Behind the hashtags: what we owe our children

When I first heard about the sinister game called "Blue Whale" back in 2016, I treated this news, which was spreading, as is usual in our information age, at the speed of sound, rather skeptically.

At that time, personally for me and my close circle, such an initiative did not pose any special danger—my son or niece were still at that age when children’s birthday parties are attended by animators entertaining a crowd of overexcited children, while parents frantically grab chilled drinks straight from portable coolers to catch their breath, and children's makeup artists paint cute kittens or lion cubs in Simba's style on the little faces, and those willing to help the young birthday child unwrap gifts sometimes get into little battles among themselves.

Almost ten years have passed, and I come across a disturbing news story about a new game called "Red Dolphin" and its influence on teenagers with fragile psyches. That boy, who once happily ran around the room waving a laser sword (which my husband and I had made the day before from polyethylene swimming noodles, previously purchased at Decathlon), imagining himself a Jedi from "Star Wars," has grown up and turned into a typical teenager who acts defiantly, locks himself in his room, and, of course, cannot live without his phone, laptop, and gaming console.

Digitalization has confidently entered my home, and, as with all parents concerned about their children, we have a whole lot of questions about the influence of screens on the immature prefrontal cortex of teenagers' brains, the amount of time they spend in virtual reality, the influence of social networks, and much more.

This time I carefully read the content of a news public page and feel a growing wave of anxiety. In Almaty, two girls jumped off the roof of a multi-story building. One of them is the daughter of a well-known ecologist, head of the ECO Network project, Evgeny Mukhamedzhanov, and artist Balkhia. From the monitor screen, a young, slender girl with a curly mop of hair looks at me. A copy of her father, but with a shyer smile. A girl from a prosperous family. The pride of her parents.

This suicide case last year immediately began to accumulate a lump of guesses, urban legends, and gossip. I hear for the first time about the so-called challenge game "Red Dolphin"—a sort of sequel to the infamous "Blue Whale," which entered the history of society’s social phenomenon thanks to the tasks that teenagers received from “curators” on social networks, with increasing complexity, controlling behavior and thoughts, mainly aimed at self-harm, causing fear, anxiety, and a sense of threat, reducing teenagers' psychological resilience.

Until Rina Palenkova (real name Renata Kambolina¹) from the distant city of Ussuriysk (about 60 km from the border with China) posted on the social network "VKontakte" a selfie against the background of train rails with the inscription "Nya. Bye ²," the world knew nothing about the "Blue Whale," nor about the "Death Groups³," nor about death groups. Soon Rita was gone, and her image served as a kind of icon for depressed teenagers, widely circulated and even inspired some enterprising businessmen to create a whole product line with the slogan "Nya. Bye."

Why did it become so viral? And if the photos from the scene had not been leaked, would this avalanche of information have occurred? And what if, subsequently, the administrators of various groups on social networks had not spread the information that allegedly the girl belonged to a sect or a special secret community, thus romanticizing her image and exploiting the heightened interest in death among teenagers?

Tracks with this name can still be found on Amazon Music or avatars created by Rina’s fans on Pinterest. On TikTok, there are videos shot at her grave, and the Russian TV show "Bitva extrasensov"—an analogue of Britain’s Psychic Challenge, famous and scandalous due to its format where so-called "hereditary witches, sorcerers, and shamans," whose paranormal abilities are tested in various quests—even invited the girl’s mother to their show, who honestly shared her pain with the psychic and the host. For several years, she received dozens of letters daily, including insulting ones, reminding her of her child’s death.

It is hard to imagine what this woman had to endure, whose daughter became a memetic element of online mythology related to teenage suicides, the virtual aesthetics of pain, and the romanticization of death. Nevertheless, the desire to monetize this pain and rewrite it based on a staged script for a wider audience looks quite cynical.

At the same time, on "VKontakte," the game "Blue Whale⁴" began to spread, promoted by so-called "death groups"—a typical form of an Alternate Reality Game (ARG). But perhaps the most resonant was the publication by Galina Mursalieva about "death groups" in "Novaya Gazeta⁵," which begins with this paragraph:

We could not fail to publish this text, despite the 'slipperiness' of the topic from the point of view of Russian law, despite its extreme gravity. But this text must be read by all parents, to have time to save their children from a fatal step, to learn to recognize the slightest symptoms of the impending tragedy, to advise other parents, teachers."

