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By now you’ve probably noticed your attention being stolen, daily, by your various devices. You’ve probably read somewhere that companies much more powerful than you are dedicated to refining and perfecting that theft. In this episode of Radio Atlantic, MSNBC host and author of The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource explains in painful detail what you’re really up against. “It’s absolutely endemic to modern life,” Hayes says. “Our entire lives now is the wail of that siren going down the street.”

Hayes talks about his own experience of becoming famous enough to be recognized and becoming a little addicted to that attention. He explains how companies have learned to manipulate natural biological impulses in ways that keep us trapped. And he invokes Marx, who argued that capitalism alienates workers from their labor, to explain how technology is now alienating all of humanity from attention, which is perhaps more insidious because it lives in our psyches. “I think it’s because there’s something holy or sublime in actual human connection that can’t be replicated.”

The following is a transcript of the episode:

[Music]

Child: When my parents are on the phone, it usually makes me feel, like, really bored and makes me want to do something, because I don’t really have anything to do. And I’m kind of just, like, sitting there and watching them on the phone.

Claudine Ebeid: And what do you think about the amount of time that Dad and I spend on the phone?

Child: Well, I think, like, when they had landlines and stuff, you wouldn’t spend too much more time on the phone, and you would spend it on other types of devices.

But now, since it’s all in the phone, you wouldn’t really be seeing your parents, like, on a computer. You’d only see them doing that for, like, work or something.

Hanna Rosin: That’s our executive producer, Claudine Ebeid, and her daughter. We’re hearing from them because when we talk about screen time or how phones are manipulating us, it’s often adults talking about kids. But of course, it goes the other way too.

Chris Hayes: Every kid is engaged in a kind of battle for their parent’s attention.

Rosin: This is Chris Hayes, my guest this week.

Hayes: I mean, I think every kid notices how distracted parents are by the phone.

Rosin: Who’s the meanest to you about it?

Hayes: My youngest.

Rosin: Really? (Laughs.)

Hayes: Yeah.

Rosin: Not the teenager?

Hayes: No, actually, I think the youngest, because youngest children have a real antenna for attention. They come into a family in which they recognize immediately that there is, at some level, a kind of Hobbesian war of all against all for parental attention.

Rosin: I’m Hanna Rosin, and this week on the Radio Atlantic: the war for your attention.

You probably know Chris Hayes best as a host on MSNBC. He’s the author of a new book: The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource. And he doesn’t just mean parental attention. He’s talking about attention in politics, commerce, social media—basically, how capitalism found a uniquely human weakness to exploit.

But of course, since the topic is so often seen only through the lens of parents and children, we started out sharing how we can feel like hypocrites when we police our kids’ devices.

[Music]

Hayes: The one that I’ve caught myself doing is: your child asking for screen time when they’re, you know, not allowed to or it’s not normally the time, and giving them, like, a sharp “no”—and then going back to looking at your phone. (Laughs.)

Rosin: Oh, Chris. One thousand percent. Even the fact that we get to use the term screen time, and guess who doesn’t get to use the term screen time. They can’t be like, Dad, you only have an hour of screen time a day.

Hayes: That’s right. And one of the things I write about in the book is that when we think about the state of boredom, or being bored, I think we associate it with being a child. I mean, I remember days in the summer, particularly, where I was a little underscheduled. I was just sort of sitting around—these periods where you feel like, I have nothing to do.

And the reason I’ve come to believe that we associate [boredom] with childhood is, as soon as we are old enough to control our lives, we do everything possible to make sure we never feel it. That’s why it’s associated with childhood: because children don’t have full agency. Once we develop full agency, we’re like, I’m not gonna be in that state. I’m gonna do whatever it takes not to be in that state.

Rosin: Chris writes about how there are two kinds of attention: voluntary attention and compelled attention.

Hayes: So compelled attention is part of our deepest biological, neurological wiring. It’s the involuntary reaction if you are at a cocktail party and a waiter drops a tray of glasses.

[Glass breaking]

Hayes: You can’t help it. You cannot control whether you’re going to pay attention to that. It’s often the case with, you know, an explosion—

[Loud boom]

Hayes: —or the siren that is on top of an ambulance or a cop car as it goes down the street.

[Siren wailing]

Hayes: That involuntary attention is the part of our neurological wiring in which our attention is compelled, independent of our volition and will, as a kind of almost biological fact, due to the fact that we needed to be alert to danger, basically.

And then there’s voluntary attention, which is when we, using the conscious will, flash the beam of thought where we want it to go.

Rosin: So [if] I sit down and read your book, that’s voluntary attention.

Hayes: Correct.

Rosin: Is one better than the other?

Hayes: Well, I mean, I think that, look—involuntary attention is probably necessary for the survival of the species. So in that sense, it’s fundamental, and I wouldn’t say it’s worse. The problem is: So let’s say you’re reading the book. You’ve made this volitional decision, and as you’re reading the book, the little haptic buzz of a notification in your phone goes off.

[Tech vibration noise]

Hayes: Now, you notice that because it’s designed to use the deep circuitry of compelled attention to force your attention onto the physical sensation of the phone.

That is a perfect example of the one-way ratchet of what I call “attention capitalism,” is that the more important attention gets, and the more that people, corporations, and platforms have sort of optimized for it competitively, the more they will try to use the tactics of compelled attention to get our attention, rather than to get the part of us that’s volitional attention.

Now, of course, you still have human will. And in that moment, you’re going to decide, Am I going to take my phone out to see what the notification was or not? But that little moment, that little interruption, that’s pretty new at scale. I think it’s totally new at scale.

And it’s also just absolutely endemic to modern life. It’s our entire lives now, is that wail of the siren going down the street, the clatter of the drop tray.

[Siren wails, glass breaks, phone buzzes]

Hayes: There’s very powerful forces attempting to compel our attention away from where we might want to put it in any moment, because that’s a kind of hack for them for getting our attention.

Rosin: Right. You’re a little less than aware of it. Like, you’re not thinking, I want to look towards the waiter dropping the tray, or I want to look towards the ambulance. You’re just kind of reactive.

Hayes: Yeah, you’re reactive, and you’re at your sort of biophysical base, right? The comparison that I use in the book, and I think this might be helpful for people to think this through, is how hunger works. With food, we have these deep biological inheritances where there’s just universal deep wiring towards sweets, for instance, or fats, because they are extremely calorie dense.

You can exploit that at scale, as McDonald’s has and other food operations, and find that you could basically sell cheeseburgers and salty fries and Coca Cola all over the world, because you’re working on that deep biological substrate in people. But it’s also the case when you ask, Well, what do humans like to eat? it’s an impossible thing to answer, because the answer is: basically everything, right? It’s amazing, all the different things.

