Who Gets To Speak For The Future Young People Are Inheriting ?

There is a particular kind of meeting where the future of young people is discussed, usually by people who are old enough to have already lived through several versions of the future themselves.

The room is air-conditioned. There are bottled waters arranged neatly on a table, microphones that work when they are supposed to, and a projector displaying phrases such as youth empowerment, inclusive development, innovation, and the future of work. Someone gives a speech about the limitless potential of young people. Someone else talks about the importance of preparing the next generation for the challenges ahead. There may even be a young person seated somewhere near the front, invited to represent millions of people whose lives look nothing like theirs.

The photographs are taken. The speeches are delivered. The hashtags are posted.

And then everyone returns to their respective lives.

Somewhere outside that conference room, a university graduate is calculating whether transportation to a job interview is worth the money it will cost. A student is trying to understand why the education they are paying for seems increasingly disconnected from the employment opportunities available to them. A young woman is deciding whether to remain in a country where she cannot confidently predict her financial future. A young man is considering leaving home because staying has begun to feel like a decision he must defend.

Another young person is building a business with money borrowed from friends. Someone is caring for younger siblings because the adults in their household cannot afford to do so alone. Someone else is scrolling through videos of people their age announcing international scholarships, new jobs, successful businesses, and lives that appear to be moving forward at a speed their own cannot match.

These people are all part of the future being discussed in that conference room.

Yet how many of them helped decide what that future should look like?

Who determined the kind of education they would receive? Who decided what opportunities would be available to them? Who established the economic conditions under which they would begin their adult lives? Who chose which problems deserved urgent attention and which could be postponed? Who decided what success should look like, how quickly young people should achieve it, and what they should be willing to sacrifice along the way?

And, perhaps most importantly, who gets to speak for them when these decisions are made?

The question is more complicated than it initially appears. It is not simply about whether young people are invited into rooms where decisions happen. It is about whether their presence changes anything once they arrive.

It is about the difference between being represented and being displayed.

It is about whether a generation can meaningfully influence the conditions of its own existence or whether it is expected to accept decisions made by people who will not necessarily experience their consequences in the same way.

It is about power.

And if we are serious about discussing the future young people are inheriting, we must begin by examining who currently has the authority to define it.

1. The Generation Everyone Talks About

Young people are among the most frequently discussed groups in conversations about the future.

They are described as the leaders of tomorrow, the drivers of innovation, the next generation of entrepreneurs, the future workforce, the custodians of culture, and the people who will eventually inherit the world.

These descriptions sound encouraging. They suggest confidence in young people’s abilities and acknowledge their importance to society.

But there is a problem with constantly describing young people as the future.

Sometimes, the language becomes a convenient way to postpone their participation in the present.

Young people are told they will lead tomorrow while being excluded from decisions today. They are encouraged to prepare for leadership without being given meaningful opportunities to exercise it. They are reminded that their time will come, even when the policies being introduced now will determine the quality of their education, their access to healthcare, their financial security, and their ability to build independent lives.

Tomorrow becomes a promise that can be repeatedly renewed without ever being fulfilled.

In Nigeria, the phrase leaders of tomorrow has become familiar enough to sound almost ceremonial. It appears in school speeches, political statements, youth programmes, and conversations about national development.

But what happens when tomorrow keeps arriving and young people are still being asked to wait?

What happens when a person has completed university, entered the labour market, attempted to establish financial independence, and begun making adult decisions, yet is still treated as someone whose opinions should carry less weight because of their age?

At what point does preparation become postponement?

This is not an argument that experience has no value. It does. Institutions require people who understand history, systems, professional responsibilities, and the consequences of poorly considered decisions. Young people do not automatically become wise because they are young, just as older people do not automatically become competent because they have lived longer.

The issue is not whether experience matters.

It is whether experience should function as a permanent monopoly on decision-making.

A society can respect the knowledge of older generations without assuming that younger generations have nothing useful to contribute. It can acknowledge that young people are still learning while recognising that they already possess knowledge that may be unavailable to those making decisions on their behalf.

A teenager understands the social environment in which teenagers live. A university student understands the pressures affecting their education. A young graduate understands the experience of entering a difficult labour market. A young person navigating online culture understands certain digital communities in ways that a policymaker who rarely uses those platforms may not.

Their experiences are not universal, and they do not automatically represent everyone in their age group. But they are forms of knowledge.

The mistake is treating age as a reason to dismiss that knowledge before it has even been heard.

The consequences extend beyond hurt feelings or generational misunderstandings. When decision-makers overlook the people most directly affected by their choices, they risk designing policies that fail in practice, funding programmes that address the wrong problems, and establishing expectations that have little relationship with the circumstances people actually face.

A youth employment initiative may look impressive in a presentation but fail to account for the cost of transportation to training centres. A digital learning programme may assume every student has reliable internet access. A business grant may require documentation that excludes informal entrepreneurs who have real businesses but limited access to formal financial systems.

The policy may have been created with young people in mind.

That does not mean it was created with their input.

And there is a substantial difference between those two things.

2. Representation Is Not the Same as Participation

Imagine a government committee discussing youth unemployment.

The committee includes experienced economists, civil servants, private-sector representatives, and several senior officials. Its members examine employment statistics, discuss national productivity, consider investment incentives, and debate how to improve workforce development.

At some point, someone suggests that the committee should include a young person.

A young representative is invited. They attend the meetings, listen to the discussions, and occasionally contribute an opinion. Their photograph appears in a report about inclusive policymaking.

On paper, the committee now represents young people.

But several questions remain unanswered.

Who selected the representative?

Were young people involved in that selection?

Does the representative have access to the same information as the other committee members?

Can they introduce proposals, challenge assumptions, or influence the committee’s final recommendations?

Do they have a vote?

Can they explain how the committee’s decisions affect the communities they claim to represent?

And what happens when their recommendations conflict with the preferences of more powerful members?

These questions reveal a weakness in how representation is often understood.

Representation is not simply about who is present. It is about who has the power to influence what happens.

A person can be invited into a room without being given meaningful authority. They can speak without being heard, contribute without being considered, and participate without being able to change the outcome.

This is sometimes described as tokenism: the inclusion of a person or a small number of people from a particular group primarily to demonstrate diversity, rather than to redistribute meaningful influence.

Tokenism is particularly difficult to identify when the person being included is genuinely talented, articulate, and committed to their responsibilities.

The representative may be doing excellent work. They may have earned their position. They may even agree with some of the decisions being made.

The problem is not necessarily the individual.

It is the structure that determines what they can accomplish.

A single young person cannot reasonably be expected to represent every teenager, student, unemployed graduate, young entrepreneur, rural community, young parent, disabled person, or informal worker in a country as diverse as Nigeria.

Their presence does not automatically establish that young people have been adequately consulted.

Nor should the representative be expected to speak for everyone simply because they share an age group.

Consider the difference between inviting one young entrepreneur to discuss the future of employment and gathering evidence from young people across different economic circumstances.

The entrepreneur may understand the challenges of starting a business. But what about the young person who cannot afford to purchase the equipment required to start one? What about the graduate who wants formal employment rather than entrepreneurship? What about the person who has a disability and encounters barriers that the entrepreneur has never experienced? What about the young person in a rural community whose economic opportunities are shaped by infrastructure, transport, and access to markets?

Their experiences may overlap in some areas, but they are not interchangeable.

Representation becomes meaningful when it creates mechanisms through which different experiences can influence decisions.

This may involve public consultations, youth advisory councils, participatory budgeting, elected student representatives, accessible complaint systems, community forums, research that includes young people’s experiences, and transparent procedures for responding to their recommendations.

The particular mechanism matters less than the principle behind it.

Young people should not merely be invited to explain their problems. They should have opportunities to help determine which problems are prioritised, what solutions are considered, how resources are allocated, and how outcomes are evaluated.

