The War on Porn

WASHINGTON—There’s something oddly quiet about a room that’s supposed to be filled with experts. You can almost hear the missing voices echo. That’s the feeling hanging over the Federal Trade Commission’s upcoming expert panel on age verification and its federal implications — a conversation that, on paper, looks serious and important, but somehow feels strangely incomplete.

Taking place at the Constitution Center, 400 7th St SW, Washington, D.C. 20024, on January 28, the panel will feature experts in age verification and online child safety, including representatives from organizations that have been openly critical of existing age verification proposals currently before Congress.

Glaringly, no companies or stakeholders from the adult entertainment industry or adjacent sectors were invited to sit on the panel.

Juliana Gruenwald Henderson, deputy director of the FTC’s Office of Public Affairs, declined to elaborate on why the panelists don’t include adult industry stakeholders, such as the Free Speech Coalition. She simply said in an email, “No comment.” It’s the kind of answer that lands with a thud — short, closed, and oddly loud in its silence — and it inevitably raises the question of whether bias is at play.

An anonymous source at the FTC confirmed that the decision not to involve adult industry firms was due to bias.

Further speculation only grows when key stakeholder groups share that the adult industry was iced out of planning and programming for the panels tied to the FTC event. That kind of exclusion has a way of shaping outcomes before the first microphone is even turned on.

A spokesperson for the Free Speech Coalition confirmed that the FTC never reached out to senior leadership at the coalition for input or to appear on Jan. 28. Not even a courtesy call. Nothing.

Expanding on the concerns of bias at the FTC, First Amendment attorney Corey Silverstein said in a text that the agency’s behavior in this situation doesn’t exactly come as a shock.

“This is a long-expected and goes hand in hand with the eventual federal age verification law,” Silverstein warned. “The FTC will be tasked with being the enforcement arm for federal age verification, and they want to be ready to hit the ground running.”

“I have no doubt that the FTC wants to determine for themselves which age verification technologies and providers they will deem acceptable,” he added.

Panelists named include several experts connected to organizations that have actively lobbied for age verification laws under the banner of “protecting minors.” That phrasing always sounds comforting — who could possibly argue with protecting kids? — but the motivations and downstream effects tend to get a lot messier once you zoom out.

For example, Clare Morell sits on a panel session called “Navigating the Regulatory Maze of Age Verification.” Morell is a fellow at the Ethics & Public Policy Center.

The center played a central role in Project 2025, an effort organized by the conservative Heritage Foundation. Project 2025 — tied to the administration of President Donald Trump — has openly pushed proposals aimed at banning pornography and revoking First Amendment protections for the category altogether. That context matters, even if it sometimes gets tucked quietly into the footnotes of policy discussions.

Also featured on the panel is Iain Corby, executive director of the Age Verification Providers Association (AVPA). Corby has long been a divisive figure in the adult industry space. He’s publicly supported free expression for adult companies — yet frequently aligns himself with anti-pornography groups. It’s the kind of tightrope act that leaves both sides uneasy.

Some stakeholders on the FTC panel include state-level regulators and lawmakers. For instance, Katherine Haas, director of the Utah Department of Commerce Consumer Protection Division, will speak on the same panel. Haas played a key role in the FTC complaint that was later settled against Aylo, the parent company of Pornhub, which maintains a U.S. headquarters in Austin, Texas, and operational hubs in California, primarily Los Angeles and San Diego.

Last September, Aylo reached a $5 million settlement with the FTC and the State of Utah tied to CSAM allegations stemming from compliance issues that predated the company’s acquisition by Ottawa-based private equity firm Ethical Capital Partners. Aylo did not respond to a request for comment on whether the company had been invited to speak on the FTC panel. It’s also worth noting that the only other stakeholders involved appear to be representatives from major technology firms and trade organizations, including officials from Google, Meta Platforms (Facebook and Instagram), Apple, and age verification companies such as industry heavyweight Yoti.

One expert, however, stands out from the rest of the lineup: Jennifer Huddleston, a technology fellow at the libertarian-leaning, free-market Cato Institute in Washington, D.C. True to the organization’s long-standing commitment to the First Amendment, Huddleston has openly raised concerns about age verification and the quiet social contract we’re being asked to sign — trusting massive corporations with deeply sensitive personal data just to exist online.

