Nepal Rejects the Old, But the New Is Overstated, A Cautionary Reading of the RSP’s Victory
The recent election results in Nepal have been widely interpreted as a political earthquake. The Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP), a party founded barely four years ago, has swept to power, decimating the traditional political forces that have dominated the country for decades. The Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist-Leninist) and the Nepali Congress, once seemingly immovable giants, have been humbled. Commentators and television pundits have rushed to frame this as a definitive “old versus new” narrative, a wholesale rejection of a corrupt and ageing political class by a youthful electorate hungry for change. It is a compelling story, one that fits neatly into a global trend of anti-incumbency and the rise of outsider candidates. But as Gaurav Bhattarai, a professor at Tribhuvan University, argues in a sobering analysis, this narrative, while appealing, is deeply misleading. The election was a decisive rejection of the old, but the mandate for the “new” is far more fragile and overstated than it appears.
The dominant interpretation of the results is that voters were magnetically drawn to the promise of a “new” political force. The RSP, with its fresh faces and youthful energy, is seen as the beneficiary of this pull. But this framing conveniently ignores a crucial piece of history: the RSP is not entirely new. It contested previous elections and, more importantly, it joined coalition governments led by the very parties that are now being dismissed as the “old guard.” The party has been part of the system it now claims to overthrow. To sustain the “old versus new” dichotomy, commentators have shifted the focus from the novelty of the party itself to the novelty of its individual faces. This is a subtle but important distinction. The party’s structure, its leadership, and its political instincts may not be as radically different as its fresh-faced MPs suggest.
If voters were genuinely and enthusiastically attracted to these new faces, one would expect a surge in voter turnout. A vibrant, excited electorate would flock to the polls to register its approval. Instead, turnout remained stubbornly around 60%, a figure lower than in previous elections. This is not the signature of a populace galvanized by a new political dawn. It is the signature of a populace that is deeply disenchanted with the old, but not necessarily convinced by the new. The election was less a vote for the RSP and more a vote against the established order.
A more plausible explanation for the RSP’s victory, therefore, lies not in its own appeal, but in the deep-seated aversion toward the traditional political forces. Public resentment toward the CPN-UML and the Nepali Congress has been brewing for years. It is rooted not only in widespread corruption and nepotism, but also in the dominance of an ageing, out-of-touch leadership that seemed more interested in preserving its own privileges than in addressing the country’s desperate economic situation. This aversion did not appear suddenly on election day. It developed within the old parties themselves, fueled by decades of complaints from grassroots workers, media coverage of leadership self-aggrandisement, and a pervasive culture of patronage that rewarded loyalty over competence.
The scale of the old guard’s defeat suggests that many of their own supporters chose to stay home, or worse, to vote against them. This was, in significant part, a “revenge vote.” In many constituencies, long-time party cadres were denied tickets in favor of unpopular candidates imposed by the leadership. These disgruntled workers, feeling betrayed and ignored, had no incentive to campaign for the party they had served for years. Worse, some actively encouraged their family members, acquaintances, and allies to vote for any candidate other than the official nominee. This internal sabotage, this weaponization of the ballot by the party’s own grassroots, was a decisive factor in the old guard’s collapse. It was not a national wave of enthusiasm for a new ideology; it was a series of localised acts of rebellion against a leadership that had lost touch with its own base.
The general and special conventions organized by both the CPN-UML and the NC before the election, far from uniting the parties, deepened these internal divisions. They became arenas for factional rivalry, where ambitious leaders jockeyed for position and alienated their rivals’ supporters in the process. By the time the election was called, the old parties were not just facing an external challenger; they were riddled with internal fractures that made them incapable of mounting a coherent campaign. The family-level polarisation over candidate preferences that emerged is not new in Nepali politics, but it is now driven less by ideological commitment to a party and more by a broad, inchoate anti-establishment impulse. A voter might traditionally support the Congress, but if his favoured local leader was denied a ticket, his loyalty to the party evaporates, and he becomes a free agent, looking for any means to register his displeasure.
