Every morning, before he wakes up, I open the door to his room with great care, so as not to disturb his sleep. There is something magical about his face while he’s sleeping — maybe it reminds me of when he was little. I listen carefully to how he moves. He has a certain rhythm in his steps: when he leaves the room and closes the door, when he brushes his teeth, washes his face, combs his hair. I know this rhythm better than my own breath. And yet, every day I have doubts. Some days, it feels like I’m too gentle as a parent. I let him drift through networks, through conversations I don’t understand, through a world that no longer needs me as a parent or even as a listener. Some days, I get anxious. I check his bag, his closet, his clothes — I analyze everything, even the way he greets me in the morning.

I don’t know what’s normal anymore for a 17-year-old or for the parent of one. The boundaries we once thought we understood, where care ends and fear begins or when anxiety quietly takes over, are fading away. “It’s a phase,” my friends with older children tell me. Adolescence is like that. But often, it doesn’t feel like a phase or an age thing — it feels like a fading language, a changing presence, a silence where thoughts used to live. It’s the short answers — “OK,” “nothing,” “none” — that leave you feeling like a mere spectator, just praying, and praying and praying that nothing bad happens to them.

I know I’m not alone on this journey. I can feel how we’re all growing tired of a world that’s falling apart and becoming more alienating by the day — a world that doesn’t even give us time to figure out how to protect ourselves, let alone our children. This sense of confusion is something many parents of teenagers share. It’s becoming the norm for our children not to talk to us, to grow up with other faces, guided by invisible authorities we can’t see — whose presence we feel in every unanswered question, in every avoided glance.

I watched the series “Adolescence,” directed by Philip Barantini and written by Stephen Graham and Jack Thorne, in what felt like one breath. It was not so much for the story it tells, but for the way it reveals a fear we haven’t yet named — the fear that we may be losing touch with our children. The series opens with the arrest of Jamie Miller, a 13-year-old boy played by Owen Cooper, for the murder of his classmate, Katie. But it’s not the question of who did it that’s most shocking — it’s why it happened. And the answer is disturbingly close: Jamie was radicalized online, silently, through content that fuels misogyny and toxic masculinity — while his parents remained completely unaware.

Across four intense episodes, you realize that the room is no longer a refuge, but a breeding ground for hatred — where your child is exposed to misogyny, bullying and incitement to violence. It comes from forums and videos you’ve never seen, from comments you can’t decipher and from emojis that seem completely innocent. It’s the story of a father who doesn’t understand where he went wrong. Of a mother who constantly asks herself, “am I a good mother?” Of a family trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels familiar. The series doesn’t offer answers — but it compels you to ask the questions you’ve never dared to ask. To turn toward a merciless, but necessary, mirror.

After its broadcast, some of the U.K.’s most prestigious media outlets — including The Guardian, The Times and the BBC — offered in-depth analyses of the series, calling it one of the most accurate portrayals of the crisis boys are facing today. On social media, many parents and teachers began sharing their own stories, showing that Jamie’s story is not just a fictional narrative, but a harsh reality knocking on our doors.

The room — a source of silent anger

This series reminded me of the cases unfolding right here, before our eyes. Jamie doesn’t live in Kosovo, but he could be that 19-year-old from Vushtrri, who was reported to have killed his friend, a peer. According to reports, the victim had invited the suspect to meet and talk things through, but the meeting ended in tragedy. Or the case of another 19-year-old, from Klina, who was arrested for killing two young men in March 2025.

We’ve begun to consume violence as a regular part of the news, but no one is asking: What is happening to our boys? What is making them believe that only violence gives them worth? Their calm, “locked in their room” appearance doesn’t look like that — because the room has become a window into a world we don’t fully understand. A virtual world where they are exposed to influences that reinforce narratives of violence and domination. It’s from this world that figures like Andrew Tate emerge — a former kickboxing champion, accused of rape, human trafficking and forming an organized crime group to exploit women.

Tate blends the image of a “self-made” millionaire with misogynistic propaganda, becoming a toxic idol for young boys who seek identity through violence and disdain for women. We might think of Tate as a distant phenomenon, confined to TikTok and YouTube screens — but the reality is far more immediate.

An article by Radio Free Europe (RFE/RL) reveals that Tate’s influence has also reached deep into Kosovo. When RFE/RL asked a class at Sami Frashëri high school in Prishtina how many students knew who Tate was, 21 students — about 60% of the class — raised their hands. According to the report, some boys view him as a model of masculine power, referring to him as “Father” or “Top G,” while girls see him very differently, describing him as a “primitive man.”

This divide illustrates the deep polarization Tate causes among young people, raising serious concerns about the role influencers with misogynistic messages play in shaping the identities and attitudes of the new generation.

The algorithm doesn’t reward sensitivity, it rewards extremes. In this way, anger isn’t built through sudden outbursts, but through a silent, daily and ruthless conditioning. These tendencies become even more dangerous within our socio-cultural context. Our society is still a patriarchal society, governed by rigid gender roles, where being a man means being dominant, strong, the breadwinner — the patriarch. Feelings are not talked about. Suppressed emotions don’t disappear, they ferment. Eventually, they explode. In this patriarchal order, although women and girls have historically been, and continue to be, the primary victims, it doesn’t mean today’s boys and men are spared the consequences.

Patriarchy harms everyone, each in their own way. This chain of violence and emotional repression finds especially fertile ground in our context. The statistics in Kosovo speak clearly: since 2020, institutions and organizations have reported a rise in cases of violence and aggression among young people.