“There are broader debates about how to encourage the potentially beneficial uses of technology while protecting kids and teens from potential harms, but an approach that would require all users to verify their age or identity when logging on not only fails to resolve the concerns about kids’ and teens’ technology use but also creates a range of pitfalls related to privacy and speech for users of all ages,” Huddleston wrote in a 2025 op-ed for the Dallas Morning News.

And that’s the tension humming underneath this entire event: protection versus privacy, safety versus speech, certainty versus the uncomfortable gray areas we’d rather not sit with. When certain voices never make it into the room, the conversation doesn’t just become narrower — it risks becoming rehearsed. Sometimes the loudest warning isn’t shouted at all. It’s the silence you can’t quite ignore.

PHOENIX — There’s something jarring about waking up to the idea that an entire category of human expression could suddenly become illegal. Not regulated. Not filtered. Not nudged behind another age-gate wall. Just… gone. That’s the direction Arizona may be staring down after a member of the state House introduced a bill Wednesday that would make it illegal to produce or distribute adult content anywhere in the state.

Republican Rep. Khyl Powell’s HB 2900 would impose civil penalties for producing, publishing, selling, offering for sale, or commercially distributing pornography in Arizona, including via websites or digital services. It’s written in that broad, sweeping legislative language that always makes me pause — the kind that doesn’t just touch the margins, but tries to redraw the whole map.

The bill allows for civil penalties of up to $10,000 per violation, or per day in violation of the law. While the bill assigns enforcement to the state attorney general, it also allows private individuals to pursue civil action “in the name of” Arizona, in cases where the attorney general does not do so first. That little clause is the one that tends to keep lawyers up at night — the quiet invitation for citizens to become enforcers, neighbors to become watchdogs, and courtrooms to become battlegrounds.

Arizona already has an age verification law on the books, which took effect Sept. 26. But a total ban? That’s a different animal entirely. It bumps straight into long-standing legal precedent recognizing adult content as protected speech under the First Amendment. You can almost hear the constitutional gears grinding as soon as the idea hits the page.

Still, the push to ban adult content hasn’t come out of nowhere. Over the past year, it’s been popping up like political whack-a-mole across the country. In January 2025, an Oklahoma state senator introduced a bill that would criminalize all adult content and authorize the state to imprison those who create or even view it. In May, Republican Senator Mike Lee of Utah rolled out federal legislation aimed at redefining nearly all visual depictions of sex as obscene and therefore illegal — a goal also laid out in the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 policy blueprint, which has heavily guided the Trump administration’s agenda. Then in September, Michigan lawmakers floated a bill that would ban distributing pornography online in that state and require internet service providers to install filtering technology to block access for residents. It starts to feel less like coincidence and more like a coordinated drumbeat.

So far, though, reality has had a way of slowing the march. All three of those proposals appear to have stalled in their respective legislatures. HB 2900 has now been referred to the Arizona House Commerce and Rules committees, where it will either gather momentum — or quietly fade into the familiar legislative limbo. Either way, the bigger question lingers in the air: how far can lawmakers push before the Constitution pushes back? Sometimes the laws we propose say just as much about our fears as they do about our values.

Add Congressman Jimmy Patronis (R-Fla.) to the list of elected officials hellbent on repealing Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act.

In a press release issued January 14^th, Patronis celebrated his introduction of H.R. 7045, AKA the “Promoting Responsible Online Technology and Ensuring Consumer Trust” (PROTECT) Act.

The argument Patronis made in support of his proposal is a well-worn one, rooted in the notion that Section 230 is enabling evil tech platforms to ruin America’s children by shielding them from liability for things published by third parties on those platforms.

“As a father of two young boys, I refuse to stand by while Big Tech poisons our kids without consequence,” Patronis said. “This is the only industry in America that can knowingly harm children, some with deadly consequences, and walk away without responsibility. Big Tech is digital fentanyl that is slowly killing our kids, pushing parents to the sidelines, acting as therapists, and replacing relationships with our family and friends. This must stop.”

There’s a reasonable argument to be had about whether the courts have extended Section 230’s coverage too far in some cases, but to hear people like Patronis tell it, the statute’s safe harbor provision allows “Big Tech” to do anything it pleases with total impunity.

“These companies design their platforms to hook children, exploit their vulnerability, and keep them scrolling no matter the cost,” Patronis added. “When children are told by an algorithm, or a chatbot, that the world would be better without them, and no one is being held responsible, something is deeply broken. I bet they would actually self-police their sticky apps and technologies if they knew they would have to pay big without the Big Tech Liability Protection of Section 230.”

