Introduction

Tralalero Tralala, Bombardino Crocodilo, Tung Tung Tung Tung Sahur — no, these are not newly discovered animal species, nor are they spells ripped from a rejected Harry Potter draft.

They are the names of some fictional AI-generated characters known as “brain rot” that have flooded the Internet and, somehow, wormed their way into the daily lives of Gen Z, Gen Alpha, and even some millennials.

From Skibidi Toilet to Only in Ohio memes to the ever-repeating Tralalero Tralala, this bizarre wave of content is part of what many now call the “brain rot” phenomenon.

At first, I thought these memes would stay trapped in the Internet’s weird corners. But I was wrong. Walking through the streets of Debrecen, Hungary (yes, a quiet little town far from the chaos of TikTok trends), I came across not one, but two kids chanting “Tralalero Tralala” and “Tung Tung Tung Sahur” like it was their second nature.

That was my wake-up call: the Internet’s absurdities are not just staying online—they are bleeding into real life and becoming a serious concern for how children experience the world.

Origins

It is fascinating – and frankly a little alarming – that over 37,000 people in 2024 voted for “brain rot” to be Oxford’s Word of the Year.

Defined as “the supposed deterioration of a person’s mental or intellectual state, especially viewed as the result of overconsumption of online content”, the term hits harder when you stop laughing and actually think about it.

But how did we end up here?

Decades ago, experts predicted we would have flying cars by 2025. Instead, what we have now are AI-generated images clogging up our online spaces and even leaking into mainstream journalism. Somewhere along the line, we took a wrong turn at Innovation Avenue and ended up in Meme Town.

Historically, the term brain rot is not new—it dates back to 1854, when Henry David Thoreau used it in his book Walden to describe society’s tendency to dumb down complex ideas.

Frankly, it is no surprise the phrase has clawed its way back into popular use, now fuelled by an endless flood of digital content accessible to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Today, brain rot lives not in dusty old philosophy books but as viral memes, usually in the form of low-quality, AI-generated images combining animals, objects and fruits, all paired with absurd “Italian” names like Frigo Camelo or Ballerina Cappucina.

These memes are often accompanied by generic voice-overs and random Italian music, spreading quickly across social media. Content creators have even upped the ante by adding “backstories” or “lores” to these bizarre characters, with some even placing them in tournament-style brackets with crude animations.

Paradox

While these memes seem harmless, they can carry hidden dangers. Some variations of Tralalero Tralala, for example, have voice-overs that include phrases that can be interpreted as blasphemous (“porco dio e porco Allah”—pig god pig Allah). Meanwhile, Bombardilo Crocodilo have voice-overs that say “bombarda i bambini a Gaza e in Palestina” —bomb the children in Gaza and Palestine.

Such content, while seemingly absurd, can desensitise viewers to sensitive issues, particularly when it involves religious themes.

In an era of unlimited access to information, abundance has produced a poverty of wisdom. Novés called it the “paradox of digital knowing”—the more we consume, the less we truly understand. In this context, brain rot is the clearest proof, as our minds are overloaded with low-value, disposable content, crowding out the meaningful knowledge we actually need.

The real irony? We are not forced into this—we choose it. In a world where millennials, Gen Z and Gen Alpha are pushed into exhausting 9-to-5 routines just to survive, the easiest escape is a mindless scroll through social media. The addiction is pure and simple, and in many cases, it outruns traditional addictions such as drugs.

Some creators have even captured the absurdity: there are sketches where addicts do not beg for cigarettes or drinks but for “just one more scroll”.

Doomscrolling

Social media is now the main reason people use the Internet. This is not speculation; it is a reality backed by usage numbers, with Indonesia ranking the third highest Southeast Asian country in terms of social media consumption.

Platforms such as Facebook, Instagram and TikTok are deliberately engineered to maximise user engagement and screen time, encouraging constant scrolling to keep users trapped in the cycle.