Otherwise, representation risks becoming a performance in which institutions demonstrate that they have listened without establishing whether listening changed anything.

There is a question every organisation claiming to represent young people should be willing to answer:

What decision changed because young people were involved?

If the answer is consistently nothing, the organisation may have achieved visibility without achieving representation.

And visibility, however attractive it looks in photographs, cannot substitute for power.

3. Who Is the Young Person We Keep Representing?

There is another complication in discussions about youth representation.

We often talk about young people as though they form a single, unified group with similar experiences, priorities, and ambitions.

They do not.

Age creates certain shared circumstances, but it does not erase differences in class, gender, disability, geography, education, religion, ethnicity, family responsibilities, or access to resources.

A wealthy young person attending an international university and a young person who left school because their family could not afford the associated costs may both fall within the same age category. Their opportunities, however, may be radically different.

A young person living in a major Nigerian city may have access to digital communities, professional networks, transport, and a wider range of employment opportunities than someone in a rural area with limited infrastructure.

A young woman may face pressures relating to safety, expectations around marriage, reproductive health, or the division of unpaid domestic labour that her male peers do not experience in the same way.

A young person with a disability may encounter barriers in education, transportation, employment, and public participation that are invisible to people who do not face those barriers.

A young person who is financially dependent on their parents may have a different understanding of economic independence from someone already responsible for paying rent, supporting siblings, or caring for an older relative.

Even within the same university, students do not experience education equally. Some have reliable laptops, stable internet connections, supportive families, and professional contacts. Others share devices, work to support themselves, commute long distances, or struggle to meet basic expenses.

When institutions ask young people what they need, whose answer do they hear?

Often, they hear from the young people who are easiest to reach.

Those who are already connected to established organisations, comfortable speaking in formal settings, fluent in the language of policy, available to attend meetings, and able to navigate bureaucratic processes are more likely to participate.

These qualities may make them effective representatives. But they can also make them less representative of young people whose circumstances prevent them from participating.

The young person who cannot afford transportation to a consultation is unlikely to contribute to its discussions.

The person working several jobs may not have time to attend a weekday meeting.

Someone who has experienced discrimination may not trust an institution enough to share their concerns with it.

A young person with limited literacy may struggle to participate in a process conducted through lengthy written submissions.

And someone who has repeatedly watched institutions ignore public feedback may reasonably question whether another consultation is worth their time.

Their absence can then be misinterpreted as a lack of interest.

This creates a troubling cycle.

Institutions invite participation. The most accessible voices respond. Decision-makers interpret those voices as representative of a much larger population. Policies are developed around the resulting assumptions. People whose experiences were missing discover that their needs have once again been overlooked.

The process may appear inclusive because young people were consulted.

But inclusion is not established by counting participants alone. It also requires examining who could participate, who could not, and why.

An effective approach to youth representation must therefore begin with a difficult acknowledgement: there is no single young person who can speak for an entire generation.

There are young people with different experiences, competing priorities, and sometimes contradictory demands.

That is not a weakness in youth representation.

It is a reason to make it more democratic.

The goal should not be to find one exceptionally articulate young person who can conveniently explain what everyone else needs. It should be to create systems capable of hearing many voices, including those that are inconvenient, unfamiliar, critical, or difficult to accommodate.

Because the future being inherited is not the same for everyone.

And any attempt to represent it honestly must account for that fact.

4. Nigeria’s Youth Paradox: Young in Population, Limited in Power

Nigeria offers a particularly important context for this discussion.

It has a large and youthful population, and young Nigerians are highly visible in cultural production, technology, entertainment, entrepreneurship, sports, fashion, activism, and digital communities.

They create music that travels across continents. They build businesses with limited capital. They develop software, organise events, produce films, influence fashion, establish online communities, and introduce Nigerian experiences to global audiences.

Their cultural influence is difficult to deny.

Yet cultural visibility does not automatically translate into political or economic power.

A generation can dominate conversations on social media while having limited influence over the policies governing its daily life.

It can shape music trends without determining the quality of public education. It can create internationally recognised entertainment without controlling the economic structures that determine whether young graduates can afford housing. It can produce influential digital campaigns while struggling to secure a meaningful role in decisions about public spending.

This is the paradox.

Young Nigerians are often celebrated for their creativity, resilience, and ability to adapt. But these qualities can become part of a national narrative that celebrates what young people achieve despite difficult conditions without adequately examining why those conditions persist.

Resilience is praised. Resourcefulness is admired. Hustle is romanticised.

Meanwhile, the underlying problems may remain.

Consider the graduate who spends years in university expecting education to improve their employment prospects. After graduation, they discover that a degree alone may not guarantee work, that available jobs may offer wages insufficient to cover basic expenses, and that gaining experience can be difficult when employers demand experience before offering employment.

The graduate is advised to acquire additional skills.

They take online courses, improve their CV, build a portfolio, attend networking events, and apply for internships. They are told to be patient, persistent, and innovative.

Some eventually find opportunities. Others continue searching.

Many do both: work in one field while pursuing another, accept temporary positions while preparing for better ones, or attempt to build small businesses while maintaining the hope of eventually securing stable employment.

Individual effort matters enormously in these circumstances.

But it cannot explain the entire problem.

If thousands of graduates are competing for too few suitable jobs, telling each graduate to improve their employability does not resolve the imbalance between available workers and available opportunities.

If the cost of transportation consumes a substantial portion of a young worker’s income, teaching them financial discipline cannot make inadequate wages sufficient.

If access to quality education varies according to family income, encouraging everyone to work hard does not eliminate the advantages enjoyed by those who can afford better resources.

If a young entrepreneur cannot obtain affordable financing, a motivational speech about taking risks does not provide the capital required to expand a business.

At some point, the discussion must move beyond personal responsibility and examine institutional responsibility.

What economic policies shape the number and quality of jobs available?

How effectively are educational institutions preparing students for both existing and emerging industries?

What public infrastructure is available to support businesses?

How accessible are financing, healthcare, housing, and professional opportunities?

What mechanisms exist for young people to influence the policies that affect these areas?

These questions are not arguments against hard work. They are arguments against treating hard work as a substitute for functioning systems.

A society that repeatedly tells young people to adapt must also ask whether its institutions are doing enough to make adaptation possible.

The language of resilience can be empowering when it recognises people’s strength and determination.

It becomes dangerous when it implies that the ability to survive difficult circumstances absolves institutions of responsibility for those circumstances.

Young Nigerians should not have to prove their ingenuity by overcoming avoidable obstacles before their concerns are taken seriously.

They should not need to become exceptional entrepreneurs, internationally recognised artists, or successful technology founders to demonstrate that their generation has something valuable to contribute.

Ordinary young people deserve functioning institutions, fair opportunities, and meaningful participation too.

A country should not need its young citizens to become extraordinary simply to make ordinary life possible.

The limits of political inclusion

Nigeria’s political system also raises questions about who gets to participate in shaping the future.

The country operates within a democratic framework, and young citizens possess formal political rights, including the right to vote when eligible. Yet voting is only one part of political participation.

There is a difference between choosing among candidates and influencing the range of choices available.

There is a difference between being allowed to vote for a representative and being able to hold that representative accountable after an election.

There is a difference between a political party inviting young people to campaign and young people having meaningful influence over the party’s priorities, candidate selection, policy commitments, and allocation of resources.

Young people can be essential to political mobilisation without being equally positioned to exercise political power.

Campaigns may depend on their energy, digital skills, social networks, and ability to reach communities. Young supporters may produce content, distribute messages, organise events, and persuade their peers to participate.

But the relevant question is what happens when the campaign ends.

Do young people remain involved in the decisions that follow?

Can they access the officials they helped elect?

Are there transparent ways to track whether campaign promises are fulfilled?

