In one of his few famously short campaign speeches, the then prime minister hopeful Balendra Shah, amid loud cheers, asserted a populist development agenda in a Sudurpaschim assembly. “Whether it needs being tied to a tree”, he declared, “sleeping in the road, or even imprisonment, development has to happen no matter what.” In a similarly short speech up above in Karnali, touting his mayoral record upholding Indigenous heritage in Kathmandu, he pledged similar preservation and restoration efforts of Khas culture and traditions native to the region.

These two visions, of rapid development no matter what and preserving indigenous aspirations, seem disparate at first glance. If planned in advance, these visions can go hand in hand as many indigenous communities yearn for economic opportunities and a government in Kathmandu sensitive to their aspirations. However, these visions can also contradict. As seen in the Upper Tamakoshi hydropower project in Bojheni or the cable car project in Mukkumlung, these contradictions arise because simple economic decision-making in Kathmandu can overlook indigenous assertions to their own definitions of development.

Last year, clashes in Mukkumlung led to months of violent repression of community-led protests all over the eastern-most province of Nepal. In Bojheni, the use of police force upon local communities protesting against the construction of a hydropower transmission centre raised alarming human rights concerns in the international community. Even though it was ultimately constructed using the state’s monopoly on legitimate violence, it left many families’ livelihoods dangerously close to a high-voltage transmission centre. After a decade marked by a proliferation of legal battles, the Supreme Court delivered a landmark directive two years ago on cases like these. It ordered the state to bring its laws in line with Nepal’s existing obligations under ILO Convention 169 (related to Indigenous rights) and UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

If we are to meet our aspirational economic agendas of a 100-billion-dollar economy, massive job creation, and tens of thousands of megawatt electricity exports, a clear strategic vision is not only helpful; it is essential. Such clarity helps avoid policy uncertainty and leads to a predictable investment environment for development partners in global financial markets. No matter how ahistorical, getting a working majority in Kathmandu is only the first step. We need to constantly ask and answer what our vision is going forward. We need to enquire what development means for us, who it should serve, and if there is any red line it cannot cross—a lakhsman rekha if you will.

The RSP’s current stance on indigenous philosophy is limited at best. This strategic vagueness can help during a broadly popular political campaign, emphasising an agenda of development, no matter what. However, leading a country is often less straightforward than leading an election campaign. It was easy to refer to Pathivara as Mukkumlung during an election visit for the PM hopeful. The government in Singha Durbar now needs to decide what it will do to balance protests in Mukkumlung with economic interests in Kathmandu. If not resolved early and adequately, further clashes between indigenous communities and the Nepali state will, unfortunately, become the new norm.

The root of clashes like these comes from a fundamentally different understanding of what land means. To a homo economicus residing in Kathmandu, a religious hill in far-eastern Taplejung is merely a natural and cultural resource that can be turned into projects of economic worth (like a cable car). Such a project creates jobs for the locals and tax revenues for the government. This notion of development sees no harm. However, to the Yakthungs native to the region, the same hill is central to their historiography and a shared civilisational mythology in the Mundhum. Land is not merely a natural resource to be utilised for development. It is a breathing historical being that asserts its own claims of indigenous sovereignty. It demands the right to survive within a shared vision of development.

Throughout history, common aims of nature and culture preservation have brought together indigenous interests and state aspirations. Through the establishment of protected nature reserves, for instance, in Chitwan, or cultural regions, like in Bhaktapur, a shared understanding has been reached in the past. The aim for such an understanding in a region of the country cannot be set aside somewhere else for convenience.

Of course, the state can always decide to enforce its own definition of development no matter what. Its monopoly on legitimate violence lies forever in its arsenal—an arrangement it has not shied away from using in the past. But if we are to learn from recent history, the land and its native inhabitants do not relinquish their survival without a fight. A strong, violent hand from the state machinery often forces an equally organised, highly visible indigenous resistance. Development partners in the World Bank, the ADB, or the IMF should, and do, shy away from such projects. Today, in 2026, reports of indigenous human rights violations anywhere in the world should alarm economic players in the global economy. We cannot fault investors and consumers for having their own lakshman rekha while deciding their role in the shared humanity of all people.

There is a blissful hope in the Nepali air nowadays. The fall of the old guard, for many fellow Gen Zs, is a celebration in its own right. Some aged reflection cautions that it is too early to tell whether we are watching a new movie altogether, or if we hired younger actors in the same old show. A new political culture of honest, forward-looking discourse is a must in a functioning democracy. All people need to decide together where we want to go as a society. Such discourse cannot exist under duress or an illegitimate threat of violence. Will the new Singha Durbar continue, no matter what, if challenged on its definitional claims on ‘development’?

People with millennia of civilisational history can reasonably have their own worldview on society and development. Having revered Mukkumlung longer than they have known the state of Nepal, Yakthungs now turn a thoughtful gaze towards Kathmandu, on their Silam Sakma, adorned by the new prime minister. Will the new government set a new precedent?

This piece is part of an op-ed series in collaboration with The Nepal Discourse, a convening at Harvard University and MIT focused on shaping Nepal’s strategic vision for the next decade.