By Mohd Ezni Hezri Mohd Yusop
Lecturer in International Relations and Deputy Director, Corporate Communications Centre, Universiti Malaysia Sabah (UMS) Email:
What happens when a generation begins to wonder whether the future they were promised is still within reach?
I have been thinking about this question lately, particularly as I follow the images of young people taking to the streets in Europe.
In France, students have protested against overcrowded classrooms, teacher shortages and deteriorating educational facilities which later grown into something much larger, reflecting frustrations that extend beyond the education system.
Similar expressions of dissatisfaction have emerged in Italy, where concerns about education, employment and the rising cost of living have added to wider political tensions.
On 21 October, thousands of Greek students, teachers and public-sector workers took to the streets demanding better educational facilities, smaller classes and greater investment in public education.
Watching these developments, I find myself thinking not only about Europe, but also about the students I meet in my own classrooms, week in, week out.
They come from different backgrounds, each with their own hopes and aspirations. Some want to become diplomats, academics or entrepreneurs. Others simply want a good job, a comfortable home and the ability to look after their parents.
Those are not unreasonable dreams. In fact, they are remarkably ordinary. And perhaps that is what makes the situation in Europe so troubling.
Because when young people begin taking to the streets, we should ask ourselves whether they are simply angry with their governments, or whether something deeper is happening. Could it be that they are beginning to lose confidence in the future?
When hope meets reality
Some of the most meaningful lessons I have learned so far do not come from academic journals or political theories. They come from listening to my students.
I see their enthusiasm when we discuss opportunities beyond Malaysia. I hear their excitement when they talk about the countries they want to visit and the careers they hope to pursue.
But I also sense the uncertainties behind those ambitions.
Will there be a job waiting after graduation? Will their qualifications remain relevant in an age of artificial intelligence? Will they earn enough to support their families, let alone afford a home?
For students from Sabah and Sarawak, the challenges can be particularly personal. Distance, travel expenses and uneven employment opportunities often mean that pursuing a better future comes with the possibility of leaving behind the people and places they love.
Malaysia's unemployment rate may appear reassuring at around three per cent, but youth unemployment remains considerably higher which makes me wonder whether we fully appreciate how much uncertainty they are carrying.
We tell them to work hard, to study, to be resilient and to prepare themselves for the future.Those are important messages.
But perhaps we should also ask whether the future we are asking them to prepare for is the one that offers them a fair opportunity to succeed.
Is Europe facing a crisis of confidence?
There is another reason why the developments in France, Italy, Greece and other major European countries deserve closer attention. They may also tell us something about the European Union itself.
For decades, the EU has been celebrated as one of the world's most successful experiments in regional integration. Echoing Winston Churchill's post-war vision of a “United States of Europe,” it has brought nations closer through economic cooperation, a single market, freedom of movement and shared institutions.
I have always found the European integration project fascinating, not simply because of its achievements, but because of the contradictions that continue to define it.
The current unrest brings some of those contradictions into sharper focus.
Take education, for example.
The EU has promoted educational mobility and cooperation through initiatives such as Erasmus+ and the European Education Area. These are important achievements that have opened doors for countless young Europeans.
Yet education remains primarily the responsibility of individual member states, as provided under Article 165 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union.
And so, a difficult question emerges.
What does the promise of European educational integration mean to a young person sitting in an overcrowded classroom or worrying about whether higher education remains affordable?
The same question applies to the economy.
Through its economic governance framework, including the European Semester and fiscal coordination mechanisms, the EU has sought to promote economic stability and sustainable growth.
But what does economic stability mean to a graduate struggling to find meaningful employment? Or to a young couple who can no longer imagine owning a home?
Of course, these problems cannot simply be blamed on Brussels. National governments retain substantial responsibilities for education, employment and public spending.
Nevertheless, the unrest raises an important question about what political scientists describe as output legitimacy: the ability of institutions to earn public confidence by delivering outcomes that genuinely improve people's lives.
