As we flip through the last pages of 2024, Bangladesh finds itself, once again, caught in its favourite hobby: a political game of musical chairs between some new and old players. The Awami League’s authoritarian waltz has been interrupted, the interim government is stumbling through like a fervent wedding DJ, and somewhere in the shadows, BNP waits, polishing its “comeback kid” routine. Amid this chaos, one thing has become glaringly obvious: Millennials and Gen Z aren’t just the audience anymore; they’re here preparing to rewrite the whole set from scratch. The July uprising was just the soup with a side of crispy wontons. The main course is yet to be served.
This year, the youth of Bangladesh proved that they’re more than just bystanders scrolling through their Instagram feeds handing out likes. When the streets filled with protests, they weren’t just out there holding placards; they were live-streaming democracy in action, combating even the internet blackout. These are the people who turned Dhaka’s streets into a full-blown episode of Black Mirror during the student protests; they rallied against the atrocities of the “decade of disappearance” while handing out water bottles and some solid graffities.
Though the older generations previously may have dismissed their efforts as fleeting or superficial, let’s not mistake their digital activism for passivity ever again. This is a generation that refuses to be defined by the failures of the past. They don’t have all the answers, but they’re asking the right questions—albeit with a side of sarcasm, a sprinkle of cynicism, and a whole lot of memes, because you know we all need the pookie-ness.
In a nation where leaders still argue about who owns 1971, Millennials and Gen Z are already debating 2071. They know the political dinosaurs of the Awami League and BNP don’t have the answers for Digital Bangladesh. They see Hasina-era authoritarianism as cancelled and extend cautious positivity to the Khaleda-era nostalgia, in hopes that BNP learns from their previous follies and rises from the ashes as the phoenix they claim to be.
Meanwhile, the interim government? Let’s just say it feels less like a bridge to the future and more like a rickety wooden plank. It’s functional, sure, but there’s no denying that it lacks the dynamism to address the systemic rot that brought us here. It’s the political equivalent of a power cut during a Dhaka summer—you’re sweating, you’re annoyed, and no one’s really sure when the lights will come back on or when the national elections will be underway.
So, what do these two generations of youth want? The answer is beautifully chaotic. Millennials want reform, but they’d like it delivered on time, like a Foodpanda order with better tracking, obviously. They dream of governance that works: an infrastructure that doesn’t collapse after two inches of rain, education that isn’t a glorified rat race, and job markets that value skill over nepotism. They’re tired of politicians acting like they’re doing us a favour just by showing up and doing their job.
Gen Z, on the other hand, don’t care about tiptoeing around the status quo. They’ll burn it down, but not before posting a well-edited video about it on TikTok. For them, the idea of blind allegiance to any party—Awami League, BNP, or the interim side characters—is laughable. They don’t want empty speeches or token gestures; they want accountability, transparency, and leaders who don’t think “consulting the youth” means setting up a Facebook poll.
These youth revolutionaries are nothing if not resourceful. Armed with Wi-Fi passwords and Canva templates, they’re ready to take over where the political system falters. An overpriced latte in hand, they have arrived to address the latches that have been leeching our economy for the past decade. Millennials and Gen Z may have different approaches, but both are determined to create a Bangladesh wherein getting things done doesn’t require sacrificing your sanity (or your soul).
Millennials, bless their hearts, will start by drafting polite, well-structured emails with subject lines like “Suggestions for Governance Reform“—complete with bulleted lists, footnotes, and maybe a TED Talk link for inspiration. They’ll propose five-year plans, schedule Zoom meetings, and patiently wait for their turn to speak, hoping someone in power still reads emails in 2024.
Gen Z, on the other hand, will take one look at those five-year plans and say, “Five years? Lol, no.” To them, diplomacy is just an unnecessary detour to get to the much-needed insurgency. They’ll plaster memes on TikTok and create hashtags so catchy that even the politicians they’re criticising will accidentally trend for it. Their version of a political movement comes with theme songs, merch, and maybe a diss track aimed at the establishment.
But here’s the thing—these two generations together are unstoppable. Millennials bring the detailed spreadsheets and PowerPoints; Gen Z brings the chaos and charisma. It’s like combining a long-term investment strategy with a cryptocurrency pump-and-dump—dangerous but oddly effective. Millennials temper Gen Z’s radical ideas with just enough logic. Gen Z are revving to make sure Millennials don’t die of boredom from writing another manifesto no one will read.
And what do they want for Bangladesh? Oh, nothing big—just a country that isn’t perpetually stuck in “buffering” mode. They dream of a government that functions as seamlessly as their Netflix subscriptions, where public debates aren’t just reruns of the same 1990s political soap operas, and wherein stepping out into Dhaka traffic doesn’t feel like auditioning for Fast & Furious 11.
As the year draws to a close, Millennials and Gen Z remind us that the future isn’t just coming—it’s already here. They’re not waiting for the older generation to step aside; they’re gently but firmly shoving them off stage. The question isn’t whether they’re ready. The real question is whether the country is ready for them.
So, here’s to 2024, the year our youth traded despair for determination, memes for movements, and silence for a seat at the table. The baton is now in their hands. Let’s hope they run with it—and maybe, just maybe, make this country the place we’ve always known it could be: our Shonar Bangla.
Barrister Noshin Nawal is an activist, feminist and a columnist with a knack for sharp, satirical takes on social and societal issues. She can be reached at [email protected].
daily star
