Six in 10 Gen Z students now say they feel prepared for their future, up sharply from 43% just three years ago. The gap between who feels ready and who doesn’t isn’t random. Students who report 10 or more “engaging school experiences” (coursework that feels relevant, teachers who know their strengths, real connection with adults on campus) are three times more likely to feel prepared than students with three or fewer of those experiences. 81% versus 27%.

But nearly a third of students say no adult at school checks in on them or recognizes their strengths. More than four in 10 say school doesn’t feel like a good fit for their talents. The kids who need connection most are often the ones least likely to get it, especially students who aren’t headed to college, who report double-digit gaps in feeling challenged, supported, and like they belong.

NBC News dug into the data here →

, CRG’s Executive Director, sat down with Vicky Nguyen to talk about what this means for how we treat young people day to day:

“Young people want to feel like they’re part of the solution. Like they’re contributing, and the work that they’re doing is valuable. We have lots of ways to do that, from giving them tasks in classrooms, to allowing them to help at home, to allowing them to identify problems in their community and put together solutions. They are ready. They want to be engaged. They want to be challenged. They want to help. We can make that happen pretty easily.”

Give young people real stakes and real connection, and they show up.

What’s your read on this data? Drop a comment. We want to hear it.

Something is happening across this country that doesn’t make the news nearly enough.

Young adults - on campuses, in neighborhoods, in faith communities, in small towns and big cities - are showing up. They are organizing food drives and starting businesses. They are leading worship and building technology. They are coaching youth sports and running for student government. They are doing the work, every single day, without waiting for anyone to hand them a title or tell them they’re ready.

We built Aspen Ideas: Rising Generations for them.

This November 13–16, 350 young adults aged 18–24 will gather at Crystal Bridges in Bentonville, Arkansas, for four days of big ideas, honest conversation, and real connection with people who may see the world differently than they do. Every background. Every belief system. Every corner of the country. Fully funded with no financial barriers to attend.

And then they’ll go home and lead thousands of conversations of their own.

What This Is About

At the Center of Rising Generations (CRG) is a belief that has guided the Aspen Institute for more than 75 years: that ideas matter. That when people come together to genuinely engage with one another and with the big questions of our time, something shifts.

This festival is built around four tracks that reflect the fullness of what the rising generation is living and thinking about:

Code + Conscience: technology, AI, and the choices that come with them

Earn + Build: economic opportunity, ownership, and building a life with meaning

Make + Move: culture, creativity, and joy as real forces in the world

Spirit + Purpose: faith, values, finding your “why,” and the inner life that shapes how we lead

Each track is a doorway into ideas. The conversations that follow are where those ideas take root.

Built By This Generation

The CRG Youth Advisory Council (YAC) has had a hand in every decision we’ve made, from the programming to the design to the words we use to describe it. This is a festival that young adults helped build.

“Young people have all been in rooms that were supposedly ‘for us’ but didn’t really feel like it,” said Sophia Turning Robe, 23, from Spokane, Washington, member of the CRG Youth Advisory Council. “This one is different. We’re helping to build it, and the questions driving the conversations are questions that young people are truly living. I genuinely can’t wait to be a part of this.”

In Their Own Words

The young people we have had the privilege of working with through CRG’s programs say it better than we ever could.

“CRG empowered me to see leadership not only as a title, but as a daily commitment to listen, uplift, and act,” said Nana, 14, from Delaware. “Meaningful change begins with empathy and bold ideas — no matter your age. I now feel more equipped to connect with others and lead with purpose.”

Mya, 18, from Washington State: “The Center for Rising Generations reminded me of the potential I hold as a leader. As I was surrounded by so many driven youth who share values similar to my own, I felt comfortable exercising my leadership. From this opportunity, I will carry not just the pride of leadership, but the appreciation and passion to strengthen it.”

Lucia, 17, from New York: “CRG reshaped how I view leadership — not as standing on podiums or leading global movements, but as humbly meeting others where they are. True leadership is grounded in empathy: listening to a classmate’s story, asking someone how their day was, and genuinely caring about the answer. It’s not about lifting others from above, but walking alongside them.”

Ana, 20, from Arizona: “CRG’s support gave me the confidence to take an idea and turn it into action. Because of that investment, so many youth boards connected, lots of young people were reached, and meaningful conversations took place about how we can build a stronger future for youth in Tucson. I am deeply grateful that CRG believed in me and in this project from the beginning.”

Xavier, 18, from Oregon: “We won’t accomplish anything grand for our communities alone. We need to recognize that we are dealing with people, not just problems. Humility comes first and positive change follows naturally.”

Why Bentonville

Bentonville sits in the heart of the country and there is something about this place - its creativity, its energy, its deep connection to the natural world - that creates the conditions for exactly the kind of conversations we are here to have.

This festival belongs in the middle of the country... In rural communities and growing cities. In places of deep faith and rich tradition. In towns where people still know their neighbors and look out for one another. Aspen Ideas: Rising Generations is for all of them.

Come Be Part of It

If you are between 18 and 24 and you are already doing something in your community, this is your invitation. We are not looking for the longest résumé or the most accolades. We are looking for young people who are genuinely curious about people and issues affecting their neighbors, and who are ready to take what they learn in Bentonville back home.

Travel, lodging, meals, and programming are fully covered. Applications are open through July 29.

Know someone who should be in this room? Pass this along.

By Kiara M. Tanta-Quidgeon, MPH, Founder of the Sunrise Healing Community, Inc.

The Power of Storytelling

As a young Mohegan woman, I grew up hearing stories about Granny Squannit, the leader of the Makiawisug, and Moshup the Giant.

The Makiawisug, or the Little People, are good spirits who once guided and instructed the Mohegan People in using the forests’ medicinal plants, growing corn, and living off the land. Their leader, Granny Squannit, married Moshup the Giant, a powerful being taller than the tallest trees, and mighty, destructive storms would follow their arguments. These stories taught me about balance and the importance of maintaining harmony. I learned that when balance and harmony are disrupted, there are consequences, which is a lesson I have carried with me in every aspect of my life.

Although there is immense diversity among Indigenous Peoples across Turtle Island (North America), there is one thing many of us share—we are storytellers, and we always have been. Since time immemorial, stories like those of Moshup and Granny Squannit have been and continue to be central to how our communities teach, learn, heal, and connect with one another.

At the Sunrise Healing Community, this understanding shapes much of our work.

Our mission is to foster healing through cultural connectedness, and storytelling is one of the most powerful ways that connection occurs. Because of this, it is woven into many of our initiatives. Through social media, we share storytelling resources (e.g., literary organizations to connect with), highlight Indigenous storytellers, and empower youth to share their stories. Additionally, we hope to launch a zine project in the near future that will provide Indigenous youth and young adults with a platform to share their writing, artwork, photography, and other forms of cultural and creative expression. Through these efforts, we aim to create opportunities for Indigenous youth to engage with culture, community, and self in meaningful and expressive ways that foster intergenerational connection and learning, help process complex emotions, strengthen identity and belonging, and support well-being.

Reclaiming the Narrative

Although Indigenous People have always been storytellers, our stories have not always been the ones most visible to the broader public, or even to our own communities. For generations, too many Indigenous People have grown up encountering narratives in the media, textbooks, and elsewhere that reduce us to historical tragedies and fail to tell a complete or authentic story of our communities. However, Indigenous storytellers today are reaching more and more audiences through bestselling books, feature films, television shows, photography, journalism, social media, and other forms of expression, and in doing so, they are reclaiming the narrative.

Not only do our stories preserve culture, share traditional knowledge and teachings across generations, and foster healing, but they also challenge misconceptions and stereotypes about Indigenous Peoples. By sharing our stories on our own terms—in our voices and from our perspectives—Indigenous storytellers are creating a more complete and authentic picture of who we are, which empowers our communities, especially our youth, while educating non-Indigenous audiences.

The stories young people encounter help shape how they understand themselves and what they believe is possible. For Indigenous youth, shows like “Reservation Dogs” and “North of North,” or books like “The Truth According to Ember” by Danica Nava (which is my favorite Indigenous rom-com) all highlight our humor, creativity, survivance, relationality, love, cultural practices, and dreams, offering representations of Indigenous life that extend beyond tragedy and stereotypes. By seeing Indigenous People portrayed as complex, contemporary individuals navigating two worlds with passions, aspirations, talents, flaws, and strengths, our youth are reminded that there is no single way to be Indigenous and that they, too, can pursue their goals while remaining connected to their identities, cultures, and communities.

Our stories also have the power to educate non-Indigenous audiences, which my ancestors understood to be essential for building mutual respect and challenging prejudice.

In 1931, Gladys, Harold, and John Tantaquidgeon co-founded the Tantaquidgeon Indian Museum, guided by the belief that “you can’t hate someone you know a lot about.”

Nearly a century later, this philosophy shared by my great-aunt, uncle, and grandfather remains relevant. As Indigenous storytellers reach broader audiences, they strengthen opportunities for understanding and relationship-building across cultures.

Overall, when Indigenous stories lead, our youth gain opportunities to see themselves reflected in the world around them and envision futures that honor who they are, not who society thinks they are or wants them to be. Also, non-Indigenous audiences gain opportunities to learn from Indigenous voices, promoting understanding, respect, and connection. In this way, storytelling continues to do what it has always done for our People: bring us together, share knowledge, foster healing, and build a more just world.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed stories published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

By: , Purépecha & Miwuk, Aspen Institute Center for Native American Youth (CNAY) 2025 Brave Heart Fellow.

The knowledge of my ancestors was passed down through spoken word by the women in my family. In the kitchen, filled with the rich scent of spices and herbs, there was an understanding of the medicinal power of plants. Nourishing meals for the body and spirit and spiritual ways of being. For many Indigenous peoples, our knowledge became a seed that preserved against displacement and erasure.

