European countries are accelerating efforts to restrict children’s access to social media, citing growing evidence that excessive online exposure harms mental health and cognitive development. The push has gained momentum after France advanced legislation to ban social media use for children under 15, and Spain signaled it would follow with a ban for those under 16.

Spain’s Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez said children must be protected from what he described as the “digital Wild West,” warning that platforms expose minors to addiction, abuse, and manipulation. France’s proposal now heads to the upper house of parliament, while similar measures are being discussed or drafted in Italy, Greece, Portugal, Austria, Denmark and the United Kingdom.

At the EU level, Ursula von der Leyen has expressed support for a bloc-wide minimum digital age, potentially aligned with Australia’s under-16 restriction. In November, the European Parliament recommended an EU-wide ban for children under 16, with limited access for 13- to 16-year-olds under parental consent.

Experts broadly agree that minors face heightened risks online but question how such bans would work in practice. One proposal under discussion is an EU-wide digital ID system that could verify age without revealing personal data. Critics, however, warn that age-verification tools raise privacy concerns and could be easily circumvented.

Some digital rights advocates argue that age bans are largely symbolic and fail to address deeper structural problems, such as addictive design features like autoplay and infinite scrolling. They also note that online addiction does not suddenly disappear at age 15 or 16.

The debate has highlighted frustration with the EU’s flagship Digital Services Act, which requires large platforms to mitigate risks to minors and adjust algorithms. Critics say enforcement has been slow and ineffective, prompting national governments to act on their own.

The issue has also sparked political backlash. Tech billionaire Elon Musk recently attacked Sánchez over Spain’s plans, accusing European leaders reminding that the debate over children’s safety online is now colliding with broader arguments about regulation, free speech, and Big Tech’s power in Europe.

Europe tightens the net on Big Tech — and Musk is furious. Is Spain protecting children… or crossing into digital authoritarianism?

Tech billionaire Elon Musk on Tuesday launched a blistering attack on Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez, accusing him of authoritarianism after Madrid unveiled plans to sharply tighten regulation of social media platforms—particularly to shield minors from online harm.

The clash was triggered by Sánchez’s announcement of a forthcoming legislative package that would bar children under 16 from accessing social networks and impose meaningful age-verification requirements on platforms operating in Spain. Under the proposal, executives could face legal liability if their companies fail to remove illegal or hateful content, a move the government says is necessary to end what it describes as the digital “Wild West.”

Musk, who owns the social media platform X, responded with characteristic bluntness, labeling Sánchez a “tyrant” and using a derogatory nickname for the Spanish leader. The remarks underline a widening rift between U.S. tech leaders who champion minimal moderation in the name of free speech and European governments pushing for stricter oversight.

Spanish officials argue the measures are long overdue. Sánchez said platforms would no longer be allowed to rely on “easily bypassed checkboxes” to verify users’ ages and warned that failure to comply could have legal consequences for those at the top. The aim, he said, is to curb the spread of hate speech and protect young users from harmful content.

The dispute unfolds as the European Union intensifies scrutiny of major tech firms. Brussels has already fined X for breaching transparency rules, and regulators across the bloc are exploring ways to enforce digital standards more aggressively. On Tuesday, French authorities searched X’s Paris offices as part of an investigation into alleged algorithm manipulation and possible foreign interference—an inquiry that has summoned Musk to testify. X said it was “disappointed but not surprised,” rejecting the allegations and warning that the probe threatens free expression.

For Sánchez, the confrontation with Musk plays into a broader European push to reassert control over online spaces, particularly where children are concerned. For Musk, it reinforces his self-styled role as a global critic of regulation he views as censorship. As Europe presses ahead with tougher digital rules, the standoff highlights a deeper question: who sets the boundaries of speech and responsibility in an increasingly regulated online world?

TikTok has finalized a long-awaited deal to spin off its U.S. operations, securing the future of the popular video app for millions of American users after years of political and legal uncertainty.