And what we see in sort of modern food culture and the food industry is a sort of fascinating kind of battle between these twin forces, right? The kind of industrialized production and fast food that is attempting to sort of find the lowest common denominator, speak to that deepest biological substrate so that they can sell corn syrup to everyone—and then all of the amazing things that people do with food and what food means as culture, as history, as self-expression, as expression of love and bonds.

And I think, basically, there’s a very similar dynamic that we now have with attention, where our compelled attention and our deep wiring is being extracted and exploited by very sophisticated, large, and powerful economic entities.

And yet we still do have this thing called voluntary attention. And you know, what’s sort of amazing, too, about the internet age is, like—and I say this in the book—like, I’ve watched hours of people cleaning carpets, which I find totally compelling and almost sort of sublime and soothing. And I wouldn’t have guessed that that was a thing I wanted to pay attention to.

You know, the internet has opened this cornucopia of different things you can pay attention to. So we’re constantly in this battle between these two forms of attention that are in our heads and the different entities that are trying to compel our attention against our will, and then our own kind of volitional attempt to control it.

Rosin: Chris, were you high when you were watching videos of cleaning carpets?

Hayes: (Laughs.) Mostly not. Occasionally yes, but mostly I have been sober while watching the cleaning carpets, and I’ve still found them incredibly calming.

Rosin: What? (Laughs.) So that’s your ASMR, is carpet cleaning?

Hayes: I don’t know if you’ve seen these, but they take these super, super dirty carpets—it’s like a genre video. There’s a million different ones now, which indicates that that’s not just me. Lots of people feel this way.

Rosin: It’s okay. It’s okay. There’s no judgment in this podcast at all.

Hayes: This is my kink.

Rosin: (Laughs.) You can find your calm wherever you need it. I’m just curious.

Hayes: (Laughs.) So yeah, that’s basically how I think about compelled involuntary attention. And I do think that, because I think we’re more familiar with it in the context of our appetites and hunger, I think it’s a really useful and grounding metaphor, because I think it functions in a very similar way.

Rosin: Essentially, what you’re saying is, the way this works is: We’ve got some biological impulses, let’s say, for example, to want social attention, just to be noticed by others. That’s in us, and that’s fine.

Hayes: Yeah. I mean, I think the reason that it’s so foundational, social attention— and I think it’s slightly counterintuitive because I think people have very different attitudes and personal dispositions towards social attention. Lots of people don’t like it. But the foundational truth about being a human is: We come into the world utterly helpless and dependent, completely, on care. And the thing prior to that care is attention.

And the best way to see this is the child’s wail. The most powerful tool that the newborn has is the cry. And the reason they have the cry is: It’s their siren. It compels our attention. And the reason that it compels our attention, and the reason they have to have the ability to compel our attention, is because without attention, they will perish. And that is our human inheritance. That need from the moment we come gasping into the world for others’ attention—that is foundational to every single one of us.

Rosin: So we have this need for social attention. It’s a basic need. Whether we’re an introvert or an extrovert, that’s not what we’re talking about. We just have this basic need for social attention. What is different about seeking social attention online?

Hayes: Okay, this is really, I think, a key thing to think about. Before civilization, you got social attention from people that you knew that you had relationships with, right? There weren’t really strangers. And you might be able to put your social attention on someone you don’t know, like a kind of godlike figure or a mythic hero that tales were told of, right? So you could put your attention on a person you don’t know, but the social attention you received was all from people that you had a bilateral relationship with. What happens with the dawn of what we might call fame—and there’s an amazing book about this that I cite—

Rosin: Leo Braudy.

Hayes: Yeah, Leo Braudy’s great book. He says Alexander, basically, is the first famous person, and he explains why. But fame is the experience of receiving social attention from people you do not know, and at scale.

Now this is a very strange experience. And the reason I know this is because I happen to live it. And so in the progression of civilization, you start to have famous people, and more and more people can be famous with the dawn of industrial media: movie stars, pop stars, all this stuff.

But it’s still a very, very, very tiny percentage of people that can be known by strangers—that can have social attention being paid to them by strangers. That just generally doesn’t happen for most people, and most people are gonna have received social attention from people they have relationships with, and they might put their social attention on all sorts of public figures—the president or celebrities and other people—but they’re not getting it from people they don’t know.

That just is a very tiny sliver of humans that can have that experience, and now it is utterly democratized for everyone for the first time in human history. I mean, it’s genuinely new, genuinely a break, has not happened before. Anyone can have enormous social attention from oceans of strangers on them. You can have a viral moment online. You can cultivate a following. This experience of social attention from strangers—precisely because it is so at odds, I think, with our inheritance—is weird and alienating. And there’s a bunch of ways it is. One of the ways it’s alienating is that we are conditioned to care what the people we love think about us.

We’re conditioned to care if we’ve hurt someone that we have a relationship with. But it’s very different if you’ve insulted or hurt just a total stranger who’s saying mean things to you, or you’ve disappointed them, or they’re angry at you. That comes into you, psychologically, indistinguishably from it coming from kin or lover or friend.

Rosin: So we just basically, our—I don’t know if I want to call them our intimacy compass—something gets scrambled. We just don’t have the category to react or manage that category of social attention. We just don’t know what to do with it.

Hayes: Truly, there’s a kind of clash here between the data set we’re trained on, if you will, and what we’re encountering. And the reason—again, this is a place that I really know, right? I didn’t used to have people come up to me on the street, and then I became famous enough that people did. And I’ve experienced all the ways that that’s strange and alienating, and I’ve given a lot of thought—partly as a kind of full-time psychological undertaking, so that I don’t go crazy, because I do think it’s kind of distorting and madness inducing in its own way.

And what we’ve done is basically democratize the madness-inducing aspects of celebrity for the entire society. Every teenager with a phone now can be driven nuts in precisely the way that we have watched generations of celebrities and stars go crazy.

Rosin: You mentioned Bo Burnham in your book and the movie he made, Eighth Grade. When he talked about why he made that movie, he said that same thing. He had a similar experience to you—he went viral at a pretty young age—and then he realized that every eighth grader was having the kind of experience that he had had, which he found so alienating but that had now become a common experience. Can you read a paragraph for me from your “social attention” chapter, which I think is relevant to this conversation?

Hayes: Sure. I’d love to.

Rosin: Just the paragraph that starts with “the social media combination.”

Hayes: “The social media combination of mass fame and mass surveillance increasingly channels our most basic impulses—toward loving and being loved, caring for and being cared for, getting our friends to laugh at our jokes—into the project of impressing strangers, a project that cannot, by definition, sate our desires but feels close enough to real human connection that we cannot but pursue it in ever more compulsive ways.”

Rosin: That really hit me. It’s a dark vision. It’s like they tap into our thirst perfectly but then just keep the glass of water just out of reach, you know?

