Who Benefits from Lowering the Voting Age — and What Is the Price of Democracy?

By: Jihan Haider Hasan

Recently, an idea has resurfaced—one that comes up from time to time both worldwide and in Israel—to lower the voting age from 18 to 17. The idea touches on questions of democracy, citizenship, education, and practical politics. Among other things, it aims to expand democratic participation by allowing young people to take part in decisions that affect their lives on issues such as education, cost of living, security, climate, and public transportation. It reflects a view that citizenship does not begin on one’s 18th birthday, but develops earlier. It could also strengthen civic education because of the direct connection—especially in Israel—between civics studies in high school and political action. Another rationale is to create an early voting habit, based on the assumption that those who vote at a young age will continue to vote later in life.

In addition, 17-year-olds in Israel work, pay indirect taxes, and stand before enlistment in the IDF or alternative civil service. Some therefore argue that if the state expects responsibility from them, it should also grant them the right to influence decisions. As noted, issues such as climate, technology, freedom of expression on social media, and equality carry great weight among young people, which suggests a certain logic in granting them the right to vote as well.

The implications of lowering the voting age could significantly affect the political system. Globally, 17-year-olds tend to vote less for ultra-Orthodox parties and more for parties emphasizing human rights, education, environmental protection, or social change. In Israel, however, voting patterns among 17-year-olds may vary from sector to sector. In the religious-Zionist and ultra-Orthodox communities, family and rabbinic influence on 17-year-olds’ voting behavior may be very strong. In Arab society, lowering the voting age could strengthen the sense of political partnership, but on the other hand it might perpetuate low turnout if implemented without meaningful civic education in the Arab sector.

Lowering the voting age would also affect parties’ political campaigns, since they would have to address teenagers on social networks, focus more on issues that interest young people, and—for better or worse—simplify messages. It could also affect the relationship between education and politics, because schools might become a sensitive arena around questions such as: who educates, is it permissible to express a position, and how do we prevent political influence by teachers? Clear rules would therefore be required for a political-educational discourse that is not partisan.

This move has been implemented in other countries. In Austria, the voting age was lowered to 16, and in many cases 16–17-year-olds voted at higher rates than those voting for the first time at 18. There is no evidence they voted more extremely or in a dramatically different way than the average; their voting patterns were similar to those of ages 18–24. Lowering the age is seen as a factor that strengthens long-term political participation—meaning that those who vote younger tend to vote also in adulthood. However, in Austria it also strengthened far-right parties. One can assume that even if 16–17-year-olds’ voting patterns resembled those of 18–24-year-olds, simply expanding the youth electorate from ages 18–24 to ages 16–24 also expanded the far-right’s potential voter pool.

In both Brazil and Argentina the voting age was lowered to 16, and no dramatic impact was recorded on overall turnout rates, but the number of voters increased due to the broader base. Youth turnout was not lower than that of the rest of the population. In the United Kingdom, the move is expected only ahead of the next elections, and earlier studies from regions such as Scotland and Wales showed that these young voters generally vote more than newly eligible 18-year-olds elsewhere, but there is no definitive proof that the change will alter election outcomes in harmful ways.

There is debate about whether the move is appropriate; there are arguments for and against. Supporters claim that at 17 there is sufficient cognitive ability to form political positions and that many 17-year-olds already develop a value-based identity. Opponents argue that 17-year-olds are highly dependent on parents and the education system, and there is concern they will vote according to family demands or without critical thinking. If such a change were implemented already in the elections next year in Israel, there is a risk of polarizing the education system, because campaigns would enter schools directly and indirectly, leading to accusations of incitement, political bias, political use of teachers and educational counselors, and damage to trust among parents, the system, and students. Ironically, the very young population that is supposed to be civically strengthened might instead be harmed.

