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Why governments vs. Big Tech is the wrong question
It’s been three and a half years since I first laid out the idea of a technopolar world: one no longer dominated solely by states, but increasingly shaped – and sometimes steered – by a handful of powerful tech companies with the newfound ability to influence economies, societies, politics, and geopolitics.
At the time, I said the power of Big Tech was poised to grow but argued governments wouldn’t go down without a fight and sketched out three potential futures, depending on how the showdown between them played out: one in which tech companies displaced governments as the principal sovereigns of a globalized digital order; one where a tech cold war took hold and states reasserted control over a fragmented cyberspace; and one in which state dominance gave way to a new order led by tech firms.
This week, I published a follow-up in Foreign Affairs – “The Technopolar Paradox: The Frightening Fusion of Tech Power and State Power” – looking at how those predictions have aged, what’s actually happened since 2021, and where we might be heading next.
Spoiler: the trends I flagged back then have only accelerated. But reality has turned out messier, and more dangerous, than anyone could’ve imagined.
Here’s what you need to know.
Technopolarity turbocharged
Let’s rewind to early 2022. Russian tanks are bearing down on Kyiv. Ukraine’s government and military command structure is under threat as the whole country faces an imminent communications blackout.
Enter Elon Musk.
Within days, SpaceX ships Starlink terminals to Ukraine and flips on satellite internet coverage, effectively keeping the country online and in the fight. For a time, he’s hailed as a hero. But months later, when Ukraine asks him to extend that coverage to Crimea to enable a submarine drone strike on Russian naval assets, Musk refuses. He’s worried about escalation. Even the Pentagon can’t change his mind.
Think about that. An unelected billionaire with no formal role in government single-handedly altered the trajectory of a war between nation-states – not once, but multiple times. That was technopolarity in action: private tech actors wielding state-like powers with geopolitical consequences, making decisions that would normally be reserved for presidents, defense ministers, or national security councils, without public accountability.
Over the last few years, the power of tech firms has only deepened. During the pandemic, they became indispensable: for remote work, education, healthcare, and the flow of information (and disinformation). Their influence grew in every sphere – economic, social, and political. And it didn’t stop in the digital world. Tech firms now control critical infrastructure that governments rely on: cloud systems, cybersecurity platforms, data centers, satellites. They’re not just platforms. They’re utilities – with geopolitical consequences.
Governments have tried to claw back power. The EU passed the Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act. US regulators launched antitrust lawsuits and passed state-level privacy laws. Countries like India, South Africa, and Brazil cracked down on tech platforms. But none of these moves changed who writes the rules of the digital world.
And that was before AI exploded onto the scene and supercharged Big Tech’s lead over states. Suddenly, tech firms weren’t just dominant online. They were defining the frontier of innovation – and the terms of national power. Building advanced AI requires staggering amounts of data, compute, and talent. Only a few companies have these resources. And no government has the ability to move fast enough to rein them in. Even if they could build rules to constrain today’s models, those rules would be outdated by the time they were implemented. Key decisions about how AI shapes our societies, economies, and geopolitics looked bound to be made in Silicon Valley boardrooms, not parliaments or congresses.
Geopolitics strikes back
But just when technopolar consolidation seemed unstoppable, the old forces of geopolitics were making a comeback. Protectionism, economic security, and great power rivalry all returned with a vengeance – especially after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and amid growing US-China tensions. In response, governments began to take back control over economic and technological domains they had largely ceded to globalization and free markets.
Washington imposed export bans on advanced semiconductors, blacklisted Chinese firms, and poured billions into reshoring strategic supply chains. China retaliated with restrictions of its own, doubled down on self-reliance, and reined in its tech sector completely. Protectionism and industrial policy became the new global norm.
This retreat from globalization fractured the global tech ecosystem and upended the business models of “globalist” firms like Apple and Tesla, which long depended on open markets and integrated supply chains. “National champions” like Microsoft and Palantir, by contrast, are thriving, profiting off their close ties to the US government in this post-globalization, hyper-securitized, state-aligned era. Tech firms can’t just float above the fray anymore.
Rise of the techno-authoritarians
While states were busy battling for control of digital space, some of Silicon Valley’s leading lights decided they’d rather take over the US state than take orders from it (or resist it).
Back in 2021, I described folks like Musk, Peter Thiel, and Marc Andreessen as “techno-utopians”: visionaries who believed technology could transcend politics and even render governments obsolete. But in recent years, those same people pivoted from wanting to escape the state to trying to capture it.
What explains the shift from libertarian idealism to techno-authoritarian ambition? For one, today’s frontier technologies – from AI to quantum to biotech – can’t scale without state support. That’s made alignment with Washington a strategic necessity. And in an era of great power competition, the rewards of capturing public power have grown alongside the risks of being left out. But some of these tech leaders have grown ideologically hostile to democracy. Thiel has said he doesn’t believe “freedom and democracy are compatible.” Musk once called for a “modern-day Sulla,” in reference to a Roman dictator who dismantled republican institutions in the name of restoring order.
That might have started as a joke, but the governing instinct was real. Musk poured nearly $300 million into helping Trump retake power in 2024 and has since been rewarded with sweeping authority over the federal government. He’s used that perch to purge civil servants, install loyalists, and amass troves of government data – all while maintaining control of his private companies. Suddenly, the same tech overlords who control AI development, space infrastructure, and the digital public square are also shaping public policy and writing their own rules.