In a statement released Thursday, TikTok confirmed the creation of a new U.S.-based joint venture that will operate under what it described as strict national security safeguards, including protections around user data, algorithms, content moderation, and software systems.

Under the agreement, U.S. tech giant Oracle, UAE-based investment firm MGX, and private equity firm Silver Lake will each hold a 15% stake in the new entity. TikTok’s Chinese parent company, ByteDance, will retain a minority share of 19.9%.

President Donald Trump welcomed the deal, calling it a major victory for U.S. interests. “I am so happy to have helped in saving TikTok,” Trump wrote on social media, adding that the platform will now be owned by “Great American Patriots and Investors.”

For TikTok’s more than 200 million users in the United States, the immediate impact is simple: the app is staying online.

While the user experience is not expected to change overnight, key technical shifts are underway. The new U.S. entity will retrain TikTok’s algorithm using American user data, with Oracle overseeing the storage and security of that data — a move aimed at addressing long-standing concerns over Chinese access to sensitive information.

TikTok U.S. CEO Shou Chew will serve on a seven-member board dominated by American executives, including senior leaders from Oracle, Silver Lake, and Abu Dhabi-based MGX.

However, several questions remain unresolved. The deal’s valuation has not been disclosed, and Chinese authorities have yet to publicly comment on the final structure. Some legal experts also argue the arrangement may still fall short of fully separating ByteDance from TikTok’s U.S. operations, as required under U.S. law upheld by the Supreme Court.

The agreement also covers other ByteDance-owned apps, including CapCut and Lemon8, bringing them under the same U.S. security framework.

After briefly going offline earlier this year amid legal uncertainty, TikTok’s future in the U.S. now appears secured — at least for the foreseeable future.

From AI Slop to Rage Bait, 2025’s Words Expose the Age of Outrage, Algorithms, and Parasocial Life. 

If you want to understand 2025, skip the speeches and read the vocabulary. This was a year when language didn’t just describe reality—it documented a world rewired by platforms, generative AI, and the emotional economics of outrage. The “Words of the Year” chosen by dictionaries and news outlets weren’t uplifting slogans. They were caution signs.

Cambridge Dictionary pointed to “parasocial,” a term once reserved for celebrity fandom that now includes relationships people form with artificial intelligence. In a year shaped by personalized chatbots, public debate widened from influencers and pop stars to the psychological gravity of AI companions—especially for younger users, who can slide from curiosity into dependency without even noticing the slope.

Oxford University Press went with “rage bait,” content engineered to provoke anger and inflate engagement. It’s the business model of the modern feed: outrage sparks interaction, algorithms amplify it, and people end up mentally exhausted. Oxford’s framing was blunt: paired with last year’s “brain rot,” the concept captures a cycle in which the platforms don’t merely host bad behavior—they reward it.

Other contenders tracked adjacent obsessions. “Aura farming” described the subtle performance of charisma as a form of currency—polishing an online persona until it looks effortless. “Biohack” captured the drive to optimize the body and mind through routines, devices, and supplements. Collins ultimately chose “vibe coding,” a term for a new style of programming where you describe what you want and let machines translate it into code—less “variables and syntax,” more “intent and vibes.” A derogatory term, “clanker,” also floated through shortlists, reflecting how quickly annoyance at machines can harden into cultural slang.

Then came the truly generational wildcard. Dictionary.com leaned into “67” (“six-seven”), a piece of youth slang that even adults can’t reliably decode. Depending on who you ask, it can mean “so-so,” “maybe,” or simply a way to frustrate parents. The meaning almost doesn’t matter; the function does. It’s a reminder that language is also a gatekeeping tool—especially for Gen Alpha, which treats confusion as a feature, not a bug.

Australia’s Macquarie Dictionary chose the term that may haunt the decade: “AI slop”—low-quality content churned out by generative systems, often error-filled and frequently unwanted. If search made everyone a “search engineer,” the slop era demands people become “prompt engineers” just to filter reality from noise. Merriam-Webster and The Economist echoed the same unease, with The Economist even floating “sloptimism”—the idea that platform overload might finally force serious moderation or drive users away.