In Israel there is an additional dispute because the discussion emerged in an election year and the change would be made right before elections, raising questions about legitimacy. This can harm the legitimacy of the democratic process because it may be seen as changing the rules of the game while the game is underway. Amending election laws close to an election is often perceived by the public as an instrumental move—an attempt to influence the outcome rather than a principled reform. Therefore, even if the move is substantively appropriate, it may undermine trust and fuel claims that laws are being tailored. Likewise, in established democracies it is common to apply such changes only from future elections, not immediately. Such a step can also raise suspicions of a narrow political motive—who benefits—because public discourse will quickly shift to questions like which party or bloc will gain from 17-year-olds’ votes. In Israel, where politics is already polarized, the move could deepen camp divisions and turn teenagers into tools in a political game. This can lead to delegitimization of the new votes themselves, on the claim that they did not truly choose but were mobilized.

In general, lowering the voting age to 17 could increase democracy’s legitimacy in the eyes of young people, create pressure to improve civics education so voting is not superficial, and empower young population groups, but it could also sharpen gaps between sectors. Lowering the voting age is not merely a technical change; it is a deep value-based and educational move. However, in Israel—with existing social and political fractures—the impact of the move depends greatly on educational accompaniment, responsible discourse, and how the political system chooses to address young people. Lowering the voting age in an election year has long-term implications for public trust: if the move is perceived as a political trick or an attempt to influence the results of the upcoming elections, then in the future every democratic reform will encounter suspicion, and the idea of constitutional change by broad consensus will erode.

At the same time, lowering the age during the election year itself could harm the principle of equality among competitors, because parties that have already prepared for a campaign did not build messages, allocate resources, or develop infrastructure to reach the new voters; therefore, such a late change benefits flexible, well-funded parties and harms small or new parties. This is an asymmetrical change in the conditions of competition. For that reason, many democracies tend to enact electoral changes during routine periods or by broad agreement, and to avoid major changes in an election year—especially not months before election day. Even if lowering the voting age is positive, if implemented months before elections in Israel it could cause greater democratic harm than its immediate benefit, with the central damage being loss of trust, delegitimization of the result, and a deepened sense that the “game is rigged.”

There are also technical and practical problems of system readiness, including updating the voter registry, civic education and outreach to 17-year-olds, training polling-station staff, and adjusting school frameworks around exams, leave days, and voting. When done under time pressure, the risk of errors rises significantly, and any malfunction can become “proof” of fraud or disorder.

From the perspective of the Arab sector, changing the voting age before elections may be perceived suspiciously, partly due to an overarching framework of structural mistrust in the political system. In large parts of the Arab public there is a long-standing sense of exclusion from real influence and “selective” political use of the Arab vote; therefore, legislative changes are often seen as serving internal Jewish interests. Changing the rules of the game close to elections can thus be interpreted by Arabs as yet another move done to them rather than with them, even if technically it is supposed to benefit them as well. Arabs may also suspect political manipulation: “why דווקא now?” will be a central question. The move could be interpreted as an attempt to increase a voter pool perceived as politically weak, to recruit young people who have not yet developed political critique, or to compensate for lost votes in other sectors. In that case, Arab teenagers might be seen as a convenient reservoir of votes rather than full civic partners.

Lowering the voting age also affects local and family leadership within Arab society, because political positions often pass through family, clan (hamula), local leadership, and heads of local authorities. If leadership supports the move, voter mobilization may occur; if it opposes the move or is suspicious, it can cause apathy, a quiet boycott, or abstention. A likely scenario is that Arab political leadership would support the idea in principle while demanding postponement of implementation to the next elections, broad agreement, and educational accompaniment. If the move is perceived as imposed, Arab leadership may adopt critical rhetoric or avoid investing in mobilizing young voters.

In such a case, there is a dangerous scenario of “double delegitimization”: if elections take place with a last-minute change, close results, and a noticeable effect of 17-year-olds’ votes, a public narrative may emerge that young Arabs decided the elections. This narrative is particularly dangerous for civic security, Jewish–Arab relations, and the status of Arab citizenship.