This design has given rise to what is now known as the brain rot behaviour. Doomscrolling – the compulsive, endless consumption of low-value content – has become a daily routine for millions. As screen time increases, so does the grip of brain rot.

Research shows that excessive screen exposure is linked to a decline in the microstructural integrity of the brain’s white matter tracts—areas critical for language development, executive function and emerging literacy. In short, our brains are being physically rewired by our inability to disconnect.

The overconsumption of low-quality content has serious cognitive consequences. As people mindlessly scroll, they struggle to organise information, solve problems and think analytically. Memory and recall begin to fade, and what seemed like harmless entertainment slowly dismantles higher-order cognitive functions.

The effects worsen over time. Chronic exposure to this digital sludge leads to emotional desensitisation, cognitive overload and a negative self-concept. Meanwhile, executive functions – such as memory, planning and decision-making – deteriorate under the weight of constant, meaningless information.

Brain rot is no longer just a metaphor; it is a clinical reality. And yet, we continue to walk straight into it, eyes wide open, phones in hand.

Legal Implications

The presence of brain rot content on the Internet inevitably raises legal concerns, particularly in the areas of content moderation, data privacy and intellectual property.

Content moderation is the most relevant yet least impactful legal issue. While laws target graphic or obscene content, brain rot content does not always fit these categories, making enforcement difficult.

If such content violates basic human rights, like freedom of religion or blasphemy, platforms should consider flagging it as offensive. However, the dilemma lies in whose values the platforms should prioritise—those of the platform or its users?

In terms of data privacy, brain rot content is fuelled by algorithms that exploit user data to maximise engagement. While the European Union has imposed stricter regulations on data collection, elsewhere, countries with weaker laws struggle to control data privacy, as they lack bargaining power with social media companies.

Regarding intellectual property, brain rot characters may present future copyright concerns if they are commercialised. For example, if AI-generated images lead to movies or books, legal questions arise about who holds the rights to these works.

Escaping Brain Rot

Escaping brain rot is not complicated—it is just incredibly difficult. It demands what most people today have in short supply: discipline and self-control. The endless scroll is not just designed to waste your time; it is engineered to hijack your impulses.

Getting out of it is not about finding the perfect productivity app or the right digital detox hack but about choosing to stop feeding the addiction.

Recovering from brain rot naturally starts with cutting down social media use. This means actively limiting screen time, not just talking about it. Some platforms, such as Instagram and TikTok, even offer built-in features that allow users to set daily usage limits.

But let us be honest: if you do not have the willpower to respect those limits, it is like locking the cookie jar and leaving the key next to it. You will override the limit with two taps and a half-hearted apology to yourself. Taking a real break from social media has also been proven effective. Strategies range from scheduling tech-free hours, turning off notifications or – for those who actually want results – deleting the most toxic apps entirely. It sounds extreme, but sometimes extreme measures are the only way to disrupt an addiction engineered to be stronger than your natural defences.

Worrying Development

In March 2025, chilling news emerged from the Ngada Regency, East Nusa Tenggara, whereby the regency’s police chief was found to have sexually abused three children, recorded his acts and uploaded the videos to an Australian-based pornography website. The Australian authorities alerted Indonesia’s Ministry of Women’s Empowerment and Child Protection after detecting the illicit footage online.

The perpetrator, AKBP Fajar Widyadharma Lukman Sumaatmaja, was later stripped of his position and charged with sexual and drug abuses.

This revelation underscores three intertwined offences: the physical, sexual violence against minors, the production and the digital dissemination of child sexual abuse material (CSAM).

Though this case did not involve the use of sophisticated technology, it points towards the imperative to criminalise AI‑generated CSAM in Indonesia. A pertinent question is this: to what extent should the law evolve to address artificial child abuse imagery to boost prevention, legal enforcement and child protection?