In school, I first learned about “Indigenous people” as something of the past, a relic, both romanticized/demonized and noble/savage. The seed within me was alive and deeply rooted, but there was no soil for me to ground myself on. No way to nourish it, so there it was, dormant and aching. The journey to higher education, to be seen not as the token “person of color” but as a person, is difficult and ongoing. Conversations about people in the abstract, in the academic, when there are those of us who are living in it, struggling against systematic barriers and inequities grounded in racism, socioeconomic factors, and more.

“Erasure of our voices is not by accident, it is methodical. It’s in policy. It is who gets to be in the room, who gets to speak on our behalf.”

Erasure of our voices is not by accident, it is methodical. It’s in policy. It is who gets to be in the room, who gets to speak on our behalf, decisions made from those who have not lived on government assistance, who have not been homeless, who were born with wealth and all of its privileges it entails. When you grow up on the outside, you expect those doors to stay closed. You accept that decisions will always happen without you. That assumption broke for me when I stepped out of that reality and onto a global stage.

I had an opportunity to attend the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues (UNPFII), which took place April 20 to May 1st. The Permanent Forum is a specialized body within the United Nations, the world’s largest international organization dedicated to preventing conflict, resolving global issues, and protecting human rights. Within this framework, the Forum specifically represents the concerns and rights of the world’s Indigenous people, serving as a global voice for over 370 million individuals across 70 countries.

This was my first time seeing how decisions are made on a global scale. It showed me why presence and unity matter so much. Getting an education is a privilege, and the road to get there requires resources and a deep support system that many of our people are denied. But in that room, those barriers shifted. Seeing Indigenous people fly in from all over the world, watching language and cultural differences give way to a shared understanding, has changed how I look at community.

“It inspired me to see youth refuse to be passive listeners, choosing instead to dictate their own stories.”

The most powerful part was watching Indigenous youth stand up for their people. My favorite memories are from standing right beside them during their interventions. In these UN sessions, an intervention is a formal statement read directly to the floor. It is a tool used to force our specific realities and demands onto the official global record so they cannot be ignored. Standing there with them, hearing their voices fill that massive room, felt incredibly powerful. It inspired me to see youth refuse to be passive listeners, choosing instead to dictate their own stories.

That focus on presence and voice is exactly what drives my own work. Across non-profits, research, and tech, I focus on AI safety and the preservation of Indigenous languages. When we look at large language models, or LLMs, they rely on massive datasets scraped from the internet to predict text. They try to fit our oral histories and living languages into rigid code that cannot truly capture us. Without our data sovereignty, which is our right to control how our own data is collected and used, this technology just becomes a new form of digital colonization. It extracts our knowledge, strips away our context, and replicates the same methodical erasure I faced in the classroom.

It is essential to question the development of this technology relentlessly. We have to ask who is being included in its development, and what its real effects are on our society. AI can be used as a tool for good, but the pendulum constantly swings from a useful case to deep distrust. Look at healthcare. AI is currently being used in radiology to accelerate scan times, improve image resolution, and mitigate human errors. But does an increase in scan speeds mean better accessibility for people who cannot afford care? The real and harsh answer is no. Most of the time, the technology is deployed only to generate more capital. Meanwhile, problems like medical racism and algorithmic bias get amplified because marginalized communities are missing from the data models entirely.

“The systems take what little information they have about us, distort it, and return it to us as weapons. When we are not in the room, technology does not serve us. It just automates our exclusion.“

The systems take what little information they have about us, distort it, and return it to us as weapons. When we are not in the room, technology does not serve us. It just automates our exclusion.

Changing who is in the room means removing the barriers that keep us out. Financial hurdles are often the biggest obstacle to accessing these global spaces. So much of what I have been able to do is simply because someone believed in me and chose to support me.

I want to give thanks to the Ban Ki-moon Foundation for the guidance, support, and the opportunity to go to the UN. I also want to give a special thanks to Tenah and Chad Dryer of Future Allies. Without their support, I would not have had this experience. They helped clear the path so I could step into that room.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed stories published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

This contribution is part of The Story is the Strategy series, spotlighting how the stories we tell, and who gets to tell them, shape the systems we build.

By: Jaden Bailey, CRG Associate, Aspen Sports & Society Program at the Aspen Institute

When I was a sophomore in high school, I unexpectedly became the sole author of my future.

My mother became incarcerated, leaving my younger brother and me homeless. During that time I worked three jobs and filled every other available hour with extracurriculars. Trust me, it was not purely out of ambition, but because I needed an excuse to stay at the school until my shift started at 4:00 p.m. Student council meetings, a full AP courseload, football practice, volunteering or working wherever I could find a shift. All of it at once, every day, alongside the quieter logistics no one sees: opening a bank account, figuring out where I’d be sleeping, arranging transportation to school and practices, and in whatever margins of time I had left, applying to colleges.

What I couldn’t see then was that those people providing structure, as loving and well-intentioned as they were, tended to carry a predetermined destination with their suggestions. Out of very real fear of what the statistics said about a kid in my position, the adults doing the supporting work had already drawn a finish line, and their advice pointed toward it. For many of my friends, that finish line was stability. Graduating high school or college. A comfortable life. Something reachable.

And I get it. I genuinely do. That kind of protectiveness comes from genuine love. But what happened for me in that dark season, almost by accident, was that nobody handed me a finish line. I got to conjure my own. And the one I dreamed up turned out to be bigger than anything the adults around me would have imagined for me.

That experience became a lens I carried into every room after it.

A few years later I found myself at Indiana University working in student-athlete development. I sat across from student after student in career readiness conversations who could tell me exactly what their stats were but had never really been asked what they cared about outside of sport. What lit them up. What they imagined for themselves when competing was behind them.

One student I worked with last year showed me what happens when you finally do ask, and then get out of the way.

She was a track and field athlete and a strong one, the kind of student-athlete the D1 system is built around: competitive times, academic eligibility, lifting schedules, the full rhythm of a life organized around performance. But she was more than that, and she knew it, even if the adults around her had never quite put those pieces together. She was also a clinical psychology student, a consistent volunteer since high school, and an active voice in the Student-Athlete Advisory Committee. She had always been all of these things simultaneously. She just kept them in separate compartments, because that was the only way the adults in each lane had ever asked her to show up. Her coach wanted an athlete. Her professors wanted a scholar. Her SAAC advisor wanted a community servant. Nobody had ever asked what it looked like when she was all three at once.

Last year, she was given a leadership role over an existing program that brought community members with developmental disabilities onto campus to play adaptive sports with student-athletes. When we handed it to her, our ask was simple: coordinate two events for the year. That was the finish line we drew for her and the program.

She politely ignored it.

For the first time, she wasn't segmenting herself into the version her coach needed, the version her professors wanted, the version her SAAC advisor had in mind. She was operating as one whole person, and she finally got to see what that looked like.

By the end of the year she had scaled the program from two sessions to eight, made it fully student-led, and built a collaborative community for families with children with developmental disabilities. Her clinical psychology training informed how she engaged participants. Her platform as an athlete gave her credibility and the passion for sport. Her years of quiet community service gave her the instincts to build something sustainable. None of those things were separate anymore. They were all just her.

She won the Jackie Robinson Community Impact Award for female athletes at Indiana University that year. More impressive than that trophy or any other recognition she received, she left with a clear sense of her next chapter, working at the intersection of sports and community engagement, in professional sports, in the NCAA, in whatever room will let her keep expanding the platform of what sports can do for a society and what athletes can be. A story nobody else could have written for her, because nobody else knew all of her the way she knew herself.

Jaden and the Aspen Sports & Society team are working to ensure more young people get to write their own ending.

Tell us… How are you writing your own ending? 👇🏾

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed stories published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

This month’s Conversations Across Generations really stuck with us.

As part of CRG’s May focus on Global Connections & Global Youth Leadership, we wanted to create a conversation that felt honest, grounded, and real. Less “future leaders” and more: what does it actually look like when young people are already leading around the world right now?

And honestly, this conversation delivered exactly that.

Greg Spear from the Stevens Initiative sat down with three incredible young leaders — Leila Moassessi, Mohammed Musaad Ahmed, and Ben Hokenson — for a conversation about global connection, leadership, entrepreneurship, identity, technology, and the kinds of relationships that shape how we move through the world.

What unfolds is less of a formal panel and more of a reminder that young people are already building the kind of globally connected future many institutions are still trying to catch up to.

This part of the conversation perfectly captures why we wanted to have this discussion in the first place:

[Want the full conversation? Watch the complete discussion here.]

There were so many moments that stayed with us.

Mohammed talking about growing up in a small town and not speaking to someone outside his country until a few years ago, and now collaborating with people across the world through exchange programs and entrepreneurship.

Leila reflecting on how international exchange made concepts like diplomacy and policy feel human instead of distant and abstract.

Ben sharing how global experiences changed the way he connects with people professionally and personally, and how much we all actually have in common once we get beyond the surface.

One of the biggest takeaways from this conversation is that global leadership doesn’t always look huge or formal. Sometimes it looks like curiosity. Sometimes it looks like listening. Sometimes it looks like staying in touch with someone halfway across the world because you realized your experiences weren’t actually that different after all.

And throughout the conversation, there’s this underlying idea that feels especially important right now: connection itself matters. Not performative networking. Not resume building. Real connection. Human-to-human. The kind that expands how we see ourselves and other people.

There’s also a funny full-circle moment at the end that we’re leaving in intentionally. After spending 30+ minutes talking about technology, virtual exchange, and digital connection across four time zones… Greg gets caught on mute during the closing remarks. Honestly, it felt like the perfect ending. Even in a conversation about global collaboration and the future of technology, the mute button still wins sometimes.

