Teens and young adults are coming of age amid a rising culture of fear, intensified by the rhetoric and policies of President Trump. Columnist Lisa Doggett and her 17-year-old daughter, Clara Williams, a rising high school senior, share their perspectives on what this means for Gen Z. For this column, Clara interviewed three other high school students in Austin.
The frenzy of high school graduation is winding down. Over the last few weeks, students have donned caps, gowns, and honor cords that mark their achievements. After months of perfecting applications and awaiting acceptance letters, college, for many, is finally a near-term reality. Yet for high school seniors across the United States – and others of their generation – an unshakeable heaviness has dampened an otherwise joyful time.
Since Donald Trump’s return to the White House, the atmosphere of fear that marked his first term has surged back. Teens and young adults are dismayed with the ways their world is unraveling: global conflicts, escalating domestic gun violence, callous treatment of immigrants, disregard for environmental regulations, new limits on student loan forgiveness, an end to abortion rights. For many, fear has become a constant undercurrent in daily life, with real consequences for their health.
Generation Z – often defined as those born between 1997 and 2012 — has never known the comfort of growing up in peace. Born into post-9/11 uncertainty, Gen Z faced the disruption of the pandemic during formative years. Their futures now are in the hands of a leader who thrives on division and exploitation.
“I know a lot of people, and actually myself included, who have had to take breaks from reading the news,” said Amari, 18, who graduated this month and asked that her last name not be used. She and her friends feel compelled to monitor each other’s news consumption and will even take away each other’s phones if one of them is getting triggered.
Reproductive Rights, Gender-Affirming Care, and School Lock-Downs
Trump’s reshaping of the federal judiciary paved the way for the fall of Roe v. Wade in 2022. In its aftermath, abortion bans took effect in more than a dozen states, including in cases of rape and incest, leaving many with little or no access to care. In our home state of Texas, which had already enacted major restrictions the year before, the end of Roe and the reelection of Trump intensified the sense of loss many young people felt as their reproductive rights were stripped away. A recent study found that rates of mental distress were significantly higher among young women in Texas compared to those in states where abortion remained accessible.
“There are an increasing number of policies aimed at restricting bodily autonomy in a way that feels threatening to our livelihood and future health,” Amari said.
Trans rights are also under attack. Amari said that some of her 18-year-old friends have been unable to access hormone therapy because insurance companies, fearing legal or political repercussions, refuse to cover it. “The way that we look at queer people — or the government’s looking at people — feels very hostile,” she said.
Trump has encouraged efforts by Republican-led legislatures in many states to pass laws banning gender-affirming care and restricting bathroom access and sports participation for trans youth. Such efforts create division and deepen the sense among trans and non-binary individuals, many of whom already experience disproportionately high rates of depression and suicide, that they don’t belong. Some of Amari’s friends have even decided to leave the country after graduation.
Clara recalls seeing a group of white male protestors, at least twice in the months leading up to the election last fall, who planted themselves on the sidewalk in front of her school with intimidating signs: “Transgenders: Liars, Insane, Psychotic, Murderers, Women Haters” and “Abortion and birth control cause cancer.” The effect was chilling, as students and teachers worried about the potential for violence.
This spring, lockdowns at Clara’s high school, due to bomb and gun threats, happened so frequently that we almost stopped taking them seriously. School is supposed to be a safe place, said Elsie Smith, a 17-year-old rising high school senior. “Going there and feeling not safe — it’s horrible because that’s not what school should be.” When young people feel anxious about going to school, they struggle to focus and learn. Under an administration that routinely downplays gun violence and opposes even modest firearm regulations, the situation is not likely to improve.
Climate Change, Immigration and Global Conflict
Climate change — pervasive and overwhelming— is perhaps the most existential of Gen Z’s fears. “It’s a thing that I’m constantly thinking about,” Amari said. A recent report published in Earth System Dynamics confirmed that several environmental tipping points are closer than ever. Ignoring stark warnings from climate scientists, Trump signed an executive order to withdraw the U.S. from the Paris Agreement on climate change on the first day of his second term. Irreversible planetary damage seems almost inevitable as he continues to boost the fossil fuel industry and overturn environmental protections.
Trump’s anti-immigrant policies and tactics have created chaos and added to the growing angst among Clara’s generation. Intensified deportation raids have sparked nationwide protests and left many immigrant families living in a state of hypervigilance. This culture of fear extends to health-care professionals who treat undocumented patients. A pediatrician who initially agreed to be quoted in this column backed out, apologetically, at the last minute, saying she didn’t want to call attention to her clinic.
The war in Gaza has further destabilized and divided this generation. Clara and her classmates have seen “Free Palestine” carved into the bathroom walls at school and feel compelled to take sides, sometimes swayed by social media posts more than reliable news reports. Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric and demonization of pro-Palestinian voices as “terrorist sympathizers” have only heightened tensions. Smith said that even her world history teacher was afraid to broach the subject.
Priya Thoppil, a 17-year-old rising high school senior, has expressed her uncertainty over staying in the U.S. for college. “As a person of color,” she said, “I just do not feel safe anymore.”
Health Consequences
Prolonged stress and fear can damage developing brains, impair learning and weaken the immune system. They increase the risk of addiction and chronic illness, including heart disease and diabetes. According to a recent study in the Journal of Adolescent Health, today’s adolescents are experiencing significantly higher rates of depression and social anxiety than young people did just two decades ago.
Trump’s persistent fear-mongering, name-calling, and scapegoating make these problems worse. He has glorified violence and continues to dismantle vital government functions, including the Department of Education. His budget proposals threaten to explode the national debt. This trail of destruction will be hard for future generations to erase.
Amari had been planning to take a gap year through AmeriCorps before college, but when AmeriCorps lost funding, she decided to go to college this fall. “I don’t know what institutions’ programs are going to be in place when I’m in college. I don’t know what things are going to be in place after. I don’t know what library access is going to look like… I don’t know what jobs are going to look like… There’s a lot of ‘I don’t know,’” she said.
We owe this year’s graduates — and all of Gen Z — elected officials who will stand up to Trump. We need leaders who will restore trust in our institutions, safeguard rights and prioritize the health and safety of young people. We need to create a society where, once again, stability, compassion and truth are inherent values woven into our policies and culture.
Lisa Doggett is a columnist for Public Health Watch. She co-authored this column with her daughter, Clara Williams. Doggett is a family and lifestyle medicine in Austin and author of the memoir, “Up the Down Escalator: Medicine, Motherhood, and Multiple Sclerosis.” The views expressed in her columns do not necessarily reflect the official policies or positions of Public Health Watch. Doggett can be reached through her website.