In the early decades of the 21st century, a new breed of oligarch has emerged: the global tech titan. Once hailed as visionary disruptors, these men — Peter Thiel, Marc Andreessen, Mark Zuckerberg, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos and a handful of others — now wield power that rivals or surpasses that of many governments. Their platforms, social networks and infrastructural tools touch nearly every aspect of daily life, from how we communicate with loved ones to how we receive medical care, how we navigate city streets and even how we conceptualize our democracy.

Although differing in style and personal philosophies, these individuals increasingly converge on the idea that “innovation” must prevail over legacy structures: cultural traditions, labor protections, democratic norms and sometimes even the basic premise of majority rule. Thiel has repeatedly questioned whether democracy remains compatible with technological progress; Musk’s Neuralink technology aspires to meld human brains with machines in ways that could reorder human identity itself; Andreessen champions “software eating the world” as an unstoppable force; Bezos invests in private space travel while his e-commerce empire “disrupts” retail and logistics; and Zuckerberg oversees a vast, sprawling and unregulated media conglomerate that can “manufacture consent” at his will. Their combined wealth, influence on policy and capacity to shape public discourse have grown so rapidly that the frameworks designed to hold traditional capitalists accountable — antitrust laws, government oversight and public pressure — struggle to keep pace.

In this essay, I propose that our era is entering a new phase: a potential slide toward techno-fascism or neo-feudalism, in which a small group of ultra-wealthy visionaries orchestrate vast swaths of the global economy, social relations and political governance — often beyond the purview of democratic institutions. Drawing upon historical warnings (from F.A. Hayek’s The Road to Serfdom to Hannah Arendt’s critique of totalitarian movements) and contemporary analyses of political economy (Shoshana Zuboff’s surveillance capitalism, Janis Mimura’s techno-fascism in prewar Japan), this essay will explore how the rise of AI, robotics and genetic engineering, under the tight control of powerful magnates, challenges both our material livelihoods and the very notion of human autonomy. It will also propose that the historical fight for collective self-governance — once against kings, then against totalitarian states — must be reimagined for an era in which corporate platforms control the main avenues of life and knowledge, and where the public is at risk of becoming subject to an emerging digital aristocracy.

Rise of the tech oligarchy

The triumph of technology in the modern economy is, at first glance, a story of breakneck innovation. Tech’s first generation of giants — Microsoft, Apple, Amazon, Google, Facebook — claimed to champion connectivity, efficiency and empowerment. The public originally greeted them with euphoria, celebrating the democratizing potential of personal computing and the Internet. By 2020, however, a deeper dynamic was clear: Rather than leveling hierarchies, these tech firms had amassed enormous capital and control. Market valuations soared, enabling these corporations to acquire or bankrupt would-be competitors. Their founders became billionaires many times over.

Such accelerated concentration of wealth has inevitably manifested in political influence. Tech leaders in the United States, for instance, poured money into lobbying and campaign donations, shaping everything from data-privacy laws and tax legislation to the parameters of labor regulations. We see similar trends in China, where companies like Tencent and Alibaba claim vast user bases and hold near-monopolies on everyday services, often working in tandem with state authorities.

Yet alongside financial success lies a swelling sense of hubris. Through generational wealth or a lucky genetic lottery, these leaders attended elite universities and tapped powerful professional networks that nurtured their rise. Significant government subsidies, favorable tax environments, public-sector research and infrastructure (funded by taxpayer dollars) and even reappropriation of existing technologies (initially developed for defense or academic projects) all contributed to their breakthroughs. Emboldened by adulation in the media and the marketplace, they now often regard themselves as near-divine architects of progress — new übermenschen (supermen) who, in their estimation, have transcended ordinary moral and political constraints. This blend of self-congratulation and financial supremacy forms the backbone of a techno-fascist mindset in which they claim the divine right to shape our collective future in their own dystopian image.

This dynamic creates an asymmetry of power that few historical analogies can fully capture. The feudal barons of the Middle Ages never held so many human lives in their hands nor possessed the tools to surveil or shape the consciousness of their subjects on a planetary scale. While contemporary nation-states theoretically exist to check this power through regulation and legislation, the velocity of technological change outstrips the pace at which most democratic institutions can respond. The result is an oligarchy that appears, to many, both unstoppable and unaccountable — a small contingent of techno-royalty presiding over systems essential to modern existence.

