I am not a young man. In my sixties, and after living abroad for more than four decades, I often ask myself a deceptively simple question: Who am I? The answer has never been clear. One truth, however, has remained constant: my enduring concern for my homeland, Nepal, and the ideals of justice, dignity, and sovereignty that it deserves.
But time moves, and it transforms. Hunger and uncertainty defined not only my youth but the fate of an entire nation. Nepal’s politics, once animated by dreams of democracy and sovereignty, is now dominated by betrayal and disillusionment. At the center of this betrayal stands the institution that claims to be the custodian of sovereignty: the Nepal Army.
The Nepal Army presents itself as the guardian of the nation—defender of sovereignty, stability, and order. Yet history tells a different story. Again, and again, the Army has betrayed the very sovereignty it swore to protect.
In 2001, during the royal massacre, the Army’s behavior remained shrouded in secrecy. Why was the chain of command broken? Why did it fail to protect the royal family? Questions about delayed response, lack of investigation, and selective disclosure have persisted for decades. Its silence fueled suspicion and mistrust among citizens, leaving the nation with wounds that have never fully healed. The Army, sworn to defend the throne and the country, became complicit through inaction.
During the Maoist insurgency (1996–2006), the Army entrenched itself in a war economy, diverting foreign aid and resources into its own coffers while failing to protect civilians. Reports of disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and torture by both insurgents and security forces remain largely unaddressed. Villagers suffered the brunt of the violence, but the Army prioritized maintaining power, resources, and its institutional prerogatives. During this period, sovereignty was not defended; instead, it was sacrificed for the sake of self-preservation and elite loyalty.
When the 2006 People’s Movement demanded democratic change, many hoped the Army would align with the people’s aspirations. Instead, it positioned itself with whichever elites could secure its privileges and autonomy. After Nepal transitioned to a republic, the Army resisted civilian oversight, maintained opaque financial operations, and expanded its corporate empires in construction, education, and luxury services. While the country sought to redefine itself under democratic principles, the Army ensured that institutional interests were protected above national progress.
Perhaps the most enduring betrayal lies in its role in foreign influence. Under the rhetoric of neutrality, the Army has allowed Nepal’s sovereignty to be gradually compromised. Indian military influence permeates through training programs, joint exercises, and strategic partnerships. China has inserted itself under the guise of security cooperation and infrastructure development. Western powers exploit Nepal for peacekeeping and strategic leverage. When borders are encroached, political elites loot the state, or international actors maneuver for advantage, the Army often remains passive, observing but rarely acting to assert national sovereignty. Its allegiance appears oriented toward maintaining its institutional power rather than defending the nation.
The youth of Nepal—Gen-Z—rose to confront these structural failures. They demanded transparency, accountability, and an end to corruption. Their movement represented hope for a generational transformation in politics. Yet their efforts were systematically diluted. The Army, rather than supporting reform and stability, became a mechanism of surveillance and suppression, ensuring that the movement was
co-opted, fragmented, and neutralized. The transformative energy of the youth was deflected, leaving the political system essentially unchanged. This is not neutrality; this is betrayal of both the people and the future of Nepal.
Sociologically, Nepal’s current crisis exemplifies institutional betrayal and praetorianism. The Army, the most powerful institution in the country, has broken the social contract. A social contract exists when citizens delegate authority to institutions in exchange for protection, justice, and governance. By failing to defend sovereignty, prioritizing the safety of elites over citizens, and resisting democratic oversight, the Army has undermined that contract. Citizens feel betrayed, dispossessed, and voiceless. The republic exists in name only; democracy has become ornamental, and sovereignty a bargaining chip in negotiations over foreign aid, influence, and domestic power.
The consequences of this betrayal are visible across Nepal’s political, economic, and social fabric. Borders remain contested, resources mismanaged, and institutions corrupted. Governance is paralyzed, corruption is systemic, and citizens’ faith in both democracy and the rule of law is eroded. When institutions fail to safeguard the nation, they permit the erosion of the nation’s identity. Losing sovereignty is not just a political failure—it is a cultural and existential loss.
The interim government, led by a Madam Prime Minister and populated with celebrity ministers, is essentially a façade. While media and public attention focus on these visible figures, true power resides with the Army, operating behind the scenes to maintain its privileges and shield itself from accountability. Civilian authority is therefore weakened, and sovereignty remains compromised. Without reclaiming control from the Army, reforms, constitutional promises, and national dignity remain hollow ideals.
Nepal’s youth, however, continue to represent hope for a corrective wave. The hijacking of their movement by entrenched elites demonstrates the need for a second-wave revolution—not necessarily of violence, but of institutional and generational reclamation. They seek a Nepal where institutions are accountable, sovereignty is respected, and citizens are empowered. The Army, if left unchecked, threatens to undermine even these future possibilities.
A comprehensive sociological lens reveals that militaries in fragile states frequently prioritize self-preservation over national duty. Comparative political sociology shows that similar patterns emerge across South Asia, Latin America, and Africa. When the military becomes the ultimate veto player, it functions less as a defender of the nation and more as a guardian of its own power and resources. Nepal exemplifies this structural pattern, where the Army’s role has shifted from protector to arbiter, negotiator, and often collaborator with external and internal actors undermining sovereignty.
The solution is clear, though politically and institutionally difficult. The Army must be brought under complete
civilian oversight. Its finances must be transparent, corporate empires dismantled, and its mandate strictly confined to defense. Civilian supremacy must be enforced not only in law but in practice. Only by reclaiming democratic control can Nepal restore dignity, justice, and sovereignty.
Nepal’s hunger today is not merely for sustenance; it is a hunger for justice, accountability, and national dignity. The Nepal Army, entrusted to uphold these values, has repeatedly failed. Until institutional accountability is enforced, the aspirations of citizens—especially the younger generation—remain unfulfilled.
History will remember. From the royal massacre to the insurgency, from the erosion of democratic oversight to the dilution of youth movements, the Army has repeatedly betrayed its people. Sovereignty cannot be restored by rhetoric or ceremonial gestures. It demands structural reform, civilian oversight, and genuine institutional responsibility.
Nepal deserves better. Its people deserve better. And history demands better.
@DS
