Fighting the‘big men’Kenyan artistGor Soudan onfinding a voicePage 2

Inside »

Selling thefutureBinny Bansal ofFlipkart – India’sanswer to AmazonPage 3

Arab springActivists fight totaste fruits ofrevolutionPage 4

FT SPECIAL REPORT

The Millennial Generation Part TwoThursday June 6 2013 www.ft.com/reports | twitter.com/ftreports

Few “millennials” – or the gen-eration aged between 18 and33 – can remember a timewhen technology has not beena fundamental part of their

lives. Not only does it answer theirquestions, but, through social media,it also gives them the ability to alterthe way in which they are perceivedby their peers and the greater worldaround them. Online tools and smartdevices have empowered the genera-tion born since 1980 in a way fewprevious technologies have done.

“Technology has played a huge rolein how they’re different from thegeneration that came before them,”says Jean Case, chief executive of theCase Foundation, which she and herhusband Steve Case, AOL’s co-founder, created in 1997.

This generation sees technology aslevelling the playing field. In the FT-Telefónica Global Millennials Surveyof 18 to 30-year olds almost 70 per centof respondents said “technology cre-ates more opportunities for all” asopposed to “a select few”.

This belief has brought tremendousconfidence to the world’s first genera-tion of digital natives, despite facingthe worst economic outlook since thegreat depression.

“We have all these incredible gadg-ets that connect us to the world,” saysPaul Taylor, executive vice-presidentof the Pew Research Centre and direc-tor of its Social & DemographicTrends project. “But for them, it’s thewallpaper of their lives and it allowsthem to place themselves at the cen-tre of the universe.”

With a Facebook page or a Twitterpresence, millennials can broadcasttheir views, ideas and creative outputglobally – and potentially find anaudience of millions. “That isenormously empowering,” says MrTaylor. “That, as much as anything,contributes to their confidence.”

While technology might help themfeel at the centre of the universe, itsability to connect millennials to othercommunities across the world hasalso created in many a desire to helpsolve big global problems. “They’reidealists and their level of engage-ment with the things they care aboutis extraordinary,” says Ms Case.

She cites research the foundationconducted revealing that millennialswant to do more than simply give to

causes they care about. Some 44 percent wanted to know how their dona-tions were used and 41 per cent, whengiving, also wanted to know aboutvolunteer opportunities.

“This is a different level of engage-ment from young people than we’vetraditionally seen,” she says.

Again, technology is playing a role.Supporting this philanthropic impulseare non-profit websites that matchcharities with volunteers or allow

Continued on Page 2

‘They’re idealists and theirlevel of engagement withthe things they care aboutis extraordinary’

Technologyputs powerin the handsof the many

TransitionAs traditional ways of workingdisappear, the young find value in contributingto changing theworld, writes SarahMurray

Gender battleYoung Braziliancongresswomanseeks to break‘male cartel’Page 2

The MillennialGenerationPart OneFinding a placewithin the worldwww.ft.com/millennial

On FT.com »ILLU

STRATION:N

ICKLO

WNDES

2 ★ FINANCIAL TIMES THURSDAY JUNE 6 2013

The Millennial Generation Part Two

When people think of themillennial generation theymight imagine people whogrew up spending theirevery living moment on theinternet. But Brazilian“Generation Y” politicianManuela D’Ávila definesher age group by far morethan its relationship withtechnology.

Although they are techsavvy – the country has thesecond-largest Facebookcommunity in the worldafter the US – Brazil’s mil-lennials have the proud dis-tinction of being the firstgeneration in recent historyin their country to havegrown up politically free.

While many were bornduring the country’s mili-tary dictatorship, whichended in 1984, few were oldenough to remember it andmost have participated inalmost as many elections astheir parents. “This is thefirst generation that hasvoted according to theirtrue feelings,” says MsD’Ávila, a federal congressmember from the southernstate of Rio Grande do Sul.At only 31 years of age, MsD’Ávila has already brokenmost of the existingmoulds, even for a memberof a generation accustomedto turning traditional mod-els upside down.

She is serving her secondterm in Congress, whereshe is the leader of theCommunist party of Brazilfaction in the lower house.

Not only is she excep-tional for her youth in anassembly characterised byageing party stalwarts butalso for the fact she is awoman. She carries on hercellphone a photo of hertaken in Congress showinga young elegantly dressedwoman adrift in a sea ofgrey-bearded suits, whichillustrates the point thatBrazilian politics is domi-nated by men.

“I saved this on my cell-phone because when peoplesay they don’t need to fightfor empowerment of womenany more, I show them thatimage. When I do, everyoneunderstands,” she says.

Brazil with its relativelyyoung population seems anatural breeding ground forpoliticians such as MsD’Ávila. Younger Brazilianshave no hang-ups aboutusing technology, includingfor political ends.

They are taking to smart-phones as fast as they canafford them, or the coun-try’s creaking telecom net-works will allow.

About 1.8m Braziliansper month have joinedFacebook in recentyears, with the numberusing the site now total-ling more than two-thirds of the country’s90m internet users. Theaptitude of Brazilianyouth, in particular,for the internet hasattracted attentionfrom Silicon Val-ley. Redpoint Ven-tures, previouslyknown as BV Capi-tal, has receivedcommitments of

$130m for a joint fund thatwill invest mainly in newconsumer internet groupsin Brazil.

Ms D’Ávila came to officeby championing the rightsof her generation. A Marx-ist by age 17, she started instudent politics at her uni-versity in Porto Alegre, thecapital of Rio Grande doSul, before joining the localcouncil. She campaigned formore space and facilities foryoung people in a city thatwas wrestling with increas-ing crime.

“The idea of public secu-rity is always that ofrestricting public space,which for youth has a hugeimpact,” she says.

