by Lillian Currie for The 44 North, Guest Writer

Young people are constantly criticized for being “too disconnected” from politics. Headlines often describe Generation Z as apathetic, distracted, or uninterested in civic engagement. Older generations frequently argue that young people spend more time scrolling through social media than paying attention to elections, policy, or democratic participation. Yet, this narrative ignores a much more important question: Why do so many young people feel disconnected from politics in the first place?

The issue is not that youth don’t care. In fact, young people are among the most vocal advocates for climate action, racial justice, affordability, education reform, mental health awareness, and human rights. Across the world, youth-led protests and online movements have demonstrated extraordinary passion and concern for social issues. What many young people struggle with isn’t not caring about politics, but believing politics genuinely cares about them in return. 

Increasingly, young people feel alienated from political systems that seem distant, performative, and unresponsive to their realities.

This growing divide between youth and politics has been shaped by several interconnected factors: Broken political promises, polarization, inaccessible political language, the overwhelming negativity of political discourse, and the influence of social media. Together, these forces have created a generation that often feels powerless rather than empowered. However, despite these challenges, youth disengagement isn’t inevitable. Young people consistently show that when they feel represented, informed, and valued, they’re willing to participate. Authentic leadership, civic education, grassroots activism, and meaningful representation can help rebuild trust between youth and political systems.

One of the largest misconceptions about young people is that they’re entirely uninterested in politics. In reality, many statistics show the opposite. According to Statistics Canada, 67% of Canadians aged 15 to 30 reported searching for information on a political issue online, while nearly half had signed an online petition related to social or political causes. Additionally, 37% reported boycotting or choosing products for ethical reasons. These numbers reveal that youth are not disconnected from issues affecting society. Instead, they’re engaging with politics in ways that often fall outside traditional systems like voting or party membership.

Young people have repeatedly been at the forefront of major social movements. The global climate movement, led in large part by youth activists, has pressured governments and corporations to take environmental concerns more seriously. Movements advocating for racial justice, Indigenous rights, LGBTQ+ equality, and mental health awareness have also been heavily driven by young organizers. According to a 2021 study from the Pew Research Centre, younger generations were significantly more likely than older adults to attend rallies, volunteer, donate, or contact officials regarding climate change. These actions demonstrate not apathy, but deep concern for the future.

However, while many youth care passionately about issues, they often feel ignored by political institutions themselves. One major reason for this disconnect is performative politics. Politicians frequently speak about supporting young people during campaigns, promising action on affordability, education, housing, or climate change. Yet many youth feel those promises rarely result in meaningful change. Rising tuition costs, increasingly unaffordable housing, and economic instability continue to impact younger generations. As a result, politics can begin to feel less like a system designed to represent people and more like a cycle of empty slogans repeated every election season.

This frustration is intensified by the fact that many young people feel their concerns are treated as secondary compared to the interests of older voters. Older generations historically vote at higher rates, making them a more reliable political demographic. Statistics Canada found that voter turnout among Canadians aged 18 to 30 was consistently lower than turnout among older adults, especially in municipal elections. Because political parties prioritize groups most likely to vote, young people may feel politically invisible. This creates a damaging cycle: Youth feel ignored, which discourages participation, and lower participation then leads politicians to focus even less on youth concerns.

Another major factor contributing to youth alienation is the increasingly polarised and hostile nature of political discourse. Politics today is often framed as constant conflict rather than collaborative problem-solving. On television and social media, political discussions frequently appear aggressive, divisive, and emotionally exhausting. Instead of encouraging participation, this environment can push young people away.

For many teenagers and young adults, politics is introduced not through meaningful civic education, but through online outrage. Social media platforms expose users to endless cycles of scandals, arguments, misinformation, and anger. Every day, young people encounter headlines predicting environmental collapse, threats to democracy, economic crisis, or attacks on human rights. While awareness is important, constant exposure to negativity can create emotional burnout. Politics begins to feel hopeless rather than empowering.

Growing up in the digital age has dramatically shaped how young people experience politics. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and X allow political information to spread rapidly, but they also reward emotional intensity and conflict. Algorithms often prioritize content that provokes anger, fear, or outrage because those emotions generate engagement. As a result, many youth are exposed to politics primarily through emotionally charged clips, arguments, or misinformation instead of thoughtful discussion or education.