In his press release, Patronis claims that “Section 230 shields social media companies and other online platforms from liability for content published on their sites.” This claim is a half-truth, at best. Section 230 shields social media companies from liability for content published by others on their sites. That’s an important distinction, not a distinction without a difference.

Let’s try a thought experiment here: Let’s suppose you’re a congressman whose website permits users to post comments in response to things you post on the site. Let’s further suppose one of your site’s users decides to post something defamatory about another of your colleagues. Would you want to be held directly liable for that comment? How about if instead of something defamatory, the user posted something patently illegal, like an image of a child being sexually abused; is Patronis saying my hypothetical congressman ought to go to prison in that scenario?

There are many reasons why groups like the Computer and Communications Industry Association (CCIA) are against the repeal of Section 230 – and yes, one of those reasons is that the CCIA is funded by everyone’s current favorite boogeyman, Big Tech. Another more important reason is the people behind the CCIA can see where this is all heading, if Section 230 is outright repealed and no safe harbor at all is provided for those who offer forums in which users can publish their content and comments.

“In the absence of Section 230, digital services hosting user-created content, including everything from online reviews to posts on social media, would risk constant litigation,” the CCIA asserted in an analysis published January 12^th. “Continuing to provide services optimized for user experience would require massively increased legal expenses.”

How massively would those legal expenses increase? The CCIA said, given the sheer volume of user-generated posts published in a year, if “just one post or comment in a million led to a lawsuit, digital services could face over 1.1 million lawsuits per year following a Section 230 repeal.”

“A single lawsuit reaching discovery typically costs over $100K in fees, and sometimes much more,” CCIA correctly noted. “If companies face 1.1 million lawsuits, that’s $110 billion in legal costs annually.”

I suppose those who say Big Tech is the devil (while using the platforms enabled by Big Tech to say so) might think this is a good thing, I’m not sure they’ve thought this all the way through. If social media platforms can’t operate due to overwhelming legal costs, we lose all the good things about social media, too – not to mention a whole lot of jobs when those platforms inevitably go out of business.

From the perspective of the adult industry and those who enjoy adult entertainment, repealing Section 230 would likely spell the end of platforms allowing adult content creators to post self-produced content, as well. What platform would want to risk being held strictly liable for anything and everything depicted in the videos and photos adult creators produce? It would be absolute madness for platforms like OnlyFans and its competitors to maintain their current business model in the absence of Section 230 safe harbor.

Again, for those who think porn should be abolished, that development might be seen as a feature and not a bug where the idea of repealing Section 230 is concerned. But extend that same outcome to some platform they DO like – YouTube, TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, X or what have you – and they might not like the collapse quite as much.

From where I sit, the idea of repealing Section 230 should be accompanied by that old standby of a warning: “Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it.”

It starts with that familiar little jolt in the gut — the kind you get when a political idea lands a little too close to home. WASHINGTON — Rep. Jimmy Patronis of Florida has become the latest member of Congress to float legislation that would repeal Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, the rule that shields interactive computer services — including adult platforms — from being held responsible for user-generated content. One of those moments where you pause mid-scroll and think, Oh… this could get interesting. Or messy. Or both.

Patronis introduced HR 7045 in the House of Representatives earlier this week, slipping it into the legislative bloodstream where big ideas tend to either explode or quietly mutate over time. Sometimes you can almost hear the gears grinding behind the scenes.

A statement posted on his website declared, “For too long, the law has prevented parties harmed by online content from obtaining relief. Instead of protecting our younger generations from sensitive content, these sites prioritize profit over safety while continuing to push out harmful, explicit, and dangerous materials without any accountability.” Strong words, the kind that land heavy and don’t really leave much room for nuance.

Would-be reformers on both sides of the aisle have been taking swings at “Big Tech” for years now, accusing platforms of profiting off illegal and harmful content while hiding behind legal shields. The idea is to force companies to moderate more aggressively by making them legally responsible for what users post. Meanwhile, right-wing critics argue the same rule lets platforms censor conservative voices, and they want limits placed on how much moderation power these companies can wield. It’s like watching two very different fires being fueled by the same match.