Despite the gravity of CSAM-related crimes, current charges under the Information and Electronic Transactions Act (ITE Law 1/2024) and Articles 55–56 of the Criminal Code merely carry a maximum penalty of six years’ imprisonment or a fine of up to Rp1bn.

Meanwhile, Article 45(1) of the ITE Law addresses distribution of child pornography; Article 4(1) of the Pornography Law 44/2008 tackles production of pornographic content and; Article 4(2)(c) of the Sexual Violence Law 12/2022 focuses on this very deed.

However, these provisions are applied in isolation, resulting in fragmented sentencing and legal loopholes. Notably, no statute explicitly criminalises synthetic or AI‑generated CSAM, leaving law enforcement ill‑equipped to tackle digitally fabricated child sexual abuse images.

Criminalisation is a Must

Cesare Beccaria, a pioneer in modern criminology, maintains in his magnum opus that the ultimate aim of punishment must be deterrence rather than vengeance. He posits that individuals are rational actors who calculate the potential benefits of wrongdoing against the likelihood and severity of punishment. When sanctions are both certain and prompt, the perceived risk of detection outweighs any criminal gains.

In the context of CSAM, his insights underscore the necessity of a legal framework in which consequences are clearly defined, consistently applied and swiftly enforced—thereby deterring would‑be offenders before any harm occurs.

The production and consumption of CSAM form a self‑reinforcing loop. Perpetrators generate imagery by abusing children, emboldening those who consume CSAM material to commit new offences. There is an imperative to cut off this chain of exploitation. By disrupting the creation, distribution or possession of CSAM, a jurisdiction can suppress the market for such material and protect vulnerable children.

Some International Responses

To make matters worse, recent years have seen an alarming spike in AI‑generated CSAM. The Internet Watch Foundation reported that from October 2023 to July 2024, roughly 3,500 newly produced AI‑generated images depicting child sexual abuse appeared on monitored dark‑web forums. Although the overall volume of content has ebbed, the number of materials classified as criminal has steadily climbed.

These synthetic depictions, though created without direct contact with real children, nonetheless perpetuate exploitative narratives and pose serious challenges to existing legal definitions of abuse.

Article 34 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) obligates each of its 196 state parties to shield minors from all forms of sexual exploitation, including those enabled by novel technologies. As paraphrased from an article by media scholar Sonia Livingstone and her colleagues, the UNCRC’s preventive mandate must be interpreted in light of digital transformations, ensuring that emerging forms of harm – real or simulated – fall within its protective scope.

Thus, criminalising AI‑generated CSAM is aligned with the prevailing international commitment to prevent – rather than merely address – abuses against children.

Despite their artificial origin, AI‑generated CSAM images can cause genuine trauma. The Nepal ChildSafeNet report illustrates how highly realistic, AI‑crafted pictures and videos can trigger deep psychological distress among victims and the broader community, even when no actual child was harmed in their production.

Furthermore, a United Nations Interregional Crime and Justice Research Institute (UNICRI) study reveals      that some generative models are trained on datasets containing illicit material, effectively recycling real‑world abuses into new, synthetic content. This cycle of reproduction exacerbates victimisation, as the constant availability of seemingly authentic imagery can re-traumatise survivors and perpetuate the stigma of abuse.

In response to these evolving threats, the United Kingdom has enacted a legislation criminalising the creation, possession and distribution of AI‑generated CSAM. By erasing the need for law‑enforcement agents and prosecutors to distinguish between real and synthetic content – a task growing ever more difficult as generative algorithms advance – the United Kingdom’s approach fortifies child protection and streamlines judicial processes.

This development serves as an international precedent, demonstrating how preventive criminal law can adapt to encompass new technological modalities.

Indonesia’s Position

Indonesia, which ranked fourth globally and second in ASEAN for CSAM distribution, reported more than 5.5 million cases over the past four years. With 89% of children over the age of five using the internet primarily for social media, according to Indonesia’s Central Statistics Agency (2021), the nation confronts heightened risks of online exploitation.

