A culture of impunity—where perpetrators of grave crimes evade accountability—has seeped into Nepal’s political, judicial, and social fabric, leaving victims in a limbo of grief and disillusionment. The country carries the heavy burden of the unaddressed impunity for the crimes committed during the decade-long civil war from 1996 to 2006.
This conflict, which claimed over 17,000 lives and left countless others scarred by enforced disappearances, torture, sexual violence, and displacement, was supposed to end with a promise of justice and reconciliation. Yet, nearly two decades after the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) of 2006, the echoes of war still haunt the nation. This crisis is not merely a relic of the past; it thrives in the present, undermining democracy, eroding public trust, and perpetuating cycles of violence.
The civil war pitted Maoist insurgents against state security forces in a brutal struggle. Villages and towns became battlegrounds, families were torn apart, and atrocities were committed by both sides. The CPA, signed with hopes of ushering in peace, included pledges to address wartime crimes through transitional justice. But these promises dissolved into empty rhetoric.
In 2015, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons (CIEDP) were established to investigate human rights violations. Instead of delivering justice, however, these institutions became symbols of failure. Plagued by political interference, underfunding, and a lack of victim-friendly law, they have yet to resolve a single case.
For victims, this stagnation is a betrayal. Take the story of Krishna Prasad Adhikari, a 16-year-old boy abducted, tortured, and murdered by Maoist cadres in 2004. His parents, Ganga Maya and Nanda Prasad Adhikari, embarked on a gruelling quest for justice, staging hunger strikes and protests for over a decade. Adhikari couple’s perseverance led to the arrest of suspects in 2015, but political pressure swiftly secured their release. Ganga Maya, frail and heartbroken, is living an isolated life in a Bir Hospital ward, without ever seeing accountability. Her husband, Nanda Prasad, had already succumbed to despair during a hunger strike in 2014. Their story is not unique—it mirrors the anguish of thousands of families whose loved ones were disappeared, executed, or tortured.
The Doramba massacre of 2003 is another stain on Nepal’s conscience. In this remote village, 19 unarmed Maoist cadres and supporters were dragged from their homes and executed by the Nepal Army. Witnesses described soldiers burning bodies to destroy evidence. Despite documentation by human rights groups, no one has been charged. Such cases underscore a chilling reality: Those responsible for wartime atrocities now occupy positions of power. Former Maoist commanders lead political parties, and army officials implicated in serious violations remain shielded by the state. This cycle of impunity sends a clear message: In Nepal, power protects its own.
The legacy of impunity is not confined to the past. It thrives in contemporary Nepal, manifesting in police brutality, suppression of dissent, and systemic corruption.
Following Nepal’s 2006 People’s Revolution, which toppled the monarchy and restored democracy, the Rayamajhi Commission was established to investigate state-sponsored violence against protesters. Headed by former Supreme Court Justice Krishna Jung Rayamajhi, the commission found that King Gyanendra and 201 members of his administration were responsible for the violent response to pro-democracy protests, which resulted in 22 deaths and more than 5,000 injuries. Its 2007 report demanded prosecutions, reparations for victims, and institutional reforms to prevent future abuses.
Yet, nearly two decades later, these recommendations remain largely unimplemented. Not a single high-ranking official has faced trial. Victims still await compensation, and reforms to security forces have stalled. This failure to implement the recommendations emboldened Gyanendra Shah to incite his supporters to wage violent protests against the republic system, causing the death of two persons and wounding many on 28 March 2025.
In 2015, protests erupted in the Terai region, where marginalized communities demanded equitable representation in the new constitution. Security forces responded with live ammunition, killing over 50 protesters, including children. Investigations were promised, Lal Commission submitted its report with recommendations for prosecutions, but years later, no official has been held accountable.
Similarly, during the COVID-19 pandemic, protests against government mismanagement were met with batons, arbitrary arrests, and intimidation. Activists and journalists documenting these abuses faced harassment, their voices silenced by a state more invested in control than justice.
Impunity is a deliberate strategy of the political parties to protect their racket. Collusion across party lines creates a culture of silence. Victims and civil society organizations are labelled “obstacles to peace,” their demands dismissed as threats to stability.
Corruption, too, is entrenched in the political elite. The Lalita Niwas land scam, a brazen scheme involving the illegal transfer of government-owned land to private entities, implicated former prime ministers, ministers, and bureaucrats. Yet, investigations have crawled forward, with key figures evading consequences. For ordinary Nepalis, this exemplifies a system rigged to protect the powerful. Impunity, in this sense, is a daily reality—a force that entrenches inequality and erodes trust in institutions.
Nepal’s inability to confront impunity stems from deeply rooted structural failures. First, political interference has neutered justice mechanisms. The TRC and CIEDP, envisioned as independent bodies, were stacked with political appointees loyal to parties seeking to bury their wartime roles. Without autonomy, these commissions became tools of obstruction.
Second, the judiciary, weakened by political meddling in appointments and rulings, lacks the courage to challenge powerful actors. Judges face pressure to refrain passing verdict against the powers-that-be. The Supreme Court of Nepal failing to issue a judgment against Maoist leader Agni Sapokta in the case of the killing of Arjun Lama serves as a troubling example of judicial timidity.
Third, successive governments have lacked the will to prioritize justice. Amendments to laws that would enable prosecutions for wartime crimes are diluted to exempt the human rights violators. Reduction of sentence in the new TJ Law exemplifies this barefaced attitude. International human rights treaties, which Nepal has ratified, remain unenforced.
Impunity is a deliberate strategy of the political parties to protect their racket. Collusion across party lines creates a culture of silence. Victims and civil society organizations are labelled “obstacles to peace,” their demands dismissed as threats to stability.
To break this cycle of impunity, leaders accused of crimes should step aside during investigations, and legislation shielding security forces from prosecution must be repealed. International pressure can play a role here: Travel bans, asset freezes, and diplomatic censure targeting obstructers would signal that the world is watching.
Civil society and media, meanwhile, are lifelines for accountability. Grassroots organizations working with victims deserve funding and solidarity. Public awareness campaigns could reignite demands for justice, reminding Nepalis that impunity is not inevitable.
Above all, Nepal must confront the moral bankruptcy of allowing perpetrators to walk free. Justice is not a luxury—it is the foundation of lasting peace. As the conflict victims say, “If the state cannot protect its citizens, what is it for?” Until Nepal reckons with this question, its democracy will remain a hollow shell, and its people will continue to pay the price of unaccountable power. The country will face a million mutinies if this entrenched culture of impunity remains unaddressed. The time for excuses is over. The time for courage is now.
Bindesh Dahal is with Advocacy Forum-Nepal, a human rights organization. Views are personal.
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