The US-China Mirror: TikTok, National Security, and Techno-Nationalism

[Dr Henrique Marcos is a lecturer at the Foundations of Law Department, Faculty of Law Maastricht University]

This text is inspired by the discussions held at the event “Whatever Happened to TikTok” organised by the Law & Popular Culture Network at Maastricht University Faculty of Law in February 2025.

In this post, I discuss the recent ban and subsequent unbanning of TikTok in the United States (US), drawing parallels with China’s own digital restrictions to highlight a growing pattern of techno-nationalism. I argue that both governments claim a moral high ground to justify excluding certain platforms under the banner of national security, creating a mirror image of tactics on each side. I question whether these security concerns are genuine or serve primarily as a means of consolidating power and pursuing economic advantage. I conclude by calling for a different look at US–China techno-rivalries to determine how real these national security threats are—and what broader interests they might conceal.

TikTok’s Ban and Unbanning in the US

In April 2024, the US Congress passed the ‘Protecting Americans from Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications Act’ ordering TikTok’s Chinese parent company, ByteDance, to divest its US operations by 19 January 2025 or be banned outright in the US. ByteDance appealed against the Act, but on 6 January, the US Supreme Court  upheld it, rejecting the appeal, thus upholding the divestment order and reinforcing the strict deadline.  As 19 January drew near, TikTok suspended its US services. On the following day, President-elect Donald Trump signalled his readiness to delay the ban. Soon after taking office, he signed an  Executive Order extending ByteDance’s divestment deadline by 75 days, ostensibly to allow negotiations. As a result, the new deadline is set for 5 April 2025.

President Trump’s decision to revive TikTok in the US appears to be shaped by several strategic considerations . In his first term, Trump pushed for a ban, citing national security risks. However, heading into his second term, he reversed course and pledged to postpone the ban to allow a ‘security deal.’ Political self-interest may have played a significant part in this change of heart. Trump himself acknowledged TikTok’s influence on younger voters, who likely helped him secure his recent electoral victory. His strong presence on the platform—amassing millions of followers—only reinforces TikTok’s political value. There is also an economic angle: US companies could acquire a major stake in TikTok, offering lucrative opportunities. Trump has mentioned interest from firms such as Microsoft, expressing a wish for competitive offers to secure the most favourable outcome.

Manufacturing Consent

The TikTok controversy offers a snapshot of how powerful interests direct and constrain public discourse on technology. At first glance, the US rhetoric of ‘protecting national security’ seems credible, particularly when mainstream media unquestioningly repeat it. Yet, on closer examination, we see similar mechanisms at work in China’s own restrictions on foreign platforms, highlighting a symmetric structure of propaganda and self-interest on both sides. For years, Beijing’s ‘Great Firewall’ has kept platforms like Facebook, YouTube, and Google out of reach, purportedly to shield China from hostile outside influences. At home, official narratives paint foreign media giants as tools of Western power that spread misleading or destabilising information. Government messages dominate mainstream Chinese outlets, which faithfully echo official pronouncements on the dangers of ‘foreign subversion.’

Western commentary on China’s digital controls often labels them as hallmarks of authoritarian governance—perhaps justly so, given the many constraints on open debate. Yet this rhetoric risks sliding into a convenient self-portrait of Western nations as defenders of political freedom. In practice, the US has employed strikingly similar measures against firms like ByteDance, Huawei, and Kaspersky (I will return to the latter two shortly). Mentions of ‘national security threats’ rarely come with clear evidence; instead, they often seem designed to safeguard domestic influence and protect national industries. Just as in China, mainstream US media outlets bolster these policies by framing them as necessary shields against an external menace. 

This is the essence of what Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky call a ‘propaganda model’: elite institutions and commercial media converge around compatible narratives, cultivating public support by casting foreign adversaries in an ominous light. Whether we consider Beijing’s justifications for restricting US platforms or Washington’s rationale for banning Chinese technologies, both cases demonstrate a shared reliance on fear of the ‘Other’ to validate sweeping controls. Whether invoked as a defence of social harmony or a bid to protect users’ interests, the underlying method of ideological control remains much the same.

The Techno-Nationalistic Mirror

The propaganda model does not belong to one type of political system. In fact, when US media repeatedly invokes ‘national security’ in discussions on TikTok and elsewhere, the language strongly resembles China’s own rhetoric. In both states, these carefully constructed narratives may serve to divert attention from domestic power structures. Meanwhile, local industries reap the benefits of reduced foreign competition. China’s WeChat, Baidu, and Weibo, thrive without Western rivals. Likewise, US efforts to ban or forcibly divest TikTok further consolidate the market positions of established Silicon Valley companies. 

