SAINT TIKTOK AND THE HOLY LITURGY OF LIVE-STREAMED STUPIDITY

In New Zealand, the state can still afford the rare luxury of decency. A new law—sensible, sharp, and astonishingly functional—will ban toxic platforms like TikTok for children under 16. It also takes aim at other digital poisons: Facebook, Instagram, X (formerly Twitter, now a ghost ship of collapsed wit), and the rest of the mind-numbing sweet shop that feeds kids algorithmic junk from the moment they can hold a screen. Parents and teachers are watching closely—not because they long for the golden age of floppy disks and static-filled TVs, but because someone, somewhere, finally had the courage to hit the brakes. Before choreographed dances, AI-generated nonsense, and reptilian conspiracies are officially added to the school timetable, right between Algebra and Jump Jam. Meanwhile, in much of the world, the scroll continues. Who needs books or actual conversation when you can film yourself reacting to someone else reacting to a video of a sandwich? Why teach reasoning when likes, follows, and rage-clicks are the new curriculum? It's not education anymore—it’s entertainment in drag, with the occasional motivational quote slapped over a selfie.

At this rate, we won’t need Orwell or Huxley—we’ve outdone them with Wi-Fi and filters.

Meanwhile, in every other country except China, social media isn’t just tolerated—it’s revered. It’s the national altar where the daily liturgy of live-streamed stupidity is performed with holy zeal. TikTok is sacred scripture, Facebook is the party pulpit, and X (formerly Twitter) is where political elites descend from their ivory towers to bicker with trolls from alternate dimensions about geopolitics, emojis, and NATO. These platforms aren’t regulated—they’re sanctified. They’ve become divine tools of governance. Because really, what better way to deliver a "serious political message" to the electorate than through a cat-ear filter, with flashing subtitles and a manele remix playing underneath? Gone is digital education—in its place, the grand baptism of algorithmic idiocy, offered with open arms from toddlers to retirees. Politicians, understandably preoccupied with their criminal trials and copy-pasted PhD's, have happily outsourced moral and civic education to a mixed cast of fringe conspiracy theorists and bikini-clad influencers reciting poetry over trap beats. And the system works! Elections aren't lost due to lack of policy, but because a TikTok went viral claiming the vote was rigged by NASA technicians operating from a secret base on the Moon. Or perhaps by Hitler, recently spotted enjoying early retirement on a beach in Milei’s Argentina. In a rational world, social media would be tools—means to communicate, inform, maybe even connect. But in most countries, they are the government now. The Ministry of Truth, the Chair of Ethics, and the Office of Common Sense—all bundled into one addictive, glowing rectangle. And to be fair, that screen really does reflect the national psyche: bright, shallow, overstimulated, and with the volume dialed firmly to “screaming.”

Do you really want to save your country? Your kids? Your collective sanity? Start by prying the phone out of the hands of that 8-year-old who’s live-streaming his lunchmeat sandwich on TikTok like it’s the Second Coming. But of course, who has time for that sort of intervention when there’s an influencer—beaming, lips filtered to perfection, discount code ready—patiently explaining that critical thinking is just a “low vibe” and you should really be manifesting instead of questioning? In many countries, social media isn’t banned—in fact, it’s lovingly protected under the noble banners of “free speech,” “digital democracy,” and other slogans that sound brave until you realize they’re just code for “we gave up trying.” Meanwhile, kids are being silently reprogrammed by algorithms: to look the same, talk the same, dance the same, and feel shame if they don’t. To confuse validation with value. To risk their lives for a few seconds of viral fame. To swallow whatever challenge the feed serves next, whether it’s drinking detergent or disappearing for 48 hours just to "trend." But let’s not be dramatic. After all, isn’t this just modern childhood? No need for actual play, curiosity, or awkward self-discovery when you can apply a filter and stream your identity crisis in real time.