Imagine a Venn diagram consisting of three interconnected rings: the musician, the celebrity, and the well-meaning, liberally minded individual. Right in the middle of the overlap lies your irritation. You know what I mean. The combination of entitlement and earnestness can be wince-inducing, as the rest of us tough it out in the world of non-chauffeur-driven cars and economy air travel.

I’m not talking about celebrities in general or doe-eyed pop stars inviting us to pledge cash for worthy causes, but those rare and few super-philanthropists who seem to make charity work more of their business than it should be, evolving into pseudo-politicians in the process. Bono is the most glaring example, the celebrity humanitarian U2 frontman whose undeniably impressive charitable activity somehow tends to generate eyerolls as much as tugged heartstrings. You’ve probably heard the one about him clapping while telling a festival audience that a child in Africa is dying with each clap, and a heckler shouting back: “Stop fucking clapping then!”

Then there’s Bob Geldof, the Live Aid frontman, who told the TV audience to “Give us the money now. Give me the money now” – and cemented his position as a punky politician.

But is the humanitarian-popstar-political-influencer a dying breed? I don’t think so. And that’s because of Stormzy.

At 24, the grime superstar is a bona fide millennial, but has nothing of the snowflake about him. His militancy goes beyond simple posturing. Political ire is part of his persona. In 2016 he fired tweets at the Conservative candidate for mayor, Zac Goldsmith, and he showed vocal support for Jeremy Corbyn in the run-up to 2017’s general election.

But it’s his advocacy on behalf of the victims of the Grenfell Tower fire that has seen him embody a new paradigm. Friday’s U-turn by Theresa May’s government, and the decision to broaden the panel overseeing the public inquiry into the tragedy, is a huge moment for the survivors and all those bereaved and made homeless in June last year. They have been campaigning for a panel, instead of a judge-led inquiry, for many months.

But Stormzy also played a part, attacking May as a “criminal” from the stage in his performance at the Brit awards in February, and helping to generate support for the petition calling for the panel so that it passed the 100,000-signature mark, ensuring a debate in parliament, due to be held on Monday. As Stormzy tweeted when the target was reached: “Job done”.

But Stormzy has none of the implicit condescension of those superstar humanitarians of yesteryear. Your Bonos and Geldofs targeted the loftiest charitable goals of global poverty, perhaps reinforcing a somewhat reductive view of “other” places by reinforcing generations-deep perceptions of “third world” nations as broken.

Stormzy, though, seems to act out of an impulse to do good in his immediate surroundings. When he took the first lap in 2017’s Grenfell charity single, crafting an opening verse that was both elegiac and poignant, it felt like honest pain from someone far closer to the trauma he sought to salve. The opening line – “Yeah. I don’t know where to begin” – seemed to sum up the nation’s bewilderment, before defiance crept in: “I will start by saying I refuse to forget you.”

There’s an earnest quality to this response that creates warmth, just as Ariana Grande did when she pulled together the One Love tribute concert in the wake of the Manchester terror attack. Like Stormzy, Grande belongs to a new generation of pop stars who can offer ballast to young fans in uncertain times. The difference is that Stormzy retains an underdog edge.

For black millennials in urban areas, he might be the definitive spokesperson. His success, and the wider success of grime, represents empowerment and equality in a way that established, mainstream – and yes, white – pop never can. Stormzy seems to know this and, like all good politicians, campaigns along these lines. The video to “Blinded by Your Grace” is a celebration of modern multiculturalism. It puts Stormzy at the centre of a united community, drawing together people of different ages, genders and ethnicities and binning the frequent macho posturing of traditional grime for something closer to a Kumbaya.

In 2011, Lethal Bizzle stated that up-and-coming grime stars are “the real prime ministers of this country”, with reference to the spirit of protest embedded within the genre. Stormzy is far from an archetypal politician, but his influence is far-reaching. Ultimately, his support is testament to a generation of young people who don’t need to be told how to wring their hands. A generation seeking integrity, authenticity and passion. A generation for whom above-the-line politics is to be held at arm’s length, but political indignation is something to hold on to.

• Jeffrey Boakye is author of Hold Tight: Black Masculinity, Millennials, and the Meaning of Grime. His book Black, Listed is published next year