Don't ask!
The countless questions that go unasked and unanswered in the demolition and construction industry.
Why are the men and women on demolition and construction sites consulted so rarely about how to improve processes, safety, training, and working practices? These are the people who spend every day, from dawn till dusk, immersed in the environment. They know the drills, the machinery, the risks, and the shortcuts people take to meet deadlines. But no one asks them, do they?
Why is the industry so reluctant to mandate drugs and alcohol testing for its workers? We see the numbers—accidents, injuries, sometimes fatalities—but no one questions the factors that make these worksites more dangerous than they need to be. Is it fear of the truth? Fear that if we delve too deeply, the culture of the industry will be exposed, revealing systemic cracks that can’t be plastered over by simple HR initiatives?
Why haven’t we analysed more deeply the wave of company insolvencies that have wiped out entire sections of the construction and demolition sector in the past few years? It’s easy to blame market conditions or unforeseen economic shifts. But isn’t there more to it? We see the patterns—unpaid workers, abandoned projects, desperate contractors—but no one really wants to investigate why this keeps happening, do they?
And why do we not question when a company director who has sunk multiple companies in the past suddenly reappears, free of accountability, ready to helm another business as if their failures were mere bad luck?
We don’t ask these questions because the answers are uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable.
Let’s start with the workers, the heart of any construction or demolition project. These men and women are more than just warm bodies doing a job; they are experts in their own right. They navigate dangerous sites, operate heavy machinery, and make quick decisions that can mean the difference between life and death. Yet, when it comes to improving safety protocols, streamlining work processes, or refining training programs, their voices are conspicuously absent from the table. The people who know the risks intimately are often ignored in favour of those who observe from a safe distance, those whose experience comes from textbooks rather than trenches.
Is it arrogance? Is it that the industry’s top-dogs believe the workers aren’t educated enough to have valuable input? Or is it simply a culture of hierarchy that has embedded itself so deeply into the industry that we no longer even question why the voices at the bottom are silenced? Maybe we don’t want to hear what they have to say because we already know. The reality is that construction and demolition work is dangerous—often unnecessarily so. The men and women on the front lines could tell you that. But if they did, then what?
It would mean admitting that some of the safety measures in place are just for show, that training programs are outdated, and that sometimes corners are cut to meet impossible deadlines. Admitting all this would require change, and change is expensive, time-consuming, and—most threatening of all—it would challenge the status quo.
Then there's the issue of drugs and alcohol on construction sites. It’s not something we like to talk about, is it? There are whispers, of course. Everyone knows someone who’s shown up to work hungover or worse. And the accidents? Well, they happen. We can’t always prevent them, can we? But why is there such resistance to mandating drug and alcohol testing? Isn’t safety the industry’s primary concern?
The answer is simple: accountability. If testing were enforced, if we truly cracked down on substance abuse in the industry, we would expose a culture that’s been allowed to fester for too long. And it’s not just the workers who would be implicated. Supervisors, managers, even the company owners—many of them know what’s going on. Some turn a blind eye, others outright ignore the problem. After all, if you start testing workers, what happens when you lose half your workforce overnight? What happens when you expose that the problem isn’t a few bad apples but a systemic issue that permeates the entire industry? No, it’s easier not to ask. It’s easier to look away.
We’ve seen construction companies and demolition firms going under in their droves over the past few years. Workers go unpaid, projects are left half-finished, and the cycle repeats. Why hasn’t there been a deeper investigation into why this is happening?
The excuse is always the same: “Market conditions,” “economic downturns.” But the truth is that many of these companies are run by people who don’t know what they’re doing or don’t care. Incompetent leadership, poor planning, and reckless financial practices lead to these collapses. The warning signs are often there for months, if not years, before the company goes under, but no one pays attention until it’s too late. Why? Because doing so would force us to admit that the problem isn’t external - it’s internal.
And finally, the company directors. How many times have we seen the same names pop up, running new firms after their previous ones have collapsed? They get away with it because no one holds them accountable. They return, offering the same false promises, the same bluster about new opportunities, while the workers they left behind are still waiting for their last paycheck.
We don’t question it because if we did, we’d have to acknowledge that the system is broken. We’d have to confront the uncomfortable truth that there are people in this industry who are allowed to fail. Repeatedly, and without consequence. They gamble with people’s lives, livelihoods, and futures, and when the house of cards comes crashing down, they walk away unscathed, ready to start all over again.
So why don’t we ask these questions? Why don’t we listen to the workers who know the job best? Why don’t we enforce the rules that would make our worksites safer? Why don’t we investigate the collapses that leave so many people destitute? Why don’t we hold the ones in power accountable for their failures?
Because the answers are too uncomfortable. The answers would force us to change. And change is something the industry has been avoiding for far too long. It’s easier to let things stay the way they are, to keep our heads down, and hope that the next collapse, the next accident, the next failure doesn’t hit too close to home.
But sooner or later, the questions will have to be asked. And when they are, the industry will be forced to confront the uncomfortable truths it has long buried beneath layers of excuses, justifications, and denial.