The Numb Generation: Apathy in an Age of Connection

Perfect Days (2023)

If the 20th century was marked by a longing to connect, then the 21st century feels like a long, awkward silence after we’ve gotten what we wanted. In a world where everything is connected, why do so many of us feel so disconnected?

Social media promised to shrink the world in our hands, allowing us to witness global events in real time. We can scroll past serious posts about wars, climate disasters, and political uprisings, while at the same time, laughing at a meme or a funny video. With all this access, however, a troubling trend is emerging: a creeping numbness that has seeped into our collective psyche, prompting us to retreat from the overwhelming noise of modern life.

Apathy has become a defining feature of our age, seeping into our words, behaviours, and even how we view ourselves. From casual language that trivialises mental health to workplace disengagement and declining voter turnout, our detachment feels less like a choice and more like a survival mechanism. But what are we surviving — and at what cost?

Taste of Cherry (1997)

Consider how we speak about ourselves and the world. A phrase I hear often: “I’m going to kill myself,” muttered after any inconvenience. Saying “I hope you fall off a bridge and die” as a joke. What begins as hyperbole becomes a habit, a way to express frustration or fatigue without addressing its root. Over time, these phrases lose their sting, but they also reveal a culture that has grown comfortable with detachment.

The same happens online. Irony is the default tone on platforms like TikTok and X (formerly Twitter), where sincerity is seen as cringeworthy (or even worse, a bot). When has expressing human feelings become a key identifier of who’s not human?

Irony, as a symptom of late-capitalist nihilism, has turned detachment into a cultural norm. Instead of sharing genuine thoughts, we mask them in layers of sarcasm. This ironic detachment becomes a shield, protecting us from vulnerability but also preventing us from fully engaging with the world. It’s easier to roll our eyes at the state of things than to grapple with their complexity.

Apathy extends beyond words into actions — or, rather, inactions. One glaring example is the rise of “quiet quitting”, where employees reject the hustle culture that demands constant productivity but stops short of fully engaging with their work. While it’s a valid response to burnout and toxic workplaces, quiet quitting also reflects a broader disengagement: a refusal to care too much about something that doesn’t seem to care about us in return.

Jeune & Jolie (2013)

This mindset isn't confined to the workplace. In democracies around the world, young people are opting out of the political process, seeing it as rigged or futile. Voter turnout among youths is persistently low, and political discussions often devolve into cynicism. In Singapore, where elections can feel like a foregone conclusion to some, this detachment becomes even more pronounced. Politics is just yet another topic plenty of us “might not know much” about.

The problem with apathy, however, is that it feeds on itself. When enough people check out, the systems we rely on — workplaces, democracies, even communities — begin to falter. The less we care, the more broken these systems appear, and the less incentive we have to re-engage. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves us adrift.

JOY 조이 '안녕 (Hello)' MV (2021)

To understand why apathy is so pervasive, we need to look at the forces that shape our lives. Modern capitalism thrives on distraction. From Netflix’s autoplay feature to social media algorithms designed to keep us in a never-ending scroll, every moment of our attention is a commodity to be bought and sold.

When everything is monetised, including our time and emotions, it’s no wonder we feel detached. Even rest becomes a transaction: we work out so we offset those extra calories consumed, binge-watch shows to “relax”, and buy self-care products to feel like we’re fixing ourselves. Joy itself has been commodified, leaving little room for experiences that are unproductive but deeply meaningful.

In Singapore, this is compounded by a work-first culture that prizes efficiency and achievement above all else. From a young age, we’re taught to see life as a series of goals to be met: grades, promotions, milestones. Every enrichment class taken when we’re young serves a purpose — whether to become the next Joseph Schooling, for Direct School Admission in the future, or as something to put on our resume. Any activity that doesn’t serve these goals is seen as wasteful. The result is a society that moves fast but rarely pauses to reflect. We’re always doing, but rarely being.

The danger of apathy lies in its insidiousness. Unlike anger or fear, which demand action, apathy allows us to drift. It tells us that nothing matters, so why bother? This detachment feels safe — after all, caring deeply opens us up to disappointment. But in shielding ourselves from pain, we also cut ourselves off from joy, connection, and meaning.

As individuals, we suffer. But so do our communities. When voter turnout drops, democracy weakens. When workers disengage, innovation stalls. When neighbours stop looking out for each other, the bonds that hold society together begin to fray. The price of apathy is high, even if it’s not immediately visible.

So, how do we break free from this cycle? The answer isn’t to reject technology or modernity outright. Social media and capitalism aren’t inherently bad — they’re tools, and their impact depends on how we use them. The real challenge is to reclaim our agency: to choose connection over convenience, sincerity over cynicism, and presence over performance.

This might mean rethinking how we spend our time. Can we scroll less and engage more? Can we prioritise face-to-face interactions over digital ones? Can we approach our work not as a means to an end but as an opportunity for growth and collaboration? Can we stop chasing metrics as the only way to measure success?

Shoplifters (2018)

It might also mean reevaluating our values. In a society as pragmatic as Singapore’s, there’s room to redefine what success and happiness looks like. Beyond grades and promotions, can we find fulfilment in helping others, creating art, or simply being present with loved ones? Can we slow down enough to appreciate life for what it is, not what it can produce?

Apathy thrives in silence. To counter it, we must speak up — not always perfectly, not always confidently, but earnestly. Show up for the causes we believe in. Reach out to friends we’ve lost touch with. Invest in our communities, even when it feels inconvenient.

In a hyper-connected world, the most radical thing we can do is care — deeply, unapologetically, and without irony. Because the opposite of apathy isn’t activism or passion. It’s humanity.