For decades, Nepal’s development has mainly been a strategy of ‘catching up’, a linear, exhausting struggle to replicate the infrastructure of the West. We measure progress in kilometres of blacktopped road and the sluggish expansion of fibre-optic lines across a vertical landscape designed to reject them. But as a new government settles into Singha Durbar, under a leadership that has promised to break with the inertia of the past, we must ask a simple question: Why are we still climbing a broken ladder when we could leap?

The most powerful tool for that leap is already overhead. Low Earth Orbit satellite internet, led by SpaceX’s Starlink with Amazon’s Project Kuiper close behind, offers Nepal an escape from the geography trap that has defined our digital divide for generations. These constellations orbit just 550 kilometres above us, delivering broadband speeds that rival urban fibre to any point on Earth with a clear view of the sky. Yet for years, a combination of protectionist instincts among domestic telecom incumbents and a regulatory framework that treats global innovation as a threat rather than an opportunity has stalled the technology.

Critics often argue that even if we open our skies, the cost of such advanced technology would be prohibitive for the average Nepali. But this is not true. LEO providers like Starlink do not use a ‘one size fits all’ pricing model; instead, they adjust their rates based on local purchasing power. In the United States, a monthly subscription costs over $120, but in Brazil, promotional and entry-level plans have pushed prices well below urban broadband rates, and a new data-capped tier launched at just $10/month. Even closer to home, Bhutan’s recent launch saw ‘Lite’ plans introduced for approximately $36 (Nu 3,000). By introducing ‘Residential Lite’ tiers and hardware rental programmes, these companies have proven that they are willing to adapt to the nation’s current economic situation. Affordability is not a technological barrier; it is a volume game that our current regulations are preventing us from playing.

​The timing for a policy shift has never been more urgent. According to the Nepal Association for Software and IT Services, Nepal’s IT sector now generates an estimated $1 billion in annual export revenue, though this is an industry estimate rather than an audited figure. That milestone reflects the resilience of a workforce that has thrived despite, not because of, our physical infrastructure. This burgeoning digital economy is outgrowing its wires. While providers in the Kathmandu Valley compete over fibre-to-the-home packages, a student in Upper Mustang or a trekking guide in Karnali is fortunate enough to find a stable signal. According to the 2021 census, fewer than a quarter of rural municipalities have home internet access, and the figure is even lower among the poorest households.

​Beyond the logistics of spectrum allocation and the economics of fibre rollout, there is a more fundamental issue at stake. Connectivity is no longer a convenience; it is the infrastructure of opportunity. To deny a child in Mugu the same digital horizon as a child in Maharajgunj, Kathmandu because a cable has not reached them is a policy inertia, not a geographical inevitability. In the modern economy, internet access is the foundation of equity. By blocking satellite technology, we are effectively codifying inequality into law.

Our own history offers a blueprint. In the early 2000s, Nepal did not wait for copper landlines to reach every village before embracing mobile telephony. We recognised that the cost of wiring the Himalayas was prohibitive and leapfrogged directly into the mobile revolution. That single decision transformed connectivity nationwide. Today, the same logic applies to high-speed data. There is no reason to wait another decade for fibre to crawl up our vertical terrain when a satellite terminal can deliver competitive broadband to the most remote settlement in the country, all without a single meter of new cable.

​Previous administrations allowed Starlink’s entry to stall in a regulatory ambiguous zone. Nepal’s telecommunications law requires foreign telecom operators to partner with a local entity holding at least 20 percent equity, a rule designed for the era of copper utilities, not global satellite constellations. Starlink, which operates with full foreign ownership in over 100 countries, has consistently refused this condition. Meetings between SpaceX executives and Nepal’s political leadership date back to 2023. Prime Minister Oli even held a video conference with Elon Musk in late 2024. And yet, years later, no license has been issued. The 20 percent rule was created to ensure local participation in terrestrial networks. Applying it to a satellite service that requires no local infrastructure beyond a dish and a clear sky is not regulation; it is obstruction.

​If the new government is serious about its mandate for transformation, modernising our telecommunications policy must be a priority. This means creating a dedicated licensing category for LEO satellite providers that removes the local equity barrier and reflects the global, infrastructure-light nature of the service. It means abandoning the reflexive ‘fibre-first’ orthodoxy. Fibre is the right solution for urban density, but it cannot be the answer for communities that may wait a generation for it to arrive. The two technologies are complementary, not competing.

​There are legitimate questions about data sovereignty, national security and the economic impact on domestic ISPs. These deserve honest engagement, not dismissal. But those concerns can be addressed through smart regulation: data localisation requirements, spectrum coordination agreements and service-level obligations for rural coverage. What cannot be justified is using those concerns as a pretext for indefinite delay.

​In a country where earthquakes and landslides can sever physical lines in seconds, satellite internet is not a luxury. It is resilience infrastructure. It is telemedicine for remote clinics, real-time disaster coordination in the high hills, and the means by which our mountain communities can participate in the digital economy they helped build. The technology is ready. The demand is clear. Only our laws remain grounded. The current leadership has a choice: Continue to guard the interests of the few who own the wires or open the skies and let the rest of Nepal leap forward.