In theory, yes — and many of us quietly assume they are. The hard truth is that, in most homes, no one is. Some parents don't know the device exists; some don't understand what's on it; many feel out of their depth with the technology and don't know where to begin. Others assume the yeshiva has it covered. The result is the same: a vacuum where the help should be.
And the vacuum does not wait. While each side assumes the other is handling it, the talmid is left alone with a nisayon that is far bigger than he is. Nobody asked him. Nobody offered him a way out. The silence itself teaches him that this is something he must carry by himself, in shame.
It helps to remember why parents stall, because it isn't carelessness. A parent who raised a child often can't picture that same child struggling, and the conversation feels like an accusation against their own home. The technology moves faster than they do, and the shame attached to the topic makes even loving parents go quiet. None of that is the talmid's fault, and none of it makes the danger smaller.
As mechanchim, we are already in his life every single day. He trusts us, he wants our approval, and he listens to us in ways he sometimes can't listen to his own parents. That access is not a burden we happened to inherit — it is exactly why the responsibility lands with us. If we wait for someone else to step in, we are waiting for the one thing that, for most of these boys, is not coming.