I don't think I could live without it.
In the long negotiation between protection and possibility, the UK government has drawn a line — no social media for those under sixteen — invoking the ancient duty of adults to shield the young from harm. But the young, some of whom have already built livelihoods and communities in these digital spaces, are pushing back with a question as old as any generation gap: who speaks for us, and do you truly understand what you are taking away? The policy, following Australia's lead, reflects a genuine reckoning with the failures of technology companies to self-regulate, yet it lands on teenagers who experience these platforms not only as dangers but as stages, sanctuaries, and sources of income.
- A government ban on social media for under-16s has ignited fierce resistance from the very teenagers it aims to protect, many of whom have built real careers and communities online.
- Prime Minister Starmer frames the policy as non-negotiable child safety, pointing to years of tech industry failure to curb harmful algorithms, predators, and cyberbullying.
- Teen influencers earning hundreds of pounds a month and LGBTQ+ youth who found belonging online argue the ban punishes users rather than the platforms responsible for the harm.
- Parents are split — some plan to help their children circumvent the rules entirely, trusting their own household safeguards over government mandates.
- Teens insist their voices were never sought by policymakers, and call for a harder but more targeted solution: forcing tech companies to actually fix what is broken.
Ziame Stewart has spent most of his fifteen years in front of a camera — singing, dancing, posting music covers almost daily. What began as silly family videos has quietly become the architecture of his future. That future now sits under a shadow: the UK government's planned ban on social media for everyone under sixteen.
The frustration runs deeper than his own narrow escape — he turns sixteen just before the rules take effect. He thinks of Justin Bieber, Billie Eilish, and British rising star Sekou, all discovered as teenagers on the very platforms now being closed to his generation. "Imagine if this ban was put through ages ago," he told the BBC. "We wouldn't have any of this music."
Prime Minister Keir Starmer announced the policy with the language of protection, arguing that tech companies have had years to make their platforms safer and have failed. Australia passed similar legislation in December, and the UK is following that lead. The safety concerns are not abstract. Harry Sawtell, a sixteen-year-old beauty influencer with over 100,000 followers, has faced genuine cruelty online for being openly gay. But his videos have also reached vulnerable teenagers who needed proof that people like them could live happy lives. For Harry, social media has been a lifeline his own town could not always provide.
Miley Williams, fourteen, earns around four hundred pounds a month from brand deals and dance videos — income she hopes will carry her through university. Her parents monitor her account closely, block cyberbullies, and take her phone away at night. Her mother, Victoria, sees a normal child with an unusual job, and plans to help Miley work around the ban rather than surrender a decision she believes belongs to her family. "I've got to let her follow her dream," she said.
Many teens share a common frustration: they would rather the government force tech companies to fix their platforms than exclude young people from them entirely. Ziame says his generation has been misunderstood by policymakers who never thought to ask what they actually think. If he could speak to the prime minister, he would ask him to try something harder — to put himself in their shoes.
Ziame Stewart has spent most of his fifteen years in front of a camera. He sings, he dances, he posts covers of popular songs and snippets of his own music to social media almost daily. What began as silly videos made for family when he was young has quietly become the shape of his future—or it was, until the UK government decided to ban everyone under sixteen from social media platforms.
The timing is cruel. Ziame turns sixteen just before the rules take effect next spring, which means he will slip through by months. But the frustration runs deeper than his own narrow escape. He thinks about artists like Justin Bieber and Billie Eilish, discovered as teenagers on the very platforms the government is about to shut down for his generation. He thinks about Sekou, a British rising star who found his audience the same way. "Imagine if this ban was put through ages ago," he told the BBC. "We wouldn't have any of this music."
Prime Minister Keir Starmer announced the policy on Monday with the language of protection. The ban, he said, would give children more time, security, and freedom to grow up. He would not compromise on child safety. The government argues that tech companies have had years to make their platforms safer and have failed. Australia passed similar legislation in December, and the UK is following that lead. For older teens aged sixteen and seventeen, additional restrictions are coming next month.
The safety concerns are real. Harry Sawtell, a beauty influencer with over 100,000 followers, knows this intimately. He came out as gay at a young age and has faced cruelty online for being himself and for his flamboyant style. The hate is genuine. But so is something else: the messages from vulnerable teenagers who found in his videos proof that people like them could live happy, fulfilling lives. "That can obviously help make you feel like you have got a bright future," he said. For Harry, sixteen, social media has been a lifeline to community when his own town might not have offered one.
Miley Williams, fourteen, earns about four hundred pounds a month from social media. She has brand deals, receives free products, and makes money from dance videos, skits, and outfit try-ons. A viral video three years ago launched her into a modest but real income stream—one she hopes will help her through university. Her parents monitor her account carefully, filtering inappropriate messages and blocking cyberbullies. They take her phone away at night. She still goes to boxing, cheerleading, and sees friends. Her mother, Victoria, sees a normal child living a normal life, just one with a job that happens to exist online. Victoria is frustrated that decisions about her daughter's media use are being taken out of her hands. She plans to help Miley circumvent the ban, confident in her own strict rules. "I've got to let her follow her dream," she said.
Ziame's mother feels similarly. She points out that the UK lacks what Australia has—beaches, good weather, outdoor alternatives. For British teenagers, she said, social media is a massive outlet, dangers and all. Many teens say they would have preferred the government force tech companies to actually fix their platforms rather than exclude young people from them entirely. It feels, to them, like punishment aimed at the wrong target. Ziame says his generation has been misunderstood and disrespected by policymakers who have not bothered to ask what they actually think. "Social media is a massive, massive part of my life," he said. "I know it's coming off like I'm in a relationship with social media, but I don't think I could live without it." If he could speak to the prime minister, he would ask him to try something harder: to put himself in their shoes.
Citações Notáveis
Imagine if this ban was put through ages ago—we wouldn't have any of this music.— Ziame Stewart, teen singer and dancer
I've definitely had some people message me before saying that I've helped them come out and be able to express themselves.— Harry Sawtell, beauty influencer
I've got to let her follow her dream.— Victoria, Miley Williams's mother
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does this ban feel different to these teens than other restrictions adults have placed on them?
Because it's not a rule their parents set—it's the law. It takes away their parents' ability to decide. For someone like Miley, whose mother has carefully managed her account and her time, the ban feels like the government is saying parents can't be trusted to make good choices.
But the safety concerns are legitimate, aren't they? Predators, algorithms designed to addict, cyberbullying—these are real harms.
Absolutely. Harry Sawtell experiences the cruelty firsthand. But he also experienced something else—connection that saved him. The teens aren't saying the dangers don't exist. They're saying the solution is backwards. Fix the platforms, don't exile the people.
What would actually happen if Miley loses her income stream?
She loses four hundred pounds a month and the brand partnerships that come with it. More than that, she loses the proof that her dream is viable. Right now, at fourteen, she's not just hoping to be an influencer—she's already doing it. The ban doesn't just delay her career. It tells her it's not a real option.
Is there a class dimension here? Can wealthy families help their kids around the ban more easily?
That's the unspoken problem. Victoria says she'll help Miley circumvent it. Families with resources and tech-savvy parents probably can. Teenagers without that safety net just lose access entirely.
What do you think Ziame meant when he said policymakers should put themselves in their shoes?
He meant: you're making decisions about our lives without understanding what our lives actually look like. Social media isn't a vice to us. It's infrastructure. It's how we work, how we find community, how we discover who we are. You can't see that from a policy meeting.