Maybe not everything bad in the world is caused by Gen Z. There, I said it
My children, nieces and nephews all belong to that godforsaken slice of national demographics known as Generation Z. They don't tend to get a good rep (silly, soppy snowflakes!) and now their reputation has sunk even further with the news that four in ten people aged 18-24 are considering giving up work altogether and living off benefits, due to mental health issues. Although, as any doctor or shrink could tell you, nothing's more likely to ramp up depression than lying in bed watching TikTok videos until your brain implodes. Work is part of the vital societal structure that gives human life meaning.
Or, at least, it used to be in the pre-pandemic era when workplaces functioned as communities with expertise passed down and gossip exchanged over the water cooler. Now the very young who were most impacted by lockdowns – missing crucial parts of their education and social lives – find themselves in a hollowed-out era of virtual offices, AI replacing humans, WFH, not to mention reduced fraternisation because of post-MeToo anxiety and slashed budgets. Who lunches or holds Friday office drinks in a stalled economy?
I observed an excellent example of this multi-factor phenomenon last year when a good friend's daughter started dating a 19-year-old man who was subsisting on benefits. He'd been diagnosed with autism as a child and we subsequently learnt that his mum had told him to be silent and awkward whenever anyone came to assess his needs, so she could ramp up his 'needs' and therefore her own financial support. His education had been patchy, but he had a natural facility with computers, due to long hours gaming. I noted his diagnosis never stopped him spending hours chatting to strangers in pubs and clubs.
When I asked this boy about his working history he cited stints behind a bar (sacked for arguing with the manager) and a short spell stacking shelves in a supermarket, which had 'stressed me out'. Neither job offered him as much money as job seekers allowance combined with housing benefit. He wasn't what you'd call blissfully happy, but I could see that an unpromising set of circumstances had pointed him in that direction and now the motivational forces required to move beyond them weren't in his lexicon. My friend coaxed him onto a basic IT course which he aced, but the effort required to progress didn't outlast the end of the relationship.
This may sound like a portrait of an unsympathetic character, but I felt intense compassion for him. This lad's life was so lacking in ambition or prospects and so thoroughly, dismally emblematic of our times. It's hardly as if benefit cheats invented the exploitation of mental health labels. Just look at the proportion of children in independent education who have been diagnosed with special educational needs: a whacking 42 per cent, compared to 26 per cent in state schools. Canny, well-heeled parents can pay for that ADHD or dyslexia diagnosis (try getting assessed on the NHS, god help you) and get extra time in exams and other allowances. And, before you denounce me as a cynical shrew, let me confess one of my boys has his own anxiety disorder and used to be a 'school refuser'. I've been through the wringer on this.
Friends working across the board in education confirm that while there are many children who legitimately require additional support, there are plenty of others whose parents game the system for all it's worth. In the end, a child's diagnosis may be as much of a hindrance as a help once in the workplace, because no boss is going to allocate extra time and special allowances for urgent tasks: something I've always fiercely pointed out to my boys. But I fear a wave of children who are used to special dispensations are now hitting the workplace and finding themselves too sensitive for it. And we parents may have created that avalanche of snowflakes.
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