Back in December, two other repeal bills were already making their way through Congress: HR 6746, the Sunset to Reform Section 230 Act, which would amend the law by simply adding, “This section shall have no force or effect after December 31, 2026,” and S 3546, which calls for a full repeal of Section 230 two years after enactment. The clock imagery alone makes you feel like something is quietly counting down in the background.

Industry attorneys and advocates, though, have been sounding alarms. They worry that once lawmakers start tinkering with Section 230, it opens the door to a patchwork of carve-outs — the kind that slowly chip away at protections, much like what happened with FOSTA/SESTA and its exemptions targeting sites that “unlawfully promote and facilitate” prostitution or sex trafficking. It’s rarely just one small change, is it? It’s the domino effect.

A carve-out aimed at — or even loosely touching — the adult industry would effectively gut Section 230 for those platforms. That would suddenly make sites hosting user-generated content legally responsible for what users upload, inviting a flood of civil lawsuits and uncertainty. And once that door cracks open, it’s hard not to wonder how wide it eventually swings.

Fifty percent. Just saying it out loud makes your eyebrows climb a little. Half of someone’s income — gone in the name of morality, politics, and a campaign soundbite. That’s the idea a Florida gubernatorial candidate tossed into the air this week, announcing plans to slap a 50 percent “sin” tax on OnlyFans creators if he wins in November.

James Fishback, an investor and a member of a far-right wing of the Republican Party, floated the proposal during an interview on a right-wing podcast called NXR Studios, released earlier this week. It wasn’t exactly whispered. It landed with the kind of confidence that suggests he wanted people arguing about it before the episode even finished buffering.

During the interview, Fishback framed the tax as punishment for what he called the “sin” of being an online sex worker, arguing that content creators on OnlyFans should be paying a special levy for existing in that space.

“As Florida governor, in year one, I would push for the first-of-its-kind OnlyFans sin tax,” Fishback said during the interview. “If you are a so-called OnlyFans creator in Florida, you are going to pay 50 percent to the state on whatever you so-called earn via that online degeneracy platform.”

He went on to say that part of the revenue from the proposed tax would be used to fund a “czar” for men’s mental health. Fishback explained, “Men have been told for far too long that they are guilty of masculinity, that they are guilty of all of society’s ills.” It’s one of those lines that sounds designed to travel fast on social media, whether people cheer or cringe.

Additional funds, he said, would also support education and religious nonprofit “crisis pregnancy centers” that aim to discourage women from having abortions. The list of beneficiaries reads like a snapshot of his political priorities.

In what felt very much like a social media provocation, Fishback later posted about the proposal on X, reposting another user who highlighted the idea of an OnlyFans tax. He didn’t stop there.

He tagged popular Miami-based OnlyFans creator Sophie Rain and wrote, “Hey Sophie Rain, Pay up or quit OnlyFans. As Florida Governor, I will not allow a generation of smart and capable young women to sell their bodies online.” Rain, known for her viral presence and softcore content, fired back shortly after.

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There’s a certain tension in rooms like this — the kind where lawmakers sit around long tables, coffee going cold, talking about the internet as if it were a living thing that keeps slipping out of their hands. That mood hovered in the air Wednesday as Ireland’s Joint Committee on Arts, Media, Communications, Culture and Sport gathered to wrestle with online platform regulation and digital safety, including renewed calls for tougher age verification rules for adult sites.

In a written statement submitted ahead of the session, Detective Chief Superintendent Barry Walsh, who leads the Garda National Cyber Crime Bureau, didn’t mince words about what he described as “the widespread and unrestricted availability of pornography.”

“As an overarching observation, it is difficult to understand why robust age verification is not yet a standard operating procedure in respect of any platform where pornography or other child inappropriate content is either readily accessible or where there is a realistic danger that it could be accessed,” Walsh argued. “This would appear to represent a very simple, yet robust, safeguard.”

He went further, pointing to what he called “very extreme pornography that is serving to corrupt teenage males in particular into regarding this as normal, acceptable sexual behavior to be expressed in practice” — language that mirrors recent arguments from U.K. lawmakers who’ve pushed to outlaw depictions of “choking” in adult content. It’s the kind of claim that lands heavy in a room, even if everyone hears it differently depending on where they’re standing.

Ireland already has an Online Safety Code, which took effect in July 2025 and includes a requirement that adult sites headquartered in the country implement age assurance measures. On paper, at least, the framework is already there.

