When Paramount Skydance outbid Netflix to acquire Warner Brothers (WB) Discovery in February, many film fans celebrated. Netflix, they thought, would apply their streaming model to future WB content, delivering a fatal blow to the fragile movie theater industry. However, Paramount’s acquisition was the worse outcome simply because it is a poorly run business. When CEO David Ellison took over Paramount in 2025, he promised that he would have 15—and eventually 20—theatrical releases per year. In 2026, there are only 11 films on the slate, and they are not all going to theaters. Combining the four films Paramount has released in theaters so far in 2026 (Primate, Scary Movie (2026), Scream 7, and Jackass: Best and Last), the studio has grossed roughly $500 million since January at box offices worldwide (however, this figure does not take into account the movies’ marketing and production budgets). Other major studios—such as Disney, Universal, Lionsgate, and Amazon MGM—have released individual films this year that have far surpassed the total of Paramount’s 2026 slate thus far. Even WB, which is not among these studios, broke box office records last year and still has highly anticipated films like Dune: Part Three on the way. In comparison, Paramount’s lineup is rather lackluster. As a fan of both movies and movie theaters, I do not want Ellision’s Paramount handling the extensive IP and catalog of Warner Brothers when they cannot even handle their own. As it turns out, film fans may not have to worry about Ellison getting a chance to drive another cinematic giant into the ground. In mid-July, 12 State Attorney Generals filed a joint lawsuit alleging that the pending Paramount-WB merger would constitute a monopoly under the Clayton Act, which prevents mergers that “substantially lessen competition.” On July 20th, a federal judge put a 14-day restraining order on the deal until a preliminary injunction hearing can take place on August 3rd. During the hearing, the Court will decide whether to pause the deal indefinitely until the suit is judged upon. Though an injunction is not guaranteed, Judge Araceli Martínez-Olguín’s language implies that it is more than likely, claiming “the Court is persuaded that it can presume the proposed merger is likely to violate antitrust laws.” If the merger is indefinitely paused via an August 3rd injunction, then Ellison will feel the weight of his poorly crafted deal with WB. Without any delays, the combined entity of WB and Paramount would emerge with approximately $80 billion in debt. However, if the deal does not go through by September 30th, and it most definitely will not if an injunction is granted on August 3rd, Paramount will have to pay WB shareholders roughly $7 million every day the deal remains unfinished. Furthermore, David Ellison’s financial backing for this deal comes from father Larry Ellison’s Oracle, which is currently in freefall at the stock market. With looming costs and no way to pay for it, Paramount may have to cut its losses and back out, leaving WB independent. This outcome would not just be cause for celebration for film fans, but great for capitalism and its defenders. There are two basic arguments for a free market that are supported if Ellison’s merger fails: 1. Competition is good for the economy—and capitalism facilitates competition; 2. Businesses do not need hyperregulation because the market itself will punish poor decisions. The first point is applied easily. If WB and Paramount—two industrial giants with control over movie studios and cable news channels—stay separate, then their products can compete with each other. The second point is, admittedly, more difficult to apply. If the merger fails, it will not be solely because of the market, but antitrust laws and regulations as well. However, I would argue that the disastrous costs of a lawsuit, which Ellison should have seen as a possibility, are self-imposed because of his agreement to the aforementioned $7 million per day fee. He deserves to fail for his oversight, for relying on the unstable backing of his father’s money, and for trying to buy another film studio when he cannot productively operate the one he already has. As a businessman, Ellison has made bad choices and the negative consequences are in accordance with those choices. That is how capitalism is supposed to work, and David Ellison’s failure will reaffirm that function.