Can youth organisations influence legislative priorities, public budgets, and local development plans?

Are political parties willing to give younger members substantive responsibilities, or are they primarily interested in their ability to attract other young voters?

These questions require evidence rather than assumptions about individual politicians or parties. Political participation varies across institutions, communities, and elections. Some young Nigerians hold public office, organise civic initiatives, participate in political parties, and influence public debate.

Their work matters.

But the existence of successful young political actors does not automatically establish that the broader generation is adequately represented.

The same principle applies in every field: exceptional access for a few is not the same as meaningful access for many.

Nigeria’s youth population is frequently described as an advantage. That advantage, however, cannot be realised merely because many citizens are young.

It depends partly on whether institutions make room for their participation, whether public resources support their development, and whether they can influence decisions that determine their opportunities.

A youthful population is a demographic fact.

Turning that fact into shared prosperity requires political choices.

And those choices should not be made without the people whose lives they will shape.

5. The Young Person in the Room Is Not the Same as the Young Person Outside It

Suppose an institution successfully recruits a young person into a leadership position.

They attend meetings, contribute ideas, and become part of a team responsible for making decisions.

This is progress.

But representation raises another question: what happens to the relationship between the representative and the people they are supposed to represent?

It is possible for a young person to gain access to power without creating greater access for other young people.

Once inside an institution, they may discover that its rules, expectations, and professional culture reward certain forms of behaviour. They may be expected to demonstrate loyalty, maintain confidentiality, support established priorities, and avoid challenging senior colleagues too openly.

Some of these expectations may be legitimate. Institutions cannot function without responsibilities, procedures, and professional standards.

But the pressure to fit into an institution can sometimes make it difficult to challenge the assumptions that institution was established to uphold.

The representative may begin by questioning why certain decisions are made. Over time, they may learn which questions receive polite responses and which create tension. They may become more cautious about challenging influential colleagues. They may discover that advancing a small proposal is easier than questioning the larger system.

This does not mean every young person who enters leadership becomes compromised.

It means that access alone does not eliminate the pressures associated with power.

A young representative may sincerely want to improve conditions for their peers but find that their influence depends on relationships with people who do not share all their priorities.

They may have to choose between maintaining access and risking exclusion by raising difficult questions.

They may be expected to demonstrate that they are responsible, mature, and professional by behaving in ways that are comfortable for established leaders.

The result can be a subtle transformation.

Instead of bringing the concerns of young people into the institution, the representative may gradually begin explaining the institution’s concerns to young people.

Again, there is nothing inherently wrong with explaining constraints. Effective representation requires understanding what can realistically be achieved and communicating honestly about limitations.

The problem arises when explaining constraints becomes the primary function of the representative, while challenging them becomes increasingly difficult.

At that point, the young person may still occupy a seat at the table, but the relationship between that seat and the wider community becomes less clear.

This is why accountability matters.

A representative should have ways to hear from the people they represent, explain decisions, report progress, and acknowledge disagreements.

The public should be able to distinguish between a representative who independently advocates for a community and someone whose title merely suggests that they do.

Young people also need opportunities to participate without being required to agree with every decision made by their representatives.

No generation speaks with one voice. Disagreement is inevitable. It should not automatically be treated as evidence that representation has failed.

In fact, open disagreement can reveal that a community is being taken seriously enough to debate its priorities.

The goal is not to produce a single spokesperson who can deliver a convenient, unified message about what young people want.

The goal is to create a system in which young people can express different views, challenge those who claim to represent them, and influence the decisions that affect their lives.

That is a much more demanding standard.

It is also a more honest one.

6. Education: Who Decides What Young People Need to Learn?

Education is often described as one of the most important investments a society can make in its future.

Schools and universities are expected to develop knowledge, strengthen critical thinking, prepare students for employment, support social mobility, and equip young people to participate in civic life.

Yet education is also an area where young people can spend years inside a system without having much influence over how that system is designed.

Students are expected to attend classes, complete assignments, meet deadlines, pass examinations, and demonstrate that they have acquired the required knowledge.

These expectations are not unreasonable. Learning requires effort, structure, and assessment.

But students also possess knowledge about the effectiveness of the systems in which they learn.

They know when course materials are difficult to access. They experience the consequences of overcrowded classrooms, unreliable facilities, and limited academic support. They understand the pressures created by the cost of accommodation, transportation, textbooks, data, and other educational expenses.

They also encounter the gap that can exist between what they learn and what they are expected to do after graduation.

The important question is whether their experiences meaningfully influence educational decisions.

When universities review their programmes, how much weight is given to students’ experiences?

When institutions decide which facilities to prioritise, are students involved in identifying the most urgent needs?

When governments discuss educational reform, are young people consulted about the practical consequences of proposed changes?

When employers complain that graduates lack particular skills, are students and recent graduates included in discussions about how those skills should be developed?

These questions are especially important because education is not simply a service delivered to passive recipients.

Students are participants in the learning process. Their experiences can help institutions understand whether policies work as intended.

Consider the growing emphasis on digital skills.

Young people are frequently encouraged to learn coding, data analysis, digital marketing, artificial intelligence, and other technology-related skills.

These fields can provide valuable opportunities. Digital literacy is increasingly important across many industries, and access to relevant training can improve a person’s ability to pursue work, build a business, or participate in public life.

But digital education also depends on material conditions.

A student cannot reliably complete online training without appropriate access to a device, electricity, and internet connectivity. Someone who must share a phone with family members may struggle to complete the same assignments as a student with a personal laptop and a stable connection.

A person may be able to access free educational materials but still face examination fees, certification costs, transportation expenses, or the cost of attending an interview after completing a programme.

A student may acquire technical skills without having access to the networks through which employers advertise opportunities.

If these realities are ignored, digital-skills programmes risk measuring participation without adequately measuring whether participants can use what they learn.

The problem is not that young people should be exempt from responsibility for their education.

It is that educational systems should be designed with a realistic understanding of the circumstances in which learning occurs.

There is also a deeper question about what education is for.

Is the purpose of education primarily to produce employable workers? Should it also develop citizens capable of questioning public institutions, evaluating information, understanding history, and participating in democratic life?

Should universities prioritise immediate labour-market needs, or should they also preserve disciplines whose value cannot be measured solely through short-term earnings?

How should educational institutions respond when industries change faster than curricula?

And who gets to answer these questions?

Governments, educators, employers, researchers, and professional bodies all have legitimate roles in shaping education. But students and recent graduates should not be treated as incidental participants in discussions about the systems that will shape their opportunities.

They are among the people most directly affected by educational policy.

Their involvement can help institutions identify gaps between formal objectives and lived experiences, understand emerging needs, and evaluate whether reforms are achieving their intended outcomes.

It can also encourage a more honest discussion about responsibility.

Students may need to develop stronger skills, but institutions must provide credible opportunities to acquire them. Employers may need better-prepared workers, but they should also examine whether their recruitment expectations are realistic. Governments may promote innovation, but they must consider whether the infrastructure required for innovation is available.

Education cannot prepare young people for the future if the people designing it refuse to listen to the students living through it.

7. The Employment Conversation: Are We Preparing Young People or Preparing Them to Accept Less?

Few issues reveal the tension between individual responsibility and institutional responsibility as clearly as employment.

Young people are regularly advised to become more employable.

They are told to improve their CVs, build professional networks, acquire additional qualifications, learn digital skills, develop communication abilities, and maintain a positive attitude.

These recommendations can be useful. Recruitment processes are competitive, and people often benefit from learning how to present their skills effectively.

But the language of employability can become misleading when it suggests that unemployment is primarily a personal failure.

If someone has spent years acquiring education and skills but cannot find suitable work, the explanation may involve more than their individual choices.

It may reflect limited job creation, economic uncertainty, skills mismatches, geographic barriers, discriminatory recruitment practices, insufficient industrial development, or the concentration of opportunities in particular sectors and locations.