This online environment can make politics feel performative rather than constructive. Politicians increasingly rely on viral moments and social media branding to connect with younger audiences. While some digital outreach can make politics more accessible, young people are often highly aware when attempts at relatability feel forced or insincere. Memes, trends, or simplified slogans cannot replace meaningful action. Young people want authenticity, not marketing strategies disguised as activism.

At the same time, schools often fail to provide strong civic education that explains how political systems actually function. Many students graduate with a limited understanding of how laws are passed, how local governments operate, or how ordinary citizens can influence change. Without this knowledge, politics can feel inaccessible and confusing. Complex political language, legal terminology, and institutional processes may seem intentionally designed to exclude ordinary people.

This educational gap leaves many young people feeling powerless. They are told voting matters, yet they’re rarely taught how broader civic engagement works beyond elections. Consequently, some youth conclude that individual participation cannot realistically create change. Feelings of powerlessness are especially common among marginalized youth who may already feel excluded from institutions due to race, class, gender identity, or economic barriers.

Personal lived experiences also shape how youth understand political and social systems. Throughout middle school, I often overheard predominantly white preteens casually calling their Black friends racist names such as “monkey” as a joke. At the time, I never had the courage to say anything, but those experiences stayed with me. They revealed how normalized prejudice and ignorance can become when people are not educated about the harm of their words. More importantly, it demonstrated why conversations about racial justice and political responsibility matter. Those preteens eventually enter high school, workplaces, and broader society, carrying those attitudes with them unless they are challenged. Silence around these issues only allows harmful behaviour to continue.

Experiences like these help explain why many young people care deeply about social justice issues while simultaneously feeling disconnected from formal politics. They see problems affecting their communities every day, yet political systems often appear slow, reactive, or unwilling to address them meaningfully. This disconnect creates frustration because youth are constantly told they are “the future,” while their present concerns are frequently dismissed.

Despite this alienation, there are many signs that young people are not giving up on democracy altogether. In fact, youth participation often increases when young people believe their voices genuinely matter. According to Elections Canada, voter turnout among Canadians aged 18 to 24 rose significantly in recent federal elections compared to earlier decades, showing that young people are more likely to participate when political issues feel urgent and personally relevant. Although youth turnout remains lower than that of older generations, the data suggest that engagement is possible when young people feel represented and believe their voices can create meaningful change.

Young people are also more likely to participate when leaders speak with them instead of talking down to them. Authentic representation matters deeply. Youth want leaders who understand the realities of student debt, housing insecurity, rising costs of living, discrimination, and online culture because they have experienced those challenges themselves. Younger candidates and grassroots organizers often generate excitement because they appear more relatable and connected to everyday concerns.

Community involvement and grassroots activism are especially powerful tools for rebuilding political engagement. Many youth feel more motivated to participate in local initiatives where they can directly see the impact of their actions. Volunteering, organizing community events, participating in protests, or advocating for local issues can make politics feel tangible rather than abstract. Research highlighted by organizations like Simon Fraser University’s Centre for Dialogue suggests that young people are often highly engaged civically, even if they don’t always participate through traditional political channels.

Improving civic education is another essential solution. Schools should teach not only how governments function, but also how students can participate in shaping their communities long before they’re old enough to vote. In Ontario, students take a “Civics and Careers” course in Grade 10, but civic engagement should be woven throughout a student's education rather than confined to a single class. Young people should learn how to contact elected officials, advocate for policy changes, evaluate sources critically, organize community initiatives, and contribute to local decision-making. These experiences help students develop a sense of belonging and show them that their voices matter before they reach voting age. As a teenager myself, I’ve seen and felt how empowering it can be when young people are given opportunities to contribute to conversations that affect their schools and communities. Civic education should encourage participation and confidence, rather than simply require students to memorize facts about political structures, history, and figures.

Additionally, political spaces themselves must become more accessible. Political discussions shouldn’t rely so heavily on complicated jargon or exclusionary language that alienates ordinary citizens. Young people should feel invited into conversations about policy rather than be made to feel uninformed for not already understanding every aspect of government. Democracy functions best when participation is encouraged, not gatekept.

