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In Kathmandu politics has become a spectator sport in which the main teams refuse to play. The two parties that dominated the last parliament—the Nepali Congress and the Communist Party of Nepal–Unified Marxist Leninist (CPN-UML)—are signalling that they may boycott elections scheduled for March 5th. Both fear that a vote under the caretaker government of Prime Minister Sushila Karki, appointed after a youth-led uprising toppled the last administration, would not favour them.
Ms Karki, a former chief justice, heads a non-partisan cabinet tasked with organising the vote. It is neither fully empowered nor fully trusted. The two main parties complain that it oversteps, while street activists credit it with upholding the promise of political renewal. The tension captures a recurring theme in Nepal: institutions exist but incentives usually undermine them. Officials at the Election Commission speak of “tight deadlines and stretched capacity”. One remarked, off the record, that running a poll with half the electorate boycotting would be “like refereeing a match with empty stands and missing players”.
The roots of the current impasse is down to September’s “Gen Z movement”. Tens of thousands of young demonstrators paralysed the capital (more than 70 were killed), succeeding in toppling KP Oli’s coalition and installing Ms Karki. Yet the movement left behind this: an interim government that is strong enough to dissolve parliament, but weak enough that the main parties doubt its legitimacy. Congress and the UML, which together held nearly two-thirds of seats in the last legislature, now weigh whether to reinstate the chamber that was dissolved. Doing so would placate their base but risk inflaming the streets; ignoring it could render the election meaningless.
The Election Commission has summoned parties for consultations and declared itself ready, pending nomination dates. Yet neutrality is already under siege. A boycotted vote could yield a parliament so lopsided as to invite legal challenge and public scorn. The Supreme Court has previously overturned dissolutions and reinstated ousted legislatures. If history repeats, the justices could find themselves arbiters of a dispute the constitution never envisaged: between an interim government without a party mandate and parties unwilling to compete for one.
Behind the abstention threat is a simple calculation: fear of losing. Public sentiment, shaped by a decade of corruption, gridlock, economic stagnation and now the Gen Z uprising, has shifted. Younger voters, digitally connected and politically impatient, may punish traditional leaders. For Mr Oli and his rival Sher Bahadur Deuba, who has led multiple administrations without completing a full term, skipping the election is a low-risk hedge against potential defeat. In other words, boycott functions as bargaining: either delay the vote, restore the old parliament or negotiate a consensus government to amend rules and postpone elections.
Smaller parties are alert to the disruption. The Maoist Centre, led by Pushpa Kamal Dahal, has floated constitutional reforms, including a directly elected executive. Such ideas have surfaced before, but this time the fluid political environment amplifies their potential. Even minor actors can influence outcomes when the giants step back. Regional observers note that in fragmented democracies, moments of vacuum tend to generate systemic change, or at least the perception of it.
The international community has issued polite urgings. India, the United States and the European Union have called for elections, wary that prolonged uncertainty could destabilise a strategically located neighbour. Yet their influence is limited.
On the streets, uncertainty lingers. Weapons looted during September’s unrest remain unaccounted for; protest threats resurface in whispers. Supporters of the Gen Z movement view the caretaker government as a vehicle for change. If mainstream parties bypass the vote, that momentum may dissipate, or radicalise. Analysts in Kathmandu describe a system that punishes both participation and abstention: engage and risk defeat; sit out and invite chaos.
Should Congress and the UML enter, the election may restore some legitimacy to a fragile system. If they abstain, Nepal will have a parliament that represents no one; a government accountable to no party; and a constitution increasingly ceremonial. Institutions will persist, but incentives will have exposed their fragility.
Preparation for the vote continues even as the main players debate whether to appear at all. The stage is set, yet the drama may proceed with half the cast missing. ■