And if you make it all the way to the end, there’s also a little bonus conversation where Greg shares more about CRG’s upcoming Airplane Mode gatherings, our growing series of “real,” in-person gatherings designed by young people to bring youth back to third spaces. The idea is super simple and leans into putting the phones down, getting creative, and talking with other young people about the things that actually matter to them and their communities. Airplane Mode gatherings are taking off again in a few weeks, and you can follow along on Instagram at @airplanemode.crg.

Mostly, though, this conversation left us hopeful.

Hopeful because these young people aren’t waiting for permission to build global relationships. They’re already doing it. They’re already leading. And they’re doing it in ways that feel thoughtful, deeply human, and genuinely collaborative.

We’re really excited to share this one with you.

Watch the full conversation here and tell us in the comments: what does global leadership look like in your life right now?

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed stories published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Written by Aspen Kyiv Challenge participant, Polina Svishchenko; Bucha Secondary School No. 1.

Nowadays, when you ask people what “leadership” means, most of them start talking about adults: company CEOs, politicians, or famous people. But in reality, leadership begins much earlier — during the teenage years. This is the time when we learn how to take responsibility, support others, and not be afraid to express and stand up for our opinions. For me, leadership is not about popularity or power, but about inner strength, the courage to act, and the desire to change something for the better.

The teenage years are the time when our personalities are formed. At school, we do not only gain knowledge from different subjects, but also shape our character. We learn how to work in a team, defend our opinion while still listening to others, and find compromises in different situations. It is also during this period that we begin to understand who we want to become in the future. Leadership often shows itself in small things: helping organize an event, supporting someone during a difficult moment, or taking responsibility for a decision.

One experience that especially helped me understand this was participating in Aspen Kyiv Challenge. The program showed me how important it is to trust your ideas, not be afraid to speak up, and support one another. Working together with other teenagers, discussing problems in our communities, and trying to find real solutions made me realize how much strong support from a team can change the way you see yourself and your abilities. It made me feel that even young people can create meaningful change. I realized that leadership is not something distant or unreachable — it can begin with one idea, one step, or one decision to take responsibility.

Our generation is growing up in very difficult conditions. The war changed everything: our lives, our education, and even the way we grow up. We learned very early what danger, anxiety, and loss mean, but at the same time we also learned the value of support, unity, and helping one another.

When an air raid siren goes off, we immediately go to shelters and continue studying there. Unfortunately, this has become part of our reality.

And although this is very hard, these conditions are teaching us endurance, responsibility for our actions, and the ability to make quick but thoughtful decisions.

The experience we are gaining now will strongly influence our future. We are learning to appreciate very simple things: the opportunity to study, to see our friends, and to spend time with our loved ones. We are beginning to understand that every single person can change society. Some people volunteer, some support those around them, and some simply try to study well so that in the future they can be useful to their country.

If we compare our experience with the experience of a teenager in Europe, we can see a significant difference. Most teenagers in European countries live in peaceful conditions, which makes their lives much safer and more predictable. They can plan their future without the fear that their city might be attacked. Our experience of war has taught us to adapt. Ukrainian teenagers are not just studying — they are fighting for their right to education. Where a European teenager might feel lost without a clear plan, a Ukrainian teenager will come up with several alternative solutions.

But this incredibly difficult period in our lives is also our superpower. The war has made us more empathetic and more resilient. We already know the price of freedom and life itself, and because of this, in the future we will become leaders who are not afraid of difficult challenges. Our experience will help us rebuild a new Ukraine, because we have already learned to be responsible not only for ourselves, but also for the people around us.

For me, leadership is not about popularity, but about serving your country and your people. We are the generation that is growing up in basements during constant shelling, but still looks at the stars with faith in victory and rebuilding.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Written by Chanelle McKenzie, an alumna of a Stevens Initiative virtual exchange program. As a TEFL-certified educator, she has taught students across the globe in Malaysia, Poland, and China, and has conducted virtual English language classes for students in Ukraine and Chile. Utilizing the intercultural dialogue and leadership skills gained through the Stevens Initiative Alumni Academy, Chanelle focuses on building meaningful connections and shared curiosity within her classrooms and her peers.

When I first joined a Stevens Initiative virtual exchange, I expected structured conversations, something academic, maybe even a little distant but informative nonetheless. What I didn’t expect was how quickly it would feel real. The biggest surprise wasn’t just that I connected with peers from another country, but how naturally those connections formed over the smallest, most unexpected things.

I’m from New York, and somehow, that became my bridge to my peers. We found ourselves talking about places like Central Park, the energy of Chinatown, the creativity of Brooklyn, and the art inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Even Broadway came up, something I had come to realize I always took for granted. We even talked about the iconic show “Sex and the City”, and I remember being genuinely caught off guard. I had never considered that people outside of the United States were watching it, analyzing it, and connecting it to their own perceptions of Manhattan culture. It made me truly realize that the media I grew up with wasn’t just mine, it was something global, and that made it even more fantastic!

What made it so meaningful was that we were far and close in age. Despite being in different countries, we were navigating similar stages of life. Thinking about our futures, our identities, and what we want to become. It didn’t feel like a formal exchange; it felt like real conversations between peers trying to understand the world together.

That understanding followed me into my journey as an educator. In Malaysia, where I first taught, I worked with elementary-aged children. In that classroom, I relied more on authority. Structure, control, and clear direction were necessary. But everything changed when I began teaching in China.

Now, I stand in front of college students who are only five years younger than me. At 23, teaching 18 and 19-year-olds felt truly intimidating. In the beginning, I was a nervous wreck. I struggled to find my teaching flow, constantly questioning myself. The small age gap meant I couldn’t rely on authority alone; I had to build connections with my students in order to survive my position.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I started sharing parts of my life in New York, and what surprised me most was how much my students already knew. They didn’t just listen, they engaged with curiosity and excitement. I had students ask me what life in NYC is really like, with a kind of sparkling admiration in their eyes. They wanted to know if it was true that school buses and taxis are yellow. One student told me she dreams of going to Las Vegas just to see the lights. Some of my male students chose their English names based on famous American basketball players simply because they love the sport and admire those athletes. Even beyond American culture, my passion for traveling and exploring different cultures created a connection that found its way in my classroom. I bonded with one of my students over our shared love for K-pop and South Korean culture. It reminded me that connection is never limited to one identity or one country. It expands naturally when people are open to each other.

Those moments changed everything for me. Instead of feeling like I had to prove myself as a teacher, I began to see my classroom as a space for shared curiosity, just like my virtual exchange experience. Through this, I began to incorporate what I learned from the Stevens Initiative Alumni Academy, a selective, skills-driven opportunity for motivated virtual exchange alumni to deepen their leadership and professional abilities, into my teaching. The conversations, the activities, the emphasis on dialogue, I brought all of it into my classroom. I created a space that was not just productive, but fun, interactive, and experimental. My students were not just listening; they were participating, sharing, and engaging.

And in that process, I found my confidence. This fellowship and my peers in it reshaped how I understand leadership. Leadership is not about authority; it is about connection. It is about creating an environment where people feel comfortable enough to speak, to ask questions, and to be themselves. Sometimes leadership begins with something as simple as a conversation.

Leadership is not about authority; it is about connection.

Being my students’ first Black American teacher added another layer of meaning to this journey. It made me more aware that my presence in the classroom could shape how they see the world beyond it. For some, this may be one of the only times they interact with someone like me. While some hope to leave China and explore the world, others may never have that opportunity. Because of that, I wanted to leave an impression that stays with them for the rest of their lives, something meaningful enough to become a story they share with their families and even future generations. In a way, that is how I pay it forward, by helping to create a more inclusive and supportive world for people of all backgrounds.

Now, as I prepare for a weeklong workshop in Morocco as part of the Stevens Initiative Alumni Academy, I realize that what we built in that classroom was real. It was a connection. It was trust. There was growth on both sides. The Stevens Initiative fellowship didn’t just teach me how to communicate across borders; it helped me discover who I am within those connections. Through my peers, I learned to see the world differently. Through my students, I learned to see myself differently. Now, I carry all of those perspectives with me. I see the world through my peers’ eyes, through my students’ eyes, and through my own evolving understanding. And I bring that into every space I enter.

Because in the end, the world and the people in it are no longer distant to me. They are personal. They are connected. And they each hold a special place in my heart, a fire that can never be put out. So to all of my students, peers, and the staff, I say thank you for allowing me to talk with you, laugh with you, and grow with you. Because of you all, I have become someone shaped by these experiences in ways I will carry with me for the rest of my life, someone who is still learning, still growing, and exploring what it truly means to be a leader.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Written by Aspen Kyiv Challenge participant, Sofiia Kriuchek; Bucha Lyceum No. 5

For me, participating in Aspen Kyiv Challenge was a journey from an idea to real social impact. Receiving second place in the challenge confirmed that our vision for the community's digitalization is relevant and important. Aspen gave me not only tools, but also a community of like-minded people where critical thinking helps transform the challenges of war into concrete solutions for the residents of my hometown. It was also a test of the ability to act constructively when it matters most.

Through this experience, I understood that leadership is not only about managing processes, but also about creating social trust. While working on the “Bucha Online” application, I realized that technology is only a tool, while the real role of a leader is to hear the needs of the community and unite people around a shared purpose. Leadership, for me now, means responsibility for making every resident feel like part of the city’s digital and social ecosystem.

Today, one of the main challenges for young people in Bucha is distance — distance between people and city services, distance in communication with local authorities, and a feeling of disconnection from the rebuilding processes within the community itself. After everything our city has experienced, young people do not simply want to return to the old “normal.” We want to create a new, modern, and transparent quality of life.

