From the toxic forums of the manosphere to the dismantling of foreign aid institutions, something deeper is unravelling: our capacity to care. What the Netflix series “Adolescence” shows us—and what policy must urgently address, is how the rise of hyper-individualism and resentment—amplified in spaces like the manosphere—undermines global solidarity. When care erodes, so does the collective will behind development cooperation.
Why is a teen drama like “Adolescence” making politicians nervous?
The hit Netflix series Adolescence has sparked more than TV chatter. Following the story of 13-year-old Jamie Miller—arrested for the brutal killing of a classmate—the show dives into the toxic digital spaces where angry, isolated boys find identity and belonging. These aren’t fringe forums. They’re part of a vast and growing network known as the manosphere: a swirling ecosystem of incels, men’s rights activists, and self-proclaimed alpha males who thrive on misogyny, anti-feminism, and conspiracy.
As the showrunner told The Guardian (2025) “If there’s a problem with boys’ behaviour, it’s because of us—it’s about what we’re not giving them”. That line hits hard. Because the manosphere doesn’t just grow out of ideology—it grows out of emotional absence: loneliness, alienation, lack of purpose. In an era where traditional sources of belonging—family, school, community—are fraying, these boys find connection online. But the cost is high, with far stretching consequences for (foreign) policies and society at large.
From online grievance to political weapon
The emotional architecture of the manosphere—grievance, distrust, and hunger for belonging—is strikingly similar to the emotional infrastructure of modern right-wing populism.
Movements like MAGA and Trumpism don’t just speak in slogans—they speak in feeling: “We are abandoned,” “They are out to get us,” “Only strength can save us.” These narratives offer connection—but through exclusion. Like the manosphere, they blame feminists, globalists and progressive institutions for personal and national decline.
The manosphere radicalizes boys. Populism radicalizes democracies. And both ride the same emotional wave.
The elite logic of anti-elitism
The architects of this so-called “revolt” are often elites themselves. Trump is a billionaire. Steve Bannon was a Goldman Sachs banker. Elon Musk, who amplifies manosphere-adjacent content on X (formerly Twitter), is one of the richest men in history.
Populism doesn’t reject elites—it replaces one elite with another. It targets technocrats, experts, aid workers, feminists—while exalting nationalist, patriarchal strongmen. It’s not a movement against power, but a rebranding of power.
Foreign aid as a casualty of the culture war
This brings us to an unexpected victim: development cooperation. Once grounded in ideals of solidarity and shared humanity, foreign aid is now reframed as some kind of “globalist scam”, because it’s a wasteful business, a misallocation of taxpayers’ money and exporting wokeness abroad.
In the U.S., Trump’s administration slashed USAID’s budget and is now dismantling it entirely. In the UK, the Department for International Development was merged with the Foreign Office. In Germany, the Netherlands and Belgium, far-right parties openly call for ending aid altogether and budgets are in steep decline.
The logic mirrors manosphere discourse: if recipients are undeserving, then support is weakness.
Aid cuts are about more than budgets
These trends aren’t just about money. They’re about morality—about who deserves care. Empirical research shows that as populist parties gain power, aid budgets shrink . But deeper than that, we’re seeing a collapse of moral imagination: the ability to feel connected to people we don’t know, across borders or identities.
The same emotional fracture that drives boys into toxic forums is driving nations into selfishness. Aid dies not just from austerity—but from emotional withdrawal.
What would a fully populist world look like?
If this trajectory continues, we edge toward a world where care is conditional and empathy is rare. A world where rights are only for the “right kind” of citizen, truth is replaced by emotional tribalism, strongmen dominate while institutions hollow out, and foreigners, feminists, and dissidents are framed as threats.
This isn’t just a political project. It’s an emotional one—one that rewards domination and punishes vulnerability.
Rebuilding solidarity: where do we begin?
We don’t fix this with more fact-checking. We fix it by rebuilding relationships—by investing in cultural narratives, youth spaces, and policies that foster belonging without scapegoats.
Here’s what that might look like:
- Support youth programs that create meaning and connection offline and re-invest in awareness raising connecting local and global challenges.
- Reframe aid as interdependence, not charity.
- Challenge the emotional appeal of exclusionary politics with stories rooted in shared struggle.
- Reconnect local and global solidarity—so people don’t feel they have to choose.
Adolescence is a warning. The script is already playing out in U.S. politics—if Europe doesn’t act now, the next season will not be on the screen, but part of our daily lives.
This blog post was authored by Prof. Dr. Nadia Molenaers (IOB – Universiteit Antwerpen). The tone and formatting were revised and edited with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI), based on an original academic essay written by the author. All ideas, arguments, and source references are the author’s own; AI was used as a tool for style adaptation and accessibility in preparation for publication.