease from India’s right-wing establishment and certain Western policy circles may have accelerated the republic’s decline, the deeper cause lies within: a self-inflicted moral collapse born of intoxication with power.
(Views expressed in this opinion are the writer’s and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Khabarhub — Editor)
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