Who is Raising our Children, Parents or Social Media?

Credit By: DR SHAFIQ SULTAN

• Comments 0
• 15 Apr 2026

When a child’s mind is constantly jumping from one clip to another, it becomes difficult for them to sit with a textbook, to read a chapter fully, or to think deeply about a problem

Nowadays,  it is common to see a child walking to school with a heavy bag on the back and a heavier world inside a small glowing screen. The phone in the hand of that Class 6 or Class 8 student is no longer just a device for calls. It is a classroom, a playground, a cinema hall, and sometimes, unfortunately, a silent battlefield. Social media has entered Kashmiri homes without knocking, and our children are its first and most unguarded citizens.

The arrival of social media initially seemed like a promise. It allowed young people to connect, to learn, to find a voice beyond the mountains that enclose the Valley. During the COVID-19 pandemic, with repeated school closures, it became a lifeline for online classes and a way to stay in touch with friends and relatives.

Parents who once worried about their children wandering in the streets now felt a sense of relief that they were “safe at home,” busy with phones. But slowly, almost quietly, another story has started to unfold, one in which the same digital window that opened the world to Kashmiri children is also bringing in anxiety, distraction, and a kind of loneliness that adults struggle to understand.

The modern childhood of a Kashmiri child is now divided between two realities: the physical world of family, school, and neighbourhood, and the virtual world of reels, likes, followers, and trends. In the second world, beauty is filtered, success is exaggerated, and pain is often turned into performance.

Children who should be worrying about homework and cricket are instead worrying about how many people viewed their status or liked their video. A teenager who gets fewer likes than their classmates begins to quietly feel less worthy. A young girl scrolling through edited images of influencers begins to doubt her own appearance. These may look like small issues to adults, but for a growing child, such comparisons cut deep.

Social media, instead of simply entertaining students, often becomes a space where they witness anger, conflict, and disturbing visuals without any guidance on how to process them. A child may accidentally come across graphic videos, hateful comments, or misinformation related to politics and conflict. With no one sitting beside them to explain what is true, what is exaggerated, and what is simply propaganda, many children are left to form their own conclusions, often fearful, confused, and mistrustful.

There is another dimension that worries parents and teachers: attention. Teachers across the Valley quietly admit that it is getting harder to hold the attention of students in classrooms. The short, fast-paced content on social media has trained young minds to expect quick entertainment every few seconds. A 40-minute lesson in mathematics cannot compete with an endless scroll of colourful videos.

When a child’s mind is constantly jumping from one clip to another, it becomes difficult for them to sit with a textbook, to read a chapter fully, or to think deeply about a problem. This is not just a question of marks and exams. It is about the gradual weakening of the ability to focus — a skill that every human being needs for life.

Parents, meanwhile, are caught in a silent dilemma. Many do not fully understand how these platforms work, but they know that their child must be “up to date” like others. Some parents hand over phones as rewards; others give them to keep children busy while they themselves are occupied with work or household responsibilities.

In joint families, it is not uncommon to see a child passing the phone from one elder to another, each assuming the other is supervising. In the end, there is often no real supervision at all. We would never leave a child alone in a crowded bazaar and tell them to learn how to deal with strangers by themselves. Yet, on social media, that is precisely what we are doing.

The Valley has also seen a quiet shift in how friendships are formed and maintained. Earlier, children met on the playground, in tuition centres, or on the way back from school. Now, many of their “closest friends” are those they talk to late at night through chats and voice notes. These relationships can be genuine, but they also carry risks.

Online bullying, mocking comments in class groups, and the sharing of private photos without consent have all begun to appear in our schools and localities. A child who is being humiliated in a WhatsApp group or Instagram comment section may never gather the courage to tell their parents or teachers. The hurt remains hidden, visible only in sudden silence, falling grades, or a behaviour change.

At the same time, it would be unfair to paint social media only as a villain. Many Kashmiri children have used these platforms to showcase talent in art, poetry, calligraphy, sports, and entrepreneurship. There are inspiring stories of teenagers who learned coding, graphic design, or languages from free online content and used it to support their education. Some have become young voices for the environment, mental health, and social awareness. The problem, therefore, is not that our children are online. The problem is that they are often online without guidance, limits, or values to anchor them.

What is missing in many homes and schools is a serious, honest conversation about digital life. We speak to children about marks, manners, and morals, but we rarely speak to them about what they see and feel on their screens. We scold them for “wasting time on the phone” without asking what exactly they are watching or why they are drawn to it. We snatch the device after a conflict, only to quietly return it later when the house is busy or when exams are over. This cycle of anger and surrender does not solve anything; it only adds guilt and secrecy to the child’s relationship with social media.

Kashmir today stands at a delicate crossroads. The generation growing up in our schools and colleges will soon become the decision-makers of this land. Their minds are being shaped not only by parents, teachers, and local culture, but also by distant influencers, anonymous comments, and algorithm-driven content that has no understanding of Kashmiri society or its sensitivities. If we do not step in now to guide them, we may find ourselves faced with a future generation that is highly connected, yet deeply disconnected — from their roots, from their families, and even from their own sense of self.

The responsibility cannot be placed on children alone. Parents must be willing to learn about the apps their children use, to set clear time limits, and to build trust so that a child can speak freely about online experiences. Schools need to include digital literacy and mental health discussions as seriously as they take science or mathematics.

Religious leaders, who hold moral authority in the Valley, should also address the ethical and emotional aspects of online behaviour in their sermons and gatherings. And yes, the platforms themselves must be held to account by law and policy, but we cannot wait for regulations alone to protect our children.

In the end, the question is simple: What kind of childhood do we want for the children of Kashmir? A childhood spent under the cold light of a screen, chasing virtual approval? Or a childhood that balances the benefits of technology with the warmth of real relationships, open skies, and honest conversations? Social media is here to stay.

The choice before us is whether we allow it to quietly raise our children in our absence, or whether we step forward and raise a generation that can use it wisely without losing itself in the process.

(The Author is a child psychologist and columnist)