Among young Arabs themselves, attitudes may be ambivalent. On one hand, there is potential empowerment: many young Arabs are aware of discrimination, active on social media, and involved in civic protests on issues of violence, housing, and police violence; early voting rights could be perceived as recognition of their voice and an opportunity to influence their future. On the other hand, there may be deep skepticism: without substantive policy change, the right may be seen as merely symbolic—allowing them to vote without truly listening. There is also concern about politicization of Arab schools, which experience heightened supervision and greater sensitivity to political discourse; giving 17-year-olds the vote may put teachers and principals under suspicion, create fear of accusations of incitement, and actually narrow open civic discourse—cooling it instead of empowering it. Therefore, within the Arab public such a move could be perceived as suspect in its timing: granting a right without deep change, political use of youth, and risk of exacerbating delegitimization. Under different conditions—future implementation, equal discourse, and genuine civic education—the same idea could be interpreted as an opportunity for civic empowerment.

In Israel, the fact that the idea comes from the coalition and close to elections is enough to make the claim that it is an attempt to strengthen the coalition legitimate in public discourse, even if there is no empirical or rational proof. The source and timing create reasonable suspicion. When an initiative comes from the coalition in an election year, months before voting, it automatically falls into the category of legislation with potential impact on the outcome, even if the declared intention is educational or value-based. The suspicion is not conspiratorial but normative. Moreover, the electoral change could shift patterns because 17-year-olds are perceived as less conservative, less identified with old elites, and open to messages of change. If the current coalition identifies erosion in its base and difficulty recruiting new voters, expanding the voter pool can be seen as a defensive move against a political upset. Legislation can also serve as a substitute for campaigning: changing the rules of the game may be preferable to changing policy, fixing failures, or persuading the public—so instead of convincing, the field is changed, which is a plausible claim.

In the Israeli context, past experience with raising the electoral threshold, changing governance laws, and personal legislation has been used for political advantage, and the public is trained to suspect such moves. The discourse of an “upheaval” (מהפך) is also treated as a political trauma; the term is not neutral but historically loaded and appears especially when power feels threatened—therefore any change to the rules of the game is interpreted as defense against such an upheaval.

Among Arabs, beyond the question of youth voting, whether to run on one list or multiple lists affects the community deeply—not only electorally but also psychologically, socially, and politically. The impact varies according to the threshold, timing, and leadership, but there are consistent patterns. The main impact of running on one joint list is on turnout: a joint list usually raises turnout in the Arab public because it signals unity and responsibility and that the Arab vote will not be wasted, reducing despair and boycott. This effect is especially important when there is a sense of an external political threat such as legislation, incitement, or exclusion. It also strengthens political power and public standing: a joint list increases the number of seats in practice, strengthens the legitimacy of Arab leadership as collective representation, and allows for more effective negotiation, parliamentary influence, and sometimes indirect influence on the coalition.

However, running together has a significant internal cost: it blurs ideological differences on national, religious, and civic issues, which can create frustration among young or ideological voters who feel they have no real choice, and generates internal tensions over representation, rotation, and list order. Running on two lists has a more complex effect: it allows more diverse representation and expression of different ideological streams, regional differences between north and south, and generational differences—potentially strengthening identification among certain groups. Yet it also carries electoral risk: if one list nears the threshold there is a serious risk of losing votes, and the very competition can suppress voting because fragmentation conveys weakness. It also sends a double public message: internally, multiple voices can be healthy; externally, it may be interpreted as political weakness and lack of national responsibility.

By contrast, running on three lists or more—as in the most recent elections—has serious consequences for turnout: it increases confusion, apathy, and boycott, and strengthens the narrative of “they are divided, so why vote?” As in the last elections, when votes equivalent to three seats for Balad were wasted because it did not pass the threshold, this results in a real loss of seats, with a tangible risk that one of the lists will not cross the threshold. Since the threshold was raised, there has not been a case in which three Arab lists all crossed it; even before the threshold increase, the combined Arab parties’ seats were 10–11 while the minimum to cross is four seats—so three lists crossing would require at least 12 seats. But even if all lists cross, fragmentation reduces bargaining power and diminishes the visibility of influence. Running on three lists also harms collective consciousness by signaling ego struggles, detachment from the public, and internal politics at the expense of civic interest.