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The Algorithm Killed Them—Who Is to Blame?

A Legal Reckoning Before 50 Tombstones

【观点】| Insight

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By Eve, Jointing.Media, 2026-03-09

On February 18, 2026, in a park outside the Los Angeles courthouse, 50 glowing “smartphone” tombstones stood in silent vigil.

Behind each cold, glowing screen was once a living, breathing person. A 14-year-old girl, after scrolling through countless images of “perfect” bodies on Instagram, stopped eating. A 16-year-old boy, after receiving endless algorithmic nudges telling him he “wasn’t good enough,” leaped from a rooftop. Their parents traveled from across the United States—not to tend graves, but to see Mark Zuckerberg walk into the courtroom and face a judgment that had been years overdue.

As the CEO of the tech giant walked past those tombstones, a defining question was thrust into the spotlight: When a company knows its product is killing children, should it be held legally accountable?

For years, tech companies have sheltered behind the shield of “platform neutrality”: We merely provide the tools; users generate the content; tragedies are not our doing.

But this time, the plaintiffs’ lawyers went around the shield and struck at the heart. They did not argue over what users said on Instagram; they argued over Instagram’s very design logic.

Internal documents disclosed in court tore away the veil of sentiment. As early as 2019, Meta had discovered that users reported significantly lower anxiety levels after a one-week hiatus from Instagram—yet the company chose to bury these findings. Internal research reports clearly indicated that Instagram caused severe body-image anxiety in one-third of teenage girls. Executives’ response? To delay hiring child-safety officers, citing growth priorities.

The “infinite scroll” eliminates natural stopping cues, making the experience as addictive as a slot machine. Push notifications exploit dopamine mechanisms to hijack attention—every buzz is a meticulously engineered psychological intervention. The “like” system quantifies teenagers’ self-worth into a single number, trapping them in a cycle of comparison and inadequacy.

These are not neutral applications of technology. They are addiction engines, built by top engineers and behavioral psychologists. When a product’s core competitive advantage is its ability to keep users—especially children with the least self-control—glued to the screen, can we honestly call this an “accident”?

Legal history offers clear precedents for such accountability.

Tobacco companies long insisted smoking was a matter of personal choice—until internal documents emerged proving they knew cigarettes caused cancer and had concealed the fact. The result: billions in settlements and graphic warning labels on cigarette packs. Pharmaceutical companies claimed opioids were safe and effective—until evidence showed they had downplayed addiction risks and bribed doctors to push prescriptions. The result: criminal charges and bankruptcy restructuring.

Social media bears an uncanny resemblance—an addictive product, internal knowledge deliberately withheld from the public, and a business model that profits from human vulnerability. The only difference is that tobacco harms lungs, while social media harms minds; opioids destroy bodies, while algorithms destroy adolescent self-worth.

Of course, individual tragedies are seldom the result of a single cause. Family environment, school experiences, personal psychology—no child is inevitably destroyed simply by scrolling Instagram. Just as not every smoker gets lung cancer, survivors exist.

But the law has never required 100% causal certainty. When a company knowingly exposes a specific population—especially vulnerable adolescents already grappling with teenage anxiety—to systemic risks, and then chooses inaction or even amplifies those risks for profit, it must bear the consequences. This is the essence of “fault.”

A common rebuttal: Why not just take away the phone? Why not strengthen parental controls?

Beneath this question lies a profound underestimation of technological hegemony. We are not dealing with a comic book to be hidden under the mattress. We are facing an “attention-grabbing army” of thousands of the world’s top talents—researchers who study how to make it impossible for your child to put down the phone, who test which notifications best keep an anxious teenager scrolling.

To shift the entire burden onto parents is to send them into battle, barehanded, against a modern, mechanized force. When a product is designed to be “irresistible,” “free choice” has long ceased to exist.

This does not deny the importance of family education. Digital literacy, parent-child communication, screen-time management—these are necessary lines of defense. But defenses cannot replace legal red lines. Just as we demand food-safety laws to protect consumers, not because consumers shouldn’t inspect their own food, but because safety should not rest solely on consumer vigilance. The same logic applies to the digital world.

In his testimony, Zuckerberg argued that his company aims to create “value” for users. But no great enterprise should build its empire at the expense of the next generation’s mental health.

If the early internet was a boundless wilderness, requiring minimal intervention to foster innovation, today’s digital world is already a city of skyscrapers—some of which have fatal flaws in their very blueprints. We are moving from an era of “making products better” to an era of “making products no longer lethal.”

The verdict in this “bellwether case” could become a digital-age milestone. It may well force an industry-wide “safety-by-design” revolution:

  • Social platforms must build age-verification mechanisms into their architecture from the start, rather than as afterthoughts.
  • Algorithmic recommendation systems must include built-in “stop signals” to prevent endless immersion.
  • Companies must publicly disclose their research data on adolescent mental-health impacts and may not conceal key findings.
  • The law should establish a principle of “presumed fault”—when a platform is aware of risks and fails to implement industry-leading safety measures, it should be held liable.

During a recess in the trial, a mother walked up to one of the tombstones, knelt down, and gently wiped the cold “screen.”

Her daughter had died three years ago. Still on her phone was the girl’s last private message: “I feel so ugly. Everyone is better than me.” It was a reply to an auto-generated “You might like” post, featuring three slender influencers.

No one could prove that specific notification killed her. Just as no one could prove that a single cigarette caused lung cancer. But what we do know is that the notifications never stopped. The algorithms are still running. And the people who designed them still sit in the defendant’s chair, pleading innocence.

These 50 tombstones represent 50 shattered families—and they also mark the starting point for rebuilding the ethical order of the digital world.

We cannot let the next child die in a carefully engineered digital trap, packaged as “connection.” Because at the end of every algorithm lies a line that defines our humanity.

And the duty of the law is to ensure that line is never washed away by the tide of commerce.



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