Scrolling through TikTok, Instagram or YouTube, you’re likely to encounter videos of people mock-preparing for a draft to World War III, overlaid with upbeat music, dance routines and captions like “at least I won’t have to worry about paying for college.”
As a member of Gen Z, the generation born between the late 1990s and early 2010s, I have grown up amid near-constant crises: a post-9/11 surveillance state, financial recession, climate change, mass shootings, political upheaval, a global pandemic and escalating global tensions, including renewed fears of military conflict. It’s no wonder our default coping mechanism has become a brand of humor that leans heavily on absurdism, detachment and fatalism.
This isn’t simply a quirk of internet culture. Dark or ironic humor can be a defense mechanism for anxiety or a sense of powerlessness. However—or perhaps because of—our immersion in global events via digital media, Gen Z embodies a paradox: high awareness but inconsistent civic action. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, only 44% of 18 to 24-year-olds voted in the 2022 midterms, compared to approximately 67.6% of voters over 40. While Gen Z’s number was higher than in previous years, the gap highlights a generational divide between awareness and mobilization.
It’s undeniable that my generation has been flooded with information, and our propensity to peruse online platforms has made us highly opinionated on a wide range of topics. So, if we’re so passionate about the issues around us, why are we not voting?
Gen Z’s lack of civil engagement can lead to what some call “performative nihilism,” a mindset where serious issues are acknowledged but treated as inevitable and unsolvable. This response may be shaped by years of watching institutions fail to meet challenges, from stalled climate policy to deepening economic inequality.
The result is a kind of learned helplessness. Gen Z is politically literate, highly connected and fluent in the language of critique, but often skeptical of traditional forms of engagement. Online discourse becomes the outlet, but without coordinated offline action, the energy dissipates into apathy. We could make a thousand TikToks about why an issue matters, and although we may be spreading the word, it’s not making much of a difference.
This is not to say Gen Z is politically inert. Many of us have participated in protests, and youth-led movements like March for Our Lives and the Sunrise Movement show that when activated, Gen Z can be a powerful force. But these efforts remain fragmented, often disconnected from broader political infrastructures and voter participation.
The challenge ahead is not only about registering more young voters or coaxing them into political parties. It’s about rebuilding trust, creating tangible pathways for agency—real, accessible steps for activism, from volunteering with impactful organizations to attending community meetings or protests—and bridging the gap between online consciousness and real-world impact.
Our humor is not inherently a bad thing. Laughter has always been important. But if we want to shape the world we inherit—rather than merely survive it—it’s time to turn away from joking about global conflicts and start working to prevent them. The stakes are no longer theoretical, and the future will be decided by those who show up.
