Twenty years ago, my day job was researching internet censorship, and my side hustle was advising activist organizations on internet security. I tried to help journalists in China access the unfiltered internet, and helped demonstrators in the Middle East avoid having their online content taken down.
Back then, unfiltered internet meant “the internet as accessed from the United States,” and most censorship-circumvention strategies focused on giving someone in a censored country access to a U.S. internet connection. The easiest way to keep sensitive content online—footage of a protest, for instance—was to upload it to a U.S.-based service such as YouTube. In early 2008, I gave a lecture for digital activists called “The Cute Cat Theory.” The theory was that U.S. platforms used for hosting pictures and videos of cat memes were the best tools for activists because if censorious governments blocked activist content, they would alienate their citizens by banning lots of innocuous content as well.
That was a simpler time. Elon Musk was a mere millionaire, only a few years removed from reportedly overstaying his U.S. student visa (he has denied working here illegally). Mark Zuckerberg was being mocked for wearing anonymous sweatshirts, not a $900,000 wristwatch. And the U.S. was seen as the home of the free, uncensored internet.
That era is now over. When Donald Trump is inaugurated on January 20, videos of his oath of office will flood YouTube and Instagram. But those clips likely won’t circulate on TikTok, at least not any clips posted by U.S. users. In April 2024, President Joe Biden signed a bipartisan bill, the Protecting Americans From Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications Act, designed to force TikTok to sell the Chinese-owned app to a U.S. company or shut down operations in the U.S. by January 19, 2025. Yesterday, the Supreme Court unanimously upheld the law. News outlets have reported that Trump is considering issuing an executive order to delay the ban, leading to speculation that Chinese officials might sell the platform to “first buddy” Musk. (Bytedance, the owner of TikTok, has dismissed such speculation.)
[Read: ‘I won’t touch Instagram’]
Whether or not that happens, this is a depressing moment for anyone who cherishes American protections for speech and access to information. In 1965, while the Cold War shaped the U.S. national-security environment, the Supreme Court, in Lamont v. Postmaster General, determined that the post office had to send people publications that the government claimed were “communist political propaganda,” rather than force recipients to first declare in writing that they wanted to receive this mail. The decision was unanimous, and established the idea that Americans had the right to discover whatever they wanted within “a marketplace of ideas.” As lawyers at the Knight First Amendment Center argued in an amicus brief supporting TikTok, the level of speech suppression that the U.S. government is demanding now is far more serious, because it would prevent American citizens from accessing information entirely, not just require them to get permission to access that information.
According to the Biden administration and its bipartisan supporters, TikTok is simply too dangerous for impressionable Americans to access. Solicitor General Elizabeth Prelogar’s national-security argument in defense of the ban was that “ByteDance’s ownership and control of TikTok pose an unacceptable threat to national security because that relationship could permit a foreign adversary government to collect intelligence on and manipulate the content received by TikTok’s American users,” though she admitted that “those harms had not yet materialized.” The Supreme Court’s decision explicitly affirms these fears: “Congress has determined that divestiture is necessary to address its well-supported national security concerns regarding TikTok’s data collection practices and relationship with a foreign adversary.”
We don’t yet know how TikTok users in the United States will respond to the ban of a platform used by 170 million Americans, but what happened in India might provide some insights.
My lab at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst studies content on TikTok and YouTube, and a few months ago, we stumbled on some interesting data. In 2016, videos in Hindi represented less than 1 percent of all videos uploaded that year to YouTube. By 2022, more than 10 percent of new YouTube videos were in Hindi. We believe that this huge increase was due not just to broadband improvement and mobile-phone adoption in India, but to the Indian government’s ban of TikTok in June 2020. As we examined Hindi videos uploaded in 2020, we saw clear evidence of an influx of TikTok refugees onto YouTube. Many of the newly posted videos were exactly 15 seconds long, the limit that TikTok put on video recordings until 2017. Others featured TikTok branding at the beginning or end of the video.
Like the U.S., India had cited national-security reasons for the ban, and it had a more defensible justification: India and China were then clashing militarily along their shared border. But TikTok was much more important to India than it is to the United States. We estimate that, when India banned TikTok in mid-2020, more than 5 billion videos had been uploaded to the service by Indian users. (Examining some of these videos, we see evidence that TikTok in South Asia might be used more as a videochat service to stay in touch with family and friends than as a platform for wannabe influencers.) Even now, more than four years after the ban, the only countries with more videos uploaded to TikTok than India are Pakistan, Indonesia, and the United States; we estimate that more than a quarter of TikTok-video uploads are from South Asia, while just over 7 percent are from the United States.
When those Indian TikTok creators were forced off the platform, new Indian short-video apps such as Moj and Chingari hoped to capture the wave of users. They were largely unsuccessful—none of these small start-ups has achieved visibility in India to compete with YouTube and Instagram, both well-financed, U.S.-based businesses. In effect, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s TikTok ban was a subsidy to the U.S. companies Google and Meta. It was also correctly seen as evidence of the Modi government’s retreat from global democratic values and toward a less open society.
Until recently, I’d expected the TikTok ban to have the same result in the U.S.: effectively creating a nationalist subsidy protecting domestic tech providers (who, oddly enough, have been lining up to donate to inaugural parties for the incoming administration). But American TikTok users are a creative bunch, and in the past week, enough of them have migrated to the Chinese social network Xiaohongshu—often translated as “Red Book” or “Red Note” in English—that the app now tops social-media-download charts on Android and iPhone operating systems. Xiaohongshu, initially created as a video travel guide to Hong Kong for mainland-Chinese tourists, has an interface that’s familiar to TikTok users, and Chinese users are welcoming American newcomers with a charming stream of invitations to teach conversational Mandarin or Chinese cooking, and tips on how to avoid censorship on the network.
[Hana Kiros: The internet is TikTok now]
Chinese and American users aren’t likely to share space on Xiaohongshu for long. The Chinese government has generally required service providers whose tools become popular outside China to bifurcate their product offerings for Chinese and other users. Weixin, the popular messaging and microblogging app in China, is a separate platform—WeChat—in the rest of the world. TikTok itself branched off from the domestic-Chinese network Douyin. And even if Beijing, sensing a great PR opportunity, allows TikTok refugees to remain on Xiaohongshu, the same logic that allowed Congress to ban TikTok would presumably apply to any other Chinese-owned company with potential to “collect intelligence on and manipulate” American users’ content.
Although I don’t think this specific rebellion can last, I’m encouraged that American TikTok users realize that banning the popular platform directly contradicts America’s values. If only America’s leaders were so wise.
When I advised internet activists on how to avoid censorship in 2008, I included a section in my presentation called “The China Corollary.” Although most nations could not easily censor social-media platforms without antagonizing their citizens, China was big enough to create its own parallel social-media system that met the needs of most users for entertainment while blocking activists. What I could not have anticipated was that Americans would find themselves fleeing their own censorious government for a Chinese video platform with tight content controls.
Trump might decide to get around the TikTok ban with an executive order stating that the platform is no longer a national-security threat. Or the Trump administration could elect not to enforce the law. Musk, Zuckerberg, or another Trump friend might purchase the platform. But for millions of Americans, the damage is done: The idea of America as a champion of free speech is forever shattered by this shameful ban.