Cyber Enclosures: How the Forced Sale of TikTok Mirrors Imperialism and Fuels the Surveillance State
The gate creaks as it swings shut, a metallic clang echoing through the commons. Once a vibrant space where creativity, connection, and culture thrived, the digital field now lies fenced off, its access controlled by faceless powers. “The Sheriff,” a figure draped in the authority of the surveillance state, fastens the lock, declaring the seizure complete. Behind the fence lies TikTok, the platform that dared to offer a space outside the grasp of the corporate oligarchs and intelligence agencies. Outside, the people—young activists, marginalised communities, and everyday creators—stand powerless, watching as their digital lifeline is enclosed.
This is not just the story of one app’s demise but the latest chapter in a much older narrative of enclosure and dispossession. The forced sale of TikTok represents a new phase of imperialism, where cyberspace itself becomes the territory to be conquered and controlled. Behind the rhetoric of national security lies a confluence of capitalist greed, imperial ambition, and the unrelenting machinery of the surveillance state. This modern enclosure is not driven by sheep or farmland but by algorithms, user data, and narrative control.
At the heart of this battle lies a stark contrast: TikTok’s organic algorithm that elevates grassroots voices versus platforms like Meta, whose algorithms curate anger and division to maximise profit. As Meta and others abandon even the pretence of content moderation, trans and queer people find themselves targeted with impunity, their existence monetised as fodder for outrage. Meanwhile, TikTok, imperfect as it may be, has emerged as a space where the younger generation searches, organises, and resists—a platform that has become indispensable for amplifying counter-narratives, from the genocide in Gaza to critiques of capitalism itself.
Today’s article explores how the enclosure of TikTok mirrors historical patterns of dispossession, the role of the military-industrial complex in controlling the digital narrative, and the toll on marginalised communities left outside the fence. In this fight for cyberspace, who gets to lock the gates, and who gets left in the cold?
Historical Context: Enclosure and Imperialism
The landscape of Scotland’s Highlands once thrived with the rhythms of communal life—families tending shared fields, Gaelic songs echoing across valleys, and a deep connection to the land. This way of life, though, stood in the way of an emerging capitalist order. The Enclosure Acts, enacted under the guise of “progress,” stripped the common people of their ancestral lands, privatising what had been shared. The goal was not merely agricultural efficiency but profit maximisation, as the land was converted for sheep farming to feed a burgeoning textile industry. Displacement and dispossession followed. The Genocide of the Gaels (aks, the Highland Clearances) uprooted entire communities, leaving them destitute or forcing emigration. The Gaels, their culture, and their way of life were sacrificed to the altar of capital.
These acts were not random events but calculated moves in a broader pattern of imperialism. As Lenin described, imperialism is the highest stage of capitalism, where monopolies and state power intertwine to dominate resources and eliminate competition. The British state, in league with the landowning elite, ensured the “legal” dismantling of kinship structures, enabling landowners to enforce evictions with the might of soldiers when resistance arose. “The Clearances” weren’t just about land but about cultural annihilation, though this is conveniently dismissed as an unfortunate byproduct of economic modernisation.
Today, we see this same logic applied to cyberspace. The forced sale of TikTok is a modern-day enclosure, fencing off the digital commons for the benefit of corporate monopolies and state surveillance. TikTok, much like the common lands of old, is an organic space where communities—many marginalised in the physical world—have flourished. Its algorithm, unlike the rage-curation of platforms like Meta, uplifts grassroots content and disrupts the carefully controlled narratives of the powerful. It has become a tool for resistance, amplifying voices from Gaza to the disenfranchised youth of the Global North.
Yet this very power makes TikTok a target. Like “the Clearances,” the justification is framed in terms of progress or security. Beneath this rhetoric lies a deeper truth: the need to consolidate power, eliminate competition, and enforce control over spaces that challenge imperialist ambitions. The surveillance state and its corporate allies lock the gates, leaving those on the outside to wonder how much more of the digital commons will be lost.
Meta’s Rage Machine and the Targeting of Marginalised Communities
There’s a peculiar genius to Meta’s platforms, though it is a deeply cynical one. At the heart of their algorithms lies a calculated strategy: anger drives engagement. Every incendiary comment, every post designed to provoke outrage, is carefully elevated to the forefront of users’ feeds. These algorithms are not neutral; they are honed to maximise the time you spend online, your clicks, your shares. The more divisive the content, the more money Meta makes. This is not a bug—it is the system working as designed.
The cost of this, however, is borne disproportionately by marginalised communities. Trans and queer individuals have become particularly frequent targets in this digital coliseum. With Meta’s recent rollback of content moderation, hate speech and harassment proliferate, creating an environment where harm is not just allowed but algorithmically rewarded. Leaked internal communications have even revealed the disdain Meta’s leadership holds for these communities, stripping away any illusion that the harm is incidental. It is deliberate, systemic, and profitable.
