The problem is not monarchy versus republic or Hindu versus secular. The problem is us-the people-and the quality of questions we ask
Ooh, it's been a rough ride! Nepal's governance journey feels like a turbulent voyage-every time we think we've reached calmer waters, another political storm hurls us off course. We've had seven constitutions, each reflecting seismic political shifts-from Rana oligarchy to Shah monarchy, Panchayat absolutism to multi-party democracy, and federalism. We have re-launched our ship many times. But have we truly moved forward, or have these resets merely disguised a deeper drift backwards?
Our political saga increasingly resembles a plot from the movie "Inception". We think we've awakened into a new era, only to find ourselves trapped in the same old dream-same faces, same dysfunction, recycled promises. It's a political Groundhog Day. Each election dangles the hope of change, yet we keep spiralling deeper into the same broken patterns. This begs the question: how many restarts do we need before we stop pressing the reset button and start fixing the system itself?
The evidence of dysfunction is all around us. Public debt is ballooning, with every Nepali now saddled with around Rs 90,000 in debt-a figure that only climbs higher each year. Economic growth crawls at a sluggish 3.89 per cent, while inflation bites at 5.41 per cent. Despite this, our development budget shrinks and remains grossly underutilised. Every year, we watch the same "Asare Bikash" phenomenon-a last-minute budget splurge in the final months of the fiscal year, inevitably leading to poor-quality, hasty projects that serve no one.
The human cost of this broken system is staggering. In 2023 alone, an average of 4,384 Nepalis left the country daily in search of work, opportunity, or simply dignity. Our unemployment rate stubbornly hovers at 12.6 per cent. We dream of becoming a hydropower powerhouse, targeting an ambitious 28,000 MW, but the reality is sobering-reports suggest looming power shortages. We suffer from chronic trade imbalances, our highways heavy with imports and empty of exports. Pathibhara in the east burns in conflict over development, while citizens are protesting to recover their life savings from collapsing cooperatives elsewhere. None of this requires a PhD in economics. These are conversations you'll overhear at any teashop in rural Nepal.
And yet, our so-called visionary leaders remain focused elsewhere.
We have been serial victims of political nostalgia. We place blind hope in every new system and political formation, only to be betrayed. Remember the 2008 elections? Many experts scoffed at the prospect of a CPN Maoist victory. But they emerged as the largest party-only to find themselves on the brink of political irrelevance today. New parties have come and gone, their promises disintegrating under scandal and inertia. The result? A carousel of instability. Since the Constitution was promulgated in 2015, we have had eight prime ministers in quick succession. Democracy was supposed to end autocracy, but our parties operate like feudal monarchies-hereditary, exclusive and allergic to change.
Instead of looking forward, political discourse has now turned to backward glances-some clamour for the return of the monarchy, others for reinstating Nepal as a Hindu kingdom. So what? Is that the conversation we need right now? Or is it a clever distraction to keep us from asking uncomfortable but necessary questions about governance, accountability and institutional decay?
The problem is not monarchy versus republic or Hindu versus secular. The problem is us-the people-and the quality of questions we ask. Democracy is not a festival held every five years where we vote and switch off. It's a muscle that needs constant exercise. When leaders fail, do we demand answers or wait for the next election to roll the dice again?
Our democracy today is a hollow shell, increasingly intolerant of dissent. Instead of solving problems, our government prefers to silence the critics. Take the proposed social media bill, designed not to improve governance but to stifle freedom of speech. But blindfolding oneself does not make the problems disappear. It merely delays the reckoning.
So, where do we go from here?
The answer lies in turning citizens from passive spectators to active participants. Under Article 27, our Constitution guarantees the Right to Information (RTI). It is not a decorative right; it's a weapon of accountability. We will disrupt this endless cycle if we start asking the right questions-demanding transparency, seeking data and holding leaders responsible.
We must also go beyond RTI. Strengthening institutions like the National Information Commission and the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority is critical. Corruption in Nepal is not incidental; it's institutional. It thrives because there are no real consequences. We need tools like the Right to Recall (RTR), which allows voters to remove underperforming elected officials before their term ends. Countries like India and certain U.S. states already use RTR; why shouldn't Nepal?
We keep tinkering at the edges, changing faces but not the fundamentals. Our system is beginning to resemble the Ship of Theseus-every plank and nail has been replaced over the years, but the same decaying vessel is beneath. New governments, new leaders, new slogans, but at its core, the system remains structurally flawed, designed to benefit the few at the expense of the many.
The truth is this: No constitution, leader or ideology will save us if we, the people, refuse to act. Real change will come not from another political restart but from sustained, collective civic engagement. It will come when every Nepali, in every tea shop and town hall, stops romanticising the past or waiting for a messiah and starts asking, "So what?"-every single day.
Rana is Program Director of The Himalayan Dialogues.
