Gen Z’s arrival on the public stage is sudden only to those who chose not to see them coming. After years of being written off as mobile addicts, ill-mannered, pampered, and entitled, they are suddenly fashionable: essential, admired, and courted by every political faction. They are the latest fad. It's like the pair of jeans in the early eighties. Condemned as workmen’s clothing for decades, one day, people woke up to its convenience and functionality, making it fashionable.
The change of heart is not sudden.
After realising their nuisance value and
potential to awaken a nation so far swaying in the vibes of obsequious devotion
and languishing in an intellectual coma for more than a decade, everyone from
every political cohort is eyeing them, trying to own them, visualising
themselves wearing them. All are desperate, and all want to be seen standing
with them to fend off the disruption and protect their turf and also to disrupt
and break the status quo.
The scramble to “own” them, however,
reveals a deeper misreading.
The mistake is not that parties want their
support; it is that they assume Gen Z will be pliant, a new flock to be
shepherded into old habits.
Gen Z is not naive about political theatre.
They have watched parents and elders
navigate a public sphere dominated by religion, caste, culture, regionalism and
nationalism, while bread-and-butter issues such as civil rights, healthcare,
education, employment and genuine security were sidelined.
They have seen politics riding the warheads
of fear of an unknown enemy, hatred towards your own neighbour and
misinformation about the current state of affairs and lies about their past.
They have seen politics reduced to
spectacle; they have observed the compromises, compromises dressed up as
principles.
That exposure makes them wary of being
repackaged into the same tired narratives.
They are also refusing the old guard’s
insistence that governance and policymaking remain their preserve. Instead of
waiting to inherit the knobs of power, many young people are calling for space with
uncomfortable fresh questions, different methods and new temperaments. The
response from established politicians has often been predictable: co-optation.
Parties offer symbolic gestures, curated spotlight moments and the occasional
youth-friendly slogan.
But gestures are not policy; being in
photos is not being in power.
This dynamic is not abstract. It plays out
in classrooms and car parks and on social feeds, where younger people discern
authenticity and artifice with unnerving speed.
I learned that firsthand in a routine
school-run that exposed my own blind spots.
It was pre-pandemic. My son, then in Class
9, and I were en route to school after the bus broke down. Billboard after
billboard advertised near-perfect exam scores from elite institutions: 99.99%,
trophy results framed as proof of institutional excellence. These ads are not
merely celebratory; they are marketing tools, designed to stoke parental
anxiety and sell the promise that a child’s success can be outsourced to a brand-name
school. They invite parents to live vicariously through their children’s achievements.
I used the moment to prod my son to know
how close he is to such pressures.
I asked him jokingly if he is planning to
gift me with such a score.
He laughed and pointed to a student on one
billboard whom the school had allegedly “poached” from a distant town with the
promise of a full scholarship. “They buy top performers and market them,” he chuckled.
He had already spotted how prestige is sometimes manufactured, not solely
earned.
An observation that saddened me and
relieved me in equal measure. Sad because the bubble of childhood innocence is
thinner than I assumed; relieved because he was not blind to the mechanics of
advantage.
Traffic near the school was chaotic:
honking, tailgating, drivers cutting lanes in a frenzy to be first at the gate.
That anxiety felt contagious. At a tight turn, a woman on a scooter squeezed
past and grazed my car’s side mirror. Startled, I blew out a silent curse and pressed
on. A hundred meters later, stuck behind a school bus, I saw the scooter rider
waiting peacefully in line along with others. She was still in a nightgown and
slippers, with a half-asleep toddler clinging behind her and a bag of books
across her shoulder. She was determined to complete her morning chores on time
even if it involved endangering her own and her child’s life.
My anger flared reflexively. “Look at
her, and the way she is riding her bike like some irresponsible teenager- being
a woman,” I muttered.
The car went quiet. My son, who had been
chatting, fell silent. His silence was ominous.
The drop point was nearing, and I was
getting more curious and anxious because of his sudden change of behaviour. I
checked with him if everything was ok. He didn't reply. I knew something wasn't
right, and I persisted.
He stared at me and then, calmly, asked: “Papa,
why do you think only men can ride rough, not women?” He left the car
without another word.
The question haunted me all the way home.
In a single sentence, my son had unmasked
the latent misogyny in my offhand remark. He had revealed how assumptions I
believed progressive were still tethered to older prejudices, stereotypes about
gendered behaviour that I had inherited unconsciously.
He had also demonstrated a generational
clarity: Gen Z does not grant old biases the courtesy of being unchallenged.
This episode is not merely an anecdote; it
is emblematic.
Gen Z’s expectations of public life are
shaped less by allegiance to established identities and more by scrutiny of
institutions and outcomes. They prize accountability, equity and competence
over symbolic gestures. Their default is scepticism toward narratives that
conflate culture with competence, spectacle with substance.
For political actors, the lesson should be
obvious: courting Gen Z requires more than curated imagery and rhetorical nods.
It requires substantive shifts in policy priorities and processes like transparency
in decision-making, meaningful youth participation in policy design, and
accountability structures that deliver measurable improvements in education,
healthcare, jobs and civic freedoms. Cosmetic inclusion like anointed youth
spokespeople, token panels, and viral photo-ops will be read as the performative
gestures they are.
For older generations, the takeaway is
different and no less urgent. Gen Z is not a blank slate to be formatted. They
are a cohort whose experiences and instincts expose the flaws in our
assumptions. They demand we examine our conduct and rethink our authority.
This should induce humility, not
defensiveness.
If the established order persists in
treating Gen Z as a new demographic to be harnessed, it risks alienating a
generation that can choose engagement on its own terms: through grassroots organising,
digital mobilisation, alternative institutions and, increasingly, through the
ballot. Conversely, if political leaders and elders listen not to incorporate
Gen Z into existing moulds, but to be remade by their critique, the result
could be a renewal of public life that privileges problem-solving over
performative posturing.
The choice is not ours alone. It belongs to
a younger generation that already knows how to ask the uncomfortable question
and, sometimes, to put us to shame in the best possible way.
If we want them as partners, we must first
accept that they will change us.
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