This analysis places a heavy and perhaps underappreciated burden on the RSP and its newly elected MPs. Their victory was not built on a groundswell of positive enthusiasm for their policy platform or their vision for Nepal’s future. It was built on the wreckage of the old parties’ self-destruction. The RSP’s new faces won, by and large, not because of their political acumen—which, so far, has been limited—nor because of compelling rhetoric, but largely because of their showmanship. They presented themselves as young, fresh, and untainted, and in a field where the alternative was a deeply tainted old guard, that was enough.
But governing is not showmanship. The real challenge for the RSP now lies in moving from demographic rhetoric to institutional governance. The structural challenges facing Nepal are immense: a stagnating economy, massive unemployment, a health and education system in need of repair, and a political culture deeply entrenched in corruption and patronage. The absence of a strong, unified opposition does not mean that the promised transformation will occur as quickly as scrolling through a social media reel. The RSP will now have to govern, and in governing, it will inevitably make decisions that displease some of its impulsive, anti-establishment voters. It will have to compromise, to navigate the bureaucracy, and to deal with the very real constraints of office. The “new” faces will quickly become familiar, and their novelty will wear off.
The voters who delivered the RSP its victory did so out of anger and frustration, not out of deep-seated conviction. That is a volatile foundation for any government. The first time the RSP stumbles, the first time it is perceived to have betrayed its promise of change, the same anti-establishment impulse that swept it into power could just as easily sweep it out. The structural challenges awaiting them in office may soon give those impulsive voters reason to complain—and perhaps, to regret their choice. Nepal has decisively rejected the old. But whether it has truly embraced the new, and whether that new can deliver, is a question that remains very much unanswered.
Questions and Answers
Q1: What is the dominant narrative surrounding the RSP’s victory in Nepal, and why does the author find it misleading?
A1: The dominant narrative is that voters were magnetically drawn to a “new” political force, the RSP, representing a clean break from the corrupt old guard. The author finds this misleading because the RSP is not entirely new; it had contested previous elections and joined coalition governments with the very parties now labelled “old.” Furthermore, voter turnout was lower than in previous elections, suggesting a lack of genuine enthusiasm, not a groundswell of support.
Q2: If the victory was not a positive vote for the RSP, what was it?
A2: The author argues the victory was primarily a “revenge vote” and a deep-seated rejection of the old guard. Voters, and crucially, even long-time party cadres of the CPN-UML and Nepali Congress, were deeply resentful of corruption, nepotism, and an ageing leadership that imposed unpopular candidates. This internal discontent led many to vote against their own parties rather than for a specific alternative.
Q3: What role did internal party dynamics play in the defeat of the traditional parties?
A3: Internal dynamics were decisive. Long-time party workers, denied tickets in favour of leadership-favoured candidates, refused to campaign and in some cases actively encouraged others to vote for opposition candidates. Pre-election party conventions deepened factional rivalries rather than uniting the parties. The old guard was not just defeated by an external force; it collapsed from within due to its own internal fractures.
Q4: According to the article, why did the RSP’s “new faces” win, if not for their political acumen?
A4: The new faces won largely because of their showmanship and their image as young and untainted, in stark contrast to a deeply tainted and unpopular old guard. In a context where the alternative was so thoroughly rejected, presenting oneself as “new” was enough to attract votes, regardless of the candidate’s actual political experience or policy platform.
Q5: What is the main challenge facing the RSP now that it has won, and why is its mandate fragile?
A5: The main challenge is moving from “demographic rhetoric to institutional governance.” The RSP must now tackle Nepal’s immense structural problems with a mandate that was built on anti-incumbency, not positive enthusiasm. Its voters are impulsive and anti-establishment, a volatile foundation. The first time the RSP stumbles or fails to deliver on its promise of change, the same anti-establishment impulse could turn against it.