Hayes: Well, and I think that’s because there’s something holy or sublime in actual human connection that can’t be replicated.

Rosin: Yeah.

Hayes: —that, you know, the thing that we’re chasing is something ineffable and nonreplicable. And it’s the reason we chase it, because it’s what makes life worth living, at a certain level, is to be recognized and seen. Relationships of mutual support and affection and care with other people—you know, that’s it. That’s the stuff of it. And we are given a tantalizing facsimile that some deep part of us cannot help but chase, but it can’t also be the real thing.

Rosin: When we come back: who exactly is benefiting from this attention economy, why it feels so bad for the rest of us, and what we can do about it. That’s after the break.

[Break]

Rosin: We’re back. And we’re starting with something that everyone who gets social attention from strangers learns.

Hayes: What you quickly find is that positive compliments and recognition—they just sort of wash off you. But the insults and the negativity cuts and sticks. I mean, do you not feel that way as someone who has some public profile?

Rosin: Yes, yes. It’s happened to me, and I was so surprised at how hurt I was. And when I look back, I think, like, I literally don’t really know those people. Like, there’s just something so, Ugh. It’s, like, ancient, the feeling—like you’re being pilloried or something, like you’re in the public square—and it feels terrible, and I don’t understand why. Like, I could just shut my computer, and it’d be gone, but it does not feel that way, internally.

Hayes: Yeah, and I can think of days I spent in that haze. You know, when you come out of it, you’re like, Why did I let myself feel that way? Like, Why did I spend a whole day? Like, Why was I—I can even think of moments of being distracted from my kids because I was sitting there and feeling wounded and hurt and ruminating on a mean thing someone who I don’t know said online. And I’m distracted, and my attention’s on that instead of my wonderful child sitting on my lap, you know? (Laughs.)

Rosin: Well, I think the lesson to learn from that is what you’re talking about in this book, is how vulnerable we are. Even when it doesn’t make intellectual sense, there is some way that we’re vulnerable in this moment. We can’t completely control our reactions and choose, voluntarily, not to pay attention to this thing. We don’t have that kind of agency—not yet, anyway.

Hayes: That’s exactly right. You know, attention is the substance of life. That is what our lives add up to. It’s in every moment, we are choosing to pay attention to something, or we’re having it compelled, but we’re paying attention to something. And that’s what adds up to a day and a week and a month and a year and a life.

And it’s also finite. You know, this is one of the key points I make, is that part of the value—and the reason it’s so valuable, and the reason there is such competition for the extraction of attention—is that unlike information, it’s capped. It’s a finite resource. It’s that people are figuring out how to take one or two extra slices of the pie, not grow it. And that’s the other thing that leads to the feeling of alienation and the feeling that something has been taken away from us because of its finitude.

Rosin: Well, let’s talk about attention as a resource, because we’ve talked a lot about how it works in us, the individuals, and permeates our lives, but I want to talk about a broader social context. You make this very compelling analogy between our attention problem and Marxist ideas. I did have this image of you at a bookstore one day, like, being bored and coming across a copy of Das Kapital, and like, a lightning bolt goes off. Yes! It’s like Marx but for the information age. It’s a really compelling analogy. Can you explain it?

Hayes: Yes, I mean, you know, I started reading Marx in high school, which is a weird thing to say, but it’s true. Here’s the basic argument Marx makes about labor.

So he’s living at this time where there’s this new thing called “wage capitalism,” “wage labor.” People, you know, sell their labor on a per-hour basis.

Rosin: And how is that different from people’s relationship to labor before? Just so we get the analogy.

Hayes: Totally. So let’s think about a cobbler, right? You’re in the preindustrial age. You got your little shop. You make a shoe. And there’s a few things about this process that are distinct. One is, there’s a telos; there’s an arc to it. You start with the raw materials, then you put them together, then you put the sole on, then you put the finish on. In the end, you have a shoe, and you own that shoe, and then you sell it in your store in exchange for money.

Now, compare that experience to the wage laborer in a shoe factory who is at one position stamping soles 10 or 12 hours a day, six days a week. In both cases, you could say that sort of preindustrial cobbler and the shoe-factory worker are both laboring.

But now there’s this distinct thing called “labor as a commodity” that has a wage price and a set of institutions to take the labor in exchange for that wage, and a set of technological and economic developments that produce a situation in which you go from being the cobbler, who makes the whole shoe, to being in a factory 12 hours a day, stamping a sole.

And Marx talks about this as the root of alienation. You’re just alienated from yourself, from your humanity. You’re not doing a recognizably human thing. You’re doing something that feels robotic and mechanical, but also that the value that you’re creating is literally outside of you. I mean, to go back to the cobbler, when he makes the shoe, he actually owns the shoe. If he wanted to make the shoe and give it to his kids, he could do that—and sometimes cobblers would, right? But the factory worker doesn’t have that. The factory worker is alienated from the value of the shoe. He’s stamping the sole, and when it goes down the line, it gets sold off somewhere else. It’s literally outside of him. It’s alien to him.

So this is the basic Marx labor theory of value, right? That you have this transformation in society, economic conditions, institutions that took a thing that was fundamentally human—effort, toil, whatever you want to call it—and transformed it into this new thing that was a commodity that could be priced and bought and traded.

Rosin: Called labor.

Hayes: Called labor. And I think, basically, there’s something happening right now with attention that’s similar. People have always paid attention to things, and that attention has always had some value, and there’s people who have utilized that value for all kinds of purposes—P. T. Barnum, Mark Antony: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.”

You know, there’s always been a value there, but we’ve entered an age that I think is similar to the industrial age—but for attention—where a set of institutions, technologies, and arrangements have produced a world in which our attention is being extracted from us, commodified, and sold at a price, often in millisecond auctions to advertisers.

And that extraction leads to a profound sense of alienation, similar in some ways to that sense of alienation and that alienation of the laborer. And yet there’s one more way in which it’s even more insidious, I would argue, which is that compelled, involuntary aspect.

So labor can be coerced forcibly. I mean, you can, you know, use a whip or a gun to make someone do something. If you put a gun to someone’s head and say, Dig a ditch, you’re coercing. You’re forcing that labor. But they know they’re doing it. If you fire a gun, your head will snap around before you know you’re even doing it.

And so because of this involuntary, compelled aspect of our biological wiring for attention, this new competitive attention capitalism is working to extract it at such a deep level that it’s compelling it, at some way, before we’re even able to make a volitional choice about it. And that feeling is this profound, deep feeling of alienation.

I think this alienation is so ubiquitous. I think we all feel versions of it, and I found the concept of alienation, which I always found a little foggy in the past, very clarifying. Something that should be within us is outside of us, and that within us is my control over my own thoughts. That’s the thing that should be within me. That’s the nature of consciousness itself, what it means to be of free will, and yet that is being extracted and commodified and taken outside of me.