For many years, the EU's relevance has been measured by its ability to prevent conflict, promote integration and strengthen Europe's position in the world.
Those achievements should never be underestimated. But perhaps the next great test of European integration is more personal.
Can it convince its younger generation that the European project still offers them a future worth believing in?
I do not believe these protests signal the imminent collapse of the EU. Its institutions are far more resilient than that.
But they may serve as a reminder that the success of integration cannot be measured solely by the strength of institutions or the size of a common market.
It must also be measured by the confidence of the people those institutions are meant to serve.
The geopolitical question we should not ignore
The recent unrest is unfolding amid growing tensions between Europe and the United States, particularly over President Donald Trump's military approach towards Iran. The conflict has heightened global economic uncertainty, while several European governments have called for diplomacy rather than further military escalation.
A powerful message from protesters in Greece: "Give money to schools, not to wars" reflects a deeper frustration over government spending priorities. For students struggling with overcrowded classrooms and inadequate facilities, the question is simple: why do governments appear willing to spend heavily on military commitments while basic educational needs remain unmet?
Of course, this does not necessarily mean education funds have been diverted to finance wars. But the perception itself raises important questions about political priorities and public trust.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, President Trump and some of his political allies have associated unrest in Europe especially France with Muslim immigration policy, despite insufficient evidence supporting such claims.
Think about the irony. Students are demanding better education, yet their grievances risk being reframed as a narrative about religious extremism, immigration and the supposed failures of European society.
The issue is no longer simply what people are protesting against, but who gets to define the meaning of their protests.
And this is where geopolitics meets strategic communication.
In today's interconnected world, power is exercised not only through military strength, economic influence or diplomacy, but also through narratives that shape public perceptions.
What begins as a demand for better classrooms can quickly become part of a much wider geopolitical contest.
Listen to learn
For Malaysia, this is an important reminder.
When public confidence weakens, domestic frustrations can be easily manipulated, whether by political actors at home or abroad.
And sometimes, the most effective way to protect a nation from such manipulation is not to control the narrative, but to strengthen the trust between institutions and the people they serve.
We cannot communicate our way around people's lived experiences.
I believe people do not judge institutions solely by what they announce. They judge them by what they experience.
We can produce impressive reports, highlight major FDIs and announce billions in development allocations.
These are necessary. They demonstrate commitment and help the public understand government priorities.
But there is a difference between communicating achievements and making people feel that those achievements matter to them.
Imagine telling a student that education spending has increased significantly when he or she is still learning in an uncomfortable environment.
Or telling a graduate that the economy is performing well when that graduate is struggling to secure a job that pays enough to live independently.
The statistics may be entirely accurate. But the experience tells a different story.
This is why I believe effective communication begins with listening, beyond press statements or media interviews.
And listening is not simply allowing people to speak. It means being prepared to hear things that may be uncomfortable, acknowledge flaws and explain honestly what can or cannot be done.
We must learn to communicate ‘with’ young people, not merely communicate ‘to’ them.
Sometimes, a casual conversation with students over a glass of teh tarik can reveal more about the effectiveness of a policy than a lengthy formal presentation filled with statistics.
And when they raise concerns, we owe them something beyond a polite acknowledgement.
We owe them a response.
Tell them what was heard. Tell them what will be done. And if something cannot be done immediately, explain why.
Because silence, however unintended, can easily feel like indifference.
And as a Malaysian, I hope we never reach a point where our young people feel that they must shout simply to convince us that their concerns matter.
We cannot promise the next generation an easy life.
Not even to promise them a world without uncertainty, disappointment or hardship.
But surely, we can promise them something else.
That their dreams will be taken seriously. That their struggles will not go unnoticed. And that their voices will always have a place in shaping the country they will one day inherit.
After all, the future we so often speak about is actually belongs to them.
The least we can do is make sure they still believe in it.
