AT A GLANCE
- TikTok’s U.S. operations were officially separated from its Chinese parent company, ByteDance, and placed under new American-led ownership.
- Users began reporting content restrictions tied to immigration enforcement, political speech, and direct messages.
- TikTok denies censorship claims, attributing disruptions to a data center power outage.
- Creators, activists, and organizers are increasingly migrating to alternative platforms.
In 2025, TikTok Users Held Mock Funerals for the App as It Faced a U.S. Ban. Users Are Now Leaving Due to New Ownership
This time last year, TikTok users staged mock funerals for the app as lawmakers pushed toward a U.S. ban, briefly sending the platform offline and igniting fears that one of the internet’s most influential spaces for culture, news, and organizing was coming to an end. The app survived that moment, returned to service, and continued operating much as it always had. In 2026, TikTok is still online—but many users are leaving anyway.
The shift follows the formal separation of TikTok’s U.S. operations from its Chinese parent company, ByteDance, and the completion of a deal placing the American version of the app under new U.S.-based ownership. The transition was framed by federal officials as a national security solution, but for users who built audiences, movements, and livelihoods on the platform, the change has felt abrupt and destabilizing.
Within days of the deal closing, users began reporting unusual behavior on the app. Videos referencing Immigration and Customs Enforcement struggled to upload or were delayed in review. Some creators said their posts were receiving little to no visibility, while others noticed that certain terms—such as “Epstein”—appeared to be blocked in direct messages. Screenshots of error messages and “ineligible for recommendation” notices spread quickly across social media.
TikTok now censors the word “Epstein” when mentioned in DMs by users in the U.S.
— Pop Base (@PopBase) January 27, 2026
Currently, the word is not being filtered for users in the United Kingdom and other parts of the world. pic.twitter.com/XA1Kye6mIq
TikTok pushed back on claims of censorship, saying the disruptions were caused by a power outage at a U.S. data center that affected TikTok and other apps it operates.
The company apologized for the service interruption and said it was working to restore full functionality. Even so, users reported lingering issues into Monday, including stalled uploads, unusually low views, and accounts temporarily restricted after posting political content.
The timing intensified suspicion. The technical problems coincided with a wave of posts responding to the killing of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis during an immigration enforcement operation. As outrage spread, many users attempting to post criticism of ICE or the Trump administration said they encountered glitches or moderation barriers.
For some, the outage explanation felt insufficient, particularly as the problems appeared to cluster around politically sensitive content.
The weekend disruptions became the first major test of TikTok under its new U.S.-based leadership, and for many creators, it was a bad first impression. Journalists, political commentators, and organizers compared experiences across platforms, with several saying they had never seen their reach drop so sharply or unpredictably. The concerns were amplified by high-profile figures and celebrities, who publicly suggested that political speech was being suppressed.
For activists, the anxiety goes beyond a single weekend of glitches. Jamira Burley, an organizer and strategist, wrote that TikTok now feels like a “trap door,” a space where labor, safety, and speech can no longer be trusted. She warned that when wealthy investors, political pressure, and corporate interests begin setting the rules, marginalized communities are often the first to feel the consequences. Burley said Black users, queer people, disabled people, poor people, artists, organizers, and truth-tellers stand to lose the most under the platform’s new direction.
That fear has resonated with users who once saw TikTok as a rare digital space where grassroots voices could bypass traditional media gatekeepers and reach massive audiences. For many, the app’s power was never just entertainment, but its ability to surface uncomfortable truths, document harm, and mobilize people quickly. The perception that those functions could be curtailed—even subtly—has been enough to shake confidence.
Concerns have also been fueled by the platform’s updated Privacy Policy, released the same day the deal was finalized. The policy states that TikTok may collect sensitive personal information, including precise location data and immigration status. While those disclosures are not new and reflect compliance with California law, their resurfacing during the ownership transition unsettled users already worried about surveillance and political influence.
Civil liberties advocates have long warned that forcing a sale of TikTok would not eliminate political pressure over the platform, but instead concentrate it. By reshaping ownership, critics argue, the federal government effectively reshaped editorial power. With TikTok’s new investors closely aligned with the Trump administration, some users fear the platform’s role as a space for progressive news and criticism could be fundamentally altered.
As explanations lagged and trust eroded, many users chose not to wait. Calls to delete TikTok spread across Reddit and other social platforms, with users encouraging mass departures. Alternatives like YouTube Shorts and the newer app UpScrolled quickly gained traction, climbing app store rankings as creators looked for new digital homes.
For those leaving, the message has been consistent: communities are not owned by platforms. TikTok may insist that recent disruptions were technical, not political, but for users who feel the ground shifting beneath their voices, perception matters as much as proof.
