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The optics were striking. On the day KP Oli secured his third term as CPN-UML chair, Rabi Lamichhane emerged from custody a free man. As Nepali media dissected the moment and its aftershocks, verbal hostilities between the two former political twins resumed almost instantly. The result has been a surge in media frenzy—and the transformation of a consequential political moment into yet another episode of mass entertainment.

Oli and Lamichhane share not one but many similarities. Both possess tongues that rarely stumble. They repeat the same lie umpteen times till it sounds ‘true’. These Nepali incarnations of Goebbels have, on the strength of rhetoric alone, turned their parties into private clubs and their leaders and cadres into mere operatives.

They do nothing for anyone other than themselves—indeed, they do not even think about it—but they keep covering the truth with their palms, claiming everything they do is for the country and the people. They are factories of misinformation and disinformation, as well as proponents of the “deep state” and conspiracy theories. Whatever they say becomes party policy, program, and ideology. Thus, on one side stands “Oli ba,” and on the other “Rabi dai.” Though their lineage may differ, both are gods within their respective parties. They openly declare that they can never be wrong.

Both face serious allegations. Oli is confronted with numerous corruption-related questions, including grave accusations in the Giribandhu Tea Estate land scandal. Yet, by placing loyalists throughout state institutions—from the Supreme Court to the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority—he has remained untouched, like water rolling off a duck’s back. Rabi, on the other hand, faces charges of cooperative fraud, organized crime, illicit wealth and an ongoing criminal case over dual passport. While the cooperative and illicit wealth cases are civil, organized crime and dual passport are criminal offenses. If the judgment in either of the two cases goes against him, his political career will be over. That is why he desperately reaches the Ministry of Home Affairs—to suppress the cases. 

Once the UML–Congress government was formed, his usefulness as a 21-seat bloc ended. Subsequently, he was not only suspended as an MP but also spent a long time behind bars.

On the basis of evidence, Ravi is weak in these cases, but by hiring top-tier lawyers he has not only exploited every loophole in the law, he has also not hesitated to engage in bench shopping when necessary. Most recently, he had lawyers fall “ill” twice until a favorable bench took shape. On the third attempt, with a bench to his liking, the hearing proceeded and—for the first time in Nepal’s judicial history—an extraordinary decision was made to free him. This has raised serious questions about the judge’s competence and allegations of bench shopping, which have now reached the Judicial Council as a formal complaint.

Those raising questions have even pointed fingers at Prime Minister Sushila Karki, who herself is a retired chief justice. Notably, Karki had been calling charges against Lamichhane as fabricated, and, upon his release, she rolled out the red carpet at Baluwatar for him. But let’s not forget that Lamichhane is still an accused in state-led cases involving serious charges, including organized crime.

Welcoming a defendant of the state at the official residence of the head of government is hardly appropriate. In this context, suspicions have arisen that Lamichhane would not have been able to come out on bail had Karki not been the PM. Some even say Lamichhane was set free simply to counter Oli, who has been openly attacking PM Karki.

No sooner was he released than Lamichhane threw his weight behind the government and lashed out at efforts to restore the House, calling them a conspiracy. He went further, without naming Oli, by saying that “some forces who fled to disrupt elections are active; there is no need for that—once you win the party election, you can win the general election as well.” Oli, meanwhile, has questioned the verdict and the competence of the judge. The UML chief has accused Lamichhane of returning his favor with hostility, adding that he had played no role whatsoever in the latter’s arrest or release.

Indeed, Oli has contributed significantly to bringing Lamichhane to where he is today. When Lamichhane came to Nepal in 2015 on a family visa using an American passport, it was Oli who allowed him to host the program ‘Sidha Kura Prime Minister Sanga’ on Nepal Television. Ironically, that very job—taken while on a visa that did not permit employment—became a noose around his neck, ultimately forcing him to renounce his US citizenship. In the meantime, he also obtained a Nepali passport, and that dual passport has become the Achilles’ heel of his political life.

Oli also played a decisive role in making Lamichhane deputy prime minister and home minister twice. The UML chief defended Ravi by pushing to defer the dual passport case and opposing the cooperative fraud case. Their alliance lasted till the formation of the UML-Congress coalition government under Oli in mid-2024.

However, suspicions have now emerged that all this may have been part of Oli’s strategy to ultimately disgrace Lamichhane and end his political career. It cannot simply be dismissed as coincidence that Ravi landed in jail while Oli was prime minister. Having understood the inner story of his own political rise and fall, Lamichhane has since been locked in a constant power struggle with Oli.

There is no need to wait for Sunday to say this: between the two, it is no longer just fierce political rivalry—it has escalated into outright enmity. Lamichhane believes Oli is the one who sent him to jail; Oli sees Lamichhane, equally eloquent, as a challenge to his politics. Both seem to have concluded that only by sidelining the other can their own political fortunes advance.

Oli and Lamichhane stand on opposite sides regarding the Karki government and the elections it announced after dissolving parliament. Lamichhane has not only recognized this government but has fully supported it, calling Oli’s push for restoring the House a conspiracy. His firm stance that elections must be held on the announced date of March 5 under any circumstances has strengthened the government’s election campaign. Meanwhile, Pushpa Kamal Dahal, chair of the Maoist party—the third-largest force in the dissolved parliament—has also entered the election campaign, saying there is no alternative to elections.

