—Kuan-Wei Chen, Program-Specific Assistant Professor, Graduate School of Law, Kyoto University; Doctor of Law, LMU Munich
In December 2025, the Taiwanese government made a decision that seems to send shockwaves through the country’s digital landscape. Citing the newly amended Article 42 of the Fraud Crime Hazard Prevention Act (the “Anti-Fraud Act”), the Ministry of the Interior ordered a one-year “stopping resolution” (DNS blocking) against the Chinese social media platform Xiaohongshu (RedNote), having designated the situation an “emergency event for fraud prevention”. The official rationale was quantitative and criminal: the platform has been linked to cumulative fraud-related financial losses exceeding NT$132.9 million (approx. US$4.1 million). Crucially, the situation is deteriorating rapidly, with NT$114.77 million of those losses occurring between January and November of 2025 alone, indicating a sharp upward trend. The local authorities explicitly identified the platform as a hotbed for fraud, further accusing its parent company, Xingin Information Technology (Shanghai) Co., Ltd., of adopting a “read-and-ignore” attitude, stonewalling regulatory requests from the Taiwanese government.. systematic refusal to comply with data requests from Taiwanese law enforcement has blocked access to crucial evidence, effectively transforming the platform into a substantial lawless zone.
The move immediately sparked intense controversy in Taiwan, highlighting the multiple dilemmas inherent in the country’s platform governance. Often dubbed the “Instagram of China,” Xiaohongshu features lifestyle content ranging from makeup and fashion to travel, boasting over 3 million users in Taiwan. Opponents of the stopping resolution, including many users and opposition parties, argue that blocking an entire social media platform due to fraud cases is akin to “stop eating for fear of choking.” They warn of potential administrative overreach, noting that the “emergency event” designation allows the executive branch to bypass judicial review. The Mayor of Taipei, Chiang from KMT, even sarcastically remarked that the ruling party, in its anti-China fervor, is mimicking the very authoritarianism it claims to oppose. Conversely, supporters argue that facing the dual risks of rampant fraud and the potential erosion of democracy by a Chinese platform amidst escalating cross-strait tensions, such decisive measures are a “necessary evil” to protect citizens’ property, national cybersecurity and even liberal democracy. Moreover, broader government statements reveal a deeper strategic concern: the prevention of cognitive warfare from a regime that has explicitly reserved the right to use force against Taiwan. Specifically, the fear is that the platform facilitates the subtle reshaping of civic identity, cultivating the skepticism that democracy is not necessarily a superior system. Ultimately, the complex intersection of platform governance, the China factor, and democratic values makes Taiwan’s challenge in regulating Chinese social media uniquely intractable.
To international observers, this move might signify a rupture. Taiwan has long branded itself as a “Digital Democracy,” celebrated for its open internet and multi-stakeholder governance. The imposition of a top-down, administrative blocking order against a platform used by 3 million citizens seems to contradict this brand. However, to view this as a policy pivot is to miss the reality and deeper structural crisis. This post argues that the Xiaohongshu ban is a symptom of a Trilemma of Platform Governance faced by a liberal democracy on a geopolitical fault line. It is the result of at least three distinct dilemmas: insufficient domestic legal tools for platform governance, a deficit in national digital sovereignty and power leverage, and a profound crisis of identity and democratic trust, compounding each other to leave the state with almost no good options.
Dilemma 1: The Strategic Regulatory Pivot or the Misalignment of Means
The first dilemma is the poverty of legal tools. Why did Taiwan use an Anti-Fraud Act to regulate a social media platform? The answer requires an examination of the broader context of Taiwan’s evolving attempts at platform regulation.
