I became eligible to vote in the summer of 2020 at the height of the pandemic. Since then I’ve seen four prime ministers occupy Downing Street: Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer. And after the Labour leader’s resignation today, it’s soon to be five.
In my 23 years there has been eight PMs, each arriving with promises of growth, stability or opportunity. For many older voters, that level of political turnover might feel extraordinary. Historically, Britain has been a beacon of political stability – and before 2016, many premiers served at least two terms. My grandparents talk about the Thatcher years, my parents about Cameron. I, however, have seen an iceberg lettuce last longer than Liz Truss.
This turnover is the defining political experience for my generation. We have entered adulthood during a period of almost constant upheaval. We officially left the EU six months before I turned 18; a global pandemic reshaped our education and social life; the cost of living has squeezed our finances; and the unemployment crisis leaves many of us struggling to even land a career. Through all of it, multiple prime ministers have occupied No 10, with not a single one lasting a full term.
Rather than associating a period of our lives with a particular government, our political memory is clouded by succession, multiple leadership contests and promises of change with what feels like no action.
According to the
World Values Survey, 46 per cent of the British public said they had confidence in Parliament in 1990 – but by 2022 this had halved to 22 per cent. When King’s College London collected data as part of this project, they found that institutional confidence levels were much lower among Gen Zers aged 18 to 25 than among other generations.
I see that in my own friendship groups. Those who were excited to vote when we were teens now rarely follow politics at all. I could count on one hand the number of people I know who head to the polling station. They are simply disenchanted and disengaged.
One of the turning points for me was two months before I was old enough to vote: the May 2020 Bring Your Own Booze party, otherwise known as the revelation that 100 Downing Street staff were invited to a gathering during the first lockdown. At the time, most of my friends had just turned 18. We couldn’t celebrate. We’d accepted that, during the uncertain and terrifying times that were Covid, we’d wait. So when the news came that the No 10 staff had done the opposite, my own spiral of disengagement began.
When I became eligible to vote in 2020, Boris Johnson had just succeeded Theresa May. She had spoken about creating a country that worked for everyone and tackling what she described as “burning injustices”. There were promises to review higher education funding and soaring student debt.
For young people, these were huge concerns. One of the main reasons I didn’t attend university was the cost – a student loan wouldn’t have been enough for me to live on and I needed to work to support myself and my family. These promises gave me hope that my younger siblings wouldn’t have to wrestle with the huge financial burden, and choose to get a degree if they wanted to.
With economic insecurity growing, her commitments felt like the government understood the challenges facing younger generations. Johnson promised a “levelling-up” agenda and, following the pandemic, there were pledges that every young person would have access to opportunities, including the Youth Guarantee initiative, which sought to offer every young person the chance of an apprenticeship and “break the link between geography and destiny”.
The language was ambitious enough to give us hope. But that slowly dwindled. By the time Rishi Sunak entered Downing Street, the same promises were on repeat. It was a different leader presenting the same vision: more affordable homes, greater opportunity, a stronger economy.
Starmer, who succeeded him – but announced his resignation on Monday after 23 months – spoke about his own commitments to housing reform, economic growth and opportunities for younger generations. His government had a target of building 1.5 million homes, giving support to first-time buyers and providing more opportunities for young people.
But we are still waiting for results. Recent data shows that people under 30 are spending more than 30 per cent of their income on rent alone. Around 68 per cent of people my age live at home with their parents. Between January and March, 13.5 per cent of those aged between 16 and 24 were not in education, employment or training – Neets – equating to one million young people.
Andy Burnham, the former Greater Manchester mayor who is anticipated to be next at the top, has called for changes to the education system so it “offers a path for everybody”, and he has repeatedly advocated for alternative routes to training other than university.
In his victory speech on Friday after winning the Makerfield by-election, he said: “No more an education system dominated by the university route, but an education system that offers a path for everybody, academic and technical in equal balance.”
Whether those ambitions are achieved by him or the next successor remains to be seen, but it sounds like the same empty promises I’ve heard for six years.
Burnham – like every prime minister I have been able to vote for – has said that he recognises younger generations face unique pressures and problems. Each has attempted to present solutions but none has seemed to have turned them into lasting outcomes.
The question for my generation is no longer what the next prime minister will promise. It is whether any prime minister will remain in office long enough, and be effective enough, to actually deliver.
