I was seventeen when the Brexit referendum happened — too young to vote, but old enough to watch the aftermath unfold in real time. The morning after the result, I walked into my sixth-form common room to find two of my closest friends in a heated argument. One had campaigned for Leave, convinced that the vote was about reclaiming sovereignty and controlling borders. The other, whose parents had emigrated from Poland, was in tears, asking whether her family would still be welcome in the country she’d grown up in. I sat between them, unable to vote, unable to mediate, and suddenly aware that politics wasn’t a distant game played by grey-suited men in Westminster. It was here, in my friendships, in my community, in the quiet fear in my friend’s eyes. That morning changed everything for me. I realised I didn’t just want to understand politics — I needed to understand it, to grasp how decisions made in referendum campaigns ripple outward into ordinary lives, shaping identities, relationships, and futures.
When I started my political science degree, I was drawn to questions about democracy, participation, and the forces that shape public opinion. But when the time came to choose a dissertation topic, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of directions I could take. I could study electoral behaviour, the rise of populism, the impact of social media on political discourse, the role of the judiciary in democratic systems, or the politics of climate change. I needed a specific, researchable question that felt connected to that morning in the common room. I began by exploring what other students had already investigated, and I came across a curated collection of political science dissertation topics (you can browse them here: https://premierdissertations.com/political-science-dissertation-topics/) that helped me map the terrain. Some projects examined how political narratives shape national identity, others analysed the factors that drive youth political engagement, and a few explored the long-term psychological effects of divisive referendums on community cohesion. That breadth gave me the confidence to settle on a question that felt deeply personal: how did the experience of being excluded from the Brexit vote affect the political attitudes and engagement of 16- and 17-year-olds in the years that followed?
Once I had my direction, I designed a mixed-methods study. I surveyed over 300 people who had been too young to vote in the referendum, and I interviewed a smaller group in depth about their memories of that period, their subsequent political involvement, and their feelings about the decision that had been made on their behalf. The stories were vivid and often painful. Many participants described a sense of betrayal — a feeling that their future had been decided by older generations who wouldn’t have to live with the consequences for as long. Some channelled that frustration into activism, joining youth-led movements and campaigning for votes at 16. Others became disillusioned, withdrawing from political engagement entirely, convinced that their voices didn’t matter. One young woman told me, “I remember watching the results come in and realising that my future was being shaped by people who didn’t even know my name. That feeling never really went away.” My dissertation argued that political exclusion at a formative age can have lasting effects on democratic participation, and that extending the franchise to 16- and 17-year-olds is not just a matter of rights but a potential strategy for building a more engaged citizenry.
Writing that dissertation didn’t resolve the arguments that divided my friendship group, but it gave me a way to think about them — to see them as part of a broader pattern of democratic inclusion and exclusion, of identity and belonging, of the fragile bonds that hold a society together. If you’re considering a political science dissertation, I’d encourage you to start with a moment that made you feel something — an election result, a protest, a conversation that left you unsettled. The best research questions don’t emerge from textbooks; they emerge from the real world, where politics touches people’s lives in ways that are often invisible, sometimes devastating, and occasionally, profoundly hopeful. Then explore what other students have already done, and let their work help you shape your own inquiry into something that could, in its own small way, contribute to a more just and democratic society.