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When I look back at my education—from childhood through my master’s degree—I realize how much it was structured around rote learning: memorizing facts, repeating them and aiming for good marks. I didn’t attend a prestigious school, just a regular one like most students in Nepal. Regardless of the school, the emphasis was the same. This pattern wasn’t just my experience—it’s reflective of a broader issue in Nepal’s education system. This kind of education didn’t teach me how to think or understand the world; it only taught me how to pass the exams. 

Even today, with some changes here and there, many schools continue to follow this outdated pattern. Whether well-resourced or under-resourced, the focus remains on memorization, repetition and obedience. The result? A generation that can recite facts but struggles to think critically. Worse still, questioning is often actively discouraged. In my experience, when students ask questions, they're frequently met with responses like, “Don’t ask too many questions” or “Just focus on the syllabus.” This discourages curiosity and stifles intellectual growth. If we want to cultivate thinkers and leaders, we must create an environment where asking questions is encouraged—not seen as a sign of disrespect, but as a sign of engagement. 

I’m not advocating for baseless questions, shouting or insults, as we often see on social media; that kind of behavior doesn’t promote healthy discourse. Instead, I advocate for thoughtful, well-reasoned questions—ones that are essential for growth and understanding. We must teach students not just how to gather information, but how to question it, analyze it and think critically. Sadly, this skill remains missing in many education systems, including Nepal’s.

Rote learning and blind following 

With some exceptions, schools in Nepal—regardless of whether they are well-resourced or not—still emphasize memorization and grades over teaching students how to think. The problem is even more pronounced in under-resourced schools, where education remains largely about repeating what’s taught and passing exams. This creates students who are good at memorizing but poor at thinking critically. In some well-resourced schools, while modern methods are used, students often adopt Western ideas without questioning or developing their own perspectives. This creates a disconnect in their minds; they may learn to think in a Western way but fail to fully engage with or understand their own culture. This leads to confusion and a lack of visionary leadership, which Nepal desperately needs. One alarming trend is the focus on preparing students to migrate abroad, primarily to Western countries. From a young age, students are taught that success depends on passing exams and acquiring qualifications to settle abroad. I am not against studying abroad—global exposure is valuable—but the issue arises when studying abroad becomes the only path to success, which is not always true. This narrow view has led to a loss of vision for Nepal’s future. Instead of nurturing local leadership, we are teaching students that the best way to succeed is to leave their country behind.

Vedantic and Buddhist wisdom

This widespread focus on external validation—whether through grades or foreign degrees—has come at the cost of our own intellectual traditions. But Nepal has never lacked a tradition of deep thought. Long before modern schooling systems, our culture valued questioning, contemplation and philosophical inquiry. Nepal’s intellectual and spiritual traditions, especially Vedantic and Buddhist philosophies, have long emphasized deep, reflective questioning. These traditions encouraged individuals to explore the nature of existence, the self and the world—not to accept things blindly, but to understand truth through inquiry and reflection. 

Both Vedanta and Buddhism emphasize that knowledge is power, but only when it is understood through contemplation and personal experience. Sadly, this tradition of critical thinking and self-inquiry has been overshadowed by an increasing reliance on rote learning and unquestioned acceptance of information. This shift has steered us away from the rich intellectual tradition of inquiry and independent thought that Nepal once embraced. 

To change this, we need to reclaim the legacy of critical thinking and inquiry. My point here isn’t to discard modern science textbooks or start teaching only Sanskrit and ancient scriptures. Rather, it’s about taking the essence of those philosophical traditions—especially their emphasis on questioning and inner exploration—and weaving that spirit into today’s classrooms. By doing so, we can reshape the education system to foster freethinkers—people who question, explore, and lead with a clear vision.

Empowering the next generation 

Given these gaps, the real question is: how can we move forward? How can we improve the education system in Nepal? The solution likely lies in finding a balance. We cannot discard exams and grades entirely, but we should place more emphasis on critical thinking, problem-solving, and curiosity. Our education system must nurture free thinkers, not just exam-passing robots. The role of teachers is central to this transformation. Teachers must teach students how to ask good questions, think critically, and express ideas clearly. Classrooms should not just be places where students receive information but where they engage with it, question it, discuss, and debate. Teachers need to create an environment where curiosity and independent thinking are encouraged. While systemic change is essential, it’s important to remember that transformation starts in the classroom. And classrooms cannot change unless teachers are empowered. 

