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Blindsided in Antananarivo: How I Misread the Gen Z Spark that Toppled a government
Blindsided in Antananarivo: How I Misread the Gen Z Spark that Toppled a government
14/10/2025
When I left Antananarivo this past August, if you had told me President Rajoelina’s government would be gone in two months, I would have laughed you off. The poverty was a palpable presence, not just in the capital but everywhere I visited, from the bustling streets of Tana to the cooler highlands of Antsirabe where I spent most of the days. The desperation was etched onto the faces of the young people I spoke to both alongside the events I had gone to Madagascar for, but at the eating spaces that I patroned.
In conversations with few fellow Zimbabweans I have been travelling with, we dissected the poverty that we saw along the way from the airport to Tana CBD (the irony I know), the palpable sense of abandonment and resignment that the young people who spoke with us shared. Yet, in all those discussions, we collectively overlooked a crucial truth: a generation that appears politically disconnected is often the most politically aware. We saw what looked like passivity, in retrospect we can say it was just potential energy waiting for a trigger.
My initial analysis was clouded by an academic theory that I had read of a few months prior preparing a paper on urban poverty. It was a theory linked to Oscar Lewis’s concept of a “culture of poverty”, the idea that the urban poor develop a set of psychological traits like fatalism, hopelessness, and a lack of ambition to cope with their circumstances. I saw young Malagasy who were deeply dismissive of the political class. Their online lives showed them what was possible in the world, yet they saw no pathway to connect that digital dream to their lived reality. Fatalism was evident in how they described their future; ambition felt like a foreign concept. I admit, I fundamentally misread the situation.
Political awareness is a precursor to political action, but a catalyst is always needed to bridge the two. That catalyst is rarely a grand political ideology; more often, it's a spark of raw frustration over a basic livelihood issue. In Madagascar, it was the chronic blackouts and water cuts (it wasn’t a new crisis, but it reached a tipping point.)
This brings me to a second point I misjudged: the tools of mobilisation. When we think of digital revolutions, our minds jump to the Arab Spring, to Twitter (or X, whatever) and Facebook. But the game has changed. When protests erupted in Nepal and Morocco, a different platform kept emerging: Discord.
These are not movements led by political enthusiasts or meticulously organised by Civil Society Organisations (CSOs). They are born in nodes of communication where young people are simply battling through life, expressing themselves, and finding commonality in their struggle. These platforms are where emotions coalesce into action, far from the polished narratives of traditional activism.
My former boss told me seated outside our Harare office in December last year: “True liberation, like that of the 20th century, will not be earned through the work and brilliance of the college-educated middle class. It will be won by those on the street corners who seem hopeless.” I see this truth in the ghettos of Glenorah, Mbare, and Kuwadzana here in Harare, and now in hindsight I see it clearly in Madagascar and Dakar (as I have reflected last year on my return from Bangladesh)
In the coming months, a predictable script will unfold. Academics and news commentators will write extensively on what happened in Madagascar, many will claim that it was obvious all along. NGOs will host workshops in plush hotels, bundling these young people into rooms to “interrogate” them on how they did it, later writing reports on how their own programs “catalyzed” the movement. The political opposition will try to claim the victory was won in their name.
All of these versions will be, in large part, a dishonest attempt at harvesting where they did not sow.
So, what can we truly learn from the Gen Z-led protests that have now ousted leaders in Bangladesh, pushed a stubborn leader to submission in Kenya, changed leadership in Nepal, and now confused the SADC Chair to flee out of Madagascar? The first lesson is that this new phenomenon demands new methodological frameworks. Our standardized academic tools from structured interviews to formal observations are no longer fit for purpose. How do you study a movement that is more emotion than strategy? How do you create a linear, coherent story out of something that is, by its nature, chaotic, fluid, and deeply personal?
The few academic papers I have read on the Kenyan protests, for example, reveal this disconnect from the very abstract. The language is off, the characterizations are misaligned, and the narrative is forced into a neat sequence of events. When you speak to those on the frontlines, you realise these protests are fuelled by the raw emotions of a generation born in crisis, a generation that has only ever seen a better world through the filtered lens of TikTok and Instagram.
I am young, but even I feel my positionality is off when it comes to truly understanding these Gen Z movements as well. It requires a new approach perched on participatory research, led not by senior academicians, but by young researchers who understand the lingo, feel the struggle, and can navigate the digital and emotional dynamics these movements inhabit.
This brings me to my final two points.
First, a warning to leaders everywhere: Before these youths come for your government and start declaring them terrorists, address the crises they face every single day. Address the unemployment crisis, the housing crisis, and the cost-of-living crisis. Respect their way of life; do not try to govern their art and self-expression as if you are protecting a Pandora’s box. It is already open.
Second, a plea to NGOs, CSOs, and academics: Spend more time listening than talking. These young people know what they want. They do not need their thinking diluted through the abstractions of “capacity building” workshops and logical frameworks. Partner with them on their unstructured, unplanned, and unframed terms. Let us study them not for our own publications and reports, but to amplify their aspirations for a decent life. We must descend from our ivory towers, wear their hats, learn their language, and not impose our vision of the future upon them. Theirs is the only one that matters now.
- insider notes
podcast #alert: participatory action research for social movements
podcast #alert: participatory action research for social movements
02/04/2025
Why is self-documentation so critical for social movements? And how can Participatory Action Research (PAR) help? I discussed these important questions with the TroubleMakers Podcast. As an organizer and social movement coach, I'm passionate about empowering movements to control their own narratives. Listen to our insights on Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts.