She became a congress-woman in 2006 and wasstruck by what she believesis the mutually reinforcingmale domination of Brazil’spolitical and businessworlds. Brazil’s Congress is8 per cent female comparedwith almost 40 per cent forneighbouring Argentina or25 per cent in France.

“There is no one reason,”she says, in reference to theskewed congressional gen-der balance. She adds thatit at least partly reflects themachismo of Brazilian soci-ety. “There doesn’t exist asituation where politicssupersedes the culture of asociety.”

Reinforcing the trend isthat campaign finance wasprovided by businessmen topoliticians who also hap-pened to be men. They oper-ate as a cartel, with thepolitical dynasties in con-gress and their businessassociates making it diffi-cult for newcomers, espe-cially women, to penetratetheir world, she says.

The only way to solve theproblem of gender imbal-ance and graft in Congressin the longer term is to pro-vide public financing forcampaigns, she adds.

“For me, public financefor campaigns would endcorruption. No, nothing willend it,” she corrects herself.“But at least it woulddiminish it.”

In the meantime, she saysone of the great steps for-ward for women in Brazilwas the election of thecountry’s first female presi-dent, Dilma Rousseff, in2010. Since she took officeon January 1 2011, the pres-ident has appointed a largenumber of women to seniorpositions in the governmentand in state-owned compa-nies, such oil producerPetrobras.

“People perhaps don’tunderstand how importantit is for children to beraised in an environmentwith women occupyingpositions of power,” she

comments.“It willchange a

g e n e r a -tion.”

Politicianadds edge togender battleBrazilian society

AMarxist at 17,Manuela D’Ávila’saim is to break themale stranglehold,writes, Joe Leahy

Born into a world in whichold certainties were crum-bling and nothing, from thevalue of the rouble to thesecurity of their parents’jobs remained certain, Rus-sia’s twenty-somethingsknow the future dependsvery much on their efforts.

The old Soviet Union isthe unimaginable past formany and a hazy memoryfor the rest. These perspec-tives define their age group,starkly differentiating themfrom parents and older sib-lings.

“Our generation is inter-esting. I was born in 1989 asthe Soviet Union was end-ing and we grew up invibrant turbulent times,”says Timur Zolotoev, a jour-nalist and PhD student.

While his older brothersand sisters were forced toattend Boy Scout-like pio-neer rallies that drummed

patriotism into Sovietyouth, Mr Zolotoev and hispeers absorbed US filmsand soap operas and haveadapted to Russia’s cut-throat capitalism far betterthan older compatriots.They have travelled farmore widely than previousgenerations and are wiredinto an online universe.

“The early exposure toAmerican culture affectedour generation,” Mr Zolo-toev explains. “We expectour lives to be in our ownhands. We don’t expect any-thing from the state – not acar, not a house, not a job.

“We are young, aggres-sive and ambitious.”

Mr Zolotoev, who gradu-ated two years ago fromRussia’s prestigious Mos-cow State University, feelsit is easier for many west-ern companies and privatefirms to hire young gradu-ates like himself, flexibleand eager for experience.

The downside for compa-nies hiring Russia’s brightyoung things is that whilethis generation might notexpect job security, loyaltydoes not feature highly intheir résumés. Many jobhop frequently.

“I quit my last job threeweeks ago and I’ve already

got three offers,’ says IlyaTsatska, a German-speakingPhD student, who has spentthe last 18 months workingfor a market research com-pany helping western firmsnavigate the complexities ofdoing business in Russian.

Mr Tsatska says his will-ingness to stay in a job faroutweighs that of hisformer classmate, AnastasiaFedotova, who is happy tomove on after a few monthsif the position is not rightfor her and has worked atfour different companiesin the last two years. “Nat-stya is a notorious job-hop-

per,” he says with a grin.Now working as a mar-

keting manager, Ms Fedo-tova denies she is fickle andsays that hitherto she waslooking for the right oppor-tunity where she couldlearn new skills and not becalled to work at 3am. Sheworked at the Austrianembassy, Siemens and aconsultancy before settling.

“In Russia, many peoplethink that work is part ofyour life, but I think thatwork is your life, so if youare happy at work you’ll behappy. I hated my last joband lost a lot of weight

through stress. It’s impor-tant to find the right role.”

While western economiesremain in the doldrums,Russia’s is still growing,though at 1.6 per cent in thefirst quarter of this year,the rate is at its slowestsince 2009. Compared withtheir counterparts in west-ern Europe though, Rus-sia’s top graduates have awide range of opportunities.

“I have travelled and Ican see that we are muchbetter off than people of ourage in western Europe,although I’m really justtalking about Moscow.Things in other parts ofRussia are much more diffi-cult,” says Mr Zolotoev.

Ilya Yurovsky, an assist-ant to a managing partnerat an international lawfirm, says travel sets themapart from other genera-tions. “My brothers are 10years older than me andthey have never beenabroad and never will. Theysay they don’t like flying,”he says, adding that it is amatter of mindset, giventhat even people on lowerincomes can afford packagetrips to Turkey and Egypt.

“We can travel and con-sume things that other gen-erations don’t and, since we

get most of our news fromthe internet, we can clearlysee we have the opportunityto live different kinds oflives”, says Mr Zolotoev.

The gulf between Moscowand Russia’s hinterland isseen in internet penetra-tion, which is ubiquitous inthe capital and widespreadin cities with more than amillion inhabitants, but farless in smaller towns.

For people without theinternet, who are oftenolder, state-controlled tele-vision shapes their worldview. Russia’s youth arewired into their smart-phones for everything fromnews to entertainment.

“Really, I buy everythingexcept food and clothesonline,” says Mr Tsatska.