At the same time, many teachers in Nepal are working under extremely challenging circumstances, often without proper support, training, or resources. The issues I raise here are not criticisms of individual teachers but of a system that has not empowered them to innovate or think freely. Any reform must begin with supporting and valuing our educators, ensuring they have the tools they need to foster critical thinking and curiosity in the classroom.

The link to leadership

The consequences of our educational shortcomings extend beyond classrooms. Nepal’s current political crisis is not just a struggle for power—it’s a crisis of leadership. The country lacks visionary leaders capable of guiding Nepal toward a better future, and this deficit reflects deeper issues within our education system. Instead of fostering critical thinking and independent thought, we are producing followers who passively accept information. This is evident in our political landscape, where many follow empty rhetoricians rather than leaders with clear ideologies. 

To address Nepal’s political crisis, we must shift the focus from just who holds power to how we educate our people. Our education system is failing to produce the kind of visionary leaders we desperately need. A nation without an educational foundation that encourages critical thinking and nurtures leadership will remain stagnant, regardless of the political system or the individuals who rise to power. If we want to shape a brighter future, the future of the nation depends on how we educate young people today. 

Without an education system that fosters independent thought and leadership, we will continue to see a generation of followers, rather than leaders with vision. We, as educators, parents and citizens, must steer Nepal’s education system toward a future where critical thinking is valued above rote memorization. This is not just about changing curriculums—it’s about changing the very mindset with which we approach education. Only then will we truly empower our youth and ensure a better future for the country.

While teaching communication to master’s students, I often reflect on its deeper  significance—not just in theory but in real-world applications. Communication is  fundamental to human existence. It begins at an interpersonal level, extends to spiritual and societal dimensions, and even governs the biological processes that sustain life. As Dr David Sinclair discusses in Lifespan, cells constantly exchange signals to maintain function. When communication breaks down, whether in the body, society or  governance, disorder follows.

Communication and its challenges 

At its core, communication consists of a messenger (sender), a message, a channel and a  receiver. For effective communication, both the sender and the receiver must have a shared understanding of the message. When this fails, miscommunication occurs, leading  to inefficiency, misalignment or even conflict. 

In class discussions, we often explore why miscommunication happens. Several key  factors contribute to it: the intention behind the message, the clarity of the message itself, the reliability of the communication channel and the receiver’s interpretation of the message. External noise (such as misinformation and disinformation), biases in the media and  differences in perception further complicate the process.

A critical debate in communication studies is how information should be structured.  Should it flow through a centralized system for consistency, or should it be decentralized for flexibility? Both approaches have their strengths and weaknesses. Centralized systems  provide clarity but can be rigid, while decentralized models encourage adaptability but may  lead to fragmentation. 

Jürgen Habermas, in his discussion of the system and the lifeworld, examines how institutionalized structures interact with everyday communication. The system refers to institutionalized structures like government or bureaucracy, while the lifeworld encompasses the everyday communication and experiences of individuals. In Nepali  politics, this tension is evident in the struggle between formal governance structures and  public discourse. Bureaucratic systems and political institutions often dictate the flow of information, shaping narratives that serve political elites rather than fostering genuine civic engagement. This disconnect undermines transparency and weakens public trust, as  political messaging shifts from dialogue to control.

Political communication in Nepal 

Applying this model to Nepali politics reveals significant challenges. Ideally, political communication should create a shared understanding of national interests. However, it  often serves to promote individual or party narratives rather than collective progress.

The challenges begin with the messengers—political leaders—whose messaging is often  influenced by party agendas rather than national priorities. Messages should be  transparent and reflective of reality, yet they are frequently ambiguous, selectively framed or shaped to fit specific political narratives. The media plays a crucial role in message dissemination, but concerns over bias and political affiliations sometimes hinder the  public’s access to objective information. The rapid spread of unverified content on social media further complicates the landscape, making it difficult for citizens to differentiate  between fact and political rhetoric.