Ep25: Participatory Action Research with Abel Sibanda🎙
How can research be a tool for social change rather than academic gatekeeping?
In this episode, we unpack Participatory Action Research (PAR) and explore how communities—not just institutions—can produce knowledge.
We also dive into knowledge commons, AI’s blind spots, and unconventional ways of reclaiming information, like Minecraft’s banned book library.
Listen now: https://bit.ly/4iSxzQZ
More episodes & resources: https://lnkd.in/dNPmBFQa
🔁 Share, discuss, and let’s disrupt the status quo together!
#TroubleMakersPodcast #ParticipatoryActionResearch #KnowledgeCommons
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bangladesh 2.0: 5 lessons from the youth revolution
bangladesh 2.0: 5 lessons from the youth revolution
28/10/2024
From my sleep, I could feel that I am in the airspace of a country on the move, this prompted me to wake up and strike a conversation with a young (as I had suspected) Bangladeshi man next to me, whom for most of the flight I had ignored to be honest.
"Bangladeshi?" (the nationality) I asked.
Yes, Bangladesh 2.0," (the country) he responded.
This is how the conversation about how young people, students, booted out a corrupt government and sent a 15-year Prime Minister who had just “won” an election into exile started. I could sense that the young man has been waiting to say this to someone for a long time. He works in Doha, and just like me, was going to Bangladesh for the first time since the July revolution.
"Did people at home tell you that anything has changed yet since August though?" I asked.
“In terms of the economy, not yet, (…) they told me they feel free though, free to be, free to say their minds out and free to hope.” He answered.
The conversation went on until we landed at Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport; it resumed over coffee the day after and the days that followed.
Here are the five things that I learnt from what I saw, what we talked about and what I experienced during my stay in Bangladesh
1. Artivism works
On my way to where I was staying, I could see walls and bridges with art which communicated what just happened with zero ambiguity. I learnt that art has incredible power to mobilize and inform. The graffiti that I saw wasn't just visual; it was a public declaration of resistance and a way to spread awareness about the issues at stake. This "artivism" served several purposes including increasing accessibility. It democratized information. Complex political issues were translated into powerful visuals that anyone can understand, drawing in people who might have otherwise remained disengaged. Artivism transformed the urban landscape into a canvas for protest, forcing people to confront the movement's message in their daily lives. This constant visibility keeps the issues at the forefront of public consciousness. And art, in this case, evoked strong emotions and created a sense of shared identity in a country with different ethnicities. In short, “artivism” is not an addition to “activism,” it’s an integral part of it.
2. Young people need to be organized to achieve change
The success of the Bangladeshi youth in ousting a corrupt government highlights the power of organized action. We talked a lot about struggles which lasted decades in countries across the world—your Syrias and your Venezuelas. We also talked about countries where change was hijacked: Tunisia now with a dictator, Kais Saied; Egypt with El-Sisi; and Sudan, which ended up in conflict as two warlords battle for power. Women and youths who led the struggles end up becoming collateral damage. Bangladesh taught us that being organised during, and most importantly after the struggle has been won, is necessary. The initial phase of the protests, which was reactionary, morphed into a decentralized, organised movement which formulated plans and strategies. This decentralized structure allowed for flexibility and resilience, making it harder for authorities to suppress the movement. After, the citizens council, which provides a unified voice, increased the movement's influence. The few representatives in the council are accountable to the people, hence they are bound to effectively channel public opinion and advocate for specific policy positions. What I have noted is that the “revolution” is not over, young people are still engaged, and this has the potential to preserve the gains of the struggle.
3. It takes time
I picked up that this struggle, which was triggered by the employment quotas issue, was not new. The protests have been brewing and sometimes emerging spontaneously since 2018, or even before. It took a trigger point to ignite the fuel that has been boiling for a long time. In different conversations, I was told that social and political change requires a gradual shift in public consciousness. It takes time to educate, mobilize, and build a critical mass of support. However, others highlighted the role of trigger points. My friend said, “while underlying grievances existed for years, it is one event which triggered everything, igniting widespread protests.” Additionally, I learnt that change requires sustained pressure on those in power. The Bangladeshi people demonstrated remarkable resilience, continuing their protests even in the face of arrests and killings. It's tough, but when it must be done, it must be done.
4. Simple conversation can be transformational
Had I not started a conversation with the passenger seated on seat K34, I could have returned home with the knowledge of what I have read in papers, which is often not representational of ordinary people's experiences. I learnt more than just about the politics of things, but the social dynamics which entrench power. I understood more about patriarchal dynamics in most sectors of Bangladesh, and I had personal connections which have the potential to last beyond all this I am writing about.
5. Solidarity matters
One striking thing was how people, parents, and communities supported the student protesters. A prime example being about a lawyer and TV personality turned protest organiser, Manjur Al Matin, who, after his room was teargassed by the security forces, joined the protests. Using his megaphone as a popular personality, he amplified the case that the students were highlighting, which was now beyond the employment quotas, but included the need for democracy and rule of law, etc. I had the privilege to meet Manjur during some of my work assignments, where he shared more of the same issues my in-flight friend had shared in the days that we talked. I learnt that when respected figures join a movement, they lend it credibility and broaden its appeal. Manjur's involvement helped elevate the students' concerns and frame them within a larger struggle for democracy and rule of law. It can be noted that community support provided essential resources, such as food, water, shelter (as people temporarily hid from security forces), and legal aid, enabling protesters to sustain their efforts. In the face of state repression, solidarity from parents and communities offered a degree of protection and safety for young activists.