My response to these challenges became the launch of the “Bucha Online” application. I believe that technology is one of the shortest paths to involving young people in community life. The application helps remove bureaucratic barriers and makes interaction with the community more understandable and convenient, especially for young people who are used to solving most issues through their smartphones.

It also gives young people a real opportunity to influence the life of the city, receive important information, and feel heard. Creating such a product specifically in Bucha is our way of showing that we are not only rebuilding what was destroyed, but also shaping trends for the future by transforming pain into innovative development.

I think the world should understand that Ukrainian youth are not waiting for “better times” to begin building the future. We are doing it right now — during air raid sirens, blackouts, and constant attacks from the aggressor country. Through projects like “Bucha Online,” we show that youth leadership in Ukraine is about proactive resilience. We create innovations that help communities live more comfortably and continue developing despite the war.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Mohamed Aziz Aissi is a business intelligence student at Esen University from Tunisia who participated in Soliya’s Global Circles. Mohamed’s virtual exchange experience expanded his perspective beyond local boundaries and allowed him to connect with others globally about different subjects, helping to shape his confidence as both a learner and a changemaker.

Ahmed Izet, an alum of IREX’s Global Solutions Sustainability Challenge, is an engineering student at the University of Duhok in Iraq. Virtual exchange allowed Ahmed to turn his passion for the environment into action.

Since your exchange, you’ve launched a really incredible project. Can you describe it, what inspired you to start it, and how your virtual exchange shaped your approach?

Mohamed Aziz Aissi: The Soliya exchange opened my eyes to how vital it is to discuss AI across cultures and sectors. Inspired by that experience, I proposed an AI talk series at my university, inviting global experts like Mr Terry Winograd, an influential thinker in AI and human-computer interaction, to speak. The initiative was well-received and later expanded to include students from other universities and industries.

Ahmed Izet: After the exchange, I founded Milestones, an educational startup that teaches children about sustainability through a mobile app, gardening kits, and eco-friendly plush toys. The app uses a reward system to motivate kids to plant trees, recycle, and care for the environment. The exchange experience showed me how collaboration and creative thinking can lead to real change, and it gave me the confidence to start Milestones from scratch.

What does it mean to you to be a leader, and how has virtual exchange and what you’ve done since prepared you for that role?

Mohamed: Being a leader means taking responsibility, learning from mistakes, and growing through challenges. Virtual exchange helped me develop these skills by exposing me to many different perspectives and encouraging dialogue. Organizing the AI talk series taught me how to plan, adapt, and lead–not just for myself but for the community.

Ahmed: Leadership, to me, means taking action and helping others grow along the way. Before the exchange, I saw leadership as something distant. But through the program, I learned how to work with different people, solve problems creatively, and turn ideas into actions. That mindset stayed with me as I built Milestones, led workshops, and represented my community at sustainability events.

If someone asked you how a virtual exchange can lead to real-world change, what would you say, especially in the context of what you’ve done since your exchange?

Mohamed: A virtual exchange may seem like just a few online meetings, but for me, it was a starting point for long-lasting impact. The collaborative, cross-cultural, and open to complexity mindset I gained during the exchange was essential in designing this project. It made me believe that innovation is global, and change starts when we connect our local work with worldwide ideas.

Ahmed: I would say virtual exchange opens doors to global perspectives and real impact. It doesn’t just teach theory, it challenges you to work on real problems and helps you grow as a person. My exchange experience directly influenced how I designed my project, pitched it for funding, and made it relevant to young learners in my region.

“…virtual exchange opens doors to global perspectives and real impact.”

Did learning with peers from other places change the way you view issues in your own community? How has that perspective helped you design your project?

Mohamed: Absolutely. The exchange showed me that challenges vary greatly across countries. What’s critical in one place may be normal in another. That helped me look at issues in my own community with fresh eyes and design my project to be more inclusive and globally informed.

Ahmed: Definitely. Hearing from peers abroad helped me see that sustainability isn’t one size-fits-all. It can be fun, community-based, and even gamified. That perspective helped shape Milestones into something that fits our local culture but is also inspired by global ideas.

Are there any teammates, collaborators, or advisors from your exchange that you’ve stayed in touch with? How have those connections influenced your path?

Mohamed: I did reach out to the facilitator afterward to thank him for the experience. That simple exchange reminded me of the value of mentorship and encouragement.

Ahmed: Yes, I’ve stayed connected with some of my teammates and mentors from the exchange. Their support and advice helped me refine Milestones and stay motivated. Just knowing I have people cheering me on from across the world has kept me grounded and inspired.

Your experience and project reflect a new way of learning and leading. What makes virtual exchange a powerful experience for today’s generation?

Mohamed: Virtual exchange helps us learn beyond borders and challenge assumptions. It brings together people from different cultures to explore global issues in real time, which is essential in a world shaped by technology and interconnection

Ahmed: Virtual exchange is powerful because it gives young people the chance to learn by working across cultures, solving real challenges, and building confidence, all from wherever they are. For our generation, which is more connected than ever, this kind of experience is not just useful, it’s essential.

What does “building a better tomorrow” mean to you — and how has virtual exchange played a role in that vision?

Mohamed: Building a better tomorrow means using knowledge, collaboration, and empathy to create solutions that serve everyone, not just a few. Virtual exchange played a key role by showing me how global challenges require shared understanding and collective effort. It inspired me to think bigger, act locally, and include many different people when shaping the future.

Ahmed: To me, building a better tomorrow means empowering young people to act on the issues they care about. The virtual exchange played a big role by showing me that global problems need local solutions and that even one idea, with the right support, can grow into something much bigger.

Building a better tomorrow means using knowledge, collaboration, and empathy to create solutions that serve everyone, not just a few.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Authored by Cristian Rodriguez, CRG Youth Advisory Council member and Stevens Initiative Fellow.

When I first walked into my International Business class at the University of Michigan, I had no idea what to expect. So when I found out that we would be participating in the Business & Culture: A Virtual Practicum through the Stevens Initiative, I was curiously intrigued. Having the opportunity to engage with students in Libya and Egypt was an incredible experience as we collaborated throughout the semester. After the class concluded, I assumed this was the end of my virtual international experience. So when I received an email from the Stevens Initiative announcing that applications were open for their Alumni Fellowship program, I knew I had to apply.

It has now been almost two years since I was accepted into the program, and I can confidently say that it has been the most transformative experience of my life. When reflecting on my experience as a fellow, one of the first things that comes to mind is how the program facilitated leadership as something you grow into rather than something that happens overnight. From our leadership image activity in October to our networking/elevator pitch activity in November and, finally, our design thinking workshop in December, I learned that cultivating leadership is a multi-step process that takes time and active engagement.

What truly set this experience apart were the people I met along the way. As a 2024 Stevens Initiative Fellow, I had the opportunity to be a part of a cohort of 18 fellows, 12 from the Middle East and North Africa Region, and 6 from the United States. It’s hard to put into words how impactful it is to learn from people with such diverse backgrounds. While we were able to get to know each other over monthly Zoom calls, nothing compares to seeing the other fellows in person while getting lost in conversation as we explored historical sites across Rabat. During our workshop, I truly learned what it meant to work on a global team. From the quiet contemplation of ideas to passionate discussions about project execution, it was incredible to learn from fellows who brought so many unique perspectives to our group work. Beyond the workshop, I lost count of how many times we conversed about a variety of shared interests, from literature and music to all the places we wanted to travel to. While it is easy to get carried away with what makes us different from one another, we forget how much of the human experience is about simply connecting with someone over one or two things that excite us more than anything.

When I reflect on how these experiences influenced how I lead today, what comes to mind are all the small moments that go unappreciated. Through my fellowship, I learned that leadership is not about being at the center of a group, but rather about making the group feel connected. In every new environment where I find myself interacting with new people, I like to reflect on the lessons I learned from my time in Rabat and Washington D.C. Whether it’s meeting a person for the first time or facilitating a group discussion, after every interaction, I always ask myself: “Have I asked about their day?” “Have I respected and inquired about their culture?” “Have I set aside time to make sure every voice is not only heard but respected?” Leadership does not always revolve around taking charge, but rather creating a space for everyone around you to feel supported and included.

Today, cross-cultural connections and collaboration are more important than ever. No one person has all the answers to the issues that matter right now. But the solution should never be to find people who can reinforce your beliefs. My experience through the Stevens Initiative taught me the value of learning from people whose cultures, life experiences, and perspectives are entirely different from my own. If you were to ask me what my biggest takeaway from this experience was, it would be kindness. The kindness I felt in Morocco, from the fellows to the culture, and everything in between, was unlike anything I have ever experienced. While it is heartbreaking to look at all the division in today’s world, I feel hopeful knowing that what I experienced during my fellowship was not a conclusion, but a beginning.

Like leadership, kindness is about growth. It is about learning to give grace and sincerity to others, regardless of whether it is easy or convenient. I felt this kindness from the moment I arrived at our hotel in Rabat and every day since. For anyone reading this, I challenge you to learn from a new experience: read a book from another culture, watch a movie in another language (with subtitles, of course), or even watch an Instagram reel highlighting a different upbringing than your own. It is only by trying to connect with other people and their experiences that we can bring new perspectives that allow us to make the world a better place, one kind act at a time.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Written by Yumna Khan, Director of the AFS Youth Assembly & Strategic Youth Initiatives, AFS Intercultural Programs.

In the landscape of 2026, the definition of leadership has undergone a fundamental shift. We are no longer living in a world where “local” issues stay local. From the rapid integration of AI in our daily lives to the pressing realities of climate-driven migration and volatile political and economic shifts, the challenges facing today’s youth are borderless.

At AFS Intercultural Programs, we have long understood that intercultural exchange is more than a fun travel experience. It is the environment that molds future leaders and brings positive effects to entire communities. Today, global competence is not an elective skill; instead, it is the core requirement for effective leadership in a rapidly transforming world.

