Spain moves to ban under-16s from social media.
Pedro Sánchez, Spain’s Socialist prime minister, has riled the tech tycoons again. On February 3, he announced a proposal to ban under-16s from using social media, as part of legislation that would also hold CEOs responsible for harmful content on their sites. “Today our children are exposed to a space they were never meant to navigate alone,” he said during a speech at the World Government Summit in Dubai: “We will protect [them] from the digital Wild West.”
If the legislation is passed, Spain would become the second country in the world to prohibit young teenagers from using sites such as TikTok, Snapchat, Facebook, and X (formerly Twitter), after Australia’s leftist government led the way last year. Other European countries expected to follow their example soon include France, Portugal, Denmark, and Greece.
The global debate surrounding age restrictions on social media is now focused on one issue: whether interventionist governments or omnipotent tech barons pose the biggest threat to freedom and democracy. There’s exaggeration on both sides, but the vague scope of Spain’s social media ban is cause for concern, as is the culture of impunity that seems to envelop tech billionaires—although there are signs that that’s changing.
On February 3, French prosecutors raided X’s Paris offices, as part of an investigation into the alleged abuse of algorithms, complicity in the distribution of child abuse images, and violation of image rights by deepfakes. They will also summon the platform’s ubiquitous CEO, Elon Musk, for questioning. This probe comes after X was fined €120 million ($141 million) by the EU last December for failing to comply with transparency regulations. Meanwhile, X’s chatbot Grok is being investigated by the EU and the British regulator Ofcom, for the alleged generation of sexualized images of real people.
French authorities have also launched a probe into the messaging site Telegram for insufficient regulation against criminal activity, in connection with which its Russian CEO Pavel Durov was arrested in Paris last August. Durov was charged on several counts of failing to take action against extremist and terrorist content and released on €5 million ($5.9 million) bail. Moscow is also investigating Durov, on the rather suspicious grounds that it has found material on Telegram that “potentially [poses] a threat to Russia.”
Musk took to X to criticize Spain’s social media ban, just as he did in reaction to Australia’s in late 2024. “Dirty Sánchez is a tyrant and a traitor to the people of Spain,” he declared. As a general description, many Spaniards would probably agree with that—but not necessarily in relation to the new social media law (Sánchez’s minority government is mired in corruption allegations and can’t pass legislation without the support of Catalan separatists, who are deeply unpopular throughout Spain). Musk followed that up with another post calling Sánchez “the true fascist totalitarian,” showing how versatile the word fascist has become as a term of abuse.
The Spanish government retaliated by calling Musk… a threat to democracy! Justice minister Felix Bolaños said: “[The global] tech caste [is] now directly involved in politics. They enter the public debate and threaten our respect, our coexistence, our rights, and our democracy.” Bolaños didn’t explain why he thinks positing opinions on X constitutes “direct involvement” in politics, nor did he provide evidence for his implicit claim that people’s voting behavior is heavily influenced by social media barons. Even if that’s true, why is such influence less democratic than that wielded by high-profile journalists, opinionated celebrities, or tycoons pulling strings with huge donations? Celebrity endorsement is a prized political commodity; yet when Musk thumps a few syllables out on X, the free world is endangered.
Musk and Sánchez have clashed before. Speaking at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, last January, the Spanish premier accused tech billionaires of trying to “overthrow democracy” by expressing their political opinions online. Sounding every inch the crazed conspiracy theorist, Sánchez claimed that “the international far-right movement… is being led by the richest man on the planet, [and] is openly attacking our institutions, inciting hatred, and openly calling for people to support the heirs of Nazism in Germany” (Musk endorsed Alternative für Deutschland ahead of Germany’s general election last February, in which the right-wing party upped its seats by 76).
Durov is also outraged by Spain’s social media ban—but not, of course, at the prospect of losing millions of child subscribers. The day after it was announced, the Telegram founder sent a mass message to all the platform’s Spain-based users, accusing Sánchez of “pushing dangerous new regulations that threaten your Internet freedoms.” Durov claimed that “over-censorship” could cause sites to “delete anything remotely controversial to avoid risks, silencing political dissent, journalism, and everyday opinions.” The Spanish government responded by accusing Durov of spreading “lies” and “propaganda.”
Musk’s and Durov’s criticisms of the Spanish government aren’t without foundation. Sánchez has a shaky track record on protecting liberty and respecting democratic processes. The lockdown he enforced during the pandemic, which criminalized infringement, was later ruled illegal by Spain’s Constitutional Court; he often bypasses parliament, instead sneaking legislation through by Royal Decree; and he leads a government that is drowning in corruption allegations. His previous remarks about tech billionaires trying to take over the world suggest that his social media ban might not just be about protecting children.
In his announcement, Sánchez said: “We will investigate platforms whose algorithms amplify disinformation in exchange for profit […S]preading hate must come at a cost—a legal cost, as well as an economic and ethical cost.” He didn’t say how his government would classify content that “spreads hate,” as opposed to that which promotes dissenting opinions. Australia’s anti-disinformation law, proposed with the social media restrictions in 2024, was rejected precisely because of concerns that it would give the government power to limit free speech (criticizing it, Musk again reached for the word fascist). Yet social media sites can’t be trusted to make that assessment either: they thrive on fake news, clickbait, and other junk content. The ongoing legal actions against Durov and Musk, as well as the fine already imposed on X by the EU, show how ineffective social media sites are as self-regulators.
This is one of the reasons why age restrictions on social media shouldn’t be seen as attacks on personal freedom. Like laws that place age constraints on alcohol consumption, gambling, and smoking, they aim to protect children from activities or substances that are potentially harmful or addictive. A study commissioned by the Australian government found that 96% of children aged between 10 and 15 had used social media, over half of whom had experienced cyber-bullying and 24% of whom had been victims of online sexual harassment. Leading health experts have also warned of social media’s addictiveness: in 2024, then-US Surgeon General Vivek Murthy argued for “a surgeon general’s warning label [to be placed] on social media platforms, stating that [they are] associated with significant mental health harms for adolescents.”
Libertarian hostility to the world’s first two social media bans is understandable. There is a fine line between protection of minors and suppression of free speech, and whether it’s respected will depend on how the Spanish and Australian governments implement their new legislation. However, they are leading a political experiment based on a solid hypothesis—that unregulated access to social media by young teenagers is dangerous. We should wait for the results before judging.