For Meta, this rage economy is simply good business. By keeping users in a heightened state of emotional engagement, the platform ensures its dominance over your attention—and, by extension, your data. After all, in the world of “free” platforms, you are not the customer; you are the product. Advertisers are the true clients, buying access to finely tuned emotional reactions. But what does this mean for the communities trapped in Meta’s digital enclosure, subjected to an endless cycle of harassment and commodified outrage?
I have made the decision to leave Meta’s product space. It’s time-consuming and laborious to migrate, but the toxicity and harm outweigh the utility. I am finding a new home on BlueSky for now, where the environment is less hostile, and the platform does not seem engineered to exploit harm. For those wishing to join me, I can be found at @jaimehoerricks.bsky.social. The fight for an inclusive, equitable digital commons continues, but it will not be won on platforms designed to perpetuate harm for profit.
TikTok as a Threat to the Surveillance State
TikTok’s rise to dominance as the preferred search engine of younger generations is no accident. Unlike Google, whose first page of search results is often a minefield of sponsored content irrelevant to your query, TikTok offers an intuitive, frustration-free user experience. You tell TikTok what you’re interested in, and it delivers. Engagement on TikTok isn’t driven by rage or manipulation; it’s driven by providing users with what they actually want. This simple yet revolutionary approach has not only made TikTok a cultural juggernaut but also a significant threat to the established tech oligarchs—and, by extension, the U.S. surveillance state.
Platforms like Meta and Google have long been integrated into U.S. intelligence systems, their infrastructure laced with “back doors” granting access to user data. This relationship is no secret: the intelligence community has actual offices within the headquarters of these companies, staffed by a revolving door of “former” intelligence agents. These platforms play a critical role in narrative management, ensuring that stories inconvenient to U.S. interests—such as the genocide in Gaza—are suppressed or reframed. Meta’s algorithm curates outrage, whilst Google buries information beneath layers of irrelevant ads and SEO-favoured content. Both ensure the narrative remains controlled.
TikTok, however, is a “foreign” disruptor to this carefully constructed system. Its algorithm, prioritising organic trends and authentic engagement, is not under the control of U.S. intelligence. This independence allows marginalised voices to flourish. Stories about Gaza’s devastation, Palestinian resistance, and grassroots movements find their way to massive audiences, bypassing the filters that dominate other platforms. For communities historically ignored or silenced, TikTok has become a lifeline, amplifying their stories in ways that traditional platforms would never allow.
This freedom, however, is precisely why TikTok has been targeted for elimination. The military-industrial complex and its corporate allies, along with the lobbyists from foreign countries aligned with the US empire, benefit from platforms that tow the line, shaping public opinion to sustain their interests. TikTok, by existing outside this sphere of influence, disrupts the narrative. Its organic amplification of dissenting voices, coupled with its dethroning of Google as the primary search tool, represents a loss of control over both public discourse and the data the surveillance state relies on.
It’s no wonder, then, that TikTok faces relentless attacks under the guise of “national security.” The truth is far simpler: TikTok threatens the existing order, and those in power will stop at nothing to reassert their dominance.
Narrative Control and Gaza
TikTok has become a critical tool for countering the carefully managed narratives of mainstream media, especially when it comes to the ongoing genocide in Gaza. Whilst outlets echo the language of U.S. foreign policy, framing the destruction of Gaza and the genocide as “defence” or an unfortunate consequence of “necessary” operations, TikTok amplifies raw, unfiltered perspectives. Palestinian voices, grassroots activism, and on-the-ground accounts reach massive audiences, exposing the realities that corporate media tries so hard to obscure. This organic dissemination of truth has resonated deeply with younger generations, unsettling institutions accustomed to controlling the narrative.
The backlash against TikTok’s role in shaping public opinion came to light with the leaked audio from an ADL meeting. In it, leaders lamented the platform’s influence on the younger generation, particularly its ability to erode support for Israel’s actions. They demanded swift action to curtail TikTok’s reach, pressuring their political allies to act. The response was staggering in its speed: within four days of introducing legislation, Congress passed a law targeting TikTok, and it landed on the president’s desk for signature. Such urgency is rarely seen unless it serves powerful interests (remember how democrats, when controlling all levers of power during the Obama administration could not give us universal basic income, free health care for all, or protect abortion rights).