Why Global Competence Is No Longer Optional

For decades, leadership was defined by expertise. However, as our world becomes increasingly interconnected, a leader who cannot navigate cultural nuances is inherently limited. Global competence is the ability to examine intercultural issues and engage in appropriate and effective connections with others, across differences. Without this skill, you are effectively silent in the most important conversations of our time.

We know that the world needs more active global citizens, which is why all AFS programs are designed to help individuals to gain or increase their ability in these four crucial areas:

• Value and belong to a common and diverse world

• Inquire critically about the world beyond immediate environments

• Understand and relate to others across differences

• Take action toward collective well-being

Ultimately, these active global citizens are people whose informed, compassionate, and ethical compass drives them to lead lives and make decisions that contribute to a more just, equitable, peaceful, and sustainable world.

How Global Competence Becomes A Superpower

Our secret recipe for building global competence as a superpower is based on three simple ingredients: immersive experiences, combined with structured and facilitated learning, and ample opportunities for real-world social impact. The AFS Youth Assembly is a perfect example of that recipe in practice.

We embed a 2.5-day conference (with numerous opportunities to learn, connect and grow) into a year-round ecosystem. Our theme for this year’s AFS Youth Assembly, “Rise. Reimagine. Rebuild: A World for All” brings that vision to life. Through our Impact Network, we stand by leaders during the “chaotic middle” or the difficult initial phases of an initiative, all the way to the global stage where impact is scaled. Our 2025 Alumni Impact Network Report is the living evidence of what happens when you combine youth passion with continuous institutional support.

Meaningful leadership in 2026 begins with a vision. In a world of increasing polarization, a “dream” is not a luxury, it is the seed of hope that sustains you through the hardest moments. You have to imagine the impact you want to make before you can create it. And to turn that vision into reality, you need three markers of global competence:

1. Minimizing Assumptions (The RRT Ritual): Global leaders never assume a solution is “one size fits all.” They are aware of their biases, identify what they can do independently, and seek local partners to fill the gaps. We encourage the RRT Ritual: Read, Research, and Talk to everyone. In solution-building, information isn’t just data, it’s real power.

2. Sincerity in Solution: It is easy to speak from the heart about a problem, but it takes rigorous planning to be clear about the solution. True global competence is the ability to translate cross-cultural “heart” into a sustainable “summary and mission.”

3. Self-Sustaining Impact: Great ideas often start with small budgets (or no budget). A globally competent leader knows how to do as much as possible with as little as possible, ensuring their project survives the startup years. Most importantly, they aren’t afraid to ask for help from anyone, anywhere at any stage.

This is the AFS work in action: taking global fluency and applying it to local challenges. We don’t just bring the world together at the Youth Assembly; we arm youth with the tools to take that world back home. By empowering youth to be globally fluent problem-solvers, we ensure that local communities benefit from a world of diverse perspectives. This “Global-to-Local” pipeline is how we scale impact.

An example of this cross-cultural and cross-regional collaboration is the Global Youth Responsibility Alliance (GYRA) Project led by youth leaders from Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania. Together, they are tackling climate justice and human rights, holding Global North corporate practices accountable for their impact on Global South communities.

Breaking Down the Barriers

Despite the clear benefits, access to these experiences remains unequal. AFS is committed to dismantling these barriers through:

• Scholarship Expansion: Ensuring leadership pathways are determined by talent, not where you live.

• Virtual Exchange: Providing intercultural learning to those who cannot physically travel.

• Ecosystem Collaboration: Partnering across sectors to embed global competence in a life-long learning journey.

Leadership in 2026 and Beyond

What does meaningful global youth leadership look like? It looks like a changemaker who understands their “tribe” is humanity.

At AFS, we aren’t just sending students on trips or convening them at a conference in Geneva; we are building a global infrastructure of solution miners, grounded in the values of peace and justice. Through the AFS Youth Assembly, we provide the tools to practice, refine, and implement solutions. The world doesn’t just need more leaders; it needs more active global citizens. And we are proud to be the path through which they find their way.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Authored by Amr Elattar, an alumnus of the Soliya Connect Program, which was supported by the Stevens Initiative at the Aspen Institute.

It all began with a course at the U.S. Embassy in Egypt – just another step in my learning journey, or so I thought. After the course ended, I received an unexpected invitation: to join a virtual exchange session with Soliya Global Circles on freedom of speech. Curious, I accepted. That one session changed everything.

At first, it felt strange – faces from across the globe, opinions so different from my own, and conversations that danced between cautious and bold. But there was something real in the space we created. Walls fell. Ideas flowed. When the session arrived at its end, I really didn’t want it to finish. So, I didn’t let it end.

Driven by that spark, I enrolled in Soliya’s Intro to Facilitation course. I passed. Then I moved on to the Advanced Facilitation training. Again, I passed. Then came the practicum where theory met reality. I’ll never forget the first session I led. I was a bit anxious, of course. But then, something magical happened. The group clicked. Discussions became heartfelt. We weren’t just participants, we were a family. One of the participants said, “I was introverted...but no longer.” That instance continues to ring in my mind. When the last session was over, I did not enjoy bidding farewell. I never do. But I wished them well and meant it deeply.

We weren’t just participants, we were a family.

Some of us stayed connected, becoming real friends beyond the screen. One connection sparked another, and before I knew it, I wasn’t just part of a program. I was part of a movement. Thanks to this journey, I was honored with a volunteer award called “Dynamic Master.”

But the real reward was something greater: knowing I helped create a space where people felt heard, seen, and transformed. Virtual exchange isn’t just a screen with talking heads. It’s a circle that never really ends. It’s a gateway into leadership, into empathy, into global friendship.

And for me, it began with one simple invitation.

Amr Elattar is a Petrochemical Engineer interested in artificial intelligence and emerging technologies. He conducts courses in AI, helping others develop technical and analytical skills while fostering innovation and problem-solving. Amr also participated in the Soliya Connect Program, supported by the Stevens Initiative at the Aspen Institute, where he engaged in cross-cultural dialogue and collaboration with peers from different backgrounds.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

At CRG, we see leadership not as a title or a future aspiration, but as something young people are already practicing every day… in their communities, their schools, and their lives.

And this month, one thing felt especially clear:

What starts small doesn’t stay small

Across the country and around the world, young people are doing more than showing up. They’re stepping into leadership all the time.

They’re identifying challenges in their communities, organizing around them, and pushing for solutions that last.

Service is often the first step. But what comes next is where the real shift happens.

We’re seeing this shift show up everywhere, including on high impact stages. At the ASU+GSV Summit 2026, young change leaders Prince Nwalozie, Lucia Xiao, and Giselle Alvarez joined CRG to co-lead an active conversation on building community-driven solutions, bringing lived experience and real leadership into the rooms shaping the future of education. Not as participants, but as contributors shaping the discussion.

We’re seeing young people move from:

• Volunteering → organizing

• Participating → influencing

• Showing up → shaping decisions

The Signal: What the data is telling us

If service is the starting point for leadership, the data backs it up.

According to research from our friends at The Allstate Foundation and Gallup, among young people ages 12-25 who have participated in service:

• 48% feel confident they’ll achieve their desired career (vs 33% without service experience)

• 57% feel connected to their community (vs. 32%)

• 60% feel confident solving problems without giving up (vs. 43%)

These aren’t small differences.

They’re signals of what happens when young people are given real opportunities to engage, contribute, and lead.

And the impact doesn’t stop there.

Young people with service experience are more likely to:

• Have mentors

• Build strong community ties

• Develop support networks that sustain long-term success.

So what does this mean?

If we’re serious about preparing young people for the future, we can’t treat service as optional.

It’s one of the most powerful and proven pathways into leadership, opportunity, and long-term success.

Read more about the research here.

The systems are starting to respond

This isn’t just happening at the community level.

It’s starting to show up in how institutions think, and act.

The Rising Generations Strategy Group (RGSG), a new strategy group from the Aspen Institute’s Education & Society Program, is asking the critical question of what would it take to build education systems that actually support young people to lead?

This cross-sector, cross-partisan, intergenerational group will develop bold, actionable recommendations to reshape how America’s education systems engage and invest in rising generations.

And importantly, this conversation isn’t happening in a vacuum.

The conversation around youth, leadership, and systems change is gaining real national momentum.

Learn more about the work here.

Young people are telling us exactly what needs to change

If you want to understand where things are going, listen to young people.

Across CRG’s ecosystem, and especially through The Groupchat, young leaders are naming what’s working, what’s not, and what needs to change:

• What real inclusion looks like, not just what’s convenient

• Why financial education is really about power and participation

• How understanding money, access to economic opportunity, and financial literacy are all connected to civic participation and community empowerment

• How climate leadership and environmental justice are being built at the community level

• The exact moment leadership begins: when someone decides to step in and act

The narrative is shifting and so is accountability

As this generation steps into leadership, another question is emerging:

Are our systems keeping up?

That question is showing up everywhere… from education to technology to civic life.

In a recent op-ed in Education Week, pushes this even further, challenging us to think about what accountability actually looks like when it comes to supporting young people in a rapidly changing world.

Not just whether systems exist. But whether they work for the people they’re meant to serve.

So what happens next?

If service is the entry point and leadership is already happening, then the next phase is clear:

We need systems that match the reality of this generation.

That means:

• Moving beyond performative engagement

• Designing with young people, not for them

• Creating real pathways for influence and decision-making

Are the rest of us ready to meet them there?

One more thing

If this resonated with you, don’t keep it to yourself.

Forward it. Share it. Start a conversation.

Narrative change doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens when more people start to see, and say, something different.

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It’s not the first time you show up. It’s not the hours you log.

It’s the moment you start asking: “Why is this happening in the first place?

