The Polycrisis Generation: Youth in Cascading Crises

TL;DR: As the attention economy approaches $1.3 trillion, evidence mounts that Big Tech's engineered distraction is causing measurable cognitive harm. The debate over reparations asks whether platforms should compensate users for the focus they've monetized and the mental capacity they've diminished.
Picture yourself reaching for your phone right now. Before you've consciously decided to check it, the device is already unlocked, your thumb scrolling past notifications you don't remember requesting. This isn't weakness—it's design. By 2027, economists project the attention economy will exceed $1.3 trillion, making your focus the world's most valuable commodity. The question isn't whether tech companies are extracting value from our minds anymore. It's whether they should pay us back for what they've taken.
Your attention didn't disappear by accident. The average human attention span dropped to 8.25 seconds in 2025, down from 9.2 seconds just three years earlier. That's not evolution—that's engineered erosion of cognitive capacity. Mobile notifications interrupt us over 100 times daily, and each disruption requires 23 minutes to fully recover from. Do the math: we're losing entire workdays to interruptions designed to hijack our focus.
Here's how the machine works. Platforms employ what researchers call "dopaminergic manipulation"—features specifically calibrated to trigger dopamine release in your brain's reward centers. Autoplay increases session duration by 23% compared to platforms without it. Infinite scroll removes natural stopping points. Push notifications exploit the brain's novelty bias, making each ping feel urgent even when it's trivial.
The science is stark. People who use social media more than three hours daily show a 28% increase in difficulty sustaining attention during offline tasks. Heavy users—those scrolling five-plus hours—experience 33% more attention fragmentation. A 2025 meta-analysis of 38 studies found that prolonged TikTok use reduces prefrontal cortex responsiveness, the brain region responsible for decision-making and impulse control.
This isn't just about distraction. It's about neurological rewiring for profit.
Consider what we're actually trading. The attention economy operates on a simple premise: platforms provide "free" services in exchange for your focus, which they sell to advertisers. But unlike traditional markets where exchanges are transparent, most users have no idea how much their attention is worth or how much they're giving away.
The toll shows up in declining productivity, fractured relationships, and measurable cognitive decline. Students can't focus long enough to read a chapter. Workers toggle between tasks so frequently they never achieve deep work. Parents scroll through feeds while their children compete for eye contact. These aren't personal failures—they're the predictable outcomes of systems designed to maximize engagement at any cost.
Research from the Conversation demonstrates that social media rewires young minds in ways that persist even after logging off. The brain adapts to constant stimulation, making sustained attention feel uncomfortable. What tech companies call "engagement optimization," neuroscientists recognize as habit formation bordering on addiction.
The economic model treats attention as infinitely renewable, but human cognition isn't. We have roughly 16 waking hours daily, and cognitive resources deplete with use. When platforms extract maximum attention, they're not just taking time—they're reducing our capacity for everything else: learning, creating, connecting, thinking.
The case for tech companies paying reparations rests on three pillars: harm, intent, and profit.
Harm is documented. Beyond individual anecdotes, large-scale studies show measurable cognitive damage from chronic digital distraction. Attention spans have shortened. Working memory has declined 11% among heavy social media users. Mental health correlates directly with social media use, particularly among teens and young adults.
Intent is provable. Internal documents from major platforms reveal deliberate design choices to maximize "time on site" and "daily active users." These aren't accidental byproducts—they're core business metrics. Features like pull-to-refresh, variable reward schedules, and carefully timed notifications draw directly from behavioral psychology research on addiction.
Profit is massive. Meta earned over $117 billion in 2023, nearly all from advertising powered by user attention. Google's parent company Alphabet brought in $307 billion. These aren't businesses selling products—they're monetizing human consciousness at unprecedented scale. The attention economy's value continues expanding precisely because platforms have refined the extraction process.
If tobacco companies could be held liable for health damages from knowingly addictive products, why not tech companies profiting from knowingly addictive design? The mechanisms are different, but the principle is identical: corporations shouldn't profit from deliberately harming consumers.
Several frameworks have emerged for making users whole:
Direct compensation. Some proposals suggest platforms pay users a percentage of advertising revenue generated from their attention. If Meta makes $40 per user annually from ads, users could receive a portion—say $10-15—as recognition that their cognitive labor has value. This treats attention like any other productive input deserving fair compensation.
Attention dividends. Similar to Alaska's oil revenue sharing, tech platforms could distribute quarterly payments to users based on their data contribution. The more your data helps train algorithms or target ads, the larger your share. This model has gained traction in policy circles exploring data dignity and user rights.
Cognitive harm funds. Platforms could contribute to public funds supporting mental health services, digital literacy education, and attention restoration programs. This model recognizes that individual payments might be impractical, but collective harm deserves collective remedy.
Default settings reversal. Instead of cash, platforms could "pay" users by defaulting to less extractive settings—notifications off by default, chronological feeds, session time limits, no autoplay. Users wanting maximally engaging experiences could opt in, but the default would prioritize wellbeing over engagement.
Tech companies and their defenders raise legitimate concerns about reparations.
Voluntary use. No one forces people to use social media. Users choose to download apps, accept terms of service, and keep scrolling. Personal responsibility matters. If you don't like how much time you spend on Instagram, delete the app.
