The popular story about the September 8 and 9 protests in Nepal suggests that Generation Z is leading political change—digitally skilled, idealistic, and unyielding, challenging established elites. However, these stories can be misleading. While it’s easy to praise youth as revolutionary, the structural realities of Nepali society show that these protests, although visibly led by Gen-Z individuals, were influenced and shaped by powerful vested interests. Understanding Generation Z in Nepal, and how their voices are divided, ignored, or co-opted, requires a sociological perspective that considers class, caste, geography, language skills, and political economy.
Generation Z—generally those born between 1995 and 2010—cannot be seen as a single group. Their social status, life experiences, and access to resources lead to different levels of political engagement. In cities like Kathmandu, Lalitpur, and Pokhara, some Gen-Z individuals benefit from private education, early access to digital media, global cultural influences, and international networks. These youths can organize online campaigns, coordinate protests, and engage with both local and international media. Their activism is visible, performative, and often symbolic. However, this visibility hides inequalities within the group itself.
Outside major cities, Gen-Z faces very different realities. Rural youths deal with limited access to quality education, unreliable electricity, poor internet, and lack of civic infrastructure. While political awareness exists, their ability to mobilize together is hindered by geography and material shortages. In these rural areas, the same group seen as digitally savvy often struggles to influence political decisions locally or nationally. Here, generational energy clashes with structural inertia. The division within Gen-Z isn’t accidental; it reflects deep-rooted inequalities in Nepali society, including class, caste, and regional disparities.
Economic, cultural, and social capital—as Pierre Bourdieu described—are essential for understanding these differences. Economic capital influences the resources available for activism. Cultural capital—language skills, digital literacy, and international exposure—influences how they engage and draw attention beyond local circles. Social capital—family connections, school networks, and youth groups—shapes opportunities for mobilization. When these forms of capital intersect, some Gen-Z activists can exert influence; when they lack them, their voices are marginalized, even within youth-led movements.
A key aspect of cultural capital in Nepal is proficiency in English. Fluent English-speaking Gen-Z members—mainly urban, educated, and globally aware—have much greater access to media, institutions, and political networks. They can express demands in international forums, connect with social media audiences worldwide, and attract attention from NGOs, donors, and advocacy groups. Their voices are amplified both at home and abroad.
Conversely, most Gen-Z individuals, especially from rural or marginalized backgrounds, lack English proficiency. They voice their concerns in local languages or dialects, which are genuine and urgent but less likely to reach national debates, policies, or media coverage. Language skills thus reproduce inequalities within Gen-Z, creating a hierarchy of visibility and influence. English-speaking elites essentially hold the symbolic power of youth activism, while the struggles of the majority remain mostly unheard despite shared hardships and aspirations.
Civil society and political players add extra layers of complexity. Many Gen-Z participants are recruited—whether knowingly or unknowingly—by older, politically established groups. These interests harness youth energy to promote agendas that often don’t align with participants’ goals or values. So, even though the protests appear to be “by the youth,” the organization, funding, and strategic plans are often controlled by actors aiming to manipulate Gen-Z’s symbolic capital for political advantages. Essentially, the illusion of youth agency is partly performative, serving as a platform for older, more powerful actors to influence.
Interestingly, the September protests paved the way for the formation of the interim government led by Madam Sushila Karki. The active involvement of Gen-Z helped facilitate Karki and her team’s rise to prime minister and ministerial positions. However, internal divisions and stratification within the group determined who was recognized. Karki selectively included Gen-Z figures who were either electorally or symbolically convenient, overlooking many others—including those who risked their lives during the protests. Seventy-eight deaths and hundreds of injuries primarily resulted from this strategic choice. The irony is striking: a generation that ignited the movement to create this government found itself politically marginalized. At the same time, the leadership exploited youth energy to legitimize their authority without genuine accountability.
