Irish Examiner view: Legal complexity cannot mean inaction

Social media may not poison lungs or livers, but mounting evidence suggests it can profoundly affect mental health, self-esteem, and emotional development

Society sets boundaries not because compliance will be universal, but because protections matter. Which raises an obvious question: If the State is not willing to enforce even a basic under-16 social media ban, what exactly is the alternative?  File picture 

For months now, Ireland has been circling the same anxious conversation: Should we ban under-16s from social media? The political appetite is certainly there. The public mood too.

Parents, teachers, and clinicians all point to the same troubling evidence — rising anxiety, compulsive screen use, online bullying, sleep deprivation, algorithmic manipulation. Few now seriously argue that social media is harmless for children. Even the platforms themselves have largely stopped pretending.

And yet, despite broad agreement that we have a problem, there remains remarkably little agreement on the solution.

Critics of a ban point to history. Prohibition, they argue, rarely works as intended — especially with young people. Teenagers have always found ways around restrictions, whether on cigarettes, alcohol, or pornography. Australia’s world-first under-16s ban has already shown the limits of enforcement, with reports of young users bypassing restrictions using fake ages, VPNs, and alternative platforms.

That argument deserves consideration. But it also risks becoming an excuse for paralysis. The uncomfortable truth is that governments routinely introduce laws they know will not be perfectly enforceable. We do not abandon drink-driving laws because some people evade detection. Society sets boundaries not because compliance will be universal, but because protections matter. Which raises an obvious question: If the State is not willing to enforce even a basic under-16 social media ban, what exactly is the alternative? 

Social media may not poison lungs or livers, but mounting evidence suggests it can profoundly affect mental health, self-esteem, concentration, and emotional development. Infinite scrolling, recommender algorithms, and addictive design are not accidental features; they are business models aimed at maximising attention. Of course, opponents warn that bans may simply drive children into darker, less regulated corners of the internet. That concern is real. But it cannot become a reason to do nothing.

What is striking in this debate, however, is whose voice is largely absent: Young people themselves. Politicians, tech companies, parents, and commentators all claim to know what is best, yet teenagers remain oddly invisible in the national conversation. Some undoubtedly resent the idea of a ban and will view it as collective punishment. Others may privately welcome relief from the relentless pressures of online life. The reality is likely more complicated. That complexity should not deter action, but encourage humility. A ban alone will not fix what social media has broken. Nor will vague promises from Silicon Valley about “online safety”. Ireland needs regulation, enforcement, digital education, and honest engagement with young people. But doing nothing while waiting for the perfect solution is no solution at all.

Ups and downs of politics

Britain has now had six prime ministers in a decade. David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak, and now Keir Starmer — whose leadership appears increasingly precarious amid mounting Labour unrest.

While Westminster convulses through ideological civil wars, leadership coups, and market panics, Irish politics
remains almost aggressively stable. Governments change slowly here. Coalitions muddle through. Consensus dominates. The system prizes continuity over confrontation.

It’s not a competition, but if it were, the temptation is to declare Ireland the obvious winner. After all, political chaos comes with real economic costs. Britain’s revolving door leadership has damaged investor confidence, weakened sterling, and fuelled public exhaustion. Even now, whispers of another Labour leadership contest are rattling markets with warnings of a fresh ‘Liz Truss moment’. Stability matters
because economies run on confidence as much as policy.

And yet there is something unsettling about Ireland’s status quo: The near total absence of political jeopardy. Governments rarely collapse dramatically. Ministers survive controversies that might end careers elsewhere. Elections change personalities more than political direction. Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael remain dominant forces regardless of which one officially leads government.

Britain’s politics may often resemble theatre, but at least there are consequences. Leaders rise and fall quickly. Parties panic when voters revolt. Political careers can implode overnight. That volatility creates accountability, even if it also creates instability. Ireland, meanwhile, often feels insulated from genuine political risk. The system absorbs public anger without fundamentally changing course.

Neither model is ideal. Britain demonstrates the dangers of permanent turmoil, where governments become consumed by survival rather than governing. Ireland shows the risks of excessive caution, where stability hardens into inertia.

The healthiest democracy probably lies somewhere between the two: Enough stability to inspire confidence, but enough jeopardy to force governments to remain responsive, reforming and occasionally afraid of the electorate.

Coastal Watch a vital asset

Ireland’s vast coastline has always been both an asset and a vulnerability. Stretching over 7,500km, it offers much in terms of scenery, trade, and tourism — but also opportunity for organised crime.

Recent years have shown just how exposed our shores can be, with massive cocaine seizures and sophisticated smuggling operations using remote coves and isolated piers.

Against that backdrop, the relaunch of Coastal Watch may seem old-fashioned, even quaint. Gardaí asking local people to report suspicious boats, tyre tracks, or unusual activity sounds more like community policing from another era than a modern response to international criminal networks. 

The uncomfortable reality is that the State cannot monitor every inlet, harbour, and shoreline alone. Technology matters. Intelligence-sharing matters. But so too does local knowledge. Rural and coastal communities often notice what outsiders miss: Unfamiliar vehicles, odd behaviour, unexplained activity. In several major investigations, seemingly insignificant tip-offs often prove critical. Of course, there are risks. Any community-based reporting scheme must avoid encouraging paranoia or vigilantism.

But dismissing Coastal Watch as simplistic misses the point. When organised crime becomes more sophisticated, the State cannot afford to leave communities on the sidelines.

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