But the piece turns sharply toward what happens when toxic content isn’t just annoying—when it becomes dangerous. The author argues that slop, disinformation, cyberbullying, and extremist echo chambers create fertile ground for antisemitism and other hate crimes. In Israel, trauma from October 7, 2023 remains raw, while a “war of words” rages globally—where terms like “genocide,” “apartheid,” and “Holocaust” are deployed as weapons. The essay’s point is not that language is always harmless; it is that language can be a battlefield.

Even Hebrew, the text notes, is still searching for its 2025 word—though last year’s winner, “hatufim” (“hostages”), reflected national reality with painful clarity. Suggestions like “redeemed captive” capture a yearning for closure. The search for a word becomes a search for meaning.

That may be the quiet conclusion of 2025’s vocabulary: we are not just living through technological change, but through a struggle over attention, truth, and identity. The year’s standout words—parasocial, rage bait, AI slop—don’t merely define trends. They reveal what we were fighting, what we were becoming, and what we still don’t know how to control.

Chinese President Xi Jinping seized the spotlight at the APEC leaders’ summit on Saturday, proposing the creation of a World Artificial Intelligence Cooperation Organization — a global body to regulate and coordinate AI development — in a move widely viewed as Beijing’s bid to challenge U.S. dominance over emerging technology governance.

Xi’s call, delivered at the meeting in Gyeongju, South Korea, marks his first public endorsement of the initiative unveiled earlier this year.

“Artificial intelligence is of great significance for future development and should be made for the benefit of people in all countries and regions,” Xi said, according to China’s state-run Xinhua agency.

He framed AI as a “public good for the international community” and suggested the organization could be headquartered in Shanghai, positioning the city as a new global center for AI diplomacy.

The timing was no accident. U.S. President Donald Trump skipped the leaders’ plenary session, leaving for Washington after a one-on-one meeting with Xi that produced a one-year agreement to ease trade and technology restrictions — a modest détente in a rivalry that has defined global politics for much of the decade.

Xi’s absence of an American counterpart gave him the stage to promote China’s brand of “cooperative multilateralism” as a counterweight to Washington’s go-it-alone approach.

The proposed AI body underscores China’s ambition to shape the rules of the next technological frontier.

While Washington has resisted binding global regulation of AI, Beijing sees governance structures as a lever of influence — allowing it to standardize norms around data, algorithms, and safety protocols according to its own priorities.

Analysts say China hopes to export its model of “algorithmic sovereignty”, where state control over AI aligns with national security and industrial policy goals.

Beijing’s growing AI ecosystem provides tangible backing for that vision. U.S. chipmaker Nvidia remains indispensable to the global AI boom, but Chinese firms such as DeepSeek are rolling out competitive, lower-cost models optimized for locally produced hardware — a strategy that insulates China from U.S. export bans while advancing its technological self-reliance.

Beyond AI, Xi also urged APEC members to support the “free circulation of green technologies,” referencing sectors from batteries to solar panels — areas where Chinese firms already dominate global supply chains.

The summit concluded with the adoption of a joint declaration and agreements on AI governance and aging populations.

China will host the 2026 APEC summit in Shenzhen, a city Xi described as “a symbol of reform and innovation” that rose from fishing village to high-tech powerhouse in four decades.

By pushing for a global AI body and recasting China as a guardian of open cooperation, Xi is staking his claim to define the ethics and economics of artificial intelligence — and signaling that the contest with the United States has entered a new, algorithmic phase.

The ransomware attack that brought check-in systems to a halt at Heathrow, Berlin Brandenburg and Brussels airports this week was more than just another cyber incident. It was a warning shot — and one fired with the help of artificial intelligence.

Collins Aerospace, a key aviation systems provider owned by RTX, was the entry point. Once inside, the attackers crippled check-in and baggage services, grounding flights and stranding passengers across Europe. The European Union’s cybersecurity agency ENISA has confirmed the breach was ransomware — but the real story is how it was done.