Most importantly, young people need proof that participation can create real change. Trust cannot be rebuilt through slogans alone. Governments and political leaders must demonstrate accountability by following through on promises, listening to youth concerns, and creating opportunities for genuine participation. When young people see policies directly improving affordability, education, climate action, or mental health resources, political engagement begins to feel worthwhile.

Ultimately, the idea that young people are simply “too disconnected” from politics ignores the deeper reality of youth alienation. Young people are not apathetic because they’re lazy, uninformed, or incapable of caring. They are navigating political systems that often feel distant, performative, inaccessible, and overwhelmingly negative. They care deeply about the future, but many are still searching for evidence that their voices truly matter.

Rather than blaming youth for disengagement, society should ask why so many young people feel unheard in systems supposedly designed to represent them. If political institutions want greater youth participation, they must stop treating young people as future citizens and start treating them as citizens now. Through authentic leadership, stronger civic education, community engagement, and meaningful representation, politics can once again become something young people feel part of rather than excluded from. Only then can the emotional and social divide between youth and politics begin to close.

Bibliography & Further Reading

• Government of Canada, S. C. (2022, July 19). Portrait of youth in Canada: Political participation and civic engagement. Www150.Statcan.gc.ca. https://www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/11-627-m/11-627-m2022036-eng.htm

• About. (2024). Www.sfu.ca; Simon Fraser University. https://www.sfu.ca/dialogue/about.html

• Elections Canada's Civic Education. (2025). Table: Voter turnout by age group. Elections Canada’s Civic Education. http://electionsanddemocracy.ca/elections-numbers-0/table-voter-turnout-age-group

• Morris J. Wosk Centre for Dialogue. (2022). Www.sfu.ca; Simon Fraser University. https://www.sfu.ca/dialogue.html

Lillian Currie is a creative and compassionate high-school student with a strong interest in helping others and making a positive impact in her community. She is passionate about pathways involving children and youth, including social work and pediatric healthcare, and enjoys studying topics such as criminal law, history, and sociology.

Outside of school, Lillian is highly involved in her community. She is an active Youth Steering Committee Member for the Women in Leadership Foundation and also serves on the youth council for Harmony Movement. In addition, she works closely with the Glocal Foundation of Canada, contributing to the writing and research of academic papers. Through all three volunteer opportunities, she has accumulated nearly 200 volunteer hours.

Beyond academics, Lillian is passionate about dance. She has been dancing recreationally for three years and competitively for two, already achieving notable success in her dance journey. She is known for being kind, hardworking, and dedicated to supporting the people around her while continuing to grow both personally and academically.

by Emerson Prentice for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) responded to a hantavirus outbreak reported on May 2. The outbreak resurfaced panic and fears from the COVID-19 outbreak of the 2020s. Despite reactions, global health organizations like the World Health Organization (WHO) assure the risk from hantavirus to the US is low.  

The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) is experiencing its own outbreak of a different nature—Ebola. On May 15, researchers identified an outbreak of a rare strain. It's a species of Ebola unlike that which scientists have seen before. Both the hantavirus and Ebola virus have confounded scientists tracking the outbreaks because of the unique nature of the strains. 

The two outbreaks in quick succession and in close proximity to the COVID pandemic have shaped public response—fear is top of mind, and trust in public health officials globally is low. Aid has also been lacking as the outbreak has since outpaced the response. 

Like for hantavirus, the CDC says that the risk of Ebola to the US remains low. However, the situation in the DRC continues to be deeply concerning. As of June 3, there have been 62 confirmed deaths from Ebola, though officials from WHO and other public health organizations believe the true death toll may be far higher. They also warn that this outbreak has the potential to be the largest in history, which could, in part, be due to the rollback of aid from the US during the Trump administration. 

Obtaining an exact count of those infected by Ebola is an obstacle, not for lack of testing but for lack of existing tests due to the rare strain. And even when there is sufficient testing available, disseminating results to patients can be a lengthy and difficult process, due to the terrain in the DRC and conflict in the surrounding area. 

Medical officials have further expressed frustration with the speed of the global response, considering the potential severity of the outbreak. The lack of funding invested in proper testing for the disease is playing a role in the slow-moving response. For this strain, there is no vaccine or proven treatment, despite pledges to develop adequate testing and treatments—like those from the company KH Medical—even when it’s not commercially beneficial. 