The risk isn’t just crony capitalism. It’s the fusion of state and tech power into a hybrid Leviathan where public institutions are reoriented to serve the strategic, commercial, and political goals of a narrow tech elite. Already, reports suggest that confidential IRS, immigration, health, financial, and Social Security data are being consolidated. For all we know, they are being fed into AI models developed by Musk’s xAI to be exploited for commercial gain or even political surveillance. We’re not talking about China’s top-down surveillance state. We’re talking about something more decentralized, more market-driven, and potentially even more dangerous – a system with just as much potential for abuse, fewer checks, and even fewer balances.
What the future looks like
So where does this leave us? Not in a fully tech-dominated world. Not in a state-dominated world. But in a messy hybrid one shaped by two poles of concentrated power.
On one side, we have an increasingly technopolar United States, where a handful of tech firms and leaders enjoy extraordinary power – wielding growing influence not just over digital space and critical infrastructure, but over US public policy and global standards. In some cases, they enjoy the implicit (or explicit) backing of the US government.
On the other side, we have a tightly state-controlled China, where tech firms serve the Chinese Communist Party’s goals.
Caught between these two poles is … everyone else. Europe aspires to digital sovereignty but lacks the homegrown tech muscle to pull it off. Much of the Global South is being pulled toward one model or the other. And global institutions that might once have brokered a balance are being sidelined or dismantled.
And here’s the kicker: though the US and Chinese systems differ in ideology, they’re starting to converge in practice. Both dominant models – American and Chinese – prioritize power, efficiency, and control over consent, accountability, and freedom. Whether authority lies with the state or the corporation, democracy and individual rights are not the default.
Therein lies the paradox of the technopolar age: technologies that were supposed to democratize access to power, information, and opportunity are now enabling more effective forms of centralized, unaccountable control, making it harder to govern democratically and easier for unaccountable elites – public or private – to tighten their grip.
In the West, we risk handing over our democracies to unelected technocrats. In China, the state already runs the show. In both cases, the result is the same: less transparency, less accountability, and more concentration of power – whether in corporate boardrooms or party headquarters.
The question is no longer whether the state can contain Big Tech. It’s whether open societies can survive the fusion of the two. Right now, the answer is very much up in the air.
Print photocopies of Benjamin Ferencz, while he served as a prosecutor during the Nuremberg trials, on a table at his home in Delray Beach, Florida on June 1, 2022.
Nuremberg now: the legacy of Ben Ferencz
At 27 years old, with no trial experience to speak of, Ben Ferencz entered the courtroom at Nuremberg in November of 1945. He was tasked with holding to account a regime that had slaughtered millions and tried to annihilate his own people. Acting as chief prosecutor, Ferencz secured convictions against 22 Nazis.
Ferencz, the last-surviving prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials of Nazi war criminals, passed away last week at the age of 103. As a child, he and his family fled anti-semitism in Romania. After finishing law school at Harvard, he joined the US army, taking part in the Normandy landings and the Battle of the Bulge. He was then assigned to General Patton’s HQ as part of a special unit investigating Nazi atrocities, interviewing survivors and witnessing first-hand the horrors of the concentration camps. That experience would shape the rest of his life. He would remain a warrior, not on the battlefield but in the public arena as a professor of international law and tireless campaigner for justice for the victims of genocide.
The Nuremberg trials marked a watershed moment in the history of modern human rights law. Never before had an international tribunal sought to hold global leaders to account for starting a war and carrying out crimes against humanity. They also included a new term- genocide – as part of the indictments.
In the decades since, the notion that war criminals may face justice has – however imperfect in practice – become an accepted part of international norms. That’s especially true since 2002 when Ferencz’s efforts helped to establish the International Criminal Court (ICC) at the Hague. International courts have judged the perpetrators of genocides in Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia in ways that were unimaginable when Ferencz was a child.
Still, more than 75 years after Nuremberg, international justice remains a work in progress. Participation in the ICC is voluntary, and even the world’s most powerful democracy, the United States, refuses to do so, out of concerns that it would limit American sovereignty. That puts Washington – which has faced its own human rights allegations in the past – in the unsavory company of serial abusers like Russia, China, Syria, or Saudi Arabia, which also refuse to ratify the ICC’s underlying statutes.
Despite a recent ICC warrant against Russian President Vladimir Putin, for example, there’s little chance that he’ll face prosecution. Bashar al-Assad, for his part, has survived the civil war he helped create, and is unlikely to face justice for the gruesome crimes that his regime committed during the war.
The coming years pose particular challenges to the cause of international justice. For one thing, the emergence of new major international powers may make it even harder to secure universally-applicable mechanisms of human rights law. Technological advances, meanwhile, enable state and non-state actors to spread disinformation in an attempt to erode trust in facts and evidence. For instance, the Russian disinformation narratives have asserted that the civilian massacre in Bucha, Ukraine was staged.
Nevertheless, Ben Ferencz and his colleagues gave today's international human rights lawyers and activists the tools to document evidence and gather witness testimony, and the mechanisms to hold leaders accountable.
Ferencz himself was under no illusions about the challenges of creating a system that would bring war criminals to justice. In his later years he remarked “Nuremberg taught me that creating a world of tolerance and compassion would be a long and arduous task.”
But he also reminded us that “if we did not devote ourselves to developing effective world law, the same cruel mentality that made the Holocaust possible might one day destroy the entire human race.”