The Ministry of Communication and Digital Affairs (Komdigi) has already established a digital child‑safety working group, reflecting its commitment to combating CSAM. Yet, to stay ahead of emerging threats –particularly synthetic content – Komdigi must expand its mandate beyond age checks to encompass technology‑driven harms.

First, Komdigi should spearhead a regulation explicitly outlawing AI‑generated CSAM. This might be the quickest solution rather than pushing the House of Representatives (DPR) to formulate and pass a law. By integrating such provisions into the national law, Indonesia would make clear its position on zero tolerance to any depiction of child sexual exploitation, real or artificial.

Second, Komdigi should pursue partnerships with social media and technology platforms to deploy advanced detection tools. Industry initiatives like the Robust Open Online Safety Tools consortium illustrate how public–private collaboration can accelerate the identification and removal of harmful content at scale.

Finally, Komdigi must convene expert working groups to draft comprehensive, future‑proof regulations. Anticipating the next wave of digital offences, such as deepfake abuse, will ensure that policies remain effective and futureproof as offenders adopt ever more sophisticated means.

Conclusion

Focusing solely on age verification risks neglecting the broader technological landscape in which predators operate. Generative AI not only generates new CSAM but also empowers abusers to evade detection and re-traumatised victims through eerily authentic imagery. By criminalising AI‑generated content, fostering cross‑sector collaborations for rapid removal, and preparing robust, adaptable legislation, Indonesia can strengthen its national duty to protect children and uphold its international commitments in the digital age.

Introduction

In the age of mercantilism, economic dominance was not merely about trade—it was enforced through brute military strength.

European empires deployed gunboats to the coasts of nations, coercing them into opening markets, signing lopsided treaties or even submitting to colonial rule.

The Opium Wars of the 19^th century stand as a stark example—when China resisted British trade demands, gunboats rained fire upon its ports, forcing the Middle Kingdom to cede Hong Kong and open its economy on unfavourable terms.

Power was exercised through the barrel of a cannon while nations bent under the weight of superior firepower.

Today, the battlefield has shifted, but the objective remains the same: influence, control and dominance. Gunboats no longer dictate policies; instead, social media does.

The rise of digital platforms has created a new arsenal of influence operations—one where narratives, not naval fleets, determine the direction of entire countries. Algorithms replace admirals and viral trends become the new cannonballs.

Those who can shape public opinion can shape long-lasting policies. No warships needed; no shots fired—yet the effects can be far more enduring. A single viral campaign can sway elections, overturn governments or redefine national identities.

The ASEAN Landscape

In ASEAN, where youth make up a significant portion of the population and digital adoption is at an all-time high, this reality is unfolding at an unprecedented pace.

From likes to legislation, the power once wielded by empires through brute force is now in the hands of millions of young, digitally empowered individuals. What they believe, share and push into the mainstream today will become the policies that shape their nations tomorrow.

ASEAN’s economic rise has been nothing short of remarkable. In 2024, the region contributed 7.2% of the global economy and was responsible for 8.6% of the world’s GDP growth over the past decade.

With a combined GDP projected to reach US$4.25 trillion by 2025, ASEAN is on the verge of surpassing major economies and cementing itself among the world’s top five economic powerhouses.

This growth is not merely a statistic—it is reshaping global supply chains, investment flows and economic alliances.

Unlike the aging economies of Europe, where labour shortages are becoming a structural problem, ASEAN enjoys a demographic advantage. With a median age of just 31, its workforce is young, vibrant and digitally connected.

The contrast with Europe, where the median age is over 40, is stark. While Western nations grapple with declining birth rates and economic stagnation, ASEAN’s youths are driving an unprecedented wave of innovation, entrepreneurship and consumption. This demographic dividend is fuelling the rise of a powerful middle class, which is expected to reach 350 million people by 2030—larger than the entire population of the United States today.

These are all concrete indicators which enable the possibility of a digital revolution which squarely puts power and influence in the hands of the digitally savvy young generation.

