This International Youth Day, it is important to ponder on whether young people are seen as partners in nation-building, or celebrated only when they fit expectations
PETER F. BORGES
Every generation seems convinced that the one after it has somehow gone astray. Today’s Generation Z is often described as impatient, glued to mobile phones, unwilling to “adjust”, and forever questioning authority. Yet, these are also the young people launching start-ups, building social enterprises, volunteering in communities, winning international competitions, creating global digital content, and finding innovative solutions to problems previous generations could not solve. Perhaps the question is not whether Generation Z has changed but whether the rest of us have kept pace with them.
The recent nationwide student movement over examination irregularities offered an opportunity to understand this generation beyond the headlines. Whatever one’s political views on the protests or the government’s response, the movement demonstrated something significant. Thousands of young people organised themselves, mobilised peacefully, used digital platforms to coordinate, and demanded accountability from public institutions. They reminded us that democracy is not merely about voting once every few years; it is also about asking questions, participating in public life, and expecting institutions to be accountable.
Just as the conversation around Generation Z began to settle, another generation quietly entered the national conversation. Across Rajasthan, government school students—many of them young girls—locked school gates, staged sit-in protests and even blocked roads. Their demands were simple: appoint teachers, fill vacant posts, provide drinking water, functioning toilets, ceiling fans, and classrooms where learning could actually take place. Generation Z may be demanding accountability in higher education, but Generation Alpha is asking whether the foundations of education even exist. Different generations, different realities, but remarkably similar aspirations—to be heard and to receive what they have already been promised.
Every year, we proudly speak about India’s demographic dividend. Governments announce youth initiatives. Universities organise youth festivals. Institutions felicitate young achievers. We celebrate young entrepreneurs, athletes, innovators and volunteers. But there often appears to be an invisible condition attached to that celebration. Young people are encouraged to innovate, excel, volunteer and lead—but are we equally comfortable when they question public systems, challenge existing practices or demand better governance? It is almost as though participation is welcomed only until it becomes inconvenient.
The so-called “Cockroach Movement” illustrated another uncomfortable reality. Public debate quickly shifted from discussing the issues being raised to discussing the labels attached to those raising them. History shows that societies often dismiss young people before eventually recognising that many of their questions were legitimate. Labels may dominate news cycles for a few days, but they rarely solve the underlying problems. Perhaps we spend too much time deciding what to call young people and too little time listening to what they are trying to say.
Some of the strongest criticism of today’s youth comes not from institutions but from older generations. Yet, perhaps, we should also examine ourselves. Many of us gradually accepted things that should never have become normal. We adjusted to delays, poor public services, bureaucratic inefficiency and systems that often rewarded connections over competence. Somewhere along the way, adjusting became a virtue while questioning became an inconvenience. Generation Z appears less willing to make that compromise. Is that arrogance, or is it hope? Is refusing to normalise mediocrity really a weakness, or is it the beginning of responsible citizenship?
At the same time, we must resist the temptation to imagine India’s young people as one uniform generation. They are anything but. The university student demanding fairness in examinations, the schoolgirl in rural Rajasthan asking for teachers, the tribal youth struggling to complete secondary education, the young migrant supporting a family, the adolescent with a disability navigating inaccessible institutions and the young woman forced to leave college because of financial hardship all belong to the same demographic dividend. Yet, their realities are vastly different. Many will never trend on social media or appear on television debates. Many will never organise a protest, not because they lack courage, but because poverty, discrimination, disability, geography and the daily struggle for survival leave little room for public mobilisation. Their silence should never be mistaken for satisfaction. If India truly wants to harness its demographic dividend, it must learn to hear not only the loud voices that dominate headlines but also the quieter voices that rarely reach the national conversation.
Perhaps this is why one simple principle deserves greater attention: “Nothing About Us, Without Us”. Originally associated with disability rights and later embraced by social justice movements worldwide, its message is universal. Policies affecting young people should not be designed without young people. Education reforms should involve students. Employment policies should reflect the realities of young workers. Mental health initiatives should be shaped by those who experience these challenges. Digital policies should involve the generation that lives most of its life online.
India’s demographic dividend is far more than a statistic. It represents energy, creativity, innovation, idealism and an impatience that can become a powerful force for positive change if governments, institutions and society are willing to embrace it. The recent student movement will eventually disappear from the headlines. The protests by schoolchildren in Rajasthan will also fade from the news cycle. But the questions they raised should remain with us. What kind of democracy do we want to build? One where young people quietly inherit systems without questioning them, or one where they are encouraged to improve those systems for everyone who follows?
As we mark International Youth Day, the question is no longer whether India’s young people are ready to participate. They already are. The real question is whether the rest of us are finally ready to listen, to trust them and to give them a genuine seat at the table. After all, if they are expected to inherit India’s future, they should also help shape it.
(The writer is an assistant professor of Social Work, Goa University and founder, Human Touch Foundation and former chairperson of the Goa State Commission for Protection of Child Rights)
