By Dr. Janardan Subedi

Recently, an incident involving Kamal Thapa and the Nepal Police caught national attention. Footage of the former Home Minister being pushed, shoved, and physically restricted by security personnel sparked public outrage, disbelief, and political commentary from across the spectrum. Many were surprised, even shocked, by what they termed a "breakdown of democratic norms" and "a blatant disregard for political decency." But should we really be surprised? At least I am not. In fact, such incidents are not anomalies—they are the visible symptoms of a deeper disease afflicting the Nepali state: the total capture of the nation by a political mafia.

What happened to Kamal Thapa is regrettable—not because of his stature, but because it reveals how state power has been weaponized not merely against common citizens, but even against former insiders. The real issue is not the mistreatment of one man but the entrenched system that enables and reproduces such autocratic behavior. This is not about Kamal Thapa. This is about the structural rot that has turned Nepal into a hostage state—run by a political mafia and silently endorsed by institutions that were once symbols of national integrity, including the Nepal Army.

The Political Mafia: A Structural Reality

In any society where political mafias consolidate power, law enforcement ceases to be neutral. It becomes an instrument of coercion, designed to protect vested interests and suppress dissent. Nepal today is a textbook case of this political transformation. The mainstream parties—Nepali Congress, CPN-UML, Maoist Center—no longer function as democratic institutions; they have evolved into closed cartels addicted to power, patronage, and impunity.

Mafia structures rest on three key principles: loyalty over merit, fear over justice, and monopoly over contestation. All three now define Nepal’s political and bureaucratic landscape. From municipal offices to constitutional commissions, appointments are made on the basis of political allegiance rather than capability or integrity. The police act less as protectors of citizens and more as the private enforcers of those in power.

The Normalization of Atrocity

Let us be unequivocal: what Kamal Thapa experienced is a small taste of what ordinary citizens endure regularly, especially those who oppose or question the ruling order. Journalists, civic activists, farmers, and teachers have faced detention, harassment, and surveillance. Most of these cases never make it to public debate. The political mafia has normalized coercion, and the state has become desensitized to violence—unless, of course, it involves someone from within their elite circle.

Is the Military Now a Road Contractor?

In this landscape of institutional erosion, one might ask: what about the Nepal Army? What role is it playing?

Traditionally seen as the last bastion of national sovereignty, the army today seems to be undergoing an identity crisis. Increasingly, its presence is felt more in construction contracts than in constitutional guardianship. Whether it’s road building in remote areas or border infrastructure projects, the military is now operating more like a government contractor than a defense force. This might appear like development work on the surface, but it begs a serious question: Is the Nepal Army turning into a rent-seeking institution rather than a constitutionally mandated security force?

One must wonder: have the generals become mere technocrats chasing budgets rather than protectors of sovereignty? Has the leadership of the army been reduced to career managers of procurement and project implementation, while the republic falls apart under the weight of political criminality?

If the military's new identity is to be a construction firm for political masters or a silent partner in the loot of the state, then what justification remains for the billions allocated annually from the public purse? Why should starving citizens continue to fund the lavish lifestyles of senior officers who refuse to fulfill their constitutional obligations? Why should the average Nepali—struggling with inflation, unemployment, and food insecurity—subsidize the comforts of those who choose silence over service?

The Coming Irrelevance: From Guardians to Surrogates

There is a warning here for the Nepal Army. Legitimacy is not a given; it is earned and renewed through service, sacrifice, and moral leadership. If you remain silent while the political mafia dismantles the nation’s core institutions, your institutional credibility will erode. If you continue to build roads while democracy burns, the people will eventually stop seeing you as protectors and start viewing you as collaborators.

And worse—if you abdicate your role as national guardians, you risk becoming surrogates for foreign agendas. From sovereign army to subcontractor of global security firms or regional power games, the slide is not far. If you do nothing, you may find yourself repurposed—not as a force for national defense, but as a labor-exporting institution managing camps in the Middle East or working under the uniforms of foreign commands, reduced to little more than a "Group-Four" security service with a flag.

Comparative Lessons: Political Mafia and State Collapse

Nepal is not unique in this descent. Political science is filled with examples of countries hollowed out by oligarchic capture and institutional silence. From Venezuela to Zimbabwe, we see a familiar pattern: a political mafia consolidates power, the military either joins or watches in silence, and eventually the state collapses from within.

In these societies, the rule of law is replaced by the rule of men, and public trust gives way to public despair. Nepal is edging dangerously close to that tipping point. The political mafia grows stronger each day it is not challenged. The military grows weaker each day it chooses construction contracts over constitutional courage.

Civil Society Must Rise

In this climate of complicity and cynicism, civil society must lead the moral reawakening. Intellectuals, scholars, journalists, students, and public servants must stop whispering and start speaking. Neutrality in the face of injustice is cowardice. The nation is under capture, and silence is treason.

A new political movement must emerge—one that is not defined by left or right, monarchy or republic—but by principles: national sovereignty, cultural identity, and public accountability. Such a movement must call for the dismantling of political mafias, the reactivation of institutional ethics, and the complete end of impunity.

Conclusion: More Than a Man

Let us not get distracted by names and personalities. This is not about Kamal Thapa, or any other individual. This is about a broken system, hijacked by political mafias, protected by bureaucratic loyalty, and tolerated by a silent army.

It is time for decisive choices. The people must refuse to finance their own repression. The army must reclaim its constitutional dignity. And the nation must awaken from this enforced political coma before the last remaining institutions collapse entirely.

We are not just losing democracy—we are surrendering our sovereignty to an unholy alliance of local oligarchs and global opportunists. The time to resist is now.

(The writer is a professor of Sociology, Miami University, Ohio, USA)