While small luxuries areeasily available, for manyyoung Russians, no matterhow much they save, anapartment of their own willbe unaffordable even on agood salary. Mortgage lend-ing is poorly developed andinterest rates very high.

“I don’t want to remainliving with parents for ever,but I really can’t see how Iwill ever be able to afford aplace of my own so that is areally big worry,” says MsFedotova.

Post-Soviet youth perceives world of opportunity

Gor Soudan is fed up of “bigmen” – the people who runthe country. Instead the 31-year-old Kenyan artist sayshe cares more about his

friends and neighbours. “It’s just real-ising who do you want to hear you?Do you want the people at the top tohear you? They’re so way up there,you can shout as much as you want,”says the up-and-coming artist.

“Speak to your brother. That’ssomeone who will stop and listen.”

Mr Soudan’s home-cum-studio is acase in point. On the fifth floor of asix-storey block – one of the few mul-ti-storey buildings in Nairobi’s sprawl-ing Kibera slum – his workspaceembraces those closest to him. A largeblack sheet stuck up on the livingroom wall greets visitors who climbthe stairs. “The Jolly Guys KiberaSocial Club,” reads large white letter-ing, with the entreaty: “Keep peace.”

The reference to jolly is a pun onthe name of a nearby nursery andalso an invocation to the spirit of hisage and place. Hidden among theshacks, bad wiring and even worseguttering of the country’s biggestslum are artists, ad hoc art schoolsand the odd music recording studio.“Things are just happening,” he says.“We are also trying to get a feel of it.We don’t know what’s going on.That’s why we choose to just be jollyabout it. So it’s a jolly club.”

Although Mr Soudan, who read phi-losophy at university before becomingan artist, had never heard of the mil-lennial generation, he could be itslocal spokesman. “We gave up tryingto speak to the big men. They don’t

listen,” he says. “That’s what art inAfrica is doing right now, speaking toyour brother.”

In their home, works by Mr Soudanand his two flatmates fill the walls,the floors and the space where his bedshould be. About 12 friends hang outor work together there, and any localresident is welcome to look in at anytime. Their artists’ collective spillsinto the other rooms and, in the bed-room, his thin mattress is rolled upinto a bundle beside a bicycle, bags ofclothes and his works. “I need thespace,” he shrugs.

Despite the upbeat approach to pro-ducing art, his work is hardly jolly.Evidence of his “Angry Birds” seriesis everywhere. A wire-framed crowglowers on the floor, shrink-wrappedin molten black plastic bags. Outsizecardboard daubed with black and bluesprays of dribbled shining car paintforms the image of furious crows,leaning against walls.

It is a bleak motif – a homage to thecrow as an aggressive scavenger, ametaphor for everything from coloni-alism to Kenya’s broken modern poli-tics, from the cultural appropriationof video games to survival. “You growup knowing they’re evil,” he says ofthe black crows that made it overfrom India, feeding off trading shipsto Kenya’s hot coastline. “It’s an eas-ier way of talking about people.”

Mr Soudan is a scavenger himself.On a narrow balcony overlookingthe rusting metal roofs of Kibera, aprofusion of wire sits in a bag waitingto be bent into his latest work of pro-test. For Mr Soudan, his art is a con-tinuation of years of inquiry. “It’s like

writing. It’s a critical way of thinking.So I don’t feel I’m doing anything verydifferent from what I studied.” Inanother piece, he scrawls ink over acopy of Kenya’s constitution, pastedon board to look like a building.“They can never tell me I never readthe constitution,” he laughs.

Mr Soudan has twice been caughtup in the violence that has accompa-nied Kenya’s elections. A few yearsago, he was at home in Kisumu, anopposition stronghold and the westernlakeside town of his birth. Therepolice shot dead dozens of people whoprotested the results over the courseof months.

He was in Kibera, another opposi-tion stronghold, for the latest round ofelections in March. “The police pres-ence was massive,” he said. “We hadhelicopters going around the neigh-bourhood; there were lorries of policewith AK47s, shining boots and alllined up, just going up and down; therule was, they don’t want to see agroup of people. So if you were hang-ing out with your friends on thestreets, they’d come for you.”

Friends and neighbours took to thestreets, targeting police with stones.Mr Soudan prefers to take refuge inhis art. While expatriates buy hiswork, regularly on show in Nairobi,many more young Kenyans are buy-ing pieces. “They have, like, 15 paint-ings, and then they start talkingabout their collection,” he says.

For him, art is less about ownershipthan consumption – including thekids who watch him at work. “Theysee the wires and they see what youare doing with it, so really they areconsuming, looking at the process –the transformation of this wire fromrubbish into art,” he says.

“A gallery [is] some place theyalways just hear about and are notallowed to visit. But then they realisethat the transformation is art. That’sthe consumption. It’s not the endresult.”

That means he strives to be an art-ist for all people. “I don’t buy into thisGeneration Y or X, we are all in thistogether,” he says. “The 90-year-oldsand the five-year-olds, we are all inthis mess together.”

Artist turnswork intoprotest againstthe ‘big men’

Kenya KatrinaMansonmeetsNairobi artistGor Soudan to hear an offbeat view of society

Generation yes:Gor Soudan isengaging with hispeers through art

Pete Muller

donors to track small dona-tions and receive feedbackfrom recipients. Meanwhile,the sense of how millenni-als can contribute asindividuals is increasing astraditional ways of workingare eroded and technologyreplaces not just manuallabour but also intellectualcapital.

“Artificial intelligence,algorithms and the webmean that all the repetitivejobs are going away,” saysBill Drayton, founder ofAshoka, the social entrepre-neurship organisation. “Thenew value is in contributing

Continued from Page 1 to change.” Millennials’belief in their ability toeffect change varies acrossthe world. The Telefónicasurvey found Latin Ameri-cans had the strongestsense that they could makea difference globally, at 62per cent, compared with 40per cent of all respondents.