In the resurgence of Ebola, past survivors like Patrick Faley remind people what the previous outbreak—which took the lives of 11,000—looked like. Unlike COVID-19, for many, the horrific memories of the 2014 Ebola outbreak have faded. 

Faley outlined how an Ebola outbreak is especially devastating because of the way in which it attacks communities. Families can no longer properly care for their loved ones or carry out rituals with the dead without the danger of infection, particularly because of the lack of protective gear.  

The Trump administration is also taking dramatic precautions to deal with returning passengers to the US who were exposed to the hantavirus. Following a three-week quarantine, they will be closely monitored by public health workers or law enforcement for an additional three weeks. 

These restrictions have exceeded those which were imposed during the hantavirus outbreak in 2018, which was successfully contained. Practices in 2026 are in stark contrast to Trump’s criticisms of ‘overly strict’ COVID-19 restrictions. 

Fear of infection may still be justified, particularly with increasing global travel during the World Cup. For most individuals, though, common infections like respiratory and intestinal viruses would be expected—not Ebola or the hantavirus. Vaccination rates in America, Canada, and other countries have also been falling, which further increases the potential threat of infections to the public. 

Amid the outbreak, the Trump Administration’s focus has been on protecting US soil from infection rather than providing aid. Trump has emphasized isolationist policies despite growing concerns from public health officials about the potential global repercussions. This approach is further highlighted in his travel bans and mandated quarantines in Kenya for US citizens.  

Trump’s response mirrors that which he implemented during the COVID-19 pandemic—the prioritization of a border sealed from external infection. 

On May 18, the CDC and the DRC began implementing travel screening and entry restrictions to manage the outbreak. If you have recently travelled through an affected country, you’re advised to follow travel health notices and seek medical attention if you develop symptoms. 

The danger of the largest Ebola outbreak in history and its global impacts continues to loom amid slow aid reaction, surging fears, and an increasing spread. 

Emerson Prentice is a Freshman at Stanford studying Anthropology. At school, she is the Campus Life desk editor for the Stanford Daily, a DJ for the campus radio station KZSU, and an associate producer for the Stanford Storytelling Project’s award-winning podcast, “State of the Human.” For fun, Emerson also loves to run, cook, and birdwatch!

by Gillian Smith-Clark, ​for The 44 North, Editor in Chief

On a hot April day more than two decades ago, in a parking lot in Chestertown, Maryland, an elderly Black woman shared a story with me.

I was a young mother then, carrying my eight-month-old daughter, and our conversation had naturally turned to children. The woman told me she had spent much of her life caring for children in white families’ homes. Once, she said, while bathing a little girl, the child looked at her and asked her mother why the woman’s skin was so black.

Her mother answered, “Because she’s dirty. She doesn’t clean herself properly.”

I have thought about that woman, and that story, many times over the past twenty-two years. I do not know her name. I do not know whether she is still living. But I know this: she understood something about words that we are still trying to teach. They can wound deeply. They can endure for a lifetime. They can shape a child’s understanding of the world before that child has language of their own.

That memory has returned to me often in the lead-up to our live podcast event, Beyond Words: Addressing Anti-Black Racism and Discriminatory Language in Schools. It has also shaped the way I have been thinking about this issue of The 44 North—about language, silence, memory, belonging, and the responsibility we all carry in the words we choose, repeat, challenge, or leave unspoken.

There are few things as ordinary, and simultaneously as powerful, as words.

A single word, an ordinary phrase, can carry enormous energy—not unlike a uranium fuel pellet, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, yet dense with potential. That energy can be harnessed to power something lasting or mishandled in ways that cause profound harm. Words, too, carry that kind of force. A few words can comfort, persuade, invite, wound, exclude, repair, or remain with someone for years.

We use words to explain, to question, to remember, to apologize, to protest, to belong. We use them to tell people who we are, and to try to understand who they are. We use them to build relationships, communities, movements, families, and futures.

And sometimes, just as powerfully, we withhold them.

Silence can be peaceful, protective, or wise. It can give people space to breathe. But silence can also reject, alienate, erase, or abandon. It can make harm feel invisible. It can leave people wondering whether anyone noticed, whether anyone cared, whether what happened mattered at all.

This issue arrives at a time when language is doing a great deal of work in the world around us: June marks Indigenous History Month, PRIDE, and Juneteenth. It is also a time when we are reflecting on seniors and elders, on the environment, on public spaces, and on the communities we are trying to build and protect.

