We are told, with the usual sanctimony, that Vincent’s parents drove him to online grooming with their perpetual dissatisfaction. ‘Never good enough,’ they whispered into his young soul until he sought validation from the first digital predator who offered a kind word. As UK child safety laws are now hurriedly reviewed, I find myself less surprised by the predators than by the parents.
We have created a culture of relentless competitive parenting, a middle-class arms race where children are assets to be optimised, not souls to be nurtured. Vincent’s story is a parable of modern Britain: a child starved of unconditional love, force-fed ambition, and left to the wolves of the internet. The state will now tinker with legislation, adding another layer to the already labyrinthine child safety bureaucracy.
But no law can mandate a parent to simply say, ‘I love you as you are.’ We have outsourced morality to regulators and forgotten that the real battleground for a child’s safety is the kitchen table. Vincent’s tragedy is not a failure of law but a bankruptcy of love.
And until we admit that, every new review is merely a footnote to our collective moral decay.