This belief increaseswhen considering their ownenvironment, with 62 percent of all surveyed sayingthey could make a differ-ence locally.

What this highlights is ashift in the way leadershipis viewed. Millennials’ trustin traditional institutionsand leaders is declining.

More than half the respond-ents did not think govern-ments reflected their beliefsand values. Instead, theyput more faith in the wis-dom of the crowd, accessedvia social media. Millenni-als trust each other andturn to their peers whenthey have questions toanswer. “There’s a two-wayconnection and anyone cantalk to anyone in theworld,” says Mr Taylor.

Yet the confidence andconnectivity that technol-ogy has brought this gener-ation can also be accompa-nied by stresses and doubts.

“The old model of organi-sation, where a few people

choreograph what everyoneelse does is failing andinstead you have fluid, openarchitecture with synapsesrunning in every direction,”says Mr Drayton.

This means that, to sur-vive and thrive, millennialsbelieve they must rely lesson institutions and more onthemselves and their peers.

One thing that may helpmillennials navigate thisnew fluid, open environ-ment is that, as a 2010 PewResearch Centre studyrevealed, they are morereceptive to change thanolder generations.

The study, which polledmillennials in the US, found

them more tolerant ofimmigrants than theirelders, with almost six-in-10saying that immigrantsstrengthened the country.

While religious extrem-ism is on the rise amongyoung people in certaincommunities, many aremore religiously tolerantthan their elders, with 76per cent of those polled byTelefónica saying they wereopen to religions and beliefsoutside their own.

Mr Taylor sees this par-ticularly at work among USmillennials, among whomattitudes to interracial mar-riage and sexual identityare changing rapidly. “In

the US, one thing that’snotable is their acceptanceof diversity,” he says.“There’s a lot of socialchange that’s connected tothis generation.”

Of course, for the millionsof young people withoutjobs, any tolerance, open-ness and confidence in theirability to effect change istempered by the grim pros-pect of being unable tomake the transition fromschool to the workplace orto afford to buy a home oreventually retire.

Given the growing gapsin employment prospectsand wealth levels amongyoung people worldwide,

differences in attitudebetween the haves andhave-nots are likely toincrease, too.

However, given the mil-lennials’ desire to helpsolve problems, they maywell play a prominent rolein building a more stableeconomy and an equitablesociety.

Ms Case is optimistic.“These people will changethe world, and they haveopportunities to do that,”she says. “We have a seg-ment being left behind. ButI’m hoping that the genera-tion with the opportunitieswill pay attention to theirpeers without.”

Technology puts power in the hands of the many

Lifestyle

Russia’s young havemore choices but stillface deficiencies ininfrastructure, saysRachel Morarjee

Political future:Manuela D’Ávila

‘While recession has had ahuge effect on the numberand range of jobs availableto graduates, that isno reason to bepessimistic about thefuture. I will always strivefor my ideal future, andpersistence will get methere one day’

Nicholas Davies, 23Student official, UK

40%Percentage who feel theycould effect change globally

62%Percentage who feel theycould effect change locally

FINANCIAL TIMES THURSDAY JUNE 6 2013 ★ 3

people in Spain want to dothings, they are motivatedand have ideas, but withthe situation we have peo-ple who find themselves ina vicious circle,” she says.

“When you are without ajob, it is easy to becomecompletely unmotivated,and just sit on your par-ents’ sofa all day. But youhave to keep doing things,you have to keep yourselfmotivated”.

The Spanish government,stung by the effect on thecountry’s image caused bythe high level of jobless-ness, hopes that a reform tothe labour laws willimprove the situation. Thereform aims to increase theability of companies to hireand fire employees and act

Styling thefutureKatie Eary, UKfashion designer,on menswear andrapper Kanye West

The Millennial Generation Part Two

Shannon BondUS reporterJames CrabtreeMumbai correspondentMiles JohnsonMadrid correspondentFeargus O’SullivanFreelance journalist and writerKatrina MansonEast Africa correspondentSarah MurrayFT contributorJoe LeahyBrazil bureau chiefRachel MorarjeeFreelance journalist based in MoscowHeba SalehCairo correspondent

Hugo GreenhalghCommissioning editorSteven BirdDesignMichael CrabtreePicture editorSam Judah, Natalia Drozdiak,Aisha GaniResearch

For advertising details, contact:Robert Grange +44 (0) 20 7873 4418,email: robert.grange@ft.com, or yourusual FT representative.

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Contributors »

As one of India’s most promi-nent dotcom entrepreneurs,it is perhaps not surprisingthat Binny Bansal recallsthe moment he discovered

his passion for technology.“The first time I saw a computer I

was 11, in school back in 1994,” hesays. “You could play some games ordo some basic programming. That waswhen I got to experience it first handand I think it was love at first sight.”

Today, Mr Bansal is known as oneof the co-founders of Flipkart.com, anecommerce venture dubbed the “Ama-zon of India”. It is a label he happilyaccepts for a business that sells every-thing from books and electronics totoys and watches, and makes morethan 2m shipments per month

To some extent, the company couldbe seen as derivative of Amazon’spioneering model. Its achievementsare just as impressive, however, notleast given the unusual barriers sucha business faces in India.

From the outset, Mr Bansal and histeam had to cope with a chaotic,fragmented retail system, while alsofiguring out how to do seeminglybasic things, such as building a relia-ble nationwide delivery system in acountry with a limited postal serviceand developing systems – for example,payment on delivery – to suit custom-ers who mostly do not own creditcards.

