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By Dr. Janardan Subedi

Picture this: September, the streets of Kathmandu alive with the roar of youth, fists raised, voices shaking the air. They marched, they chanted, they demanded justice. They demanded change. And there she was — Madam Karki — standing before cameras, before the people, before history. She said it loud and clear: “Only Oli’s resignation is not enough. This is ‘genocide‘. We must take them to court.”

Pause for a moment. She spoke as Nepal’s first female Chief Justice, someone who comprehends the weight of every word. Genocide isn’t a term to toss around lightly; it embodies law, morality, conscience, and global history in its syllables. She understood this. Everyone knew she understood. The nation believed her. Protesters believed her. Families of the victims believed her.

Fast forward a few months. Same woman. Same nation. Same deaths. And now? She sits in Baluwatar, the keys to the Prime Minister’s office in her hand, and says, “I don’t want to comment; that’s not within my mandate.”

Wait. What? You just shouted “genocide” in one sentence, and now suddenly it’s not your business? Who can trust her now to oversee a fair election? Does she think Nepalis are a bunch of idiots who forget names, numbers, and the promises they were given?

Let’s look at the numbers. Seventy-eight people have died. Hundreds more wounded. And what do they get now? Silence. A leader who speaks confidently when it benefits her, then retreats into polite disclaimers when held accountable.

Think about the families—mothers, fathers, siblings, friends. Waiting, wondering if their loved ones mattered. Watching the very person who caused the crime that took them now act as if it never happened. This is not hypothetical; it’s real. Yet, the Prime Minister acts as if the tragedy is just a news clip she can skip.

Back when she was Chief Justice, whispers followed her like shadows. People said she was ambitious, relentless, and willing to bend or twist principles for power. Those whispers? They were accurate. The very qualities that propelled her to the top of the judiciary now shape her behavior as interim Prime Minister — strategic, calculating, and entirely convenient in her morals.

Nepalis are not fools. They saw how she capitalized on the streets’ outrage, wearing the grief of families and cloaking herself in moral authority, then rode it straight into Baluwatar. But the moment she took office, she pressed the “close door” button on that same moral authority.

Let’s be clear: leadership is not about holding a chair. It’s about responsibility. You invoke genocide? You act. You don’t invoke genocide just for applause, then ignore the victims once you achieve power. Accountability isn’t optional; it’s the foundation of legitimacy. And right now, it’s absent.

Let’s be clear: Nepal must demand her immediate resignation. The moral obligation to seek justice and accountability is urgent, not optional, and cannot wait for political convenience.

Here’s the harsh truth: victims are not just statistics. They are individuals with lives, hopes, and families. They marched, risked everything, and seventy-eight of them never returned home. Hundreds more carry wounds — some visible, some hidden. And the leader who once shouted for justice now murmurs, “Not my mandate.”

Nepal must take action now. The people should demand her immediate resignation and push for an independent investigation into her role in the September killings. Explicit action is crucial to restore trust and uphold justice.

Leadership is a moral obligation, not just a title. Madam Karki’s silence indicates a failure to fulfill this duty. The nation must hold her accountable because authentic leadership requires responsibility, not silence in the face of injustice.

Let’s examine the human toll more closely. Imagine the parents of a 22-year-old young protester who joined the movement filled with hope and courage. Think about the wounds, hospital stays, and lifelong scars of hundreds of young people who wanted nothing more than to see their country governed fairly. Their trust was shattered. The promises of justice were broken. The person who once used the word “genocide” to describe their suffering now refuses even to acknowledge it.

The interim period is a test—testing institutional strength, leadership, and whether words hold meaning. Silence from those in charge erodes the core of democracy. Citizens deserve more than disclaimers; families deserve more than evasions. Seventy-eight deaths cannot be dismissed as mere commentary.

Imagine the irony: she called it genocide, demanded courts, demanded accountability. Now she calls it outside her mandate. If power reveals character, what does this reveal about hers?

Nepal must insist on:  – The immediate resignation of the Prime Minister.  An independent investigation into her words and actions regarding the September killings.  Mechanisms to ensure justice for victims and support for their families.

Anything less signifies a failure of governance, morality, and responsibility. Leadership is defined by action, not silence.

The nation remembers the seventy-eight lives lost and the hundreds who were injured. They will not forget the promises once made or the words once spoken. Leadership is defined not by the titles one holds but by the moral and ethical responsibilities one upholds. The time to act is now.

Consider this: the Prime Minister’s conduct sends a message — a message about who matters, whose suffering is recognized, and whose words are trustworthy. Silence in response to past statements damages trust. It teaches citizens that outrage can be performed for personal benefit, that accountability is optional, and that leadership is about holding a position, not about principles.

The clock is ticking. Nepal’s people are watching. And history will remember what was said, what was done, and what was ignored.

The victims are watching as well. The families are watching. The young survivors are watching. They will judge the leadership not by words but by actions—immediate, decisive, and transparent.

Nepal must ensure that those responsible for the deaths and injuries are held accountable, that independent investigations are carried out, that witnesses are protected, and that victims’ families receive compensation and support. Most importantly, the country must expect leadership based on principles, not opportunistic rhetoric.

It’s not enough to sit in the office and hope that time will clear the responsibility. The interim period is a chance to reaffirm the nation’s commitment to justice and ethical governance. Failing to act now risks weakening institutional legitimacy, eroding public trust, and deepening societal divisions.

Nepalis have shown resilience, courage, and engagement. They marched, shouted, and risked their lives. They deserve leaders who respect that sacrifice, not leaders who twist it for personal gain. The Prime Minister’s silence betrays that trust and shirks moral responsibility.

The period for reflection is over. The era of excuses is finished. The nation must demand resignation, investigation, and accountability. Anything less is a failure — not of politics, but of justice.

Seventy-eight lives lost. Hundreds wounded. Families waiting. Citizens watching. The nation demands action. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

Leadership is tested not by ambition or title, but by courage and principle. The interim Prime Minister has spoken of genocide; now she must answer for it. History, the citizens, and the victims demand nothing less.

Nepal remembers. The victims remember. And the time to act, to restore moral and political integrity, is now.