In 2018, the UK made headlines by appointing the world’s first Minister for Loneliness, though the role has since faded into the background. Japan followed in 2021, taking the issue further with a Cabinet office and even new legislation and still maintains a Minister for Loneliness and Isolation today. In the United States, momentum grew under President Biden, with the Surgeon General declaring loneliness an epidemic and calling for a national strategy. Wherever you look, the message is the same: disconnection is not just a private struggle, it’s a public health issue. Yet the language we use matters. “Minister of Loneliness” sounds heavy, deficit-based, even stigmatising. What might happen if we shifted the focus from absence to presence? Imagine a “Minister of Friendship,” not charged with reducing loneliness, but with cultivating connection.  

Friendship as Prevention 

The evidence is hard to ignore: loneliness is bad for our health. It doesn’t just make us feel low, it wears on the body too. People who are cut off from others face higher risks of heart disease, stroke, diabetes, depression, dementia, and even dying earlier. In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek Murthy, put it starkly, being chronically lonely can be as harmful as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. 

Loneliness, quite literally, is killing us. The World Health Organization now estimates it contributes to more than 100 deaths every hour worldwide. That makes disconnection the fourth biggest risk factor for death, after air pollution, smoking, and obesity.  

Spending time with friends and family doesn’t just lift our mood, it can keep our bodies healthier too. Being connected boosts the immune system and lowers the risk of serious diseases. Researchers in the UK and China recently looked at blood samples from over 42,000 adults and found clear biological signs that social connection and physical health are linked. 

As Professor Barbara Sahakian, one of the study’s authors, explained: “More and more people of all ages are reporting feeling lonely. We need to find ways to tackle this growing problem and keep people connected to help them stay healthy.”  

We may have heard the comparison before, loneliness is as bad as smoking 15 cigarettes a day but if we pause and take it seriously, it is shocking. Could it be that friendship is one of the most powerful health interventions we’ve been overlooking? 

Strong relationships act like vitamins. They protect against chronic disease, support recovery from illness, and extend lifespan. The World Health Organization has gone so far as to name social connection a key determinant of global health, noting that communities with stronger networks are more resilient and live longer. We already treat exercise, diet, and sleep as pillars of health. Why not friendship? 

The Limits of the Loneliness Lens 

The UK’s decision to create a Minister for Loneliness in 2018 was groundbreaking. Tracey Crouch, the first to hold the title, was tasked with raising awareness, funding grassroots projects, and shaping a national strategy. Japan’s decision to follow, with a full Cabinet office, made the issue impossible to ignore. 

Yet framing the challenge in terms of loneliness risks defining people by their deficit. Loneliness is a word many of us hesitate to claim, precisely because it feels stigmatised. When policy is built on deficit language, it may inadvertently discourage the very people it seeks to reach. 

From Deficit to Asset 

Here is where curiosity can spark a shift. Instead of asking, “How do we reduce loneliness?” what if governments asked, “What helps friendship thrive?” That single shift in perspective changes everything. It makes us curious about design: how might a city, a school, or even a workplace look if friendship was the outcome we measured?  

A “Minister of Friendship” could carry a very different mandate: to create the conditions in which connection flourishes. That might mean designing cities for chance encounters, strengthening community life, or opening new spaces for intergenerational bonds. Instead of patching a hole, friendship becomes an asset to grow. 

What Could Minister of Friendship Do? 

Let’s be curious for a moment. What would it take to make sure a Minister of Friendship wasn’t just symbolic? What would give the role real weight and purpose? 

First, such a minister could work across departments, making friendship and connection a design principle everywhere. Health policies could prescribe community activities alongside medication. Housing could prioritise shared spaces that bring neighbours together. Transport could be designed so that people can reach friends easily, not just commute. Education could embed relationship skills into the curriculum. Even culture and the arts could be supported for their role in weaving communities closer. 

In this way, a Minister of Friendship wouldn’t just sit in a corner office. They would be a connector themselves — helping every other ministry to see how friendship strengthens their own goals. 

Alongside this coordination, the minister could: 

Fund social infrastructure — from parks and libraries to cafés and digital hubs — the everyday places where friendships take root. 

Support grassroots innovation with small grants for local projects that bring people together, from choirs to repair cafés. 

Develop a national “Friendship Index” to measure progress and hold governments accountable for how well we are really connecting. 

Lead public campaigns that normalise reaching out, reduce the stigma of loneliness, and celebrate neighbourliness as a public good. 

This is not an abstract idea. Recently, the Ministry of Togetherness was proposed as a way of positioning social connection as infrastructure, just as vital as roads, schools, or power lines. And at the bold exhibition The Republic of Longevity, co-curated by our own Nicola Palmarini, Director of NICA + Voice, audiences were challenged to rethink how societies approach ageing. The message was clear: connection is not optional. It is something we must design for, fund, and nurture, if we want longer lives to be better lives. 

The Dividends of Friendship 

When we invest in friendship, the returns ripple through every part of life and every corner of society. 

Health dividends: Strong social ties act like a protective shield, lowering the risk of depression, dementia, and chronic disease. Around the world, doctors are prescribing connection itself, encouraging patients to join walking groups, gardening clubs, or choirs as part of their recovery. 

Economic dividends: Loneliness is costly. It piles pressure on health and social care. Friendship, by contrast, is an investment that pays back, reducing demand for crisis services and strengthening the resilience of communities. 

Cultural dividends: When connection is valued, we invest in the places that bring us together — libraries, volunteering, intergenerational housing, and the arts. These are not extras but the quiet infrastructure of belonging. 

Equity dividends: Friendship should never be a privilege. Policies that take connection seriously can support those most at risk of isolation for exmaple, young people, immigrants, disabled people, and older adults living alone. In this way, friendship becomes a foundation for fairness.  

Toward a Culture of Friendship 

Around the world, we can already see glimpses of what a culture of friendship might look like. From swimming groups to men’s “Pie Clubs,” from intergenerational housing to social prescribing, these initiatives prove that connection doesn’t have to be left to chance. With imagination and support, it can be woven into the way we live, work, and age  and that is exactly what a Minister of Friendship could champion. 

Language matters here. A “Minister of Loneliness” highlights a crisis. A “Minister of Friendship” points toward possibility. One is about scarcity; the other, abundance. And as we live longer than ever before, that longevity will only be meaningful if it is connected. Friendship is not simply a private choice, but a public good and one worth investing in. 

So perhaps the real question is this, when will we stop counting the cost of loneliness, and start building the power of friendship? And if one day we really did appoint a Minister of Friendship, what might they inspire us all to imagine, not just for ourselves, but for the societies we are shaping together?