Many of these problems were solvedby the application of technology, MrBansal says. He adds that this is anapproach that he shares with many ofhis generation, who become familiarwith technology at a young age. In hiscase it took four more years after he

first used a computer before he hadone in his house, when his fatherbought a PC for their home in thenorthern city of Chandigarh. An inter-est in software programming followed,deepening a few years later when theweb first came to India.

“I was the first one in my town toget the internet, and so there were alot of friends who came over,” hesays. “Computers were what I becamepassionate about.”

Then, as now, only a select few inIndia were able to have access to com-puters, although these days most doown basic mobile phones. An esti-mated 150m are online, less than 10per cent of the 1.2bn population.

Even so, this makes India theworld’s third most engaged nationonline, after China and the US andcreates a sizeable group of young peo-ple comfortable with developing tech-nologies.

Of his initial experiments withgames and chat rooms, Mr Bansalrecalls: “In those early days, it wasslow [using] a modem on a phone line,but the information was quite power-ful. But from that time on, I becamevery, very interested in how thesethings work and what they can do.”

In person, Mr Bansal is quiet andreflective, almost shy. When I methim for the first time last year – at acoffee shop close to Flipkart’s high-tech offices in the southern Indian IThub of Bangalore – he came across asquite unlike a pushy California-styledotcom whizkid.

For all that, he does share at leasttwo traits with many of the otheryoung global entrepreneurs who havebuilt leading technology companies,

the first being a background inengineering. Mr Bansal’s early inter-est in computing helped him win aplace at the Indian Institute of Tech-nology (IITD) in New Delhi, perhapshis country’s most celebrated univer-sity. It is certainly known for theextraordinarily slim odds faced byapplicants for admission. “I waslucky,” Mr Bansal says.

The second shared characteristic ismore obvious: his youth. He set upthe company with co-founder SachinBansal (a friend from IITD but not arelation) in 2007, when he was just 24.

Today, Binny Bansal is still only 30,while his group’s 6,000 staff have adecidedly youthful feel, too. “Almostall of the company, including the lead-ership, is our age or younger, defi-nitely,” he says. In its early days, hesays the idea for the business wasmostly based on intuition, if oneinspired by a period during which MrBansal worked as an engineer inAmazon’s Indian operation.

“Our hunch was that online travelcompanies were growing in India veryquickly and so people were buyingtickets on the web, but at the sametime the current crop of Indian

retailers were just really, really badonline,” he says. “We could see theyjust didn’t get it.”

For all that, building an onlineretailer presented formidablechallenges. “There were a lot of theseproblems at the start, but thankfullywe were quite ignorant of them beforewe began,” Mr Bansal recalls. “Wedidn’t really have a clue and if we hadknown how difficult it would be, to behonest, we probably wouldn’t havedone it.” The company now has reve-nues of Rs5bn ($90m), servicing 6.5mregistered customers.

As to the future, Mr Bansal says heand Flipkart are preparing for whatthey believe will be the next big stagein India’s internet journey – themoment when the first generation inthe country to grow up digitally sud-denly junks their old-fashioned mobiledevices in favour of internet-enabledsmartphones.

“That is where the growth is goingto come from, and it will happen inthe next couple of years for sure,” hesays. He imagines his client basepotentially doubling, “or going upeven more than that . . . It will have amassive, massive impact.”

Spaniards born in the 1980swere until recently thoughtto be the luckiest genera-tion in their country’s his-tory. Coming into the worldas Spain emerged from theisolation of the Francodictatorship into the widercommunity of the EuropeanUnion, it was taken forgranted that the country’sconfident, educated youngwould enjoy opportunitiesnever offered to their par-ents.

Yet, for a generation thathas lived through an almostuninterrupted surge inwealth and living stand-ards, history has taken acruel turn.

Where once the Spanishgovernment openly boastedabout the possibility of theeconomy overtaking that ofItaly, the bursting ofSpain’s decade-long prop-erty bubble has causedyouth unemployment tosurge to the highest level inthe EU.

With about 1.8m Span-iards under the age of 30out of work, and an unem-ployment rate of 57 per centfor those aged under 25, thelife chances for a genera-tion that had symbolised anew, modern and interna-tionally relevant Spain nowappear, for the first timesince the transition, to beworse than for those born adecade before.

“It is much worse to be ayoung person coming out ofcollege today in Spain than10 years ago,” says JavierDíaz-Giménez, an economistat Iese Business School inMadrid.

“For graduates, it is verydifficult but a sizeablenumber of young Spaniardsbecame high school drop-outs to work in the con-struction sector when itwas booming, and now theyfind themselves out of workand without training.”Faced with remaining on

the sidelines for the start oftheir working lives, moreand more young Spaniardsare choosing to moveabroad.

Cristina Arias, a 27-year-old from Galicia in thenorthwest, is typical ofmany highly educatedyoung Spaniards. She facesthe choice of staying in thecountry in the hope of find-ing often poorly paid work,or searching for opportuni-ties abroad.

After graduating inMadrid, she worked in aseries of jobs before takingup a position in the commu-nications department of amusic festival. Last yearthe festival lost money andshe found herself without ajob in a market where thechance of finding perma-nent and reasonably paidwork was fast disappearing.

Having taken a holiday tovisit friends in Germany,she then came to a decisionabout what to do next:“When I was staying in Ber-lin on holiday, I suddenlythought to myself thatthere was nothing in Spainto go back to, no opportuni-ties, so I decided to stay,”she says.

Yet not being able tospeak German meant shecould not find work and so,after two months, shereturned home to her par-ents in Galicia. She is nowtaking German classes andhopes to return to Germanylater this year. “Young

as an incentive for employ-ers to take greater chanceson recruiting young work-ers, without the fear of laterbeing forced to pay highcompensation if they aremade redundant.

The government hasadopted increasingly unor-thodox policies to underlineits commitment to fightingyouth unemployment.

