Exploring the Shifting Landscape of Generation Z
A friend of mine who works closely with high school students recently shared an observation. He overheard a group of boys discussing “international Jewry,” and he was quite taken aback. These were kids who seemed innocent enough, expressing views that would likely have been unthinkable just two decades ago.
So, what’s going on with Generation Z?
In a previous discussion, I mentioned that Gen Z appears to be experiencing a sort of revival when it comes to church engagement. Despite that, it’s also true that they are among the most polarized generations in American history.
A system that attempts to reshape reality by disregarding history and tradition often leads to a disconnected and disillusioned group seeking some form of belonging.
Looking ahead to 2024, we see Gen Z, influenced somewhat by young figures like Charlie Kirk and Scott Pressler, leaning toward Donald Trump. He garnered 46% of their votes—56% from young men and 40% from young women. Initially, this indicated a younger, more populist generation possibly steering the country to the right. Yet here we are in 2025, and Zoran Mamdani, who identifies as a democratic socialist, has captured 78% of New York City’s youth vote—67% from young men and 84% from young women. Instead of aligning firmly with established political parties, young people now show more division than ever.
This scenario can partly be attributed to what I might call “nomadic progressivism.” Generation Z, born from 1997 to 2012, has been inundated with progressive ideals and identity politics since day one. They have matured during a series of significant cultural shifts that have shaped their values.
- The Supreme Court’s 2015 decision in Obergefell v. Hodges legalized same-sex marriage.
- The tragic killing of Trayvon Martin sparked the Black Lives Matter movement.
- Transgender activism surged into the public consciousness in the early 2020s.
- Greta Thunberg emerged as a key figure in the climate change movement.
- Cultural platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram, and Vine took off dramatically.
I could go on with numerous other examples, but these movements encapsulated the moral imagination of Gen Z. Each aimed, in the name of justice or progress, to challenge traditional cultural structures, replacing them with social and moral ambiguity.
Gen Z grew up surrounded by progressive messages, and there wasn’t much of a counter-response until the shocking election of Donald Trump in 2016. It appeared that society was unyieldingly advancing toward a progressive ideal, but Trump’s election shattered that expectation. His first term was marked by protests, the rise of transgender ideology, and a surge in social activism.
Then came COVID-19. While the left pushed for “safety,” Gen Z found themselves confined at home, engaging with a digital world that often left them feeling isolated and anxious. Instead of fostering real-world community, they were sent to their rooms with little encouragement for actual connection.
I think this captures the essence of the issue. Progressivism has laid the groundwork for radicalization. The fundamental ties to church, family, and community that once supported their moral lives have been severed. Many young people are now wandering, searching for a sense of belonging in this emptiness.
Simone Weil, in her work The Need for Roots, reflects on how people need roots derived from active involvement in community life, which preserves a sense of history and future. When that connection is taken away, it’s natural for individuals to seek out roots elsewhere.
For many Gen Z women, this quest often leads to social media platforms like Instagram. They encounter celebrities and influencers decrying societal norms—voicing that marriage is constricting, denouncing men, and elevating independence as the ultimate goal. However, this so-called “empowerment” sometimes merely masks profound loneliness.
Conversely, Gen Z men face a barrage of ridicule and condescension. They may wonder why they should invest in a society that seems to look down on them. In this void, communities—sometimes referred to as the “manosphere”—have emerged. Figures like Andrew Tate have provided a counter-narrative, telling men that it’s perfectly fine to embrace their identity. They argue that if traditional notions of courtship are ridiculed, then perhaps there’s merit in embracing roughness and aggression.
As skepticism toward institutions and government grows, young people often seek their truths in alternative spaces. Figures like Nick Fuentes claim to expose “the real story.” Yet as Christopher Rufo has pointed out, it’s really a facade, exploiting the crisis of masculinity to propagate feelings of resentment and denial of history. Progressive Gen Z women searching for meaning in online realms aren’t all that different from some young men who gather around Fuentes in search of connection.
Generation Z—a generation yearning for its roots. Since those roots were disturbed years ago, they’ve been trying to find their identity on society’s periphery. Progressivism has turned them into nomads. A societal structure attempting to reshape reality by eradicating history and tradition ultimately results in a detached and lost grouping seeking belonging. And that longing could lead them down darker paths.
Rather than being excessively radical, Gen Z members are significantly unanchored. They have inherited a moral landscape devoid of shared meaning, drifting through competing ideologies that promise connection yet often result in bitterness. The progressive framework has let them down, and now reactive forces are drawing them in. Without a deeper renewal of faith, family, and community, this generation will likely continue to wander, in search of a homeland that modernity has taught us to forget.
