By The Editorial Board
When the government shuts down, it’s easy to shrug and think, “That’s Washington’s problem.” But here’s the truth: when the lights go out in D.C., the shadows reach our classrooms, our dorm rooms and our financial aid accounts. The shutdown may seem like political theater performed by distant figures in suits, but the damage has already spread not only to our campuses, but our faith in the system itself.
College students, especially, live in that in-between space where politics feels both omnipresent and irrelevant. We scroll through news about Congress the same way we scroll through TikTok drama: detached and entertained, but never engaged. It feels distant, until it’s not. Because while we’re busy saying “that doesn’t affect me,” federal aid officers are being furloughed, campus safety investigations are being delayed and the scaffolding of higher education — the part that makes it accessible — is quietly crumbling.
A government shutdown isn’t just about parks closing or paychecks freezing. It’s about the quiet erosion of the systems that keep opportunity alive. When 632 of the 747 employees in the Federal Student Aid department are sent home, that doesn’t just mean slower FAFSA processing. It means real students, with real dreams, sitting in dorm rooms wondering how to make tuition work. It means delays, uncertainty and the subtle but powerful message that young people’s futures can wait.
And maybe that’s the deeper problem — the way this country treats young people as an afterthought. Shutdowns, stalemates and political theater all thrive on the assumption that we won’t notice, or worse, that we won’t care. Politicians count on our exhaustion and bank on our cynicism, as apathy is their greatest ally. As long as we believe our voices don’t matter, they get to keep speaking for us.
But if there’s one thing history keeps proving, it’s that disengagement is dangerous. The less we pay attention, the more those in power can afford to ignore us. And they do. They cut education budgets, underfund climate initiatives and treat student debt as though it’s inconsequential — all while expecting us to simply wait our turn. Yet we’re the ones who will live longest with the consequences of their short-term decisions.
Maybe that’s why this generation feels so tired. We’re inheriting chaos we didn’t create and then being told it’s our task to fix it. The government shuts down and we keep studying for midterms, filling out forms, applying for jobs — all while the institutions meant to support us flicker in and out of functionality. It’s no wonder so many young people feel politically powerless. The system feels broken, because in many ways, it is.
But here’s the thing: broken systems don’t repair themselves. They’re rebuilt by people who are willing to get their hands dirty. Every election, every protest, every piece of advocacy — these are the small acts of repair that hold democracy together. And that’s where college students come in. We are not the audience of democracy; we are the architects of its future.
When youth voter turnout is low, we lose more than representation; we lose leverage. We lose the ability to demand better from the people who claim to serve us. Voting may not solve everything, but not voting guarantees that nothing changes. It’s like refusing to study for a test because you think the teacher won’t grade fairly; maybe that’s true, but you’ve still handed over your control. The same logic applies to politics: when we check out, we hand the microphone to those who already have the loudest voices.
So as election day draws near, don’t let confusion be the reason your voice goes unheard. In Texas, early voting runs from Oct. 20-31, and mail-in ballot requests close Oct. 24 — deadlines that are quickly approaching. The Texas ballot is long this year, with 17 proposed amendments waiting for your attention. Don’t treat this as a pop quiz. Read, research and show up, because silence is still a vote; it just benefits someone else.
The shutdown is a symptom, not the disease. It’s what happens when political ego outweighs public service, when power becomes performance, and when citizens — especially young ones — stop expecting more. It’s easy to look at the boarded-up White House and see dysfunctions. But what we should see is a reflection of our own disengagement, the collective shrug that lets leaders trade accountability for theater.
So, yes, the government is shut down. But perhaps the greater tragedy is how many of us have shut down with it. We’ve become numb to dysfunction, resigned to gridlock and comfortable in our cynicism. Yet beneath that numbness, there’s still a spark. Every student who shows up to vote, who insists on researching the state of our democracy, who debates policy in class — that’s proof that we haven’t completely given up.
What we need now is a refusal to go quiet. A refusal to let the halls of power turn into ghost towns. A refusal to accept “shutdown” as the new normal.
Because when the government shuts down, our generation’s future is what’s really on the line. The question isn’t whether we’re affected — it’s whether we’ll finally decide to act like it.
