They engineered it, they put these features on the phones
Across more than forty nations, governments are drawing a new boundary between childhood and the algorithmic world, following Australia's December 2025 ban on social media for those under sixteen. The movement reflects a growing consensus that platforms engineered for engagement have imposed measurable harm on young minds — a reckoning some are already comparing to the long arc of tobacco regulation. Yet the distance between legislation and lived reality remains wide, and the deeper question — whether restriction protects or merely conceals — has not been answered.
- Australia's ban on social media for under-16s triggered a cascade: Indonesia, Malaysia, Britain, France, and dozens more are now moving to restrict children's access, each with different age thresholds and enforcement philosophies.
- Landmark lawsuits have exposed what regulators long suspected — that platforms like Meta and YouTube deliberately engineered addictive features targeting children, with a California court finding them liable for exactly that.
- Enforcement is fracturing the promise of protection: two-thirds of Australian minors who had accounts before the ban reportedly kept using them, and critics including Amnesty International warn that bans may push harm underground rather than eliminate it.
- Political motivations behind the bans vary sharply — from genuine mental health concerns to authoritarian control, as seen in Turkey's proposal for a state-run login portal with a history of suppressing dissent.
- Regulators now frame this as a 'big tobacco moment,' watching closely to see whether these restrictions will hold or whether the tech industry's influence, free speech litigation, and easy circumvention will erode them before they take root.
When Australia banned social media for anyone under sixteen last December, it was an audacious move — untested, contested, and watched by governments everywhere. Within months, it had become a template. Indonesia followed in March, Malaysia shortly after, and Britain announced its own ban set for early 2027. Justin Hendrix of Tech Policy Press has tracked similar efforts across more than forty nations, calling Australia's move a "bellwether" that gave other regulators permission to act. The specifics vary — Austria targets under-14s, France under-15s, Brazil allows younger users only if their accounts are linked to a parent's — but the underlying anxiety is shared.
The legal landscape has sharpened that anxiety into urgency. Lawsuits from school districts, families, and government officials accuse platforms of deliberately designing addictive products and failing to shield children from predators and harmful content. A landmark California case found Meta and YouTube liable for engineering addiction into their platforms. The companies deny the allegations, but the pressure is mounting in courtrooms and legislatures alike.
Enforcement, however, has proven elusive. Australia shut down nearly five million accounts identified as belonging to minors, yet surveys suggest roughly two-thirds of affected young people found ways to keep using the platforms. Britain's Prime Minister Keir Starmer brushed off circumvention concerns with a pointed analogy to alcohol sales, while Italy's Giorgia Meloni remained skeptical that a ban alone could hold.
Opposition has come from civil liberties organizations as well as governments. Amnesty International called Australia's ban an ineffective quick fix that risked pushing harm into the shadows. Some countries have tried more nuanced approaches — Canada exempts platforms that can demonstrate child protection, Spain holds executives personally accountable for hate speech, and China has long imposed strict daily time limits on minors through its domestic platforms.
The motivations behind these bans are not always straightforward. Turkey's proposed restrictions came bundled with a government-run login portal, alarming observers given the state's record of blocking platforms during protests. In the United States, some legislative efforts are driven by social conservatism rather than mental health research, and courts have blocked several age-verification measures on free speech grounds.
What remains clear is that regulators across the political spectrum have reached a shared conclusion: social media as currently designed poses serious risks to children. Whether this moment will produce lasting change — or whether young people will simply navigate around it — is the question lawmakers are now watching most carefully, with one eye already on how not to repeat the same mistakes when regulating artificial intelligence.
In December, Australia did something the world had been debating for years: it banned social media for anyone under 16. The move was audacious, untested, and watched closely by governments everywhere. Within months, it became clear that Australia had opened a door others were eager to walk through. Indonesia followed in March, Malaysia this month, and Britain announced its own ban set to take effect by early 2027. What started as one country's experiment has become a global reckoning.
Justin Hendrix, who runs Tech Policy Press, has been tracking these efforts across more than 40 nations since February. He calls Australia's ban a "bellwether"—the thing that made other regulators sit up and pay attention. But the specifics vary wildly. Austria is targeting children under 14, France under 15, and Norway is expanding its existing ban from under-13s to under-16s. Some countries have paired social media restrictions with smartphone bans in schools. Brazil took a different route entirely, allowing under-16s on social media only if their accounts are linked to a parent's. The pattern suggests a broader conversation is happening about what technology is doing to children, though as Hendrix notes, "we don't know what we're doing."