In our latest Conversations Across Generations, Tay Moore sits down with three young leaders from 4-H (and CRG’s Youth Advisory Council) to talk about what service has actually taught them, beyond volunteering, beyond helping, beyond what’s often expected.

And what comes through clearly is that service changes how you see the world.

It Starts Small—And Then It Doesn’t

Each of the young leaders, Esther Bonney, Katie Collins, and Taylor Thigpen, shares a version of the same story.

Service begins as something like:

• getting involved in your community

• showing up for others

• being part of something bigger than yourself

But over time, it becomes something else.

You start to notice what’s missing.
You start to question how things work.
You start to realize that showing up is only part of the equation.

That’s when service shifts from something you do to something that shapes how you think.

What Service Actually Teaches

What stood out in this conversation wasn’t just what they’ve done; it’s how they’ve grown.

Service taught them:

• how to listen to people with different experiences

• how to navigate real challenges, not theoretical ones

• how to take initiative, even when there’s no clear roadmap

But most importantly, it taught them that leadership isn’t about having a title; it’s about taking responsibility for what you see.

The Shift We Need to Pay Attention To

There’s a quiet but important shift happening in how young people approach service.

They’re not just asking:
“How can I help?”

They’re also asking:
“Why does this problem exist and what would it take to change it?”

That shift, from action to understanding, is where leadership begins.

And it’s something our systems don’t always make space for.

More Than a Conversation

This isn’t a conversation about service as a requirement or a résumé builder.

It’s about service as:

• a starting point for leadership

• a way to build confidence and agency

• a pathway to seeing and shaping systems

And it’s a reminder that young people are leading in their own ways, right now.

Watch the Conversation

Hear directly from these young leaders as they reflect on how service has shaped their perspective, their leadership, and their understanding of what change really looks like.

Join the Conversation

After you watch, we’d love to hear from you:

When did service change how you see your community?
What has it taught you about leadership?

Drop your thoughts in the comments. Share this with someone who’s doing the work, often quietly, but with real impact.

Because the story of young people isn’t just about potential.

It’s about power already in motion.

Share

Authored by CRG Youth Advisory Council member, Meghan Curry.

My grandad always said, “If you find a penny, pick it up and all day long, you’ll have good luck.” I have carried that rhyme with me for as long as I can remember. It is simple, almost childlike, yet it has shaped the way I see value. Even now, when I come across a penny on the ground, I pause. I pick it up. I hold onto it. Not because it will change my financial situation, but because it represents something deeper: the idea that nothing is too small to matter. That belief has followed me into everyday moments. Whether I am a few cents short at the grocery store, flicking a coin into a pond, or dropping coins into a red Salvation Army bucket during the holidays, those pennies always seem to show up right on time, and they remind me that what appears insignificant can still serve a purpose.

Now, as the penny faces discontinuation, its disappearance is being framed as a matter of “inefficiency”. The argument is straightforward. It costs more to produce than it is worth. It slows down transactions. It is no longer practical in a modern economy. On paper, that reasoning makes sense. But it also reveals something more concerning. The decision is not just about currency. It reflects a broader pattern in how we assign value. When something is labeled inefficient, it becomes easier to justify its removal. The same language has long been used to describe communities, particularly small, marginalized ones.

When something is labeled inefficient, it becomes easier to justify its removal.

Across this country, and especially in places like my home region, the Mississippi Delta, communities are often reduced to a set of deficits. They are called too expensive. Too hard to fix. Not worth the investment. These labels do not emerge in a vacuum. They are the result of decades of disinvestment, policy neglect, and systemic inequities that have shaped the conditions we see today. Yet instead of addressing those root causes, the response is often to withdraw further. To pull resources. To scale back support. To move on.

But just like pennies, people do not disappear when systems decide they are no longer efficient. Communities remain. Families remain. Needs remain. What lingers is not just poverty, but the consequences of sustained neglect. Disinvestment does not simply create absence. It creates barriers. It limits opportunity. It reinforces cycles that are difficult to break without intentional intervention and support.

The metaphor of the penny is more than symbolic; it is instructive. A penny, on its own, may seem negligible. But over time, pennies add up. They accumulate, and they create possibility. The same is true for communities. Small, consistent investments can lead to meaningful change. But when those investments are withheld, the opposite occurs. Gaps widen, resources shrink, and hope becomes harder to sustain.

Small, consistent investments can lead to meaningful change.

These are two sides of the same coin. On one side, there is disinvestment. On the other hand, there is the expectation that individuals will somehow overcome it. We tell young people to invest in themselves. We encourage saving. We promote financial literacy. These are important messages. But they often ignore the context in which people are living. How do you teach someone to invest when there are no local institutions to support that growth? How do you encourage saving when every dollar is already stretched thin? How do you build wealth in a place where opportunities have been systematically removed? These questions are not rhetorical. They point to a fundamental disconnect between individual responsibility and structural reality. Telling someone to find their “lucky penny” assumes that one is available to be found. But in communities shaped by disinvestment, even that small opportunity can feel out of reach.

Disinvestment can be overcome by investing, by scaling the pennies. It starts with recognizing that what has been taken away over time requires more than a one-time fix. It requires policy change, real resource support, and intentional long-term investments that stay in place long enough to make a difference. Scaling the pennies is about shifting how we think about value and understanding that small, consistent investments can build into something meaningful when they are supported the right way.

Disinvestment can be overcome by investing, by scaling the pennies.

That work begins at the community level. Investing in local businesses, funding grassroots organizations, and making sure resources circulate within the community instead of constantly leaving it. These efforts may seem small on their own, but they create stability. They give people something to build on. Over time, that consistency is what turns small investments into lasting impact.

It also means leaning into collective economics. When people come together to share resources, exchange knowledge, and support each other, they build systems that can withstand more. This has always been a part of how marginalized communities, especially in the South, have survived and pushed forward. It is rooted in necessity, but it is also rooted in strategy. There is an understanding that individual progress is tied to what the community has access to as a whole.

When people come together to share resources, exchange knowledge, and support each other, they build systems that can withstand more.

At the same time, community effort alone is not enough. Disinvestment is structural, so the response has to be structural too. Policy has to meet people where they are. That looks like expanding access to healthcare, investing in education, addressing infrastructure gaps, and ensuring funding is distributed in ways that are actually equitable. Without that level of support, even the strongest community efforts can only go so far.

A penny may not hold much weight on its own, but its significance lies in what it represents. It is a reminder that value is not always determined by scale or efficiency. Sometimes, it is found in persistence. In accumulation. In the quiet, subtle, and intentional ways that small things continue to matter over time.

Pass the penny to a friend, and your luck will never end. Put the penny into the community, and it’ll bring unity.

The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

For many people, service begins as something you do.

For me, it slowly became something I am.

Growing up in a single parent household in Florida, I was surrounded by communities where people understood that progress didn’t come from waiting for someone else to act. If something needed to be done, someone needed to step forward. Through many experiences as a younger person, especially in the 4-H program, I began to see how service could move beyond individual good intentions and become a catalyst for real community change.

At first, my involvement looked like what many young people experience: volunteering, organizing local projects, and helping others in my community. But over time, something shifted. I began to understand that service was not simply about helping in moments of need, it was about building systems, connections, and opportunities that allow communities to grow stronger together. For me, it was about working with people on the ground to learn community needs and to do what I could to not just talk about change, but build it.

That realization shaped the direction of my life.

Today, my roles look very different even at a younger age. I am an entrepreneur, student, dish-cleaner, nonprofit leader, and consultant. I serve as CEO of Local Hands Global Heart, a nonprofit foundation supporting youth and community empowerment across five continents. I also serve as a Trustee with the National 4-H Council, helping guide the largest youth development organizations in the United States, a Trustee of community organizations, and a member of the Aspen Institute’s CRG Youth Advisory Council. Alongside this work, I help lead KidsKonnectUkraine, an international youth initiative connecting 3,000 young people in Ukraine and the United States through dialogue, empowerment, and collaborative projects.

While these roles may sound large in scope, the foundation of each began with the same idea I first encountered as a young person: service has the power to unlock leadership.

As a first-generation college student at the University of Notre Dame studying Global Affairs, I became increasingly interested in how young people can shape communities far beyond their own hometowns. The challenges facing the world today, from conflict and food insecurity to polarization and disconnection, require new forms of leadership grounded in empathy, collaboration, and action.

One experience that reinforced this belief happened recently during a visit to Ukraine.

During the ongoing war, I independently traveled to Ukraine and spent time meeting with nearly 500 students, educators, and youth leaders in communities continuing daily life despite the realities of war. Despite air-raid sirens, I visited schools, youth centers, and universities, speaking with young people about their hopes for the future and their determination to keep learning and building their country.

What stood out most was their resilience.

Even in a country facing immense challenges, young people were not defined by crisis. They were focused on opportunity, asking how they could contribute, how they could lead, and how they could connect with peers around the world.

In those moments, I was reminded of something that service had taught me years earlier: leadership often begins with listening.

Too often, we think leadership requires authority or position. But in reality, it begins with the willingness to understand others and the courage to take responsibility for the communities we are part of.

Service provides that entry point.

It invites young people to step beyond themselves and recognize that they have a role to play in shaping the world around them. Whether in a rural town in Florida or a classroom in Ukraine, the impulse is the same: people want to contribute, connect, and build something meaningful.

For me, entrepreneurship and nonprofit leadership have become extensions of that same principle. Building organizations, launching initiatives, and connecting communities are all forms of service. They create pathways for others to engage, collaborate, and lead.

In many ways, the moment I stepped into service was not a single defining event. It was a gradual realization that leadership and responsibility are deeply intertwined.

Every time a young person volunteers, organizes their community, or brings people together across differences, they are stepping into that space.