Rosin: So we’re not exactly compelled. Nobody’s holding a gun to our head. So I don’t know that you could say it’s worse. It’s just more confusing because we are participating. So in some sense—

Hayes: Yes, that’s a good point. Yes, there’s not the same sense of violation, right? Because in some ways it feels like we’re consenting. I think you’re right. That muddies it and also gives us a weird feeling of shame and guilt.

Rosin: One consequence we’re seeing is the kind of people who thrive in this age—obviously, Donald Trump. You mention Elon Musk a lot in the book, which I think is a specific point. Like, the Trump point is kind of obvious. Like, why someone like that thrives in an age of attention, I think we intuitively understand that. Musk is a little more complicated.

Hayes: Well, look—here’s what unites them, right? It’s fundamentally: These are people that understand that attention matters more than anything, even at the cost of negative attention. And this is really the key thing to understand, I think, that has really warped our public discourse. The thing that separates social attention from other, more elevated forms of human interaction is that it’s necessary but not sufficient.

Someone flirting with you across the bar is social attention, a pleasant kind. Someone screaming at your face because you’re too close to them on the subway is also attention. And that’s the weird thing about attention. It could be of either valence and everything in between.

In a world that increasingly values attention over all else, what you get is you unlock the universe of negative attention and its power, because if all that matters is attention, then negative attention is just as good as positive attention. Now, most of us are conditioned to not like negative attention. But there’s a certain set of people who, either through a sort of intellectual understanding—sometimes this happens, where you’ll read interviews with creators who are like, Oh yeah. Once I started trolling, I got more views, right?

So part of it is: The algorithms select for negative attention. But part of it is just a deep brokenness in their personality, and I think this is true of both Donald Trump and Elon Musk, to seek out negative attention because it’s attention. And this creates a kind of troll politics writ large, and I think we’re sort of watching, in some ways, the Musk era supplant the Trump era, if that makes sense?

Rosin: What do you mean? What do you define as the Musk era?

Hayes: So most politicians, they want positive attention, and if they can’t get positive attention, they want no attention and then, underneath that, negative attention, right? So it’s like, you want people to like you and know your name, or you want to stay out of the news. And what Trump realized is that, no, it doesn’t matter whether it’s positive or negative, as long as you’re getting attention,

Musk has now taken this insight to actually having captured a platform that he purchased, where he is now operationalizing this at scale. So it’s like the higher synthesis of the insight of Trump. He’s understood that attention is the most valuable resource, and this is true in monetary terms. I mean, look at what’s happened—this I actually get wrong in the book because I was writing it too early.

Look what happened: He buys Twitter, okay? He buys it for $44 billion. So he gets it so he could be the main character on this. He so obsessively pursues this attention that it destroys the actual value of the entity. So lighting $25 billion on fire, right, all in this sort of broken pursuit of attention. But then, using this attention and using the platform, he helps elect a president who puts him, essentially, at the seat of power that produces an enormous boon in his personal wealth because people are like, Oh now he is close to power, and it has netted him hundreds of billions of dollars in his personal value.

And it’s the most incredible allegory for the entire attention age. Here are these two guys, Donald Trump and Elon Musk, who seem to recognize more than anyone that attention is the most valuable resource and that you should do whatever you can to pursue it, even if that means acting like a maniac. And it’s kind of worked for both of them.

Rosin: That seems so huge and overpowering. I mean, there’s a way of listening to you and reading this book and fully seeing it. Like, we can see the train wreck in our own lives and sort of out there in the world. But you might read the book and think, Okay, this is my own ordeal—like, something I have to combat. I have to put my phone away. I have to chain myself to the trees or whatever.

Hayes: Yeah. I mean, so the first thing I would say is that the cause for optimism, which I have some, is that I feel this is pretty untenable and unsustainable, because I think the sense of exhaustion and alienation so ubiquitous and profound that I don’t think it can keep going that way. And actually, I think that there’s unbelievable latent energy for something different than what this is.

There are ways that attention can still be bought and sold that isn’t this particular to-the-second, algorithmic, infinite scroll that we’re all now trapped in, right? So I think you are going to see flourishing of alternate means. And you see this, I mean—Substack, the longform newsletter. We’re seeing it happen. Like, Substack is growing because people do want to read long things from people that they think are interesting, and not just algorithmic serving of short-form video. That’s a different model. It’s a for-profit model, but it’s a different model and, I think, a better one and one that’s less extractive and alienating for our attention.

You know, vinyl records were completely supplanted by cassette tapes and then CDs. And then, starting about 10 years ago, they started growing, and they’ve been growing every year, and they’ve been growing at huge paces, and there’s now a thriving vinyl industry. And the reason is that, I think, when you are streaming music, you have the twitchy, short-form attention extraction of going to the next song, or maybe I want something else. When you put on a record, you commit, right?

The commitment mechanism is the triumph of the volitional will over the involuntary attention compulsion, right? It’s like Odysseus lashing himself to the mast, right? We make a commitment: I’m going to read this email from this Substacker I subscribe to. I’m going to listen to this album, which I’ve put on vinyl. These commitment methods—and, again, they could be in for-profit context—I think we are going to see flourishing and more energy behind that.

And the other example I use, because I talked about hunger before, is to think about what’s happened with how opposition to the sort of corporate, industrial food system the U.S. has worked. So you’ve had an entire thriving ecosystem and set of businesses built up in opposition to precisely the forms of extractive and exploitative food capitalism that I think is parallel to attention capitalism.

And I think we are going to see that. There are people that market dumb phones now, and I think there’s gonna be a lot more of them. I can imagine a world in which, in the same way that a certain kind of parent doesn’t feed their kids fast food, you start to see that more and more, that people kind of just opt out of this entire system, to the extent they can.

Rosin: Do you think we’re being exploited, and we should be mad about it?

Hayes: Yeah, I do. I do. I think that there’s something pretty dark and insidious about how the major platforms, particularly, are engineering this kind of attention compulsion. And I think we are going to enter an era in which we start regulating attention seriously. You’re seeing this call—you know, in Australia, they’ve already banned social media for children under 16. You’re going to see more and more calls for that. But also, I can imagine other ways that we try to regulate it, whether it’s hard caps—regulated hard caps on screen time. I mean, that sounds so crazy and kind of un-American, but I don’t know. Maybe that’s a good idea!

Rosin: Well, I take hope in the schools. I mean, schools, not just in the U.S. but all over the world, are starting to get pretty serious about no phones at all during class time, which is radical. If you’re a teenager, that’s a radical change in your life. So that’s hopeful. I will say one thing your book has really done for me very concretely is make me appreciate my group chats.

Like, after I read your book, I went back and I thanked—you know, I thought, Oh, you know, I’ve got a couple of group chats that are so fun. And I just went and thanked everybody on them.