The author then states that "children in social networks are worked on systematically and deliberately, step by step, pushing them to the last line."

What were the rules of the "Blue Whale" game? The game’s name is not accidental—blue whales sometimes commit suicide by simply beaching themselves. The game scheme is simple: a user posts in any of the "death groups" some hashtag like #IamInGame, #IWantInGame, #BlueWhale, #f57, #SeaOfWhales, #DeathGroup, etc., and then a so-called "curator" contacts them. The child is explained the rules of the game—to wake up every day at 4:20 AM and perform a task, providing photo or video evidence.

The tasks themselves involve pressure on the psycho-emotional state, watching horror movies all day or listening to depressive music. Also, there are tasks to inflict physical pain on oneself, for example, making blade cuts on the arm. If a person is ready to apply physical pain, it means they are ready for the next step. The child is assigned to run in front of a car or climb a crane, which eventually dulls the sense of fear. The final, 50th task involves suicide, which becomes easy to decide on after psychological zombification.

This phased scheme relies on mechanisms well known in sects and cult programming: sleep deprivation, pressure, isolation, reward for obedience, and punishment for refusal. The manipulation is designed to suppress personal will and create the illusion that the child is making the choice independently—although it is a controlled process.

Subsequently, the editorial office of "Novaya Gazeta" was accused of immature material and lack of evidence, to which management was forced to respond: it is only an essay intended to make society think about the problem of teenage suicide.

But this was quite enough for the "Streisand effect⁶" to work—a social phenomenon expressed in that an attempt to remove certain information from public access only leads to its wider distribution, usually via the internet.

State supervisory bodies and the social network itself joined the fight against suicidal content, deleting communities and posts containing hashtags "Blue Whale," "Quiet House," "Sea of Whales," "F57," and "4:20," and parents rushed to check for images of butterflies and whales on their children’s phones.

But the genie was already out of the bottle. And if before this event only a certain layer of teenagers was interested in subcultures like sad girls, soft grunge, and gothics, then after the publication of the rather frightening text in "Novaya Gazeta," media interest in society towards the "Blue Whale" grew a thousandfold.

In the body of this story, conspiracy and ideological growths begin to sprout. The media construction of the story begins. "These are skillfully built zombifying mechanisms, a cunningly planned attack, ultimately, a world conspiracy!"—many "experts" unequivocally declared on TV screens in 2017. Internet manager of the company Megafon, Anton Elizarov, accused Ukrainian nationalists of "creating death groups and liquidating Russian teenagers⁷."

Notably, the Ukrainian side, in turn, suspected Russian security forces, as reported by Alexey Minakov on Site.ua. Governor Morozov wrote that these groups are much more dangerous than the Islamic State,⁸ and Islamologist Galina Khizrieva did not rule out the possibility that these "death groups" may be controlled by terrorists for destructive purposes.⁹

Meanwhile, while adults were pontificating, debating, drafting laws, banning, or making money on such sensational events, a wave of teenage suicides swept many countries of the world: India, China, Egypt, Iran, Kenya, Paraguay, Tunisia, etc.

Even in Spain, located on the opposite side of the world from distant Ussuriysk, a similar case occurred. A minor from Gipuzkoa who committed suicide last year became a victim of two crimes of incitement to suicide via the internet: one through the so-called "Blue Whale challenge" and the other as part of an international collective suicide organized by a 17-year-old teenager from Argentina.

This case is generally mentioned in the Basque Country Prosecutor’s Office report for 2018, which states that the Gipuzkoa Prosecutor’s Office initiated two separate cases on this fact and transferred them by jurisdiction to the prosecutors of Barcelona and Argentina, since both minors suspected of incitement to suicide lived there¹⁰.

In November 2016, Philipp Budeykin, also known as Philipp Lis, as he called himself on social media, was detained in Russia. He was investigated for involvement in the deaths of more than 15 teenagers across the country. However, he was tried for driving two underage girls to attempt suicide; both girls ultimately survived. The court sentenced Budeykin to 3.4 years of imprisonment in a penal colony settlement.

