I don’t know Balendra Shah, better known as Balen, personally. I have never met him, nor have I ever spoken to him. In fact, I have never even seen him in person. Though he hails from Mahottari, the same district I come from, and his village is barely a half-hour’s drive from mine, I know him only as much as most Nepalis do. Yet, Balen has become the center of one of the most defining political storms in Nepal’s history.
The allegations and ironies
Since the rise of the Gen Z movement, the old political establishment, particularly UML led by KP Sharma Oli, supported by certain intellectuals and sections of both traditional and social media, has painted Balen as the chief villain.
He is blamed for orchestrating the chaos that left nearly 75 people dead, destroyed vital national infrastructures including the Parliament, the Prime Minister’s residence, the President’s Office at Sheetal Niwas, the Supreme Court, party headquarters, ministerial quarters, and hundreds of police stations. Even Singha Durbar, the symbol of state authority, did not escape the flames. The scale of destruction during this civil movement was unprecedented — not seen anywhere in the world after the second world-war in a civilian protest.
Now, complaints have been filed against him, alleging foreign links and espionage. If true, while that would be a grave matter, it would ironically place him in the same company as the very political elites currently leveling the accusations.
Hasn’t Nepali Congress once waged an armed revolt against the Ranas, targeting government establishments, even hijacking a plane? Didn’t UML’s own supremo, KP Oli, begin his political journey by serving 14 years in prison for killing a fellow Nepali? Wasn’t his party, in its formative years, almost synonymous with vandalism and destruction of public property including tearing down railings? And what about the Maoists — who waged a decade-long insurgency that took over 17,000 lives and devastated the country’s infrastructure? Ironically, all three major parties have at various times been accused of acting as proxies for foreign interests. Yet today, they point fingers at a 35-year-old independent mayor.
The pointing fingers
And look who is pointing fingers — a party that has existed in one form or another for the past seventy-five years, has ruled the country for most of the last thirty-five, boasts hundreds of thousands of members nationwide, and commands dozens of affiliated and sister organizations. This is UML, led by KP Sharma Oli, a three-time prime minister at the center of countless scandals and corruption cases. Oli has shamelessly and repeatedly abused state institutions, from the police and prosecutors to the courts themselves, to shield his cronies and party workers, even in the gravest of crimes: rape, kidnapping, human trafficking, corruption, and land grabbing. He has strategically captured all the state apparatuses by placing his personal and party loyalists, including the security agencies, constitutional bodies and judiciary organs. Not to forget, he is blamed to have amassed billions by abusing state coffers. Yet, he is audacious enough to blame a young man who is not even in his 40s for all the country's woes.
Consider the scale of his official power. As prime minister and the convener of the National Security Council, Oli presided over a nation with nearly 100,000 soldiers in the Nepali Army, about 80,000 police officers, and roughly 35,000 armed police personnel under his command — not to mention the vast bureaucracy numbering over 100,000 civil servants and a massive network of loyal party workers and sympathizers across the country. Yet, when the time of reckoning came, when the streets filled with anger and the youth marched under the Gen Z banner, none of these institutions came to his rescue. Not the soldiers, not the police, not even the bureaucrats who once moved at his command. The silence of the state machinery was deafening — and in that silence, the spontaneous energy of ordinary citizens spoke louder than any decree of power. However, instead of reflecting on his failures as a leader and a human being, having failed both his party and the nation, Oli is blaming a youth half his age.
The youth power
The biggest irony of all is generational. When today’s political veterans in their 70s and 80s began their careers, Balen hadn’t even been born. He has no political party, no organizational machinery, and no mass rallies under his belt. Since becoming mayor, he has rarely given interviews and only occasionally posted on Facebook. Yet, somehow, he is being portrayed as the mastermind behind a youth-led uprising that shook the entire nation — a movement that mobilized nearly 40% of Nepal’s population, brought hundreds of thousands of young people to the streets, and forced the state’s most powerful institutions — the Nepali Army, Armed Police Force, and Nepal Police — to retreat.
If a single man with no party, no army, and no media empire could make an entire political order tremble, then either he is a genius beyond comparison or the system is far weaker than it pretends to be. In truth, the Gen Z movement was a manifestation of accumulated frustration — a generation betrayed by corruption, nepotism, and incompetence. Balen merely became a face, a symbol, perhaps unintentionally, of that collective anger. The perceived success of Balen is the tangible failure of the three political parties and their leadership, viz. Oli, Deuwa and Prachanda.
The hypocrisy
This is where the hypocrisy in Nepali politics deepens. The same leaders who once challenged authority through rebellion now criminalize dissent. The same politicians who once vandalized public offices in the name of revolution now demand unquestioned obedience. The so-called protectors of democracy have, in practice, become the custodians of an elite club, allergic to accountability and terrified of disruption. They call Balen dangerous not because he has broken the law, but because he has broken their monopoly over political legitimacy.
The tragedy of our politics lies in its selective morality. Violence, rebellion, and protest are virtuous only when led by those already in power. The system’s hypocrisy is breathtaking — the political class glorifies its own past revolts but condemns present-day resistance as anarchy. The youth who rise against injustice are branded as traitors, while those who looted the nation in the name of democracy walk free, garlanded and celebrated.
The limitations
Yet, to be fair, Balen himself is not beyond criticism. His defiance, while refreshing, sometimes borders on arrogance. His lack of transparency, especially regarding governance decisions and financial disclosures, raises valid concerns. Leadership requires dialogue, not disdain; reform needs collaboration, not isolation. If he aspires to lead beyond Kathmandu’s walls, he must learn the art of building bridges — not just burning old ones.
Still, it is important to remember that Balen is a symptom, not the disease. The deep rot lies within Nepal’s political establishment — an ecosystem sustained by patronage, impunity, and generational entitlement. The Gen Z uprising was not born in the mayor’s office; it was born in dysfunctional system, irresponsible party offices, corrupt government machineries, unemployment lines, in broken schools, and in disillusioned hearts. It was the inevitable response of a generation that refuses to inherit a failed state.
The irony of politics, however, is that yesterday’s rebels often become tomorrow’s tyrants. Those who once chanted for freedom now demand silence; those who once fought for justice now weaponize the law to shield themselves. Nepal’s political history is a cycle of rebellion and regression, where idealism decays into opportunism, and power corrupts both the old and the new. If Balen ever hopes to transcend this pattern, he must resist becoming what is opposing.
Whether it is Balen or the trinity of tyranny, if this is what they call politics, I don’t buy it. But if politics can still mean courage, integrity, and the willingness to challenge injustice without replicating it, then perhaps there is hope. Maybe the next chapter of Nepal’s democracy will not be written by those who crave control, but by those who dare to let go.
For now, Balen has given the old guards a taste of their own medicine--and they are finding it far too bitter to swallow.
Mr Nishaant is the Founder of Nepal Democracy Foundation. He can be contacted by email at [email protected] or by phone at 977-9851026991.
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