T.Dawn of a new order

At the movement’s heart lies a new energy: social media-savvy, leaderless, insurgent, and digital-first. Slogans like #NepoBabies and videos exposing elite lifestyles went viral. The protest was decentralized, fueled by solidarity, not party lines or ideology.

Even former King Gyanendra urged peace, calling for the movement to remain peaceful and authentic, a rare moment of royal moderation in a crisis of republican legitimacy.

As protests turned destructive, the need for justice, accountability, and democratic reinvention became apparent. Police killed at least 19 protesters, shocking the nation into moral reckoning. Three officers were later killed after surrendering—evidence of total institutional breakdown, as was the mass jail escape in Jaleshwar amid chaos.

Adding to this turmoil, protests spread into rural outposts, social movements grew beyond Kathmandu, and protests intersected with broader societal currents—from anti-Israel rallies to teacher strikes. Nepal’s protest culture had been simmering; now it is volcanic.

Meanwhile, as buildings burned, the real battle became clear—between a future enslaved by nepotism and one drawn by democratic renewal. Balendra (Balen) Shah, Kathmandu’s young mayor, became a fleeting symbol of hope. Protesters carried the anime flag of One Piece’s Straw Hat Pirates—a banner for freedom, not just chaos.

Now Nepal teeters: will it rebuild institutions that ignore its youth, or will it refashion the state into something inclusive and forward-looking? Dialogue must go beyond convening. It must root in constitutional reform, youth inclusion, anti-corruption action, and rejuvenated civil liberties.

Nepalis deserve stability, but not stability of suppression. Rebuilding isn’t slowing down protests—it’s giving them purpose. If future generations can say their voice mattered, then perhaps this uprising will yield not a burnt state, but a reborn republic.

Nepal’s September inferno: The day Kathmandu burned

This piece originally appeared in the DAWN. It is being republished with permission from the DAWN with updates.

KATHMANDU, Nepal–The week of September 8, 2025, was just another week for RC Gautam, an errand boy at Kantipur Television. In two decades of employment at the station, he had seen street protests, dire political situations, a civil war, shootouts, violence and even an attack on the channel’s headquarters. But September 9 panned out differently for him.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how many people stormed our station. It all happened so quickly,” he told me over the phone.

An irate mob rushed into the Kantipur TV building on Tuesday, set fire to three buildings on its premises, and torched two dozen bikes and more than a dozen cars. The station was just one of hundreds of buildings and homes that came under attack in the wake of what is being dubbed the “Gen Z protests” in Nepal, which quickly spiraled out of control September 8.

Triggered by a recent social media ban, demonstrators took to the streets against corruption and nepotism. Every day, about 2,000 Nepalis leave for the Gulf, Malaysia and other countries for work, and while the country runs on a remittance economy, the children of leaders and politicians lead lavish lifestyles — something Gen Z has criticized on social media.

When the protesters first gathered Monday, they expected peace. There was music and dancing, and some local celebrities showed up to support the movement. But things quickly spun out of control when older men in the crowd targeted Parliament. Thus began the rioting.

The Kathmandu chief district officer ordered security forces to open fire, which killed 22 protesters. Some were in school uniforms. By September 12, the death toll had risen to 51. More than 1,000 people injured in the protests were being treated in hospitals, though officials admitted those figures were conservative estimates. Many remain missing and unaccounted for in similar events in other parts of the country.

The inferno

On September 9, violence escalated as arsonists showed up on the streets, vandalizing and torching private homes of ministers and businesses linked to those in power. Entire ministerial quarters, government buildings, police stations, the Supreme Court and Singha Durbar, the main administrative block, were among those set on fire.

On Tuesday, Kathmandu burned and smelled of rage. The air was so thick, it was choking.

When smoke filled the air in Budanilkantha, north of the capital, where I live, and army choppers circled above me, my instinct as a former reporter was to step out. The home of former Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba and his wife, former Minister Arju Deuba, had been attacked. I watched a plume of smoke rise from their residence and drift toward Shivapur hill. Choppers made several rounds trying to airlift the couple, who had been manhandled by the mob, but failed. Gunshots were heard. Neighbors said two men had died, though their deaths were not verified. The Deubas, injured, were eventually evacuated through the back door.

Across the street from my home, smoke fogged houses — the air stank. When I arrived, the arsonists had just left. The public had open access to the blazing home of former President Bidhya Bhandari. Outside, a crowd lingered and chatted.

What I overheard:

“What did you take?”

“I didn’t really get my hands on anything.”

“There were 240,000 Nepalese rupees, and some USD. Some people took it.”

“Someone took a mattress.”

“I only took a cake.”

On my evening walks past Bhandari’s home, I would often scan the residence, and guards stood armed at security posts. On Tuesday, as the house burned and residents evacuated, the guards remained outside the gate. “This is our duty,” they said.

The scene at Bhandari’s home repeated across Kathmandu as arsonists shifted from neighborhood to neighborhood, torching and looting homes of ministers and administrators, beating and stripping them.

Kathmandu was an inferno on September 9. Fire brigades were forbidden by police to move for security reasons. Even if mobilized, they were unprepared for such scale. No one foresaw violence of this nature.

The lull of sleeplessness

Most Nepalis have slept poorly since the killings on September 8. Many are seething, grieving, tired and scared. While initial anger was directed at the KP Oli government and ruling coalition for killing unarmed protesters, confusion spread the next day. People no longer knew who was backing the arsonists or why specific homes and establishments were targeted, almost as if by a premeditated list.

Men on motorcycles went door to door, torching homes, leaving behind what sounded like victory cries. Some wielded guns stolen from police stations. In Maharajgunj Chakrapath, where I grew up, a high-ranking policeman was beaten to death by the mob. Some policemen were rescued and airlifted by army choppers on slings. This was the station my family and neighbors once looked to for security.

