Jaywalkers rule the road in Kathmandu

It is around 10:30 in the morning. The sun is up, and Kathmandu is wide awake. The streets are buzzing, and I am on my scooter, making my usual ride to college. On the road, buses are locked in competition, overtaking each other at every opportunity. Cars and taxis honk incessantly. Two-wheelers squeeze through any gap they can find. I have grown used to this chaos by now.

Then, just as I feel like I have hit a smooth rhythm, a man casually steps onto the road. No zebra crossing in sight, no traffic light — just his hand in the air like a traffic cop or a Marvel superhero. I slam the brakes and swerve. He does not even flinch.

Jaywalking, crossing roads in ways not permitted by traffic rules, is penalised in countries like China, Singapore, Japan, Ireland and the US. But in Nepal, it is not criminalized. It happens all the time; any daily commuter in Kathmandu can relate. Jaywalkers can be anyone—suited professionals, schoolchildren, elderly folks, street vendors and people glued to their phones. Their raised hand is a universal signal. Somehow, it seems to grant them the right to stop traffic, no questions asked.

According to government statistics, about 25% of road traffic fatalities in the country involve pedestrians. Some ignore overhead bridges and cross under them instead. Others climb poorly maintained or spiked dividers just to save a few steps. The Koteshwor–Satdobato stretch of the Ring Road is notorious for being one of the most ignored areas in terms of pedestrian infrastructure.

Some walk straight down the middle of the road during traffic congestion. Others get off vehicles mid-way and start walking. Zebra crossings exist, but they are often faded or completely disregarded. It is as if the streets are seen as extended footpaths and traffic rules are optional.

Bravery and good sense, however, are not the same. For riders like me, every commute is a test of reflexes. One second of distraction and things can go wrong. And if they do? The blame usually lands on the rider, even if it was the pedestrian’s fault.

Kathmandu Valley alone sees over 10,000 road accidents each year, according to the Metropolitan Traffic Police Division. That is hundreds every week. And yet, people still cross busy roads while scrolling through their phones. Honk at them? They will not even glance. I have seen pedestrians step into oncoming traffic, confident that vehicles will stop. There is an assumption that vehicles are always at fault and pedestrians are untouchable.

Who’s Responsible?
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), road accidents are the eighth leading cause of death globally. That is not just a statistic — it is a reflection of what is happening on our own streets.

So, who is responsible? The blame lies in two places. First, the government. Our roads are not built with pedestrians in mind. Infrastructure is patchy at best. Many areas lack overhead bridges or have poorly placed zebra crossings. Public awareness of road safety is almost non-existent. Even when improvements are made, they are often symbolic — a new sign here, a freshly painted crossing there — but without long-term maintenance or education.

Second, and just as important, is public behaviour. Infrastructure gaps are one thing, but ignoring common sense is another. I have seen people walk into speeding traffic, assuming cars and bikes will just stop. And when they raise their hand, it’s not a polite request — it feels like a command. The tragedy is that many pedestrians do not realise just how risky this behaviour is, especially in the rain, at night or during traffic congestion. They just go, expecting everyone else to adjust.

What is even stranger is how normal it has become. Near-misses do not startle anyone anymore. People brush off the honks and keep walking — no reflection, no change.

Rebuilding Accountability on the Road
Traffic is getting heavier, roads are more congested and drivers are more distracted. Honks no longer slow people down. Flashing lights do not make a difference. If we keep relying on instinct instead of infrastructure, on hand signals instead of proper crossings, accidents are bound to happen. And when they do, no one wins—not the rider, not the pedestrian, not the city.

As a law student, I have spent time studying how rules are made, enforced and where they fail. On paper, we have traffic laws. But in practice? It is another world entirely. On these streets, it is about who moves first, who appears more confident. Sometimes it feels like ‘survival of the boldest’.

When things go wrong, riders are usually expected to take full responsibility, especially if they are driving a larger vehicle. There is some logic to that, but it also creates an unfair system. Pedestrians walk into traffic without fear, while riders bear the burden of being blamed no matter what.

There is no single fix to the problem. Shared responsibility is where it all starts. The government must do more than repaint crossings. We need visible pedestrian infrastructure, proper lighting and well-planned road designs. Public awareness is just as important. People must understand that rules exist not to restrict, but to protect.

Pedestrians should realize that it is not a weakness to wait for a safe moment to cross. It is not excessive to look both ways. And the raised hand cannot replace awareness or courtesy.

Until things change, I will keep riding the way I always do — hand on the brake, eyes on the road and my mind alert for the next person who steps out, palm high, as if to say, “I’m walking now. You deal with it.”

(Basnet is a BALLB, 3rd year student)