Hayes: That makes me so happy to hear that, because this is a book written by a person who genuinely loves the internet and has loved the internet most of his adult life. I mean, I’m an early internet adopter, and what the group chat is doing is: It’s using technology to connect actual people that know each other.

And there’s lots of stuff that could happen in group chat that could be messy or bad, because humans can be mean or gossipy to each other. But fundamentally, there’s not an interposition of some entity trying to monetize it. It’s a noncommercial space. It’s a technology that’s a noncommercial space.

It feels like the early noncommercial internet. You just go on with your friends, and you make jokes, and you share stuff, and that’s it. No one comes in with a five-second ad. No one tries to extract your attention against your will. It’s a set of bilateral relationships, voluntarily entered to, in a space that is noncommercial.

And that’s the other thing we really need. Like, we have physical public spaces that are noncommercial, and they are so vital, whether that’s schools or libraries or parks. Increasingly, the internet is just totally captured by commercial spaces. And it used to be entirely noncommercial, and now it’s entirely commercial. And those commercial spaces will ultimately further the kind of extractive attention capitalism I’m critiquing. But there are ways to create—and the group chat right now is the chief among them—noncommercial spaces of digital connection.

Rosin: Okay, everyone listening, go do more group chats. Just go engage in your group chats. And Chris, thank you so much for joining me today. Thank you for writing this book and explaining this all to us.

Hayes: Thank you for reading it. It really means a lot to me and thank you for having me.

[Music]

Rosin: This episode was produced by Kevin Townsend and edited by Claudine Ebeid. Rob Smierciak engineered, and Ena Alvarado fact-checked. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio, and Andrea Valdez is our managing editor.

My thanks again to Chris Hayes for joining me. His new book is The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource.

Donald Trump spent decades in business gleefully suing and angrily being sued by his adversaries in civil court. But since winning reelection, he has suddenly posted a remarkable string of legal victories, as litigants rush to settle their cases.

On November 20, 2024, lawyers for Trump and Elon Musk’s company X, filed a joint letter to the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco without press release or fanfare. That court was expected to rule on the legal merits of a set of 2021 lawsuits that Trump had filed against X, Facebook, and YouTube, alleging that the companies had unlawfully removed his social media accounts under government pressure weeks after the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol.

Oral arguments in 2023 had gone poorly for Trump, and many legal observers saw little hope for him. As recently as August 2024, nearly two years after Musk took over the company formerly known as Twitter, X had filed a brief with the Ninth Circuit arguing that Trump’s case lacked merit and that it had been properly dismissed by a lower court.

[Read: Why Trump won’t stop suing the media and losing]

Now, the attorneys told the court in the November letter, no ruling would be needed in the case. “We write to advise the court that the parties are actively discussing a potential settlement,” read the joint letter, which was also signed by lawyers for Trump’s co-plaintiffs.

The attorneys did not explain the sudden shift in strategy. The merits of the case had not changed, but the broader context had: The litigants were no longer adversaries, and the plaintiff was about to become president of the United States. Musk had just spent more than $250 million to help elect Trump, moved into his Palm Beach property, accepted a position as a transition adviser, and was celebrating his new nickname—“first buddy.” The day before the letter was filed, Trump had appeared in South Texas with Musk to watch the launch of Musk’s latest Starship rocket.

In seeking to settle with Trump, X, it turned out, was at the start of a trend. A series of litigants that have fought the newly reinstated president in court, in some cases for years, have now lined up to negotiate. ABC News and its parent company, Disney, settled with Trump in December.

Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg, who had been threatened with jail by Trump as recently as September, traveled to Mar-a-Lago on January 10 to negotiate a settlement with Trump in the Facebook case, which named Zuckerberg personally as a defendant. The deal they struck, according to two people briefed on the agreement who requested anonymity to discuss the arrangement, will cost Meta $25 million in damages and legal fees, a remarkable turn of events that coincided with other demonstrations by Zuckerberg of new fealty toward Trump. The Wall Street Journal reported today that $22 million will go to fund Trump’s presidential library, with the rest going to legal fees and the other plaintiffs.

“We don’t have any comment or guidance to offer,” Meta spokesman Andy Stone told me in a text message, before confirming the $25 million settlement.

These agreements stand to give the most litigious president in American history symbolic victories for himself and financial victories for his legacy. The settlement negotiations raise the question of whether Trump is using his new powers to bully his legal opponents into submission, and whether the litigants are seeking to purchase favor as they try to navigate the many regulatory threats from his new government.

Neither X nor the president’s legal team have publicly disclosed the terms of their settlement discussions with Trump, or even confirmed whether the cases have been settled. Ari Horltzblatt, the attorney for X who filed the settlement notice in the Ninth Circuit, declined to comment when reached by phone. The White House did not respond to a request for comment.

Multiple co-plaintiffs with Trump, who filed his 2021 case as class action lawsuits, also declined to comment this week when reached by The Atlantic. “No comment at this time,” Jennifer Horton, a Michigan school teacher who lost her Facebook account after posts that were flagged for COVID misinformation, wrote to me in a text message. “Check back with me later in week. I can’t talk right now,” radio host Wayne Allyn Root, who lost his Twitter account, wrote in an email.

[Paul Rosenzweig: It’s not amateur hour anymore]

Trump based his 2021 legal crusade against the social media giants on the assertion that they banned his accounts because of government pressure, in violation of the First Amendment. His co-defendants, including the feminist writer Naomi Wolf, have claimed substantial financial harm—“at least $1 million,” in Wolf’s case—from having their own accounts banned. The companies have argued that Trump has failed to show clear evidence that their decisions were directly dictated by a government power. Trump’s argument also has been complicated by the fact that he ran the federal executive branch at the time that his accounts were shut down; Joe Biden was still president-elect.

Ironically, some legal observers argue that Trump might now be committing the very sin that he accused Democrats of perpetrating against him—using the power of his incoming presidency to pressure private companies to take actions for his personal benefit. They worry the companies are agreeing to settlements less from fear that they would lose in court than fear that they would win.

“Trump may be doing what he claimed Biden was doing but he never really did,” Eric Goldman, a professor of law at Santa Clara University who has been tracking the X and Meta cases, told me. “If there is a cash settlement, it is because it’s just a staggering economic transaction to buy influence.”

The precedent for such legal surrender was established late last year by ABC News, which had been sued by Trump for defamation; the case concerned comments by the network host George Stephanolopolous that Trump had “been found liable for rape,” when a New York court had found him liable for sexual abuse under state law—though the judge later clarified that the behavior in question was “commonly considered ‘rape’ in other contexts.” ABC News struck a settlement with Trump in mid-December that sent $15 million from parent company Disney to help build his future presidential library and paid $1 million in legal fees, shocking First Amendment attorneys. (Attorneys for Disney had concluded that the case posed substantial risk, The New York Times reported, and that the settlement was a small price to pay to resolve it.)

