“We Don’t Talk About It” — What Rochdale’s South Asian Male Leaders Really Think About Addiction

When we sat down with six Pakistani-heritage male community leaders at Deeplish Community Centre for a two-hour conversation, one truth cut through everything: we don’t talk about addiction until it becomes a crisis.

These were not outsiders looking in. They were councillors, youth workers, community organisers, charity leads, and an outreach worker in recovery — men who spend their days inside the realities of local family life. And what they told us about addiction, young people, stigma, and support says a lot about where things are going wrong, and what might finally help us put things right.

Stigma sits at the centre of everything

The first thing they said — and the thing they kept returning to — was stigma. Not just stigma around drugs, but stigma around mental health, shame, and reputation.

One leader called stigma “the killer” because it stops families from speaking up. Problems get hidden, wrapped up in fear of gossip or fear of harming marriage prospects. The group stressed something important: it isn’t that we lack the right words in Urdu or Punjabi. We have the vocabulary. What we don’t have is the freedom to have ordinary conversations about addiction, anxiety, depression, or psychosis at home.

When talk is blocked, silence fills that space — and silence lets problems grow.

Addiction doesn’t start with ‘bad choices’

Another striking theme: none of the men spoke about addiction as a moral failure.

Instead, they described it as a state of mind under pressure — shaped by isolation, anxiety, bullying, and family tension. People turn to something because it helps them “take your mind off what hurts.” And dependency, they said, can attach to “good things and bad things,” not just illegal drugs.

Many said it starts socially. A laugh, a bit of fun, something passed around in a circle — until it becomes something strong enough that “it doesn’t go away easily.”

This framing matters. It shifts the conversation from blame to understanding.

Families care deeply — but real life leaves little space to talk

Every man in the room recognised families as the first and most loyal line of support. When someone finally opens up, families tend to be the most caring.

But they also described why these conversations rarely happen early.

Long work hours, cost-of-living pressures, tutoring schedules, and high expectations mean little time to sit down and talk. Young people often become “quiet” or behave like “a certain person” around their fathers — respectful, but emotionally closed off. Parents sense something is wrong, but there’s no shared habit of talking openly.

What families want, the leaders said, are small, simple prompts: ways to begin difficult conversations before things spiral.

The reality: early exposure is happening whether we talk about it or not

One of the most alarming parts of the discussion was how early young people are now exposed to substances.

Leaders talked about vapes in schoolbags of 9- to 11-year-olds, peer drop-offs, and even adult proxy buyers. They described how easy access has become — that “you can just order it from home” and have it delivered to your door.

With schools sometimes hesitant to confront vaping near their gates, these behaviours quickly become normal. And because families aren’t talking openly about drugs, children slip through unnoticed.

Nitrous oxide: the balloon that looks harmless but isn’t

Nitrous oxide came up again and again. It’s now so visible that one leader had seen a driver inhaling a balloon while behind the wheel.

The men worried that social media has made nitrous look harmless, even fun — despite hospitals reporting serious nerve damage for those who end up there with harm. The leaders pointed out that although Asian/Asian British patients make up a large share of these cases, this doesn’t mean the whole community uses nitrous more. It just shows who is being most harmed when things go wrong.

The most vulnerable age? 16 to 24 — when belonging matters most

According to the leaders, first use usually happens between 16 and 24. That’s the age group living inside comparison culture, pressure to belong, and constant messages about “quick money” and becoming a millionaire by 24.

They also noticed more South Asian girls and young women visible in substance-using spaces after COVID — linked to things like driving, social mobility, and access to places like parks and shisha venues.

If support doesn’t reach young people early in this window, families often miss their chance.

Why mainstream services feel ‘off-key’ to many families

A recurring frustration was how culturally mismatched some mainstream services can feel.

Language barriers, lack of cultural understanding, and misreading religious expression all create distance. One participant told a story about a sister who was praying continuously during a psychotic episode — an act of devotion — but staff misinterpreted it as “speaking in tongues.” Moments like this break trust quickly.

The group’s message wasn’t anti-services. They want services. But they want them to feel culturally right, bilingual, and supportive enough to guide families through the first steps rather than handing them over to a system that feels alien.

Mosques matter — but they cannot be everything

The leaders praised mosques for their unity, influence, and ability to open doors for awareness. But they also drew a clear boundary: imams are not clinicians, and many people in active use don’t attend regularly anyway.

There were mixed views about whether imams should get basic mental-health and addiction training. Some felt it would help; others worried about the complexity. But everyone agreed on this much: mosques should raise awareness and equip families, while actual support happens in neutral community settings with trained professionals.

So what’s the way forward?

If the conversation showed anything, it’s that the solutions don’t require reinventing the wheel. The leaders asked for:

• more open, everyday conversation about addiction and mental health

• support for families so they know how to begin difficult talks

• earlier intervention in schools and youth spaces

• bilingual, culturally literate support workers

• using mosques for awareness — within realistic limits

• meeting people where they already are: schools, youth clubs, community centres, GP surgeries, online

Rochdale’s leaders didn’t ask for anything complicated. They asked for honesty, accessibility, and culturally grounded support that feels like it belongs to the community, not outside of it.

And that’s exactly the work Salik Project UK is committed to taking forward.

Download the findings here.