Different people experience these problems differently, and no single explanation accounts for every case.

Nevertheless, the broader point remains: a labour market is shaped by institutions, investment, public policy, and employer decisions. It cannot be repaired entirely through individual self-improvement.

This becomes especially important when young people are encouraged to accept unpaid internships, low wages, unstable contracts, or working conditions that make financial independence difficult.

Not every entry-level position can offer a high salary. Organisations have budgets, and people sometimes accept temporary compromises while gaining experience.

But there is a difference between a temporary opportunity that provides genuine training and a position that relies on a worker’s need for experience to justify offering little compensation.

There is a difference between learning on the job and being expected to perform substantial work without fair recognition.

There is a difference between an internship that opens a credible path to employment and a cycle of unpaid placements that makes it harder for people without financial support to enter a profession.

When young workers raise concerns about wages or conditions, they may be told to be grateful for the opportunity.

Gratitude, however, is not a labour policy.

Nor should the desire to gain experience require someone to ignore their basic financial needs.

The conversation becomes particularly complicated in countries where formal employment opportunities are limited and many young people must combine several activities to earn a living.

A person may work in retail during the day, create digital content in the evening, sell products online, and pursue professional certifications at weekends.

Another may run a small business while searching for formal employment.

These arrangements can demonstrate initiative and creativity. They can also reflect the difficulty of securing a single source of income sufficient to cover ordinary expenses.

The same behaviour can be both entrepreneurial and exhausting.

Yet public discussions often focus on the inspiring side of this reality.

Young people are celebrated for their side hustles, their ability to multitask, and their willingness to build something from nothing.

Less attention may be paid to what happens when the constant need to earn prevents them from resting, developing deeper expertise, pursuing further education, or planning for the long term.

A society should be able to celebrate entrepreneurship without making financial instability appear glamorous.

It should encourage ambition without suggesting that exhaustion is proof of commitment.

And it should promote skills development while asking employers and policymakers what kinds of opportunities are actually available to people who acquire those skills.

The employment question is not simply whether young people are ready for work.

It is also whether the economy is creating enough decent work, whether opportunities are accessible, and whether the terms of employment allow people to build stable lives.

Young people must have a voice in these discussions because they are not merely future workers waiting to enter the economy.

They are already working, searching, creating, paying expenses, supporting families, and making decisions about whether to remain in particular industries or countries.

Their experiences should help shape the policies intended to support them.

Otherwise, society risks creating a strange arrangement in which young people are expected to take responsibility for their employability while having limited influence over the conditions of their employment.

8. The Cost of Becoming an Adult

Adulthood is often described as a milestone.

You finish school. You find work. You earn money. You move out. You become independent. You begin building the life you want.

The sequence sounds straightforward when presented as a list.

In reality, each step depends on conditions that may be outside an individual’s control.

Finding work depends partly on the availability of jobs. Moving out depends on income and housing costs. Becoming financially independent depends on wages, expenses, family responsibilities, and access to opportunities.

The transition into adulthood is therefore not only a personal journey.

It is also an economic experience shaped by the society in which a person lives.

For many young people, independence has become a complicated negotiation between aspiration and affordability.

They may want to move out but struggle to afford rent and the associated costs of setting up a home. They may want to save money but find that transportation, food, utilities, and family obligations consume most of their income. They may want to pursue further education but need to work to support themselves.

Some remain in the family home because it is financially sensible. Others live with relatives or share accommodation to reduce expenses. Some move abroad in search of opportunities. Others build businesses or pursue remote work in an attempt to earn more.

None of these choices necessarily indicates failure.

The problem is the way economic circumstances can be transformed into moral judgments about young people’s character.

A young adult who still lives with their parents may be described as immature.

Someone who cannot afford to buy a car may be accused of lacking ambition.

A person who has not secured a prestigious job may be considered unsuccessful.

A young woman who chooses not to marry early may be criticised for prioritising her career. A young man who cannot yet provide the lifestyle expected of him may feel that he has failed to meet an obligation he was taught to associate with adulthood.

These judgments often ignore the material conditions under which people are making decisions.

They treat independence as though it were achieved through determination alone, rather than through a combination of effort, opportunity, resources, and circumstances.

This is not to deny that personal choices matter. Financial planning, professional development, patience, and sound decision-making can make a meaningful difference.

But advice becomes less useful when it ignores the realities to which it is being applied.

Telling a young person to save more does not explain how they should do so when their essential expenses consume nearly all their earnings.

Encouraging someone to buy property does not address the relationship between wages, property prices, and access to financing.

Advising young people to avoid debt is sensible in many circumstances, but it does not resolve the fact that some must borrow to pay for education, business expenses, or emergencies.

The question is not whether young people should make responsible decisions.

It is whether society is creating conditions in which responsible decisions can realistically lead to greater stability.

This is also a representation issue.

When governments and institutions make decisions about housing, taxation, transport, wages, education, and social support, do they consider how these policies interact during the early years of adulthood?

Do they understand the practical difference between earning an income and having enough disposable income to build a future?

Are young people involved in defining what financial independence should mean under contemporary economic conditions?

Or are they expected to follow an older model of adulthood that may no longer correspond to their circumstances?

A generation cannot be expected to inherit the same life trajectory as its predecessors when the economic conditions surrounding that trajectory have changed.

If housing becomes less affordable relative to earnings, the transition into independent living may take longer.

If stable employment becomes more difficult to secure, people may delay decisions that depend on predictable income.

If education costs rise, the financial consequences of entering adulthood may extend well beyond graduation.

These changes deserve serious examination rather than automatic comparisons with how previous generations lived.

Young people should not be told that they are failing to become adults when the practical requirements of adulthood are becoming harder to meet.

They should be involved in discussions about what needs to change.

Because the cost of becoming an adult is not simply the amount of money required to pay the bills.

It also includes the opportunities people postpone, the choices they abandon, the responsibilities they carry, and the uncertainty they must learn to manage.

9. Climate Change: Who Inherits the Consequences?

Few questions expose the generational dimension of public decision-making as clearly as climate change.

Climate policy involves decisions about energy, transport, agriculture, industrial development, land use, infrastructure, and economic growth.

These decisions affect people across all age groups, but their long-term consequences may be experienced differently by people who will live with them for decades.

A young person entering adulthood today may experience the effects of climate-related changes over a much longer period than someone nearing the end of their working life.

That does not mean older people are unaffected or that young people are automatically more knowledgeable about climate policy.

It means that the distribution of risks across time should be part of the conversation.

Decisions made today can influence the environmental conditions in which future generations live, the infrastructure available to them, and the resources they may need to manage climate-related challenges.

Young people have reasons to care about these decisions beyond the fact that they are often described as climate activists.

They may be farmers whose livelihoods depend on weather patterns. They may live in communities vulnerable to flooding or coastal erosion. They may work in sectors affected by changing energy policies. They may be students concerned about environmental degradation or residents who experience extreme heat and unreliable access to essential services.

Their experiences vary considerably.

A young person in a community facing flooding may prioritise drainage, housing, and disaster preparedness. A young farmer may be more immediately concerned about changing rainfall patterns, agricultural productivity, and access to irrigation. A young worker in an energy-dependent industry may worry about whether the transition to cleaner energy will threaten their livelihood.

These concerns can overlap, but they may also create difficult choices.

Climate policy must account for environmental protection while considering employment, affordability, infrastructure, and economic development.

The question is not whether young people should automatically determine the answer.

It is whether their perspectives are included when the trade-offs are discussed.

Climate activism has made young people highly visible in international debates. Youth-led campaigns have challenged governments, corporations, and international institutions to respond more seriously to environmental risks.

But visibility again raises the question of influence.

Do young activists have access to the processes where binding decisions are made?