Youth’s Digital Revolution

Over the past decade, the digital landscape in the ASEAN region has undergone a significant transformation, marked by substantial increases in internet access, mobile phone usage and social media engagement among young people.

In 2013, the average internet penetration rate in ASEAN was approximately 34%. By 2021, this figure had more than doubled, reaching 73%. This surge reflects the region’s rapid digital adoption and infrastructure development.

A study conducted in 2019 revealed that 97.5% of Thai high school students owned smartphones, while in Indonesia between 2013 and 2018, smartphone ownership among young adults (ages 18-34) surged from 17% to 66%.

To compound on to this trend, the average youths spend close to five hours a day on their smartphones, thus making them the most digitally reliant generation.

The omnipresence of youths on social media has blunt the influence of mainstream media which in nascent democracies are largely controlled by the government or its cronies.

In Malaysia, for over six decades, the Barisan Nasional (BN) coalition maintained political dominance, partly by controlling mainstream media narratives. The BN government either directly controlled the mainstream media through its ownership of news agencies like The Star and Bernama, or indirectly through strict media licensing laws that promote censorship.

Billionaires linked to the government through monopoly-like multibillion dollar concessions also owned other major media houses.

However, in the lead-up to the 14^th general election (GE14), social media platforms emerged as vital arenas for political discourse, especially among the younger demographic, thus breaking the long-held information monopoly.   

A study analysing 187 news pieces from six online news platforms during the 11-day campaign period highlighted that social media was effectively utilised to influence public perception.

Key issues such as the Goods and Services Tax (GST), the 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB) scandal, and the reputations of political candidates were extensively discussed online, contributing to a wave of political dissent and activism.

This online engagement played a crucial role in shifting public sentiment, leading to BN’s unprecedented electoral defeat.

This was particularly evident on the night before voting, whereby the prime minister candidate for the opposition directly communicated to the public via a Facebook-live event, a feat that was viewed by more than 220,000 people and reached 10 million people in less than 24 hours.

This last figure was more than half of the voting population. Comparably, the then sitting prime minister, who enjoyed the full backing of the media establishment, only garnered 15,000 audience while conducting a similar event.

Knowing that the government had a solid grip on the media establishment, the opposition then actively mobilised the youths to showcase the opposition videos to their parents and grandparents via WhatsApp groups, or in-person when they meet to cast their votes. This merged the influence of social media and the youths to successfully break the government-controlled information monopoly, thus leading to a historic election win.

The same trend could be seen in Thailand. The Move Forward Party’s (MFP) rise in Thailand’s 2023 general election is a testament to the power of social media and youth-driven political engagement in disrupting traditional power structures.

Winning 151 seats, the MFP effectively leveraged digital platforms to bypass mainstream media controls and mobilise grassroots support. On election day alone, the party was mentioned over 245,932 times across social media, with post-election engagement reaching 83.4 million interactions, 70% higher than any other party.

This surge in online activism translated into real political momentum, particularly among Thailand’s younger generations. Of the 52.3 million eligible voters, nearly 44% belonged to Gen Z (18-26 years old) and millennials (27-42 years old)—the demographic that overwhelmingly backed the MFP’s progressive policies.

Their engagement contributed to a historic 75.22% voter turnout, one of the highest in Thai electoral history. Through a combination of digital mobilisation, targeted messaging and political activism, the MFP demonstrated how social media can break conventional information monopolies, empowering young voters to reshape national politics despite institutional resistance.

The Dark Side of Social Media

Social media in the hands of the youths can also be a double-edged sword. It can empower the people, but it can also be weaponised to deceive them. Nowhere is this more evident than in the whitewashing of corruption and dictatorship.

In the Philippines, the Marcos family turned social media into a propaganda machine, rewriting history and painting the brutal Marcos dictatorship as a “golden age”. YouTube and Facebook were flooded with revisionist content, downplaying human rights abuses and glorifying an era of plunder and oppression. This relentless online misinformation campaign worked—Marcos Jr. rode the wave of digital deception all the way to the presidency.