Cybersecurity experts are blunt: AI has changed the game. No longer is hacking a slow burn carried out by lone wolves in basements. As Christian Perry of Undetectable AI put it, “AI can scan for weaknesses across huge systems in minutes and mimic user behavior so it doesn’t raise alarms.” In other words, the machines are learning to hide in plain sight.

For years, ransomware was about extorting money quietly. But airports — the most visible nodes in Europe’s infrastructure — are not quiet targets. They are political ones. Whether the attack originated in Moscow, Beijing, or from a non-state criminal cartel matters less than the signal: Europe’s arteries can be cut with keystrokes, not missiles.

And the ripple effects are enormous. Testachats, Belgium’s consumer watchdog, already says passengers are entitled to refunds but not compensation, a reminder that legal frameworks lag behind the new threat. Meanwhile, airlines are scrambling to rebuild trust in systems that just proved dangerously fragile.

The implications go further. If AI can paralyze Europe’s air hubs, what about hospitals? Power grids? Banking networks? Military logistics? What happens when a ransomware tool is fused with hostile state strategy, blending criminal extortion with geopolitical pressure?

Some argue AI will also be the cure — defending systems faster than humans ever could. That may be true. But this week’s chaos showed Europe is already on the back foot, chasing attackers who can outthink, outpace, and outmaneuver traditional defenses.

For travelers, it was a miserable weekend. For policymakers, it should be a wake-up call. The age of AI-driven cyberwarfare isn’t coming. It just arrived, boarding passes in hand.

History was made in Tirana this week when Albanian Prime Minister Edi Rama introduced a new member of his cabinet who is neither human nor elected. Her name is Diella — Albanian for “sunshine” — and she is the world’s first artificial intelligence–made minister.

Diella will not handle speeches in parliament, foreign visits, or late-night political intrigue. Her portfolio is narrower but no less explosive: she has been assigned control of public procurement, the notorious engine room of corruption in Albania and much of the Balkans. “This is not science fiction, but the duty of Diella,” Rama declared, promising that all tenders would now become “100 percent incorruptible and 100 percent legible.”

For a country with a long record of graft in public administration — and an EU accession process repeatedly slowed by rule-of-law concerns — the symbolism is immense. Rama has gambled that coding an AI avatar into government will project Albania as both a digital pioneer and a serious reformer. At a Socialist Party assembly in Tirana, he presented Diella not as a gimmick but as a structural shift: “Diella is the servant of public procurement,” he said.

The minister comes with an avatar — a young woman in traditional Albanian dress — and with a mandate to evaluate tenders, hire global talent, and strip human discretion from the cash pipeline where corruption thrives. Diella already underpins e-Albania, the national digital services platform, which millions use for permits, certificates, and payments. Now she steps into the murky world of procurement where billions in contracts have historically vanished into networks of political cronies.

Skeptics, however, warn that corruption is rarely about paperwork alone. AI systems are only as clean as the data they are fed and the algorithms they are trained on. Without transparency in code, oversight in application, and safeguards against manipulation, Diella could become another black box — this time cloaked in the myth of machine neutrality.

Yet the appointment cannot be dismissed as a stunt. By naming an AI minister, Albania positions itself as the first test case in Europe of whether digital governance can outpace entrenched corruption. It also plants a political flag: Rama is in his fourth mandate and promises EU membership by 2030. Delivering incorruptible procurement could be the sort of bold, headline-grabbing reform that resonates in Brussels.

The larger question is whether Diella represents a glimpse of governance to come. Could ministries, or even prime ministers, one day be partially run by algorithms trained on data and free of patronage? Rama himself teased that possibility this summer, half-joking about a “digital prime minister.” Few believed him. Fewer still expected he would move this fast.

For now, Diella is both a promise and a provocation — a reminder that in an era of political fatigue and public distrust, the fight for legitimacy may not be won by another politician at all, but by a minister made of pixels and code.