In 2022, Taiwan attempted to pass the Digital Intermediary Services Act (DISA), modelled on the EU’s DSA. However, due to provisions granting the executive branch suspiciously broad powers that seemed excessive, the bill died due to intense backlash from a society that holds a deep-seated distrust of government speech regulation, a legacy of Taiwan’s authoritarian past. Consequently, the government initiated a proactive strategic pivot: sidestepping comprehensive platform legislation in favour of sector-specific amendments to existing functional laws related to platforms—such as those regarding anti-fraud or child protection—rather than establishing a brand-new digital code. Rather than engaging in the arduous task of resolving the controversial clauses in the failed DISA, the government bypassed direct content moderation regulation. Instead, it pivoted to the Anti-Fraud Act, targeting the universally reviled issue of fraud, leveraging specific mandates such as the requirement for local legal representation (“landing”). This mandatory local presence is critical to resolving a long-standing regulatory pain point. Without local legal representation, cross-border platforms often exploit jurisdictional ambiguities to ignore local enforcement orders, effectively rendering state authority toothless. This strategic pivot to sector-specific regulation targeting fraud—a universally reviled issue—represents the path of least political resistance. Itsuccessfully avoided a potential political firestorm and achieved a historic breakthrough in enforcing platform liability—an area previously deemed extremely difficult to regulate—albeit confined to the narrow scope of fraud prevention.
However, despite the existence of fraud issues in the Xiaohongshu case, the deployment of this specific tool has sparked skepticism. Opponents question the underlying motives, and various administrative statements have tacitly admitted concerns extending far beyond mere scams. Therefore, even if one were to temporarily set aside the debate over the proportionality of invoking Article 42, which is the Act’s “nuclear option” that empowers the government to order a “stopping resolution” (DNS blocking) against non-compliant platforms in emergency cases, and accept the official justification that the sheer scale of fraud and the company’s total non-compliance left the state with no other recourse, the larger picture remains clear: It is an open secret that there is a misalignment between the “means” (anti-fraud measures) and the broader strategic “ends” (countering cognitive warfare).
This analysis does not seek to exonerate a government that has evaded comprehensive platform governance strategies; rather, it highlights a stark reality: the awkward contortion of legal tools stems from a history of regulatory struggles. With few current effective instruments of platform governance and against cognitive warfare, this opportunistic pivoting is a symptom of the broader, intractable dilemmas.
Dilemma 2: The Limits of Middle Power Leverage or the Specificity of Chinese Platforms
A persistent question remains: Why not simply enact a comprehensive legal framework akin to the EU’s DSA? This overlooks the geopolitical reality of Taiwan being a “Middle Power.” Unlike the EU, which wields the market clout of a “Digital Empire,” Taiwan holds fewer chips at the negotiation table (despite being the global leader in semiconductor chips). Lacking the necessary market leverage to assert true “Digital Sovereignty,” the pivot to the Anti-Fraud Act becomes less of a choice and more of a pragmatic survival strategy to preserve the state’s jurisdictional relevance in the face of transnational platforms that otherwise operate with virtual impunity.
However, in the current controversy, critics point to a perceived “double standard”: other major platforms are similarly inundated with fraudulent advertisements yet remain unblocked. This fuels the accusation that the measure is uniquely targeted against a Chinese platform. In response, the government has articulated a defence based on “degrees of legal compliance.” Within the specific context of the Anti-Fraud Act, other major platforms have complied with mandates for local legal representation and have integrated into the state’s regulatory system by establishing “Green Channels” for rapid intelligence sharing with police. Xiaohongshu, conversely, stands entirely outside this system, treating enforcement requests with total disregard.
Here, in terms of leverage, the above comparison of other platforms and Xiaohungshu highlights that platforms generally retain a willingness to comply within specific regulatory contexts. Regarding the specificity of Chinese platforms, it is worth noting that even TikTok has demonstrated compliance under the Anti-Fraud Act. Furthermore, the government has not provided specific details regarding the full extent of Xiaohongshu’s illegality or the history of communication attempts. Consequently, without this transparency, it is difficult to discern the precise role of the China factor in the current context while we see the government mentioned about the cybersecurity and digital sovereignty issues against China. Thus, is this ban specifically targeting a Chinese platform? The answer is an ambivalent “yes and no.”