Can they influence national climate plans, public investment, and environmental regulation?

Are young people from vulnerable communities included in consultations, or are discussions dominated by those who have the resources to travel to major conferences?

Do policymakers explain how youth recommendations were considered?

And are the people most exposed to environmental risks given the same opportunities to participate as those who can speak about the issue from a position of relative security?

Climate representation cannot be reduced to placing a young activist on a conference panel.

It requires examining who is involved in designing policies, whose knowledge is valued, and how decisions account for the people who will experience their consequences.

There is also a danger in using young people as symbols of future responsibility while failing to provide them with meaningful influence over present decisions.

Young people are frequently told that they must protect the planet for future generations.

That is a reasonable moral concern.

But they should not be expected to compensate through individual lifestyle choices for every failure of infrastructure, regulation, or industrial policy.

Recycling, reducing waste, conserving resources, and making informed consumption choices can matter. Yet the effectiveness of individual action depends partly on the systems within which people live.

Someone cannot use reliable public transportation if it is unavailable. A household cannot easily choose a cleaner energy source if it is inaccessible or unaffordable. A community cannot protect itself from flooding through individual discipline alone when drainage infrastructure and land-use decisions are involved.

Responsibility must be considered at multiple levels.

Individuals have responsibilities. Businesses have responsibilities. Governments have responsibilities. Institutions that influence investment and development have responsibilities.

Young people should participate in defining how those responsibilities are distributed.

They are not merely inheritors of environmental consequences.

They are citizens with legitimate interests in how those consequences are prevented, managed, and shared.

10. Technology Is Shaping Young People’s Lives. Are Young People Shaping Technology?

Technology has changed how young people communicate, learn, work, entertain themselves, build businesses, and participate in public life.

Digital platforms allow people to access information, create communities, share ideas, and reach audiences beyond their immediate surroundings.

For young Nigerians, digital spaces can provide access to opportunities that were once difficult to reach. Someone can learn from international educators, showcase creative work to a global audience, promote a business through social media, or collaborate with people in other countries without relocating.

These possibilities are significant.

But technology is not a neutral environment in which every user has equal power.

Digital platforms are governed by decisions about algorithms, moderation, advertising, data collection, content distribution, monetisation, and access.

These decisions influence what people see, which creators gain visibility, how businesses reach customers, and how users experience online communities.

Young people may be among the most active participants in these environments without having much influence over how the platforms themselves are governed.

A creator can spend years building an audience only to discover that a change in platform rules has reduced their reach.

A small business may depend on an online marketplace whose fees, visibility rules, or account restrictions it cannot control.

A young person may share personal information without fully understanding how it could be collected, analysed, or used.

An online community may become a source of support while also exposing its members to harassment, manipulation, scams, or harmful misinformation.

These experiences raise questions about digital power.

Who determines the rules of the spaces where young people spend their time?

How transparent are those rules?

What rights do users have when their accounts are suspended, their content is removed, or their personal information is misused?

Can young people influence the policies governing the technologies they rely on?

And what responsibilities do technology companies have toward the communities whose participation creates value for their platforms?

Artificial intelligence makes these questions even more urgent.

AI systems can influence hiring, education, customer service, content production, research, and access to information. They can help people perform tasks more efficiently, but they can also reproduce errors, reflect biases, or make consequential decisions without sufficient transparency.

For young people entering the labour market, AI may change the skills employers value and the kinds of work available.

For students, it raises questions about learning, assessment, academic integrity, and access to educational support.

For creators, it raises questions about ownership, compensation, originality, and the use of existing work to train technological systems.

For people who rely on automated services, it raises questions about fairness, accountability, and the ability to challenge decisions.

These are not merely technical issues.

They are questions about rights, opportunities, and power.

Young people should be involved in discussions about how AI is introduced into schools, workplaces, public services, and creative industries because they will experience many of its consequences during the early stages of their careers and adult lives.

But involving young people does not mean assuming that every young person understands AI or that every young person supports the same approach to technological development.

Meaningful participation requires access to information, opportunities to ask questions, and mechanisms for influencing policy.

It also requires acknowledging that digital access is unequal.

Some young people have powerful devices, reliable internet connections, and the ability to experiment with new technologies. Others have limited connectivity, little access to digital training, or jobs that cannot easily be performed online.

A future shaped by technology can widen opportunities while also deepening existing inequalities.

Whether it does one or both depends partly on the decisions made by governments, educators, employers, developers, and communities.

The people affected by these decisions should not be expected to simply adapt after the rules have already been established.

They should have opportunities to help shape the rules themselves.

11. The Internet Gives Young People a Voice. Does It Give Them Power?

If formal institutions have often struggled to include young people meaningfully, digital platforms have created alternative spaces for expression.

Social media allows people to discuss public policy, challenge public figures, organise campaigns, document injustice, share personal experiences, and build communities around common interests.

A person who has never met a policymaker can publicly question a government decision. Someone living outside a major city can share experiences with people across the country. A young creator can explain a social issue to thousands of people without waiting for a newspaper or television station to offer them a platform.

This expansion of expression matters.

It can challenge established narratives, bring neglected issues into public discussion, and help people recognise that experiences they once considered private may reflect wider social problems.

Digital spaces can also make public institutions more visible to scrutiny.

A public statement can be compared with previous promises. A video can document an incident. A campaign can encourage people to request explanations from officials.

Yet the existence of these possibilities should not lead us to confuse the ability to speak with the ability to influence decisions.

A post can attract thousands of comments without producing an institutional response.

A hashtag can trend without changing a policy.

A public figure can acknowledge criticism without altering their behaviour.

A young person can become widely recognised for discussing a problem while the problem itself remains unresolved.

Visibility can create pressure, but pressure does not always produce change.

There is also the question of what happens to public discussion when platforms reward attention more consistently than accuracy, depth, or accountability.

Complex problems are difficult to explain in a short video. A nuanced argument may attract less attention than a provocative statement. A carefully qualified observation may be less shareable than an accusation presented with complete certainty.

The result can be a public conversation that is emotionally intense but institutionally weak.

People may know that something is wrong without agreeing on what should replace it.

They may agree that a problem deserves attention but disagree about its causes.

They may become skilled at identifying hypocrisy without developing the collective organisation required to pursue reform.

None of this means that social media activism is useless.

It means that its strengths should not be mistaken for the entirety of political participation.

Digital platforms are effective at helping people communicate quickly, share information, mobilise attention, and create networks.

Sustained institutional change may also require legal processes, organised advocacy, policy proposals, negotiation, funding, public accountability, and long-term engagement.

Different forms of participation serve different purposes.

The challenge is to connect the energy of online communities with mechanisms capable of translating public concerns into decisions.

This requires institutions that respond to criticism rather than merely monitoring it.

It requires public officials who explain decisions, provide evidence, and remain accountable after a controversy disappears from social media.

It requires organisations that help people move from shared frustration to coordinated action.

It also requires young people to have access to reliable information about the systems they are attempting to influence.

The internet has made it easier for young people to speak.

The next question is whether institutions are willing to listen in ways that carry consequences.

And perhaps an even more uncomfortable question is whether society has become so accustomed to watching young people express themselves online that it treats expression as a substitute for participation.

If young people can complain publicly but cannot meaningfully influence the conditions they are complaining about, their voices may be visible without being powerful.

That is not the same as being represented.

12. The Politics of Being Heard: Whose Anger Is Considered Legitimate?

Young people are frequently encouraged to participate in civic life, but the acceptability of their participation may depend on how they express themselves.

A young person who raises concerns politely in a formal meeting may be praised for being articulate and mature.

A young person who publicly challenges an institution may be described as disrespectful.

A group that submits a carefully written proposal may be welcomed into a consultation.

A group that organises a disruptive protest may be criticised for being impatient or confrontational.