Sites based outside Ireland aren’t off the hook either. They fall under the European Union’s Digital Services Act (DSA), with digital service coordinators across member states working together to enforce rules, including age assurance obligations. It’s a bit like a cross-border relay race — everyone’s running, but the baton keeps moving.

The European Commission has already launched formal proceedings against several adult sites for suspected DSA breaches, though the spotlight has largely been on higher-traffic platforms so far.

In December, however, a representative from Irish media regulator Coimisiún na Meán told legislators that regulators across the EU were preparing to widen enforcement to include smaller adult sites as well. Some Irish lawmakers reportedly pushed for even tougher age verification laws, pointing to France’s Law Aiming to Secure and Regulate the Digital Space (SREN) as a possible template.

That sentiment surfaced again during Wednesday’s meeting when Senator Rónán Mullen doubled down, telling fellow committee members: “Strict age verification is necessary to shield children from the harmful effects of pornography.”

“That’s the only thing that has worked,” Mullen said. “Look at certain states in the USA where, with bipartisan support, pornography providers have gone offline because they were civilly or criminally liable if they did not ensure strict age verification.”

His argument echoes a familiar line from U.S. lawmakers who often point to site withdrawals as proof that these laws are “effective” or “working” — a claim that quietly assumes the real goal is stopping everyone from accessing adult content, not just minors. It’s one of those uncomfortable subtexts nobody quite says out loud, but you can feel it humming under the conversation.

Not everyone in the room was convinced the strategy holds up in the real world. Deputy Peter Cleere raised the practical problem of virtual private networks, which can make age verification systems easy to sidestep.

“It makes a mockery of all the regulations we want to put in place,” Cleere said. “We’re going in circles.”

And maybe that’s the lingering question — are these policies actually building safer digital spaces, or are they just drawing tighter circles around a problem that keeps slipping through the cracks?

There’s something oddly symbolic about a digital front door. You don’t see what’s inside yet. You pause. You decide whether you’re allowed in. That’s essentially the vision being pushed now, as U.K. regulator Ofcom laid out new guidance on where and how adult sites should place age checks under the Online Safety Act.

In a statement posted on its website, the agency noted that while adult sites have been experimenting with different ways to position age checks, Ofcom’s preferred method is a so-called “front gate,” where users encounter “a blank landing page, with no content visible until they have completed the age check.”

The agency considers this to be the safest and most compliant way to handle age gating — basically, no peeking through the curtains before you prove you’re old enough to be there.

Other approaches to age assurance are still allowed, the agency added, as long as they truly prevent children from seeing pornography before hitting the age check. For instance:

Blur gate. If a site opts to use a “blur gate,” where users see only blurred images before the age check, the blurring must be “sufficiently strong and across enough content to ensure that the content is not pornographic.” Not a polite fog — more like a real visual wall.

Image gate. A site using an “image gate,” where users can see clearly visible images but must click a thumbnail to reach an age check, has to ensure that the images and preview videos shown beforehand are not pornographic. In other words, curiosity can’t be rewarded too generously.

In-video gate. A site using an “in-video gate,” where users see thumbnails with clearly visible images and may even watch parts of videos before being sent to an age check, would need to make sure that any video content available before the check is not pornographic. That gray zone? It’s getting a lot smaller.

Ofcom’s statement also makes it clear that content doesn’t have to show nudity or explicit sex acts to qualify as pornographic. Sometimes the tone, framing, or intent tells the real story — anyone who’s ever scrolled the internet for more than five minutes knows how slippery that line can be.

“When deciding what content is suitable to include before an age gate, services should refer to our guidance on pornographic content, considering the wider context of their site and whether the images or videos are accompanied by sexually explicit language in titles, for example … What matters is whether it is reasonable to assume the content was produced principally for the purpose of sexual arousal,” the statement clarifies.

The statement concludes, “We will continue to engage with and monitor the adult sector to identify and address non-compliance, including whether services’ placement of the age check is compliant.”

Which really translates to this: the front door is being watched, the rules are tightening, and the era of half-open windows and blurred excuses is quietly coming to an end.

Back in the early 1970s, the Minnesota legislature altered the state’s sales tax such that it created a “use tax” on the cost of paper and ink, while exempting the first $100,000 worth of such materials in any calendar year.

