INVESTIGATION: TikTok Is Swallowing Up Our Children. Ouest-France Has Just Proven It With 10,000 Videos

The Minister for Artificial Intelligence and Digital Affairs did not hesitate. As soon as the investigation was published, Anne Le Hénanff described the content as “extremely shocking.” Better yet: she publicly announced on LinkedIn that she was forwarding the case to the European Commission, copying Prime Minister Sébastien Lecornu and Minister of the Economy Roland Lescure.

A European investigation is already underway—but it’s not moving fast enough

Brussels is already investigating TikTok under the Digital Services Act (DSA) for the addictive nature of its interface, particularly with regard to minors. But between the time a European investigation begins and the time it results in a significant penalty, months go by. Sometimes years.

Meanwhile, Camille keeps scrolling. And so do millions of real-life Camilles.

On Monday, the French audiovisual regulator issued a statement in which every word must be weighed carefully: the findings of Ouest-France “corroborate the findings we had already documented and forwarded to the European Commission last fall.”

Translation into plain language

Arcom is essentially saying: we knew. We had seen it. We had written about it. We had forwarded it. And nothing has changed.

That’s where we stand. A national regulator that takes note. A European Commission that investigates. A minister who expresses outrage. And between the three of them, a void where the algorithm thrives, unpunished, continuing to serve up weight-loss recipes to 12-year-olds until they disappear.

Sarah El Haïry, High Commissioner for Children, uttered three words that deserve to be enshrined in law: “safe by design.” Safe from the very start. In other words: platforms designed—from the very first line of code—to protect children’s well-being, rather than to maximize engagement at any cost.

The nuance that changes everything

The High Commissioner put it with rare clarity: “It is no longer just a question of screen time but of the nature of the content being imposed and its systematic repetition.” Imposed. Systematic repetition. Two words that capture the essence: the child does not choose. The algorithm chooses for them. Over and over again.

Let’s stop talking about the algorithm as if it were a force of nature, like rain or gravity. TikTok’s algorithm is a human decision—made by engineers, approved by executives, and driven by shareholders to maximize profits.

Its mission: to keep you there

Not to inform you. Not to entertain you in a wholesome way. Not to connect you with your loved ones. To keep you there. To hold you back. To turn every second of your attention into monetizable data. And to do that, the algorithm has figured out one terrible thing: extreme emotions hold your attention better than measured ones.

Fear keeps you hooked. Disgust keeps you hooked. Transgression keeps you hooked. Distress keeps you hooked. And childhood, as fragile as a breath, is the ideal playground.

TikTok sets the minimum age at thirteen. But anyone who has seen a school playground knows that nine-, ten-, and eleven-year-olds are already on the platform. All you have to do is lie about your date of birth. No verification. No serious oversight.

The Structural Lie

The platform knows. Parents know. Teachers know. Everyone knows. And yet, the system is built on this collective fiction: “Our users are at least thirteen years old.” An industrial-scale lie, affecting two billion users.

TikTok’s interface—that vertical, endless feed that refreshes with every swipe of the thumb—was designed with direct inspiration from the mechanics of Las Vegas slot machines. This has been documented. Former Silicon Valley engineers have confirmed it.

Dopamine on Prescription

Each video is a small, random reward. Sometimes you like it, sometimes you don’t. This very unpredictability activates the brain’s reward circuits in the same way as pulling a casino slot machine lever. In an adult, this is already problematic. In a developing adolescent brain, it’s devastating.

We are not powerless. France has a robust legal framework: protection of minors, the fight against child sexual abuse, regulation of illegal content, and the European Digital Services Act.

What’s missing isn’t the law. It’s the courage to enforce it

When a platform hosts and amplifies child sexual abuse material, it’s no longer a matter of “insufficient moderation.” It’s algorithmic complicity. And in a self-respecting state governed by the rule of law, algorithmic complicity should result in consequences that match the severity of the offense.

Fines that really hurt. Temporary bans. Blocking. And, as a last resort if nothing changes, the question no one dares to ask: what if we banned TikTok for children under fifteen, as Australia has just decided to do?

There is one aspect that isn’t discussed enough. TikTok is owned by ByteDance, a Chinese company subject to Chinese national security laws. These laws require, in theory, any Chinese company to cooperate with the intelligence services of Xi Jinping’s regime upon request.

Who holds the mental map of our children?

Every video watched, every pause, every “like,” every comment builds a psychological profile of unprecedented precision. A teenager’s fears. Their attractions. Their vulnerabilities. Their evolving political views. And all this data passes, at one point or another, through servers subject to a jurisdiction that is anything but democratic.

We often hear: “Parents just need to keep a closer eye on their kids.” This statement is a form of collective cowardice. It shifts the blame away from the government, platforms, lawmakers, and regulators—and places the burden of a system designed to overwhelm them on exhausted families.

A single parent against a war-like algorithm

Faced with an army of engineers paid millions to maximize their child’s addiction, a parent—even the most attentive, the most present, the most informed—is like someone armed with a slingshot up against a tank. Individual responsibility does not replace collective regulation. It complements it.

This investigation is landmark for one specific reason: it produced numbers, not opinions. 10,000 videos. 790 problematic posts. 100 hours of automated scrolling. It’s reproducible. It’s verifiable. It’s enforceable.

Government agencies can no longer say, “We didn’t know.”

Anne Le Hénanff has responded. Arcom has responded. Sarah El Haïry has responded. The matter has been brought to Brussels’ attention. The Prime Minister has been copied on the correspondence. The report is now on every desk that matters. What happens in the coming months will reveal the true political will of this country when it comes to dealing with these platforms.

A thirteen-year-old child who starves herself because an algorithm tells her twenty times a day that her body is a problem won’t be voting until 2030. A fifteen-year-old teenager who is slipping into depression because she’s constantly bombarded with content that romanticizes death won’t factor into any election polls until then.

The silence of the vulnerable demands that adults speak out

It is precisely for this reason that it falls to those who have a voice—journalists, editors, ministers, regulators, parents, teachers, doctors—to speak out loudly, speak together, speak now. Not tomorrow. Now.

There are moments in the life of a democracy when an investigation, a report, or a statistic crystallizes a vague truth and finally makes it unbearable. The Ouest-France investigation is that moment for TikTok in France in 2026.

What everyone can do, starting today

Write to your member of Congress. Alert your city council about its use in schools. Support the families who are filing complaints. Reject fatalism. Speak out and say that childhood is not a market, and that the mental health of a generation is worth more than the profit margins of a company listed on the Shanghai Stock Exchange.

Camille, the robot, has completed her mission. It’s up to us to carry out ours.

Signed, Jacques PJ Provost