In June 2024, on the streets of Bangladesh, a movement was started by Gen Z - a term referring to the generation born roughly between 1997 and 2012. As expected, it began with online disappointments and discontent long before it was offline. Angered by joblessness, institutional collapses, and a corrupt political system, hundreds of thousands of students came out on the streets to topple the incumbent government - and they did so decisively, ousting Sheikh Hasina, forcing her to flee her home country and take refuge in India. Nineteen months later, when Bangladesh voted, the resilience on the street failed to translate into votes; the message probably was that the generation that can shake the state does not always control the ballot box.
The people of Bangladesh, of whom many supported the Gen Z uprising, chose legacy over energy. The National Citizen Party, born during the protests and led by young activists, won just six of the 30 seats it contested. And Tarique Rahman, son of former Prime Minister Khaleda Zia, returned after 17 years of exile, only to claim power. His party, the BNP won at least 212 out of 299 seats. The Islamist party, which literally grabbed power after Hasina’s exit, Jamaat-e-Islami and its allies won 77 seats.
A visible paradox - revolutionary energy without electoral ownership - is not unique to Bangladesh. It is the defining political question of Gen Z across democracies and semi-democracies alike.
In Bangladesh, Gen Z did what older opposition politics failed to do for years: it delegitimised power through mass mobilisation. Campuses became nerve centres, Telegram groups replaced party offices, and moral clarity replaced manifestos.
But elections are not protests with ballot papers. They reward organisation, legacy networks, booth management, caste or clan arithmetic - things Gen Z movements instinctively reject. The result: the “old guard” returned through the vote, while youth-driven formations struggled to convert street credibility into seats.
This is not failure. It is a phase. Gen Z is learning, painfully, that disruption is easier than governance - and that democracy still runs on institutions they do not yet control.
Gen Z seen as disruptors and revolutionists but not custodians…
Be it Bangladesh or Indonesia, Nepal, Madagascar or the United States, the pattern is similar. Gen Z does not arrive quietly into electoral politics - they storm in sideways, through digital platforms, social media protests, online boycotts, meme wars and moral pressure.
In Indonesia’s 2024 elections, Gen Z didn’t just vote - they changed the way campaigns run. TikTok, Instagram, Telegram and other social platforms hosted discussions and debates around jobs, the economy, and corruption. This digitalised movement was even capitalised by the legacy leaders, who also participated in online debate and discussions to mobilise and make the most of these fast-paced publicity tactics. But, when it came to elections, voting behaviour showed nuances. The polls were ‘seized’ by Prabowo Subianto -the fiery defence minister and his vice presidential running mate Gibran Rakabuming Raka – the eldest son of outgoing leader Joko Widodo.
In Nepal, something similar unfolded in September 2025. There was no announcement of a movement. No leader. No charter. It started online and then jumped into the streets, the way politics increasingly does now. Young people were already angry — about corruption cases that went nowhere, about degrees that didn’t lead to jobs, about prices rising faster than wages. The social media ban was not the cause so much as the moment when that anger spilled over.
Source: India Latest News, Breaking News Today, Top News Headlines | Times Now
