Progressive politics is losing young men - this is how we might win them back

By Daniel Cash

As a young man, I’ve borne witness to the growing resentment among my peers. Malign influences are finding success because that sensation isn’t being addressed by the other side of politics, writes Daniel Cash.

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It’s a conventional thing these days to mourn the “crisis of young men”, though the picture that exists in the public mind is basic. There sits the lonely, regressive boy as described by The New York Times and Scott Galloway and so on, wired into an IV drip of Clavicular and grievance. He watches porn, likely of the violent or subjugating sort, and dreams of a time when his masculine virtues were praised rather than criticised. He is isolated. He is angry.

This is a true enough image. But focusing on the smallish group of radicalised boys misses the scarier, more insidious phenomenon that’s playing out among young men at large. It might be less obvious – no looksmaxxing to give it away – but it’s more dangerous, causing fringe ideals to return to the mainstream. (One example of its impact: Gen Z men now hold the most traditional views of women’s roles in society, with about a third of my peers believing that a woman should always obey her husband.)

What I’m referring to is the sentiment, common among many of my peers, that young men are now marginalised.

Your first instinct might be to dismiss this. I don’t blame you. Downstream of all this male pouting, though, is a host of issues that are only getting worse, including the resurgence of dangerously regressive politics. Which means that ignoring what many young men are feeling is tantamount to letting this frightening trajectory continue.

As a young man, I’ve borne witness to the growing resentment among my peers. I watched it flower gradually in classrooms and on sports fields. Defensive reactions to viral videos discussing the patriarchy. Boys scowling during conversations about empowering women (“but not us?”, they ask). Muttered observations that girls get to be “She-E-Os” and “make herstory” but boys get nothing.

These IRL phenomena are matched online, digitised by content creators stirring up feelings of disenfranchisement and unfairness. It’s culminated in some 57 per cent of Gen Z men now believing women’s equality discriminates against them, according to 2026 research.

Given men still hold most positions of power, and given women still face injustices ranging from the systematic to the violent, this attitude clearly isn’t justified. If there do exist imbalances in terms of opportunities or treatment that favour women, these are to rectify gender inequality; they are set against a backdrop of several millennia of patriarchy, the impact of which persists structurally and socially. While Gen Z men are sliding backwards on numerous metrics (including education and employment) this decline is not part of a zero sum game.

For some time now, the response has been to explain all this. To show young men that they aren’t the unfortunate heirs to some fractured empire. But it hasn’t worked. And underneath that failure is a sad but crucial fact: it doesn’t matter whether they’re correct in believing themselves vilified, mistreated, or under-appreciated. The important part is that they believe it, because the outcome is the same either way.

Two years ago, I wrote about this issue for The Age. “To reach a generation fast becoming disaffected,” I said, “the dialogue around young men needs to shift… Their alienation needs to be recognised and addressed, in my view through a more welcoming conversation.” I quoted Julia Gillard, who suggests the feminist movement must be “self-critical and analytical about [its] obvious inability to take young men in particular on the journey.”

This was uncomfortable to do. But things have only deteriorated further since that time. Young men swung behind Trump in the United States; the much talked-about “manosphere” got its legs, sucking yet more boys into its vortex of grievance and insecurity; Nigel Farage’s Reform UK became the most popular political party among Gen Z men in Britain.

It is well-documented that each of these offerings noticed the grievances of men and acted on them. While many on the Left heard about “the male loneliness epidemic” and rolled their eyes, for example, others on the Right spied an opportunity to win new devotees.

Phenomena like the manosphere owe their purchase to the sensation, fair or not, that many among my generation feel. Malign influences are finding success because that sensation isn’t being addressed by the other side of politics. So a shift in strategy – by refraining, say, from the kill-all-men style (however enticing); or by trying to acknowledge male feelings more sincerely – might help blunt the momentum of regressive politics, and ultimately better educate boys and men.

Suggesting a more welcoming discourse might feel like rewarding a tantrum. But doing so would not be to coddle boys, rather it would be to better compete with the dangerous forces who are drawing them away. Because this is, after all, a competition – and it’s one with high stakes. Right now the progressive side is losing out.

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About the author

Daniel Cash

Danny Cash is a law student at the Australian National University. He writes regularly about Gen Z – his own generation – covering politics and culture. His work has appeared in the Australian Financial Review, The Age, the Sydney Morning Herald, and the Canberra Times. As of late, Danny is developing a campaign to ensure that AI shocks don’t displace young workers.