Nepali political discourse often lacks coherence due to internal party conflicts, shifting alliances and fragmented messaging. For instance, the ongoing debate between those advocating for the reinstatement of the monarchy and Hindu statehood versus those supporting the current federal democratic republic system has created a highly polarized political environment. Additionally, the controversial dismissal of Kulman Ghising has  sparked widespread debate. Some view his removal as a politically motivated act  influenced by party rivalries, while others believe it reflects the government’s dissatisfaction with his management of the energy sector. Furthermore, the aggressive use of social media by influential figures through posts that stir public sentiment exacerbates  these divisions. These conflicting narratives—both online and offline—contribute to  uncertainty, divert attention from critical governance issues and fuel political instability. The fragmentation of political messaging weakens governance, delays policy  implementation, and erodes public trust.

Feedback is key

One of the critical aspects of Nepali political communication is feedback. Effective  communication should be a two-way process, allowing for dialogue and accountability. While elections provide periodic feedback, they occur infrequently, leaving limited  opportunities for continuous public engagement. Political discussions are often one-sided,  with leaders relying on speeches and rallies rather than meaningful interaction with  citizens. Public dissatisfaction, when expressed through protests or debates, is sometimes  met with defensive responses rather than constructive dialogue. 

To strengthen political communication, there must be a shift toward transparency,  inclusivity and responsiveness. Independent media should be reinforced to ensure that communication channels remain neutral and informative rather than instruments of  political influence. Mechanisms for public engagement should be expanded, providing citizens with opportunities to voice concerns beyond election cycles. Equally important is  public awareness—critical thinking and media literacy can help individuals navigate  political messaging more effectively.

Moving forward 

Scholars in communication studies often note that “perfect communication is a myth.” This  doesn’t imply that communication can’t be improved, but rather that political discourse  must acknowledge its inherent complexity, context and evolving perspectives. For Nepal, this underscores the urgent need for institutional reforms that promote transparency,  foster open dialogue and establish continuous channels for civic engagement.  Strengthening public forums, independent media and participatory governance structures can ensure that political communication serves the broader national interest rather than  partisan agendas. 

While perfect communication remains unattainable, it is essential to recognize that  meaning is shaped by context, perception and interpretation. In Nepali politics, communication has the potential to unite and drive progress. However, when manipulated  as a tool for influence rather than genuine understanding, it leads to polarization and stagnation. In line with Habermas’ theory, “transparent and accountable  communication” is crucial for bridging the gap between the system and the lifeworld. By  improving communication strategies in Nepal, we can align institutional structures more  closely with the public's needs and aspirations, promoting a more inclusive and  democratic society. 

Addressing these challenges requires a shift from rhetoric to meaningful action. Political  institutions must adopt communication strategies that are structured, responsive and foster ongoing dialogue. Transparent, accountable communication will build a stronger foundation for governance and national development. Moving forward, fostering responsible discourse should be a shared priority among political leaders, media and the public. Without this shift, misinformation, mistrust and missed opportunities will continue to undermine progress.

Spend a few minutes scrolling through social media about Nepal, and you might get an impression that the country is in a state of irreversible collapse. Political instability, corruption, the mass migration of young people, bureaucratic deadlock—these dominate the discourse. The prevailing sentiment: Nepal has no future. Everything is a disaster. But is this the ground reality, or are we trapped in a collective mood—a pervasive atmosphere of despair that shapes how we interpret events? 

Martin Heidegger, the German philosopher, argued that moods are not just personal emotions but collective states that shape how people perceive the world. A mood is not simply a fleeting feeling; it determines what appears possible or impossible. When we are in despair, everything looks hopeless. When we are optimistic, the very same circumstances can seem full of opportunity. The danger is that we mistake the mood for reality.

Right now, Nepal seems gripped by a mood of crisis. Every political event is framed as another step toward collapse. Social media amplifies outrage and negativity, reinforcing the belief that nothing works, that all roads lead to failure. 

Even during periods of political stability, opposition forces often work to undermine it. Even when policies are introduced, bureaucratic inertia slows them down. In such an atmosphere, even genuine progress can go unnoticed, overshadowed by a narrative of dysfunction. Consider the issue of youth migration. Thousands of young Nepalis leave the country every year in search of better opportunities. But this fact alone does not mean Nepal is doomed. Migration is not unique to Nepal—many countries, even developed ones, experience waves of emigration at different points in their history. What matters is how a country responds. Will Nepal create conditions that encourage its youth to return with skills, experience and investment? Or will we resign ourselves to the belief that youth migration is irreversible? 

