What is stupidity? If one were to define it beyond the confines of cognitive disability or mere ignorance, it would be this: to know the truth, see the truth with one’s own eyes, and persist in believing a lie. This definition does not target the uninformed masses, nor the illiterate or the poor, but rather a society suffering from moral inertia and intellectual decay. Nepal today is a case study in this evolved form of stupidity — one that is voluntary, performative, and, worst of all, systemically cultivated.
In a democratic society, truth is supposed to be the axis around which public opinion, political legitimacy, and institutional trust revolve. Yet in today’s Nepal, the truth is no longer sacred; it is inconvenient. We are living in a nation where facts have been reduced to opinions, where evidence is dismissed as conspiracy, and where political myths replace constitutional obligations. The “truth” is in plain sight — in the corruption scandals, in the misuse of state resources, in the betrayal of public mandates — but the dominant narrative still clings to the old, discredited myths. This is not ignorance. This is cognitive surrender.
The Anatomy of Willful Stupidity
Philosophers from Socrates to Arendt have warned us about the dangers of “thoughtlessness” in public life. Socrates challenged Athenian citizens to question their assumptions; Arendt spoke of the “banality of evil” arising not from monstrous intentions but from the failure to think critically. In Nepal, this intellectual laziness has become a national epidemic. From educated elites defending party mafias to university professors justifying political misgovernance, stupidity is no longer accidental. It is cultivated through patronage, normalized through repetition, and rewarded through political access.
Take, for instance, the recent scandals involving fake Bhutanese refugee schemes and illegal emigration rackets. The facts are clear, names have been mentioned, money trails exposed, testimonies recorded — yet a significant section of society continues to believe that justice will be done through the same corrupt institutions that enabled the crimes. Worse, political supporters, even within the intelligentsia, rationalize these criminal acts as necessary “political deals” or “collateral damage” for governance. The public sees the rot, yet chooses to believe in the illusion of reform from within. This is not a failure of education; it is the triumph of willful stupidity.
From Enlightenment to Enslavement
Nepal’s republican experiment was born from a revolutionary promise: to liberate citizens from hereditary rule and install a people-centric, accountable governance structure. But less than two decades later, the republic is not only failing — it is collapsing under the weight of its own contradictions. Elections are held, but representatives are bought. Constitutions are written, but not respected. Commissions are formed, but never empowered. The people who once shouted “loktantra zindabad” now silently endure “bhaatmara” politics — leaders who eat from the public plate and still ask for praise.
In this context, to continue believing that this system merely needs reform, not a fundamental rethinking, is a form of national delusion. An intellectual class that continues to prop up failed institutions with cosmetic criticism and token protests is complicit in this degeneration. Our problem is not just political; it is epistemological. What do we consider true? What kind of reasoning are we willing to accept as valid? What moral standards do we apply, and for whom?
When the same people who condemned monarchy for lack of transparency now tolerate party leaders living in palatial homes and making backdoor deals with foreign embassies, it is not just hypocrisy — it is a betrayal of the very foundations of reason.
Political Theater and the Suspension of Disbelief
Modern political theory has long recognized the role of theater in governance. Political rituals, public performances, media spectacles — all serve to legitimize power structures. In Nepal, however, this political theater has devolved into absurdity. A Parliament that does not legislate, courts that issue contradictory verdicts under pressure, and a media that covers corruption like celebrity gossip — these are not isolated dysfunctions. They are symptoms of a deeper malaise: a society that no longer demands coherence or accountability from its leaders.
In this theater, everyone plays a role. The politician lies. The journalist sensationalizes. The academic rationalizes. The public applauds or shrugs. No one asks whether the stage itself needs to be dismantled. This is how truth dies — not with a bang, but with a thousand scripted performances.
The Role of Intellectuals: From Custodians to Collaborators
Historically, intellectuals were the conscience of the nation — the ones who spoke truth to power, who critiqued unjust systems, and who provided the moral vocabulary for resistance. In contemporary Nepal, most of our intellectuals have become either neutral spectators or active collaborators. Whether housed in think tanks, NGOs, or university departments, many have traded critical integrity for consultancy checks and party proximity.
They write op-eds about development without naming corruption. They lecture about justice without confronting impunity. They speak of democracy while ignoring its daily subversion. Their silence is not neutral; it is an act of complicity. As the German thinker Max Horkheimer once put it, “Whoever is not prepared to talk about capitalism should also remain silent about fascism.” By the same logic, whoever is not willing to indict Nepal’s political cartels should also remain silent about the republic’s failures.
Why Lies Prevail
One may ask: why do lies endure, even in the face of overwhelming truth? The answer lies in the power structures that benefit from deception. In Nepal, lies are not mere deviations from the truth; they are foundational to the functioning of the current system. Lies about nationalism, about sovereignty, about development, about social harmony — all serve to mask the elite bargains and foreign influences that shape state policy. Truth, on the other hand, is disruptive. It demands accountability. It creates discomfort. And it cannot be monetized or managed.
This is why whistleblowers are harassed, investigative journalists attacked, and reformist politicians sidelined. The system survives by punishing those who tell the truth and rewarding those who manage the lie.
Towards Intellectual Courage
To reject this state of stupidity is not just a personal act of enlightenment — it is a political necessity. Nepal needs a new intellectual awakening, one that refuses to romanticize either the monarchy or the republic, one that recognizes the structural nature of corruption, and one that dares to imagine a third path: not a return to old orders, but a re-founding of the Nepali state on moral clarity, institutional integrity, and civic truth.
This will not be easy. It requires intellectuals to abandon comfort, citizens to abandon partisanship, and the media to abandon populism. It requires us to stop asking what is legally permissible and begin asking what is morally justifiable. It requires us to stop clapping for liars and start holding them accountable — even if they are “our” liars.
Conclusion: Knowing the Truth Is Not Enough
In the end, stupidity is not a lack of knowledge. It is a refusal to act on knowledge. Nepal is not in crisis because we lack data, analysis, or awareness. We are in crisis because, despite knowing and seeing the truth, we continue to believe the lies. We believe that political criminals can bring justice. That party mafias can deliver reform. That foreign embassies can secure our sovereignty. That development can come without accountability. These are not hopeful beliefs; they are delusional ones.
A society that cannot distinguish between truth and lies, or worse, chooses lies knowingly — that is a society not just in moral decline but in civilizational peril.
In this light, let us not ask, “What is stupid?” Let us ask instead: “When will we stop being stupid?”
(Dr. Janardan Subedi is Professor of Sociology at Miami University, Ohio. He writes on Nepali politics, corruption, intellectual culture, and democratic failure.)
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