Dr. Rajendra K Panthee

The first 100 days of the Ranstriya Swontantra Party (RSP) led government in Nepal were never going to be a routine political checkpoint. For a party that entered public life speaking the language of clean governance, efficiency, accountability, and a new political culture, the hundred day mark became a test of character. It was meant to show whether a movement that rose by criticizing the failures of old parties could actually do politics differently once it reached power. So far, the answer is mixed. The government has moved faster than many of its predecessors in some administrative areas, but it has not yet delivered the depth of change it promised.

That gap matters because the RSP did not rise simply as another electoral force. It came in as a political mood, almost as a correction to the old order. Its appeal rested on frustration with corruption, slow bureaucracy, elite capture, and the sense that the state had become detached from ordinary people. It also drew strength from a national anxiety that young Nepalis were leaving in large numbers because the country no longer seemed able to offer them a future. In that sense, the party presented itself not just as a governing alternative, but as a moral alternative. It said, in effect, that politics could be made cleaner, more efficient, and more responsive if the right people were in charge.

That promise created a high standard. The RSP was not judged against a weak baseline. It was judged against its own rhetoric. It told the country that it would reduce waste, cut bloated structures, choose qualified people, and put public interest above party networks. It suggested that reform would be visible, not merely theoretical. It spoke as if the old habits of favoritism, symbolic appointments, and empty performance could finally be broken. That is why the first 100 days matter so much. They are the first real chance to see whether the party meant what it said.

There have been some real signs of movement. The government has shown that it can act quickly in certain administrative matters. It has pushed digital governance, tried to streamline services, and projected an image of energetic reform. In a country where delay is often normalized and inefficiency is treated as a permanent condition, that speed has symbolic value. Citizens do notice when a file moves faster or when an office becomes less obstructive. Reform begins there, not only in speeches but in the small experiences of public life.

Yet symbolism is not enough. A government that claims to be transformative must be measured by whether it changes conditions for those who have the least power. That is where the early record looks much weaker. The poor, the unemployed, the landless, and the young people still leaving the country have not yet seen a level of change that matches the party’s promises. The state may sound more active, but that is not the same thing as being more just. In the end, people do not live inside policy language. They live inside jobs, rent, food prices, public services, and dignity.

The treatment of sukumbasi communities is one of the most painful examples of this contradiction. A party that presents itself as modern and humane cannot afford to handle landless and informal settlers as if they are merely a nuisance to be moved aside. Eviction without sufficient resettlement planning creates not just hardship but humiliation. It tells vulnerable people that they are still the ones who absorb the cost of state action. That is not reform. That is displacement with better branding. For a government that promised fairness, this issue has become morally and politically damaging.

The same contradiction appears in the question of migration. One of the RSP’s most attractive promises was that Nepalis would no longer have to leave the country in desperation. Its leaders spoke as if opportunity could be rebuilt at home and as if the state could become a place where young people might stay, work, and dream. But the reality has not changed in any meaningful way. People continue to leave because they still do not see enough hope inside the country. That is not a failure of messaging. It is a failure of results. A government may talk about bringing people back, but it will be judged by whether it can make staying worthwhile.

Swornim Wagle’s role also reveals something important about the character of this government. He has often been presented as a serious and technocratic figure, someone who can give the party an image of competence and discipline. But technocratic language has limits. It can explain what should happen, but it cannot substitute for what people actually experience. If health insurance remains weak for the poor, if welfare commitments are uncertain, and if economic relief does not reach the vulnerable, then the question is not whether the analysis sounds sophisticated. The question is whether the poor are protected. A polished argument in parliament does not mean much if the social reality outside remains unchanged.

There is also a deeper political issue here. The RSP built its reputation by attacking the culture of patronage. It said that public office should go to qualified people, not loyalists or relatives of the powerful. That was one of the reasons it attracted public trust. But once in power, any sign that appointments are being influenced by friendship, faction, or informal access weakens the party’s central claim. A new government can survive criticism of policy. It cannot easily survive the accusation that it is reproducing the same old network of influence it once condemned. That is why questions around appointments matter so much. They are not a side issue. They go to the heart of the party’s identity.

Taken together, the first 100 days suggest a government that is energetic but not yet transformative, vocal but not yet deeply credible, visible but not yet fully effective. It has shown that it can generate attention and move quickly in some areas. It has also shown that governing is far harder than opposition politics. In opposition, it was easy to identify what was broken. In power, every decision runs into institutions, budgets, legal limits, and public expectation. The party is now discovering that rhetoric is easy to distribute, but outcomes are much harder to deliver.

So the question is not whether the RSP has failed or succeeded in some absolute sense. The better question is whether it is becoming the kind of party it claimed to be. At present, the answer is uncertain. It still carries the hope of change, but that hope is no longer unchallenged. It has begun to look like a government caught between its moral image and the practical habits of Nepali politics. That is a dangerous place to be, because the public is willing to forgive early difficulty, but not the quiet return of old behavior under a new flag.

The real test will come in the next phase. If the RSP can move beyond appearances and produce real improvements in employment, welfare, service delivery, and public trust, then the first 100 days may later be seen as the rough beginning of something meaningful. If not, they will be remembered as the point when a promising movement started to resemble the politics it had once set out to replace. That is the core issue. The RSP did not come to power merely to govern. It came to prove that Nepali politics could be cleaner, fairer, and more responsive. After 100 days, that promise is still alive, but it is clearly weaker than it was before.