In recent years, Nepali society has witnessed the rise of a troubling phenomenon: the conversion of social work into a stepping-stone for publicity, wealth, and political clout. What once symbolized sacrifice and service has now become a strategic entry point for individuals seeking personal gain. These pseudo-social workers, equipped with smartphones, cameras, and clever messaging, masquerade as reformers while exploiting society’s trust. Their actions raise an urgent question: are we being served, or merely deceived?
The new breed of social worker is less a servant of the people and more a performer for the public eye. Social media has amplified this shift, turning compassion into a commodity. With every post, video, and reel, these individuals craft an image of benevolence. But behind the carefully staged acts lies a motive far removed from public good—building a base of followers to leverage in the pursuit of political power or business advantage.
This culture of spectacle-driven social work reduces serious societal issues to photo opportunities. It prioritizes visibility over substance, popularity over impact. In doing so, it not only trivializes the meaning of service but also entrenches cynicism in a society already disillusioned by corruption and betrayal.
The pathway from pseudo-social work to politics is well established. Figures across Nepal have used their social presence to launch themselves into the political sphere, where power multiplies opportunities for wealth. The formula is simple: gain public sympathy through visible gestures of service, translate that sympathy into votes, and then leverage political office for personal or partisan gain.
The case of Kathmandu Metropolitan Mayor Balen Shah exemplifies both the promise and the peril of this phenomenon. He rose to prominence as an outsider, admired for his energy and reforms. Yet, his conduct during recent Gen Z protests and shifting political dynamics has sparked suspicion about his long-term ambitions. Some now question whether his mayoral role is merely a springboard for larger political goals. Others even speculate—however conspiratorially—that his rise is tied to foreign interests. Regardless of the truth, the doubts underscore a wider problem: when leaders rely on image rather than transparency, public trust inevitably erodes.
At the core of pseudo-social work lies a profound illusion. On the surface, these individuals appear to champion causes—healthcare, education, environment, or culture. In reality, their contributions are often superficial. Schools, for instance, invest in glossy infrastructure and fleets of buses to impress parents, while neglecting essential laboratories, libraries, and trained staff. Doctors promote wellness on social media while failing to make healthcare affordable or accessible in their own communities. Business magnates donate for public visibility but rarely tackle systemic issues such as pollution, unemployment, or inequality.
This illusion is dangerous. It diverts attention from what truly matters—sustainable reforms, accountable governance, and long-term investment in communities. Worse, it conditions people to mistake performance for progress. Nepalis clap for social media heroes while overlooking genuine reformers who, away from the limelight, are quietly building schools, innovating in technology, and building roads for the community. Speaking of genuine reformers, my heart brims over with pride and joy at the thought of Chandrabir in Dang, who built a community road manually toiling for years for the convenience of his blind wife and blind children.
When pseudo-social workers ascend into politics, the costs are borne by ordinary citizens. Their shallow understanding of social needs translates into shallow policies. Their hunger for publicity fosters divisive rhetoric. Their networks of followers create personality cults that discourage criticism. And once in power, their reliance on crony capitalism ensures that decisions serve a narrow elite rather than the broader public.
This cycle is not new. It echoes decades of Nepali politics where populism has repeatedly trumped principle. But in the age of social media, the scale and speed are unprecedented. Today, a viral video can launch a political career. Tomorrow, that career can shape laws, allocate budgets, and influence generations. The stakes could not be higher.
The question, then, is not whether pseudo-social workers exist—they clearly do—but how we, as citizens, respond to them. Should we continue to idolize every charismatic figure who claims to serve us? Should we mistake Instagram reels for real reforms? Or should we demand evidence, transparency, and accountability before extending our admiration?
Across Nepal, business tycoons and professionals alike have found in “social work” a convenient platform to polish their image and prepare for a political career. In Dang, a doctor has become famous through morning-walk videos with locals, preaching fitness while ignoring the more pressing community needs around him—garbage burning, lack of public parks, and absence of infrastructure for exercise. He could have lobbied for cleaner air or built walking trails, yet he has chosen the easier route of self-promotion.
The wiser course is clear: take every self-proclaimed social worker and politician with a pinch of salt. Celebrate their achievements when they are real, but interrogate their motives when they are not. Separate spectacle from substance. Learn to distinguish between those who build institutions and those who merely build images. Nepal today stands at a crossroads. Our politics is fragile, our institutions are weak, and our youth are restless. In such a context, pseudo-social workers thrive, exploiting hope and disillusionment alike. But their rise is not inevitable. If citizens remain vigilant, if we question before we clap, if we demand action over appearance, we can ensure that service regains its true meaning.
Let us not be fooled by the holy grail of publicity, power, and money. Let us judge our leaders—and our social workers—not by the noise they make, but by the lives they transform. Only then can we break the cycle of deception that has for too long defined our politics and society.
Ganesh P Paudel
The author is a teacher
