Nepal’s Gen Z count the cost of a revolution paid for in blood: ‘we want justice’

The marigold garlands wilted in the Kathmandu heat, draped over coffins that bore the weight of a nation’s grief. Inside one lay Mahesh Budhathoki, a young man who left home to protest against corruption – and never returned. The 22-year-old was one of dozens killed when police opened fire during mass anti-corruption protests led by Nepal’s Generation Z. At least 73 people were killed in the demonstrations, which turned violent as protesters surged towards the parliament building in the nation’s capital. The death toll included three police officers and an Indian national, with more than 2,100 injured. The unrest, Nepal’s deadliest in decades, toppled the government of ex-prime minister K.P. Sharma Oli and left a number of public and private buildings in ruins. “For the past year, he had been caring for my mother after her cancer diagnosis,” recalled Umesh Budhathoki, Mahesh’s younger brother. “Just last month, he bought a scooter and was working as a Pathao [ride-hailing] driver.” When the family reached the hospital, Mahesh was already among the dead, doctors having concluded he was shot in the neck. Like so many in his generation, he was disillusioned by corruption and nepotism, which has robbed Nepal’s youth of opportunity and forced many to seek futures abroad. But their calls for better governance on September 8 were met with bullets. Witnesses claim police deliberately targeted protesters’ heads and chests. Over two days of unrest, police reportedly fired some 13,000 rounds, including tear gas, rubber bullets and live ammunition. At Kathmandu’s National Trauma Centre, Dr Dinesh Bhandari, head of emergency medicine, described scenes of chaos as streams of wounded arrived just after midday. “We weren’t expecting this,” he said. “What was totally new to us in this protest was the active bullet wounds on the head, chest, waist, stomach and knees.” By the day’s end, at least eight people taken for treatment at the centre had died from their wounds. On Sunday, Nepal’s new government declared the dead “martyrs”. The nation’s flag hung at half-mast, while charred buildings dotted Kathmandu as mute reminders of the immeasurable loss of lives and property. This week, families bade farewell to their loved ones at the Pashupatinath Temple with full state honours: coffins wrapped in the national flag, garlands of marigolds – and relatives’ anguished cries echoing out over the Bagmati River. “Punish the killers,” pleaded one grieving sister. “You used to say, ‘Who would do it if not us for the country?’ Now you’ve left us, my brother.” Many of the dead had come to the capital to study or dream of a better future. Their remains were flown to hometowns across Nepal. Daily newspaper Kantipur devoted a full front page to the fallen, publishing photographs of their faces in tribute. An Instagram account called “More Than Names” has become a digital memorial, transforming the raw statistics into personal stories. And a group of artists projected the names of fallen protesters across Kathmandu’s houses and heritage sites as a tribute, demanding accountability. Meanwhile, the wounded watched funeral processions on phone screens from their hospital beds. Lusan Subba, 20, considers himself lucky to have survived. Protesting peacefully outside parliament, he was shot in the leg and required surgery. “I went to protest because we had been silent for too long,” he said. “We’ve been frustrated for so long and I’ve seen three of my friends go abroad in the past two months. But I want to stay here. We wanted change, and hopefully we’ll get what we fought for.” Some were less fortunate. In Pokhara, about 200km (124 miles) from the capital, 17-year-old Anish Sapkota suffered multiple facial fractures after being struck by a rubber bullet. His mother, Ambika, who sells vegetables to support them, now faces a future of surgeries and costly rehabilitation. My son’s body is like broken pieces of glass Ambika Sapkota, mother to an injured protester “My son’s body is like broken pieces of glass,” she said. “The children went to protest because they wanted to bring about changes in this country and rightfully so. Anish was planning to study hotel management, but it seems he might be living with a disability now. He won’t be the same any more.” Doctors warn that many of those injured may face lifelong disability and psychological trauma. As caretaker prime minister Sushila Karki assumed office last week, she announced compensation of 1.5 million rupees (US$10,900) per bereaved family, pledged full treatment for the injured and promised a judicial inquiry. But for the grieving families, promises aren’t enough. Justice, they say, has been too often delayed or denied, just as it was for victims of the Maoist insurgency that ended two decades ago. “We want justice,” Umesh said. “The ones who killed my brother and others should be punished. Whoever shot should be held accountable. They shouldn’t have shot them.”

Nepal’s Gen Z count the cost of a revolution paid for in blood: ‘we want justice’

As the nation mourns its dead, wounded survivors and grieving families fear accountability may be delayed or denied