By Jack Jurjans
I was doing an assignment for one of my political science classes, and I came across a question regarding the ethical implications of certain experiments. The given example was an experiment investigating the connection between exposure to political advertisements (X) and individual voting outcomes (Y). The experimental design in this hypothetical consisted of researchers buying ad space on Facebook and randomly showing different political advertisements to users. When I was thinking about the potential ethical implications of this scenario, I came up with a few, what I thought were obvious concerns: privacy, informed consent, and the broader effects on a country’s political climate. Thinking about it further, however, I realized that this situation actually does happen in real life, albeit not as an experiment, and no one really deems it “unethical” at all. Many corporations use purchased ad space to appeal to particular political audiences, and these practices rarely receive the same ethical scrutiny. Maybe it isn’t for an investigative purpose, but it is often for profit or some other benefit. Isn’t that also exploitative? To answer that question, let’s examine how these practices relate to the same ethical concerns raised by our hypothetical experiment. Regarding privacy, social media platforms already use data to target users with specific content, and corporations that purchase ads benefit from this. Most people don’t realize that the consequences of this go far beyond TikTok showing you videos of cats because you like cats, for example. Social media platforms keep their users in a bubble based on what they interact with and what they don’t. Algorithms keep evolving to tailor content more specifically to individual users through features such as “Not Interested” or “Rate This Content.” Essentially, even though social media platforms are not conducting research in the same way as the hypothetical experiment, their algorithms are the product of ongoing research and experimentation that continuously refine how content is delivered based on users’ preferences and behavioral data. Additionally, when you consent to using a social media platform, you legally consent to what that platform shows you. Therefore, informed consent is complicated in the case of social media political advertisements, much like in our hypothetical experiment. While users technically consent to the platform’s terms of service, few understand the extent to which their data are used to personalize political content. People know that advertisements exist, but they are not necessarily aware of who is behind them, why they are being shown to them, or what purpose they are meant to serve. Legal consent and meaningful informed consent are not necessarily the same thing. I’m not saying that all political media comes with a nefarious motive, but it is imperative that we understand who is trying to influence our thinking, voting, and overall civic participation, and why. Social media platforms and outside corporations that purchase advertisements are aware of the popularity of social media, the impact it has on users’ thinking, and the features of the algorithms they use. Furthermore, there are some advertisements that don’t really seem like advertisements at all. There are explicit political advertisements, but there are also many forms of media that carry more implicit political agendas, allowing corporations to reap the financial and cultural benefits of reactive content, arguably more successfully than through explicit messaging. People are less likely to dismiss or criticize implicitly political content than content that is obviously meant to sway them in a certain direction. Politically charged content, especially when it relates to sensitive topics, often provokes strong emotional reactions, making it more likely to receive clicks and, consequently, generate more profit. Therefore, it is beneficial for companies to appeal to particular political audiences based on what will result in the most engagement, profit, reputational benefit, or other advantages. Additionally, this is even more rewarding for companies because people often expect popular companies, especially their favorite ones, to take a stand on specific issues. Plus, the large-scale consequences that present concerns in our hypothetical are still present in reality, as social media is the main source of political news for a significant portion of adults—48% of those aged 18–29 and 40% of those aged 30–49, according to the Pew Research Center. Consequently, it is plausible to say that social media has a significant impact on users’ individual votes and political views, which, in turn, affects the broader political climate of a nation. Moreover, we’ve established that, in most cases, political material is targeted based on users’ activity and demographics, not randomly assigned. So, what is more ethically dubious in this case: random or targeted political content? The algorithmic targeting of political material is concerning because most people are kept in a bubble on social media, rarely exposed to contradictory material and constantly exposed to content that reinforces their existing views. Consequently, it is plausible that the average social media user is more likely to question political advertisements that are both explicit and random rather than those specifically tailored to them. Social media has become a relatively new arena for political campaigning, and the rules governing it are still evolving. In an environment where misleading or even entirely false content can spread rapidly, the ability to target users with personalized political messaging raises important ethical questions about how opinions are shaped and reinforced. One could argue that people would likely be alarmed if they found out that a group was conducting research on how they vote by randomly exposing users to political advertisements. As we’ve seen, existing political advertisements raise many of the same ethical concerns as our hypothetical experiment. So why are political advertisements purchased by corporations seeking to profit from people’s social media engagement not considered a problem? Why is it not an issue that they have access to users’ data in order to target them with the content they are most likely to engage with? One explanation is that this has become so normalized that we’ve been conditioned not to see this level of interference as a problem. Unlike academic experiments, which are explicitly
