Demographic studies define Generation Z as those born between 1997 and 2012, yet generational identity transcends mere birth years; it is forged by the crucible of lived experience. In Nepal’s context, those born after 2002 embody the truest essence of Gen Z. We were too young to consciously experience the People's Movement of 2006 (Jana Andolan II), which dismantled monarchy and steered Nepal towards republican democracy. I was merely five years old when history was being written in the streets of Kathmandu.

What shaped our consciousness was not the lived memory of that transformative uprising, but the inherited narrative of the decade-long People’s War (1996-2006) and the 19-day movement that followed. These stories were painted onto our minds through an education system that rebranded itself as modern and progressive after shedding its traditional foundations. Paradoxically, this modernisation aligned curricula with Western models while simultaneously pushing Nepal into a contradictory hybrid economy: one where basic necessities are privatised, yet the state maintains control in sectors where liberalisation might prove beneficial.

At 24, I find myself suspended between two worlds: rooted in the cultural diplomacy and traditional values of millennials, yet connected to the technological fluency and critical urgency of Gen Z. We are the bridge generation, capable of understanding both perspectives, and perhaps because of this unique vantage point, the current crisis cuts deeper into our collective conscience.

Casualties of democracy

Unlike previous generations who fought for democracy, today’s youth have witnessed its violent betrayal. The recent protests, sparked by the government’s ban on social media platforms and fuelled by deeper frustrations over corruption, have transformed into a bloodbath that rivals the darkest chapters of our recent history. These are not seasoned political agitators or hardened revolutionaries; they are children in school uniforms, unarmed students standing in solidarity with their peers.

The death toll from a single day already rivals that of the 19-day People’s Movement of 2006. Yet the circumstances could not be more different. Where 2006 represented the people rising against an autocratic monarchy, today’s tragedy represents the state turning its weapons against its own children.

Such actions constitute grave violations of international humanitarian law, specifically, the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC). Nepal, as a signatory to these international treaties, has clear obligations under international law. The killing of unarmed students erodes the moral foundation of our republic.

Echoes of lost integrity

This crisis brings painful memories of past tragedies that tested our collective conscience. I recall the death of SSP Laxman Neupane, who was lynched by violent protesters in Tikapur, Kailali, in 2015. Neupane embodied what law enforcement should represent: professional integrity, restraint and commitment to protecting civilians even at personal cost. His colleague described him as “a decent and professional police officer”, and his tragic death served as a stark reminder of what happens when violence eclipses principle.

His death, along with that of another officer, represented a breakdown in the social contract between state and citizen. The recent events, however, represent the inverse tragedy where the state itself has become the aggressor against its own people.

The slogan that rings hollow

The Nepal Police carries the motto “Prahari Mero Sathi” (Police, My Friend), a promise of protection and partnership with the community they serve. Today, that slogan rings hollow as images circulate of officers charging peaceful citizens. When children fear the sight of a police uniform, when hospitals become unsafe, when the protectors become predators, the very foundation of civil society crumbles.

The UN Basic Principles on the Use of Force are unambiguous: lethal force can only be employed to protect life, never to silence protest. Yet reports confirm that while orders were for rubber bullets, live ammunition was fired, resulting in at least 19 deaths. This represents not just a failure of crowd control but a systematic violation of international law that demands independent investigation and accountability.

International implications

Nepal’s violations of its international human rights commitments risk serious consequences. The International Commission of Jurists has repeatedly highlighted Nepal’s crisis of accountability, noting that despite progressive human rights laws, implementation remains weak and institutions suffer from political interference. The current violence against children and attacks on hospitals will likely trigger international investigations and potentially economic sanctions.

Moreover, these actions undermine Nepal’s credibility in international forums and could affect foreign aid, investment and diplomatic relations. A nation that shoots its own children has forfeited its claim to civilised governance.

A personal plea

We were told “never again” that the decade-long insurgency was behind us, that democracy had been secured through blood and sacrifice. Yet, as I was writing these words, the blood of innocent students stained the streets of Kathmandu, and the echoes of state violence reverberated through our hospitals and homes.

As someone who stands between generations, I feel this pain acutely. We are the generation that was supposed to inherit democracy, not fight for its basic principles. We were meant to build on the foundation laid by our predecessors, not defend our hospitals from our own police.

To those who have fallen, your sacrifice must not be in vain. Your deaths have exposed the hollow core of our supposed democracy and awakened a generation to the reality that freedom is never guaranteed, only guarded.

To those still within the system, your integrity can still redeem the faith we are rapidly losing. History offers you a choice: Stand with the children bleeding in hospital corridors, or remain complicit in their suffering.

Let this night be a turning point, not an ending. The path to true reform is not illuminated by burning buildings but by the unwavering light of courage. Let us channel our pain to build a better foundation for tomorrow, not destroy the one we have. This is a plea, from one Nepali to another: Let us protect the pillars of our state, for they shelter us all. We must demand accountability from those in power, but we must also act with the wisdom to preserve the very institutions that can deliver that justice.

Let us not surrender to despair, for silence today will only ensure tragedy tomorrow. We are the bridge between the democracy our parents fought for and the one our children deserve. That bridge must hold, even if we must rebuild it with our own hands.

As I conclude this, curfews blanket our capital, families mourn their children, and the world watches our democracy’s potential collapse. Yet I write not in despair but in defiant hope. Hope that integrity still exists within our institutions, that conscience still stirs in the hearts of those with power, and that the promise of 2006 can still be fulfilled.

Bhandari studies at Kathmandu University School of Law.