At dawn in the city, tea cups still steam, rickshaw bells ring, and newspaper headlines flutter in busy hands—yet young faces seem turned elsewhere. Like a river that should surge at its peak, youth was meant to rise in tides of energy and courage. But today that roar is missing. The political field that once shook with young footsteps now sits in silence. It feels as if a window has been shut on purpose, keeping the outside air from coming in. Behind that closed window, a generation is learning a new habit: watching the nation as a story, not shaping it with their own hands.
This distance did not grow overnight. It is built from years of broken promises, heavy disappointments, and memories of silenced voices. When politics comes up, many young people see only the same faces, the same lines, the same arguments—without an ending in sight. At family tables the talk turns to daily struggles, poor job prospects, and the pressure of studies; the country may enter the conversation, but it never stays long. For many, politics no longer looks like a path to opportunity, but a road paved with risk. Some say, “To survive, you must learn to stay quiet.” Others shrug, “Bread comes first.” And so the spaces once alive with young voices now carry mostly middle-aged echoes.
Across the country, quiet discussions in classrooms and community meetings, and long conversations with students, reveal a clear picture. Most young people see politics as a distant fire—touch it and you burn. From villages to cities, from campuses to offices, one refrain is heard: politics has become a closed game, played inside party walls, not among ordinary people. Another group fears that once you step in, your studies suffer, your job becomes uncertain, and your family worries grow. Many keep up with the news but lack the courage to take part. They feel that when they speak, no one listens—trouble listens first. The most painful truth in these findings is this: those who are meant to build the future are afraid of it.
At the heart of this retreat lies a crisis of trust. Time and again, dreams are sold before elections, only to be locked away afterward. Young hearts can be moved by hope, but repeated betrayal turns hope to stone. Then there is fear: the image of politics tied to violence is hard to erase. A rally means batons, a meeting means clashes—this belief has settled deep. Families warn their children to stay away. On another front, the job market has grown so harsh that young people are exhausted just trying to stand on their own feet. Whatever strength remains at the end of the day goes to their families, not their country. Add to this a thin civic education—few learn how to speak up, how peaceful movements work, how policy is made. Inside party rooms, many see flattery instead of ideals, factions instead of principles, and it leaves a sour taste. And finally, the glitter of social media pulls youth away from real life; outrage flashes bright but fades fast, and lasting commitment fails to take root.
If young people are to return, politics must first return to the people. Meetings should carry compassion, not just noise; arguments should replace empty slogans. Promises must be kept—and when they cannot be, honesty should speak. Schools and colleges must teach citizenship with purpose, so students understand that a country is not just a map, but their everyday lives. Families should remember that politics is not only chaos; on the right path, it shapes character. Political parties must open their doors, offering real training and real chances to lead. The state must act clearly on jobs and livelihoods; only when young people feel secure will they look toward public life. Above all, fear must be lifted. When raising one’s voice brings safety, not danger, youth will step forward on their own. And the power of social platforms must be turned toward building, so brief excitement grows into lasting responsibility.
If the young turn away from politics, politics will turn away from them. Those who are meant to build tomorrow cannot stand behind glass today. A nation does not move on experience alone; it moves on courage. Mistakes can be fixed, fear can be faced—but indifference leaves nothing behind. So blame will not heal us. We must all look in the mirror. Have we built a politics that calls our youth forward? Have we built a society where they can dream without fear? If not, let change begin now. Open the windows. Let fresh air rebuild the room. Do not fear the flame—walk toward the light. When the young return, politics becomes human again; when politics becomes human, young hearts grow warm. And one day, that warmth will break the country’s long winter and bring a new morning into view.
