Eruption of youth: a South Asian malaise

The youth do not grow discontented because they dream too much, but because their rulers dream too little. Across South and Southeast Asia, a striking rhythm of uprisings has begun to echo — Sri Lanka in 2022, Bangladesh in 2024, Indonesia in 2025, and now Nepal, the latest to witness its young pouring into the streets. Each country is different in its triggers: food queues in Colombo, job quotas in Dhaka, elite perks in Jakarta, and social-media bans in Kathmandu. Yet the pulse feels the same — a generational impatience with systems that have long promised stability but delivered inequality, corruption and repression.

In Sri Lanka, the Aragalaya movement arose when mismanagement and dynastic arrogance pushed the economy into ruin. Young citizens who had grown up in the shadow of war found their futures stolen not by foreign invaders but by their own rulers. The protests were not just about inflation or fuel shortages — they were a referendum on elite capture of the state.

Bangladesh, by contrast, saw students lead the charge. What began as frustration over employment and quota policies snowballed into a popular uprising against heavy-handed policing and the suffocating dominance of entrenched political families. It was a rebellion not only against bad governance, but against a culture of impunity.

Indonesia's story was less about collapse and more about arrogance. An economy still growing could not mask the sight of lawmakers awarding themselves benefits while ordinary citizens struggled with rising costs. For a nation that prides itself on democratic transition, this widening gap between rulers and ruled has been jarring.

And then Nepal — where a government attempt to muzzle social media by decree became the final spark. Instead of quelling dissent, the blackout became a banner under which citizens rallied. What began as an issue of digital freedom turned swiftly into a broader demand for dignity and accountability.

Is it corruption alone that drives this tide? Certainly, corruption is the structural tinder — joblessness amid nepotism, contracts awarded in smoky backrooms, and the slow rot of public trust. But equally decisive is the way today's youth experience power. This generation is digitally connected, politically literate, and far less deferential to authority than their parents. A single video of police excess can galvanise millions, a meme can become a manifesto. Social media has made protest both contagious and performative — and attempts to silence it only harden resolve.

The economic backdrop is unforgiving. Across the region, demographic youth bulges collide with slowing job creation. The pandemic left fiscal scars, commodity prices remain volatile, and debt obligations bite. For young graduates staring at uncertain futures, even minor insults from the powerful become intolerable. The old compact — you stay loyal, we give you stability - no longer holds.

State responses reveal much about the fragility of authority. When governments rely on curfews, live ammunition or internet blackouts, they inadvertently shift the narrative from governance to repression. Nepal's leaders discovered that the attempt to control speech turned into the very reason for protest. Similarly, in Bangladesh and Indonesia, images of police brutality spread faster than official denials. In an age of instant visibility, repression becomes both evidence and indictment.

Yet there are also subtler forces at work. The symbols of protest are no longer purely local: placards borrow slogans from Hong Kong, chants echo Cairo, memes travel from Seoul. South Asia's youth are plugged into a global culture of dissent, and they measure their rulers against universal ideals of transparency and freedom. Diasporic networks amplify these voices, making it harder for governments to dismiss unrest as "isolated trouble".

What, then, is the way forward? Cosmetic reform will not suffice. Structural corruption demands structural remedies — transparent procurement, stronger watchdog institutions and credible judicial accountability. Equally vital is to build bridges with youth rather than treat them as adversaries. Dialogue is not weakness; it is survival. Economic policy must prioritise job creation and affordable essentials, for nothing erodes legitimacy faster than empty stomachs paired with lavish motorcades.

These uprisings are not accidents; they are symptoms of a deeper malaise — the refusal of elites to share power and the refusal of youth to remain silent. Whether this ferment matures into democratic renewal or spirals into chaos will depend less on the anger of the streets and more on the humility of those in palaces and parliaments.

It was Percy Bysshe Shelley — the English Romantic poet and radical — whose lines from "The Mask of Anarchy" (1819) echo uncannily in today's South Asia. They capture both the weight of oppression and the inevitability of its breaking:

"Rise like Lions after slumber

In unvanquishable number!

Shake your chains to earth, like dew

Which in sleep had fallen on you."