Fátima Báñez, Spain’semployment minister, inMay struck an agreementwith her German counter-part, whereby Germany willoffer 5,000 apprenticeships ayear to young unemployedSpaniards.

Economists and labourmarket experts argue thatmore must be done to com-bat Spain’s so-called duallabour market, where short-term and poorly paid con-tracts are the norm forthose young people luckyenough to find work.

“There is no long-termcommitment to employeesfrom their employers, andthat is an extremely unfairproposition for young peo-ple,” says Mr Díaz-Giménez.

For Ms Arias, the diffi-culty of finding a long-termcontract, or the insistenceof many employers on offer-ing only unpaid intern-ships, is a further incentiveto emigrate. “When youhave a short-term contractyou are less motivated,” shesays. “In the past in Spain,companies knew that theirworkers were the soul ofthe company and that whenthey were treated well theyworked hard.”

Many of her friends arenow trying to set up theirown businesses, althoughthey are struggling to findthe level of start-up capitalthey need.

“Sometimes people thinkthat young people here areunmotivated, or enjoyliving at home with theirparents, but this is nottrue,” says Ms Arias.

“People are more moti-vated to do new things thanever before, but many seehow things are and think itis impossible. I love Spain,but we cannot be expectedto stay here and wait for-ever just to get a job.”

Record unemployment foryoung destroys aspirationsSpain

Financial crisis hurta generation, writesMiles Johnson

In 2004, Aaron Duncan wasworking in minimum-wageodd jobs, had a high schoolequivalency diploma andwas falling behind on hisrent. While the financialcrisis was still years away,the economic picture wasalready bleak for the 18-year-old in Louisiana.

Mr Duncan did whatcountless young Americansin similar situations havedone: he walked into thelocal army recruiter’s office.“I said, ‘I need to joinnow,’” he recalls.

Nine years later, militaryservice has evolved for himfrom a way out of a difficultsituation into a career. Hehas served in Iraq andAfghanistan, taken college-level classes and is a staffsergeant based in SouthKorea.

“I definitely did not seemyself doing this for thelong term,” he says. At onepoint he considered leavingand trying his luck in thecivilian world. But that was2011, and he worried abouthis job prospects.

“You can’t beat the pre-dictability of the military. Iknow on the 15th and the1st, I’m going to get acheque,” he says. “Even ifthe military downsizes,they do it in a competitivefashion. They’re not justgoing to get rid of mebecause I’m the new guy.”

The US armed forces areshrinking as a share of thepopulation – about 1.4m outof 315m Americans are onactive duty, the smallestproportion in uniform sincebefore the second world war– but the military’s slimmedranks are dominated byyoung recruits. More thantwo-thirds of enlisted mem-bers are under 30, and thetarget age for recruits is 18-24-year-olds, the tail-end of

the millennial generation.The economic factors that

helped push Mr Duncaninto the armed forces arefamiliar to recruiters.

“Historically, there’s beena fairly strong inverse rela-tionship in the economyand our level of difficulty inrecruiting,” says JamesOrtiz, marketing director atthe army’s recently createdmarketing and researchgroup. “When the economyis strong, recruiting is diffi-cult and vice versa.”

That trend has started tochange. “In the last twoyears, we’ve seen anunprecedented paradigm,”Mr Ortiz says. “The econ-omy is weak and recruitingis significantly challenged,which we haven’t seenbefore. . . economics andunemployment aren’t asstrong an influence on thiscohort.”

New recruits in 2013 aretelling the army that theirtop reason for joining isservice to their country,edging out factors such asmoney for college, financialstability and skills trainingthat have dominated inrecent years, according toKathleen Welker at thearmy’s recruiting commandin Fort Knox, Kentucky.

“We are happy beneficiar-ies of the millennial genera-tion’s wanting to be part ofsomething,” she says.

But channelling their“spirit of volunteerism”into military service is nota simple task. The shift toan all-volunteer force in1973, coupled with thedeaths of many veterans ofthe second world war,Korea and Vietnam, meansthere are fewer immediatefamily members to influ-ence prospective soldiers,sailors and airmen.

Matthew Mueller belongsto that shrinking group. A29-year-old captain in theUS air force, he grew upwith both parents in thearmy and several other rel-atives in the services.

“I come from a strong lineof military,” he says. At 18,he enrolled at Penn Statewith an officer trainingcorps scholarship, followedby a four-year commitmentthat he has extended.

To reach young peoplewho do not have suchstrong family traditions,recruiters, like companies,are turning to social media.

“One of our challenges is

that unlike other industries,a lot of which are doingnew product development,we are who we are. Wecan’t change the army,” MrOrtiz says. “But we canchange how we positionand communicate.”

With smartphones inevery pocket, millennialscan quickly access informa-tion and learn what theirpeers are watching, reading,eating and playing. Thatexpectation of transparencyhas “forced us to open upthe army and allow soldiersto engage with prospects ina way they haven’t donebefore”, Mr Ortiz says.

On the army’s website,candidates can pose ques-tions about military life –from what basic training islike to how the food tastes –and real soldiers postanswers. “That is a signifi-cant change for the army,for a very conservativeinstitution for a variety ofreasons, not the least ofwhich is security,” Mr Ortizsays. “The kids were goingto get information whetherwe wanted to play or not.We were better off engagingthem.”

For those who have cho-sen a soldier’s life, even inan era of governmentbudget cuts, military serv-ice offers a stability that isincreasingly rare for youngAmericans.

In 2010, a newly marriedMr Mueller considered seek-ing out a job in financialservices – the field he plansto enter when he eventuallyleaves the air force. But, hesays, “at that time the glo-bal economy was so uncer-tain, hiring prospects wereso depressed . . . [that] thething we wanted most wascertainty in life”.

