Dr. Janardan Subedi
This morning, I came across a clip of Mr. Durga Prasai, an entrepreneur turned prominent social and political crusader, where he used the term BiuBoko to describe a politician’s infidelity. Initially, I laughed. The word itself has an earthy, almost rustic humor: literally, BiuBoko refers to a non-castrated male goat kept for reproduction, a creature valued more for instinct than wisdom. The metaphor was sharp, brilliantly capturing the absurdity of opportunistic leaders guided not by principles but by impulses.
But the humor didn’t last long, as it also made me think: if one politician can be called BiuBoko, what about the entire generation of BiuBoko now dominating social media? These aren’t just individuals; they form a crowd, a chorus, a digital tribe whose main contribution to political discourse is their endless “hehehe.” Alarmingly, in their world, that “hehehe” matters far more than the blood spilled in the streets for social and political change. Where thousands struggled, and some even died, these digital jesters prefer giggles over grief, memes over meaning, mockery over memory.
Seeing these shallow characters echo “hehehe” across social media, I am struck by its absurdity. What makes this even more tragicomic isn’t just the sound, but the fact that those making it truly believe they are producing something profound. They are the new-age BiuBoko: digital jesters armed with Facebook posts, TikTok skits, and Twitter threads, acting as if they are public intellectuals. But they are not. They don’t read, they don’t think, yet they perform the guise of scholarship with an audacity that would make even Socrates sigh.
The problem isn’t that they laugh; laughter is healthy in any society. It’s that their laughter replaces critical thinking, which is essential for societal progress. “Hehehe” isn’t an argument. It isn’t even a position. It’s a nervous giggle masking a profound inability to grasp the shifting political and cultural ground beneath their feet. Nepal is undergoing upheavals, painful changes that hold the potential for renewal. Yet the BiuBoko brigade remains blind. For society to move forward, we must value reflection over mockery, or risk stagnation.
Communication scholars often warn of the “illusion of participation.” Clicking, sharing, or typing in all-caps doesn’t equal critical engagement. But our digital jesters act like their posts are revolutionary manifestos. They see themselves as defenders of democracy, custodians of nationalism, or prophets of the republic. The irony is unavoidable: they are neither defending, guarding, nor prophesying. At best, they recycle tired slogans with a laugh track. It’s comedy without substance. Social media has democratized buffoonery; anyone with a keyboard and misplaced confidence can now impersonate a philosopher.
And imitation is precisely what’s on display. These characters perform intellectualism like a poorly rehearsed play. They sprinkle their sentences with trendy jargon, “sovereignty,” “people’s mandate,” “democratic values,” without ever reading a book on political theory or history. Their words are borrowed costumes, worn proudly but without understanding. Watching them strut in borrowed robes, posing as statesmen without mastering even the basics of reflection, is almost pitiful. “Hehehe,” they laugh, as if laughter can replace logic.
At first glance, the BiuBoko phenomenon seems harmless, a digital sideshow of memes and mockery. But if left unchecked, it distorts the public sphere. It drowns out reasoned voices, rewards outrage over analysis, and elevates performance above substance. In Nepal’s context, this trend risks undermining democratic dialogue, as genuine debate is replaced by noise and superficiality. Recognizing this danger is crucial; only through reflection and critical engagement can society preserve the integrity of its democratic processes and foster meaningful development.
Let’s not forget: Nepal’s history has always been shaped not by the loudest shouters but by those willing to think. From poets preserving culture under repression to scholars mapping sovereignty, progress has come from reflection, not ridicule. But the BiuBoko have no patience for thinking. Books gather dust while they refresh their feeds. Their horizon isn’t history but hashtags. They measure reality by “likes,” not facts. How can such performers comprehend genuine change?
Think about the irony. The very changes that could allow Nepal to reimagine its future reforms in governance, accountability, and new conversations about sovereignty are mocked by these jesters as irrelevant or dangerous. They fail to see that, despite uncertainties, the direction of change is fundamentally positive. For the first time in years, the masses are questioning entrenched political elites. For the first time, a generation of youth demands answers instead of slogans. Society must recognize that meaningful engagement can shape this future, not just giggles and noise.
Why do they laugh? The answer is insecurity. Laughter is easier than thought. Mockery is safer than reflection. Reading, thinking, and questioning require humility, patience, and discipline. The BiuBoko prefer shortcuts. A meme is easier than an essay. A tweet beats a theory. A giggle beats a genuine argument. Society must prioritize genuine reflection over superficial humor if it hopes to build a resilient future.
Here, satire meets scholarship. Sociologist Erving Goffman once said that social life is a stage where people act out roles before an audience. Our BiuBoko takes this literally. They see social media as their stage, themselves as actors, and the public as spectators. But their script is hollow, their dialogue weak, their act tiresome. A show without depth eventually loses its audience. But the real danger is that serious debates get drowned in their noise. While the jesters perform, real actors remain unheard.
It’s also a mistake to dismiss the BiuBoko as mere comic relief. They reveal a deeper problem. Their failure to read or think reflects a broader cultural decline. In a society where education is commodified, public debate is shallow, and leaders rely on theatrics, social media buffoons are a symptom, if not the disease. Their giggles echo the emptiness of a public sphere starved of critical thought.
First, we must resist confusing volume with value. The loudest doesn’t mean wisest. Second, we need to revive reading, thinking, and debating. Intellectual engagement isn’t a luxury; it’s democracy’s lifeblood. Without it, we risk being ruled by jesters. Lastly, we must learn to laugh at the BiuBoko without letting them steer the conversation. Their “hehehe” should amuse us, not deceive us. Their noise should remind us of the urgency to nurture reasoned voices.
To borrow from sociology, societies that fail to tell jesters from thinkers lose both comedy and wisdom. Nepal faces such a crossroads. On one side lies renewal focused on critical thinking and honest debate. On the other hand, the BiuBoko circus, where “hehehe” replaces ideas and noise replaces knowledge.
The choice is ours. Should we indulge the buffoons, or choose the more challenging but more rewarding path of reflection? For our future’s sake, I hope we pick the latter.
Until then, as I scroll through my feed and hear the chorus of “hehehe,” I will keep marveling at its absurdity. Not because laughter is evil, but because it shows how far we’ve strayed from the discipline of thought. Maybe, in that moment of absurdity, I will laugh not with them, but at the society that mistakes jesters for scholars. A bitter laugh, yes, but also a reminder that the fight for thought, reflection, and truth isn’t over. The BiuBoko may scream, but ultimately, reality will speak louder.
(Dr. Subedi is the Professor of Sociology, Miami University, Ohio, USA.)