The momentum behind these bans has been fueled by mounting evidence of harm. Lawsuits filed by school districts, government officials, and thousands of families accuse social media platforms of deliberately designing addictive products and failing to protect children from predators and dangerous content. A landmark California case found Meta and YouTube liable for exactly this—engineering addiction into their platforms. During closing arguments, lawyer Mark Lanier laid it bare: "How do you make a child never put down the phone? That's called the engineering of addiction. They engineered it, they put these features on the phones." The companies have denied the allegations, but the legal pressure is real.
Yet enforcement has proven complicated. Australia reported that nearly 5 million accounts identified as belonging to children were shut down, but a survey of 900 parents found that roughly two-thirds of young people who had accounts before the ban managed to keep using them anyway. When Britain's Prime Minister Keir Starmer announced the UK ban, he dismissed concerns about circumvention with a blunt analogy: "They get around other laws, too, but we don't say: 'Oh, look, a teenager managed to get a drink somehow, so let's not bother banning alcohol sales to children.' That would be utterly ridiculous." Italy's Giorgia Meloni was less convinced, saying a ban alone couldn't solve the problem because it would be easily circumvented.
Opposition has come from unexpected quarters. Amnesty International called Australia's ban an "ineffective quick fix" that left children exposed to the same harms but in secret, at greater risk. The organization argued instead for regulation, education, and better platform design. Some governments have tried to thread this needle. Canada's ban includes exemptions for platforms that can demonstrate they protect users from harmful content. Spain is making social media executives personally accountable for hate speech. China, which has long blocked Western platforms, took a different approach in 2021: weekday gaming bans for minors, with limited weekend access. Douyin, China's TikTok, restricts under-14s to 40 minutes daily.
The motivations behind these bans are not always pure. In Turkey, a push to restrict under-15s from social media included plans for a government-run login portal, raising alarms given the state's history of blocking sites during protests. In the United States, some efforts stem from socially conservative aims—limiting access to pornography or LGBTQ material—while others focus on addiction and mental health. Ecuador centered its discussion on keeping minors away from criminal recruitment. The US itself has been an outlier, with court decisions and tech industry influence complicating sweeping restrictions. Florida requires platforms to ban under-14s, and Utah passed similar legislation, though courts have blocked age verification measures on free speech grounds.
Hendrix sees the broader pattern clearly: regulators across jurisdictions agree that social media harms children substantially and needs addressing. The question now is whether this moment—often compared to the tobacco reckoning—will actually stick. Lawmakers are watching carefully, determined not to repeat the mistakes made with social media as they consider how to regulate artificial intelligence. The rush to regulate continues even as the true impact of these bans remains uncertain, and as the world waits to see whether restrictions can actually hold or whether they will simply drive young people deeper underground.
Citas Notables
How do you make a child never put down the phone? That's called the engineering of addiction. They engineered it, they put these features on the phones.— Mark Lanier, lawyer in Meta/YouTube case
A ban simply means they will continue to be exposed to the same harms but in secret, leaving them at even greater risk.— Damini Satija, Amnesty International
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Australia's ban become the catalyst? What made other countries suddenly pay attention?
It was the first major economy to actually do it—not propose it, not study it, but implement a full ban. That gave other regulators permission to take the idea seriously. Before Australia, it felt theoretical. After, it felt possible.
But the data shows two-thirds of kids kept their accounts anyway. Doesn't that undermine the whole thing?
It does and it doesn't. Yes, enforcement is leaky. But Starmer's point—that we don't abandon laws just because people break them—has weight. The question is whether a ban still changes the calculus, even if imperfectly.
What about the argument that this pushes kids to darker corners of the internet?
That's the real tension. Amnesty International is saying a ban without regulation is worse than no ban at all. You're not solving the harm; you're just hiding it. Some governments are trying to address that by pairing bans with platform accountability measures.
Why is the US so different? Why haven't they moved?
Courts keep blocking these things on free speech grounds, and tech companies have deep roots in American politics. The US created these platforms. There's institutional resistance that doesn't exist elsewhere.
Is this actually the tobacco moment, or is it something else?
The comparison works because there's finally a body of evidence about real harms—addiction, mental health damage, predation. But tobacco took decades to regulate. This is happening faster, which could mean either we've learned something or we're moving on incomplete information.
What happens if these bans actually work?
Then you've got a precedent that spreads. But "work" is the hard part. If it just means kids use VPNs, nothing changes. If it means fewer kids on these platforms, you've shifted the entire business model.