Military offerssecurity of sortsin hard timesArmed services

Shannon Bond findsrecruiters adaptingto a new generation

Be all that you can be: the US army offers an alternative foryoung people affected by the weak jobs market Getty

Engineer’s skillshelped buildonline retailerfrom scratchTechnology James Crabtree talks toBinny Bansal, co-founder of the ecommercesite Flipkart, India’s answer to Amazon

Start-up nation: Sachin Bansal andBinny Bansal, the co-founders ofFlipkart, the Indian ecommerce site

Getty

‘If we had known howdifficult it would be,we probably wouldn’thave done it’

‘My future will be muchbetter than that of myparents’ generation thanks tobetter education. Aninnovative group of youngAfricans are actively involved inmaking a positive impact intheir fields. But security isa big concern. Withunemploymentincreasing more youngpeople have no optionbut to go into crime’

OghenefegoIsikwenu, 29Consultant, Kenya

‘Our generation todayfaces a void: ourgovernments have failedus; companies have failed ustoo. We have a crisis ofcredibility towards institutions.We have come to realise we arethe protagonists of the 21stcentury. Our generation isstarting to wake up andcreate the solutions ofour own problems’

Pablo RodríguezSánchez, 27Communicationsco-ordinator, Mexico

On FT.com »

4 ★ FINANCIAL TIMES THURSDAY JUNE 6 2013

The Millennial Generation Part Two

When writer NadifaMohamed returned to herSomali home town ofHargeisa in 2010 after 22years’ absence, it was nother eyes that helped herlocate her childhood home,but her feet.

“I was walking aroundthe neighbourhood I wasstaying in and at one pointI felt my legs sinking intothe sand in the street. Iremembered it straightaway from when I was achild – that area is embed-ded in me, and everythingfell into place.”

This anecdote of returnand deep memory reveals aprocess that is at the heartof Ms Mohamed’s fiction.Now 31, she was prisedaway from Somalia at theage of six, when her familyfled the country and movedto the UK to escape theescalating civil war.

Her path to British liter-ary success was fairlysmooth: school in suburbanLondon and graduationfrom St Hilda’s CollegeOxford were followed by ashortlisting for the Guard-ian First Book Award andan Orange Prize long-listingfor her first novel, BlackMamba Boy.

Now Ms Mohamed hasbeen endorsed by that mostrespected of literary com-mendations, publisherGranta’s decennial list ofthe best young British writ-ers. She joins a group thathas included Ian McEwan,Salman Rushdie, JeanetteWinterson and Kazuo Ishig-uro.

Despite an adulthood andpromising career firmlybased in Britain, it is to herfamily’s Somali past thatMs Mohamed’s work con-sistently returns. She seeksto rediscover roots andmemories made distant bymigration, to sink her feetback into the sand of herpast.

Lean and poetic, her writ-ing attempts this feat by

mixing invention withretold family anecdote, piec-ing together a narrativethat connects fragments ofthe past with her imagina-tion. Black Mamba Boyreimagined her father’s reallife journey across Africaand the Middle East,searching for his own lostfather. Her second novel,Orchard of Lost Souls, dueout this August, followsthree Hargeisa women asSomalia descends into civilwar. It is a compelling snap-shot of a city whose normallife is unravelling into vio-lence and an elegy to thechildhood friends and rela-tives Ms Mohamed leftbehind.

It is no coincidence thatthe imagery in these bookssometimes has the dreamyvividness of brown-edgedold photos – it is fadedimages like these that sether creative process intomotion.

“Normally my writingstarts with an image or twothat I can’t get out of myhead,” she says. “WithBlack Mamba Boy, I washaunted by this mental pic-ture of a man on a ship, asepia-toned image of a blackguy staring out to sea.Another one was on threelittle boys in loinclothssplashing around in thewater, probably in Aden.”

The process of determin-ing the identity of the peo-ple in these images andwhere they fit within thenarrative is one thatinvolves as much talkingand listening as readingand writing.

While she cites South

Africa’s J.M. Coetzee andIvorian novelist AhmadouKourouma as influences,her greatest enthusiasmseems to be for less obvi-ously literary inspirations.

“Music is a huge influ-ence on me. When I waswriting Black Mamba Boy, Ilistened to a lot of LouisArmstrong, partly becausehis deep, gravelly voicereminds me so much of mydad’s. The Nubian Egyptiansinger Ali Hassan Kubanalso blew me away – hismusic is like what I want toachieve with writing: it’sjagged, mad and fast and

also sounds somehowancient. In a way, it’s mysoul music.”

Understandably for some-one whose writing has fam-ily storytelling so close toits centre (though sheinsists that her work is notdirectly biographical) MsMohamed cites thecadences of Somali speechas key in shaping her style.She feels that a certainwriterliness is a typicaltrait of everyday Somalitalk.

“When I read other Soma-lis, the way of phrasing isvery long sentences run-ning on, images that pile on

top of each other. Somali isvery poetic, in a way thatI’m only discovering rightnow in my own voice. Peo-ple talk in a really very lit-erary way there, muchmore than in the UK. Justlistening in to a normalconversation between oldwomen, they’re often mas-ters language-wise. Thedepth of language is incred-ible – and this is often frompeople who can’t read.”

Despite the vividness ofthese voices in MsMohamed’s writing, herwork thrives on distanceand recollection. Agreeingthat it might have been herfamily’s flight from war-torn Somalia that moti-vated her to become awriter, Ms Mohamed saysher former homeland is aplace she chooses to returnto imaginatively ratherthan physically.

“It’s taken me a long timeto accept that I won’t goback to Somalia. When wefirst left, the move wasalways meant to be tempo-rary and even recently Ithought I’d go. But now I’vecome to realise that Londonis my home.”

