In recent years, public discourse around Gen Z and younger generations has grown increasingly cynical and discouraging. The media commonly portrays youth as “screen-obsessed” or “mentally fragile” with many individuals creating satirical Reels and TikToks, airing alarmist news segments, and contributing to the cultural narrative that today’s youth are apathetic, directionless, or even doomed. But what happens when a developing generation internalises this portrayal? And more importantly, how accurate or fair is this judgment?
The widespread critique of Gen Z says less about young people themselves and more about a broader societal failure: the failure to support, guide, and adapt to the evolving needs of younger generations. Rather than ridiculing young people for their perceived flaws, we must examine the new systems and factors shaping them and, crucially, examine our own role in those systems.
The Myth of the “Hopeless Generation”
Labelling youth as “lost” is not a new phenomenon. Throughout history, older generations have expressed concern or disdain over changing youth culture, from hippies in the 1960s to punk kids in the 1980s. But today’s context is different. We are in the digital age. Gen Z and younger generations are coming of age amid a global mental health crisis, rising economic insecurity, ecological collapse, and digital overconsumption. According to a 2023 report by Mission Australia and the Black Dog Institute, nearly one in three young Australians aged 15–19 reported high levels of psychological distress, a significant rise from a decade earlier. Instead of responding with institutional reform, society has often responded with derision. Ironically, the same adults who created or ignored the roots of these crises are now blaming young people for struggling under their weight.
Young people today are being crushed under the stress of their unstable futures. A ReachOut survey of 667 Australians aged 16–24 found that 75 per cent were worried or stressed about the future, with nearly half (44 per cent) citing it as a top concern. Notably, 87 per cent of women and 58 per cent of men reported such stress. It doesn’t end there: statistics from the NSW Health Department show that 3,000 Australians end their lives each year — about eight people a day. The consequences of an unstable generation are sobering, with suicide being the leading cause of death among people aged 15–49. It’sa statistic that should never exist in a first-world country like Australia.
While this crisis has many complex causes, one factor that cannot be ignored is the overwhelming role of technology in the daily lives of young people. Our digital environments shape not only how we communicate, but how we cope, connect, and view ourselves.
In my travels to countries like Egypt and Indonesia, I witnessed a striking contrast compared to more developed nations like Japan and Australia. Despite facing severe poverty, many of the young people I met were socially confident, emotionally expressive, and full of warmth. I remember visiting an orphanage in rural Indonesia that didn’t even have a single toy ball, yet the youth were lively and eager to connect. Their curiosity and positivity were deeply moving.
In contrast, in wealthier nations where technology is more deeply embedded in daily life, I’ve observed growing emotional fatigue, isolation, and a troubling rise in mental health issues among young people. Why are depression and suicide rates disproportionately high in countries with so much material wealth? I believe part of the answer lies in the design of our digital environments. Social media platforms are intentionally built to be addictive, flooding our brains with dopamine and disrupting our natural emotional rhythms. When access to stimulation is constant and effortless, it can dull our sense of meaning, connection, and real joy.
Concerns around declining attention spans, decreased in-person interaction, and digital addiction in our current generations are legitimate. Studies such as those by Jean Twenge (2017) suggest a correlation between excessive social media use and increased rates of depression and anxiety among teenagers. The Black Dog Institute’s 2024 report, Adolescent Screen Use and Mental Health, which is part of the ongoing Future Proofing Study (Australia’s largest longitudinal study on adolescent mental health), examined the relationship between screen time and mental health outcomes among adolescents and found that excessive screen use is associated with increased symptoms of depression and anxiety. However, the study also notes that not all screen time is detrimental; for instance, using digital platforms to connect with friends can have positive effects on wellbeing.
Still, it is simplistic and unproductive to blame young people for their dependence on the digital world. Technology did not emerge in a vacuum; it was developed, marketed, and normalised by adults. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram are built on intelligent algorithms designed to maximise user engagement, exploiting vulnerabilities in human psychology. Criticising young people for falling into these beguiling traps without addressing the underlying structures is akin to blaming patients for symptoms while ignoring the disease.
What is often interpreted as apathy or detachment may instead be a response to disconnection, from meaningful adult relationships, from a sense of purpose, and from institutional trust. Many young people feel alienated from education systems that prioritise grades over creativity, from political systems that seem indifferent to their futures, and from public narratives that constantly question their worth. A study conducted by ReachOut in 2022 found that only 49 per cent of Australian youth felt confident about their future, and less than half believed their voice was being heard by those in power. This suggests that the core issue is not laziness or nihilism, but disenfranchisement. If youth appear disengaged, perhaps it is because they do not see themselves reflected in the structures around them. Adults often ask why young people aren’t more involved in community or civic life, but how often are they invited to contribute and be heard in meaningful ways?
From Criticism to Care
Rather than viewing youth as problems to be solved, we need to see them as partners in progress. This requires a shift from criticism to care, a recognition that the wellbeing of younger generations is a shared responsibility for all of humanity. It also requires faith, not through superficial flattery, but in the form of practical investment: in education, mental health resources, mentorship, and platforms where young people can develop the skills and confidence to lead. The more young people are invited to help build their dream world, the more they begin to believe they can achieve it.
Similarly, educational initiatives that prioritise emotional intelligence, critical thinking, and cross-generational dialogue can create environments where students feel seen and valued. Passionate and educated teachers who build genuine relationships with their students, rather than relying on outdated, authoritative methods, often find that respect is reciprocated and that engagement naturally follows.
If we are serious about creating a hopeful future, we cannot afford to give up on those who will inherit it. The current rhetoric around Gen Z and future generations breeds resentment, alienates the very people we should be empowering, and ultimately delays the systemic reforms necessary for collective wellbeing.
As said by the revolutionary figure, Nelson Mandela:
“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.”
What today’s youth need is not moral panic or judgment, but more effort, guidance, and sincere love. And we, as educators, parents, policymakers, and global citizens, all share in the responsibility of shaping that future together.