Hayek’s warning in The Road to Serfdom was that centralized planning could imperil individual freedoms and democratic governance. In our present context, the central planners are not bureaucratic government agencies but corporate boards and visionary CEOs who hold near-total command of digital ecosystems. While the form of tyranny differs from the 20th-century examples Hayek examined, the resulting curtailment of liberty may prove remarkably similar.

Echoes of empire and fascism

Mimura’s work on prewar Japan, Planning for Empire: Reform Bureaucrats and the Japanese Wartime State, illuminates a pivotal 1930s phenomenon: A clique of technocrats — often trained as engineers or bureaucrats — envisioned an empire managed by experts rather than traditional politicians. The Japanese colonization of Manchuria became a laboratory for forced industrial development, harnessing local populations without regard for their autonomy. In this techno-fascist experiment, technology was extolled as the highest instrument of civilization — a rational, scientific tool that could perfect governance and society. But those decisions were made by elites insulated from popular will.

The echoes of Planning for Empire are audible in Silicon Valley’s flamboyant proclamations about Mars colonization (SpaceX), seasteading (initially championed by Thiel) or network states (as proposed by tech investor Balaji Srinivasan). These futuristic ambitions present themselves as escapes from inefficient democracy. No red tape, no meddling politicians — just pure, frictionless progress. Yet the question arises: progress for whom? If entire communities are engineered by an elite few, does the average citizen have any recourse?

Similarly, Mussolini’s Italy upheld the corporatist state, wherein the government and leading industrialists merged powers, each advancing the other’s interests while sidelining labor unions and democratic checks. Although 21st-century tech leaders may distance themselves from Mussolini’s brutality, their preference for agile public–private partnerships, privately-owned surveillance grids and an almost casual disregard for legislative processes rings reminiscent of authoritarian corporatism.

Where once fascist leaders insisted they were forging the modern age, we now hear a new chorus of disruption, automation and intelligent system design. The unifying thread is a belief that “normal people” do not know what is best for them, and that democracy only hampers the visionary potential of a self-anointed elite.

Automation and the digital serf

The dramatic strides in AI, robotics and machine learning are widely touted as the final frontier of productivity. We are told that autonomous vehicles will eliminate accidents and revolutionize supply chains; AI-based diagnostic tools will enhance patient care and reduce health care costs; robots will handle tedious or dangerous tasks in warehouses and factories. And indeed, these promises hold some merit: Technological progress can bring gains in safety, efficiency and convenience.

However, the same technologies also threaten entire occupational categories. The trucking and taxi industries, employing millions globally, may vanish if self-driving fleets become the norm. Chatbots and AI-based recommendation engines already displace human roles in marketing, customer service and even certain legal or analytical functions. Musk himself, while arguing for the inevitability of a robot-dominated future, has intermittently predicted a universal basic income — an admission that capitalism, as currently structured, may not survive the wave of joblessness triggered by automation.

Political theorist Karl Marx wrote of alienation in the industrial era, but that alienation pales next to what a post-labor epoch might look like. If the ownership of AI and automated systems remains heavily concentrated among a few trillion-dollar corporations, the general populace risks becoming wholly dependent on them for everything from daily goods to social services. While feudal serfs once owed labor and loyalty to their lords in exchange for land and protection, today’s digital serfs might offer data, content creation and attention to remain within the fold of corporate networks — networks that not only shape access to resources but also the boundaries of permissible thought and action.

In this unfolding scenario, democracy becomes precarious. When an accelerating portion of the electorate is economically marginalized, reliant on a handful of corporate stewards, the concept of participating as free and equal citizens in a republic turns hollow. Those without economic security, let alone the resources to withstand automated surveillance or algorithmic manipulation, may find their political power effectively nullified.