This gradual realisation isperhaps typical of her gen-eration of British Somalis,many of whom left theirbirth country during thecivil war to escape anarchythat they assumed would beshortlived.

But joining contemporar-ies such as journalist RagehOmaar and athlete MoFarah, who have madehighly visible contributionsto British culture, it seemsthat Ms Mohamed’s futurework may move on fromSomalia-based subjects toexplore her inevitably com-plex relationship with heradoptive country.

The obsessive imagesshaping the contours of herthird book – still very muchat the planning stage –explore the writer’s earlyyears in Britain. “I have inmy head a big, grey Victo-rian school, like a camp oran institution, somewherein London. She went to onesuch school here herself,she says, and it left an“indelible memory” for her:“that shock to my system ofleaving my mother for thefirst time”.

Her feet planted in Somali sand,an English school in her headExile

The writer NadifaMohamed tellsFeargus O’Sullivanof life in two worlds

‘The future seems a littleintimidating. You can’t tellwhether the actions of todayare leading to success ordestruction. I’m constantlyhaunted by thoughts suchas “Did I choose the rightcareer path?” However, theeconomic climate might getbetter by the time Igraduate’

Dana Sobh, 19Student, Lebanon

‘From a temporarymove . . . it’s takenme a long time toaccept that I won’tgo back to Somalia’

There was a time, Nazli Hus-sein recalls, when she wasthe kind of girl who wouldget her nails painted whileher friends went to demon-

strations on the streets of Cairo.This now feels like the distant past,

says the 30-year-old activist who hasput her career as a special needsteacher on hold to immerse herselffully in supporting the families ofdetainees and producing videos docu-menting abuses by the Egyptian secu-rity services.

‘The first person I saw get killed onKasr El Nil bridge in the revolution[in 2011] changed my life forever,” shesays. “He fell; we looked and justmarched on. He and I were on thatbridge because we had the samedream. He died for that dream butthere is no logical reason the bullethit him and not me or one of mybrothers. From that moment I decidedI should either die like him or achievethat dream.”

Ms Hussein is a member of a gener-ation of Egyptian activists determinedto keep alive the spirit of the 2011revolution that ousted PresidentHosni Mubarak, ending his 30 years ofstultifying rule.

Convinced that the repressive statethat Egyptians rose up against did notfall with Mr Mubarak, they remain athorn in the side of authority, agitat-ing for the rights and freedoms thatthe revolution was supposed to haverestored to Egyptians after decades ofauthoritarian rule.

Many of them argue that MohamedMorsi, the elected Islamist president,has been seeking to inherit andexploit his predecessor’s tools ofrepression rather than implement aprogramme of reform.

“Every time there is a fight betweenthe people and the police [on thestreet] I will be there,” says Ms Hus-sein. “The people have not yetachieved their rights in the widerfight with the security services.

“There is still a vendetta againstthe police. There has been noacknowledgment of their mistakes, noone has been held to account andthere has been no reform.”

When she is not on the front linesduring confrontations between pro-testers and the police, Ms Hussein vol-unteers with two activist groups that

provide help to detainees and lobbyon their behalf. Her role is to liaisewith the families of the sometimeshundreds of protesters arrested indemonstrations and to ensure that thedetainees receive meals, medication,blankets and legal aid.

“We are a small group and in thedemos after January 25 this year [thesecond anniversary of the revolution]

the violations were terrifying,” shesays. “Hundreds were arrested andsent to six prosecution offices aroundCairo. We had to trace them for theirfamilies, and we had to deal withcases of missing people. Two of themturned up dead.

“Abductions by the state havereturned. There were many minorsand there was a lot of torture. Why

should an 11-year-old child be tor-tured?”

For Hossam Bahgat, the 34-year-oldfounder of the Egyptian Initiative forPersonal Rights (EIPR), the day MrMubarak fell remains the “happiest”of his life. He too complains that disil-lusionment has set in after two yearsof a tortuous transition in whichthe country was ruled by a council of

senior military officers and now by anelected Islamist president.

He acknowledges certain aspectshave improved after the revolution –the press is freer and human rightsactivists face fewer restrictions inmoving around the country – butthere are still many battles ahead.

“After the revolution, I expected ourpriorities as a human rights move-ment would be dismantling the appa-ratus of abuse built under Mubarakand dealing with the legacy of thepast while rebuilding democraticinstitutions,” he says. “Instead, weare dealing with a daily wave of newabuses and the same structures per-sist.

“Instead of the security laws usedfor repression under Mubarak, we arecampaigning against new repressivelaws to govern civil society and theright to demonstrate.”

Mr Bahgat was 23 and a journalist

when he founded EIPR, now one ofEgypt’s most authoritative humanrights groups, in 2002. A grant fromCIDA, the Canadian developmentagency, helped him set up the organi-sation.

He wanted to build a young organi-sation staffed by young people, and tofocus on “neglected issues” such asreproductive rights, health discrimi-nation, and the freedom to choose andchange religion.

Since the revolution, he says, EIPRhas opened a handful of offices acrossEgypt and has more than doubled itsstaff, which stands at 60.

Despite the fall of Mr Mubarak,many of the same issues remainequally pressing today, Mr Baghatinsists. “Almost every human rightsproblem under Mubarak persiststoday and many are actually moreacute: from violence against womento unlawful and lethal police shoot-ings, [and] from sectarian violence tothe lack of access to basic servicesand decent work.”

Activists fight on to taste fruits of their revolutionEgyptTwo years after the downfall ofHosniMubarak, courageousmen andwomen are challengingwidespread repression, writesHeba Saleh

The voice of their generation:protesters in Tahrir Square,Cairo, in November, 2012 Reuters

‘Almost every humanrights problem underMubarak persists todayand many are more acute’