After 45 grieving families, youth advocates, and child safety experts brought 600 roses and a petition with over 10,000 signatures demanding stronger protections for kids on Meta platforms, security swept the flowers away — a reminder of how Meta continues to sweep away our stories.
I was a teenager when naked images of me were shared on Facebook without my consent. The sexual harassment that followed was relentless — threats, slurs, and dehumanizing language filled my inbox. I reported the abuse to the platforms, but the responses, if any, reinforced that these tech giants do not prioritize their users, especially children.
Online abuse doesn't stay online. It follows users into every classroom, therapy session, and nightmare. I graduated high school with anxiety, suicidal ideation, and a profound sense of isolation. I survived. But what about the kids who did not survive? Mason Edens, Selena Rodriguez, Riley Rodee are just a few of many children who died by suicide after experiencing abuse and promotion of self-harm online.
That's why the recent decision by Meta’s Oversight Board to not remove two anti-trans videos cuts deep. The videos show a transgender woman confronted for using a women’s bathroom and a transgender athlete winning a track race, and include the misgendering, demeaning, and endangering of trans people. By allowing two anti-trans videos to stay online, the Board hasn’t just failed its responsibility to users but sanctioned similar violence I once begged Meta to stop. And this time, the target is the trans community.
This isn't about algorithms or content policy. This is about life. And Meta just made a choice: platform hate over people. They chose wrong.
Videos like these strip trans people of dignity, spread dangerous misinformation, and fuel the kind of hate that has real, violent consequences. And yet the Board calls it "free expression."
Even more disturbing is the contradiction buried in their decision — the same videos were taken down when posted by Meta itself, but allowed to remain when posted by "others." In other words, Meta admits this content violates its own values, just not when someone else uploads it. That's not moderation. That’s cowardice.
This isn't a debate. Trans existence is not up for discussion. Whether or not you discuss trans and nonbinary people, we will continue to exist, and we deserve safety. Treating this rhetoric as just another side of a political argument legitimizes hate, and Meta knows it. They’ve chosen to look away — again.
What happened to me wasn't an isolated incident. It's happening every day to young people everywhere, especially queer, trans, and nonbinary youth. LGBTQ+ youth are three times more likely to experience unwanted or unsafe interactions online, and still, the platforms that promise connection keep delivering cruelty.
When I was violated online, I thought I was the exception. But I've since met survivors whose stories echo mine like a scream through a tunnel. Some had their images stolen and circulated. Some lost their children to sextortion-induced suicide. Some were AI-manipulated into oblivion. Some received death threats after coming out.
That's what makes the Oversight Board's ruling so dangerous. It isn't just that Meta is allowing anti-trans hate — it's that they are doing so after years failing to moderate transphobia. The patterns are there. The reports are there. The trauma is there. They've just chosen not to act on it.
Hate doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it spreads when given a platform. And when it's legitimized by one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, it grows teeth. I've felt them.
In January 2025, Meta made a quiet but devastating shift. They gutted their human content moderation teams, leaned harder on flawed AI systems, and shut down partnerships with fact-checkers and safety experts. It wasn’t a glitch. It was a strategy: reduce liability, cut costs, and call it innovation. But what Meta calls "efficiency" comes at the expense of safety. Of truth. Of lives.
The Oversight Board's ruling isn’t a one-off failure — it's the natural result of Meta’s retreat from responsibility. They’re not just enabling harm; they're designing systems that scale it.
I've seen what happens when platforms walk away from protecting people. I've lived inside the wreckage. I can tell you this: Meta's current trajectory isn't just unethical. It's lethal. That's why we're not asking. We're demanding.
We demand that Meta reinstate robust human content moderation — especially for hate speech, CSAM, and targeted harassment. We demand immediate removal of anti-trans hate and clear consequences for those who spread it. We demand transparency, accountability, and a CEO willing to face the damage his platforms have caused.
I survived what Meta allowed to happen to me. But I carry the scars in my nervous system, in my relationships, in the way I move through the world. And I know there are others — kids just like I was — logging in today, not knowing what’s coming for them.
That's why I'm writing this. Not just as a survivor, but as a witness. To say: this is not abstract. This is not academic. This is blood, bone, and breath. If Meta won't protect us, we'll protect each other. If they won’t listen, we'll make them hear us. I made it out. But no one else should have to survive what I did just to grow up online.
Leah Juliett (they/them/theirs) is a poet, community organizer, and activist for queer futures and against Big Tech. They live in Connecticut. This column reflects the opinion of the writer.