By the time Gen Z, who launched the protest, called for calm on social media and disavowed responsibility for the riots, too much damage had been done. Their call had been for peaceful protests against corruption, but their movement was hijacked.

When the army chief addressed the nation the evening of September 9, offering security and prohibitory orders, people sensed respite. Army trucks patrolled the city, but residents still spent the night in fear. Unknown groups broke into private homes in some places; looting was reported in others. Prisoners escaped in mass breakouts.

As the mayhem unfolded, I texted a young journalist friend in Kathmandu. She said she felt scared. I told her I would probably sleep with scissors tucked under my pillow, just in case. Rumors spread of rapes, later confirmed by the army.

Media during anarchy

During the attack on Kantipur TV, my former colleague Gautam escaped to safety. But with the army clampdown and curfew, he sheltered with an acquaintance instead of returning home.

“What will happen next, didi?” he asked me. “How am I going to feed the kids? How will I educate them? The office I worked at is gone.”

I had no answer. I mourned with him the loss of my former workplace. Kantipur TV, the largest private legacy media, was an institution that stood its ground. While media houses are about owners and advertisers, they are also about journalists — especially the nonpartisan ones who dedicate their lives to high standards.

Kantipur Media Group has had many such journalists over the years. During the April 2006 street protests, hundreds stopped outside its complex in Tinkune to clap and show gratitude for its journalism. Those of us inside looked out the windows, tears streaming down our faces. This week, the same establishment received the opposite treatment.

For many journalists, Kantipur was home — a place to launch treatises, ask difficult questions and urge the Nepali people to think. Its burning marks a troubling point in Nepal’s history, where dedication to journalism has been vilified. Free and fair journalism is the foundation of democracy. Pulling down a media house like Kantipur signals the close of a period that trusted independent media. If one of the demands of this movement is restoring free speech, then attacking a media house is a symbolic contradiction.

What’s next?

Where does Nepal go from here? There’s no clear answer. Are foreign elements at play? Dormant political groups? Who instigated the riots? Who should lead next?

As of September 12, former Chief Justice Sushila Karki accepted Gen Z’s request to lead an interim government, with army backing. Preparations were underway to swear her in as interim prime minister. She would become Nepal’s first woman executive.

Until then, we remain in anticipation. International media and friends flood us with messages of care and curiosity, but people here are too tired. We’ve seen homes burn, loved ones die, colleagues shot and beaten, friends and family robbed. We’ve watched property and institutions destroyed. We’ve seen men brandishing guns and khukuris, threatening innocents.

Who are these men? Who mobilized them? Where have the former ministers fled? Who is being sheltered at army barracks? What will the army’s role morph into? How will an interim government be instated? Will the Constitution be amended? Who will comfort the mothers of the dead? What about the jobs lost because workplaces burned?

‘Mutant deer’ with bubble skin sparks outbreak

Strange Deer Sightings Go Viral
Photos of deer covered in dark, warty “flesh bubbles” have alarmed social media users in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin. One Reddit user wrote: “Not sure what’s wrong with her or how we can help. Gunshot wound? Tumor? Fireworks? Prion disease?”

What’s Really Happening?
Experts say it’s deer fibroma, a skin condition caused by a papillomavirus. According to Maine wildlife officials: “These manifest as firm, warty growths fixed to the skin of a deer… typically dark in color and bare of fur.”

On the road, I noticed a bear tangled in a net, unable to free itself:

As the last threads of the net fell away, the bear took a few tentative steps back, shaking its massive frame as if shedding the remnants of its captivity. My heart pounded in my chest, unsure of what would happen next. The forest was silent, as if holding its breath along with me. I expected the bear to bolt into the cover of the trees, to flee from the human who had just freed it. But instead, the unexpected happened.

The bear paused, looking directly into my eyes with a gaze that was both profound and unnervingly human. In its amber depths, I sensed a mixture of understanding and gratitude. It was as if time stood still, the world narrowing to just the two of us beside the bustling highway. And then, the bear did something I could never have anticipated: it lowered itself onto its haunches, almost as if bowing, before offering a deep, resonant huff — a sound that reverberated through the air and seemed to say “thank you” in a language older than words.

I stood there, dumbfounded, my hands still clutching the now-useless emergency belt cutter. A sense of awe and connection washed over me, a feeling that transcended the divide between our species. In that moment, I realized the bear understood I meant no harm, and was acknowledging the kindness it had received. It was a humbling experience, one that made me acutely aware of the delicate balance between humans and the wild.

After what felt like an eternity, the bear rose to its full height, glanced one last time in my direction, and turned towards the sanctuary of the forest. It moved with a grace that belied its size, disappearing into the shadows as silently as it had appeared. I watched until it was completely out of sight, the rustling of leaves the only indication of its passage.

Returning to my car, I felt a profound sense of fulfillment, albeit tinged with disbelief. The entire encounter played over and over in my mind, each detail vivid and surreal. The world had resumed its normal pace around me, cars zoomed by once more, oblivious to the extraordinary moment that had just unfolded.

For the rest of the drive, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been part of something truly special. The bear’s unexpected gesture had left an indelible mark on my soul, a reminder of the power of empathy and the surprising connections that can be forged in the most unlikely of circumstances. It made me wonder how much more we could achieve if only we paused to help, to understand, to extend a hand — or a paw — in friendship.

As I continued down the highway, past the dark forest, I carried with me a renewed sense of hope and respect for the natural world. And perhaps, somewhere in the depths of that expansive woodland, a bear carried with it a similar sentiment, a memory of the human who had stopped to help when no one else would.