TikTok, the app beloved by many in Gen Z, is facing significant controversy. Creators with over 1,000 followers can profit from the platform, particularly through TikTok Live streams, which have become the primary income source for many users. But the big question remains: how much of this revenue truly benefits creators, and how much simply fuels TikTok’s ever-growing profits?
When opening the app, users can navigate to the “Following,” “For You,” or “Live” tabs. The “Live” section, in particular, offers endless streams of creators worldwide interacting with followers in real-time. During these live sessions, creators can receive virtual gifts, co-host with other streamers, and engage viewers through subscriptions, reactions, chats, and donations. This interactive format has made TikTok Live an incredibly popular and profitable feature for the platform.
Virtual gifts are a key element of TikTok Live. They range from small tokens like “Panda” or “Love Bang” to pricier options like “Rainbow Puke” or “Concert.” Each gift is tied to a specific number of coins, with values ranging from just a few to several thousand. Here’s the catch: these coins are purchased with real money. Users buy coin packages, similar to in-app purchases in mobile games, and use them to donate to their favorite creators. For instance, sending a “Panda” translates into a small amount of income for the creator. However, this seemingly harmless system takes a turn when vulnerable families from third world and developing countries use TikTok Live as a platform to beg for donations.
Consider the case of the displaced Syrian family of Hannah Gelbart, Mamdough Akbiek, and Zia Al-Qattan. They livestream daily, asking viewers for digital gifts to survive. On average, they earn around $1,000 USD per hour in gifts. Yet, due to TikTok’s substantial 70% commission, the family keeps only a fraction of that amount. For every $185 spent by viewers during their live streams, the family receives just $56, while TikTok pockets a staggering $129. In these cases, TikTok emerges as the primary receiver, profiting disproportionately from the desperation of those in need.
So, who is truly at fault here? Are the families wrong for using TikTok as a last resort to survive, or is the platform to blame for profiting from their struggles? Many users are unaware of how little of their donations actually support the families they aim to help. TikTok has announced plans to take action against “exploitative begging,” but the decision raises questions about fairness. Why target struggling families while wealthier creators are allowed to employ similar tactics without scrutiny?
This issue highlights a larger problem: misinformation and a lack of transparency in online donations. It’s essential to understand where our money goes. Spending hundreds of dollars on virtual “Pandas” or “Concerts” doesn’t directly aid families in need; instead, it contributes to TikTok’s annual $18.5 billion revenue. If we truly want to help vulnerable individuals, we must rethink how we donate. Ensuring our contributions support those in need, not just enriching these incredibly large and wealthy corporations. In order for this change to be possible, it requires a systemic change and overall greater awareness.
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Hi, thought this was a really eye-opening. I didn’t realize just how much TikTok takes from donations and 70% is crazy, especially when families are depending on that money for survival. The example of the Syrian family really hit me, because it shows how the system almost feels like exploitation rather than support. I agree with you that it’s not fair to punish struggling families for asking for help when wealthier creators do the same thing without being questioned. Your point about transparency is really important too and people donating probably think they’re directly helping, but most of it may go straight to TikTok’s profits. This definitely makes me think about where I put my own money and how we should rethink online giving.
This article explains how TikTok Live donations aren’t just about being generous, showing that most of the money actually helps the platform more than the people viewers think they’re supporting. The title, Donating to the deprived or donating to TikTok?, works well because it makes readers stop and think about where their money is really going. I especially appreciate the use of real-world examples, like the displaced Syrian family, which drives home the ethical point and makes the issue feel urgent and human rather than abstract. If anything, the piece could lean even more into solutions: what alternative platforms, organizations, or methods of direct giving could better ensure that donations truly reach those in need? Ultimately, it shows how giving online can be turned into a way to make money, and the title really sums up that tricky idea.
This article explains how TikTok Live donations aren’t just about being generous, showing that most of the money actually helps the platform more than the people viewers think they’re supporting. The title, “Donating to the deprived or donating to TikTok?,” works well because it makes readers stop and think about where their money is really going. I especially appreciate the use of real-world examples, like the displaced Syrian family, which drives home the ethical point and makes the issue feel urgent and human rather than abstract. If anything, the piece could lean even more into solutions: what alternative platforms, organizations, or methods of direct giving could better ensure that donations truly reach those in need? All in all, it shows how giving online can be turned into a way to make money, and the title really sums up that tricky idea.
The conflict between the Syrian family and tiktok corporations is something I wasn’t even aware of. My knowledge previous to this article was that all the money tiktokers made on live was all for their own gain. Postponed to afterwards and now I seriously believe this is a topic that is in dire need of discussion. Taking revenue from a suffering family from Syria yet having “content creators” have free roam over the website is proof of unconscious favoritism and inequalities when it comes to who can promote topics on tiktok. At its best, It’s a lame excuse to cover their implicit biases for the upper class.
I do think this has also caused some desensitisation from the donator’s perspective as well. The app designs this “currency” in a way that is flashy and fun to look at, and often something that comes with a reward from a parasocial relationship they have with their favorite creator. It was designed this way on purpose. The money almost feels like interaction, and as a result, I think a lot of TikTok users don’t ask important questions about where the money is going and how much of it actually goes to the creator they are trying to help. Another thing that I think further makes this feel almost like “fake money”, as an avid TikTok user, are those from large creators who are well off that go on livestreams and essentially toy with their viewers for gifts. Many of said creators are “just messing around with their friends”, saying they will do a certain thing at a certain amount of donations or viewers, like “following people back” or “doing this crazy action” – almost guilting the viewer into donating or threatening with a lack of recognition or a “cliffhanger”. These lives have dominated TikTok for a while, and I think they almost push these families who actually need the donations to the bottom of the viewing pool, as the algorithm sees all of these people on these “attention grabbing livestreams” from wealthy creators. I think that this, paired with the way the app formulates this “online currency” to be something that feels almost separate from real money, results in many not even asking questions about how much of their money is actually going to who they intended. It almost becomes a mindless game of clicking.