When Hashtags Topple Parliaments
In most parts of the World, forty years ago, rebellion meant long hair, loud music, and sneaking into late-night movies. Today, rebellion wears Wi-Fi, wields hashtags, and stares corruption straight in the eye. From Kathmandu to Paris, from Dhaka to Manila, Gen Z has decided it will no longer inherit broken systems. Unlike their parents—who compromised and shrugged—this generation isn’t built to “adjust.”
Nepal is the freshest reminder. When the government banned 26 social media platforms, hoping to tame restless youngsters, it ended up awakening a volcano. For Gen Z, apps are not distractions—they are lifelines, protest grounds, and watchdogs of democracy. Within hours, the ban sparked nationwide fury. What began as a quarrel over connectivity exploded into a revolt against corruption and nepotism that had long suffocated the country. Parliament burned, curfews failed, and Prime Minister Oli resigned. The kids didn’t just shout slogans; they toppled a government—with hashtags.
But anger in Nepal runs deeper than bans. Gen Z is furious at the education system too—a system widely criticized as a channel for converting black money into white through inflated fees, private coaching mafias, and “ghost teachers” drawing salaries. Reports by Nepal’s Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority (CIAA) and the Office of the Auditor General (OAG) have highlighted repeated irregularities in school grants, budget delays, and teacher payments.
Across Europe, the story is written in different ink but on the same page. In France, Gen Z’s frustration has also bubbled over. They have marched in Paris and other cities, not only against economic inequality but also against the growing influence of far-right populism, especially after the surge of AfD in Germany sent shockwaves through Europe. President Emmanuel Macron has struggled to balance between defending liberal democratic values and addressing youth unemployment, rising living costs, and disillusionment with political elites. For French youth, the problem is not abstract ideology—it is the lived reality of nepotism, privilege, and what they see as a detached political class. Where their parents might sigh “c’est la vie,” this generation insists: “non, merci.” Their protests are sharp, creative, and merciless, often mixing graffiti, satire, and viral memes to expose hypocrisy faster than newspapers ever could.
In Southeast Asia too, the tremors are visible. In Indonesia, students erupted in 2025 over lawmakers’ exorbitant allowances—such as housing stipends far above the minimum wage—at a time when ordinary citizens face austerity, subsidy cuts, and limited educational budgets. These protests spread across Jakarta, Yogyakarta, and Medan, often turning tense when police clashed with demonstrators. President Prabowo Subianto has promised reforms, sacked ministers, and revoked some perks, but youth activists argue the core disease—nepotism, elite excess, and misuse of public funds—remains untouched.
In the Philippines, students staged “Black Friday” walkouts in September 2025 across Metro Manila and campuses like UP Diliman. Their anger was directed at corruption in flood control projects riddled with alleged anomalies, inflated costs, and questionable contracts. For young Filipinos, this wasn’t only about infrastructure failure—it symbolised a wider culture where political dynasties thrive and accountability evaporates, while ordinary people suffer.
Bangladesh showed both the strength and the danger of youth anger. In 2024, students poured into the streets against recruitment scams and nepotism. The rage was raw and necessary, but radicals hijacked it, twisting the movement into violence and communal poison. The world saw chaos, but the spark was unmistakable: corruption and favouritism had pushed an entire generation to the edge.
And then there is India—the bubble that hasn’t burst yet, but is swelling dangerously. Nepotism here isn’t confined to politics; it is visible across sectors. Political dynasties often treat parliament like inherited property. Bureaucratic families are accused of passing down power like heirlooms. In education, there have been repeated allegations of privileged groups misusing policies meant for the disadvantaged to secure seats in competitive examinations and public service recruitments, pushing aside genuinely deserving candidates. Medical and engineering colleges have long been reported to demand hefty “donations” or capitation fees, creating a parallel system where money trumps merit. Coaching mafias thrive in this vacuum.
The injustice deepens when many government employees who serve 30–35 years retire without pension security, while elected representatives enjoy lifelong benefits after a single term—often spent more undoing than doing real work.
Investigative reports in reputed publications have also flagged the education sector as a notorious corridor for black money. Large amounts of capitation fees and unregulated finances in private institutions allegedly serve as vehicles for opaque money flows involving political, bureaucratic, and business interests. Widely reported admission and recruitment scams in some Indian states further revealed how processes were manipulated, allowing undeserving candidates to bypass merit entirely.
Older generations tolerated this circus. They adjusted, bribed, compromised, and proudly told their children: “This is India, beta, learn to live with it.” But Gen Z has no patience for sermons on surrender. They have seen fairness elsewhere, they know their value, and they will not quietly inherit a rotten system. And unlike their parents, they don’t whisper complaints in tea stalls; they livestream them to millions.
The pattern is now impossible to ignore. Corruption once excused as “chai-paani” is called by its true name: theft. Nepotism once defended as “family duty” is denounced as fraud. Gen Z is not asking for utopia; they’re demanding fairness. Their rebellion is not chaos—it’s repair work. From Kathmandu’s fiery streets to Paris’s boulevards, from Jakarta’s student marches to Manila’s rallies, from Dhaka’s campuses to Delhi’s classrooms, the chant is the same: delete nepotism, not our apps.
And for those who still dismiss them as “kids on screens,” a word of warning: those screens can mobilize faster than your cabinets can draft press releases. Nepal already lost a Prime Minister over Wi-Fi. France’s youth are defending democracy through memes and marches, even as Macron grapples with bridging their trust deficit. Bangladesh proved what happens when anger is misdirected. Indonesia and the Philippines have shown that privilege and corruption can trigger mass unrest overnight. India, meanwhile, sits on a bubble swollen with corruption, favoritism, and education-sector laundering. When it bursts, it may not just shake leaders—it could topple the entire culture of compromise the older generation so meekly accepted.
The Wi-Fi rebellion is global, unstoppable, and unapologetic. Their parents learned to live with corruption; Gen Z has learned to delete it.
Disclaimer: This article reflects the personal views of the writer and is based on information and reports available in the public domain.
