Sunny Dua

There was a time when childhood sounded different. It echoed with laughter from playgrounds, arguments over marbles, scraped knees that healed with time, and evenings that ended with stories told by elders. Today, childhood often glows silently from a six-inch screen.

The laughter is replaced by scrolling, the arguments by comments, and the stories by reels that vanish in seconds. It is in this fragile moment of global introspection that Australia has taken a bold step – banning social media for children under the age of 16.

The decision has stirred debate worldwide, but it has also held up a mirror for societies like ours, asking an uncomfortable question: do we really need laws for every moral value, or have we forgotten how to regulate our own lives?

Australia, by enforcing the world’s first comprehensive ban on social media for under-16s, has not merely legislated – it has sent a message. Platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok, X (formerly Twitter), Threads, YouTube, Reddit, Twitch and Kick have been directed to block access to minors or face massive fines.

The Australian Prime Minister called it one of the biggest social and cultural changes the nation has witnessed. Governments across Europe, the Americas and Asia are now watching closely. But beyond the mechanics of the ban lies a deeper truth: the moral argument alone was no longer working.

For years, we were told that self-regulation would be enough. That parents would guide children. That platforms would moderate content responsibly. That “free speech” justified everything.

It did not work. Algorithms, designed to maximise screen time, turned curiosity into addiction. Infinite scroll mimicked gambling. A single reel watched for two seconds was enough for the system to decide what a child should see next and then flood the screen with similar content, relentlessly, like a perennial river that never dries. Australia decided it could not wait any longer. But while Australia needed a law, India should pause before demanding one.

Our civilisation has always believed that not everything good needs to be enforced by legislation. Our culture, heritage and family systems taught restraint, balance and responsibility long before smartphones existed. We knew when to speak and when to remain silent.

We knew that children learn best not by watching strangers on screens, but by observing life around them. Yet today, paradoxically, many Indian parents, especially in urban centres and even in Jammu and Kashmir, are doing the opposite of what they preach.

Instead of asking children to step away from social media, they are creating accounts for them. Instead of protecting childhood, they are exposing it. In Jammu and Kashmir, one increasingly sees toddlers with Instagram reels, schoolchildren turned into “content creators,” and minors performing for likes and views – often under parental supervision.

A childhood meant to be lived is being performed. The intention may not always be malicious; sometimes it is pride, sometimes ignorance, sometimes the lure of quick fame. But the outcome is the same: a normal childhood is quietly stolen.

Contrast this with the conduct of many celebrities in Bollywood and Hollywood. Despite living under constant media glare, a growing number of film stars have consciously chosen to keep their children away from social media and paparazzi. Bollywood, in particular, has almost reached an unwritten understanding with photographers – let children be children.

Let them go to school, stumble, learn, and grow without flashlights chasing them. If those with the greatest visibility can choose restraint, why can’t ordinary families?

One common argument raised against restricting children from social media is liberty. That we are curtailing their freedom, denying them rights, or cutting them off from world knowledge. It sounds persuasive, but it ignores reality.

Social media is not a library. It is not a classroom. It is an unfiltered, algorithm-driven marketplace of attention where decency often takes a back seat. Alongside useful information exists content that promotes violence, misogyny, distorted body images, consumerism, and unhealthy comparisons.

Expecting children to filter this on their own is unrealistic – especially when even adults struggle to do so. We must also reflect on our own behaviour. We have lost basic phone etiquette. We speak loudly at funerals, scroll through feeds during family gatherings, and glance at screens even during moments of grief.

If we, as adults, cannot regulate our phone usage, how can we expect children to magically develop discernment? Social media does not come with a moral filter. Algorithms do not understand culture, age or context. They understand engagement – and nothing more.

Health experts across India have already warned about the consequences of excessive screen time on children. Rising cases of anxiety, sleep disorders, attention deficits, poor eyesight, obesity and social withdrawal are no longer rare.

Mentally, children are growing up under constant comparison – likes becoming a measure of self-worth, followers a substitute for friends. The playground is shrinking, while the screen is expanding.

Less use of social media is undeniably better than excessive streaming. Childhood is not meant to be sedentary. This age demands movement – running, falling, sweating, learning teamwork and resilience on open grounds.

It demands healthy discussions at home, arguments with cousins, debates with friends, and learning to read emotions face-to-face. Social skills are not learned through comments; they are learned through conversations. Empathy is not developed by emojis; it grows from shared experiences.

Australia’s example should not push India immediately towards another law. Instead, it should push us towards introspection. Laws become necessary when societies fail to act on their own values. Do we really want to reach a point where the state has to tell us how to raise our children? Or can we reclaim that responsibility ourselves?

This does not mean demonising technology. Social media, used wisely and at the right age, has value. It can inform, connect and inspire. But timing matters. Exposure matters. Moderation matters. A child who first learns to observe the real world will later navigate the digital world with greater confidence and clarity. A child raised by algorithms will struggle to distinguish reality from performance.

Australia’s ban may not be perfect. Children may find ways around it. VPNs may surge. Critics may argue that regulation drives behaviour underground. But as history shows – from seat belts to smoking bans- behavioural change is a marathon, not a sprint. More importantly, Australia has sounded an alarm. It has told tech giants that profits cannot come at the cost of childhood.

For India, and particularly for regions like Jammu and Kashmir with rich cultural traditions and strong community bonds, the lesson is simpler and more profound. We do not always need laws to adopt morality. Our way of life already teaches us balance. We only need the courage to practise it.

If we continue to place screens in the hands of children before they can even spell their names properly, we should not be surprised if they struggle to read the world around them later. If we continue to trade playgrounds for platforms, we should not lament declining physical and mental health. Childhood, once lost, cannot be legislated back.

We must act now – within our homes, within our families. Let children be raised as children, not as content. Let them earn their first scars on playgrounds, not from online bullying. Let them build personalities shaped by their surroundings, culture and lived experiences – not by viral trends that do not belong to their society or daily routine. Australia has shown what a government can do when patience runs out. India must show what a society can do before it is too late.