Comprehending Sep 8

What a week we all witnessed. A week of fire, fury, and hope. My heart still aches for the lives lost in the chaos. The news media, and mostly the social media, showed the clash, grieving families, and the price for the demand to end corruption. They should never have died. It was a cruel, desperate act by a government that had lost its way, its legitimacy, and its soul. To those families, I can only offer my deepest, most heartfelt condolences.

Sept 8, when I first heard about the Gen Z-organised protest for September 8th, I was cynical. My initial assumption was that hardly 500 students would gather, they would shout some slogans, wave some flags, and then disappear. Life would go on, as always. We, including protestors, would vent about the corruption at a tea shop gathering. We would demand to resume the social network sites, using a VPN and using pseudonyms. The usual corrupt machinery would grind on, undisturbed.

I was wrong. I (we all) underestimated the depth of the anger, the feeling of the youth and dissatisfaction. The politicians were ignorant of the public grievances, or more likely, they simply ignored them. They underestimated the situation. The world saw what happened next. The Singh Durbar, the Supreme Court and the Parliament house were burnt to ashes. The Personal property of the politicians was attacked. It was pathetic how disconnected the politicians were from the nation they were supposed to lead. The protest didn't just rattle the politics of Nepal; it ripped it out from its very roots.

The scenes at ex-PM Deuba’s home. The cash stacks and burn were mind-blowing. I don’t believe in violence, and I condemn the fact that he and his wife were physically assaulted. And yet, watching that symbol of systemic corruption crumble, a small, whispering part of me found it… satisfying.

What started as #NepoKids #GenZ has changed the course of politics and possibly economics. The damage, of course, is immense. The physical destruction to private businesses is enormous, a wound that may take years to heal. But the deeper damage is to our national reputation. The fear it will instil in foreign investment in the tourism industry. The long-term consequences we will have to face.

It’s Saturday afternoon. The silence in Lalitpur is slowly being taken away by the vehicles and motorbikes. The night curfew had ended. Life is slowly coming back to normal. I took a walk around. I passed through Thapathali, and I saw damaged vehicle showrooms. I saw some buildings burnt black. It is going to take months and years to repair physical infrastructures, and at the same time, Sep 8 is going to bring a big change in politics. The new PM has been appointed. She is the first lady PM. The House of Representatives have been dissolved. A new election date has been announced.

I am still trying to understand what had happened and how and why. I am still trying to assess what changes it will bring. These are too big questions to answer. But in the end, I am hopeful. I am hopeful that we will rise from these ashes. I am hopeful that the new government, born from this fire, will have no choice but to be different. I want to see serious anti-corruption initiatives, not as a political slogan, but as a mandate for survival.

The youth of this nation did not risk their lives to replace one set of corrupt old faces with another. They want to be heard. They want a change - not only change, but a rapid change.

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