By Madeleine Harp
When Facebook or Instagram suddenly stops working, the first reaction of many users is no longer, “The app must be down.” Instead, people rush to X and ask, “Is Facebook down?” or “Is anyone else unable to log in?” Within minutes, thousands of similar posts appear. Shortly afterward, news organizations confirm whether it is a global outage. The pattern has become common whenever platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, or WhatsApp experience technical problems. It shows how deeply social media has become part of daily life. However, the panic is not only about losing access for a few minutes. For many users, the first fear is far more personal: “Has my account been suspended?” That fear did not exist at this scale a decade ago. Today, social media accounts are more than places to share photos. They are businesses, news platforms, portfolios, and sources of income. Millions of journalists, small business owners, educators, activists, artists, and content creators depend on these platforms to reach their audiences. Losing an account can mean losing years of work, thousands of followers, and in many cases, a livelihood. The numbers explain why this matters. More than 5.4 billion people worldwide use social media, according to DataReportal’s 2026 Global Digital Report. Facebook alone has over 3 billion monthly active users, while Instagram has more than 2 billion. YouTube reports over 2.7 billion monthly users, and TikTok serves more than 1.8 billion users globally. These platforms are no longer optional communication tools—they are part of the world’s digital infrastructure. Content moderation has also reached an enormous scale. Meta’s Community Standards Enforcement Reports show that the company removes millions of pieces of content every quarter for violating its policies. YouTube similarly removes millions of videos, while TikTok reports taking down millions of accounts and videos through automated systems and human review. Artificial intelligence now performs much of the initial detection before human moderators review many cases. Automation has obvious benefits. AI helps platforms remove terrorist propaganda, child exploitation material, scams, spam, and violent content far faster than human moderators alone could. According to Meta, the majority of hate speech and harmful content is now detected before users even report it. That has made online platforms safer in many respects. However, automation is not perfect. Creators, journalists, and ordinary users frequently report that their accounts or posts are removed by mistake. Some regain access after an appeal, while others never receive a clear explanation. The appeals process is often slow, automated, and difficult to navigate. For someone whose income depends on a social media account, even a temporary suspension can have serious financial consequences. The concern is not whether platforms should moderate content. They absolutely should. Without moderation, social media would quickly become flooded with scams, abuse, harassment, and illegal content. Most users support removing genuinely harmful material because it creates a safer online environment. The real issue is consistency and transparency. Users often struggle to understand why one post is removed while another containing similar or even more offensive content remains online. Community guidelines are publicly available, but applying them consistently across billions of posts every day is an enormous challenge. When decisions appear inconsistent, trust in the platforms declines. Transparency should improve alongside enforcement. Users deserve to know exactly which rule they violated, what evidence led to the decision, and how they can effectively appeal it. Independent reviews, clearer explanations, and faster appeal systems would make moderation more accountable without weakening efforts to combat harmful content. Social media companies have become some of the world’s most profitable businesses by creating global digital communities. With billions of users relying on their platforms for communication, business, education, and public debate, they also carry enormous responsibility. Protecting users from harmful content is essential—but so is protecting legitimate voices from unfair or unexplained censorship. The next time Facebook or Instagram experiences an outage, millions will again rush to X asking whether the problem is global. That trend exposes something important: people are not just worried about losing an app for a few minutes. They are worried about losing their digital identity, their audience, and their voice. So the challenge is no longer choosing between free expression and moderation. The challenge is ensuring that moderation is transparent, consistent, and fair.
By Suzzy Majumder
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