Dilemma 3: Resisting Cognitive Warfare or the Retreat of Liberty?
The third and most profound dilemma lies in the tension between the nature of the threat and the cost of defence. Xiaohongshu is not a traditional mouthpiece for political propaganda; rather, it serves as a “lifestyle bible” for Gen Z. The anxiety felt by Taiwan’s authorities, however, stems from its role as a “cognitive grey zone.” Authorities fear that the uncritical consumption of such content will subtly reshape the worldview of the younger generation, gradually eroding their identification with Taiwan’s democratic institutions. Yet, for its vast user base, the consideration of content available on Xiaohongshu constitutes nothing more than legitimate cultural consumption.
Herein lies the crux of the difficulty. To effectively resist cognitive warfare, the democratic state has been forced to consider intervening in the free flow of information. This necessity stems from a stark political reality—acutely felt in Taiwan but reflective of a broader crisis for liberal democracies—where open information ecosystems are structurally vulnerable to weaponization by illiberal actors who exploit the asymmetry between democratic openness and authoritarian manipulation. However, by blocking a platform primarily dedicated to apolitical lifestyle content, the state risks a “retreat of liberty.” This move opens the government to accusations of mimicking the very authoritarianism it seeks to oppose—notwithstanding the fundamental differences between Taiwan’s constitutional democracy and the PRC regime. Such an approach risks alienating the younger generation and deepening domestic polarization regarding national identity. The dilemma is stark: To defend democracy, are we compelled to curtail the very freedoms that define it?
Conclusion: The Fragile Balance of Defensive Democracy
The intersection of these factors means that the dilemmas feed into one another. Lacking market leverage and insisting on maintaining its democratic branding, the state resorts to blunt, misaligned legal tools. When these instruments confront a platform deeply embedded in youth culture, the question of what stance a democracy should adopt becomes profoundly awkward.
Taiwan’s problem is naturally rooted in its unique geopolitical predicament; Xiaohongshu poses a specific challenge there unlike in other corners of the world, due to linguistic proximity across the Strait. Compared to the explicit challenges mounted by the US or India against Chinese platforms on grounds of national security or sovereignty, Taiwan’s approach could be described as “more creative” yet indirect—though which approach is more controversial is debatable. This indirectness stems from Taiwan’s precarious status, yet the skepticism toward Chinese platforms is a challenge not unique to Taiwan.
The fact that Taiwan can still host vibrant dissenting discussions regarding government policy illustrates that it remains a robust democracy; however, this “noisy dissent” also renders any digital defense mechanism politically costly and socially fragile. This fragility is nowhere more apparent than in the irony of “Digital Homecoming,” a phenomenon mockingly dubbed by Chinese media where Taiwanese users, following the ban, use VPNs to route their traffic through China to continue accessing the app. This technical circumvention serves as a stark reminder: in a networked age, technical walls cannot solve political problems of identity.
This crisis forces a re-examination of Taiwan’s proud “Digital Democracy” brand. While the narrative celebrating the agency of active digital citizens holds true, the role of the state in digital governance remains an uncomfortable puzzle. The government has long been engaged in regulatory experiments—not all of them benign or successful. This post argues that while there is still room to refine legal strategies, specifically through enhanced cybersecurity measures, the predicament of designing a robust institutional framework remains undeniably difficult. Ultimately, while the Xiaohongshu event might literally appear as a straightforward sanction for non-compliance, this saga reveals neither a benevolent guardian nor an omnipotent oppressor, but a constitutional democracy grappling with a profound predicament..
Suggested citation: Kuan-Wei Chen, Taiwan’s Xiaohongshu Ban and the Trilemma of Platform Governance, Int’l J. Const. L. Blog, Dec. 23, 2025, at: http://www.iconnectblog.com/taiwans-xiaohongshu-ban-and-the-trilemma-of-platform-governance/