The Wall Street Journal reported earlier this month that the parent company of CBS News, Paramount Global, was considering a settlement with Trump over his $10 billion claim that 60 Minutes illegally interfered with the election by favorably editing an interview with Vice President Kamala Harris. Paramount is in the process of merging with Skydance Media, a deal that would require approval by Trump appointees. “We have no comment,” Paramount Global spokesman Justin Dini told me in a statement.

Trump has also sued Gannett, the owner of The Des Moines Register, alleging consumer fraud for a poll the Register published before the 2024 election that showed Harris with a lead over Trump in Iowa days before the election. (Trump won the state.) Gannett has signalled that it intends to contest the case in federal court.

The Founding Fathers, for all their foresight, did not concern themselves with the possibility that a future president might use civil litigation to extract money or fealty. The U.S. criminal code does little to prevent the president, who is exempt from its primary conflict of interest provisions, from continuing civil litigation or profiting from court cases once he takes office.

[Read: The strategy behind Trump’s policy blitz]

Richard Painter, the chief White House ethics lawyer for President George W. Bush, told me that the current situation gives enormous power to a president who has indicated a willingness to use litigation to get his way. “What law prevents him from basically extorting media companies? Absolutely no law at all,” Painter said. “These suits are going to settle. It is not just the money he is getting from it. We are going to have the media be cowed by the president of the United States.”

The Trump case against YouTube and Sundar Pichai, the CEO of parent company Google, filed in 2021 with the X and Meta cases, has been lying dormant in a Northern California courtroom since December 2023, pending the outcome of the Ninth Circuit appeal of the case against X.

Musk’s decision to settle before an opinion now opens the possibility that the YouTube case will be revived unless that company too seeks a settlement. Jose Castañeda, a spokesperson for Google, declined this week to comment on the company’s legal strategy.

On Inauguration Day, many felt real euphoria at the prospect of a wholesale renovation of America’s institutions. And, as I’ve argued often, our constitutional democracy does need renovation—the various elites are disconnected from the people, bureaucracy afflicts everyone, and many of us find it impossible to hold our elected officials accountable. Yet I fear that the renovations we’re about to get will take us in the wrong direction.

Americans have been yielding sovereignty to tech magnates and their money for years. The milestones are sometimes startling, even if one has long been aware of where things are heading. I was astonished and alarmed when I learned, in the summer of 2023, that Elon Musk had, within a span of five years, built an orbital network comprising more than half of the world’s active satellites. His share has now risen to more than 60 percent. Already in 2023, he controlled battlefield communications infrastructure used in the war between Ukraine and Russia. Musk is currently the head of Donald Trump’s new Department of Government Efficiency, known as DOGE, which is taking over the U.S. Digital Service. At the same time, he may be making a bid for TikTok’s American platform. Ownership of TikTok brings immense power. In December, the Romanian elections were canceled in the middle of voting because of fears that propaganda from Russia, by means of TikTok, was driving the election results.

Musk is well on his way to controlling the world’s communications infrastructure. This is not by accident. He swims in an intellectual universe, alongside his PayPal associates Peter Thiel (who funded J. D. Vance’s Senate campaign) and David Sacks (now Trump’s AI and crypto czar), whose writers advocate for replacing democratic leadership with a CEO-monarch, and argue that higher-IQ “sovereign individuals” should rule over people with lower IQs. Musk, Sacks, and Thiel all spent formative boyhood years in South Africa. As the historian Jill Lepore noted in The New Yorker, Musk’s grandfather took the family to South Africa for the sake of apartheid, having left Canada after being jailed for his leadership activities in the Technocracy movement, “whose proponents believed that scientists and engineers, rather than the people, should rule.” Thiel has made “freedom” his life’s pursuit. Since 2009, he has argued that freedom is incompatible with democracy, and that “the fate of our world may depend on the effort of a single person who builds or propagates the machinery of freedom that makes the world safe for capitalism.”

[Brooke Harrington: The broligarchs are trying to have their way]

Two original MAGA leaders, Steve Bannon and Laura Loomer, have railed against this “techno-feudalism.” That is what they see Musk and his allies trying to bring about, whether in collaboration with Trump or by using him as their puppet. For the first time ever, I find myself agreeing with Bannon and Loomer.

The whole situation went from concerning to surreal when, two days before his inauguration, Trump issued a meme crypto coin, known as $TRUMP. A memecoin is a form of cryptocurrency that has no value-creating function in the crypto ecosystem. Instead, it references some popular phenomenon and gains its value only because of people’s interest in that popular phenomenon. Typically, memecoins also lack the security that could render them a stable part of the crypto financial infrastructure.

The fully diluted value (or market cap when the full supply is circulating) of  $TRUMP, 80 percent of which is owned by entities that the Trump family controls, shot up within 24 hours of its release to more than $70 billion. It is now bouncing around between $20 billion and $30 billion—meaning the president now holds something like 75 to 80 percent of his wealth in crypto. That goes well beyond monetizing the Trump brand through T-shirts, gold sneakers, and steaks. This time, Trump has auctioned himself. Leaving aside the technical substrate, there is arguably little difference between $TRUMP and the president posting a deposit-only Swiss-bank-account number online, into which people can deposit funds and privately show him the receipts for their deposits. His personal wealth now depends on these depositors. He has turned himself—and therefore his office—into a for-profit joint-share stock corporation. People with $TRUMP in their crypto wallets are the shareholders.

[Read: The crypto world is already mad at Trump]

Who knows if the president intended this outcome, but leaders in the crypto space have long hoped for the replacement of nation-states with “network states” encompassing communities that come together on the blockchain. They are celebrating $TRUMP as the first crypto community to have gained control of a nation-state’s powers by capturing the president’s attention through control of his digital wallet. If what Trump has done is upheld as legal or becomes a norm, other global leaders have every incentive to do what he did, turning democratic governance into corporate governance. Melania Trump, for one, has already followed suit; her coin was issued a few days after Trump’s.

Last week, the DOGE homepage displayed the icon for Dogecoin, which Musk has declared to be his favorite coin, and which he holds. (He has faced litigation as a result of accusations that he sought to pump it up; the lawsuit was dismissed.) The icon appeared in vibrant color against a black background. It was removed within 24 hours.