In part due to that exemption, the use tax clearly was directed at the state’s larger periodicals, including the Minneapolis Star Tribune. The Star Tribune wasn’t simply one of eleven publications incurring tax liability under the statute in the early 70s; of the $893,355 in total tax revenue collected under the statute in 1974, the Star Tribune paid $608,634 – roughly two-thirds of the total revenue collected.

The Star Tribune sued the Minnesota Commissioner of Revenue, alleging that the state’s tax scheme violated the First Amendment. The resulting case, Minneapolis Star & Tribune Co v. Minnesota Commissioner of Revenue, was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1983.

The Supreme Court ruled in favor of the newspaper, holding that the “main interest asserted by Minnesota in this case is the raising of revenue” and that while this interest was “critical to any government,” it wasn’t, by itself, enough for the law to survive scrutiny under the First Amendment.

“Standing alone, however, it cannot justify the special treatment of the press, for an alternative means of achieving the same interest without raising concerns under the First Amendment is clearly available,” Justice Sandra Day O’Connor wrote for the court, “the State could raise the revenue by taxing businesses generally, avoiding the censorial threat implicit in a tax that singles out the press.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Star Tribune case since first reading about SB 73, a new bill in Utah proposed by State Senator Calvin R. Musselman. There was a time when the 1983 decision would have given me confidence that Musselman’s bill wouldn’t survive court scrutiny, assuming it becomes law in the state. After the Supreme Court’s decision last summer in Free Speech Coalition v. Paxton, however, I’m a lot less certain.

Granted, there’s not a perfect analogy between the Minnesota law at issue in the Star Tribune case and the bill proposed in Utah, nor between the 1983 case and the Paxton case. But what has me feeling uneasy is the readiness of the current Supreme Court to throw aside precedent and impose a lower standard of review in cases where material alleged to be “harmful to minors” is at issue.

It’s not just reasonably well-informed laymen like me who are uncertain, either. In recent adult industry media coverageabout the Utah bill, litigators who are experts in the First Amendment were divided in their analysis, as well.

Speaking to XBIZ, attorney Larry Walters of FirstAmendment.com pointed out that in one recent case, “the Georgia Supreme Court upheld a 1% gross revenue tax on adult entertainment establishments in the face of a constitutional challenge.”

“But the court reasoned that the tax was justified not based on the entertainment content produced by the businesses, but on the alleged ‘adverse secondary effects’ of physical adult establishments, such as prostitution and child exploitation,” Walters noted, adding that there are “no recognized adverse secondary effects of online adult entertainment businesses. Accordingly, the Utah bill, if adopted, could be subject to a constitutional challenge as a violation of the First Amendment.”

Walters also observed that the Utah bill also could have trouble for it looming in the form of the Dormant Commerce Clause, which limits states’ ability to pass legislation that discriminates against of unreasonably burdens interstate commerce.

Walters’ colleague Corey Silverstein, commenting for the same article, was less optimistic.

“After the state-by-state pummeling of AV laws, this is only the beginning of another new trend of anti-adult and anti-free-speech laws that the entire industry needs to prepare for,” Silverstein said, also predicting that a challenge to the Utah bill, should it become law, would be unlikely to succeed.

One thing is certain: The Utah “porn tax” bill won’t be the end of state governments seeking to impose further regulatory burdens on the adult entertainment industry. Emboldened by their success in establishing age verification requirements, state legislatures across the country can be relied upon to cook up additional hurdles to put in the path of adult businesses, performers, content creators and anyone else engaged in expressing themselves through sexually explicit materials.

Something strange started rippling through a small, niche corner of the internet not long ago. Developers who build mods and plugins for hentai games and even interactive sex toys began waking up to missing repositories, locked accounts, and dead links. GitHub, the place many of them had treated like home base, had quietly pulled the rug out. No warning. No explanation. Just… gone.

From conversations within the community, the rough headcount quickly took shape: somewhere between 80 and 90 repositories, representing the work of roughly 40 to 50 people, vanished in a short window. Many of the takedowns seemed to cluster around late November and early December. A large number of the affected accounts belonged to modders working on games from Illusion, a now-defunct Japanese studio known for titles that mixed gameplay with varying degrees of erotic content. One banned account alone reportedly hosted contributions from more than 30 people across 40-plus repositories, according to members of the modding scene.