Our answers to these questions are shaped by our collective mood. 

Political instability is an undeniable reality, but does that mean democracy itself has failed? Nepal has seen frequent changes in government, but it has also witnessed major democratic movements, an engaged electorate, and a growing demand for accountability. Corruption remains a problem, but civic activism, investigative journalism and digital transparency tools are also emerging. The bureaucratic system is slow, but Nepal’s private sector—especially entrepreneurs in digital industries—continues to innovate despite these hurdles. And yet, these positive aspects rarely define the national conversation. 

Instead, the dominant mood ensures that we focus only on dysfunction.

The possibility within breakdown

Heidegger also gives us another lens: breakdown. When things no longer function as expected, when the structures we rely on falter, we are forced to confront possibilities we may not have seen before. A system in crisis is also a system in transition. History shows that moments of instability often precede major transformations. 

Many of today’s thriving economies—South Korea, Singapore, even post-war Germany—went through prolonged periods of political and economic crisis before they found their footing. Their progress was not inevitable; it was made possible because they saw their breakdowns as moments of reevaluation rather than permanent decline. 

Nepal is at a similar juncture. The problems are real, but so are the possibilities. The same youth who are leaving for opportunities abroad are also part of a globally-connected, highly-skilled generation. The same political instability that frustrates us is also a sign of democratic contestation—a struggle to define Nepal’s future rather than resigning to a single, unchangeable fate. The same bureaucracy that slows progress also means that any reform, when it happens, has the potential to be institutionalized for the long term.

If we see only the breakdown and not the possibility within it, we risk deepening our national pessimism. And pessimism is not just an attitude; it shapes action. A country that believes it has no future acts accordingly. Talented people leave instead of staying to build. Entrepreneurs hesitate instead of investing. Policymakers, sensing the public’s resignation, prioritize short-term survival over long-term vision. But the opposite is also true. If we start recognizing the possibilities within this moment, we will act differently. We will invest, innovate, and engage. We will challenge the systems that don’t work rather than accepting them as permanent. Change begins not just with policy but with perception.

Choosing to see possibility 

The power of mood is that it determines what we believe is possible. And what we believe is possible determines what we attempt to build. If Nepal continues to see itself as a country on the brink of collapse, it will act like one. But if it sees itself as a country in transition, in the messy but necessary process of change, then it can begin to focus on solutions rather than just problems. This is not an argument for blind optimism. It is not about ignoring Nepal’s challenges or pretending that everything is fine. It is about resisting the easy, self-fulfilling trap of despair. 

Because in the end, national progress is not just about policies and politics, it is also about belief. Nepal’s greatest challenge today is not just political instability or economic hardship; it is the crisis of belief in its own potential. Just as mood shapes how we see the present, it also shapes what we believe about the future—and that belief, in turn, influences the path we take as a nation, from governance to progress and beyond.

When we talk about technology in the context of development, we often treat it as a tool that simply exists to make life more efficient. But I see technology as something that shapes our identities, influences our sense of agency and carries ethical responsibilities across generations. This is why we need to reframe ICT4D (Information and Communication Technology for Development) through an ethics-based lens—one that doesn’t just ask what technology can do, but who it serves, how it  empowers and whether it respects the people and cultures it touches. 

Technology isn’t something that arrives in a vacuum, rather it enters communities endowed with their own ways of understanding the world, their own traditions, identities and their own ethical frameworks. If we introduce technology without considering these dimensions, we risk erasing identities rather than strengthening them. According to Martin Heidegger, the essence of technology is not just about tools or instruments; it’s about how technology shapes the way we see and interact with the world. When technology is introduced into a community without awareness of this shift in perception, it can transform local cultures and identities into mere resources to be exploited rather than ways of life that deserve  respect and preservation. For ICT4D to be responsible, it must integrate into the ways of  communities, aligning with their values rather than imposing external ones. 

I have seen  instances where digital tools were designed with good intentions but ended up disrupting  local practices because they failed to acknowledge the social and ethical realities of the  people using them. 