Contrast this with Meta’s handling of narratives about Gaza—or rather, its suppression of them. Meta’s platforms prioritise outrage over truth, burying meaningful content under sensationalised distractions. Instead of amplifying Palestinian voices, Meta floods feeds with manufactured outrage. Posts about supposed queer public school teachers performing bottom surgeries on teens during lunch breaks—a narrative as absurd as it is harmful—dominate timelines. This deliberate redirection serves two purposes: to distract from real issues like Gaza and to further marginalise already vulnerable communities.
TikTok, by design, bypasses these filters. The platform’s algorithm delivers what users seek, not the carefully crafted distractions of Meta’s rage machine. If you’re searching for Palestinian stories, you’ll find them; if you’re exploring grassroots activism, TikTok offers it without burying it under drivel. This makes TikTok a direct threat to the empire’s military-industrial complex and its allies, who rely on platforms like Meta to manage public opinion and maintain control (propaganda).
For those invested in perpetuating the status quo, TikTok’s ability to empower authentic, dissenting voices is intolerable. It is not a national security risk but a narrative security risk, one they are desperate to eliminate. The fight against TikTok isn’t about safety—it’s about silencing the truth.
Cyber Eminent Domain and Enclosure
Imagine being forced out of your digital home (evicted) with no compensation, no alternative provided, and no recourse. For countless small businesses, community groups, and content creators who rely on TikTok, this is the stark reality they now face. Under the guise of “national security,” the U.S. government has invoked what can only be described as cyber eminent domain, seizing control of a vital digital space to serve the interests of corporate monopolies and the surveillance state. The eviction notice is clear: TikTok must either sell to an approved entity or vanish entirely, leaving those who built livelihoods and communities on the platform with nothing.
This modern dispossession echoes historical enclosures, where common lands were seized under the pretence of public good but ultimately served the elite. The British Enclosure Acts turned shared resources into private property, displacing communities and eroding centuries of cultural and economic interdependence. Today, the same logic applies to cyberspace. Platforms like TikTok, which function as digital commons, are being fenced off and handed over to those with power and influence. The cost of this eviction is borne not by the government or corporations but by the everyday people whose lives depend on these platforms.
The forced sale of TikTok is a boon for U.S. tech monopolies like Meta and Google. By using the full force of the empire in eliminating their competition, they consolidate their control over the digital landscape. But the benefits extend beyond corporate profit: the forced sale of TikTok plugs a critical gap in the surveillance state’s system, ensuring no digital space remains beyond its reach for intelligence-gathering and narrative control. The message is clear: if you want to exist in cyberspace, you must do so on approved platforms, under the watchful eyes of both corporations and the state.
Many, myself included, have chosen to leave this controlled ecosystem altogether. As I wind down my Meta accounts, I’ve migrated to BlueSky, a platform that offers a less toxic and more open environment. Whether it will remain free of the enclosures that have consumed so much of the digital commons remains to be seen, but the need for alternatives has never been more urgent. TikTok’s forced eviction is not just about one platform—it is about the broader colonisation of cyberspace, a modern imperialism where the spoils are data, control, and the erasure of dissent.
The Human Cost
TikTok is more than a platform—it is a lifeline for communities often left on the margins. For trans, queer, and autistic individuals, as well as younger generations advocating for social justice, TikTok has created a rare and vital space for self-expression, advocacy, and connection. Its organic algorithm ensures that users find content that resonates, creating networks of mutual support and amplifying voices that are routinely ignored or suppressed on other platforms. It’s no wonder that Meta’s and Google’s attempts to mimic TikTok have failed. They copied the format but kept their own toxic algorithms—the same ones that prioritise outrage and bury authenticity under piles of rage-inducing content.
The forced sale or closure of TikTok threatens to dismantle this unique ecosystem. If TikTok is enclosed or transformed into another Meta-like platform, it will no longer serve as a refuge for marginalised voices. Instead, it will become yet another corporate-controlled space where algorithms amplify hate, silence dissent, and perpetuate harm. Communities that found representation and solidarity on TikTok will be left adrift, their stories and connections lost to the relentless commodification of cyberspace.
This enclosure isn’t just a business transaction—it is a cultural and social eviction. The communities most affected are those who rely on TikTok to navigate a world already hostile to their existence. For trans and queer individuals, TikTok has been a tool for visibility and advocacy in the face of escalating attacks. For autistic creators, it has provided a platform for sharing experiences and challenging stereotypes. For activists, it has been a rallying point for organising and resistance.
As cyberspace is enclosed further, the targeting and silencing of these communities will only intensify. The spaces where they can safely exist and thrive are shrinking, replaced by platforms designed to monetise their pain and erase their voices. The human cost of losing TikTok is immeasurable—not just in dollars or clicks but in the loss of a digital home where the marginalised could finally be seen and heard.
