In late 2025, Saudi Arabia's General Authority of Media Regulation announced it had summoned 49 people for questioning over 68 alleged violations committed on social media. Their offense was not terrorism or fraud. It was complaining — about unemployment, and about foreigners holding senior jobs at a state-owned company. The clause cited was broad enough to swallow almost anything: a section of the Audio Visual Media Act that bans 'disrupting public order, national security and the requirements of the public interest.'
The immediate flashpoint was Qiddiya, an enormous entertainment and sports complex being built on the outskirts of Riyadh and owned by the Public Investment Fund, the kingdom's sovereign wealth fund. A LinkedIn account had claimed that 'underqualified' Western expatriates were dominating critical departments at the project. Users amplified the post, circulating screenshots of expatriate employees — among them a former New Zealand footballer now in a senior role. The Financial Times reported that it could not independently verify the LinkedIn account or its claims. A person close to Qiddiya said hiring Saudi nationals was a priority, but acknowledged that only 40 percent of employees were currently Saudi citizens.
On paper, Saudi Arabia's labor market looks healthier than ever. Citizen unemployment closed the previous year at a record-low 7.2 percent. But headline numbers can hide a lot. The US–Israeli war on Iran has rattled the region, and the Saudi government was already delaying some projects because of tightening liquidity and widening fiscal deficits. When officials held a job fair in the northwestern city of Tabuk, 13,000 people registered — an uncomfortable image for a state whose flagship promise is jobs for its young, fast-growing citizenry.
The government's response is revealing. Media minister Salman al-Dosary, who also chairs the regulator, said the state welcomed 'objective criticism' but had moved against people engaged in 'agitating and misleading' the public. The line between the two is, conveniently, drawn by the regulator he runs. Human rights groups linked the summons to the LinkedIn posts. Some expatriates in Saudi Arabia agreed that unfair practices existed in the job market but argued individual foreigners should not be targeted online; one Polish digital marketer wrote on TikTok that combing through random foreigners' accounts felt strange.
What makes this episode more than a local quarrel is the political logic underneath it. Saudi Arabia's Vision 2030 program promises to transform the economy away from oil dependence by building new industries, including tourism and entertainment. That promise carries an implicit deal: citizens will get the good jobs that come with the transformation. When ordinary Saudis go online to argue that the deal isn't being honored — that expatriates, not citizens, are running the showcase projects — they are not just venting. They are publicly scoring the government against its own pledge. By summoning the complainers rather than addressing the complaint, Riyadh has chosen to manage the perception of failure rather than risk debating its reality. The cost of that choice is subtle but important: a state that punishes feedback eventually stops receiving it, which means it also stops knowing when its plans are veering off course.
Imagine getting hauled in for questioning because you complained on TikTok that your dream job went to a foreigner. In Saudi Arabia right now, that's not hypothetical — it's policy.
Saudi Arabia's media regulator has summoned 49 people over 68 alleged 'violations' for social-media posts complaining about unemployment and the hiring of foreigners for senior jobs at state-owned companies. The trigger was a wave of online anger about expatriates running key departments at Qiddiya — a giant entertainment and sports complex being built outside Riyadh by the kingdom's sovereign wealth fund.
Officially, the unemployment rate among Saudi citizens hit a record low of 7.2% at the end of last year. But the wider economy has been wobbling: oil revenue is squeezed, deficits are widening, and some mega-projects are being delayed. When 13,000 people showed up to a single job fair in Tabuk, it was hard to pretend everything was fine.
This isn't really a story about TikTok. It's about what happens when an authoritarian state stakes its legitimacy on an economic transformation — and the citizens it promised to enrich start asking awkward questions out loud.
Saudi Arabia is the world's biggest oil exporter, a top buyer of American weapons, and the host of the 2034 World Cup. If you'll be watching that tournament, applying for an internship at a Gulf-linked firm, or just following oil prices that move what you pay at the pump — the question of whether Vision 2030 actually delivers jobs for young Saudis (half the country is under 30) shapes a lot of what your adult world will look like. It's also a live case study in something you'll see again and again: governments that try to modernize economically while keeping a tight lid politically.
The deeper tension here is old: every oil-rich autocracy from Venezuela to the UAE has tried to convert hydrocarbon wealth into a diversified, knowledge-based economy before the oil runs out or the world stops buying it. Almost none have nailed it. Watch three things: whether Qiddiya and similar 'gigaprojects' actually open on schedule, whether the share of Saudi nationals in private-sector senior roles climbs above today's 40% benchmark, and whether the crackdown spreads from job complaints to other economic grievances. If citizens learn that complaining about expats gets you summoned, the safer move is to stop complaining — which means the government also stops hearing real signals about whether its plan is working.