The country is now almost sharply divided over the elections scheduled for March 5. The UML and Congress establishments favor restoring parliament, joined by some smaller parties that were part of Oli’s previous government. Reports suggest this camp is nearing a majority of the dissolved House and is preparing to approach the court with supplementary petitions seeking restoration.

On one hand, the government and the Election Commission insist elections will be held no matter what. On the other hand, Oli is not only saying elections won’t happen but is openly mocking the idea. Deuba may want to follow Oli’s lead, but strong pro-election sentiment within Congress prevents it from openly opposing elections. Leaders of parties not represented in the dissolved House publicly pray for elections yet cannot deviate from their factional party lines. Fearing they may not get tickets, they remain silent.

All existing circumstances appear to favor elections. There is consensus that elections are the only way to put the constitution back on track. If elections are held, Oli too will have no choice but to participate. Still, there is no certainty that elections will happen. Suspicions persist that this government is being run by some invisible force that may not want elections.

This may all be just another conspiracy theory. Yet, at a time when the constitution is not fully functioning and various domestic and foreign interest groups are raising their heads, it is hard to dismiss the possibility that something is quietly brewing. Nepal’s state apparatus has never reached such a fragile juncture.

Whether or not to restore the parliament? The ball is in the court of law. In recent times, Nepal’s judiciary has become the umpire of politics—no one knows when or for what foul it will blow the whistle. Judges increasingly resemble party activists, delivering verdicts largely aligned with party interests. One of the judges who released Lamichhane on bail, Justice Acharya, was previously the district secretary of the Arghakhanchi Congress before his appointment.

At present, the Supreme Court includes justices appointed on the quotas of Oli and Deuba, who are themselves litigants seeking the restoration of the parliament. Pressure from Dahal may also be exerted through them to secure a favorable verdict. If the pressure works, parliament will be restored, and elections will not happen. But a court already weakened by the GenZ movement may take a middle path—scheduling hearings only after March 5. Once elections happen, the court could rule, based on precedents, that restoration has become irrelevant since a new parliament has already taken shape.

The greatest challenge in global politics today is populism, with authoritarians, who hijack internal party democracy and climb to power, ruling the world. Oli and Lamichhane are Nepal’s “models” of this trend. That is why both are a serious problem for Nepal, not the solution, as these verbose stuntmen want to rule by feeding the public fodder in the form of speeches.

In any case, once again, Oli and Lamichhane stand face to face in Nepal. At present, Oli ba’s children and Rabi dai’s brothers and sisters are tearing into each other nakedly on the streets and on social media. Oli’s followers were already at that level; now Lamichhane’s supporters have join-ed them. Watching this spectacle, one feels that Oli and Lamichhane are cult leaders, and those holding various positions in UML and RSP their devotees.

Otherwise, what greater farce could there be than the grand procession with bands and fanfare when Lamichhane—arrested on criminal charges such as organized crime and fraud—walked free on bail, by effectively accepting the charges against him?

This columnist has consistently argued that Lamichhane and Oli share the same political lineage: populism. In that sense, they are political look-alikes ‘Swange Bhai’, persons of the same political DNA. Populism is the greatest challenge facing global politics today. Therefore, both are a problem for Nepal, not the solution.

Be that as it may, this “brotherly” fight has once again begun from a new front. Who will win and who will lose? Let’s leave this question to the future. One thing, though, is certain: whoever wins, Nepal and the Nepali people will lose, for these new Badshahs of populism are no longer just individuals; they have become a tendency. The mindset of only I matter is the problem—not the solution.

Some people still ask whether the GenZ movement existed solely to place Sushila Karki in KP Sharma Oli’s chair, dissolve the House of Representatives two years ahead of schedule and push the country into yet another election costing billions. It did not—and it certainly should not have. Yet the “Oli-like” tendencies now emerging in Prime Minister Karki, the evolving political landscape and the likely faces poised to win if elections proceed on March 5, have together created a climate of growing doubt. As a result, what began as a transformative moment risks being remembered as a political detour.

Unfinished revolution

In the aftermath of the GenZ uprising, Nepal’s political sphere has entered a period of rapid churn—splits, mergers and reconfigurations have become weekly rituals. Dozens of new parties have emerged, led by individuals seeking to capture the energy generated on the streets. Older parties, meanwhile, continue to recycle their leadership and structures in an attempt to remain relevant. The once-entrenched dominance of the big three—the Nepali Congress, CPN-UML and the CPN (Maoist Center)—has weakened to an extent, and non-establishment voices within major parties now enjoy more space to speak.

However, these shifts—loud, visible and dramatic—fall significantly short of what the moment demanded. The sacrifices made by GenZ protesters called for substantive political transformation: a rethinking of governance, the dismantling of patronage networks, and above all, a generational transition in leadership that Nepal has delayed for far too long. Instead, the agenda of the movement has been diluted. Old political habits, long discredited, have resurfaced in new packaging.