AI militarism and corporate force

In the not-so-distant future, AI-driven warfare may extend far beyond drone strikes or digital espionage. Advanced robotics, ranging from autonomous ground vehicles to humanoid machines, are increasingly capable of replicating the tasks of soldiers and law-enforcement officers. Companies at the forefront of robotics already demonstrate prototypes of robot dogs, aerial drones and mechanized exoskeletons that can traverse rough terrain or navigate urban landscapes to confront targets. When paired with AI-enabled sensors, facial-recognition algorithms and predictive analytics, these robot units can detect and respond to perceived threats with a speed and precision surpassing that of human forces.

The potential displacement of human officers and soldiers carries enormous social and political ramifications. Human enforcers, by dint of shared language, culture and moral intuitions, can sometimes question or refuse immoral commands; they can blow the whistle on abuses. In contrast, autonomous machines follow pre-programmed rulesets or real-time AI directives. Once the threshold of lethal or coercive force is entrusted to AI-driven robotics, the control of those rulesets becomes paramount. If a small cohort of private tech titans holds proprietary algorithms and hardware designs, accountability evaporates. Whether operating under the banner of a nation-state or through private security contracts, these elites effectively wield a paramilitary apparatus that answers more to corporate or individual imperatives than to democratic oversight.

A telling parallel emerges in the historical phenomenon of military-industrial complexes, wherein governments relied heavily on private contractors to produce weapons and shape defense policy. Today’s shift may be more profound. Robotics and AI aren’t merely new armaments; they introduce a form of algorithmic obedience that could strip away the human dimension of warfare and policing. If software updates or bug fixes come only from a handful of corporations, a government — let alone the public — could find itself hostage to the techno-fascists who own and maintain the robotic force.

The consequences for civil liberties loom large. Autonomous police equipped with biometric scanning can be deployed to quell protests, enforce curfews or conduct mass surveillance without the friction of human conscience or labor rights. Citizens might find themselves governed by what is, in essence, an AI-driven private military — one operating under the illusion of national jurisdiction but ultimately subject to the will of a tiny cadre of trillionaires. The revolution in AI-driven military and police forces thus risks becoming a new lever for autocratic power, enabling the few to impose their vision of order on the many, while dismantling the very institutions that once constrained abuses of authority. Here is where the idea of techno-fascism emerges with a stark clarity: A technocratic elite, controlling not just markets but also the mechanisms of surveillance and coercion, wields authority once reserved for despots.

Bioengineering and the new eugenics

Beyond automation and surveillance, another frontier beckons: the engineering of bodies and minds themselves. Musk’s Neuralink, for instance, aims to implant computer chips in human brains, ostensibly to restore functionality to the disabled or merge human cognition with artificial intelligence. Gene-editing techniques such as CRISPR give scientists the ability to alter inheritable traits, raising possibilities of designer humans.

What if only the top 1% can afford these interventions? Will we see a new eugenics, not couched in the horrific racial pseudoscience of the past, but in the logic of market-based enhancements available only to paying elites?

In an era of biotech breakthroughs controlled by private firms, imagine a scenario in which the gap between enhanced and unenhanced humans widens exponentially. If the technology’s expense keeps it exclusive, societal stratification might be locked in at a biological or neurological level. A genetically privileged technocratic class could quite literally become a separate species of sorts, ushering in a new caste system that dwarfs the inequities of the Information Age — this in fact is the stated vision of plutocrats like Theil, Andreesen and the like.

Even if regulatory bodies attempted to control such developments, history suggests that the wealthiest actors can shop jurisdictions or influence lawmakers to permit pilot programs that gradually expand. For instance, surrogacy tourism or reproductive vacations already occur where regulations are lax; similarly, gene-editing entrepreneurs may set up labs in countries with minimal oversight. Over time, the normalization of a biotech elite could occur through marketing narratives touting the responsible use of enhancements. Meanwhile, the philosophical question of human liberty, agency and equality — the bedrock of democratic society — would erode under the logic of “if you can pay, you can be better.”

Neoreaction and techno-feudalism

One of the more disquieting intellectual trends gaining traction in Silicon Valley is neoreaction, championed by bloggers like Curtis Yarvin (also known by his pseudonym, Mencius Moldbug) and quietly entertained by some high-profile tech investors. Neoreaction posits that democracy is inefficient, self-destructive and doomed. Advocates believe that a well-educated, quasi-monarchical “CEO of the nation” would be more effective than messy legislative processes. Some even call for a patchwork of charter cities or network states, each governed by a visionary founder who can set local laws, handle policing and manage resources as they see fit.

