Young people have seen their futures crumble - no wonder they're lashing out

Recently I found myself at an illegal rave. At least that’s how it was described the next day – police in running battles with young people and even a helicopter flying overhead. At 9pm when I bought a takeaway drink from a pub on Portobello Road, all was peaceful. A small crowd stood on the road outside.

“Like, where are we supposed to go?” demanded a willowy blonde, wearing a pair of men’s paisley underpants and apparently high. “We’re just chilling,” added a man in olive green trainers with red, tractor-tread soles. “No one’s making money here. We just want to see our friends. I’ve been on lockdown with my mum for three months.”

But then the mini cabs started to draw up. Young people spilled out, drawn to this small gathering by Instagram. Even the events of the previous evening did not scare them away: the next block was still cordoned off, a crime scene where two boys had been stabbed, then returned with guns to let off a volley of shots. Were they not afraid, I asked four young men exchanging fist bumps?

One shrugged, “It’s the new norm, innit?” I left, passing a group of teenagers sucking brightly coloured balloons of laughing gas. A few hours later, the place was chaos.

Police break up an illegal party on Portobello Road Credit: INSTAGRAM/LULABELLAA

There has been outrage over the explosion of crime and disorder in London and around the country – illegal raves, police attacked, packed beaches and parks and social distancing a distant memory. The latest, on Saturday night, saw police have bottles thrown at them after breaking up an illegal party in Hammersmith, west London. Of course there is never an excuse for violence. But the fact is lockdown has been a disaster for young people.

Papyrus, a helpline for the prevention of young suicide, has warned of a “longer-term problem of emotional distress” for young people following a surge in calls for help in recent months. 90 per cent of calls, emails and texts to its helpline since lockdown have referenced the pandemic, with children and young adults concerned for their own mental health or about the wellbeing and livelihood of loved ones.

Activities that provided a framework and gave meaning and pleasure to life have all gone. Schools, colleges, sports and after schools’ clubs are all but closed down. Every young person is a NEET (‘Not in Education, Employment, or Training’) now. Little thought has been given to how they are feeling or will react.

And if that is bad enough for those from relatively well-off homes, with familial and financial safety nets, it is far worse for young people from a disadvantaged background.

“I just sit in my room, really depressed and scared and lonely,” one 14-year-old girl, who I met through a south London gang I befriended for a book, some years ago, admitted. A young man due to start a cancelled apprenticeship just buried his head in his hands on our Skype call, lost for words.

The coronavirus has closed off the paths that lead into a successful adulthood. It has made it hard to get the grades or earn a wage. There is no furlough scheme for thwarted ambitions or lost dreams. Young people see their future shrivelling up in front of them and it is scary. Can we be surprised if, as one young man said to me recently at his family barbecue, “We are all kicking off now.”

The one point of contact with the outside world for many young people is their school. Some heads really work hard for their pupils but equally many have not. One 15-year-old said of her teachers, “They can’t be arsed. They’re doing me no good.”

She has a point. A study by University College, London found a fifth of the country’s ten million school children had done no work at home or less than an hour a day. This lack of education hits the poorest children hardest. Data from the Institute for Fiscal Studies reveals parents of disadvantaged children are less likely to report their school provides online classes and access to online video conferencing with teachers.

The attitude of some heads is breathtaking. Vic Goddard, principal of Passmore Academy, Essex says his white, working class pupils will be “at such a disadvantage [in terms of lost learning] compared with private-school kids who have had full virtual timetables.” Despite that, he admits, “We are not setting any compulsory lessons and nothing online.” All his hapless pupils receive are booklets of work and the odd challenge, “such as cooking a meal for their family.”

This is having a devastating affect on the mental health of our poorest children. A school counsellor says that, at first, many of the young people he helps were happy to be at home. They enjoyed seeing more of their parents. “My clients are bullied at school so they were relieved not to have to go there.”

But the isolation and lack of routine has got to them. It is not just school but the three or four school clubs they attend – “all just chopped.” Some have not stepped outside the front door for months. “Their mothers are too afraid even to take them on the weekly shop.”

He dismissed the anger against illegal gatherings. “The teenagers I help are locked up in small flats with no outlet for their energy. They are lonely, bored and frustrated. Of course they will go a little crazy when they get out.” His answer? “Provide a big, outdoor space where the kids are safe and can let off steam — and we can keep an eye on them.”

Certainly, the inner city teenagers I spoke to had no thoughts of illegal parties. “My friends and I, we just work,” said one pretty 15-year-old. “We’ve been revising but it is so hard on our own. I don’t think any of us will pass. Even the teachers say we are going to fail.” The counsellor explained, “In August they receive their predicted exam results and some of those are going to crush the kids.”

One boy, eager to be a football coach, is afraid he will not get the grades for the sixth form college he wants. “The teachers at my school haven’t understood how difficult it is for us learning from home,” he said. Another despaired of ever being a physiotherapist. His school sent him 14 pages on a new topic. But when he tried to ask questions, “My teacher just says she doesn’t know.” Another said bitterly, “Schools just don’t care. They do their Zoom, tick off that box, but they don’t care.”

For the young people who are in jobs, the situation is not much better. Workers aged under 25 are about two and a half times as likely to work in a sector forced to suspend trade, like bars and restaurants. Companies closed under the government’s social distancing measures employed nearly a third of all employees under 25, not including full-time students who also have a job. This compares with just one in eight (13 per cent) of workers aged 25 and over. Two-thirds of companies who provide apprenticeships have axed their schemes. The loss of apprenticeship places will hit people from the most disadvantaged backgrounds hardest. They are more likely to be on schemes for lower-skilled jobs that have been among the first to be furloughed.

A 22-year-old former drug dealer, the younger brother of a gang member I befriended, gave up the streets for a job in hospitality. I had been thrilled, but then the agency that employed him let him go with no money. He applied to the Job Centre and heard nothing for eight weeks. He then received £400, backdated. How had he survived, I called and asked him? “I went back to being a road man, innit.” But he has learnt his lesson: “I can’t rely on a job,” he said. “I got to be self-employed or sell drugs 100 percent.”