The War on Youth
America’s obsession with telling kids what they do not know and can not do
Parents and dog owners alike love using a high-pitched voice to talk to their “babies.” While the tone drops as we grow older, being an American teenager can feel like everyone is using that baby voice to talk to you. Teachers are right. Parents are right. Adults are right. You? Well you’re wrong.
I do not have the privilege of voting come November. Yet, many people will not use their power when they have the chance. I — no matter how educated — am disenfranchised by a calendar and clock. My future is not mine, neither are my representatives in this republic. I am taxed when I buy stuff or make money, but I do not get a say in how my country functions. This is a part of a far more alarming trend: the war on youth.
From the classroom to the real world, the message is clear: shut up, kid.
As a politically aware teen, I find myself disagreeing with people all the time. My teacher portrays American history one way, and I see it another. My uncle hates Muslims, I actually talk to them. My grandmother thinks Mexican immigrants without English skills are lazy, I speak Spanish instead. Being young, you often have a far more inclusive view on life. You tend to be more accustomed to new, controversial trends.
So why are our voices drowned out? Why are we shouted down when we try to speak? The authority of experience has its merits, but it can not be the only indicator of someone’s legitimacy. The issue? Society is set up to discount our views.
We are continually told what we can’t do. No drinking. No smoking. No voting. No driving. No self-responsibility. We go to school and are stripped of our rights. No right to self-expression (speech, clothing or otherwise). No right to due process. No right to change the rules. No right to travel.
Is that right?
Social contract theory ascribes these losses of freedom to my agreement in entering the social contract. Society protects me from harm, and in turn I give up my rights: forming a government to carry out such duties. However, I never agreed to said social contract. I was born into the status quo of American society, I did not select it. In reality, it is very hard to leave the social contract — disagreement is not an option. I must go to school. I must follow the rules. I must blindly agree to what adults say, because where is my power to change it?
We know I can’t vote. Every major political position has a age minimum.
However, it is far more than an institutional problem. There is a mentality that, since I am young, I must not have the knowledge necessary. I guarantee you I know more than the average American voter. I am simply more involved, more well-versed in the issues. Yet, we don’t stop the uniformed from voting. The philosophy follows that we all get a chance to vote — or else an academic, voting elite might develop. The all-powerful factions that James Madison so feared in “Federalist № 10" would rear their ugly heads.
Yet, people are still afraid of the possibility that a 16-year old will help determine our nation’s fate.
I understand why. Teenagers can be stupid. We like to party it up and we do not register risk in the same way. What I do not understand is why this means I do not get a say. Adults can drink alcohol and vote still. Adults can cliff jump and vote still. Adults can commit misdemeanors and vote still. Adults that do those thing should be able to vote. So, why can’t I? Just because you link certain attributes to an age group, is that reason enough to take away their rights? I sometimes think old people are out-of-touch and slow, but they still represent me in Congress.
I have had my views dismissed for no other reason than my youth. You can disagree with me, but you do not get to demean me. In the little everyday interactions you hear references: “Is he responsible enough?… You don’t have perspective… You’ll get your turn, you’ll get your chance… Kids these days… Millennials do this… Well, my generation was raised so much better…”
My upbringing, my generation, my societal context should not determine my access to the privileges of our community.
Now if you are above the age of 25 and reading this, you are either laughing in empathetic recognition of your time as a teen or dismissive — maybe even angry. But, you don’t get to tell me whether or not I get to be upset at my treatment. You don’t decide that for me. In fact, you’ve decided enough for me.
So I’ll yell it from the rooftops. I’ll scream it into your ears. I’ll blast it all over your social media. I’ll bludgeon you with my voice until you realize I get to be heard.
Sorry, I’ve spent the entirety of my teenage years disrupting your blessed rule — I’m not stopping now.