And today, the world needs more of those moments.

We are living in a time when young people are often told they must wait their turn to lead. Yet across communities and countries, they are already demonstrating that leadership does not necessarily get stronger by age. It depends on perspective, initiative, grit, and experience.

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The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Part of CRG’s Earth Day feature, “The Climate Generation,” spotlighting young climate leaders shaping the future.

My mother tells me stories about playing outside as a child on the Spokane Indian Reservation when the mine trucks would drive through our community. The trucks were uncovered and heavy, carrying material from the Midnite Mine, where uranium had been extracted from the mountains of our reservation. Dust rose from the trucks, settling on the ground, on homes, community buildings, and on the streets where she and other children played. That dust did not vanish; it lingered in the air and in the earth, embedding itself into our community. The Midnite Mine, opened in 1954 during the Cold War to supply uranium for weapons, closed in the early 1980s, but its environmental consequences remain. Today, it is a Superfund site, one of roughly 200 located on or near Tribal lands, according to the Environmental Protection Agency.

Her memory stands in stark contrast to a world, two centuries earlier—when our connection to balance was entirely different, when our communities lived in true reciprocity with the land. Plants, animals, and roots flourished. Salmon filled the rivers in such abundance that the runs turned the waters red, as if you could walk across them. They grew five feet long and weighed one hundred pounds or more. Every star in the sky visible, untouched by the glare of light pollution. That world existed not long ago—but our generation is the one growing up with its absence felt the most.

And yet, that same timeline offers something else: perspective, and with it, hope. The most severe disruptions to our lands and lifeways did not unfold over thousands of years—they accelerated within just the past few centuries. Colonization, industrial extraction, and environmental degradation are recent in the life of our peoples. That means the imbalance we are witnessing is not ancient or irreversible. It can be addressed, not all at once, but in deliberate, incremental ways. Restoration does not require us to undo millennia—it asks us to interrupt and repair a much shorter period of harm. It is essential to recognize a truth often overlooked: the Earth itself is resilient. Long before these systems existed, the land sustained itself for millions of years. Ecosystems have always adapted, regenerated, and evolved. Our home planet is not fragile in the way we often imagine. It is capable of recovery when given the chance. This does not diminish the urgency of our responsibility—but it does mean that our efforts are not in vain. When we restore even small parts of our environment, we are working with the strength of the Earth, not against it.

Youth are uniquely positioned to lead environmental justice efforts because the realities we inherit have forced us to decolonize our minds and hearts in order to envision a world in which all communities, ecosystems, and future generations can thrive simultaneously. Now more than ever, young people are not only witnessing challenges—they are actively responding to them. We are among the clearest voices questioning systems that were never designed to sustain life. What gives me hope is not just awareness, but a willingness to act with honesty and intention. The next big question facing youth is not whether restoration is possible, but whether the systems that disrupt it will continue to go unchallenged. The harmful changes we are experiencing are making it increasingly difficult to ignore the need for action. In many ways, these realities are prompting a broader shift in expectations. People are asking more of institutions, holding corporations accountable, and supporting practices that protect the environment. Change may not happen all at once, but it is already underway.

Our generation feels the absence of balance most acutely, but we are also part of its restoration. Repair can happen in increments, beginning with familiar, tangible actions: recycling, starting a garden, and conserving water in our daily lives. Each step contributes to a larger process of healing. The damage we face is real, but it is not beyond repair. The Earth has endured far longer than the systems that disrupted it. That endurance is something we can learn from. It reminds us that while the work ahead is significant, it is also possible—and that even steady, incremental change can help guide us back toward balance.

What does restoration look like in your community? Share your thoughts in the comments and help us amplify youth-led climate leadership.

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The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

Co-authored by Aspen Institute Financial Security Program Community Advisory Group members, Ariana Arana Bermudez, Antonio Gutierrez Estrada, and William Moreno.

Financial literacy is the difference between making decisions about your life and having them made for you. The difference between choosing where to live and being placed there, between planning for your children’s future and hoping they figure it out. Money is passed down generationally and so is the stability and safety it creates, which allows children to grow up with a better relationship to money and have more opportunities to create pathways to generational wealth.

Financial literacy is also a civic issue. The people most directly affected by economic policy, minimum wage laws, housing regulations, tax codes, and healthcare costs are often the least equipped to engage with the systems that produce those policies. Survival is a full-time job. When you are stretching each paycheck to cover rent, groceries, transportation, and childcare, there is no time left to attend a city council meeting or research a ballot measure. Financial instability limits political voice, and a democracy that only hears from people who can afford to show up does not function the way it should.

This is especially true for young people. The financial habits, relationships, and traumas that shape someone’s economic life are largely formed before they turn 25. And yet, the institutions responsible for young people during these formative years–schools, universities, employers, and government programs–have consistently failed to provide the infrastructure for financial learning.

“The financial habits, relationships, and traumas that shape someone’s economic life are largely formed before they turn 25.”

Ariana, William, and Antonio at the 2025 Community Advisory Group Member Convening hosted by the Aspen Financial Security Program team.

Last July, we all joined the Aspen Institute Financial Security Program’s Community Advisory Group but the three of us came to this work from different places. A low-income neighborhood with more payday lenders than banks. A migrant farmworking family where income disappeared with the season. A strip mall in Colorado where a sixteen-year-old learned that getting paid meant losing money. Our stories are different. The structural failure connecting them is not.

The Cash-Checker on the Corner: Ariana’s Story

Financial literacy is a necessary life skill that is often systematically withheld from young people, particularly marginalized young people. It is a documented fact that in low-income communities, the majority of which are predominantly people of color, there is more access to predatory financial services like cash-checkers and payday lenders than reliable banking institutions. I grew up going to Cash-Checkers with my grandmother weekly, simply because there was one a block from our house. As a child, I thought of these services as equivalent to banks until I joined MyPath at 18. Through their financial capability education, I learned the difference between predatory and safe financial institutions, and with that knowledge, I’ve been able to discourage family members from falling victim to these services.

This is the reality for millions of young first-generation Americans. Young peoples’ financial experiences are shaped by their family’s wealth and knowledge. When neither exists, the only other way young people are able to learn about money is through negative experiences, schools, or community-based organizations that are concentrated in wealthy cities. A lack of access to financial literacy reinforces wealth inequities that can only be addressed through systemic change.

Part of this change requires making financial literacy widely available to American young people. I have spent the last four years teaching financial literacy to young people and have personally seen how transformational it can be for individuals, families, and their communities. Young people who understand basic topics like banking, budgeting, credit building, loans, and savings enter adulthood with a sense of control over their lives. Financial literacy empowers them to build a new relationship with money, seeing it as a tool for social mobility that will allow them and their families to move past survival into wealth building. It is crucial that financial literacy be offered as early as high school. This knowledge should not be restricted to a lucky few, especially when marginalized young people need it the most.

While financial literacy is incredibly important, it’s not enough. Young people need financial capability. Financial capability education requires access to the financial system, including non-custodial checking and savings accounts, online banking, and stipends to practice habits like budgeting and saving. No one can learn to drive a car without actually getting behind the wheel- the same is true for young people navigating the financial system.

The Season Ends and the Money Doesn’t Follow: Antonio’s Story

Growing up in migrant housing during many years of my life gave me a firsthand understanding of the financial instability that seasonal farmworkers face. For many families like my own in rural areas of the United States, and especially in California, income is unpredictable because it’s tied directly to agricultural cycles. Work is temporary, physically demanding, and dependent on factors like the weather, market prices, and especially crop yield. This instability makes it difficult for farmworkers to plan for long-term financial goals like saving money to buy a house or build lasting financial security.

One of the biggest challenges is the lack of consistent income. During the peak of harvest months, farmworkers may earn enough to make ends meet, but during the off-season, it forces families to rely on government programs, like unemployment for those that qualify, and for those that don’t, leading them into long-term financial stress. Additional barriers, such as language differences and immigration concerns, prevent many farmworkers from using traditional financial services.

Rural communities also lack resources. Financial institutions, educational programs, and healthcare services are often far away or difficult to access without public transportation. As a result, many individuals turn to high-fee services like check-cashing stores, which can trap families in cycles of debt, debt that makes it nearly impossible for them to save money.

Financial literacy and systemic improvements are a key part of improving long-term stability. Bringing trusted institutions like credit unions and expanding mobile banking services into rural areas can help farmworkers manage their money through stable pathways. Financial literacy should be part of the high school curriculum, and community centers can teach the basic financial skills. Even more, providing workshops in other commonly spoken languages, like Spanish, can help families learn how to budget and plan for the future. And expanding the availability of public transportation can help rural communities access all of these services. Addressing these challenges is essential to create both community-centered solutions and increased access to financial education.

Ten Percent: William’s Story

If you handed a 16-year-old his first paycheck, and the only place in his neighborhood to turn that check into cash took ten percent of the top, no explanation, no alternative, no one in his life to tell him that the bank three miles away would do it for nothing, whose failure is that? His?

This is where William, 16, cashed his checks in his hometown of Colorado Springs.

That was me in a strip mall off a four-lane road, watching the man behind the glass count out what was left of my money. And I walked out thinking that was normal. This is what it means to grow up without financial infrastructure. Not that you make bad choices, but that those chances were made before you arrived.

I am a first-generation college student at the University of Colorado Denver. I co-founded a non-profit called TheCHANGEproject. And the lesson I keep arriving at, in both settings, is the same: the institutions that position themselves as core for young people’s advancement are often the same institutions that undermine them.

There is a dominant narrative about financial literacy for young people in this country, one of individual responsibility. Learn to budget, open a savings account, understand compound interest, use financial products to grow your money, and the system will meet you halfway. The narrative is attractive precisely because it is simple, locating the problem inside the person rather than inside the architecture. But the evidence points elsewhere. Research has shown that neighborhood socioeconomic characteristics and childhood family circumstances explain nearly half the financial literacy gap between white and Black or Hispanic Americans. A product of place, proximity, and access, beyond conditions that those individuals chose and cannot, on their own, fully overcome.