What made the situation feel especially surreal was the silence. Most suspended developers say they were never told which rule they’d broken—if any. Their accounts simply stopped working. Several insisted they’d been careful to stay within GitHub’s acceptable use guidelines, avoiding anything overtly explicit. The code was functional, technical, sometimes cheeky in naming, but never pornographic. At least, not in the way most people would define it.

“Amongst my repositories there were no explicitly sexual names or images anywhere in the code or the readme, the most suggestive naming would be on the level of referencing the dick as ‘the men thing’ or referencing the sex as ‘huffing puffing,’” one developer, Danil Zverev, told me. He makes plugins for an Illusion game called Koikatsu. Zverev said he’s been using Github for this purpose since 2024, but on November 18, his Github page was “completely deleted,” he said. “No notifications anywhere, simply a 404 error when accessing the page and inability to log in on the web or in the mobile app. Also it does not allow me to register a new account with the same name or email.”

The timing raised eyebrows. GitHub had updated its acceptable use policies in October 2025, adding language that forbids “sexually themed or suggestive content that serves little or no purpose other than to solicit an erotic or shocking response, particularly where that content is amplified by its placement in profiles or other social contexts.” The policy explicitly bars pornographic material and “graphic depictions of sexual acts including photographs, video, animation, drawings, computer-generated images, or text-based content.”

At the same time, the policy leaves room for interpretation. “We recognize that not all nudity or content related to sexuality is obscene. We may allow visual and/or textual depictions in artistic, educational, historical or journalistic contexts, or as it relates to victim advocacy,” GitHub’s terms of use state. “In some cases a disclaimer can help communicate the context of the project. However, please understand that we may choose to limit the content by giving users the option to opt in before viewing.”

The Anti-Porn Crusade That Censored Steam and Itch.io Started 30 Years Ago

Keywords and tags have never been a useful metric for distilling nuance. Pushing for regulations based on them is repeating a 30-year history of porn panic online.

SAMANTHA COLE

Zverev didn’t bother appealing. He said writing to support felt pointless and chose instead to move on to another platform. Others tried to fight it—and found themselves stuck in limbo.

A developer who goes by VerDevin, known for Blender modding guides, utility tools, and plugins for the game Custom Order Maid 3D2, said users began reporting trouble accessing his repositories in late October. Oddly, he could still see his account when logged in, but not when browsing while logged out.

“Turned out, as you already know, that my account was ‘signaled’ and I had to purposefully go to the report section of Github to learn about it. I never received any notifications, by mail or otherwise,” VerDevin told me. “At that point I sent a ticket asking politely for clarifications and the proceedings for reinstatement.”

The response from GitHub Trust & Safety was vague and procedural: “If you agree to abide by our Terms of Service going forward, please reply to this email and provide us more information on how you hope to use GitHub in the future. At that time we will continue our review of your request for reinstatement.”

VerDevin replied the next day, agreeing to comply and offering to remove whatever GitHub considered inappropriate—despite still not knowing what that was. “I did not take actual steps toward it as at that point I still didn’t know what was reproach of me,” they said.

A full month passed before GitHub followed up. “Your account was actioned due to violation of the following prohibition found in our Acceptable Use Policies: Specifically, the content or activity that was reported included multiple sexually explicit content in repositories, which we found to be in violation of our Acceptable Use Policies,” GitHub wrote.

“At that point I took down several repositories that might qualify as an attempt to show good faith (like a plugin named COM3D2.Interlewd),” they said. GitHub restored the account on December 17—weeks later, and just one day after additional questions were raised about the ban—but never clarified which content had triggered the action in the first place.

Requests for explanation went unanswered. Even when specific banned accounts were flagged to GitHub’s press team, the response was inconsistent. Some accounts were reinstated. Others weren’t. No clear reasoning was ever shared.

The whole episode highlights a problem that feels painfully familiar to anyone who’s worked on the edges of platform rules: adult content policies that are vague, inconsistently enforced, and devastating when applied without warning. These repositories weren’t fringe curiosities—they were tools used by potentially hundreds of thousands of people. The English-speaking Koikatsu modding Discord alone has more than 350,000 members. Another developer, Sauceke, whose account was suspended without explanation in mid-November, said users of his open-source adult toy mods are now running into broken links or missing files.

“Perhaps most frustratingly, all of the tickets, pull requests, past release builds and changelogs are gone, because those things are not part of Git (the version control system),” Sauceke told me. “So even if someone had the foresight to make mirrors before the ban (as I did), those mirrors would only keep up with the code changes, not these ‘extra’ things that are pretty much vital to our work.”