After his release, he remains convinced that he did nothing wrong and blames the journalists of Novaya Gazeta for everything that happened to him. "If she hadn’t published her story about the 'death groups,' none of this would have happened. There would have been no "Blue Whale," Philipp Budeykin told RTVI. "I probably wouldn’t even have been in prison," he added.

Another administrator of such groups is Alexander Glazov. He is one of those prosecuted in 2017-2018 for cases related to the "Blue Whale" game and "death groups." Glazov himself is from the Moscow region. At age 34, he joined the "Blue Whale" group on the social network VKontakte. There, he began carrying out tasks assigned by the curator: he inflicted injuries on himself and sent selfies from dangerous places. The game had a total of 50 levels. The last one involved committing suicide. Glazov explained his participation to the investigator by saying that he himself has children and wanted to reach the creators of the game. However, he soon got involved and allegedly became a victim of the curators himself, who, when he refused to commit suicide, forced him to encourage teenagers to commit suicide. Glazov was detained, and soon after, he joined the PMC Wagner Group to participate in combat operations in Ukraine.

The paradox of this story is that now he is not the curator of a dangerous online community of adults who toyed with teenagers but a veteran of the “special military operation” (SMO), having lost fingers and an eye in the war, who now holds meetings with Russian schoolchildren—the very same children he posed a danger to a few years ago—on the topic "Where patriotism begins.”

Three months after losing her daughter, Balkhiya Mukhamedzhanova presented an exhibition of her works titled The Whirlpool, which included portraits of Aisha. On a round canvas is a touching image of a young girl resting her cheek on her hand. She is curled up, her lush curly hair scattered on the pillow. The child is sleeping sweetly.

In these paintings, behind each delicate stroke of gentle lilac color—which reminds me of hydrangea shades, soft yet vulnerable—there is an incredible pain of a mother’s loss and relentless search for answers.

What triggered the teenager’s tragic act?

Were children playing online challenges?

What was happening with Aisha’s emotional state?

What kind of informational content did these girls consume before that made them write “they felt unwanted”?

Can adults help such children avoid splitting between virtual reality and real life, encouraging them to come for advice, support, and consultation?

Why do such games appear?

Undoubtedly, adolescence is a period of maximum vulnerability: self-search, emotional instability, and experimentation. The digital environment provides unprecedented opportunities for communication but at the same time creates spaces for various manipulations and isolation.

Manipulators exploit psychological vulnerabilities by immersing teenagers in a toxic environment where fear and control become tools of pressure. Such a context requires not only adult supervision but also understanding of the mechanisms underlying these phenomena.

What can we, adults, do to help a confused teenager?

On the one hand, prevention involves a complex of measures aimed at developing digital literacy, teaching stress resilience, and fostering emotional intelligence. Psychological support for teenagers must go hand in hand with open, trusting dialogue between parents and children. Supervision is important, but without trust, it becomes a barrier, not protection.

On the other hand, machine learning algorithms can quickly process large volumes of data, detecting posts with signs of dangerous or harmful content. This goes beyond just recognizing keywords or phrases—models take into account message context, emotional tone, frequency and nature of user interactions with the platform, and behavioral patterns such as sudden changes in activity or interactions. Based on this data, systems can, with high probability, identify that a person needs support and automatically offer help resources or connect them with professional services.

It is important not to forget that "Blue Whale" once caused a powerful wave of attention from the media, government bodies, and social services, which on the one hand helped reveal risks, but on the other—inflated panic and conspiracy theories.

While "Red Dolphin," being more of a new wave on the same issue with an updated "brand" and context, periodically appears in news public groups, the digital world continues to develop rapidly. And tomorrow there may be a new game, a new idol, or a new name. But the essence remains the same—trauma, pain, and loneliness of teenagers become grounds for hype, political speculation, media noise, and moral panic.

The question is not whether a "death group" really exists, but how we adults, parents, teachers, and journalists also indirectly participate in its creation, amplification, or even monetization. Every click, every headline, and every panic post on Telegram contributes to this process.

Perhaps it’s time to admit the fight should not be against the "game" but against its media embodiment. Against the system that turns tragedies into shows and suffering into viral content.

Because the real death group is not on social media. It is in our helplessness, indifference, and ignorance.