Nepali society has long been divided across multiple lines. Whether through caste divisions (Brahmins/Chhetris versus Dalits, for example), class disparities (rich versus poor) or regionalism (Pahadi versus Madheshi), social fractures have always played a role in the national political landscape, not least in the decade-long civil war started by the Maoists. However, Nepal has never been divided along party lines as it is today. Since the victory of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) in the recent general elections, a new kind of political polarisation seems to have emerged in Nepal: Us (RSP supporters) versus them (jholeys), offering very little space for nuance or deliberation.

It feels like a long time ago, but all this started only last year, with some youths taking to social media to expose corruption and nepotism. Some titled it the ‘expose jholey’ campaign. A social media ban that followed eventually led to protests in Kathmandu demanding transparency and accountability from the government. The protests on September 8 and 9 saw the deaths of dozens of youths and a few police officers. The emotional outrage that came from those scenes translated into a strong RSP victory following the inclusion of Balendra Shah as their campaign leader and proposed prime minister. Essentially, while most recent youth protests in South- and South-East Asia failed to translate into electoral success, Nepal became an exception.

However, in the aftermath of the election season, we are witnessing the birth of a political division unlike any in the recent past. Based on this binary divide, you can be either a staunch RSP supporter or a jholey.

Nowhere is this more visible than on social media platforms like TikTok and Facebook, whose algorithms are known to amplify emotionally-charged and hateful content over more neutral ones. Anyone who remotely criticises the RSP or its leaders almost seems to be inviting social lynching. Be it the threats against Suruchi Budhathoki for criticising RSP President Rabi Lamichhane or the abuse against Bishal Bhandari for inviting an opposition leader to a comedy show, there is far less tolerance for differing ideas and criticism than ever before, at least since the fall of the monarchy.

Although this form of party-support-based polarisation is new to Nepal, it has long been the primary form in many countries in the West. Particularly in the United States, individuals are so divided along party lines that most Democrats and Republicans do not marry across party lines, and most parents get upset if their child dates someone from the opposing party. What many readers may find interesting, though, is that unlike in the US, where Republicans are likely conservative and Democrats likely liberal in terms of their political ideology, there is no other (meaningful) differentiating factor in the Nepali party-based polarisation other than loyalty to a particular party. It is not an equal divide either, since a majority seems to support the RSP, as seen in the recent elections.

In the Nepali version of polarisation, it does not really matter whether you support any of the legacy political parties, including the Nepali Congress (with a liberal democratic ideology, similar to that of the RSP), the CPN-UML (Marxist-Leninist version of communism), the Nepali Communist Party (Maoism, etc.) or others. As long as you support a party other than the RSP, you are a jholey. However, what is more problematic is that it need not even require allegiance to another party. You need only be critical of a small aspect of RSP’s decisions or leadership to get the tag. And, based on some online behaviour, such jholeys do not seem to deserve a voice.

Before the elections, perhaps this sort of rhetoric was useful in terms of portraying RSP as a distinct force, especially in a multiparty democracy like Nepal. Political pundits may have even felt comfortable with the utilisation of such rhetoric as an election tactic—after all, anything is fair in love, war and election politics, right?

However, although political interest generally goes down post-election season, this time it has not. I suspect it has something to do with emotionally charged short-form political content on social media. Regardless, the social fissures created by this seem to have endured—not unlike the distrust in Nepali mainstream media outlets created by the ‘12 bhai’ rhetoric. Who is to say this kind of political divide will not define Nepali politics in the near future, just as the ‘12 bhai’ rhetoric continues to do, years after the words were first uttered?

In some ways, one could argue that Nepal’s democracy has been saved by the emergence of the RSP post the general elections. At a critical juncture, it has indeed given our democracy and parliamentary system another chance to prove itself. However, to continue strengthening our democracy and to save the social fabric that defines our society, we need to preserve spaces for dialogue and deliberation across different viewpoints, even when disagreement is uncomfortable.

Otherwise, we may arrive at a stage like in the US, where most voters now do not believe that political divisions can be overcome anytime soon. That is not a place we want to find ourselves: A place where policy discussions across party lines become next to impossible, where politicians routinely demonise the opposition and where people cannot agree on the most basic facts. Where it may further lead, including increased political violence and suppression of press freedom, is even scarier.

At the same time, while it is easy to merely ask people to look past our differences, where the Nepali society will go from here largely depends on the actions of the RSP leadership in power. As seen in many other countries, when elites rely on polarising and populist rhetoric, divisions among ordinary people tend to deepen even further. However, even if such strategies benefit someone in the short term, no one should aspire to create a deeply divided society.