The first presidential election I distinctly remember was in 2016, a moment that marked the beginning of my political awareness. At that point in time, my political beliefs had begun to take shape, at least enough for me to know who I was supporting for the Oval Office. It also marked the first time I felt anxiety and uncertainty related to political discourse, as I could sense the tangible polarization around me.
My middle school in rural Tennessee decided to hold a mock election, and I’m sure you can imagine who won (hint: it reflected the actual results). As I went to the library to cast my mock ballot, two of my close friends asked who I was voting for. When I told them, they decided they would not talk to me for the rest of the day. None of us could fully articulate why we supported the candidates we did, but as eleven-year-olds with unlimited political access through the ever-reliable source of Instagram, we were certain we were right.
Here’s the thing: I’m all for middle schoolers being educated on current events and civic engagement. I wholeheartedly support this. But what worries me is how quickly political awareness has been replaced by political identity. We are no longer teaching young people how the government works; we are teaching them who they are supposed to be [1]. And I question why we now treat having a political opinion as a moral requirement rather than a developmental process. Not everyone needs to have a political opinion, but social media makes us feel like there is no other option [2].
I received my first iPhone in sixth grade, and suddenly I was bombarded not only with opinions about what I should wear, but also about what I should believe and who I should support. Social media has been a prominent part of my generation’s upbringing. I think I would feel nauseous if I knew how much of my time has been consumed by posting, scrolling, and comparing. In the digital age of 24/7 information consumption, politics has become an identity rather than an interest or a career. We succumb to algorithms that reward outrage and certainty [3]. We spend hours consuming the most horrendous stories and are expected to form opinions within minutes. This leads to performative posting [4], broken relationships, and middle schoolers imitating adult discourse, all because we don’t want to get canceled or appear ignorant of the issues unfolding around us.
Over time, this kind of digital environment teaches us something dangerous: not reacting is the same as not caring. We have come to believe that silence equates to complicity and that uncertainty is the same as cowardice. It is human to want to avoid judgment and to feel pressure to have an opinion when everyone around us is shouting what they believe. So we do what everyone else is doing. We overconsume media and rely on unreliable sources because of the sheer volume of information coming at us. We like, comment, and reshare so that we feel as though we are contributing something. And in doing so, we become anxious and glued to our devices [5].
Our bodies and minds were never designed for this, and we are starting to see the real costs of this social media effect, especially when it comes to young people. Kids are being asked to pick sides on complex political issues before they have even had a chance to take a government class. Friendships are fractured because of the mindset that political opinions are the ultimate test of compatibility [6]. Opinions are formed without a complete understanding or the time to process what is happening. Overall, this creates an environment of anxiety and hostility [7], when politics should be sparking curiosity and meaningful, respectful conversation.
So are we stuck in this dark reality? I don’t think so, but it is up to us to demonstrate what needs to change. Instead of political identity, we should promote civic literacy. Rather than holding a mock election when I was in sixth grade, it would have been more helpful to give us a presentation about how the voting process works, what political parties are, and how people decide who to vote for. And instead of always needing an opinion, we can value uncertainty and be content with saying “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure yet” when it comes to our political beliefs [8]. Being uncertain isn't a weakness; it’s brave to be humble enough to admit when you don’t have all the answers.
I’m not telling you not to have an opinion or not to care about politics, quite the opposite. I just want every reader to know that you don’t need one immediately, and that we shouldn’t judge people when they are still learning or because they haven’t reshared their stance on their Instagram story. Our democracy doesn’t depend on constant social media political commentators. What it depends on is thoughtful, informed citizens, and that starts with you and me [9].