In Malaysia, Najib Razak, convicted for his role in the 1MDB scandal, used social media to rebuild his image. His “Bossku” persona on Facebook and Instagram transformed him from a disgraced leader into a man of the people. He posted selfies. He cracked jokes. He played the victim. Suddenly, he was not a kleptocrat anymore—he was a hero to many.

This is the terrifying power of social media. It does not just shape the present—it rewrites the past.

In the digital age, the erasure and rewriting of history through social media not only deceives the present but also imperils the integrity of future generations’ understanding of truth.

The youth of today are unshackled from the past. They do not carry the weight of old political battles or the emotional baggage of previous generations. History, to them, is not lived experience—it is content they consume online.

Just like how Marcos Jr. benefitted from a rewritten past, we see the same phenomenon in Malaysia with Anwar Ibrahim’s Reformasi movement. In 1998, Reformasi was a fiery rebellion against Mahathir Mohamad’s rule, marked by street protests, mass arrests and cries for justice.

For those who lived through it, Anwar was either a hero or a threat—there was no in-between. But for today’s youth, 1998 is not a memory, it is a hashtag. They see Reformasi not through the lens of those who fought for it, but through the narratives being shaped today.

The same Anwar who was once the face of resistance is now the prime minister, navigating compromises and coalitions. For the youth, the past is not set in stone—it is fluid, shaped by what trends, what gets shared and what is most convincing in the digital age.

Indonesia, ASEAN’s most populous democracy, is no different. President Prabowo Subianto’s transformation is nothing short of a political masterclass in digital rebranding. Once a controversial military figure, even banned from entering the United States, he is now Indonesia’s president—winning outright in the first round with 58.6% of the vote.

How? Social media magic. His campaign deployed the gemoy strategy, turning him from a feared general into an adorable, meme-worthy grandfather figure. Viral videos showed him dancing with his cat Bobby, AI-generated animations softened his image and TikTok flooded with content making him look fun, lovable, and approachable.

This was not just a campaign—it was a full-blown digital personality makeover. And it worked. Youth voters, who once saw him as a relic of the past, now saw him as their gemoy leader. In today’s politics, perception is reality—and social media decides both.

Final Reflections

The latest ISEAS survey in six Southeast Asian countries showed that young undergraduates rarely engage in political discussions online, with more than 50% of youths in five out of the six countries surveyed never or rarely discuss political or social issues online.

However, it fails to capture the nuances of youth activism.

Just because they do not actively post about politics does not mean they are apolitical or politically ignorant. More often than not, these youths are “lurkers” online—consuming hours of political content without actively posting. In fact, they are often more politically informed than older generations (the boomers), thanks to their constant exposure to digital information and reliance on social media as their primary news source.

This phenomenon becomes most evident during elections, when young people, once labelled as “politically disinterested”, suddenly mobilise in massive numbers to vote—often becoming the decisive force in political outcomes.

A local poll conducted just one month before Malaysia’s GE14 showed that more than 50% of youths were disinterested in politics. Yet, in less than 30 days, over 80% of young voters turned up to vote. Not only that, they also actively convinced their parents and grandparents to vote in their favour—triggering the greatest political upset in Malaysia’s electoral history.

All of these show that social media has become the new battleground for power. It can spark revolutions, rewrite history, elevate the fallen and bring down the mighty. It has given the youth of ASEAN a voice louder than ever before—a voice that can shape policies, influence elections and redefine national narratives.

But with great power comes great risk. The same platforms that expose corruption can also whitewash it. The same digital tools that empower democracy can also manipulate it.

The future of ASEAN will not be decided in old halls of power alone, but in the ever-evolving digital arenas where perception is reality and those who control the narrative control the future. The question is no longer whether social media matters—it is who masters it first.