Each of these themes asks something of us: to remember, listen and to name histories honestly. To honour joy without ignoring struggle, and to recognize dignity across generations. We must understand that stewardship is not only environmental but relational. How we speak about land, identity, belonging, history, age, justice, and care shapes how we act—and who we include when we envision the future.

In this issue, those questions surface in many different ways: In a documentary review of International Students – First 48 Hours & Life After Graduation; in a discussion of Natalie Diaz’s haunting poem, “The First Water Is the Body”; and in reflections on Indigenous history, PRIDE, seniors, elders, and belonging, including this month’s Writer’s Room piece, “Pride Month for Seniors & Elders: Weeping Willow.” Taken together, these pieces, along with others, remind us that words are never only words. They shape what we remember, what we protect, who we honour, and how we imagine our responsibilities to one another.

Words can open doors. They can also slam them shut.

Language can invite someone into a conversation, or quietly let them know, “There is no place for you here.” They can help people feel seen or teach them to make themselves smaller. They can challenge cruelty or normalize it. They can make repair possible, or deepen the harm.

This is at the heart of our upcoming live podcast event, as well as in Lillian Currie’s powerful special-edition essay for The 44 North, “Words Matter: Harm builds over time. So does healing,” where she writes about the way language shapes school culture – not only through what is said, but through what is ignored, excused, laughed off, or left unchallenged.

One of the questions to which I keep returning is this: How do we find empathy and compassion in the midst of difficult conversations, especially when harmful or discriminatory language has been used? How do we express ourselves honestly, and sometimes forcefully, without sliding into disrespect, contempt, or silence ourselves? How do we advocate for change while still leaving room for growth, complexity, and repair?

These are not easy questions, but they are necessary ones.

This does not mean avoiding hard truths or softening injustice into something more comfortable. It does not mean asking those who have been harmed to make their pain more palatable for others. But it does mean understanding that the way we speak can either widen the circle of responsibility or harden people into defensiveness to the point where they become unreachable. It means knowing the difference between accountability and humiliation, between conviction and cruelty.

If I could speak to my younger self, I would tell her that one of the most valuable—and most painful—lessons I have learned is how to recognize contempt and disdain when they enter the room, and how to move through conversation without absorbing them as truth. 

That matters in classrooms, and it matters online. It matters in families, friendships, workplaces, public debate, and politics. Young people are growing up in a world where language moves quickly, harshly, and frequently with an anonymity that shields the source. They are asked to navigate comment sections, group chats, classrooms, social media, identity, crises, humour, and conflict daily.

We need more spaces now where both safety and honesty are possible. Where vulnerability is not punished. Where mistakes can be addressed without being ignored, and harm can be named without requiring those harmed to carry the entire burden of explanation.

Emotional safety does not mean the absence of discomfort. In fact, some of the most important conversations require discomfort. But it does mean creating conditions where people are not mocked, dismissed, dehumanized, or left alone with their unease. It means building spaces—online and in person—where people can speak, listen, repair, and change.

In many ways, this issue is about those spaces.

As you read it, I hope you find pieces that make you think, pause, question, self-examine, and care. I hope you find words that challenge you, comfort you, and perhaps invite you into a conversation you have been avoiding.

I often think of the woman in that small-town parking lot in Maryland; her story has stayed with me for more than twenty years.

She could not undo the harm of the words spoken in that bathroom so long ago. But by telling the story, she did something powerful: she refused to let those words remain hidden. She carried them into the light, where they could be seen, understood, and perhaps transformed into something else.

A single story, shared in an ordinary place, can ripple outward across years. It can shape how a young mother thinks about systems, language, parenting—morality. It has an echo. And in part, this echo is of faith and belief: In addressing racism, white people carry immense responsibility. But they must also believe that there is hope, among the racialized members of our communities, that we will bear it. This relationship—rooted in care and repair as actions that earn trust—is vital, whether between strangers in a parking lot, friends, family, or colleagues we craft meaningful events with.

Because harm builds over time, but so does healing.

And sometimes, healing begins with the courage to speak and the humility to truly listen.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Warmly,

Gillian Smith-Clark

Editor-in-Chief, The 44 North Media