Agency is at the heart of ethical technology use. People should not just be passive  recipients of digital solutions; they should have the power to shape, adapt and use  technology in ways that enhance their lives. Too often, ICT4D projects are rolled out with a top-down approach, where decisions are made by outsiders who assume they know what’s best for the rest. But when people are involved in designing and implementing technology—when they  have ownership over it—it transforms from an external intervention into a meaningful part  of their lives. This isn’t just about usability; it’s about empowerment. It’s about ensuring that communities are not just given tools but also the knowledge, skills and autonomy to decide how those tools should work for them. This perspective aligns with Amartya Sen’s emphasis on agency in development. 

Intergenerational justice, a concept explored by Hans Jonas, is another crucial dimension  that is often overlooked in ICT4D. When we introduce technology, we aren’t just shaping the present; we are making choices that will impact future generations. If we don’t think carefully about the ethical implications of technology, we risk creating dependencies, eroding cultural knowledge or deepening inequalities. Sustainable technology isn’t just about function or economic efficiency; it’s about ensuring that the benefits of today’s  innovations don’t come at the cost of future resilience. 

Environmental sustainability must also be central to ethical ICT4D. As Fritjof Capra  emphasizes in his work on systems thinking, nature operates through interconnected and  self-sustaining networks. Technology should follow these principles, supporting rather than disrupting ecological balance. Too often, technological advancements come at the cost of  ecological health, depleting natural resources and contributing to environmental degradation. If we are to create truly sustainable solutions, we must embrace a philosophy  that respects and aligns with the natural world rather than exploiting it. This means developing digital infrastructures that minimize environmental impact, encouraging circular economies in technology use and integrating local ecological knowledge into digital innovations. Ethical ICT4D must recognize that the well-being of communities is inseparable from the health of the environment that sustains them. 

An ethical ICT4D means recognizing that technology is never just a tool; it is always part of a larger social and ethical system. If we want it to truly serve communities, we need to ask deeper questions: Does this technology respect local identities? Does it enhance people’s agency rather than diminish it? Does it uphold justice not just for this generation, but for the ones that will follow? And does it honor the ecological systems that sustain life? These are the questions that should guide our approach. If we fail to ask them, we risk using technology as a force of disruption rather than as a means of meaningful progress.

In recent years, the growing migration of Nepali youth has become a serious concern.  The reasons often given include economic instability, lack of job opportunities and the political turbulence that has plagued the country for decades. While these factors certainly play a role, I believe there is a deeper, more existential issue at work. By using the philosophy of Martin Heidegger, particularly his ideas on mood, anxiety and resoluteness, we can begin to understand this migration as more than just a reaction to external  conditions. It is, in many ways, an existential crisis that challenges how young people see  their lives and future in Nepal. 

The mood of anxiety 

Heidegger’s concept of mood isn’t just an emotional state; it is a fundamental way in which we relate to the world. Our moods shape how the world appears to us, and in turn, how we act within it. One of the most central moods in Heidegger’s philosophy is anxiety, which  occurs when we confront the groundlessness of our existence—when the usual meanings,  comforts and structures we rely on suddenly fall away. Unlike fear, which is directed at something specific, anxiety is more general and spreads across everything without having a  clear object. 

In Nepal, there is a widespread mood of anxiety among the youth. It feels like a sense of  hopelessness or stagnation, where the future seems unclear, and opportunities feel out of  reach. Many young people feel there is nothing left to work for in the country. They may not  be able to point to one specific thing that is missing, but the overall mood is one of  dissatisfaction and unease. This is a classic case of Heideggerian anxiety: the feeling that  something is wrong, but without knowing exactly what. 

Beyond economics 

The common explanation blames this anxiety on political instability, economic downturns and the lack of job opportunities. To some extent, this is true. Nepal’s political system has long been unstable, and the economy has struggled to provide meaningful employment for its growing youth population. However, focusing only on these external factors misses the deeper existential dimension of the issue. Many young people are not simply reacting to the economic or political situation; they are grappling with a bigger question about the meaning and purpose of their lives. 

For instance, even if Nepal were to suddenly offer more job opportunities or become  politically stable, would the youth still feel fulfilled? Would they feel they are living in a way  that reflects their true selves and values? The migration of youth isn’t just about better jobs or escaping a broken political system. It’s about seeking a sense of meaning and purpose  that many feel is missing in their home country. In this sense, the decision to leave Nepal is  not merely a political or economic choice but an existential one. 