GitHub eventually reinstated Sauceke’s account on a Tuesday—seven weeks after the original suspension—following renewed questions about the bans. Support sent a brief note: “Thank you for the information you have provided. Sorry for the time taken to get back to you. We really do appreciate your patience. Sometimes our abuse detecting systems highlight accounts that need to be manually reviewed. We’ve cleared the restrictions from your account, so you have full access to GitHub again.”

Even so, the damage lingers. In Sauceke’s account and others, including the IllusionMods repository, release files remain hidden. “This makes the releases both inaccessible to users and impossible to migrate to other sites without some tedious work,” Sauceke said.

Accounts may come back. Repositories might be restored. But for many developers, the trust is already gone—and that’s the kind of thing that doesn’t reinstall quite so easily.

GitHub isn’t just another code host—it’s the town square for open-source developers. For adult creators especially, who are used to being quietly shoved to the margins everywhere else, visibility there actually matters. It’s how people find each other, trade ideas, and build something that feels bigger than a solo side project. “It’s the best place to build a community, to find like-minded people who dig your stuff and want to collaborate,” Sauceke said. But if this wave of bans stretches beyond hentai game and toy modders, they warned, it could trigger a slow exodus. Some developers aren’t waiting around to find out, already packing up their repositories and moving them to GitGoon, a platform built specifically for adult developers, or Codeberg, a nonprofit, Berlin-based alternative that runs on a similar model.

It didn’t happen slowly. It wasn’t subtle. Within the past month, legal Nevada sex workers have been hit with a sudden, sweeping wave of account suspensions on X, the platform once known as Twitter. Not for doing anything illegal. Not for soliciting crimes. These are licensed workers, operating in the only state where brothel-based sex work is legal — and yet their voices are vanishing from a platform that once wrapped itself in the language of free speech.

That promise came straight from Elon Musk himself when he set his sights on buying Twitter. At the time, he framed the platform as something almost sacred, saying:

“Free speech is the bedrock of a functioning democracy, and Twitter is the digital town square.”

He followed that with another line meant to reassure skeptics:

“By ‘free speech’ I simply mean that which matches the law.”

By that definition, Nevada sex work clearly qualifies.

Prostitution is legal in Nevada when it takes place inside licensed brothels, as outlined in Nevada Revised Statutes 201.354. Counties are empowered to license and regulate these brothels under Nevada Revised Statutes 244.345, while workers comply with additional health and safety standards set by the state. At present, six counties operate legal brothels. This isn’t a loophole or a gray area — it’s a fully regulated, lawful industry.

At first glance, it might look like X is simply enforcing broad rules around adult content. But the reality cuts deeper. When legal Nevada sex workers lose their accounts, they’re erased from public conversation — conversation that increasingly lives and breathes on platforms like X. What’s left behind is a so-called “digital town square” where only certain voices are allowed to stay standing.

Nevada sex workers understand exactly what’s at stake when they’re shut out. Not long ago, anti-brothel groups attempted to dismantle the legal system through ballot initiatives. When voters heard directly from sex workers, those efforts failed — decisively. In the 2018 Lyon County referendum, for example, nearly 80 percent of voters rejected a proposed brothel ban.

That wasn’t an accident. When sex workers are able to speak publicly, explain how the licensed system actually functions, and share their lived experiences, people listen. Voters learn about the safeguards, the structure, and why legal brothels exist in the first place — not from headlines or fear campaigns, but from the people inside the system.

Silencing those voices on X means the public hears less from those with firsthand knowledge. Anti-sex-work narratives remain visible, amplified, and largely unchallenged. The workers most affected by stigma and policy decisions fade into the background.

This isn’t just about clumsy algorithms sweeping up adult content. It’s about who gets to participate in conversations that can shape laws, livelihoods, and lives. Platforms don’t just host debate — they quietly curate it by deciding who stays and who disappears.

When licensed Nevada sex workers are removed from social media, the public square stops reflecting reality. The debate tilts. The story becomes one-sided. And the people whose livelihoods are on the line — most of them women — lose the chance to speak for themselves.

Maybe that’s the most unsettling part. If this can happen to a group operating legally, transparently, and within the law, it raises an uncomfortable question: who’s next when an algorithm decides a voice is inconvenient?