The GenZ movement itself has fractured, as mass protest movements often do, but it remains undeniably a force. The current government exists because young people took to the streets. It is also true that even if ministers belong to older generations, they cannot simply dismiss the movement’s aspirations. Public support for its core concerns—integrity, transparency, accountability, generational inclusion—remains robust, despite early signs that partisan loyalties are slowly reverting to traditional alignments.

Accusations of foreign involvement continue to circulate, as they do in every major political upheaval in Nepal, but none has yielded anything of substance. Those who marched know they were not deployed by external actors. Their grievance was domestic, immediate and undeniable: a political system that had become immune to public outrage and unresponsive to genuine reform.

A crisis of legitimacy

With political authority drifting away from parties and toward ad hoc arrangements, the country urgently needs an election to restore legitimacy. Yet preparations by both old and new forces appear woefully inadequate. Established parties fear a public rebuke; they sense that voters may not forgive their role in years of stagnation. New political forces, despite their enthusiasm, remain fragmented and uncertain of their electoral prospects. Many lack the organizational depth needed to contest nationwide elections effectively.

The interim government, meanwhile, has adopted a posture of comfort. If elections occur on time, it benefits from appearing cooperative; if delays arise, its tenure simply stretches on. This ambiguity has eroded public trust. The youth who risked their lives for political renewal now watch a government drifting without urgency.

Amid this uncertainty, efforts to use GenZ factions as political instruments have become increasingly visible. Some youth leaders, disillusioned with the government’s performance, now argue that the Karki administration has failed to uphold the spirit of the movement. They have even floated former Chief Justice Kalyan Shrestha as a potential alternative prime minister—an idea that reveals both dissatisfaction and desperation.

Where Karki has fallen short

There is some truth to their criticism. Karki’s government has not lived up to the transformative mandate it inherited. But this reflects not only her leadership; it reflects the unchanged landscape around her. The constitution remains the same. Senior officials, courts, the bureaucracy and long-established political networks remain largely untouched. The interim government is composed of loyalists with limited experience, each carrying their own political weaknesses and personal constituencies.

Brokers—old and new—have already penetrated the government’s inner circles. Even within GenZ itself, personal rivalries and factional disputes are beginning to surface. In such an environment, prolonged interim politics risks turning the state into a venue for narrow interest-seeking. National interest is often the first casualty. Nepal now stands uncomfortably close to that precipice.

Karki’s elevation to the premiership was itself an experiment. She was appointed despite two constitutional constraints—she was not a member of the House, nor was she eligible for the executive role as a former chief justice. Her defenders justified her selection on grounds of maturity, legal expertise and her public reputation as a principled opponent of corruption and political patronage. These were compelling arguments at the time.

But her conduct in office has weakened the aura of moral authority she once enjoyed. Her unrestrained public remarks—claiming she accepted the post under pressure, or that she refuses to meet senior political leaders—have undermined the dignity of the position she holds. The office of the prime minister demands gravitas, restraint and an ability to navigate political complexities quietly and effectively. Instead, her comments have amplified doubts about her political temperament.

More serious, however, are her appointments. Attorney General Sabita Bhandari and Chief Personal Secretary Adarsha Kumar Shrestha, both controversial figures, have become liabilities for the government. Bhandari’s appointment contradicts the anti-nepotism sentiment that defined the GenZ movement. Shrestha, a temporary court clerk, was elevated without a clear merit-based justification. Both have since been linked to allegations of misconduct, including involvement in an illegal ova-trafficking case and the appointment of relatives to government positions.

Yet the government has taken little meaningful action. In one case, its response appeared to shield the accused while sidelining qualified GenZ activists who had expected at least some acknowledgement of their contribution. Such decisions cannot be reconciled with the ethos of the movement that brought this government to power. Instead, they echo the same arrogance of authority that GenZ rose against. Karki’s defense of her appointees mirrors, in troubling ways, the very tendencies associated with Oli.

The risk of betrayal

This raises a difficult and painful question: Did the GenZ movement simply replace one leader with another, without altering the system that produced them?

It did not—and it must not be allowed to. But if the current trajectory continues, the perception that the uprising achieved little beyond a change of faces will deepen. That would be a profound injustice to the martyrs of the movement. It would reduce their sacrifices to a historical footnote and burden their families with needless grief and unanswered questions.

The coming weeks offer a narrow but meaningful window for course correction.

What Karki must do—now

1.  Avoid replicating the authoritarian tendencies of her predecessors.

2. Exercise restraint and dignity in her public remarks.

3. Ensure that constitutional reasoning—not personal networks—guides all decisions.

4. Pursue accountability in cases linked to her controversial appointees; and

5. Ensure that the March 5 elections are held on time, without ambiguity or political bargaining.

Nepal cannot afford another wasted moment. The GenZ uprising was not merely a wave of youthful anger; it was a profound demand for dignity, accountability and a new political culture. Whether that call becomes a turning point—or fades into disillusionment—now rests largely with the prime minister.

The country waits. The youth watch closely. History will decide whether the promise of a generation was fulfilled—or betrayed.

The author is a senior Nepali journalist based in Washington, DC