TikTok creators warning of economic impact of any ban
Alex Pearlman shut the door on dreams of a standup comedy career almost a decade ago, pivoting from the stage to an office cubicle and a customer service job.
Then he started posting random jokes and commentary about pop culture and politics on TikTok. Just over 2.5 million followers later, he quit his 9-to-5 and recently booked his first nationwide tour.
Pearlman is among the many TikTok creators across the U.S. outraged over a bipartisan bill passed last week by the House that would lead to a nationwide ban of the popular video app if China-based owner ByteDance doesn’t sell its stake. The bill needs to go through the Senate, where its prospects are unclear.
Content creators say a ban would hurt countless people and businesses that rely on TikTok for a significant portion of their income, while also arguing that TikTok has become an unrivaled platform for dialogue and community.
Pearlman, who lives outside Philadelphia, said TikTok has transformed his life, allowing him to live a dream, provide for his family and spend the first three months of his newborn son’s life at home. His customer service job offered paternity leave equivalent to three weeks off, with two weeks paid.
“I don’t take a day for granted on this app, because it’s been so shocking,” said Pearlman, 39. “In reality, TikTok has been the driver of American social media for the last four years. Something will step into that place if TikTok vanishes tomorrow. Whether or not that will be better or worse, Congress has no way of knowing.”
TikTok, which launched in 2016, has skyrocketed in popularity, growing faster than Instagram, YouTube or Facebook. The push to remove the app from Chinese authority follows concerns from lawmakers, law enforcement and intelligence officials about the insecurity of user data, potential suppression of content unfavorable to the Chinese government and the possibility that the platform could boost proBeijing propaganda, all of which TikTok denies.
To date, the U.S. government hasn’t provided any evidence showing that TikTok shared U.S. user data with Chinese authorities.
Jensen Savannah, 29, of Charlotte, North Carolina, began making TikToks of her travels around the Carolinas during the pandemic. Now a full-time influencer, she has tripled her income since leaving a sales job.
“‘Social media influencer’ is almost to be looked at as the new print and the new form of radio and TV advertising,” she said. “It’s going to bring your dollar much farther than it is in traditional marketing.”
Some creators describe it as a digital equalizer of sorts, providing a platform for people of color and other marginalized groups to get opportunities and exposure.
“I’ve always had Twitter, I’ve had Facebook, I’ve had Instagram. But TikTok was the first one where, if you want to find somebody who looks like yourself and represents you in any type of way, you can find it,” said Joshua Dairen, a Black 30-year-old content creator in Auburn, Alabama. Dairen makes videos about his state’s ghost stories, urban legends and history.
Exposure on TikTok has led to jobs writing freelance pieces and contributing to documentaries about paranormal occurrences and unsolved mysteries. The app also gave Dairen the flexibility and confidence to open a coffee shop, where he gets visits at least once a day from fans of his work.
He thinks banning TikTok sets “a dangerous precedent about how much power our highest levels of government can wield.”
Pearlman said he has long feared politicians would come after TikTok. He compared the experience of finding out about the House vote to getting the call that an ailing loved one has died.
“The part that’s disturbing to me is, I feel like for a lot of Americans, TikTok and social media in general is a release valve — it’s kind of become a default complaint box,” he said. “So to many people, it feels like they’re trying to ban the complaint box instead of dealing with the complaint.”