This worldview resonates with certain corners of the tech elite who see themselves as natural aristocrats: brilliant coders, entrepreneurs and engineers who have earned the right to rule by virtue of intellect and wealth creation. Democracy, in their eyes, is a stumbling block to rational progress — full of compromise, ignorance and bureaucracy. Far from being fringe, these ideas have circulated in the social circles of millionaires and billionaires who see them as a logical extension of Silicon Valley’s culture of founder worship.

It is no coincidence that critics describe this phenomenon as techno-feudalism. Under monarchy, feudal lords once ran estates with near-total autonomy. Today’s variant is a group of tech founders, each commanding a digital realm — search engines, retail pipelines, social media platforms, advertising ecosystems and data troves — where they exercise near-absolute authority over how billions of people work, communicate or shop.

Broken institutions, fragmented publics

Beyond the theoretical threat, the reality is that public institutions have shown themselves ill-prepared to handle technology’s exponential pace or the unprecedented scale of private platforms. Regulators scramble to adapt decades-old antitrust tools to intangible networks driven by data economics. Partisan gridlock in legislatures prevents swift legislative responses. Agencies that oversee labor rights remain outmatched by armies of lawyers and lobbyists on the corporate side. Meanwhile, local communities struggle against ride-sharing or delivery behemoths whose algorithms bypass local labor codes and environmental standards.

Even the form of public discourse is in flux. Social media companies, driven by engagement metrics, reward extreme or divisive content. Algorithmic feeds fragment the electorate into micro-publics with tailored propaganda. Democracy relies on some shared baseline of facts and a willingness to engage in reasoned debate; these essential conditions deteriorate when corporate curation fosters echo chambers. In such an environment, persuading a critical mass of citizens to stand together on major issues — whether climate change, worker protection or data privacy — becomes increasingly challenging.

Add to that the introduction of advanced deepfake technologies, AI-generated text and manipulative bot armies: a swirling environment of disinformation that can saturate the political landscape, further weakening trust in democratic processes. We already see hints of this with foreign election interference; imagine a scenario where domestic players, empowered by AI marketing engines, can shift public opinion at scale or drown out dissenting voices. When technology magnates own the platforms (and the data about how we think and feel), they effectively control the conversation, even if subtlety is their preferred tactic. Indeed, if they can shape the mental environment in which voters make choices, the façade of free elections may remain, but the substance becomes questionable.

Challenges to tyranny

Yet history also teaches that all forms of tyranny — monarchic, totalitarian, plutocratic — can be challenged and often undone, given enough organized resistance. The question is whether the magnitude and novelty of tech elites’ power can be matched by robust, imaginative forms of political and social organizing. A few starting points:

1. Antitrust and platform regulation: Policymakers must reinvent antitrust frameworks suitable for data-driven markets. Breaking up or heavily regulating the largest tech monopolies could restore competitive pressures. More radical proposals include converting key platforms into public utilities or data trusts, ensuring that no single corporation or individual can wield unbridled power over essential digital infrastructure.
2. Digital Bill of Rights: Scholars and activists have proposed a Digital Bill of Rights ensuring user privacy, data portability, algorithmic transparency and the right to disconnect. By establishing these principles, societies could reclaim some autonomy from corporate platforms, limiting the capacity for large-scale behavioral manipulation.
3. Public investment in AI and robotics: Instead of leaving AI development solely to private corporations, public institutions, including universities and government agencies, should expand open-source research and development. By making advanced AI and robotics a public good, we reduce the risk that a few moguls can exclusively dictate how these tools reshape labor and social life.
4. Social safety nets and universal basic services: If automation indeed displaces tens of millions of workers, simply handing out minimal stipends may not suffice. A robust social safety net — including housing, education and health care as public goods — would ensure that people retain an avenue to civic participation and independence from corporate dictates.
5. International agreements on AI warfare and genetic engineering: As with nuclear weapons in previous eras, global treaties and international regulatory bodies must constrain the use of AI-driven weapon systems and heavily restrict clandestine gene-editing. Without global collaboration, private or state-backed actors can simply circumvent domestic laws by moving across borders.
6. Renewed civic engagement and digital literacy: Civil society groups, grassroots organizations and nonprofits must work tirelessly to raise public awareness of how innovation can mask new forms of exploitation and control. Engaging younger generations in digital literacy — a critical perspective on algorithms, data privacy and online manipulation — may reduce susceptibility to unscrupulous uses of technology.
7. Ethical frameworks for engineers and scientists: Much like doctors take the Hippocratic Oath, the people building AI systems, neural implants or gene-editing tools can pledge to uphold standards that protect individual rights and social wellbeing. While such ethical commitments cannot replace regulation, they can foster professional norms that make destructive technological abuses less likely.

