A nation’s scroll is suddenly a court case: Australia’s ban on under‑16s goes to the High Court
On an ordinary spring morning in a Sydney suburb, a 15‑year‑old would normally be reaching for their phone between bites of Vegemite toast and the school run. Instead, two weeks before a sweeping law that will knock more than a million teenage accounts offline, lawyers in Canberra filed papers that could decide whether that routine survives.
The Digital Freedom Project, a campaigning group, has launched a constitutional challenge in the High Court of Australia, naming two teenagers—Noah Jones and Macy Neyland—as the plaintiffs. The case seeks to halt a law passed last November that will bar children under 16 from using major social platforms — YouTube, TikTok, Snapchat and Facebook and Instagram run by Meta — when it comes into force on 10 December.
The human face of a headline
“This isn’t just about memes,” Macy tells me over the phone, her voice steady. “It’s where I learn about climate strikes, where I argue with friends about politics, where I make art. Young people like me are the voters of tomorrow — why should we be silenced?”
Noah, a keen debater preparing for mock parliament, added, “You don’t stop people from reading newspapers because they might be misinformed. You educate. Locking us out is a blunt instrument.”
These are the faces the legal papers seek to protect: teenagers whose daily lives — friendships, learning, activism — are threaded through apps now facing a blanket prohibition for their age group. It is a striking, personal cast for what might otherwise read as technocratic lawfare.
What’s in the law — and who it hits
The Australian government’s measure is among the most ambitious attempts anywhere to limit minors’ access to social media. Officials say it responds to mounting evidence — from researchers and clinicians — that excessive social media use can harm young teens’ mental health: exposure to disinformation, cyberbullying and damaging body‑image content were cited as key drivers for reform.
When the ban takes effect, more than one million accounts registered to users under 16 in Australia are expected to be deactivated. Platforms that refuse to comply could face fines up to A$49.5 million (around €27.8 million).
Communications Minister Anika Wells has defended the law vigorously. “We are on the side of parents, not platforms,” she told parliament after the litigation was announced. “This government will not be intimidated by threats and legal challenges.”
A constitutional snag: free political communication?
The embryo of the legal fight is constitutional. Australia does not have an express bill of free speech as in the United States, but the High Court has long recognised an implied freedom of political communication as essential for the functioning of the democracy. The Digital Freedom Project argues the law “robs” young Australians of that implied right — preventing them from participating in public debate on the very platforms where that debate increasingly happens.
John Ruddick, a member of the Libertarian Party in the New South Wales state parliament and president of the Digital Freedom Project, framed it bluntly: “This legislation is grossly excessive. It treats young Australians like wards of the state rather than citizens in formation.”
Industry sources reported that YouTube has signalled it may also seek to challenge the law in the High Court, arguing the ban unduly burdens political communication — adding another heavyweight player to the legal fray.
Beyond Australia: a global conversation
Australia’s move comes as regulators worldwide wrestle with the same knot: how to protect children online without consigning them to digital exile. In Brussels, the European Parliament has agreed on a non‑binding resolution proposing a default minimum age of 16 for social media access — though with scope for parental opt‑ins — and suggested 13 as an absolute minimum in other categories like video sharing and “AI companions.”
Closer to home, Ireland’s Tánaiste has said a minimum age approach could be considered there too, signalling how national debates are rippling across democracies. Parents and policymakers in countries from Canada to India are watching closely: how Australia balances child protection, parental authority and free expression could become a model—or a cautionary tale.
What the experts say
Professor Amelia Grant, a constitutional law scholar, told me, “Courts will have to weigh the government’s stated objective of protecting children against the less tangible but constitutionally significant right to political communication. It’s a classic proportionality test. The outcome will pivot on whether the law is seen as suitably tailored.”
Child psychologist Dr. Luis Chen, who works with adolescents in Melbourne, offered a different lens. “The harms the government cites are real — anxiety, cyberbullying, distorted body image — but the remedy matters. Blanket bans can drive behaviour underground. Digital literacy, parental tools, and platform design changes might be more effective than outright prohibition.”
On the street: parents, kids and the moral registers
In a suburban playground I visited, opinions were mixed. A mother named Aisha, pushing a stroller, said, “My 13‑year‑old sees things I don’t want her to. I support tighter rules.” Across the park, a 17‑year‑old named Marcus shrugged. “I get the worries, but shutting us out when we’re starting to make sense of the world? That’s the opposite of preparing us.”
These everyday conversations echo a larger social debate: who gets to decide how young people inhabit public life — parents, the state, or tech companies — and how to balance protection with civic education.
Why you should care
Ask yourself: when did your first political opinion find its audience? For many Millennials and Gen Z, it was online. If a generation’s early civic formation is redirected away from public platforms, what becomes of political literacy, debate, and dissent?
The Australian case will test not just constitutional language but social imagination. Can democracies craft rules that protect without shrinking the public square? Or do we risk curating a safe, sanitized youth experience that deprives them of the messy, formative encounters that shape citizens?
What’s next
Within weeks the High Court will be asked to weigh in; in the meantime, tech platforms, parents, legal groups and young people are preparing. The stakes are high: a ruling in favour of the government could embolden other jurisdictions to pursue similar restrictions; a decision for the challengers might force legislators to design more nuanced, rights‑respecting interventions.
Either way, the story is far from over. It is, at its heart, about how we teach the next generation to be both safe and engaged in a public square that increasingly fits in their pockets.
What do you think? Should teens be shielded from these platforms until 16, or should we be teaching them to navigate the digital world instead? Your scroll, your voice — and perhaps soon, the law — will have an answer.