This internal hierarchy is reflected in the wide range of voices within Gen-Z. Protesters have different motives: some are driven by ideals of justice, human rights, and democracy; others are influenced by peer pressure, social media trends, or opportunism aligned with political patrons. This diversity weakens their collective bargaining power. When this divided group interacts with governance institutions—often created in their name—their demands rarely unify enough to bring about policy change. Internal stratification thus diminishes their political influence.
The effects of this hierarchy extend beyond immediate politics. Nepali Gen-Z faces a paradox of legitimacy: their symbolic presence is used for political spectacle, yet their voices are rarely heard in decision-making. The intergenerational hierarchy, reinforced by nepotism, patronage, and institutional inertia, means young activists face risks but seldom gain real influence. Essentially, their energy is both exploited and neutralized. Sociologically, it demonstrates how symbolic capital has limits when disconnected from real power. Youth movements may create disruption, but cannot drive change if the broader social and political system remains unresponsive.
From a stratification perspective, the internal differences among Gen-Z reflect broader societal inequalities. Urban, educated, tech-savvy youth are overrepresented in protests and media coverage, while rural, marginalized, and economically disadvantaged youth remain largely invisible. Class, caste, and language skills continue to shape disparities: urban, English-speaking, upper-caste youth are more likely to be heard and taken seriously, whereas marginalized groups participate, but their issues and sacrifices are often ignored or go unrecognized. This division fragment’s collective identity makes political unity and effective mobilization difficult.
The diversity within Gen-Z is also broadened by how they engage with global and local narratives. Some adopt international discourses on human rights, climate change, and democracy; others focus on regional issues like education, jobs, and healthcare. These differing views lead to competing priorities, further weakening the potential for unified action. Political leaders exploit these divisions—favoring some youth factions over others and sidelining the rest. In doing so, internal stratification helps reproduce existing hierarchies rather than challenge them.
The September protests reveal the moral and symbolic economy of sacrifice and visibility. The seventy-eight deaths and many injuries are not just tragic figures; they demonstrate how entrenched powerholders exploit youth labor, energy, and risk. Meanwhile, the “BhaatMaraas”—the parasitic elites of Nepali politics—continue their routines: sipping imported drinks, watching events unfold, and assessing the political value of youth’s courage or martyrdom. Their detachment isn’t accidental but ingrained in a system that rewards extraction and punishes initiative—particularly among stratified youth.
Despite these limitations, Generation Z has the potential to bring about real change, but only if they can overcome structural barriers. The lessons are clear: symbolic activism alone isn’t enough. They need organized networks, cross-generational alliances, equal access to political knowledge, and mechanisms for accountability. Otherwise, youth activism risks being performative—loud, visible, morally compelling, but lacking real political impact. Nepal’s experience shows the tension between youthful idealism and entrenched institutional power, a conflict worsened by internal stratification, co-optation, and resource inequalities.
In summary, the September protests reveal more than just youthful enthusiasm; they expose the complex sociological dynamics of a divided generation. In Nepal, Generation Z is internally fractured along lines of class, caste, geography, and language. Their visibility is often controlled by older vested interests, which limit their influence. Their sacrifices are real, but they are usually unrecognized or unrewarded by institutions. The stark irony is that a generation seen as agents of change remains marginalized, with their voices unheard by the very systems they strive to transform.
Nepali Generation Z embodies both the promise and the challenges of youth activism. They face social divides, political restrictions, and symbolic recognition. To understand their situation, it’s essential to recognize that being part of a generation doesn’t automatically confer political influence; visibility alone doesn’t equal impact. Until these societal hierarchies are addressed—until stratification decreases and youth voices are genuinely included—Nepal will remain a country where political theatrics overshadow meaningful reform. The BhaatMaraas continue to thrive, unaffected, indifferent, and largely unseen by moral outrage.
(Dr. Janardan Subedi is Professor of Sociology at Miami University, Ohio. He writes on political ethics, democratic transitions, and institutional accountability in South Asia.)
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