They gather with placards, smartphones and voices that refuse to be silenced. In Nairobi, young Kenyans poured into the streets in June 2024 to oppose new taxes. In Colombo, Sri Lankan youth camped outside the President Rajapaksa's residence in 2022 until he fled the country.
In Lagos, Nigerian protesters in 2020 raised their fists against police brutality under the banner #EndSARS (Special Anti-Robbery Squad). In each place, the spark was different, but the energy was the same: that of a generation tired of broken promises.
These are the sons and daughters of Gen Z, born into a world of smartphones and social media, raised in the shadows of economic crisis and uncertainty.
Their protests, stretching from Nepal to Mozambique, have unsettled governments and rattled ruling classes. What makes them remarkable is not only their anger but also their clarity. They know what they are up against: corruption, joblessness, repression and the crushing sense that their futures are being stolen.
Consider the Kenyan protests. For years, young people have been told to study hard, graduate and succeed. Yet thousands of graduates roam jobless while politicians enrich themselves.
When the government announced new taxes on basic goods, Gen Z did not turn to political parties for rescue – they turned to one another. They mobilised on TikTok and Twitter, spreading memes and protest songs faster than the state could contain them. It was a carnival of defiance, creative and angry at once.
In Sri Lanka, the story was grimmer. Food and fuel vanished, hospitals struggled, and young people saw the country collapse under the weight of corruption and mismanagement. They did not wait for elders to negotiate behind closed doors. They marched to President Gotabaya Rajapaksa's house, demanded his resignation, and they did not leave until he was gone. It was youth who forced accountability not the politicians.
Nigeria’s #EndSARS protests may have started with anger at police brutality, but the chants quickly broadened: “We want jobs, dignity, a future.” The brutality of the state’s response, culminating in the violence at Lekki Toll Gate, deepened a painful truth for many: the government fears its young people more than it serves them.
In Bangladesh, schoolchildren once risked beatings to protest unsafe roads. More recently, young people have marched against unemployment and authoritarianism.
In Nepal, students and graduates alike rail against corruption and a stagnant economy that forces many to migrate abroad. In Indonesia, young activists link their struggles to climate justice, fighting against laws they say weaken democracy while defending their islands from rising seas.
In Uganda, the voice of youth has been channelled through musicians and opposition figures such as Bobi Wine, only to face repression. In Mozambique, young people confront poverty, inequality and violence in a country where natural resources enrich the few while many go hungry.
Seen separately, these protests may look like scattered fires. Seen together, they resemble a bonfire spreading across continents. The fuel is familiar: youth joblessness, corruption, exclusion from politics and the deep fear that tomorrow will be worse than today.
What makes this generation different is how they fight back. They organise not in dusty meeting halls but in group chats. Their movements are often leaderless, harder to infiltrate, harder to silence. Their language is humour, art and digital culture. A viral meme mocking a president may do more damage than a fiery speech. They do not wait for permission to act – they mobilise at the speed of Wi-Fi.
Yet behind the jokes and hashtags lies something raw: anxiety.
These young people came of age during global financial crises, during the
pandemic, amid worsening climate disasters. They are told to be patient, yet
they see elites secure endless wealth while their lives stall. Where their parents’
'millennials' endured quietly, they demand loudly. They know what democracy
looks like in other places; they see inequality in real time; they compare and
they refuse to settle for less.
Governments, however, have been slow to learn. Too often the response has been tear gas, bullets and internet shutdowns. Uganda’s crackdowns, Bangladesh’s arrests, Nigeria’s violent dispersals and Kenya's bullets, teargas and abductions – these may silence protests for a week or even couple of months, but they plant seeds of deeper anger that quickly would mutate to radicalisation. The lesson is simple – repression buys quiet, not peace.
The bigger challenge is economic. Youth unemployment is not a statistic to be buried in a government report; it is a live wire waiting to spark. When millions of young people feel shut out of opportunities, streets become classrooms of defiance. Add corruption and the wire ignites.
The truth is that these protests are not going away. They are not accidents of circumstance but symptoms of deep structural crises. A restless generation has discovered its voice, and that voice echoes across borders.
A Kenyan watching Nigerians march can imagine doing the same; a Bangladeshi student sees Indonesian activists fighting for climate justice and draws courage. Social media ensures that struggles no longer remain national – they are stitched into a global story of young people refusing to be ignored.
This is what should worry governments most. Gen Z may not yet have the organisation of a global movement, but the ingredients are there: shared grievances, common methods and a growing sense of solidarity. If world leaders dismiss these protests as temporary storms, they risk underestimating the tremors of a generational earthquake.
The choice is stark. Governments can adapt, opening space for genuine participation, fighting corruption and addressing youth unemployment with urgency, even though they will never solve the problem, at least they can do some little good.
Or they can cling to repression, hoping to outlast the energy of multitude of the young. History suggests that energy, once ignited, is not easily extinguished. A generation that grew up connected, impatient and unwilling to settle for less is now demanding to be heard. If they are ignored, they will not simply disappear; they will return, louder and more determined.
The world is witnessing a new force take shape. It is young, digital, angry and creative. It is shaped by hardship but refuses to be defined by despair. Its message is simple: the future belongs to us, and we will fight for it.