Lessons from Viktor Frankl 

Consider the case of Viktor Frankl, an Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor who developed logotherapy, a form of therapy that focuses on finding meaning in life, even in the most dire circumstances. Frankl’s philosophy shows that even in extreme situations—such as life in concentration camps—people can find a sense of purpose and meaning, which can allow them to endure unimaginable suffering. Frankl believed that it wasn’t external circumstances that determined a person’s state of mind, but their ability to find meaning in those circumstances. His work demonstrates that even in the worst possible conditions, existential crises can be overcome through a deeper understanding of one’s  purpose. 

I have personally witnessed examples where economic prosperity does not prevent existential crises. South Korea and Norway, both highly developed nations, are also struggling with high suicide rates. Despite their economic progress and high standards of living, many people in these countries experience feelings of meaninglessness,  depression and existential despair. South Korea’s intense social pressures and competition contribute to widespread anxiety, while in Norway, the alienation that can accompany wealth and material comfort has led many, especially the younger generation, to feel disconnected from any deeper sense of purpose. These examples highlight that  existential crises can emerge in any context, regardless of external conditions like wealth or political stability. 

The situation in Nepal, therefore, cannot be explained solely by economic or political factors. Even if external conditions were to improve, the deeper existential concerns would  remain. What many of Nepal’s youth are facing is not just a lack of jobs or a reaction to political uncertainty; it is an existential void, a search for meaning in a world that appears increasingly empty. 

Herd mentality

Heidegger makes a distinction between authentic and inauthentic ways of being. In an  inauthentic mode, we simply follow the crowd, conforming to the expectations and norms of society without reflecting on our own values and choices. Heidegger calls this living according to “the they”, where we do what everyone else is doing simply because that’s what people do. In the case of Nepal’s youth, many are leaving the country not because they have fully considered their decision, but because it has become the norm. Everyone is  going abroad, so they follow along. 

This “sheep mentality” is a clear example of inauthentic living. Young people are caught up in the general mood of anxiety and hopelessness, but they are not critically thinking about their own situation or why they are making certain choices. They are simply reacting to the mood of the moment, rather than taking control of their own lives. This isn’t to criticize them, but to highlight the existential crisis that lies underneath the wave of migration. 

A path to authenticity 

So, what can be done? How can Nepal’s youth deal with this existential crisis and make more authentic decisions about their future? Here, Heidegger’s concept of resoluteness is crucial. Resoluteness involves taking ownership of one’s choices, facing the uncertainty and anxiety of life, and acting with purpose. It’s about making decisions that reflect who we really are, rather than simply going along with what everyone else is doing or reacting to external pressures. 

For some young people, resoluteness might mean leaving Nepal, but with a clear understanding of why they are doing so, and what they hope to achieve. They wouldn’t just be following the crowd or giving in to a vague feeling of hopelessness. They would be leaving as a conscious, thoughtful act, based on their own values and understanding of their situation. 

For others, resoluteness might mean staying in Nepal and finding opportunities within the country. They would recognize that, despite the challenges, there are possibilities for growth and meaningful contribution. Instead of being trapped by the general mood of  anxiety or inauthenticity, they would engage with their circumstances, choosing to stay and make a difference because it aligns with their personal sense of purpose. 

The existential aspect 

In Nepal, development is often seen in terms of economic growth, political reform or  infrastructure improvement. These are all important, but they don’t address the existential crisis many young people are experiencing. The migration of youth is not just a symptom of  underdevelopment; it’s a symptom of a deeper existential void. Until we start addressing  the existential crisis that many young people face, no amount of economic reform will be enough to stop the flow of young people leaving the country.

What we need is a shift in how we think about development and progress. Instead of  focusing only on external conditions like jobs or political stability, we should think about creating an environment where young people can find meaning and purpose in their lives. This might involve creating spaces for self-reflection, encouraging thoughtful decision-making and fostering a culture that values individual purpose as much as  material success.

Authentic living requires us to confront life’s uncertainties and make choices based on our own understanding of who we are and what we want. Whether young people choose to stay in Nepal or leave for opportunities abroad, the key is that they make these decisions with clarity, purpose and resoluteness. Only then can we begin to address the crisis that is driving so many young people away.