You are the Dispossessed
The gate is locked now, the vibrant digital commons sealed off. You stand outside, looking in, powerless to stop the seizure of a space that once fostered connection, creativity, and resistance. TikTok was more than an app—it was a place where communities flourished, where voices silenced elsewhere found resonance, and where you could be seen and heard without the rage-fuelled cacophony of platforms like Meta. Now, that space is gone, enclosed for the benefit of corporate monopolies and the surveillance state.
You are not just a witness to this process—you are its victim. The enclosure of cyberspace impacts us all. It limits where we can gather, how we can speak, and what truths we can share. It reshapes the digital world into a space where profit trumps people, where connection is commodified, and where dissent is erased. Whether you are an artist sharing your work, an activist organising for justice, or simply someone seeking a community that understands you, the enclosure of TikTok represents a profound loss.
But we are not without options. As we navigate the wreckage of these enclosures, we can still find and create new spaces to connect and resist. I have made the move to BlueSky, a platform that feels freer, less toxic, and more conducive to genuine community-building. It’s a work in progress, but it offers hope—a place where we might reclaim some of what has been lost. You can find me there at @jaimehoerricks.bsky.social, and I encourage you to join me. Let’s rebuild together.
If you value the ideas and insights I share here, I also invite you to like this article and subscribe to this Substack. Together, we can continue to examine, critique, and resist the forces that seek to enclose and commodify every aspect of our lives. The fight for the digital commons isn’t over, but it will take all of us to keep it alive. As the gates close on one space, let’s ensure there are others waiting to welcome us.
A Call to Action
The enclosure of TikTok is not just an attack on a platform—it’s a stark reminder of the creeping monopolisation of cyberspace by corporations and the surveillance state. This is a call to resist. Resist by advocating for policies that protect the digital commons and reject platforms designed to profit from harm, surveillance, and division. The algorithms that pit us against each other—fostering rage, fear, and mistrust—are tools of a larger strategy: divide and conquer. This strategy has always been about keeping the working class fragmented and distracted, ensuring we never unite against the forces that truly exploit us.
Remember, it’s not about right versus left—it’s about top versus bottom. The real conflict lies between the ruling class, wielding unchecked power and wealth, and the vast majority of us, kept divided by manufactured outrage and systemic inequity. But there are far more of us than there are of them. This is our opportunity to reject the divisions they enforce and join together for a better future. Seek out and join community organisations that are working collectively to empower the working class and push back against the forces of exploitation. Together, we can reclaim the commons—digital and otherwise.
In the meantime, we need to create and nurture alternative spaces where connection, advocacy, and community can thrive. Platforms like BlueSky are emerging as viable alternatives, offering environments free from the toxicity of algorithmic manipulation. Whilst not perfect, they represent an opportunity to build something better—a digital space that prioritises people over profit. I’ve made the move to BlueSky, and I encourage you to explore it as well. You can find me there at @jaimehoerricks.bsky.social, where we can continue these conversations and work toward something meaningful.
This is the moment to take action—not just online but in the physical world. Join the fight for inclusive, open digital spaces and collective liberation. The gatekeepers may close one door, but together, we can build something far greater, something they cannot enclose. The fight for the commons is far from over, and every voice matters. Let yours be heard.
Final thoughts …
The loss of TikTok is more than the disappearance of a platform; it is the closing of a symbol of resistance against the imperialist, surveillance-driven control of cyberspace. TikTok was never a tool of Chinese surveillance, as its detractors loudly claimed. Instead, its refusal to capitulate—to hand over its revolutionary algorithm to U.S. competitors—speaks volumes. That the Chinese government and ByteDance would rather see the platform shut down entirely than relinquish its intellectual property is a rare act of defiance in a landscape dominated by U.S. corporate and state hegemony. In that refusal lies a glimpse of what could have been—a space not entirely subsumed by the surveillance state.
The stakes could not be higher. As the gates to the digital commons are locked, we must ask: who benefits, and who gets left out in the cold? The answer is clear. The beneficiaries are the corporate monopolies and intelligence apparatuses that profit from surveillance, data extraction, and narrative control. Those left outside are the marginalised communities, the activists, the creatives—the people who found in TikTok not just a tool but a home.
The enclosure of TikTok is a warning. The digital spaces we occupy are not truly ours, and unless we remain vigilant, the forces of capital and control will continue to seize them, one by one. But vigilance alone is not enough. We must also act—by building, nurturing, and protecting alternative spaces, by rejecting platforms that profit from our pain, and by uniting against the systems that seek to divide us.
TikTok’s story may end here, but the fight for the digital commons does not. If anything, it begins anew, driven by the lessons we’ve learned and the connections we’ve forged. Together, we can ensure that the next gate they attempt to close will not hold. Let this be our reminder: the commons, whether digital or physical, belong to all of us, and we are stronger together than the forces that seek to control us.