In and around schools, the police in Kosovo recorded 577 violent incidents in 2024 — up from 564 the previous year. Even within schools, where children are supposed to feel safe, violence persists.

But it doesn’t stop there. Between July 2023 and June 2024, the police in Kosovo recorded 2,856 cases of domestic violence. The victims are primarily women and children, those who often remain invisible in the statistics, yet silently endure the consequences.

On the streets and neighborhoods, the consequences are even more visible. In 2023 alone, 1,992 cases were registered in which the suspected perpetrators of criminal acts were minors.

Often invisible, but still victims — not only in schools, but also within their own homes. According to UNICEF, 70% of children in Kosovo experience some form of violence as a method of discipline, including psychological assault and/or physical punishment. 70%. These are not just numbers. This is my child. Yours. The neighbor’s. The teacher’s. And when children learn violence at home, no discipline or authority at school can fully undo its effects.

Are we raising a generation of boys who feel unnecessary and useless?

We are raising a generation of boys who feel unwanted and this isn’t just their crisis; it’s a crisis for all of society. Because boys who grow up feeling worthless will struggle to form healthy relationships — they won’t know how to become nurturing parents, they won’t know how to build meaningful friendships.

A report titled “Understanding Young Men and Masculinities in the Balkans,” published by CARE International Balkans and Promundo-US in 2014, analyzes how boys grow up and how masculinity is perceived and expressed in the region. The report found how young boys in the Balkans face a multidimensional crisis that leads to social isolation, mental health issues and risky behaviors.

Some of the key factors identified are unemployment and lack of opportunities, issues that remain prevalent today. As a result, young men are often unable to meet traditional expectations that are still deeply rooted in society — to be the “head of the family” and primary financial provider. According to the report, this directly contributes to feelings of shame, depression, antisocial behavior, substance abuse and in some cases, even suicidal thoughts.

And when you no longer see value in work, in yourself or in school — there’s no place left to belong. In the U.K., for example, the Annual Literacy Survey shows a sharp decline in reading for pleasure, especially among boys. Only 28.2% of boys reported reading for pleasure, compared to 40.5% of girls. In Kosovo, the 2022 Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) revealed a similar trend, girls outperformed boys by 25 points.

But the problem goes beyond reading. The way boys are socialized, taught to hide their feelings and suppress their emotions, leads them into isolation.

In addition to the series “Adolescence,” a public report released in March 2025 by the Centre for Social Justice (CSJ) — a conservative organization in the U.K. focused on social policy research — also drew significant attention in the UK. The report, titled “Lost Boys,” sparked controversy not only because of its content, but also because it came from an institution with a history of influencing state policy. Immediately after its publication, the findings were widely covered by the media, igniting a public debate about boys who are going missing — literally, not metaphorically.

The report shows that boys in the U.K. are twice as likely as girls to drop out of school. The situation is not much different in Kosovo, where the gap between boys and girls in terms of the risk of dropping out of secondary education has been growing each year. In the 2018-2019 academic year, 78.7% of all students who dropped out were boys.

In the U.K., there are also notable shifts in the labor market. In 2022, according to data summarized in the “Lost Boys” report, the gross salary of girls aged 16-24 working full-time was higher than that of boys from the same socio-economic group. This result reflects the progress made by girls and highlights the deepening crisis among boys. At the same time, the report notes that even sectors traditionally dominated by men, such as construction, agriculture and industry, are in decline. In other words: young boys are beginning to lose their economic identity.

But it’s not just about school or work. On top of everything else, the report highlights the absence of a meaningful father figure — first at home and then within the education system. This isn’t a call to romanticize the old patriarchal model, but a reminder that boys also need role models who teach sensitivity, not dominance. All of these factors can lead boys down dangerous paths: they are more vulnerable to violence, bullying and addiction. And even when they are neither victims nor aggressors, many remain lost — absorbed by the screens of their phones, following male figures who promote hatred and contempt.

In Kosovo, data on higher education reveals a significant gender imbalance — to the disadvantage of boys. During the 2022-2023 academic year, out of 4,519 bachelor’s degree graduates, only 1,232 — or 27% — were male, while the vast majority, 3,287 — or about 73%, — were female. This points to a concerning lack of academic persistence and engagement among boys and young men. And when there is neither motivation to continue their education nor support to build a future here, some of them choose to leave.

Not always as rebels nor as adventurers — but often as invisible. According to a 2023 statistical analysis on the migration of Kosovars to Germany by the GAP Institute, over 177,000 men born in Kosovo migrated between 2010 and 2022, compared to 153,000 women. An 8% gender gap may seem small at first glance, but it becomes significant when we consider the average age of migration during this period is between 20 and 22 years old. Boys who have barely begun to live are already leaving.

Although men have traditionally held power and privilege in society, this should not blind us to the reality that many of today’s boys are growing up unprotected in a world that has changed radically, without being given the tools they need to navigate it. The rules of the game have changed, but the expectations placed on boys’ shoulders remain the same — like old maps pointing to roads that no longer exist.

If this trend continues — if boys grow up without a sense of worth, isolated and without the space to find their place in society — then tomorrow we will have neither good husbands, nor good parents nor a self-sustaining society. And the void will be filled, as it often is — with violence, directed at themselves and at others.

We see this crisis not only in reports and statistics, but every day — in schools, on the streets, in the news. We feel it when our children walk past us and don’t even see us. I still hear my son’s footsteps every morning. I still pray. But prayers are not enough. Love is not enough. Boys are disappearing before our eyes, while we remain trapped in the illusion that we still have time.

Feature Image: Dina Hajrullahu/K2.0

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