The Terai should be alive with the sound of farmers tending their fields. Instead, silence hangs over abandoned crops, while chants of protest echo through the streets of Kathmandu. The contrast—empty fields and crowded streets—captures the deep crisis in Nepali agriculture. This is more than a protest. It is a warning about the survival of millions and the future of food security in Nepal.
On July 30, 2025, the government announced that subsidies for sugarcane farmers would be cut in half—from Rs 70 per quintal to Rs 35. Officials described it as a “policy adjustment.” Farmers called it an insult. Fertilizer prices are soaring, seeds cost more than ever, and wages for labour keep rising. Cutting subsidies in such a climate, farmers said, was like pulling away the ladder from a man already hanging over a cliff.
The anger was not just about subsidies. The government still owes farmers nearly Rs 1.6 billion in unpaid dues, even though sugar mills have cleared most of their payments. Farmers who had already been waiting for years were now confronted with both delays and cuts. For many, it was too much to bear.
On August 28, more than 1,000 farmers marched from the Terai to Kathmandu. At Maitighar Mandala, they carried sugarcane stalks as symbols of protest. Their chants—“Cancel the subsidy cut!” and “Pay us now!”—rang across the capital. For many city residents, it was the first time they had seen the farmers’ pain up close. The image was striking: the very people who feed the nation forced to abandon their fields and take to the streets in demand of recognition.
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Though sugarcane triggered the protests, the grievances run deeper. Farmers are demanding solutions to recurring fertilizer shortages, exploitation by middlemen, lack of fair market access, and a government they accuse of making promises in speeches but breaking them in practice. As one farmer put it, “This is not just about one crop. It’s about the survival of our households—and the dignity of our work.”
The protests quickly reached Parliament. On August 29, lawmakers urged the government to begin talks with the farmers. Some leaders even visited the protest site to express solidarity. But farmers remain sceptical. They say they are tired of sympathy and want written commitments—guarantees that dues will be cleared and subsidies restored. The irony is bitter: the same politicians who seek farmers’ votes during elections now seem deaf to their cries on the streets.
Many in Kathmandu may dismiss this as a rural issue. But when farmers cannot survive, everyone pays the price. If rice production falls, the cost of rice skyrockets. If vegetables disappear from markets, household budgets collapse. Rising prices of milk, meat, and cooking oil affect every kitchen in Nepal. An empty field in the Terai means an empty plate in Kathmandu. The farmers’ fight is inseparable from the consumer’s struggle.
Over 60 percent of Nepalis still depend on agriculture. It remains the backbone of the rural economy. But if sugarcane farming collapses in the Terai, the damage will ripple outward: families will sink deeper into debt, youth will leave for foreign jobs, and fertile land will lie barren. The message to young people is already toxic: “Farming guarantees poverty.” Unless the government acts, agriculture will continue to lose its next generation.
At its core, this protest is about trust. Farmers have heard promises before—about fair pricing, timely subsidies, and protection of their interests. Each time, the promises were broken. When farmers lose trust in the state, the danger goes beyond political instability. It threatens the entire food system. Without trust, farmers walk away from their land. And when they walk away, the nation starves. For now, the protest at Maitighar is peaceful. But farmers’ patience is running thin. If ignored, the movement could escalate into highway blockades, supply shortages, and nationwide disruptions. A country with empty fields and streets full of protesters cannot remain stable for long.
Respecting farmers means more than restoring subsidies. It means restoring their dignity and trust in the state. The government must clear all pending dues with a fixed timeline, reinstate subsidies that reflect real production costs, ensure farmers have direct access to markets rather than being trapped by middlemen, and guarantee a steady supply of fertilizer every planting season. Above all, agricultural policy must be reshaped to keep young people in farming, offering them a future of dignity and prosperity rather than poverty. Unless these steps are taken urgently, the empty fields of the Terai will continue to spread—and Kathmandu’s streets will remain filled with farmers demanding justice.
The empty fields of the Terai are speaking, and their message is carried by the crowded streets of Kathmandu. This protest is not only about sugarcane. It is about Nepal’s survival. If the government listens, farmers can return to their fields with dignity and hope. If it refuses, the protests will spread, the crisis will deepen, and the seeds of a larger national movement will be sown. The choice lies with the state: will it act before it is too late?
The author is a BALLB student at Nepal Law Campus.