Of course, methods of protest can be debated. Public demonstrations can raise legitimate concerns about safety, disruption, and the rights of other people. Institutions also have responsibilities to maintain public order and respond to unlawful conduct.

But these considerations should not become automatic reasons to dismiss the underlying concerns being expressed.

The form of a message and the substance of a message are not the same thing.

A complaint does not become invalid simply because it is delivered angrily. A protest does not become unnecessary simply because its demands inconvenience powerful people. A young person does not lose the right to participate in public life because they express frustration in a way that is less polished than an institutional press release.

The demand that young people always remain calm, respectful, and patient can sometimes create an unfair standard.

It suggests that the people experiencing a problem must demonstrate perfect composure before their experiences deserve serious consideration.

Meanwhile, the institutions responsible for addressing those problems may face fewer expectations to respond with urgency.

This imbalance matters because anger can communicate something important about how people experience their circumstances.

It can reflect frustration with repeated failures, broken promises, exclusion, or the feeling that ordinary channels of communication have produced little change.

Anger is not automatically evidence that a person is correct. It can be based on incomplete information or lead to harmful conclusions.

But neither is it automatically evidence that a person is unreasonable.

The appropriate response is to examine the concern, establish the facts, consider the proposed remedy, and assess whether the institution has fulfilled its responsibilities.

Dismissing the person expressing the concern because of their tone avoids that work.

It is also worth recognising that young people are not the only participants who express frustration, use confrontational language, or make mistakes during public debate.

The difference is that young people may find their credibility questioned through assumptions about immaturity.

Their criticism can be interpreted as evidence that they lack experience rather than as a contribution that deserves examination.

Their disagreement can be described as impatience rather than a challenge to an inadequate process.

Their demands can be treated as unrealistic before anyone has seriously assessed what implementing them would require.

This creates a difficult contradiction.

Young people are encouraged to become active citizens, but they may be expected to participate only in ways that do not significantly inconvenience established power.

They are invited to speak, provided their speech does not become too difficult to ignore.

A genuinely democratic approach must allow for disagreement, criticism, and uncomfortable questions.

It must also establish reasonable boundaries, protect the rights of others, and distinguish between legitimate dissent and harmful conduct.

The goal is not to make every demand acceptable.

It is to ensure that demands are evaluated on their merits rather than dismissed because of the age or emotional state of the people making them.

Young people should be able to challenge institutions without having to prove that they are unusually polite before their concerns can be heard.

13. Who Speaks for Young People Who Cannot Speak Publicly?

There is a group often missing from discussions about youth representation: young people who cannot safely or comfortably participate in public conversations.

Some are afraid of retaliation.

Others lack access to the platforms where discussions happen. Some have disabilities that make existing participation processes inaccessible. Others do not speak the dominant language used in official consultations or lack the time and resources required to participate.

There are also young people who simply do not trust the institutions asking for their opinions.

That distrust may have different causes. Someone may have previously participated in a consultation without seeing any results. Another person may believe their views will be judged unfairly. Someone else may worry that sharing personal experiences could expose them to discrimination or unwanted attention.

Their silence should not automatically be interpreted as consent.

Nor should it be assumed that they have nothing to contribute.

Traditional methods of consultation often favour people who can speak confidently in public, complete formal documents, attend meetings, or explain their experiences in ways that institutions find familiar.

These methods can exclude people whose knowledge is equally important but expressed differently.

A young person may find it easier to share their experiences through a confidential survey than during a public meeting.

Someone else may communicate more effectively through a community organisation that has already earned their trust.

A person with limited literacy may prefer an oral interview. A young person with a disability may require accessible materials, interpretation, or additional time to participate.

Someone living in a rural community may need transportation support before attending a consultation.

These are not special privileges that undermine the legitimacy of participation.

They are practical adjustments that help make participation possible.

If an institution genuinely wants to understand a population, it must consider whether its methods of consultation are accessible to the people it hopes to hear from.

This also raises questions about privacy and consent.

Young people should not be required to disclose sensitive personal experiences publicly simply to demonstrate that a problem exists. They should not be expected to become symbols of hardship or provide emotionally compelling stories for institutional reports.

Their experiences can inform policy without turning their personal lives into public property.

Researchers, journalists, advocacy organisations, and policymakers all have responsibilities to represent people’s experiences accurately and respectfully.

That means obtaining appropriate consent, protecting confidentiality where necessary, explaining how information will be used, and avoiding exaggerated claims that make individual stories appear to represent everyone.

It also means acknowledging uncertainty.

One person’s experience may reveal an important problem without establishing how common that problem is. A survey may identify a pattern without explaining every cause. Statistical evidence may reveal broad trends while failing to capture the circumstances of particular communities.

Good representation combines these forms of knowledge carefully.

It does not force people to choose between having their experiences ignored and having their experiences exposed.

A society that wants to hear from young people must create more than opportunities to speak.

It must create conditions in which speaking is safe, accessible, worthwhile, and capable of influencing decisions.

And when people cannot participate directly, institutions must find responsible ways to understand their circumstances without pretending that an outsider can perfectly speak on their behalf.

14. The Danger of Speaking for People Without Listening to Them

There is an understandable temptation to speak on behalf of people who appear to lack power.

A policymaker may believe they know what young people need. A parent may want to protect a child from decisions they consider unwise. An organisation may develop a programme intended to help a community. A journalist may write about a group whose experiences deserve greater public attention.

These efforts can be well intentioned.

But good intentions do not guarantee accurate representation.

The problem begins when the desire to help becomes a reason to assume that the people being helped do not need to be consulted.

An organisation may design a programme around what it believes young people lack rather than what they say they need.

A government may introduce a training scheme because it assumes unemployment is primarily caused by insufficient skills, without investigating whether suitable jobs are available.

A school may establish rules intended to improve student behaviour without considering whether those rules address the actual causes of the problems being observed.

A community initiative may focus on providing resources while overlooking the barriers that prevent people from using them.

The intervention may produce some benefits. It may even address a genuine need.

But without meaningful participation, it risks solving a problem as understood by the institution rather than the problem as experienced by the people concerned.

This distinction is central to responsible development.

Before deciding what a community needs, institutions should establish what people are experiencing, how they understand the problem, what solutions they have already attempted, and what barriers they believe must be addressed.

That does not mean every preference must be accepted without scrutiny.

People can disagree about priorities. They may request solutions that are impractical, unaffordable, or harmful to others. Public resources are limited, and policymakers must consider competing needs.

But those constraints are reasons for transparent discussion, not reasons to exclude people from the process.

A government can explain why a particular proposal cannot be funded while still treating the people who proposed it with respect.

An institution can reject a recommendation while explaining the evidence and reasoning behind its decision.

A school can establish rules while creating opportunities for students to question how those rules operate.

Meaningful participation does not guarantee agreement.

It makes disagreement more accountable.

There is also a distinction between consultation and consent.

Asking people for their opinions does not necessarily mean they have approved a proposal. Listening to a community does not automatically grant an institution permission to proceed as it wishes.

In some circumstances, particularly where rights, displacement, land, privacy, or vulnerable populations are involved, the relevant legal and ethical standards may require more than general consultation.

The details depend on the context.

The broader principle remains that people affected by decisions should not be treated merely as objects of intervention.

They are participants with knowledge, interests, rights, and the capacity to disagree.

If the future is being built in their name, their involvement must extend beyond allowing other people to describe what is best for them.

15. The Media’s Role: Who Gets to Define the Youth Narrative?

Representation does not happen only in government offices or boardrooms.

It also happens through the stories society tells about young people.

News organisations, entertainment platforms, social media creators, advertisers, educational institutions, and cultural commentators all influence how the public understands younger generations.

These stories can expand people’s understanding of young lives. They can challenge stereotypes, document injustice, highlight creativity, and reveal experiences that might otherwise remain invisible.

