Imagine a wave of passionate young voices rising up in a vibrant island nation, demanding change from a leader who's overstayed his welcome—but with no clear roadmap for what happens next. That's the dramatic scene unfolding in Madagascar, where Gen Z protesters are shaking things up, yet leaving a big question mark over the future. But here's where it gets controversial: is this youthful energy enough to fix deep-rooted problems, or could it just pave the way for more instability? Stick around to explore this gripping story of hope, anger, and uncertainty.
In the bustling capital of Antananarivo on October 14, throngs of young demonstrators filled the streets, shouting fiery chants aimed squarely at Madagascar's President Andry Rajoelina. Their message was loud and clear: 'He must go. Now.' One 21-year-old student of law and politics, Angie Rakoto, voiced this sentiment strongly during a rally at May 13 Square—a spot named after the 1972 revolution led by youth that ousted the first president after independence, Philibert Tsiranana. When pressed on who should step in next, she simply shrugged. 'Truthfully, I haven't got a clue who should take his place,' she admitted, while the crowd behind her roared 'Rajoelina, out!' 'But whoever it is has to prioritize the Malagasy people over personal gain.'
Rakoto is part of a massive Gen Z movement that's been protesting for weeks, sensing triumph now that President Rajoelina has reportedly fled the country aboard a French military plane. He hasn't resigned officially or shown his face in public yet. And this is the part most people miss—these young activists are riding high on victory, but their vision stops at getting rid of the current leader, leaving a void that's hard to ignore.
This scenario echoes a global trend of youth-driven uprisings in recent weeks, where demonstrators are hungry for transformation but often lack a detailed blueprint for what that change entails. In Madagascar, a Southern African island nation, the unrest kicked off over persistent electricity and water crises in the south. It quickly escalated into calls for the president's resignation, gaining steam when the elite military unit that helped Rajoelina rise to power back in 2009 sided with the protesters.
The frustration here mirrors protests in far-flung places like Morocco, where young people are highlighting cracks in the economic system; Peru, with Gen Z rallying against pension issues and presidential inaction; and Nepal, navigating a delicate peace amid party conflicts and youth demands. On Monday, Madagascar's demonstration drew at least 15,000 participants, who proudly flew a flag featuring a skull wearing a straw hat from the popular Japanese manga 'One Piece'—a symbol that's popped up in Gen Z protests worldwide.
Many participants feel dominated by an older, mostly male elite that's either turned a blind eye to their struggles or exploited them for personal benefit. Under the constitution, if Rajoelina vacates his position, the interim Senate president, Jean André Ndremanjary, would assume control until new elections. However, with no unified leadership in the protest camp and the military stepping in to shift power dynamics, it's looking more probable that a military figure will take the helm.
This prospect doesn't faze many demonstrators, even though history shows that after Tsiranana's ouster, two military successors mismanaged the economy severely. 'If a military leader genuinely cares for the land, I'm okay with that,' said 30-year-old mechanic Fanizy Razafimandimby, standing on the square surrounded by historic colonial architecture nestled between rolling hills. 'It's just for the transition—we need someone who can actually fix what's broken.' When asked for a specific name, he echoed the vagueness of others interviewed by Reuters: 'No one comes to mind.'
Madagascar stands out as one of the planet's poorest nations, even when compared to many others on the African continent. A staggering 75% of its population lives below the World Bank's poverty threshold of $2.15 per day, and this figure has hardly budged over the past 40 years. The average annual income hovers around $600, and with a median age of just 19, the island in the Indian Ocean ranks near the bottom of the United Nations Human Development Index—a comprehensive measure that looks at everything from health and education to overall quality of life. To put that in perspective, the Human Development Index helps beginners understand a country's progress by combining factors like literacy rates and life expectancy; Madagascar's low score means many face daily challenges that hold them back from flourishing.
At the protest, some attendees wore worn-out, dusty clothing, while barefoot kids darted among them, gesturing for handouts. Many Malagasy people point fingers at their former colonial ruler, France, for sowing the seeds of their woes, and they frequently criticize Rajoelina's dual citizenship and his ties to France. Mamisoa Ravonsinirina, a 30-year-old working in a call center that handles complaints for the national electricity company, knows the frustration of power outages firsthand. 'I have to soothe callers, assuring them things will improve,' he shared as he marched with protesters waving the Malagasy flag. 'But deep down, I know the truth.' His own home suffers from the same shortages, and despite earning about 700,000 ariary—roughly $150—a month with a master's degree, he's battling soaring food costs.
The island's economy hinges on key exports: it's the world's top producer of vanilla, supplying two-thirds of the global market; it mines valuable minerals like nickel, sapphires, and ilmenite (a white pigment used in products from plastics to toothpaste); and it relies on seafood and textiles. Yet, government after government has struggled to turn these riches into widespread prosperity, and Rajoelina's broken pledges to do just that fueled much of the outrage. 'We're pleading for jobs, reliable power, affordable rice—and all we hear are empty promises,' lamented 26-year-old tour guide Andre Hassana, who caters to English-speaking visitors. When questioned if the next leader might disappoint, he countered confidently: 'Not again. We've learned from our mistakes, and we won't put up with it this time.'
But here's where it gets controversial: Are these protesters' hopes overly optimistic, or is their faith in quick fixes ignoring the complex web of corruption and economic hurdles? Some might argue that military involvement could lead to authoritarianism, repeating past cycles—think of how similar transitions in other countries have derailed progress. On the flip side, empowering the youth could bring fresh ideas and accountability. What do you think? Does this wave of Gen Z activism in Madagascar signal a true turning point, or is it setting the stage for more turmoil? Share your thoughts in the comments—do you agree with the protesters' demands, or do you see potential pitfalls ahead? We'd love to hear your perspectives on how youth-led movements can shape the future without clear plans in place.
Reporting by Tim Cocks; editing by Silvia Aloisi and Andrew Cawthorne.
Our Standards: The Thomson Reuters Trust Principles.
Tim Cocks, with over two decades of experience covering Africa for Reuters—including a period reporting on the Iraq War—now focuses on politics, climate change, diplomacy, and human stories. He previously served as bureau chief for West and Central Africa, and his 2019 feature on Ghana's artisanal gold mining earned him a SABEW award for best feature. He's also the author of 'Lagos: Supernatural City,' an insightful look at life in Africa's largest city.
