The Silent Collapse of Community in First World Nations

The Silent Collapse of Community in First World Nations

I saw a short video the other day—just a reel, maybe thirty seconds long—but it hit me like a ton of bricks. Trevor Noah simply said: “Community doesn’t exist in first world countries.” And in that moment, I paused and whispered to myself, “Exactly.”

You see, I’m not a sociologist or an expert with statistics and research papers, but I know what I’ve seen. I know what I’ve felt. And more importantly, I know what I miss.

I grew up in Zimbabwe, in a home where the line between your family and the neighbor’s family was often blurred. Where “auntie” and “uncle” didn’t always mean blood relation, but rather a respected adult who helped raise you. Where a child never lacked love, even if their parents were at work or away—because the village truly raised the child. Moms, gogos (grandmothers), teenage cousins, neighbors… everyone pitched in, and not a single dollar exchanged hands.

We didn’t schedule catchups weeks in advance. People popped in, shared a cup of tea, peeled vegetables together, or just laughed on the veranda. The community was the culture.

Fast forward to now—living in Japan, visiting Qatar, hearing stories from friends scattered across the UK, USA, and beyond—it’s a very different reality. A harsh one. Everyone is working, moving, rushing… alone. It’s every man for himself. If you need a babysitter? You better have the coins. If there’s a Christmas gathering? You’re paying per plate. Want to hang out with friends? Good luck finding time on their fully booked calendars.

There are no casual “hi’s” from strangers on the street. No kids randomly running up to hug you on your way from work. The old ladies aren’t sitting outside shelling peas and offering you life advice. The silence isn’t peaceful—it’s lonely.

In Japan, where I live now, this loneliness is quietly thick in the air. People are polite but distant, helpful but guarded. Conversations don’t flow naturally. You can spend days without talking to anyone unless you make a conscious effort to break the ice. And it breaks my heart when I think about Japan having one of the highest suicide rates in the world. It’s not just the work pressure. It’s the isolation. You can live surrounded by millions of people and still feel utterly invisible.

We often look at Africa and say we are behind economically—and maybe in some ways, we are. But socially? We are lightyears ahead. We are rich in connection, in community, in empathy. And that’s the kind of wealth that sustains the soul. It’s what gives us strength during hardship, what lifts us when we’re down, what reminds us that we are never alone.

And don’t get me wrong, no society is perfect. Even in Africa, things are changing. Urbanization is threatening some of those communal roots. But the spirit of ubuntu—“I am because we are”—still lingers in the way we live, speak, and care for one another.

I believe we were created for connection. From the very beginning, God said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” He placed us in families, tribes, communities—not just for structure but for survival. Even Jesus, in His ministry, never walked alone. He built fellowship, walked with the disciples, broke bread in homes, and wept with His friends.

Maybe it’s time we start reimagining progress. Maybe community is the true currency of a fulfilling life. Maybe we need to pause, unplug, and look around. Smile at a stranger. Ask your coworker how they really are. Help a neighbor without expecting payment. Let your kids play outside with the kids next door. Leave space in your day—not just for productivity, but for people.

Because one day, it won’t be your job title or savings account that saves you from loneliness. It will be the hands you held, the hearts you touched, and the memories you made in the presence of others.

Let’s not let the noise of modern life drown out the quiet call to love and be loved.

“We don't heal in isolation, but in community.” – S. Kelley Harrell