Value exchange. Platforms provide genuine benefits—connection with distant friends, access to information, entertainment, and tools for small businesses. Many users feel they receive fair value for their attention. The attention economy creates opportunities for creators and entrepreneurs that didn't exist before.
Implementation challenges. How would you calculate damages? Attention loss is hard to quantify individually. Would everyone get the same amount? What about people who use platforms minimally versus heavy users? What about those who feel no harm at all? The administrative complexity could make reparations impractical.
Innovation impact. Forcing platforms to pay users could undermine the business model that makes "free" services possible. Reparations might mean subscription fees, reduced features, or platforms shutting down entirely. The cure could be worse than the disease.
These aren't trivial objections. They highlight real tensions between individual autonomy, market innovation, and collective wellbeing.
Different regions are experimenting with ways to rebalance power between platforms and users.
The European Union's Digital Services Act imposes transparency requirements and limits on targeted advertising, especially for minors. While not direct reparations, these regulations recognize that unfettered attention extraction causes social harm worth preventing.
Australia's Right to Disconnect laws let workers ignore work communications outside office hours. Though focused on employer communications, the principle extends to attention as a limited resource deserving protection. France, Portugal, and Belgium have similar legislation.
California considered—but hasn't passed—a "data dividend" requiring tech companies to share profits with users whose data fuels their business. The proposal sparked debate about whether user data and attention constitute labor deserving wages.
Some countries take harder lines. China limits gaming time for minors and requires platforms to offer "youth mode" with restricted features. While controversial from a freedom perspective, these rules acknowledge that unregulated attention extraction harms young brains still in development.
India's IT Rules require platforms to provide options for disabling algorithmic feeds. Users can choose chronological timelines that don't optimize for engagement. Early data suggests many users prefer less addictive feeds once they realize the choice exists.
The reparations debate ultimately asks: what matters more—maximizing individual choice or protecting cognitive commons?
Traditional liberalism says people should be free to spend their attention however they want. If that means eight hours daily on TikTok, that's their right. Interfering with voluntary transactions between platforms and users is paternalistic, even if some people make choices that harm them.
But attention isn't quite like other commodities. You can waste money and earn more. You can't reclaim lost attention. The past decade represented a grand experiment in what happens when sophisticated corporations apply behavioral psychology and AI to attention extraction. The results suggest that unregulated markets in human attention create negative externalities similar to pollution—costs imposed on society that markets alone won't correct.
From this view, reparations aren't about punishing innovation. They're about honest accounting. If platforms profit by reducing our collective ability to focus, think deeply, and maintain relationships, they've created costs someone has to bear. Currently, individuals and society absorb those costs while corporations capture the gains. Reparations simply shift some costs back to those who created them.
Several forces are converging that could reshape the attention economy.
Class action litigation. Lawsuits against social media companies are multiplying, especially focused on youth mental health. While individual cases might fail, the collective weight of litigation could force settlements that function as de facto reparations.
Regulatory momentum. As evidence of cognitive harm accumulates, pressure for regulation increases. We've seen this pattern before with automobile safety, workplace conditions, and environmental protection. Industries resist until the case becomes overwhelming, then compliance becomes standard.
Platform competition. New social networks are advertising themselves as less manipulative alternatives. BeReal limits posting to once daily. Some platforms ban likes and follower counts. If users migrate toward less extractive options, market pressure might accomplish what regulation can't.
Attention awareness. More people understand how their focus is being monetized. Books like "Stolen Focus" and documentaries like "The Social Dilemma" have entered mainstream conversation. Digital detox retreats and dopamine detox trends reflect growing recognition that something's wrong with our relationship to technology.
The question isn't whether the attention economy will change, but how. Will platforms voluntarily reform before regulation forces their hand? Will users demand alternatives and vote with their attention? Will courts impose penalties that reshape business models? Will societies decide some cognitive territory should remain unmonetized?
While systemic change emerges, individuals aren't powerless.
Audit your attention. Use screen time tracking to understand where your focus actually goes. Many people are shocked to discover they spend three-plus hours daily on apps they claim not to care about. Awareness is the first step toward reclaiming agency.
Engineer your environment. Remove apps from your phone. Use website blockers during work hours. Enable grayscale mode to reduce visual appeal. These might seem like small tactics, but they work by removing the environmental cues that trigger habitual scrolling.
Practice sustained attention. Like any skill, deep focus requires exercise. Read long articles. Watch movies without checking your phone. Work on a single task for 90 minutes straight. The capacity for sustained attention atrophies without use, but it can be rebuilt.
Support regulatory efforts. Contact representatives about digital policy. Support organizations pushing for platform accountability. Vote for candidates who understand the attention economy's impact. Individual solutions help, but collective problems need collective responses.
Choose carefully. When you do use social platforms, ask what you're getting in exchange for your attention. Staying connected to distant friends might be worth it. Scrolling through strangers' vacation photos probably isn't. Be deliberate about which trades you make.
The attention economy won't vanish, but it could become less extractive. Reparations—whether financial payments, better default settings, or regulatory protections—represent one path toward rebalancing an exchange that's currently deeply asymmetric.
Your attention is finite, valuable, and impossible to reclaim once spent. The companies that have built trillion-dollar businesses mining it know this better than anyone. Maybe it's time they started acting like it.

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