These proposals, while diverse, all hinge on a single premise: that the citizenry and their elected representatives must actively shape the technological future, rather than passively receiving it from profit-driven CEOs or boards of directors.

Our fight for agency

At its founding, the US threw off monarchy in a revolutionary act that sought to guarantee self-rule. Across Europe, citizens eventually dismantled absolute monarchies, replaced them with constitutional regimes and struggled against 20th-century totalitarianisms. The impetus behind these upheavals was similar everywhere: the claim that people should not be pawns in someone else’s grand design, no matter how benevolent or “visionary” the would-be ruler claims to be.

Today, we face a new version of an old temptation. Under the banners of disruption and innovation, tech elites assert that democratic processes cannot keep up with the pace of technological change. They argue, implicitly if not explicitly, that we ought to trust them to set the rules for tomorrow’s world. This paternalism might be clothed in philanthropic gestures — like launching universal broadband or fighting pandemics with philanthropic funds — but it nonetheless bypasses the collective decision-making that underpins modern concepts of freedom and equality.

Against this tide stands the potential solidarity of millions, even billions, of individuals who recognize that technology should be a tool to enhance human flourishing, rather than a means to concentrate wealth and authority. The New Road to Serfdom is not an inevitable destiny; it is a warning. When people across societies come to understand the stakes — when they realize that scientific prowess can be as dangerous as any traditional weapon if controlled by unaccountable hands — they may unite to resist. This resistance need not be Luddite or anti-technology. On the contrary, it can embrace a humane and inclusive vision of progress: one that invests in open-source platforms, universal access to advanced breakthroughs and an unwavering commitment to democratic deliberation about how to deploy new powers.

History shows that every time the arc of power grows too concentrated, movements arise to disperse it. The labor movements of the 19th century, the civil rights struggles of the 20th and the anti-colonial campaigns across the Global South all demonstrate that entrenched systems of domination, no matter how pervasive, can be challenged. Our generation’s challenge is arguably more subtle because it wears the veneer of convenience and modernization. With a smartphone in every pocket and an app for every need, we risk forgetting that genuine freedom requires more than brand choices and frictionless transactions. It rests on the capacity of ordinary people to govern themselves — to speak, act and shape the institutions that structure their lives.

If we let the new tech barons define how we work, think, evolve and even procreate, we relinquish the core of the democratic experiment. Our digital present is marvelously efficient, but it risks curtailing the radical openness, unpredictability and moral agency that true democracy demands. Thus, as we stand at the crossroads, the question is not whether technology will continue to advance but whether we, as citizens, will reassert our collective right to steer that advancement toward the common good, rather than merely serving the whims of an elite.

This is the heart of our modern predicament: Will we awaken to the creeping reality of techno-fascism, where a small cadre of billionaire visionaries shapes our collective destiny? Or can we take up the unfinished revolution of democracy, reaffirming that the power of any technology must remain subordinate to the collective will of the people? The answer will define not just the coming decade but the entire trajectory of human society in a world where machines and data guide an ever-larger portion of our lives.

Ultimately, the fight against tyranny, in all its forms, is the fight for human agency. Let that be our final guide. We must confront the New Road to Serfdom before it hardens into a path from which there is no easy return. In so doing, we affirm that, no matter how sophisticated our tools become, our moral and political responsibility — to ourselves, to each other and to future generations — remains ours alone to shoulder. We cannot outsource it to any king, technocrat or algorithm without compromising the very essence of what it means to be free.

[Lee Thompson-Kolar edited this piece.]

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.