What Direction Are We Marching? Youth, Conflict, and the Fight to Be Heard!
What picture flashes in your mind when you hear the word conflict? Maybe it's scenes from a war-torn country, or perhaps the tension humming beneath the surface of your own life. Conflict, in its many forms, is the relentless undercurrent of our world, a shadow that stretches from global headlines to the quietest corners of our hearts.
But here's a truth that hits me hard: the very people who feel conflict's sharpest edge – young people – are so often pushed to the margins when it comes to seeking solutions. Globally, over 50% of the population is under 30, yet only 2.6% of parliamentarians are that age. Why is this our reality? Sometimes, it's because of dusty, damaging ideas that paint youth as too green, too naive. Other times, the systems themselves – the rooms where decisions are made, the hands that hold the power – simply aren't built to include us, to value our voices.
From the chronicle of Quang family, Vietnamese socialists parading in Czechoslovakia with the large portrait of Klement Gottwald - Czech communist politician, 1970s.
Let's speak plainly, we, the youth, aren't just bystanders in this unfolding story. We are the ones who will inherit this world, who will have to navigate the wreckage and build something new from the ashes of today's conflicts. We experience conflict in ways that carve unique paths through our lives. We bring a potent brew of fresh energy, disruptive ideas, and a fierce vision for a future we are desperate to shape. To ignore our words, to silence our presence isn't just a slap in the face of fairness; it's a criminal waste of the very brilliance needed to forge a lasting and just peace.
I carry conflict within me, a ghost in my blood. I didn't witness war on a battlefield, but war burrowed into my family's history. My great-grandparents fought in the shadows of World War II, a guerrilla war waged in the silent woods against the Nazi advance. They traded whispers for bullets and fear for defiance. From my father's side, the Vietnam War echoes – a phantom limb that aches in his silences, a story told in glances and the weight of unspoken grief.
I might not have pulled a trigger or hid from bombs, but I inherited the shrapnel. It's in the jump in my pulse when sirens wail in movies, the way my breath hitches at sudden loud noises. It's in the caution etched on my mum's face, the stories my grandmother can't bear to tell. Generational trauma – it's a beast that creeps its way through time, leaving invisible wounds on those who weren't even there. It's a twisted inheritance, a birthright of pain.
And that's why those dismissive smiles, those patronizing nods that say "you're young, you don't understand" – these ignite a furious fire within me. Because I do understand. I understand the cost of conflict in ways that go beyond textbooks and news reports. I understand the urgency of breaking these cycles.
Think of the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia. The year was 1989. The air itself felt heavy, suffocating under the weight of decades of communist rule. Hope seemed a distant memory. Then, a brutal act of violence – the crushing of a peaceful student demonstration in Prague – became the crack in the dam.
Suddenly, young people poured into the streets, not as angry mobs, but as a force of creative defiance. They used theater, music, and the power of collective voice to dismantle a regime. They jingled keys, a symbol of unlocking the future. They filled squares with their bodies, their laughter, their sheer refusal to be silenced. What came after wasn't just political change; it was a reclaiming of a stolen identity, a burst of national catharsis. The challenges were immense – the ever-present threat of violence, the deep-seated fear of those in power – but the fuel was a cocktail of courage, solidarity, and the intoxicating belief that a different world was possible.
Photo Cr: Karolina Kolarova, March of university students during TRNC independence day [15/11/2018, Lefkosa, TRNC]
Then, let your mind travel to the heat and horror of the Haitian Revolution (1791-1804). Forget the romanticized paintings, imagine the reality. Young people born into chains with their bodies marked by the whip before they even knew their names. The living hell of slavery, a system designed to crush the human spirit, to erase memory and hope.
But even in that darkness, a flame of resistance flickered. Teenagers became messengers, strategists, and warriors. They fought with machetes and sheer audacity against a colonial power that believed they were nothing. They carried the stories of their ancestors and the whispers of freedom in their hearts. The “after” was a miracle forged in blood and fire; the birth of Haiti - the first free black republic in the world. Haiti became a defiant act of self-creation that shook the foundations of empires. The reason was the most primal human scream, a refusal to be owned, a burning demand for liberation. The challenges were almost insurmountable – a brutal enemy, internal betrayals, the constant shadow of death.
These aren't just history lessons; they are blueprints. Youth-led movements like Sudan’s 2019 revolution, the Arab Spring, and Fridays for Future all show how quickly young voices can reshape national trajectories. They are proof that when youth find their voice, when they are given space to lead, the world can be shaken to its core and remade. What kind of conflict resonates most deeply with me? It's the conflict of silenced potential, the injustice of being excluded from shaping the very world we will inherit. It's the weight of generational trauma meeting the urgent need for change.
Our Time is Now
Meaningful youth engagement isn't a trendy slogan—it's proven to be key to sustainable peace. According to Search for Common Ground, youth-inclusive peace processes are 35% more likely to last beyond 15 years. It's about recognizing that we don’t just bring youthful energy; we bring essential wisdom, forged in a world they didn't create. It's about tearing down the walls that silence us and building tables where our voices aren't just heƒard, but heeded.
This isn't a polite request; it's a revolution. A revolution of ideas, of power, of who gets to decide what direction we're marching.
So, I ask you again: What direction are we marching? The answer, I believe, lies in the burning power of young people to rise, to roar, and to remake the world in the image of justice.
And in the coming weeks, we will share more stories, more truths, more reasons why this campaign is not only necessary but inevitable. Join us. Lend us your voice. Share your story. Because the time for whispers is over. We march.
