Beyond clickbaity gender wars

At the heart of Netflix’s recent limited series, Adolescence, lies a truth we rarely confront — poverty and deprivation are not merely a condition of economic scarcity but also of social connections. The gripping show represents a condition of impoverishment where individuals are cut off from the resources and pathways that enable meaningful participation in social life. It indicts our collective abandonment and asks: What kind of adults can emerge from childhoods where belonging becomes a luxury? Public resources and infrastructure — education, healthcare, decent work, transportation, and shared civic spaces — are the connective tissue that enables participation and belonging. When these systems erode or become inaccessible, they weaken social connections and collective purpose, giving way to deep and often cynical alienation.

On the face of it, Adolescence is an intense narrative about gender relations and violence against women. But the last episode establishes that is not all that the creators are after. The show is more of a reflection on how the societies and systems we live in have been gutted and fragmented. Although there was never really a time when things were better, there was at least a shared understanding that human potential needed collective nurturing and protection. That consensus is under severe duress today. We now live in an expansive marketplace where if you cannot afford to live in gated communities or access private institutions, you are the grist for it. As the world closes, the Internet opens. However, much of it also treats human experience and consciousness as raw data to be mined and sold. It especially reduces young people’s complex growing-up experiences to engagement metrics in the present and algorithmic value in the future.

In the just-released book Careless People, former director of public policy at Facebook Sarah Wynn-Willams shares shocking details of how the company turned on aggressive micro-targeted advertising at precisely the moments young platform users were going through emotionally difficult phases. It offered advertisers “the opportunity to target thirteen-to-seventeen-year-olds across its platforms, including Instagram, during moments of psychological vulnerability when they feel “worthless”, “insecure”, “stressed”, “defeated”, “anxious”, “stupid”, “useless”, and “like a failure”.” The algorithms served beauty product ads, for example, just as someone deleted a selfie they did not like.

Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, in his book The Anxious Generation, traces the gradual transformation of children’s interactions with the world around them and maps the profound shift from play-based to phone-based childhoods. Where previous generations found social connections through spontaneous gully-and-maidan play and community interactions, today’s children increasingly navigate social landscapes through digital platforms. This change is not simply about technology but how children learn, explore, and understand social dynamics. These new environments shape children’s autonomy, creativity, and ability to negotiate complex social situations.

Preying on vulnerabilities

For generations, society gave boys a script: grow up strong, protect your family, provide financially, and be the rock others lean on. These were not merely suggestions; they were the very definition of manhood itself. But the economic ground has shifted dramatically. Jobs that once supported entire families on a single income have vanished. College degrees cost small fortunes but no longer guarantee stability. In most of the available jobs, there is little to no security. Housing prices climb while wages stay flat. The traditional path to becoming a “provider” feels increasingly like trying to climb a downward-moving escalator.

At the same time, something remarkable has happened: Women have rightfully claimed their space in education, workplaces, and leadership. They have challenged outdated expectations and unfair systems. But for many young men raised on traditional ideas of masculinity, this creates a painful question: “If I’m not needed as a provider or protector, then who am I?”

Some find healthy answers — they redefine strength as emotional intelligence, find purpose in equal partnerships, and embrace new definitions of success. Others turn to dangerous voices like Andrew Tate, who offer simple but poisonous solutions: see equality as a theft of their opportunity, blame women, and try to reclaim dominance. This growing resentment serves the very economic systems that are causing the pain. While young men direct their anger toward feminism, they are distracted from questioning why decent jobs are vanishing, why social security is being privatised, and why housing has become unaffordable.

Much mainstream gender discourse centres outrage — an echo chamber of therapyspeak hashtags #narcissism #abuse #triggering — and social media platforms profit from this division. Instead of genuine understanding, we are trapped in a cycle of performative conflict that prevents honest dialogue about human experiences and structural inequalities. This dimension plays out powerfully in the third episode’s taut “training centre” sequence between Jamie and the clinical psychologist.

Caught in culture wars

Imagine two families living next door to each other. Both work long hours for wages that barely cover expenses. Both worry about their kids’ futures. Both struggle to pay medical bills. Yet, instead of recognising what ails them, they are being relentlessly nudged to focus on the faultlines that divide them.

This is the strange reality of our political moment. We are caught in what some call the “culture wars” — fierce debates about identity and values that often overshadow the economic challenges most share. Political thinkers describe two different approaches to creating a better society. The first — recognition politics — focuses on ensuring all groups are respected and acknowledged for who they are. This includes fighting racism, sexism, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination. These battles matter deeply.

The second approach — redistribution politics — concentrates on how resources, wealth, and opportunities are shared across society. This includes fighting for better wages, affordable healthcare, quality education, and environmental protection.

Both approaches are necessary. Dignity requires both recognition and fair economic treatment. But something peculiar has happened: our larger conversations have become dominated by recognition debates while redistribution concerns fade into the background.

The title of the 2000 Ken Loach film, Bread and Roses, featuring Oscar winner Adrien Brody, is a homage to the 1912 Lawrence Textile Strike, where the women workers demanded not just fair wages (“bread”) but also dignity and beauty in their lives (“roses”). Their rallying cry recognised that material needs and human dignity were inseparable parts of the same struggle.

Needed: Radical empathy

We need a new conversation that acknowledges both the legitimate struggles of young men and the necessity of gender equality. One that helps everyone recognise their shared interest in building a society that serves human dignity.

The feminist movement brought crucial awareness about gender inequity. The #MeToo movement further exposed how power can be misused to harm and silence. These struggles mattered deeply and created real change. However, the problem is not just about gender anymore. It is about an economic system that treats people as disposable parts in a profit machine. We are encouraged to see each other as competitors or enemies. Men versus women. Old versus young. When we are busy fighting each other, we overlook the handful of people who are getting incredibly wealthy from our divided attention.

What if we recognised that dignity, fair pay, affordable healthcare, and meaningful work are not “women’s issues” or “men’s issues” but human necessities? What if we saw that a father struggling to pay rent and a mother fighting workplace discrimination are facing different symptoms of the same broken system? Unlike traditional conflicts with clear paths to resolution, the violence against women seems perpetual, rooted in deep systemic inequalities. A ceasefire requires radical empathy — recognising that patriarchal and economically extractive structures harm both women and men and that healing demands we address these systems together in our stories.

The writer is a Mumbai-based media professional working across linear and streaming platforms.