There is a wound bleeding through Bermuda’s streets — one that has rarely been seen in headlines, yet explains nearly every one of them. It is not a wound caused by hurricanes or economics. It is deeper than politics and older than our modern debates. It is the absence of the father in the home. And its cost is generational.

This is not a simple tale of deadbeat dads. It is a story of a system, a mindset and a cultural shift that has quietly eroded the foundation of family life. What once stood firm in structure — father, mother, children — has been compromised by broken trust, weaponised legal systems, and the silent approval of societal neglect. In homes across Bermuda, particularly in Black communities, the father is no longer seen as essential. And we are all paying the price for that lie.

In a small island where community was once king, the removal of fathers has created confusion in the minds of children who grow up never seeing what strength, discipline or love from a man truly looks like. Boys are left to guess what manhood means, piecing together their identity from YouTube, drill music and street codes. And girls are left to navigate the world without ever having witnessed what healthy masculinity feels like.

There’s a reason why we no longer see young Black Bermudian boys learning trades such as finished cedar work, carpentry, masonry, roof painting, mechanics or electrical work the way we used to. These crafts — once passed down from father to son, uncle to nephew, man to boy — are vanishing. And with them go the values that came with working with your hands, showing up on time, respecting the process and building something that lasts.

Even in our most essential industries, the shift is undeniable. Bermuda’s tourism sector, once proud to showcase its own — strong, charismatic, hospitable young Black men working in hotels and restaurants, and representing the island through respectful, dignified public behaviour — is fading. Where are the young men offering a kind greeting, helping elders on and off buses, or being the face of island warmth? Where are the fathers to teach them what pride in their country looks like, and how to carry themselves with honour and humility in spaces that once relied on them to set the tone for visitors?

Without a father’s presence, many young men seek affirmation in the streets. They search for leadership among peers who are just as lost. They find comfort in brotherhoods that glorify violence over value. It becomes a cycle: no discipline, no direction, no consequence. Just anger, masked in bravado. And that’s when a trigger gets pulled. That’s when a robbery happens — not because of pure evil, but because no one taught him how to work, how to wait, how to be a man.

This is not theory. This is real life.

What’s worse is that it is not just individual homes suffering. A culture has developed — a system — that reinforces the divide between fathers and their children. Courts too easily default to the mother, assuming nurturing is enough. Child services, often without true investigation, lean on outdated assumptions that the man is the threat or the disposable one. And, worse, mothers are allowed to use the child as leverage, enabled by institutions that rarely hold them accountable when they block access, twist stories or fabricate fear.

It is not only frustrating; it is traumatic. And I speak from experience.

What I have endured trying to be present in my child’s life has pushed me to the edge. Not just legally, but mentally and emotionally. I have faced accusations with no evidence, silence with no answers, barriers with no justification. My son is growing up without me — not because I abandoned him, but because I was pushed out. And in the eyes of the law, that pushing is acceptable. Even applauded.

Still, I stand.

Because the pain has given me strength. The exclusion has given me vision. And the silence has given me a voice.

I am choosing to go public not because I seek pity, but because I seek change. I want people to hear what this absence does — not just to men like me, but to children like my son. He doesn’t just lose a dad; he loses his reflection. His example. His protection. His clarity.

And the longer he lives without it, the more confused he may become. Confusion does not always look like tears or tantrums. Sometimes it looks like identity crisis. Sometimes it looks like self-harm. Sometimes it looks like a boy redefining masculinity through distorted lenses — trying to find himself in feminine spaces, or clinging to hyper-aggression because he thinks that’s the only option left.

Let me be clear: this is not an attack on anyone’s lifestyle or identity. But there are consequences to removing the natural teacher of manhood from a boy’s life. Gender reclassification, violent outbursts, drug abuse, suicidal thoughts or the complete rejection of responsibility are not random — they are often the fruit of fatherlessness. These are symptoms of substitution; when the real thing is removed, anything can try to take its place.

The slippery path of substitution is not just about personal identity. It’s about societal destruction. Because if you take enough fathers out of homes, you don’t just lose discipline, you lose legacy. You lose stability. You lose the checks and balances that keep young men in line.

And when those substitutes fail, we act surprised when there’s another shooting. Another theft. Another life gone too soon. But we shouldn’t be surprised. The warning signs were there. We just ignored them.

And although not every Bermudian family is broken, the number that are is more than enough to affect the whole. Like a single bad apple in a barrel, the rot spreads. Even homes with good fathers aren’t safe from the ripple effects. When the community suffers, we all suffer.

Yes, there are fathers still standing tall. Men who are present, committed and quietly doing their part to raise strong children. They are the proof that fatherhood still matters. But even they can’t outrun a culture that has normalised their absence, disrespected their role and devalued their authority.

We need to stop pretending this is not happening. We need to stop punishing fathers for wanting to be fathers. And we need to start restoring the balance — before another generation grows up thinking this is normal.

Conclusion

So now I ask you — after everything you’ve just read, do you still need to wonder why gun violence is high? Why substance abuse is high? Why reckless actions without remorse have become normal? Why young boys carry pain like it’s part of their DNA?

We are witnessing the fallout of what happens when you remove fathers not just from homes, but from hearts. We are living in a Bermuda that is bleeding not only economically, not only socially, but spiritually. Because a child who grows up without his father is not just missing a parent, he is missing clarity. He is missing identity. He is missing an anchor in a storm that keeps tossing him between anger, confusion and desperation.

This isn’t just a crisis. This is a national emergency hiding in plain sight.

And yet, I have not broken. I refuse to stay silent. What I’ve endured has not just made me stronger. It has given me a platform. It has given me a reason to speak — not just for myself, but for every father who has been shut out, every child who has been left wondering why they feel so lost, and every community that has watched its young men disappear into graves and prison cells without asking the hard question: where was his father, and why wasn’t he allowed to stay?

To the systems, the courts, the agencies and the culture that allowed this fracture to spread, I say this with conviction: your silence has caused harm. But our voices will bring healing.

And to the fathers who are still standing, still fighting, still showing up, know this: your presence is more powerful than you think. You may not be perfect, but your presence alone is a lighthouse in the storm.

I’m not saying that bringing fathers back into the centre will solve all of Bermuda’s problems, but I can promise you this: it would make a drastic change for the better. The shift would be visible — in our streets, in our schools, in our spirits.

It is time we bring the father back into focus — not as a threat, not as an afterthought, but as a pillar of the home and the heart of the child. If we don’t, we will lose more than generations — we will lose our soul.

Let this be the beginning of something greater. Not just my voice, but many. Not just for the fathers and sons, but for the families.

Thank you for reading these words from what is considered an angry man.

• Concerned Father, whose words have reached us thanks to Youth Vision Promotions, has been kept anonymous so that his son may not be identified