When boys learn they do not matter
Walk into almost any youth justice setting in Wales and you’ll hear the same thing. Not always in words. Sometimes it’s in silence. Sometimes it’s in anger. Sometimes it’s in boys who have learnt, long before adulthood, that they don’t really matter.
During my time working as a counsellor in the youth justice system, I met countless boys who had been excluded from school, pushed between services or labelled as problems to be managed rather than young people to be understood. Many had experienced trauma, neglect or violence, yet almost none had been taught how to understand what they were feeling. But that emotional vacuum doesn’t stay empty.
“Andrew Tate didn’t simply create the vacuum. He exploited it.”
That distinction matters, because this isn’t a party-political article. It isn’t about left or right, and it certainly isn’t about blaming women, migrants, LGBTQ+ people or any other group for the challenges facing boys and men. It’s about asking whether, collectively, we’ve become comfortable ignoring a problem that’s been growing for years. When boys feel unseen, unheard and unvalued, someone else will step in to tell them why, and who to blame.
From silence to blame
During my time working in wellbeing at Cardiff University, I saw many of the same themes emerging in young adulthood. Universities across Wales have faced increasing reports of sexual harassment, non-consensual sexual behaviour and violence against women, including allegations of non-consensual choking.
There is no excuse for this behaviour. But if boys grow up believing vulnerability is weakness, some will seek power and validation in damaging ways instead. If we want to protect women, we also have to take prevention seriously by asking harder questions about how we raise, support and value boys. I saw the same pattern earlier, in the youth justice system, where it could harden into a simple, heartbreaking formula: “No one cares about me.” When a young lad believes that it’s only natural to start looking for someone to blame.
That’s where dangerous voices step in, offering easy answers. It’s women. It’s gay people. It’s migrants. It’s people who look different from you. Those messages don’t appear out of nowhere; they find fertile ground in boys who already feel forgotten.
Seeing boys as children first
I have two sons of my own. They were obsessed with climbing. Parkour was their thing. Walls became mountains, benches became obstacles and every open space became an adventure. One afternoon they were climbing the old dock walls around Cardiff Bay — solid stone walls that have stood for generations. They weren’t damaging anything. They were simply doing what adventurous boys do. The reaction from passers-by wasn’t curiosity. It was, “Get down!”
That moment stayed with me because it showed how quickly we can see boys as a nuisance before we see them as children; how often our first assumption is that they’re causing trouble rather than simply exploring the world.
Of course, sometimes boys do cause harm. I know that too. I distinctly remember confronting four boys, no older than fourteen, after they kicked in the front door of one of my LGBTQ+ friends. That behaviour was completely unacceptable.
Still, it left me wondering where those boys had learnt that violence, anger and hatred were the answers. They weren’t born believing that. Somewhere along the line they learnt that empathy was weakness and someone else was responsible for their pain. Those boys grow up. Some recover. Too many don’t.
A national tragedy in plain sight
For over forty years, Wales has had the highest male suicide rate in the UK. Generation after generation of Welsh men have been dying at rates around 20% higher than in England. We’ve become so used to these figures that they’ve almost stopped shocking us. They should. This is a national tragedy hiding in plain sight.
Yet despite these stark figures, Wales still has no dedicated men’s health strategy. Wales has a Women’s Health Plan. It has no equivalent for men.
That should concern every one of us. Not because men’s lives matter more than women’s. They don’t. And not because this is some kind of culture war. It isn’t. It should concern us because when one group consistently experiences dramatically worse outcomes, we have a responsibility to ask why.
Connection before crisis
For too long we’ve responded to struggling men with slogans. “Talk more.” If only it were that simple. Many boys have spent years learning not to recognise what they’re feeling. Many men fear becoming a burden. Others simply don’t identify with traditional mental health services.
What many men respond to instead is something far more fundamental: connection. A football club. A Men’s Shed. A walking group. A volunteering project. A place where they’re expected. A place where someone notices if they don’t turn up. Connection isn’t the reward for good mental health. It’s often where good mental health begins.
Building what Wales is missing
That belief is what led us to create HELPU, the men’s mental health hub for Wales: not because we have all the answers, but because we saw hundreds of people doing extraordinary work without a single place bringing it together.
Across Wales, men’s groups, charities, sports clubs and volunteers are quietly changing and saving lives. They deserve more than applause. They deserve recognition, investment, and a place at the heart of a national strategy.
Because the cost of doing nothing isn’t measured in statistics. It’s measured in fathers who never come home. Sons who believe nobody would notice if they disappeared. Families left wondering what they missed. These aren’t isolated tragedies. They’re evidence that something isn’t working.
This belongs to all of us
It’s easy to point the finger at governments, schools, social media, parents or mental health services. They all have a role to play. But the truth is more uncomfortable: this belongs to all of us.
It belongs to us in the everyday moments: every time we dismiss a boy instead of listening to him. Every time we tell him to “man up”. Every time we see him as a problem before we see him as a child. Every time we stay silent when misogyny, homophobia or hatred are normalised. Every time we fail to create spaces where men feel they belong. All of it points to one uncomfortable truth:
“We all help shape the men our boys become.”
Every boy deserves to count
Wales has lived with the UK’s highest male suicide rate for decades. We cannot keep accepting that as inevitable. We don’t need another awareness campaign. We need a strategy. But more than that, we need to change how we value our boys and the men they become.
Because every boy deserves to grow up believing that his life counts. And every man deserves the chance to discover that it always did.
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