By Mihir Sharma

SOUTH ASIA’s relative tranquility has always puzzled outsiders. It has grotesque inequality, but few revolutions. Class solidarity is rare, and its politics are seldom oriented around narrowing the gap between the rich and poor. This centuries-old stability might not, it turns out, survive the age of Instagram. In South Asia, the revolution is being streamed.

New Delhi’s political elite will be thinking carefully about events in their small Himalayan neighbor, Nepal, which is closely integrated — culturally and economically — with India. This month, mobs of young people, including college students, occupied the streets of its capital Kathmandu; the prime minister was forced to resign; 13,500 prisoners escaped when their jails were damaged; and the main government complex was set on fire. The spark for this conflagration? Short videos on TikTok and Instagram that edited together the luxurious life of Nepo Baby influencers — many related to senior politicians — with scenes of harrowing poverty.

That wasn’t all that happened: The government made major missteps, including trying to shut down social media, and using live ammunition against demonstrators. When men in uniforms kill students in the streets, protests tend to metastasize — that’s what happened in Bangladesh last year as well. In both countries, overreaction by the security forces had a great deal to do with how things turned out for those who gave them their orders.

Still, it’s strange for a movement to go from reels to revolution in a fortnight. Particularly since the pictures and videos that provoked the initial marches were not so unusual: Young people filming themselves in the expensive, manicured parts of the world where rich people congregate, while holding up designer handbags or brightly colored drinks. They could have been related to oligarchs from anywhere — Russia, maybe, or the Persian Gulf. That’s who the influencers benchmarked themselves against, perhaps: Other scions of other political elites. Not other Nepalis.

In previous decades and centuries, that would not have been a problem. Maharajas could buy Rolls-Royces, and nary a mob would turn up. But something’s changed. In 2022, protesters outraged at Sri Lanka’s economic meltdown took over the country’s presidential palace and were stunned by its luxury. In 2024, after Bangladesh’s prime minister fled the country, crowds looted furniture and handbags from her Dhaka residence — as well as a giant fish. (Some things, including jewelry and a cat, were later returned.)

Nepal’s protestors have been much more violent than their counterparts elsewhere in South Asia. Politicians’ homes were attacked, and one former prime minister’s house was burned down while his elderly wife was still inside. It is easy to see this as a trend: Anger on the streets that is more violent the longer it has been suppressed.

What of India, then? In the past, protests against corruption have helped remove governments in New Delhi. Could a building anger at inequality do the same? The country’s elite has always thought that dynasty-building is one of the perks of office, and it will take more than a revolution next door to change that.

But there have certainly been murmurs of resentment that members of the political establishment — even those who insist on self-reliance or vernacular education — send their children abroad to study. That was a crucial part of the anger in Kathmandu as well. Conspicuous consumption at home might be tolerated; much more resentment attaches to the ability to leave the country, to transcend the difficult circumstances that shackle everyone else. You can carry an expensive handbag as long as you don’t post pictures of yourself buying it on Fifth Avenue.

And perhaps that tells us something about how circumscribed, how limited this anger still is. The crowds are off the streets of Kathmandu for now, and a new prime minister, Sushila Karki, has been chosen. Her name emerged not from the streets, or from the army that won them back — but from a vote on a Discord server.

Nepal has 30 million people, and a lot of them are on the internet. But it’s a much smaller proportion that might participate in an English-language Discord poll. In the final vote, only 7,713 participated.

It is a safe bet that those 7,713 people earn a lot more than the $1,400 a year that is Nepal’s per-capita income. The Nepo Baby videos might have contrasted influencers with the country’s poorest people, but it wasn’t the most deprived who were on Discord, or on the streets holding posters inspired by Japan’s long-running One Piece manga.

Perhaps the reason that South Asia has been quiescent so long is that its upper-middle class felt it had as good a shot at a better, globalized life as the politically connected elite. But slowing growth, technological changes, and restrictions on travel and trade are closing off their options, while TikTok and Instagram insistently reminds them of what they’re missing.

Some social media networks, we know, are performative. They’re set up to inspire, but also to influence — and to generate envy. But it’s no longer just individuals whose self-esteem is affected, but entire societies. Even those with a long history of handling wealth disparities might yet be sent over the edge.

BLOOMBERG OPINION