They can also reduce complex realities to convenient narratives.

Young people are sometimes portrayed as lazy, entitled, impatient, distracted, or unwilling to work hard.

At other times, they are presented as exceptionally innovative, technologically gifted, entrepreneurial, and destined to transform society.

These descriptions appear contradictory, but they share a weakness.

Both can treat young people as a category to be explained rather than individuals whose experiences deserve careful examination.

The negative narrative often interprets young people’s difficulties as character flaws.

If a young person struggles to find employment, the explanation becomes laziness.

If they question established institutions, they are disrespectful.

If they cannot afford the lifestyle associated with adulthood, they lack discipline.

If they use social media to discuss their experiences, they are accused of seeking attention.

The positive narrative can be equally limiting.

If young people are celebrated primarily for their resilience, the conversation may focus on how they overcome obstacles rather than why those obstacles exist.

If they are praised for entrepreneurship, their financial instability may become a secondary concern.

If they are described as the most digitally advanced generation, institutions may assume they require less support in understanding technological risks.

If a young person becomes successful, their story may be used to suggest that everyone else can achieve similar results through determination.

In both cases, the diversity of young people’s experiences disappears behind a convenient message.

Media representation also raises questions about who is permitted to explain youth culture.

A journalist may interview young people but rely on an older expert to interpret what their answers mean.

A report may feature a young person in its opening paragraph before shifting attention to institutional perspectives.

A programme may celebrate youth creativity while giving young creators little control over how their work is presented.

These practices are not automatically inappropriate. Experts provide useful context, and journalists must verify claims rather than simply reproduce every statement made by an interviewee.

The issue is whether young people are treated as credible sources of knowledge about their own experiences.

Are their views included as substantive contributions, or are they used primarily to make a story more relatable?

Are their disagreements presented fairly?

Are the structural factors shaping their lives investigated, or is the story reduced to individual behaviour?

Do journalists distinguish between evidence and assumptions about what a generation thinks?

A responsible media approach should resist the temptation to portray young people as either the problem or the solution to every social challenge.

It should investigate the institutions, economic conditions, cultural expectations, and public policies that shape their experiences.

It should recognise young people as individuals with different interests and priorities.

And it should give them opportunities to contribute to the discussion without assuming that any single voice can represent an entire generation.

This responsibility extends to young creators and independent media platforms too.

Being young does not automatically make someone a reliable interpreter of every issue affecting young people. Personal experience is valuable, but it must be distinguished from broader evidence.

A creator can tell a compelling story while acknowledging that it represents one perspective.

A publication can raise uncomfortable questions while remaining careful about facts.

An article can challenge established narratives without inventing certainty where evidence is incomplete.

In fact, the most useful form of representation may be the one that refuses to pretend it has all the answers.

For a publication such as MadeInBlacc, this presents an important opportunity.

The stories of young people deserve to be documented not merely because they are young, but because their experiences reveal something about the society in which they live.

Their culture, work, ambitions, disappointments, relationships, and political concerns are not peripheral subjects.

They are part of the evidence needed to understand the present and make informed decisions about the future.

16. What About the Young People Who Do Not Want to Lead?

There is a particular expectation attached to youth participation that deserves closer examination.

Young people are encouraged to become leaders, founders, innovators, activists, and change-makers.

They are urged to start businesses, build movements, create solutions, and transform their communities.

These ambitions can be admirable.

But the language of leadership can become another burden when it implies that every young person must be exceptional to deserve a voice.

Not everyone wants to become a politician.

Not everyone wants to start a business.

Not everyone wants to lead an organisation, speak at conferences, build a public profile, or become a prominent activist.

Some people want stable employment, affordable housing, access to healthcare, time with their families, and enough financial security to make ordinary choices without constant anxiety.

Some want to pursue art without turning every creative interest into a business.

Some want to work in a profession they enjoy without becoming a public figure.

Others may want to participate in civic life without taking on the risks associated with visible activism.

These are legitimate aspirations.

A society that celebrates only exceptional achievement can unintentionally communicate that ordinary lives are insufficient.

The young person who establishes a successful company becomes a symbol of possibility. The person who quietly works, pays their bills, supports their family, and contributes to their community may receive little recognition.

Yet both have legitimate interests in the decisions shaping their lives.

This matters because participation should not be conditional on professional status, public recognition, or an impressive personal story.

A person should not need thousands of social media followers before their concerns about public transportation become relevant.

They should not need to found a startup before their opinions about employment policy are considered.

They should not need to win an award before their experiences of education, housing, or healthcare deserve attention.

The right to participate in decisions affecting one’s life should not depend on becoming an inspirational example.

There is also a danger in expecting young people to solve structural problems through individual innovation.

When public services fail, young entrepreneurs may be encouraged to create private alternatives.

When employment opportunities are limited, young people may be urged to start businesses.

When educational systems struggle, digital creators may develop informal learning resources.

These efforts can be valuable. Innovation often emerges when people identify needs that existing institutions have failed to address.

But the existence of creative solutions does not eliminate the responsibility of institutions to perform their own functions.

A young entrepreneur who develops a useful service is not automatically responsible for replacing an inadequate public system.

A community organisation that provides support does not remove the need for effective public services.

An individual who creates an educational platform cannot be expected to resolve every problem associated with access to quality education.

Innovation should complement institutional responsibility, not become a convenient excuse for its absence.

Young people should be free to contribute to the future in ways that reflect their interests and abilities.

They should not be required to become extraordinary merely to compensate for systems that fail to meet ordinary needs.

17. The Family Question: Are Young People Allowed to Imagine Different Futures?

The question of who gets to speak for the future is not confined to public institutions.

It also exists inside families, where expectations about education, careers, relationships, gender roles, money, and responsibility are often shaped across generations.

Parents and guardians may make enormous sacrifices to provide opportunities for their children. Their advice is often informed by experience, concern, and a genuine desire to protect younger family members from avoidable hardship.

In many households, those sacrifices are especially significant because families provide financial support that public institutions or other systems may not adequately supply.

A parent who insists that a child pursue a particular profession may believe they are helping them achieve stability.

A guardian who discourages a young person from taking a creative risk may be worried about the financial consequences.

A family that expects an adult child to contribute to household expenses may be responding to genuine economic needs.

These concerns deserve respect.

But family expectations can also create tensions when the world experienced by one generation differs substantially from the world confronting another.

A career that once provided reliable financial security may no longer offer the same opportunities.

A profession that parents understand may not align with the interests or abilities of their children.

A traditional expectation about marriage, independence, or gender roles may conflict with the circumstances in which young people are trying to build their lives.

The difficulty is that advice rooted in love can still become restrictive when it leaves no room for disagreement.

A young person may feel obligated to pursue a course they do not enjoy because their family has invested heavily in their education.

Someone may remain in an unsuitable job because leaving it would be interpreted as disrespecting the people who helped them secure it.

Another person may abandon a creative ambition because their family considers it financially irresponsible.

These decisions are rarely simple. Financial dependence, cultural expectations, family obligations, and personal ambitions can be deeply intertwined.

It would be unfair to assume that every family disagreement reflects an older generation refusing to listen.

Young people can underestimate risks. Parents can offer valuable perspectives. Compromise is often necessary when people share financial responsibilities or depend on one another.

The question is whether young people are permitted to contribute meaningfully to decisions about their own lives.

Can they explain how circumstances have changed?

Can they challenge assumptions without being accused of ingratitude?

Can they negotiate responsibilities while maintaining some control over their ambitions?

Can family members recognise that protecting a young person from every possible risk may also prevent them from developing independence?

Intergenerational understanding requires more than young people learning to respect their elders.

It also requires older people to recognise that experience does not provide complete knowledge of circumstances that did not exist when they were younger.

A parent may understand the value of education without fully understanding the current challenges of graduate employment.

