They are a generation wearing their conscience on their sleeves. Literally. Orange for Human Rights; black and white for Stand Up Speak Out against racism; light blue for Cultivate Peace; white for Make Poverty History. As fads go, there have been far worse, far more superficial ones than the charity wristband. And it is a fad; a modish fashion item destined for the bargain bin.
Already it has been corrupted and parodied, exploited and over-exposed; and like all fads it will be looked back upon with a mixture of amazement and nostalgia only a short time from now. Yet, this circle of plastic has become an icon of a generation that is too often derided as apathetic, lazy, greedy and narcissistic, but which keeps proving otherwise.
Just as each new generation is compelled to rebel against their elders, so anyone over the age of 30 seems to believe it mandatory to write off the youth. They care only for binge-drinking and sex. They don't vote. They don't join political parties. They cannot name their leaders and have little understanding of the political system. They would rather listen to the latest ringtones, watch another series of Big Brother. They have anaesthetised themselves against the world, preferring to numb themselves on Playstations, mobile phones and reality TV.
Which is to ignore an obvious pattern. A generation presumed to have no interest in politics is, in fact, heavily politicised. It is just that their concerns, leaders and methods are different. They look to a stage rather than the Dáil; to NGOs and rock stars rather than politicians. And it is about more than the ability to sum up a complex issue in a catchy bracelet slogan. From the anti-globalisation and Reclaim the Streets marches, to the anti-war demonstrations and now the Make Poverty History campaign, it has become a decade of activism. In following Bob Geldof and Bono, youthful idealism is being married with experience and influence. They are the Wristband Generation, and today - Live8 day - will be their biggest yet.
They are citizens of a borderless world, so their concerns are chiefly global ones: war, poverty, climate change, globalisation. They are quiet on domestic issues perhaps because those that previously occupied youth - unemployment, emigration, contraception, civil rights - have been fought and, to an extent, won by previous generations.
IT HELPS THAT, in the Republic, this is the first multi-racial generation. Transition Year students study global politics and increasingly work on volunteer projects in the Third World. But they need not leave their classrooms to meet people originally from Africa and Asia, while their parents still only encounter them on television screens. This new reality, and the fact that this is a generation of sophisticated campaigners, was brought into impressive focus when Nigerian Leaving Cert student Olukunle Elukanlo was deported earlier this year. The Minister for Justice was forced into retreat by a group of teenagers whose weapons of choice were mobile phones, television and protest.
This generation does not watch Questions and Answers, but turns to the books and documentaries of the likes of Michael Moore and Morton Spurlock (whose Super Size Me was an entertaining polemic against McDonalds that involved him eating nothing but for a whole month). They might be a little crazy for Crazy Frog right now, but there has been a trickle of social commentaries arriving on the radio as hit singles. The Black Eyed Peas are a hip-hop band perhaps best known for a song whose chorus involved shouting "shut up!" 14 times. But in 2003, their anti-war single, Where is the Love?, was number one for six weeks, in an era when singles leap in and out of the charts in a week.
They sang: "Overseas, yeah, we try to stop terrorism/ But we still got terrorists here livin'/ In the USA, the big CIA/ The Bloods and The Crips and the KKK."
To the generation of Dylan and Baez, of course, the lyrical shortcomings will trigger a derisory sniff, but the sentiment was clear and not isolated. There has since been Faithless's caustic Mass Destruction ("Whether long-range weapon or suicide bomber/ Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction") and the successful US punk rockers Green Day with their American Idiot single and album ("I'm not a part of a redneck agenda/ Now everybody do the propaganda/ And sing along in the age of paranoia").
Irish singer Damien Rice recently released a single to mark the 60th birthday of Aung Sang Suu Kyi, while U2's heir's apparent, Coldplay, evangelise on behalf of Fair Trade.
Of course, it would be naïve to argue that the entire generation has been mobilised into action, that most of those in their teens and 20s would rather march on the Dáil than to GameStop for the latest edition of Grand Theft Auto. But politics has seeped into the mass consciousness, become part of the fabric of both their lives and their fashion.
This is an era in which many of the traditional forms of rebellion - music, clothes - have been co-opted by brands who then sell back a heavily-marketed notion of rebellion. But true rebellion is still available through politics; most obviously by frothing at the presence of George W Bush. To an extent, this may have bred an exaggerated distrust. Every corporation becomes evil, every government immoral, every politician corrupt. But angry idealism has always been the prerogative of youth.
THIS IS WHY Geldof and Bono have become so vital. When youth needed leadership, it found it in the form of a couple of middle-aged rockers. Make Poverty History, the campaign behind Live8, has both exploited and rescued the anti-globalisation movement, which threatened to dissolve under a fog of tear gas. They have delivered focus to a wider movement, given it a firm issue - debt relief - where there was previously a vague objective. And what is striking about this current campaign is that, unlike 20 years ago, they have done so without there being a single iconic image to refer to. There is no crying, starving child. No emotional news report. It has relied largely on statistics and sentiment and sloganeering.
In Geldof, Bono and Coldplay's Chris Martin, followers recognise a purer morality in people who are not seen as beholden to interest groups, big business or voters. They offer simple, moral certainty to a mass audience in a way that politicians do not. Besides, politicians have deliberately cut themselves off from the public. Their handlers decide who they meet and the days of mass rallies in town squares are far gone. Rock stars, though, rely on the masses. They greet audiences in a way that politicians fear to do. And if people will pay a hefty sum to see a rock star, many will buy into the politics while they're at it.
These rock star politicians also bring real influence. They have taken advantage of politicians' transparent need to glean from the aura of celebrity. When Tony Blair opened the doors of Number 10 to pop stars and actors, he probably didn't realise it would lead to Bono and Geldof hob-nobbing at G8 summits. And, for the moment at least, Geldof and Bono get away with things politicians do not. They have hugged Vladimir Putin and cosied up to the Pope. Yet, while the media has a pop at them, they have managed to remain rock-star politicians, far more venerated and separate from the real ones.
It has been a fine line, and their closeness to politicians is a possible threat to this alliance between generations.
But then, like each one fuelled on idealism and hope, the Wristband Generation is only ever a press conference away from disappointment. The lead-up to Live8 has seen many older commentators adopting their default position of cynicism and it would be a shame to see it justified. But for this generation to truly make its mark beyond the money raised from wristband sales, it will need to achieve more than a decent concert.
FROM THE OLUKUNLE Elukanlo campaign emerged little more than immediate moral gratification and the sense of a generation adapting to multiculturalism. There are few protesters at airports or Garda stations with each new round of deportations. Once the Iraq war began, there came a diminution in marches against it, perhaps reinforced by how both the Irish and British public had been roundly ignored by their governments. For all the anti-globalisation rallies, people still do not always ask enough questions about where their fashions come from.
Meanwhile, the traditional party political system they so distrust is still the channel through which change can be effected. Although, while the voting booths might be quiet, 53 per cent of 20-24 year olds voted in the 2002 general election that had an overall turnout of 63 per cent. It suggests that they are only marginally more apathetic than everyone else.
But for a generation who have made a name for themselves as rampant consumers, the underlying message of recent years' movements has been simple and laudable. They ask the world to share the wealth. Their politics reflect a generation which recognises it is safe and wealthy, and that it is time to extend that privilege to those on whose backs its money was made.
It may yet end in disillusionment and cynicism, and this generation will become as cynical as the previous one, will gripe at the idealism of their children, mock their simplistic notions. That will be their right. But today, it is their right to be idealistic.