Could harm children

We write code to solve problems, build products, and move the world forward. But somewhere in the rush to innovate, we forget who’s quietly watching, tapping, scrolling—absorbing everything we create. Children. They don’t sign up for our apps, agree to our terms, or understand the systems we build. Yet they’re there, often the most vulnerable users in our digital world.

As developers, we hold incredible power. With just a few lines of code, we can shape habits, influence behavior, even change how someone feels about themselves. That power carries weight—especially when it lands in the hands of a child. This isn’t just about bugs or features. It’s about the kind of world we’re building, and who might get hurt along the way.

The Digital World Children Inherit

Children today are growing up in an environment that’s vastly different from what we knew—even a decade ago. Screens are no longer just tools; they’re companions, entertainers, babysitters, and teachers. Apps and platforms designed for speed, engagement, and growth surround them from the moment they can hold a phone.

But here’s the truth: most of these tools were never built with children in mind.

They navigate interfaces meant for adults. They’re exposed to content shaped by algorithms they don’t understand. Their attention is pulled, nudged, and often hijacked by systems optimized for retention—not well-being. Even when platforms claim to set age limits, enforcement is weak, and access is easy. In the eyes of the code, a 10-year-old looks no different from a 30-year-old.

What we see as convenience or efficiency—a notification here, a “swipe up” there—can have very different implications for a developing mind. Patterns we design to keep users engaged can easily turn into habits that are hard to break. And the worst part? They trust us. They don’t know the mechanics behind a dopamine loop or a dark pattern. They just know that something keeps pulling them back.

Before we write our next feature or deploy our next release, we need to ask: would I want my child to experience this? Would I feel safe handing them the world I helped build?

How Digital Products Can Harm Children

Most developers don’t set out to build harmful things. But harm doesn’t always come from malice—it often comes from neglect, from moving fast, from not asking hard questions.

Take infinite scrolling. It seems harmless, even elegant. But to a child, it can mean hours lost in a content loop they can’t escape. Autoplay? Just another helpful feature—until it overrides a child’s natural pause, nudging them toward more stimulation when they needed rest. Push notifications? A convenience for us, a source of anxiety and addiction for them.

Even the design of a simple like button can carry weight. It teaches children to seek validation in numbers, to measure worth by clicks and hearts. It shapes how they see themselves, how they relate to others. We create systems that train them to crave attention—without meaning to, without even seeing it happen.

And then there’s data.

So much data.

Many platforms collect it by default, track every move, and profile every user—even the underage ones who lied about their age or signed up with a parent’s phone. We’ve made surveillance invisible, seamless, and far too easy to justify.

The harm isn’t always loud. It doesn’t scream or break. It slowly erodes confidence, shortens attention spans, distorts reality. And when the damage shows up—years later—we call it a side effect. But it’s not. It’s a product of our choices.

What we build shapes lives. And children, more than anyone, deserve our careful attention. They need us to stop and ask: is this feature helping them grow, or just keeping them hooked?

The Developer’s Role — And What We Can Do Differently

It’s easy to think the responsibility lies elsewhere. With the company. The product owner. The legal team. We tell ourselves, I’m just writing the code. But that mindset—however common—is dangerous. Because every small decision, every accepted ticket, every unnoticed compromise, adds up. And children are too often the ones who pay the quiet price.

We are not powerless.

We are not invisible.

When we implement a dark pattern, we know it. When we build a feature that’s meant to retain rather than respect, we feel it. There’s a moment—a hesitation, however brief—where we know something’s off. That moment is our chance to push back. To ask questions. To suggest something better.

Ethical development isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.

We can start small. Design with intention. Make choices that respect attention instead of hijacking it. Question why autoplay is the default. Advocate for friction where friction protects. Make privacy the rule, not the exception. Collaborate closely with UX teams to think about how a child might interpret a screen, not just an adult user.

Speak up in meetings. It might feel uncomfortable—but discomfort is often where change begins. Suggest clearer language. Refuse to implement patterns that manipulate. Challenge KPIs that reward engagement at any cost.

And mentor the next generation. Teach junior developers that code is never neutral. That the “why” behind a feature matters as much as the “how.” That technical excellence includes ethical awareness.

Because what we build reflects who we are. And if we have the power to shape behavior, we also have the responsibility to guide it—with care, with conscience, and with the quiet courage to say: This isn’t right.

Conclusion: What Kind of World Are We Building?

We often talk about technology as neutral—as just a tool. But tools carry the intent of their makers. And when those tools end up in the hands of children, the stakes are no longer theoretical. They’re personal.

Every feature we ship, every product we help bring into the world—it all leaves a mark. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, someone feels it. And too often, it’s a child trying to make sense of a world that was never designed for them.

As developers, we have a choice. We can keep building fast, chasing growth, writing code that “just works.” Or we can slow down, ask better questions, and write code that not only functions—but respects, protects, and uplifts the people who use it.

Especially the smallest ones.

We won’t always get it right. But if we start treating responsibility as a feature—not an afterthought—then maybe, just maybe, we can build a digital world that helps children thrive, not just survive.

And that’s a legacy worth leaving.