An older relative may understand the importance of saving while underestimating how current housing and living costs affect a young adult’s ability to do so.

A family may value a particular career path without recognising how technological or economic changes have altered its prospects.

Listening across generations does not require abandoning tradition or dismissing experience.

It requires allowing new information to influence old assumptions.

And sometimes, the people best positioned to explain how the future is changing are those who are currently trying to enter it.

18. The Intergenerational Conflict Is Not Always About Age

It is tempting to interpret disagreements between young people and older generations as a simple struggle between the old and the new.

The younger generation wants change. The older generation wants to preserve the existing order.

Reality is more complicated.

Young people disagree with one another about politics, culture, religion, economics, and social expectations. Some support radical reform. Others prefer gradual change. Some value traditional institutions. Others want to replace them. Many hold different positions depending on the issue being discussed.

Older people are equally diverse.

Some actively support youth participation, mentor younger colleagues, challenge discriminatory systems, and campaign for reforms that may benefit people they will never meet.

Others may resist change because they benefit from existing arrangements, distrust unfamiliar approaches, or believe that their experience gives them stronger grounds for decision-making.

Age alone does not determine a person’s political outlook or willingness to share power.

This distinction matters because framing every disagreement as a generational conflict can obscure the actual interests involved.

A policy may be opposed not because its supporters are old, but because it threatens an economic advantage.

A reform may be delayed because an institution has weak accountability, not simply because its leadership is older.

A young person may defend an unfair system because they expect to benefit from it.

An older person may advocate change because they recognise that existing arrangements are failing.

The more useful question is not whether young and old people can agree on everything.

It is whether institutions allow people with different experiences and interests to participate fairly in decisions.

This includes asking who controls resources, who sets the agenda, who benefits from current arrangements, and who bears the costs when policies fail.

Generational language can sometimes make these questions easier to discuss.

It can also make them easier to avoid.

If every problem is blamed on a lack of understanding between age groups, structural inequalities may escape scrutiny.

A young worker and an older employer may disagree about wages because they occupy different economic positions, not simply because they belong to different generations.

A young tenant and an older property owner may have competing interests in housing policy.

A young entrepreneur and an established business may disagree about regulation because their businesses face different costs and constraints.

In these circumstances, asking everyone to understand one another is useful but insufficient.

The disagreement may require negotiation, regulation, redistribution, or changes in institutional rules.

Mutual respect cannot eliminate every conflict of interest.

It can, however, create better conditions for addressing those conflicts honestly.

The future young people inherit will be shaped by cooperation across generations, but cooperation should not mean pretending that everyone has equal power or identical interests.

It should mean recognising differences, establishing fair processes, and ensuring that those affected by decisions have meaningful opportunities to influence them.

19. Who Pays for Decisions Made Today?

Every major public decision distributes benefits, costs, and risks.

A government may choose to invest in one sector rather than another. An institution may prioritise one programme over a competing proposal. A company may adopt a technology that improves efficiency but changes the nature of its workforce.

These decisions can produce benefits in the short term while creating costs that emerge later.

This is one reason representation across generations matters.

People who make decisions are not always the people who experience the full consequences of those decisions.

A policy may generate immediate political benefits while creating long-term financial obligations.

An infrastructure project may provide short-term economic activity while creating environmental risks.

An organisation may reduce costs today by neglecting maintenance, training, or employee development, only to face larger problems in the future.

The same pattern can occur in education, healthcare, public finance, environmental management, and technology.

Young people may inherit the consequences of choices they had little opportunity to influence.

This does not mean that every decision must be judged according to the preferences of the youngest generation.

Public policy involves competing responsibilities across age groups. Governments must consider children, adults, older people, and future generations. Resources are limited, and decisions that benefit one group may impose costs on another.

The challenge is to ensure that these trade-offs are made transparently and fairly.

When public money is spent, citizens should be able to understand why particular priorities were selected.

When long-term projects are approved, decision-makers should consider their future costs and benefits.

When environmental risks are identified, institutions should explain how those risks will be managed.

When technological systems are introduced, the people affected should have access to information about how the systems work and how problems can be challenged.

Young people have a legitimate interest in these processes because they will live with many of their consequences.

They should not be treated as the only group that matters, but neither should they be treated as a group whose interests can always be postponed.

A useful question for decision-makers is this:

If the people making this decision had to live with its consequences for the next forty years, would they evaluate the options differently?

The question does not provide an automatic answer.

It encourages a longer view of responsibility.

It also challenges institutions to explain whether their decisions reflect the long-term interests of the public or primarily the short-term preferences of those currently in power.

Intergenerational fairness requires more than asking what future generations might need.

It requires examining what present generations are willing to protect, what they are willing to sacrifice, and whether the distribution of costs is defensible.

Young people should have a voice in that examination.

Not because they are always right about the future, but because excluding them removes important perspectives from decisions that will shape their lives.

20. The Problem With Youth Programmes That End at the Photograph

Many institutions demonstrate their commitment to young people through programmes, campaigns, workshops, competitions, fellowships, and conferences.

These initiatives can provide useful training, financial support, professional connections, and opportunities to participate in public life.

Some are genuinely transformative.

A scholarship may make education possible for someone who could not otherwise afford it. A business grant may help an entrepreneur expand. A mentorship programme may connect a graduate with professional opportunities. A youth advisory group may introduce perspectives that would otherwise be overlooked.

The existence of such programmes should not be dismissed.

But their effectiveness cannot be assessed solely through the number of participants, events held, certificates issued, or photographs published.

A programme may attract hundreds of young people without producing measurable improvements in their circumstances.

A training initiative may teach valuable skills without connecting participants to opportunities to use them.

A consultation may collect extensive feedback without explaining what happened to the recommendations.

A mentorship programme may create encouraging relationships without addressing the structural barriers that prevent participants from progressing.

The important question is not simply whether a programme took place.

It is whether it achieved its stated purpose.

This requires institutions to define success clearly before launching an initiative.

If a programme aims to improve employment prospects, how will that improvement be measured?

If it seeks to increase youth participation in public decision-making, what influence will participants have?

If it aims to support entrepreneurship, will it provide access to financing, markets, professional advice, or other resources that businesses need to survive?

If it promises to incorporate young people’s recommendations into policy, how will the public know which recommendations were accepted, modified, or rejected?

These questions are not attempts to discourage youth programmes.

They are necessary for distinguishing effective interventions from activities that mainly demonstrate good intentions.

Evaluation also requires honesty about limitations.

A short programme cannot resolve every structural problem. A training initiative may improve participants’ skills without creating new jobs. A consultation may identify important issues without possessing the authority or resources to implement solutions.

Institutions should be transparent about what they can achieve.

They should also explain what happens after a programme ends.

Do participants remain connected to the organisation?

Can they follow up on recommendations?

Are lessons learned used to improve future initiatives?

Is there evidence that the programme has produced benefits beyond the immediate event?

And are young participants able to provide feedback about what worked and what did not?

Too often, participation is treated as a completed activity rather than an ongoing relationship.

Young people attend a programme, provide their input, and return to their communities without knowing whether their contributions influenced anything.

The institution moves on to the next initiative.

The cycle repeats.

A more meaningful approach would treat youth engagement as part of the institution’s regular work rather than a temporary project designed to demonstrate commitment.

That means building relationships, providing feedback, tracking outcomes, and maintaining accountability.

It also means being willing to discover that a programme did not work as intended.

Institutions that learn from failure are better positioned to improve. Those that focus primarily on presenting success may continue repeating ineffective approaches because acknowledging shortcomings would undermine the image they wish to project.

Young people deserve more than invitations to participate in programmes.

They deserve initiatives that take their time seriously, use resources responsibly, and demonstrate a credible connection between participation and outcomes.

The meeting is over. The future is still being decided. Who is in the room now?