From shared enemies to a reliance on China, Russia and North Korea have a few things in common.

The U.S. government faces a dilemma. Starlink, a private satellite venture devised and controlled by Elon Musk, offers capabilities that no government or other company can match. Its innovations are the fruit of Musk’s drive and ambitions. But they have become enmeshed with American foreign and national-security policy, and Musk is widely seen as an erratic leader who can’t be trusted with the country’s security needs. In other words, the United States has urgent uses for Starlink’s technology—but not for the freewheeling foreign-policy impulses of its creator.

The conundrum is substantially new for Washington. During World War I, wealthy industrialists, such as Henry Ford and J. P. Morgan, poured considerable resources into the American war effort: Ford’s factories produced boats, trucks, and artillery for military use; Morgan lent money. After the war, John D. Rockefeller Jr. funded the League of Nations. But Musk is doing something different. He supplies his product directly to foreign countries, and he retains personal control over which countries can obtain his equipment and how they can use it. That discretion has military and political implications. As one U.S. defense official admitted to The New Yorker, “Living in the world we live in, in which Elon runs this company and it is a private business under his control, we are living off his good graces.”

The dilemma is currently clearest in Ukraine. Starlink satellites, which Musk generously supplied at the start of the conflict so that Ukrainians would not lose internet access, have allowed for satellite-guided drones to help the Ukrainian military observe battlefield movements and target precision missiles. Experts describe Starlink’s military advantage as akin to providing an “Uber for howitzers.” But its disadvantage is Musk’s outsize role in determining the conduct of the war. That influence has come under scrutiny in recent days, with the release of excerpts from a forthcoming biography that highlight Musk’s mercurial decision making in Ukraine.

[Read: Demon mode activated]

Musk’s assent is required to maintain satellite internet connectivity in the country, and for reasons of his own, he has refused it near Crimea and imposed other restrictions that limit where Starlink services are available to Ukrainian forces. He told his biographer, Walter Isaacson, that he felt responsible for the offensive operations Starlink might enable, and that he had spoken with the Russian ambassador about how Moscow might react to them. At significant junctures during Ukrainian offensive operations, Starlink communication devices have experienced mysterious “outages.” The outages became enough of a problem that in June, Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin specially negotiated the purchase of 400 to 500 new Starlink terminals that the Defense Department would directly control for use by Ukrainian forces.

The concerns about relying on Musk don’t end with Ukraine or even with questions of temperament. Musk’s commercial holdings could expose Washington to unwanted entanglements. Take, for example, his ownership of Tesla, which has a large factory and market presence in China. In the event of an invasion of Taiwan, would Musk willingly provide Starlink terminals to Taiwanese forces—at the behest of the United States—and take huge financial losses as a result? Last October, Musk told the Financial Times that China had already pressured him about Starlink, seeking “assurances” that he will not give satellite internet to Chinese citizens. He did not make clear in the interview how he responded, but Starlink was then and remains unavailable in China.

So what is the U.S. government to do about its own entanglement with Musk? One idea that experts have floated is to invoke the Defense Production Act, which authorizes the president to direct private companies to prioritize fulfilling orders from the federal government. The Pentagon estimates that it already uses DPA authority to place roughly 300,000 orders a year for various equipment items. Using it to regularize deliveries from Starlink would be relatively straightforward and could ensure a continuous flow of devices and connectivity for Ukraine’s forces. The U.S. government could even add language to the contract mandating that decisions to turn connectivity on or off would reside with public officials and not Musk.

But what if Musk decided to contest the terms of the contract? What if his factories suddenly faced supply “shortages” affecting delivery rates of crucial devices? The DPA could serve as a hedge against Musk’s impulses, but it would not be a full guarantee against disruptions.

If the government wanted to get really aggressive, it could nationalize Starlink, taking effective control over the company’s operations and removing Musk as its head. As extreme as this scenario sounds, the U.S. government has actually nationalized corporations many times in its history: During World Wars I and II, the government nationalized railways, coal mines, trucking operators, telegraph lines, and even the gun manufacturer Smith & Wesson. Following the September 11 terrorist attacks, the United States nationalized the airport-security industry.

But past government takeovers nearly all took place under conditions of war or financial crisis. Today, no national crisis equivalent to the 9/11 attacks can provide political cover for such a move. And Musk would be sure to fight back: He built Starlink from scratch, and the company is deeply personal to him. A government takeover would be acrimonious, politically messy, and not necessarily successful.

More likely, it would be counterproductive: As a private company, Starlink can provide products that assist Ukrainian forces even while claiming that it’s simply offering a service and not taking sides. That posture hasn’t prevented Moscow from testing weapons to sabotage Starlink, nor has it stopped Beijing from developing an alternate satellite network. But the company’s independence has likely deterred U.S. rivals from targeting its infrastructure for destruction. Nationalization would change this equation and send the message that Starlink is an instrument of American power and should be treated as such.

[Read: What Russia got by scaring Elon Musk]

So if Starlink has to remain independent—but needs to be less of a wild card for national security—the government’s best bet may be to negotiate one or several agreements with Starlink to ensure its compliance with U.S. interests. Starlink could then act as something more like a traditional military-contracting company. The contracts could build in provisions stipulating that in the event of a crisis, Starlink’s regular operations would be suspended, and all manufacturing and distribution decisions would run through U.S. regulators.

Musk might find such a deal attractive. His company would get long-term government funding and a reputational boost. But government contracts also come with restrictions that would likely irk him over time—limitations on which other clients Starlink could sell to, for example. He might also balk at the implications for his other businesses, such as Tesla, in foreign markets. If he soured on the arrangement, he could terminate the contract or undermine the effectiveness of his product—for example, by slow-walking software updates or declining to invest in upgrades.

