The lesson of the past few months is that today’s Gen Z are the young generation of yesteryear, unsatisfied with present conditions and eager to change the system into a utopian world with their new ideas. Connectivity has shattered cultural and geographical differences. This isn’t confined to India; Gen Z protests are widespread across 12 European countries, including France, Belgium, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Portugal. Media in these countries call it the Gen Z Autumn, and protesting students say they stay in touch: “We support each other because we’re facing pretty much the same threat: Education, housing, and inflation.”
Similar youth-led expressions of dissatisfaction have appeared in Nepal, Sri Lanka, Hong Kong, Thailand, Serbia, Indonesia, Kenya, and elsewhere. The digital world has accelerated Gen Z’s global connectivity almost everywhere—at home, while travelling, eating, or simply walking. Information is available instantly, but so are misinformation, deepfakes, manufactured outrage, and AI-generated propaganda.
Even when technology had not evolved, we saw examples in the past and in our lifetime. Every few decades, elders wake up to discover an angry young generation and promptly treat it as a new affliction. But youthful enthusiasm and a desire to create a new order are hardly new.
Imagine a Delhi University graduate, jobless and restless, walking home after a fiery session with friends at the coffee house. He turns to his father and asks, “Hamein aapne paida kyun kiya tha? Na naukri dila sakte hain, na kuch aur (Why did you bring us into this world if you can’t give us a job, or anything else?)”. That is precisely the moment Amitabh Bachchan has recalled on Kaun Banega Crorepati and in interviews. That same exasperation found its most unforgettable voice in the “angry young man” of Zanjeer and Deewaar, and Indian cinema was never the same again. The character crossed language and cultural borders, resurfacing in different guises across southern cinema.
I’ve seen that same generational gap firsthand. In the late ’80s, a batchmate at the Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi, was furious with his father because he wanted chemical engineering instead of civil. Ours was the age of Michael Jackson, breakdance, broad-collared shirts, and bell-bottoms. Today, my son, part of the Coldplay-band generation, asks a very different question: Why should police meet a student protest with force when a conversation could resolve it?
History is full of such generational gaps and clashes. The story of Prince Salim’s (Jahangir) passion for the courtesan Anarkali captures the eternal conflict between authority and his son: Akbar, who represented empire, order, and stability, and Salim, who represented change and self-assertion. Four centuries later, the throne has been replaced by career and life choices, but the core remains the same. Today, we measure success by stability; Gen Z measures it by self-expression and autonomy.
Were we all Gen Z in our own time? In one sense, yes. A different new soundtrack, but the same moral passion? Over time, culture, geography, religion, race, technology, and social circumstances have changed enormously.
Yet today’s Gen Z is different in one crucial respect: It is more connected and empowered than any previous generation. It is well-informed, technologically fluent, globally connected, and willing to express an opinion. A young Indian can engage instantly with events in another part of the world and, at the same time, think of India as one interconnected nation.
This shift is telling: We have a generation with energy, knowledge, high technology, and connectivity. As a major part of democracy, their views cannot be ignored or dismissed; their views must be respected. Recent protests—including those around alleged examination irregularities, unemployment, institutional accountability, and electoral processes—underline this indignation. They also reveal something deeper: Young citizens want institutions to respond faster, communicate better, and treat them fairly.
What distinguishes this generation is their agitation; they expect life to move at a certain speed. Gen Z tracks a parcel in real time but may be unwilling to wait months for a recruitment result, a grievance to be addressed, or an institutional response.
We need to understand and appreciate that their exasperation or restlessness is natural and part of growing up. It’s a generation gap, and perhaps this gap is the real source of disagreement. It will convert into indignation. Underpinning it all is a demand for fairness in the process and overnight improvement.
What should we do? We need to understand the world from their perspective. Algorithms often reward outrage over nuance, leaving young people divided, exhausted, and convinced that anger is the normal language of public life. The answer is better engagement.
We need trained negotiators who understand crowds and can de-escalate confrontation. We need psychologists, teachers, mentors, and professional communicators who understand young people not merely literally, but emotionally. Institutions must create credible, accessible platforms where young citizens can dissent without feeling unheard.
Procedural fairness should not be treated merely as a standard operating procedure. It is a psychological imperative. A citizen who believes the process was fair may accept an unfavourable outcome; one who feels ignored or humiliated may not.
Our policing and public institutions must also learn to communicate on the platforms and in the language where young people live. Authority can restore order on a street, and technology such as MESH (wireless mesh networks) can supplement it, but it can never replace human connectivity; only dialogue can win hearts and minds.
History repeatedly reminds us that resisting a generation’s legitimate demand for dignity is futile. The rebel prince Salim eventually became Emperor Jahangir—the establishment he had once challenged. Many protesters today are tomorrow’s administrators, lawmakers, entrepreneurs, and nation-builders, as we have seen in Nepal and other places.
A generation that is heard becomes a partner, a supporter of society, and a nation-builder; unheard youngsters, on the other hand, feel ignored and can turn their anxiety into something far more difficult to manage, as we have seen in the past and are witnessing today. ajaysinghal92ips@gmail.com
The writer is director general of police, Haryana. Views expressed are personal.