Two features of the $TRUMP memecoin are especially troubling. First, there is the question of who owns the coin. Initial activity for sales of $TRUMP—and, therefore, its financial backing—came from buyers on the platforms Gate and Binance, which are restricted in the United States. Although it will take years of analysis to determine who the eventual beneficial owners are, the reliance on Gate and Binance suggests that early uptake occurred abroad, and particularly in markets controlled by U.S. adversaries—China, Iran, North Korea, Russia. As of 2023, according to a Wall Street Journal report, U.S. trading volume on Binance was very low. Users in China provided Binance with its greatest market share, at 20 percent of trading volume, and about 10 percent of Chinese customers were at the time identified as “politically exposed persons”—that is, according to the Journal report, “government officials, their relatives or close associates who require greater scrutiny due to their greater risk of involvement in bribery, corruption or money laundering.” Because memecoins depend on a collective belief in their value, investors (other than the issuer) who buy the coins are the people who hold up that value. Those early movers on the Gate and Binance platforms can be meaningfully understood to have handed Trump billions, at least on paper. (Steve Gregory, the Gate CEO, was invited to the inauguration.) They also hold power over that wealth. If they withdraw confidence and dump their assets, the value of the coin would trend toward zero. So Trump now appears to owe most of his new wealth to crypto investors in adversary states who are quite possibly closely connected to governments themselves—investors whom the rest of us are not able to identify, but who can identify themselves to him by proudly waving their $TRUMP-filled digital wallets.

[Read: Hawk Tuah wasn’t what it seemed]

Second, there is the question of what it means to convert political office into something that is subject not merely to the general pressure of financial influence but to the power of shareholders over an officeholder’s immediate personal wealth. This is of course why other presidents and senior executive-branch officials have sold off their investments or placed them in blind trusts for the duration of their terms. The neo-reactionary voices in the tech space—the NRx crowd, as they call themselves—have for some time wanted to take the powers of governance over territory out of the hands of nation-states and place them into the hands of platform-based collectives committed to capitalism first and foremost. For years we’ve watched the problem of money in politics get worse and worse, but the Trump coin takes the matter to another level. It provides the technical means for enabling the vision of total capture of governance institutions by tech communities.

What speculative futures are now possible? The president could easily organize a one-token, one-vote referendum—as many coins and decentralized autonomous organizations, which are built out of blockchain communities, already do—among asset holders on major U.S. public-policy issues. Think of it as a corporation giving shareholders their one vote per share. Yes, a corporation has to please its customers—in this analogy, American voters—but it really needs to please the shareholders who help sustain the share price. If $TRUMP were to introduce a voting mechanism for asset holders in this way, it would immediately implement the long-held anarcho-capitalist dream of converting global governance regimes into for-profit joint-stock corporations—minus any Securities and Exchange Commission disclosure requirements, which the president has hinted about relaxing. If other leaders do what Trump has done, then we would see global governance structures generally privatized—and political leaders provided with great incentives to collude with the common interest of capital holders, rather than governing for a true cross-class common good.

Where would that leave voters? In a position somewhat akin to fans at WWE wrestling matches. Politicians, all beholden to a community of shareholders separate from their voters, would collude in steering toward benefits for those shareholders, while pretending to fight one another in public. Imagining such a possibility would seem crazy if people in the tech world hadn’t been writing so much about just this kind of governance structure—and if the technical pieces weren’t now all falling neatly into place.

Trump promised back in 2016 to “drain the swamp,” and he was correct, as I’ve written before, about the need to restore experts to their rightful place as servants of the people rather than quasi-autonomous technocrats who order the world as they think best. But instead of draining the swamp, Trump appears simply to be importing even larger crocodiles from Silicon Valley: multimillionaires and billionaires who mostly couldn’t give a fig for self-government of, by, and for the people. The man who vowed to slay the old “deep state” appears ready to accept a new, more totally controlling, one.

[Read: The Trump sons really love crypto]

Speaking recently on NPR, Bannon used the term techno-feudalism again and went on to explain: “These oligarchs in Silicon Valley, they have a very different view of how people should govern themselves … They don’t believe in the underlying tenets of self-governance.” This seems right. In his inaugural address, Trump echoed Lincoln, promising a new birth of freedom, but just a few rows behind him, among other tech luminaries, was Musk, nearly levitating with joy when Trump promised territorial expansion both on this planet and in space and cheered for DOGE—Musk’s agency and his favorite memecoin.

The principles of popular sovereignty were hard-won—principles that vest the ownership of government in we, the people, not they, the owners of memecoins. When early Americans before, during, and after the Revolution sought to make self-government durable, they circulated pamphlets that articulated the values and tools necessary for successful self-governance. The renovations we need will similarly depend on real understanding of self-government. I’ve been a civic educator my whole life, but now I see an even more urgent need to pick up the pace at which we spread the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and The Federalist Papers, as well as works that have updated those texts, to sharpen our collective understanding of what popular sovereignty requires.

After the British government first allowed the East India Company, traffickers in tea, to rule India, and then fell into a full fiscal entanglement with the company, Americans dumped the company’s tea in Boston Harbor. Maybe it’s time to dump Dogecoin.

Elon Musk and Palmer Luckey among tech leaders to cast doubts on Chinese startup's claimed budget and chip use.

The #Democrat and #Democrats hashtags, on Instagram, are affixed to a lot of low-quality content: a crying Statue of Liberty; Elon Musk with a Hitler mustache; other, worse memes that aren’t even decipherable. But for a short time last week, these posts were blocked from view. Donald Trump’s second presidency had only just begun, and suddenly—suspiciously—any platform search for #Democrat or #Democrats returned an error message: “We’ve hidden these results,” it said. “Results from the term you searched may contain sensitive content.”

TikTok, too, was soon accused of censoring anti-Trump dissent, and of changing up its algorithmically generated feeds to favor right-wing content. Back on Instagram, and also on Facebook, many people said that their accounts had auto-followed Donald Trump and J. D. Vance, while posts from abortion-pill providers were getting blurred out or removed from search results. To some, this pattern was as unmistakable as it was malicious: Social media was turning against Democrats.

For years, such worries went the other way. Right-wing figures groused that their views were being hidden, or moderated more heavily than their rivals’. It seems like only yesterday that Donald Trump Jr. was reposting copypasta on Instagram in an effort to suss out whether he’d been shadowbanned. That was around the same time as the former Twitter regime’s botched management of a radioactive news story about Hunter Biden, which gave rise to an enduring symbol of anti-Republican censorship. Now the roles are reversed, and Democrats are feeling paranoid.

Then and now, the particulars have never really matched people’s sense of persecution. Despite some high-profile incidents that suggested bias, Republicans do not appear to have been intentionally and broadly censored by the major social-media platforms. Last week’s incidents have been similarly overinterpreted. For starters, the funny business with the #Democrat hashtag was almost certainly a technical glitch (as Meta told reporters). (If Instagram really meant to launch a crackdown on left-leaning speech, would it choose to block just two generic hashtags?) And TikTok users should not have been surprised to see “Free Palestine” videos suppressed in their TikTok feeds: That platform has often erred on the side of minimizing the visibility of even lightly controversial political issues. (TikTok denies having changed any policies or algorithms since the inauguration.) As for the auto-following of Trump and Vance, that was just a product of the transfer of official president and vice-president accounts to the new administration. Meta acknowledged that some of the blocked abortion-pill content had resulted from “over-enforcement.” A spokesperson told several news outlets, including The Atlantic: “We’ve been quite clear in recent weeks that we want to allow more speech and reduce enforcement mistakes.”