Mainstream commentary often misses the reality that both major powers—China and the US—are engaged in a parallel process: each employs national security claims to justify excluding foreign platforms. Chinese officials insist they are defending national sovereignty, but seldom acknowledge the domestic apparatus of state control or the marginalisation of dissent. Meanwhile, the US repeatedly condemns China’s authoritarian tactics yet remains quiet about its own surveillance practices, extrajudicial data collection, and restrictions on foreign-owned technologies.  

At the heart of these reciprocal bans is techno-nationalism—the view that technological innovation and digital infrastructures are key to national power. Home-grown tech firms are more than mere businesses; they are strategic assets vital to defending national security and extending geopolitical influence. The objective is not only to limit overseas competition but also to foster domestic platforms capable of dominating local markets and, ideally, expanding globally.

Take the case of Kaspersky, a Russian cybersecurity firm. In 2017, the US Department of Homeland Security barred federal agencies from using Kaspersky products, citing concerns that the company might share data with Russian intelligence. Then, in June 2024, the Bureau of Industry and Security at the US Department of Commerce expanded these restrictions by banning Kaspersky from offering its security software to consumers in the US. Yet again, these decisions rest on alleged threats rather than clear, verifiable evidence. Nonetheless, they illustrate how ‘national security’ serves as a powerful instrument to expel a foreign competitor from key portions of a domestic market.

Huawei’s experience in the US runs a similar course. After initial prohibitions targeting its telecom equipment in 2019, successive administrations introduced policies that effectively blocked Huawei from partnering with US companies or rolling out its 5G technology. While some temporary licences permitted limited activities, these licenses were repeatedly allowed to expire or came under new scrutiny, leaving Huawei’s prospects in the US in constant doubt. The Federal Communications Commission went so far as to label the company a high-stakes security threat, and the Department of Commerce revoked export licenses for businesses supplying semiconductors to Huawei. It is easy to see that these moves also serve domestic economic aims by giving US telecom competitors a marked advantage—once again illustrating how techno-nationalist logic blends commercial and strategic goals under the banner of national security.

Techno-nationalism is equally visible in the field of ‘green’ technologies. The US has introduced tough measures on Chinese green tech, citing both security and economic concerns—particularly safeguarding US workers and businesses from China’s ‘unfair trade practices’. In May 2024, the Biden administration announced higher tariffs on solar wafers, polysilicon, and tungsten products imported from China. Tariffs on solar wafers and polysilicon rose from 25% to 50%, while certain tungsten products moved from zero to 25%. The US also imposed tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles (EVs) and lithium-ion batteries, with duties on Chinese EVs quadrupling from 25% to over 100%—an action designed to bolster domestic EV production and reduce dependence on Chinese imports. In response, China imposed export controls on critical raw materials vital for ‘green’ industries. In December 2024, Beijing banned the export of gallium, germanium, and antimony to the US, targeting key inputs for semiconductors and solar cells. China also tightened limits on graphite exports, an essential component of electric vehicle batteries.

Final Remarks

The notion of a moral divide between the ‘free’ Western societies and the ‘oppressive’ Non-Western regimes often obscures how both sides consolidate control over technology. Each side brandishes the rhetoric of protecting their citizens, yet both pursue the goals of maintaining influence, shaping information ecosystems, and forestalling competition. Viewed through this lens, the debate over TikTok becomes less about legitimate national security concerns and more about control of the global information system.

Recognising these parallels is the first step towards challenging simplistic narratives that paint one side as entirely good and the other as entirely evil. But this requires acknowledging our own role in these processes: every time we uncritically accept one side’s national security rhetoric, we validate the other side’s symmetrical claims. In doing so, we tacitly reinforce a system in which power remains concentrated in the hands of political elites and allied corporations.

When viewed in isolation, the TikTok debate might appear a straightforward case of US techno-nationalism. Yet, set against the wider backdrop of mutual prohibitions, reciprocal bans, and parallel propaganda models, it points to a structural convergence between China and the US. Rather than a clear moral divide, we find two powerful states mirroring each other’s tactics and rationales, repeatedly invoking national security as a blanket defence for digital exclusion. Ultimately, this should serve as a warning: if we fail to interrogate these policies with equal rigour on both sides, we risk propping up an international order where genuine public debate remains conveniently confined, and the real beneficiaries of the ‘national interest’ are those already holding power.