There’s no denying that social media today is more than just dance trends or funny cat videos. It’s evolved and sort of mutated into a battleground for politics, influence, and control. It’s where narratives are built, opinions are swayed, and power is silently exercised.
As a 16-year-old growing up in a hyper-connected world, I’ve witnessed firsthand how platforms like TikTok can shift culture, spread ideas, and even spark movements. But now, as countries like the U.S. push to ban TikTok over national security concerns, I find myself asking: is this really about protecting people like me, or is there a deeper power struggle playing out behind the screens?
Let’s be fair—TikTok isn’t innocent. Owned by the Chinese company ByteDance, it collects an unsettling amount of user data: location, behavior, contacts, preferences—more than most people realize. Given China’s tight grip on corporate governance, concerns about government access aren’t far-fetched. In an age where cyber threats are real and data privacy is increasingly fragile, these concerns shouldn’t be dismissed.
But if it were only about data, why aren’t we seeing similar scrutiny toward U.S.-based platforms like Meta or Google, which also harvest oceans of personal information? Why does TikTok get the boot while other apps get a pass?
The truth, as uncomfortable as it might be, is that this conversation isn’t just about privacy. It’s about geopolitics. Power. Economics.
TikTok’s explosive success has disrupted the dominance of American tech giants. In banning it, governments aren’t just waving the flag of national security—they’re reclaiming control over digital influence. From an economic perspective—one I’m increasingly drawn to as an Economics student—the decision reveals a strategic calculation: In a global market where influence is currency, limiting a foreign competitor’s reach isn’t just defensive; it’s tactically advantageous. It’s quite simple: Stripping away TikTok. allows for American platforms to regain their grip, and data stays domestic. Market obviously shares rebound and the global narrative finally tilts back toward the West. While the ethical implications are worth questioning, the logic behind protecting domestic innovation and rebalancing digital power isn’t lost on me.
And the timing of these bans—aligned with rising U.S.-China tensions—makes it a reminder that in the arena of modern diplomacy, power isn’t always projected through force, but through precisely timed decisions
But the implications go even further. We’re watching the internet splinter, with different countries enforcing wildly different rules. Some censor, others ban, and others don’t seem to even care.
We’re moving toward a fractured digital world. This affects not just corporations but also ordinary people like me, like you, like any of us users who have grown up with social media as a consistent companion.
That’s the objective lens. Now, let me be real.
Do I believe banning TikTok was a good choice?
Yes. Unequivocally.
I say it because I’ve watched social media—TikTok especially—change the way people around me (and myself) think, or more accurately, stop thinking.
I’ve had classmates tell me that Google feels “too grown-up” or that research is “outdated.” Isn’t that insane?
Do we really want to live in a time where “research” means scrolling until the algorithm agrees with you? Are we okay with a world where “I saw it on TikTok” is now considered somehow a credible citation?
We’ve blurred the line between opinion and fact, between entertainment and education. TikTok, with its dopamine-hit design and echo-chamber algorithm, feeds us a stream of bite-sized content that requires no effort to digest and even less effort to question. And that’s dangerous.
Unlike TikTok, Google doesn’t hand you a single answer wrapped in a 30-second clip—it forces you to investigate, to compare sources, to decide for yourself. Yes, misinformation exists everywhere. But the act of searching, reading, and synthesizing is what builds critical thinking. TikTok just short-circuits that process. It replaces inquiry with consumption.
TikTok also falls short when it comes to authentic cogency. Unlike Google, which directs users to reputable sources, peer-reviewed journals, and detailed articles, TikTok‘s content is often created by everyday users without the same level of expertise or apprehension that professionals—published on Google—have. Not to mention the glaring absence of thorough fact-checking. The videos are also brief and typically lack the context necessary for a scrupulous grasp of a topic, which ultimately leads to misunderstandings.
Evidently, Google also requires a certain level of inspection and investigation when it comes to research but there’s no doubt that a carefully conducted indagation on Google is far more sustainable than..scrolling. Peer-reviewed doesn’t translate to “a lot of people liked it.”
Now before you start thinking I’m a grandpa shaking his fist at technology, I want you to take a moment to ponder and reflect: why do you choose TikTok or Instagram over Google? Why is it more appealing to you?
I’m not here to romanticize the past or reject the future. I’m part of this generation too. I use these platforms. But I’m also painfully aware of the way they reshape how we see the world—and how we see ourselves because it’s happened to me and it happens every time I open that “damn phone“.
That’s why I believe the TikTok ban is more than a political maneuver. It’s a wake-up call.
Because if we want a future where free thought, truth, and intellectual engagement still matter, we can’t keep outsourcing our opinions to algorithms. We can’t keep trading curiosity for convenience.
With TikTok, you’re not thinking—you’re consuming. Worse: You’re absorbing. Even subconsciously, your perspective is being shaped by whatever the algorithm decides to throw at you that day.
In conclusion, this girl here—well aware of the global bigger-picture agenda—firmly believes that banning TikTok really wasn’t that bad of an idea. Maybe Social Media really is the problem to more than we might think. A lot. More.