[Read: Why Hunter Biden’s laptop will never go away]

This doesn’t mean people are wrong to say that something feels different. Much has been written about the tech world’s recent warming to President Trump. It was on full display at the inauguration, where Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Sundar Pichai, and other famous tech-world figures stood together with the Trump family. This visual—accompanied by sizable donations and kind words—stands in contrast to the reception that the industry gave Trump when he was first elected, in 2016, or when he tried to stay in power after losing in 2020.

Official policies are changing too. Zuckerberg has made a number of significant management decisions in the past several months: He got rid of Meta’s DEI team; he ended fact-checking on Facebook and Instagram, explaining that the checkers had become too politically biased in favor of liberals and the left; and he overhauled his company’s hate-speech rules to “get rid of a bunch of restrictions on topics like immigration and gender” that were, as he put it, “out of touch with mainstream discourse.” On Joe Rogan’s podcast, Zuckerberg described the “journey” he’d been on for the past eight years, from disillusionment with the media during the first Trump administration to a loss of faith in the federal government during the Biden administration. Both, he claimed, had tried to force his hand and make his platforms more censorial.

Zuckerberg hasn’t indicated any desire to interfere with Instagram moderation at a granular level, or do any other editing of political speech. Still, users are right to wonder whether his personal political views may influence the operations of the multiple enormous platforms over which he has nearly unfettered control. The same reasonable doubts apply to TikTok. This was never a free-speech-oriented platform, but its users could hardly avoid being made aware of the company’s new coziness with Trump. “As a result of President Trump’s efforts, TikTok is back in the U.S.!,” they were told by the app on January 19, after it had been very briefly banned. (The same evening, the company sponsored a glitzy party for social-media influencers who had aided the Trump campaign.) And X, of course, is run by one of Trump’s most enthusiastic backers. An ongoing user exodus from that platform saw another burst last week amid the controversy over whether Musk did or did not intend to give a Nazi salute at the inauguration.

How the CEO of a social-media company thinks and acts may be taken as a clue to how their platform operates. (Until recently, Zuckerberg was known as a Millennial liberal, and an ally to mainstream Democrats. Jack Dorsey, the former CEO of Twitter, had a similar reputation.) But these signals only go so far: The actual maintenance of a social network unfolds behind the scenes; what rules exist aren’t nearly as important as how they get enforced, which has always been opaque.

Social-media users today are just as in the dark as ever. We know only what we’ve been told, and even then, we don’t know whether we should believe it. A kind of folklore has emerged around what’s really going on, flavored by anxiety and dread, and shifting with the news. The specific stories may be changing, but their overarching paranoia has some basis in the truth. There is no great conspiracy to bottle up a hashtag—but the people in charge of social media can do whatever they want.

Elon Musk is getting one step closer to making his X the “everything app” — by getting into personal finance.

Read more...

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Earlier this week, Donald Trump unveiled perhaps the most ambitious infrastructure project in history—one that may rival the costs of the first moon missions—and all but dedicated it to Sam Altman. The project, known as Stargate, is a joint venture between OpenAI, Oracle, SoftBank, and several other corporate partners that aims to invest $500 billion over the next four years in America’s AI infrastructure: data centers, energy plants, power lines, and everything else needed to develop superintelligent computer programs. The first data center, already under construction, will soon be dedicated to training OpenAI’s next models.

The Stargate Project is a resounding victory for a start-up that was struggling at the end of last year, as Karen Hao wrote for The Atlantic yesterday. OpenAI had lost some of its most talented staff; its relationship with its most important financial backer, Microsoft, was under stress; and it was weathering any number of other public controversies. This week’s announcement, meanwhile, “reduces OpenAI’s dependence on Microsoft, grants OpenAI (rather than its competitors) a mind-boggling sum of capital for computer chips—the hottest commodity in the AI race—and ties the company to Trump’s ‘America First’ agenda,” Hao wrote.

The announcement is the capstone to a steady maneuver by Altman to align himself with the incoming administration, another “masterful display of Altman’s power” to ingratiate himself with the powerful and raise huge amounts of capital, Hao noted. Altman, along with executives from Oracle and SoftBank, stood beside Trump in the White House as he made the announcement. “I’m thrilled we get to do this in the United States,” Altman said.

Illustration by The Atlantic. Sources: Getty.

OpenAI Goes MAGA

By Karen Hao

Things were not looking great for OpenAI at the end of last year. The company had been struggling with major delays on its long-awaited GPT-5 and hemorrhaging key talent—notably, Chief Scientist Ilya Sutskever, Chief Technology Officer Mira Murati, and Alec Radford, the researcher who’d set the company on the path of developing GPTs in the first place. Several people who left either joined OpenAI competitors or launched new ones. The start-up’s relationship with Microsoft, its biggest backer and a crucial provider of the computing infrastructure needed to train and deploy its AI models, was being investigated by the Federal Trade Commission.

And then there was Elon Musk. He’d co-founded OpenAI with Sam Altman and others, but the two had become fierce rivals. As “first buddy” to Donald Trump, Musk was suing OpenAI while rapidly building up his own AI venture, xAI, whose chatbot, Grok, has become a central feature on X. Amid all of this drama, Altman was notified by his sister, Annie, that she intended to sue him; she alleges that he sexually abused her when she was a child. (That lawsuit was filed at the start of this month; Altman and members of his family strongly denied the allegations through a statement posted on X.)

Read the full article.

What to Read Next

Sam Altman doesn’t actually need Trump: As I noted on Wednesday, the Stargate Project felt more like a display of weakness from Trump. These companies could have gone elsewhere; AI’s rapid development would have continued with or without Stargate, and under Trump or a President Kamala Harris. “Only a day into his presidency, Stargate showed Trump taking cues from China, Microsoft, OpenAI, and Biden all at once—from a foreign adversary, the tech giants he vilified in 2020, and a political rival he has ruthlessly vilified,” I wrote. OpenAI takes off its mask: “For the first time, OpenAI’s public structure and leadership are simply honest reflections of what the company has been—in effect, the will of a single person,” Hao wrote last fall.

P.S.

Of course, Altman wasn’t the only one cozying up to Trump this week. At his inauguration, tech titans whose tools collectively touch billions of lives—including Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Tim Cook, and Elon Musk—stood right beside Trump’s family. “The tech industry has officially placed itself in the palm of Trump’s hand,” Atlantic senior editor Damon Beres wrote on Monday.

— Matteo