Why Don't We Care More About Male Suicide in New Zealand?
We cannot address a crisis we refuse to see. And we cannot see it until we stop looking away.
There are some crises so persistent, so predictable, that we stop seeing them. Not because they cease to matter, but because they cease to surprise. Male suicide in New Zealand is one such crisis. It happens quietly, regularly, and perhaps most disturbing of all - with consistently little attention.
In the financial year ending June 2024, 617 people died by suspected suicide. 445 of those were men. Māori continue to be disproportionately affected. The provisional suspected suicide rate for Māori was 16.3 per 100,000, significantly higher than the national average of 11.3.
And yet - where is the outrage? Where are the panels, the vigils, the ministers wringing their hands?
Compare this to other causes of death.
Road crashes claimed 289 lives in 2024. Do we care? Of course - holiday road toll updates on the news, public education and awareness campaigns, changes to regulations. Breast cancer kills around 650 New Zealand women annually, prompting widespread campaigns, pink-themed events, and considerable research funding. These are noble efforts - lives worth saving, pain worth preventing.
But male suicide, which kills approximately 400-500 New Zealand men each year, receives nowhere near the same attention. No ribbon. No news updates. No prime ministerial press conference. Just a very revealing silence.
Outrage is all the rage, why the silence on male suicide?
Perhaps because this crisis disrupts the prevailing cultural narrative. We are told, repeatedly and uncritically - that we live under a patriarchy: a system engineered by men, for men, to maintain their unearned dominance. It is an idea imported from Western academic circles and now parroted in institutions from schools to HR departments.
But if men truly sit at the apex of privilege, why are they dying in droves by their own hands?
The narrative doesn’t compute. It’s uncomfortable. And so, its seems, it is ignored.
This is not to deny that some men hold power. Of course they do. But the notion that maleness itself is synonymous with privilege collapses under the weight of basic mortality data. Power, if that’s what this is, looks curiously like despair.
Why are our men killing themselves more than 2.5 times the rate of women?
It is not difficult to find reasons. Men are less likely to seek help, more likely to be socially isolated, and far more likely to use violent and final methods. When marriages collapse, it is men who often lose access to their children. When careers falter, it is men who are defined by their inability to provide. And in an age where masculinity is increasingly portrayed as toxic, many are left unsure how to be useful at all.
The institutions that once grounded male identity - work, family, religion, community - are fraying. In their place, we offer men what? A social media algorithm and an antidepressant? Pornography addiction and self-help platitudes?
But there is also a relatively newer, more insidious factor in play: social media.
We like to think of the likes of TikTok and Instagram as harmless distractions. In reality, for many men, these platforms are unrelenting mirrors of inadequacy.
They are bombarded with images of success they cannot attain, physiques they cannot achieve, lifestyles they cannot afford, and women they are told will never want them unless they “level up.” Then, in the very next scroll, they are told they are the problem - privileged, oppressive, inherently suspect.
It’s a trap with no exit: be powerful, but not domineering; be emotionally vulnerable, but never weak; be protective, but not patriarchal; be a gentleman, 'but not like that you toxic chauvinist!'.
Then throw into the mix short-sighted but increasingly pervasive narratives like "women no longer need men." Economically, socially, even reproductively, the message is: you are obsolete. Not wanted. Not required. That isn’t empowerment - it’s dehumanisation masquerading as liberation.
Now imagine you’re 18-21, directionless, fatherless, already in debt, addicted to your screen, and the dominant cultural narrative is that your existence is either irrelevant or oppressive. Without a sense of hope or purpose, one could be forgiven for asking what exactly it is you’re supposed to live for.
Consider here for a moment the rise of online misogyny, incels, and extremism. When we think more about the 'why?'...is it really that surprising? If mainstream society only offers you shame or silence, it is inevitable that alternative, and often dangerous, communities will offer you meaning. Even if that meaning is warped.
The Empathy Gap
There is also a cruelty in the inversion of empathy. When women struggle, they are supported, as they should be. When men struggle, too often they are scrutinised. Or worse, mocked. Suffering men are often met not with compassion, but with suspicion or distance - from "What did you do wrong?" to "Just harden up".
The very concept of male pain has become politically and socially awkward. There is very little empathy in society for today's men, namely because they are...well, men. Men seem only worthy of empathy in today's western culture if they reposition themselves into any of the acceptable minority categories.
Middle aged, white, straight? Sorry mate, you're on your own.
Let me be clear. I am not making the case that men are helplessly at the mercy of a changing and indifferent society, nor that they have no responsibility for forging a sense of purpose in their life. But let’s be honest: if this suicide disparity ran the other way - if women were dying at more than twice the rate of men by their own hand there would be a national outcry, we would want to know and understand why.
Instead, the male suicide rate is met with bureaucratic indifference and ideological avoidance.
So, let us ask, plainly: How many dead men does it take before we care? Because it seems 400-500 a year just isn't enough.
This is not a call to diminish the struggles of anyone else. It is a plea to stop diminishing this one. It is a call for honest conversation, stripped of ideological rhetoric, rooted in compassion and common sense.
We cannot address a crisis we refuse to see. And we cannot see it until we stop looking away.
Until then, the silence will remain.
And so will the deaths.
Support Services
If you or someone you know is struggling, support is available:
Lifeline Aotearoa: 0800 543 354 (24/7)
Samaritans Aotearoa: 0800 726 666 (24/7)
Youthline: 0800 376 633 or text 234
The Lowdown: Text 1737 or visit thelowdown.co.nz
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