The Voices Unheard

Why are the voices, the cries and the pleas of the many so often and so consistently ignored by the few?

On 15 February 2003, an estimated 1.5 million people took to the streets in London to protest the planned invasion of Iraq. It was a historic day — one of the largest demonstrations in British history — as people from every walk of life came together, unified by one message: this war is not justified.

Grandparents, young couples, teachers, students, doctors, activists, and politicians alike joined that massive crowd, hopeful that such an undeniable, collective plea would make a difference. It didn’t. The government pushed forward, warplanes launched, and Iraq was changed forever.

Why do the voices of the people so often go unheard? This question isn't unique to that anti-war movement; it has repeated itself across decades, continents, and causes. From nuclear disarmament protests to the passionate cries of anti-capitalist demonstrators, the public has raised concerns about environmental damage, economic inequity, and human rights abuses. But time and time again, these voices seem like whispers in the wind when stacked against the powerful mechanisms they challenge.

Take the protests for Black Lives Matter, for example. In cities across the United States and beyond, people took to the streets to demand justice, to call for an end to systemic racism, and to plea for accountability. The sheer number of people protesting globally sent a powerful message, but it didn’t make the sweeping, immediate changes many had hoped for.

Likewise, pro-choice advocates in the US have been pushing for reproductive rights for decades. Despite overwhelming public support, legislation continues to threaten, restrict, and limit access to reproductive healthcare. Once again, people’s voices are present, loud, clear — yet often ignored.

And the truth is, this phenomenon isn’t just in the realm of “big ticket” causes like war, civil rights, or gender equality. In every industry, every field of work, people are out there, shouting about their issues, often to deaf ears.

We’ve seen this firsthand in the construction and demolition sector.

Take, for instance, the removal of the red diesel subsidy. For those outside the construction field, this might sound like a trivial technicality. But for the demolition and construction sector, it was anything but. Red diesel was used across construction sites; the lifeblood of our machinery, powering everything from excavators to dozers. When the subsidy was taken away, it nearly doubled fuel costs for operators and firms already struggling with tight budgets and thin margins.

Those on the ground protested, warning about the costs, the economic strain, and the potential for smaller firms to go under. But no one listened. The subsidy was removed, and the financial shock hit everyone, from the labourer at the bottom to the contractors at the top.

Then there’s the end of CSCS card grandfather rights. For years, experienced workers who’d been in the field before formal qualifications were mandated could get a CSCS card under “grandfather rights.” These were long-serving, skilled workers who had proved their expertise on-site, even if they lacked the formal paperwork. But that right is about to be stripped away, and without a card, some will no longer be able to work. Imagine being in the industry for decades, mastering your craft, only to be told that your experience now counts for nothing unless you go through costly, time-consuming certification programs. The protests and outcry are palpable. Yet, once again, they are being ignored, and countless seasoned workers are about to find themselves sidelined.

Then there’s the persistent problem of alcohol abuse on sites that we discussed yesterday. Despite decades of discussions, research, and statistics showing how alcohol use can increase accidents, lower productivity, and put lives at risk, the response has been no response at all.

Workers and advocates have raised their voices, calling for better monitoring, education, and support for those struggling with alcohol abuse. Yet, the response is limited to a meeting here of a poster campaign there, but no real systemic change.

Another glaring example of this disregard for workers’ voices is the suicide rate within the construction industry. Statistically, construction workers are among the most vulnerable to mental health struggles, facing a suicide rate significantly higher than in other sectors. Long hours, job instability, physical exhaustion, and isolation on the job contribute to a mental health crisis that has become a quiet epidemic. Workers and advocates have raised alarm after alarm, pleading for increased mental health support, better access to resources, and a shift in industry culture to allow for open discussions about mental well-being. But these cries are too often met with shallow gestures—one-off workshops or tokenistic initiatives that barely scratch the surface of the issue. Meanwhile, workers continue to suffer, feeling that their struggles are invisible and unacknowledged by an industry that prioritises productivity over people. The silence from leadership on this issue speaks volumes, and the toll is devastating.

So, why are these voices so persistently ignored? Maybe it’s because people in power — whether that’s politicians, industry leaders, or regulators — don’t feel the immediate impact of these decisions. They’re not the ones on-site, dealing with increased fuel costs, facing job loss over a certification, or working alongside someone who might be struggling with alcohol dependence. From their offices, the cries of the crowd can feel abstract, distant, or even inconvenient.

But here’s the thing: those voices are often the voices with the most first-hand experience, the most accurate understanding of what’s really going on. They know the challenges, the potential risks, and the unintended consequences of top-down decisions. Ignoring them doesn’t make those issues disappear; it just makes them fester.

And maybe that’s the ultimate irony. These protests, these cries for change — they aren’t coming from a place of defiance or recklessness. They’re coming from people who care deeply, who are passionate about their work, their communities, and the lives they touch. When demolition and construction workers protest the removal of a fuel subsidy, they’re not just trying to save a few quid — they’re looking out for the viability of their livelihoods, the jobs of their colleagues, and the stability of their industry. When experienced workers push back against the end of grandfather rights, they’re standing up for the value of hard-earned skill and dedication. When people in the field raise concerns about alcohol abuse, they’re not trying to ruin anyone’s fun; they’re aiming to make job sites safer, more supportive, and healthier for everyone.

It all comes down to respect. Respect for the people who live these issues day in and day out. Respect for the knowledge they bring to the table. Respect for the fact that their voices have substance, weight, and, yes, power. Because while it’s easy to dismiss a protest as inconvenient noise, these voices represent a lived reality that decision-makers may not fully grasp.

The next time we see a protest—whether it’s in the streets of London or in the frustrations of demolition workers about rising fuel costs—we should recognise that behind these calls for change lies the reality of lived experience. But it’s clear that in too many cases, these voices are disregarded, seen as inconvenient rather than essential. Without a willingness to listen, we’re left with a system that continues to alienate and ignore those it claims to serve, undermining its own foundation by leaving critical issues unresolved. The message is stark: a society or industry that refuses to listen risks losing the trust, respect, and dedication of its people—and that’s a cost no one can afford.