Donald Trump was able to ride on anti-establishment frustration to become the President of the United States twice. Imran Khan turned the heroics of cricket into political dominance in Pakistan. Similar is the story of Volodymyr Zelenskyy in Ukraine, whose leap from television screen to the presidency is unreal. Their ascendance to power was not primarily fuelled by ideology or the backing of a political organisation. A commonality among these figures is their mastery of visibility and their ability to shape narratives. These cases are not just connected by personality, but by the changing structure of information flow.

Sudan Gurung rose to the apex of Nepali politics incredibly quickly. He became the Home Minister of Nepal in just 68 days after officially entering politics.

Today, raw and unchecked information moves at an unprecedented speed across internet platforms. Messages now reach audiences without any screening, bypassing traditional media. These unfiltered messages are often emotionally charged. This environment favours relatability over verification, not requiring any sort of mediation, fact-checking, institutional validation or formal procedures. The delivery is more direct than ever. New political actors, especially non-career politicians, have tapped into the fear and frustration of people to establish their narratives on social media platforms.

On the flip side, this form of information system can be ruthless, as seen in Gurung’s steep descent. It only took 26 days for his rise to collapse. This power trajectory, which feels almost theatrical, was shaped by attention, amplified by his relentless exposure and undone at a pace similar to the becoming.

It would be unfair to say that his rise came from nowhere. Gurung’s engagement in social work during times of crisis helped him build credibility. He stood upon this foundation and forged a degree of social capital that career politicians spend decades accumulating. However, all of this was not enough to get him into the centre stage of Nepali politics. Visibility propelled him to the centre of attention, and his presence was carefully crafted and accelerated via social media platforms. He entered the political arena as an outsider—a ‘waterboy’—rather than a power seeker. It might have been a strategic move, but it looks spontaneous and informal from the outside. Nevertheless, the information system that rewarded him initially punished him later. The same mechanism that propelled him to power also kicked him off the edge of the cliff.

The story is not just about branding. It’s about establishing narratives, both positive and negative. In the world of new media, it’s easier to seek attention by attacking an opponent than explaining a policy. Negative narratives travel faster and further. During the recent election in Nepal, anti-establishment rhetoric became prominent. Campaigns thrived on grievance, hope and anger. The Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) benefited greatly and performed exceptionally well on the new platform. And later realised that it can act as a double-edged sword. Campaigning and governing are two different things. The latter matters far more in the long run. Unfortunately, the crowd that feeds on politics as entertainment finds governance mundane and unglamorous. They seek what triggers their emotions.

Gurung’s fall was triggered by financial allegations. There are no definitive conclusions yet on whether he is guilty. But repetition of allegations alone was enough to bring him down. Alternative news media—Jana Aastha and Diyo Post—broke the news about his shady investments, but it was social media that carried it across the country like wildfire. The same networks that build reputations can burn them to the ground. The allegations became the narratives this time. When things are unclear, people fill the gap with their own perceptions. If there are multiple narratives, people choose to believe the one that confirms their pre-existing mindset. And they share that information without being worried about the source. More often than not, such information is unverified and unchecked.

The fast pace of communication is not immune to information disorder. The assumption that citizens operate with roughly the same information can be challenged. There is uneven access to information. More importantly, exposure is distorted. People are not drawn into what informs them, but to what engages them. Earlier media systems were nowhere near perfect, but they had editors and norms which imposed friction. In their absence, it’s hard to distinguish between fact and fiction. Everything looks muddy. Disentangling signal from noise requires patience, so it’s easy to latch onto what feels right or confirms the instinct.

The proportion of shared reality is fading away. The absence of a common baseline of facts may lead a society from disagreement to incompatibility. This creates a deep polarisation, which will shrink the space for debates. In some instances, voters may not be choosing between different policies, but between competing versions of reality. Often, the most provocative version of reality becomes the most visible one, regardless of its accuracy. Even without being proved, a single allegation can overshadow people’s years of hard work.

The rise and fall of Sudan Gurung shows the current government how information disorder can backfire against its own architects when narratives stand tall. It shows that power can be toppled easily when perception overtakes reality. More information is not always better. It doesn’t automatically lead to better decisions. Rather, it creates confusion.

Information with context and critical thinking leads to better outcomes. Information disorder doesn’t kill democracy overnight, but it acts as a slow poison. Democracy decays slowly when citizens lose the ability to distinguish between what is real and what only appears to be. The challenge isn’t just electing leaders based on their ability to govern, but building a society that thinks more carefully and cultivating a public that questions more deeply. In an age of information disorder, an important democratic skill is not just to vote but the ability to know what to believe. There was a time when democracy died in silence. Time has changed, and democracy now fears being drowned in noise.