The state is reportedly pushing a profoundly exclusionary idea: raising the voting age from 18 to 25. Such a move would cast almost a quarter of our population outside the democratic fold.
The state mandates a national identity card at 18, binding citizens into immediate liability. It deems them mature enough to pay taxes, hold legal responsibility and bear the nation’s burden – yet too naive to choose who leads it. The contradiction is glaring; they are old enough to finance the status quo but too young to vote it out.
For years, our brightest minds have fled the country due to these contradictions, along with a structural absence of merit, opportunity and an enabling environment. Doctors, engineers, coders, researchers and entrepreneurs continue to leave in waves. The message from the state is heartbreakingly clear: if you are talented, leave; if you stay, bid adieu to your ambitions.
Yet it is naive to assume that all 30.1 million young people will simply pack up and leave. Those who stay behind demand space, dignity and political relevance. As they refuse to disengage voluntarily, the state’s answer appears to be their enforced constitutional disengagement.
The ageing power elite’s claim that the youth lack wisdom is deeply unsettling. More so, in a country where dynastic politics routinely sees doyens handing over parties, constituencies and family businesses to their youthful scions. These heirs are considered sharp enough to embody dynastic continuity and create more wealth. Yet, the moment the young from the masses step up to cast a vote, they are unformed. The hypocrisy writes itself.
The predominant global standard voting age is 18 years. A growing international movement is pushing to expand the franchise to 16-year-olds, a right that a few nations already allow. The global trend is unambiguous. Progressive nations pull the youth into the system to safeguard democracy’s future. The opposite, here they are deemed a threat.
In New Zealand, Jacinda Ardern joined politics at 17 and Giorgia Meloni started political activism in Italy at 15 before attaining the highest office of their respective countries. Just 24, William Pitt rose through the ranks to become the youngest prime minister of Britain.
The difference, however, is crucial. In much of the West, young politicians rise through activism, debate, local organisations, and party ranks. In Pakistan, political power is inherited like agricultural land. The same gatekeepers who celebrate youthful heirs are branding the young common citizen as being politically imprudent.
This knee-jerk reaction exists because the youth is angry about inflation, unemployment, censorship and corruption. Unlike the self-appointed sages of patronage politics, many young voters react instinctively to injustice, exclusion and the suffocation of merit. Being politically conscious is a merit not a drawback.
Most dangerously for the status quo, they are digitally literate. They compare narratives instantly, analysing and dissecting propaganda in real time. They are less chained to baradari voting patterns and feudal loyalties. The ruling order does not fear youthful ignorance; it fears the mindset.
Regional parallels fuel this anxiety. In Nepal, a new generation uprooted the entrenched elite. In Bangladesh, youth mobilisation brought down a regime. In India, the surging Cockroach Janta Party is upending traditional calculations. Across the region, the young are shattering the control of institutionalised elites.
The irony is devastating. Pakistan’s youth has seen the most accomplished individuals the country has ever produced. At 15, Jehangir Khan stunned the squash world by winning the World Amateur Championship in Australia. At 17, he was the World Open champion. He was the youngest player ever to claim these two titles. Spread over 14 years, his iconic career saw him bag 60 professional titles.
The blessed Arfa Karim passed away at the age of 16. She was just 9 when she made global headlines by becoming the world’s youngest Microsoft Certified Professional. At 17, Shaheer Niazi became a scientific sensation after publishing internationally recognised research in physics.
Young Pakistanis dominate academics and sports. They lead global freelancing markets, software exports, digital entrepreneurship and prestigious scholarship programmes. Yet, they simply cannot fathom the nuances of our electoral system.
Around the world, teenagers and young adults are founding billion-dollar companies, leading scientific research, building AI platforms and shaping the digital world. Mark Zuckerberg launched Facebook and Bill Gates co-founded Microsoft. Vitalik Buterin conceptualised Ethereum, a leading global blockchain platform. All were 19-year-olds.
At 15, Greta Thunberg sat alone outside Sweden’s parliament, eventually igniting a global climate movement that shook governments worldwide. History often moves through the conviction of the young, not the caution of the old.
Paradoxically, our ruling class has inferred that an 18-year-old cannot judge a candidate. This panic exposes the truth. A younger electorate has no patience for recycled slogans or manufactured reverence. They ask dangerous questions and refuse automatic obedience. This unsettles systems built on fealty.
The words of Allama Iqbal echo with painful relevance today: “Jawanon ko meri aah-e-sahar de, phir in shaheen bachon ko bal-o-par de” - Grant the youth my fire of awakening, then give these young falcons their wings to fly. We are mulling the opposite; clipping their wings before they can even fancy a flight.
The older generation must confront an uncomfortable reality. We have not delivered the Pakistan we promised. Institutions weakened, merit eroded and polarisation surged under our watch. We bankrupted the economy, fractured the social fabric and sacrificed the country’s potential for personal political survival. What moral authority do we have to brand the youth politically deficient?
The issue is not that the young are incapable of political judgment; the problem is that they judge differently. They refuse to look back and they refuse to inherit a regressive status quo. Ultimately, the young are not Pakistan’s liability; they are its only remaining asset. A state that excludes its youth is, in essence, expelling the future itself.
The writer explores the forces which shape power, belief and society. He can be reached at: [email protected]
