Industry's imposed insecurity
Demolition and construction workers are paying the ultimate price in an industry in which insecurity is the norm.
Constant pressure from above equates to a constant threat of reprimand, punishment or dismissal. Constant concern over whether you’ll be paid this week, next week, or the week after. Constant worry that you might be replaced by someone less experienced and, therefore, cheaper than you. Constant fear that work will dry up or that your employer won’t keep its order book filled. Constant anxiety about what’s happening back home while you’re working away: Are the kids behaving? Are you missing all their formative years? Is your spouse coping, or lonely? Is the house secure? Is your marriage? Are your colleagues as skilled as they claim to be? Or are they drunk, high, or simply not up to the job?
Every one of these fears and worries chips away at the foundations of a worker’s wellbeing. Separately, they’re difficult. Together, they’re crushing.
And they all boil down to a single word: insecurity.
More than 30 UK construction workers die by suicide each month. That’s not a typo. It’s not hyperbole. It’s a human tragedy happening in plain sight.
Despite endless hashtags, awareness campaigns, branded hard hats, and tear-jerking videos, the suicide rate among construction workers remains nearly four times the national average.
Ask yourself: if a bridge collapsed every month and killed 30 engineers, would we respond with posters and awareness campaigns? Or would we rebuild the damn bridge?
The construction industry isn't just physically dangerous. It's psychologically punishing. And instead of fixing the causes, we’ve become experts at papering over the cracks.
Yet there is a creeping, silent pressure that seeps into every corner of a worker’s life.
Insecurity about income - Wages vary wildly. Pay is often delayed. Some workers rely on agencies that treat them like disposable stock; one wrong move and you're off-site, no notice, no support.
Insecurity about work continuity - Demolition projects are finite by nature. Workers often don’t know what comes next. "Finish this job, then we’ll see" becomes a kind of emotional blackmail. You do what you’re told, take the abuse, work unsafe hours, say nothing—because you’re terrified of not being picked for the next job.
Insecurity about reputation - In a tight-knit industry, word travels fast, even if it's not true. Make a mistake? You're careless. Speak up about safety? You're a problem. Ask for help? You're weak.
Insecurity at home - Being away from family takes a toll. Missing birthdays, school plays, sports days, anniversaries. Over time, guilt festers. Distance becomes emotional as well as physical. Some workers live two lives: one on-site, one at home; both carrying the weight of unspoken burdens.
There are toolbox talks and "Mental Health Awareness Days." But most of these are tick-box exercises. A few posters in the break room. A free stress ball. A guest speaker who tells you to "open up" and then leaves before lunch. It’s like giving a man with a broken back a leaflet about posture.
And let’s be honest: what worker in his right mind is going to confess to struggling mentally, when he knows it could cost him the next job? This is the fatal paradox: we urge workers to talk, but punish them - subtly or directly - when they do.
Demolition and construction are still male-dominated sectors steeped in a culture of "get on with it." There's pride in endurance. Pain is worn like a badge of honour. But when you're scared, anxious, exhausted, or depressed, there's nowhere to go with it. You can’t tell your mates; they’ll take the piss. You can’t tell your boss; he’ll find someone else. So you bottle it up.
And bottled-up insecurity doesn’t stay bottled forever. It leaks into drinking, drugs, debt, anger, domestic breakdowns, or worst of all, silence that ends in suicide.
We don’t need more mental health campaigns. We need real changes to working practices:
Secure contracts, not rolling short-term deals and precarious self-employment.
Transparent payment systems that guarantee timely wages.
Rotation policies to allow workers time with family.
Anonymous reporting mechanisms for mental health concerns.
A cultural reset that treats openness as strength, not weakness.
True leadership, where foremen and managers are trained not just in logistics, but in human understanding.
Let’s stop pretending that "mental health support" can be delivered through a sponsored breakfast or a branded hoodie.
If a worker doesn’t know if he’ll still have a job next week, no amount of awareness will save him. If he’s worked three weekends straight because he’s terrified of being replaced, no wristband will undo the damage.
What’s killing these men isn’t just depression. It’s a culture that makes them feel disposable.
Insecurity isn’t a mood. It’s a slow-acting poison. And if we keep asking workers to swallow it in silence, we will keep burying them. Not because they were weak.
Not because they didn’t try. But because the industry made them feel that they didn’t matter.
And that’s the deepest, deadliest insecurity of all.