Digital transformation is a hot topic around the world, both in academia and in practice. Nepal cannot stay away from this discourse and has also envisioned the idea of a Digital Nepal. However, digital transformation presents various challenges, not only in the developing world but also in developed countries. Philosophers even raise the question, especially because of the rise of artificial intelligence: is it doing anything good for human society? However, in my opinion, it’s not possible to reverse the situation. We have to learn to live with the digital paradigm. But it’s necessary to reflect on questions such as: are we focusing too much on the digitization of everything, or do we need to strike a balance? Or, in practical terms, digitalization for what? For whom, and how? I have been reflecting on this discourse based on my research and personal experiences from three different countries. Here, I have first-hand experience and some insights to share.

During my first PhD in Industrial Engineering years in South Korea, I gained valuable insights into technology's profound impact on society. South Korea’s remarkable transformation from a country struggling with poverty due to its colonial past to a leading tech innovator is a compelling example of technology's potential. I saw the benefits: advanced infrastructure, thriving tech companies and a highly-skilled workforce. The success of companies like Samsung and LG illustrates this transformation.

The South Korean government played a crucial role in this progress. Through strategic policies fostering innovation, attracting global investment and a strong emphasis on Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) education, the country built a workforce adept at handling technological challenges. Ongoing investment in research and development kept South Korea at the forefront of technological progress, raising living standards and driving economic growth. However, my experience also revealed the complexities of rapid technological change. Despite its many benefits, the pressure to stay constantly connected in the digital world led to stress and mental health issues, and exclusion of elderly people from fast-changing technology, demonstrating that technology’s advantages must be balanced with attention to personal well-being and social dynamics.

In my second PhD, which focused on how technology enables development, I had the opportunity to closely observe the digitalization in the mountain regions. I encountered a dramatically different situation. While South Korea advanced rapidly, Nepal faced significant challenges. Despite its rich cultural heritage, I found during my research, Nepal continued to struggle with political instability, inadequate infrastructure and limited access to quality education, hindering technological progress. Issues such as unreliable electricity and limited internet access, especially in rural areas, were common. The education system often fell short in preparing individuals for a technology-driven world, and economic constraints further limited investment in technological development.

The digital divide in Nepal is striking. Urban areas have better access to technology and education, while rural regions lag significantly. The high cost of technology and internet services limits accessibility for many, and gender disparities affect women’s opportunities in technology, reflecting broader cultural and educational inequalities.

Now, continuing with the same research and working in Norway, I observe a more balanced approach to technology. Norway navigates a middle path between the extremes of a highly digitized South Korea and a digitally excluded Nepal. Here, technology is integrated into society with a focus on social well-being, environmental sustainability and educational improvement. Norway’s approach prioritizes quality of life and social equity. There is a strong commitment to ensuring that technological advancements do not undermine personal well-being, with policies promoting work-life balance and reducing the stress associated with constant connectivity. Although Norway faces its own challenges in digital transformation, the country is actively working to maintain this balance.

Environmental sustainability is another key focus in Norway’s digital strategy. The country emphasizes green technology and sustainable practices, ensuring that technological progress does not come at the expense of the environment. This commitment reflects a responsibility to future generations and the planet. Norway’s education system is inclusive and forward-thinking, integrating digital literacy from an early age to prepare students for a technology-driven world. Continuous investment in teacher training and educational resources supports this goal, creating a workforce ready to adapt to technological changes.

From my experiences in South Korea, Nepal and Norway, it is evident that technology can drive significant progress, but it must be managed thoughtfully. South Korea’s success shows how education and innovation can lead to advancement, while Nepal’s challenges underscore the need for inclusive policies and infrastructure. Norway’s balanced approach demonstrates that it is possible to leverage technology’s benefits while prioritizing social well-being, environmental sustainability and educational improvement.

For Nepal, valuable lessons can be learned from both South Korea and Norway. By investing in reliable infrastructure, focusing on inclusive education, adopting a balanced approach to technology and promoting sustainable practices, Nepal can work toward a future where technology enhances the quality of life for everyone. This balanced and inclusive strategy can help ensure that the benefits of technology are accessible to all while minimizing potential drawbacks.

The author is a professor at the University of Agder, Norway