When the State Digitises Childhood, Who Protects the Child?

Muskan Sharma
Muskan Sharma
Research Analyst- Policy & Advocacy, CyberPeace
PUBLISHED ON
Oct 10, 2026
10

"India’s digital public infrastructure promises inclusion and efficiency. But when essential services depend on handing over data, children become legible to the state long before anyone listens to them."

India’s digital transformation deserves much of the praise it gets. Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI) has taken public services to people at a scale few countries have managed. Still, one question gets less attention than it should: what happens when the state’s wish for a neatly administered citizen starts to override the rights of a child?

Aditi Pillai takes this up in From Principle(al) to Practice: The Child as a Datafied Digital Citizen in India’s Digital Public Infrastructure. She doesn’t argue against digital infrastructure. Her point is that its claim to serve the public can’t be separated from the power it holds over the people enrolled in it. The most obvious example is children. When they are persons with rights today, they run the risk of being reduced to administrative categories, data points and future projections. A child’s citizenship is suspended until adulthood. These days, identity, privacy and agency are important but digital governance frequently views childhood as something that needs to be tracked, controlled and maximised. 

Protection without participation

Pillai’s sharpest idea is what she calls “double paternalism.” She uses 49-story completion responses from parents who completed brief hypothetical situations regarding enrolling a child in a computerised system, as well as expert interviews. Her focus is on how parental and institutional power reinforce one another and prevent kids from making decisions about their own online life. 

Consider the Automated Permanent Academic Account Registry (APAAR), which provides a permanent academic identification for every student. Consolidating records may well help administrators. The harder questions are whether enrolment is truly voluntary, whether refusing carries a penalty, and whether a family can question how data is collected and linked without risking the child’s schooling.

The answers weren’t encouraging. Many parents either accepted enrolment despite their reservations or viewed it as a requirement that wasn’t worth challenging. Out of the 48, only four exhibited aggressive resistance and just one admitted that the adolescent in the scenario might have a voice. It is not appropriate to interpret this little qualitative study as a statistical representation of Indian parents. Nevertheless, it implies that there was never a choice and that obedience may be mistaken for informed agreement. 

That is the double edge. The state compels, or strongly nudges, parents to enrol their children. Parents then decide on the child’s behalf without involving them. Both layers claim to protect the child’s interests, and the child’s own voice is missing from both.

When convenience becomes compulsion

It is easy to treat digital systems as neutral tools. They aren’t. Every system embodies decisions about what is collected, which records are linked, who can see them, and what happens to someone who can’t or won’t comply.

Pillai points to what can follow when educational records are tied to identity systems. Persistent data trails can expose children to long-term profiling. Rigid identification rules can shut out those whose lives don’t fit the institutional template: children without reliable documents, those who have left abusive homes, those who can’t provide valid biometrics.

There is an irony here. A system built to make citizens more visible to the state can make its most vulnerable citizens less visible as people. When a child can’t meet the system’s requirements, the result is often exclusion, not accommodation.

All of this does not imply that India should abandon digital infrastructure.The true debate is whether people’s freedom of choice, privacy and equitable access should be sacrificed for efficiency.  A system can’t call itself inclusive if participation is compulsory in practice and the exceptions are badly designed.

Parents can’t carry this alone

Pillai also names “potentiality risk,” the worry that data gathered in childhood will quietly shape future opportunities, reputation or identity. A school record can outlast the circumstances that produced it. A bad year, once logged, may follow a student if institutions come to read them through a permanent digital profile.

Parents are left in an impossible spot. They are expected to guard their children against risks they may not fully understand and have little power to control. Responsibility slides from the institutions that build and run these systems to the families who must live with them. That is a weak form of accountability. Parental consent can’t justify every kind of data processing involving a child, and parents shouldn’t have to bargain one by one with schools or authorities when the alternative is losing an essential service.

The Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023, treats children as a distinct category of data principals and requires verifiable parental consent, subject to its provisions and rules. That is a start. The deeper question remains: does a child-focused data regime only regulate what adults decide about children, or does it also leave room for children’s own evolving views and abilities? Protection without participation can turn into control by another name.

From data subjects to digital citizens

Pillai’s strategy is built on two interconnected concepts: a rights-based perspective of data justice rooted in the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) and participatory digital citizenship.

In actuality, this entails consulting kids before systems are developed rather than after. Parents need clear information and practical options to raise concerns about enrolment. Accessible grievance procedures, real alternatives when necessary and safeguards against exclusion are all necessary for institutions. Collection and linking of data should be proportionate to a legitimate purpose with clear accountability for how it is used later. Above all, the child’s best interests should be a standard that actually governs decisions, not a phrase invoked to excuse administrative convenience.

India’s digital ambitions and children’s rights don’t have to collide. A public system is best judged by how it treats the people least able to challenge it. The real test of a digital state is not how many people it can enrol or connect, but whether they keep their dignity and agency once inside. Children should not end up as records to be maintained or risks to be managed. They are citizens now, and their rights matter now.

References

  1. Aditi Pillai, ‘From Principle(al) to Practice: The Child as a Datafied Digital Citizen in India’s Digital Public Infrastructure’ (2026) 22(2) Indian Journal of Law and Technology, Article 3. DOI: 10.55496/NFYV5618.
  2. Digital Personal Data Protection Act 2023, s 9.
  3. United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (adopted 20 November 1989, entered into force 2 September 1990) 1577 UNTS 3.
  4. Government of India, ‘G20 New Delhi Leaders’ Declaration’ (2023).

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PUBLISHED ON
Oct 10, 2026
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