Education, the very mechanism we have designed as the great equalizer, does not equalize here. It cannot because it operates inside a system that remains unequal. Low-income students are more likely to hold unpaid internships, while institutional selectivity is the strongest predictor of obtaining a paid one. Nearly sixty percent of Black undergraduates and fifty-three percent of Hispanic undergraduates come from low-income households. Thirty-three percent of white students do. The unpaid internship becomes a sorting machine, one that filters along class lines while presenting itself as meritocratic.

I have seen the downstream consequences of this at a scale that is difficult to abstract away from. Young organizers at TheCHANGEproject arrived with the analysis, commitment, and willingness to do the work. And then they were gone because the cost of participation exceeded what they could absorb. What looks, from the outside, like disengagement is usually an economic calculation made under constraint. We lose them because the institutions surrounding them never built the infrastructure to sustain their participation.

“What looks like disengagement is usually an economic calculation made under constraint.”

What we are Actually Asking for

Young people’s financial experiences are not a result of their individual choices - it is generational, systemic, and intentional. Our current financial system is built in a way that strengthens inequities, and addressing them requires access, investment, and consideration.

So what would it look like to take young people’s financial futures more seriously? It would look like non-custodial checking and savings accounts, so teenagers can build habits with real money before they turn eighteen. It would look like final-capability programs funded in every public high school, not just in wealthy districts. It would look like paid internships as the baseline necessity, because an economy that requires young adults to work for free to enter the workforce is one that has decided in advance who gets to participate. It would look like stipends for young organizers, volunteers, and community leaders who are already doing the work the institution takes credit for.

“Young people’s financial experiences are not a result of their individual choices - they are generational, systemic, and intentional.”

This would require something harder than policy, a fundamental shift in seeing young people as equal stakeholders in the systems shaping their lives. Not as future adults who might one day matter. As people who matter now, who are working harder than any generation before them to prove themselves inside systems that were not designed to hold them. Until the institutions that profit from our ambition start building it, the phrase “financial literacy” will remain what it has always been: a way of blaming the people the system was never built to serve. Stop calling it illiteracy, it’s disinvestment.

About the Authors:

William, Antonio, and Ariana are Community Advisory Group (CAG) members with the Aspen Institute Financial Security Program.

William Navarrete Moreno is a graduating senior at the University of Colorado Denver studying Public Health, and Co-Executive Director of TheCHANGEproject, a Colorado-based youth-led nonprofit advancing health equity through advocacy and policy change. He joined the CAG, grounded in the belief that financial security and health outcomes are fundamentally inseparable, and that those most affected by economic instability must shape the research and policy agenda.

Antonio Gutierrez Estrada is a senior at California State University, Sacramento, studying Political Science. He is currently a legal assistant at a law firm focused on workers’ compensation. He joined the CAG, based on the need to bring rural area and migrant farmworkers’ voices into the conversation about financial security and the lack of resources we faced in rural areas.

Ariana Arana Bermudez is the Youth Program Associate at MyPath where she leads the POWER Leaders (Policy Organizers for Wealth and Economic Rights) program in which she teaches young people ages 16-24 about financial capability, wealth building, advocacy and campaigning. This year they are spearheading a refresh of the Youth Economic Bill of RYTS, a document that identifies the most pressing issues young people are facing and proposes youth-centered policy-based solutions. Ariana joined the CAG to uplift the voices and experiences of young people and work to ensure that we are part of the decisions that impact our financial future.

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The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.

There’s a moment I keep coming back to. A young person, sharp, passionate, a little impatient, sits in a meeting where adults are debating the best way to solve a problem affecting her community. She’s listening carefully. She’s done the research. She raises her hand and offers a solution no one in that room had considered.

And the adults nod, thank her for her input, and move on.

That moment, the one where youth voice gets acknowledged but not acted on, is one of the most common and most damaging dynamics in youth leadership work today. It’s exactly what we must change.

What Working with Young People Has Taught Us

At NYLC, we’ve spent decades asking one essential question: What does it actually take to develop authentic youth leadership? Not the performative kind. Not the “let’s put a young person on the panel” kind. The real thing.

What we’ve learned is this: leadership is not a trait you’re born with. It is a skill built through doing, through service-learning, civic engagement, and genuine responsibility. The young people who grow the most are not the ones who sat through a leadership workshop. They’re the ones who were trusted to design a program, lead a team, evaluate an outcome, and then reflect honestly on what went wrong.

One of the most powerful tools we have for that kind of growth is service-learning. At its core, service-learning connects classroom knowledge with real-world challenges, strengthening learning outcomes while cultivating empathy, leadership, and civic responsibility. But it only works when the work is genuine. Young people can spot performative service from a mile away. The project has to matter. The community need has to be real. And the young person has to be the one driving the response, not just executing someone else’s plan.

What we’ve seen, again and again, is that when students engage in inquiry (What’s the issue, and why does it exist?), action (What can we do about it?), and structured reflection (What did we learn, and what would we do differently?), something shifts. They stop seeing themselves as recipients of adult-designed programs and start seeing themselves as architects of change. That’s the moment leadership actually takes root.

One young leader we worked with described her journey from participant to co-creator, and the word she kept using was agency: the belief that she could act meaningfully in the world, rather than being acted upon. That’s what we’re actually building when we do this work well.

We’ve also learned something harder to admit: adults are often the biggest barrier. Not because we mean to be, but because we’ve internalized a belief that young people need to earn their seat at the table before they can lead. But readiness doesn’t come before leadership. It comes through it.

What Institutions Need to Understand Right Now

As one young person shared on The Power of Young People podcast, “Sometimes adults don’t see the solutions we do because they’ve been looking at the problem the same way for so long.” That observation captures something essential: youth perspective isn’t just valuable. It’s necessary.

And yet most institutions are still designed to receive youth input rather than build youth leadership. There is a significant difference between inviting a young person to share their perspective and actually restructuring decision-making so their voice shapes outcomes.

Tokenism is rampant, and young people feel it immediately. Research shows that youth often report feeling unaware of decision-making opportunities, or that their input simply doesn’t matter. That is a system failure, not a youth failure. When youth are invited into spaces but not given real stakes, it doesn’t build leadership. It builds cynicism.

What institutions need to do is harder than adding a youth seat to a committee. It means asking: whose agenda is this? Who designed it? Who gets to say whether it’s working? And then genuinely being willing to let the answers change. Youth voice must be embedded in the culture, not treated as a special project, and youth need real roles: designing programs, implementing solutions, and evaluating outcomes.

The data backs this up. Recent studies show that only one in four Americans aged 18 to 39 consistently support democracy. That statistic should alarm every institution that works with young people. It also points directly to the solution: when young people experience genuine leadership opportunities where their voices shape decisions and drive change, they develop the skills, values, and commitment essential to democratic life.

Why Expanding Opportunity Pathways Matters More Than Ever

Leadership opportunities still flow most freely to young people who are already advantaged, those with access to programs, networks, and adults who champion them. That is not a pipeline problem. It is a design problem.

When we look at who is missing from leadership spaces, we have to be honest about the barriers: scheduling that doesn’t account for young people who work or carry caregiving responsibilities, programs with no transportation support, and implicit biases about who looks like a leader. Without thoughtful design, leadership opportunities default to those already advantaged. That’s an equity problem we can solve, if we choose to.

Service-learning, done well, is one of the most powerful tools for closing that gap. It is a flexible approach, easily adapted to different age levels, community needs, and curricular goals, which means it can reach young people where they are rather than asking them to fit into a predetermined mold. In 2024 alone, NYLC expanded high-quality service-learning through hundreds of trainings, supporting nearly 3,000 educators and indirectly reaching close to 500,000 people nationwide. That kind of reach matters, because leadership development at scale requires more than flagship programs for the already-engaged. It requires meeting young people in their schools, their communities, and their lives.

Expanding opportunity pathways means building equity into the structure from the beginning, not as an add-on, but as a core design principle. It means proactively inviting youth from diverse backgrounds, removing access barriers, and designing leadership roles that reflect the full diversity of young people being served. Leaders don’t come only from traditional pools.

The field has learned, repeatedly, that when young people are treated as capable contributors rather than passive recipients of adult programs, they step up, innovate, and sustain change. NYLC’s own Youth Advisory Council members have done exactly that for us, challenging the organization, shaping its strategic direction, and proving what becomes possible when young people are treated as equal partners, not advisors to be managed.

The Ask Is Simple. The Work Is Not.

Young people are already organizing, building, designing, and advocating. They are not waiting for permission, and they should not have to.

But they do need systems that take them seriously. They need adults who are willing to share power, not just create opportunities. They need institutions that embed youth voice into the decisions that actually matter, program design, strategic direction, not just the decisions that are easy to hand over. And they need sustained pathways, not one-time projects, but ongoing opportunities to lead, take on escalating responsibility, mentor peers, and keep growing.

If you work with young people, the question to sit with is not whether you believe in youth leadership. Most of us say we do. The question is whether the structures you operate within are actually designed to make it real. If the answer is not yet, that’s where the work begins.

Explore NYLC’s resources, programs, and the Power of Young People podcast at nylc.org. And if you’re ready to bring service-learning into your school or organization, start here.

Not someday. Now.

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The views and opinions expressed in community-contributed articles published on this Substack are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Center for Rising Generations.

CRG is committed to providing a platform for a wide range of voices and experiences. Some posts may address complex issues, personal stories, or calls to action meant to inspire reflection and community engagement. We encourage respectful dialogue and learning across generations.