The only sustainable solution to the problem of Elon Musk is for the American market to produce alternatives to Starlink. But even here, the obstacles are legion. Musk was able to turbocharge Starlink in part because he used rockets from his adjoining company, SpaceX, to deliver thousands of satellites into space. A competitor would have to not only match Starlink’s technical innovation but also secure enough rockets to get masses of satellites into orbit. And because satellite-based networks work better the more devices come online, a rival company’s service would lag behind Starlink’s for a long period of time. So far, the efforts of would-be competitors have been underwhelming. Amazon was reportedly preparing to launch its very first satellites in May but had to put the effort on hold because of rocket testing problems.

A viable Starlink competitor may be a long way off, but U.S. national security requires the pursuit of one. The government should encourage competition in the satellite market by offering subsidies and commercial tax breaks, among other incentives, because in the long run, only diversification will alleviate pressure on the United States and its allies to conform to Musk’s whims. With a choice of providers, the United States—or Ukraine, for that matter—could choose which company it wished to contract with, and redundancies could fill the gap in the case of an unexpected supply shortage or a snag in one company’s production line.

Elon Musk’s monopoly on satellite internet technology is the product of an original idea—launching a great many low-orbiting satellites in place of a distant, high-orbiting few— and a big gamble he made with his own capital. The venture has brought him undue influence over national-security affairs that the U.S. government can’t possibly tolerate. The surest way to curtail it is to make sure he isn’t the only one innovating or launching satellites into space.

The two leaders could meet at the Vostochny space centre in Russia's far east, according to reports.

Russia needs weapons. N Korea has weapons. It's a match made in the geo-political realities of 2023.

North Korea may have tens of millions of artillery shells and rockets based on Soviet designs that could give a huge boost to the Russian army in Ukraine, analysts say.

The Ukraine war has put Russia's nervous neighbours on high alert, reports Europe editor Katya Adler.

With the Russian leader in need of weapons for the war in Ukraine, Kim Jong Un is expected to extract a high price.

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Sam Bankman-Fried won people over through his reputation as a civically minded progressive. Last week, an FTX executive who cut a different figure—that of a “budding Republican mega-donor”—pleaded guilty to two charges ahead of his former boss’s trial.

First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

The 9/11 speech that was never delivered Will anyone ever make sense of Elon Musk? Beware the false prophets of war. Never acquire clothes the same way again.

A Contrasting Figure

Last May, Sam Bankman-Fried said that he could spend up to a billion dollars supporting candidates and causes through the 2024 presidential election. He later walked back the claim, calling it “a dumb quote,” but the suggestion, and the flurry of press around it, captured a key part of the image that Bankman-Fried had cultivated. SBF made himself known as a political heavyweight—he was a known donor on the political left—and as an avatar of the effective-altruism philanthropic movement, to which he also donated millions. Central to FTX’s growth, and Bankman-Fried’s popularity, was his public face, and the ideals he said he stood for.

But last week’s guilty plea from Ryan Salame, a lesser-known FTX executive, is a reminder of one of the many truths that have since come out about Bankman-Fried: His donations were likely not based solely on the best interests of humanity but also on the best interests of crypto. In addition to his publicized donations to Democrats, he also marshaled millions of dollars to boost Republican candidates who seemed sympathetic to crypto-related causes. He has admitted, since the collapse of FTX, that most of his Republican donations were not linked to him, for cynical reputational reasons: “Reporters freak the fuck out if you donate to Republicans,” he told the crypto content creator Tiffany Fong in November. Bankman-Fried’s fingerprints weren’t always apparent on Republican donations, but his lieutenant Salame’s often were. Salame, whose name is pronounced “Salem,” last week became the fourth top FTX executive to plead guilty, including to a charge of violating campaign-finance law. Prosecutors alleged that he made millions of dollars of political donations—many of which were to Republicans—under the direction of Bankman-Fried.

Salame was public about his Republican affiliations. While Bankman-Fried hobnobbed on the left, Salame leaned into his identity as a “budding Republican mega-donor,” as the Washington Examiner called him last September. He donated millions of dollars under his own name, and even helped his girlfriend run as a Republican for a congressional seat on Long Island (she lost in the primary).

It’s not totally clear whether Salame is truly passionate about Republican political causes or if he was simply emerging as a Republican donor out of loyalty to his boss (and his girlfriend). He has reportedly said that he was not especially interested in politics, and that he was getting more involved at the encouragement of others at FTX. In a charging document, prosecutors surfaced messages that Salame wrote, saying that the purpose of donations was to “weed out anti crypto dems for pro crypto dems and anti crypto repubs for pro crypto repubs” In other words, it seems that he and his involved colleagues hoped to use donations to elevate politicians sympathetic to the crypto business, regardless of party. (Jason Linder, a lawyer for Salame, did not immediately respond to my request for comment, though he said in a statement last week that “Ryan looks forward to putting this chapter behind him and moving forward with his life.”)

In contrast to his compatriots, who claimed to be getting rich in order to give back and who were involved with effective altruism, Salame reportedly spoke about working in crypto simply to get rich. Salame clearly enjoyed the trappings that the wealth he gained in his 20s (he is now 30) afforded him. He has a reputation for enjoying fancy cars and private planes. His taste is apparent in his accessories: I noticed that in a widely circulated portrait, he is wearing what looks like a Cartier Juste un Clou nail bracelet in white gold. These status-symbol bracelets start around $8,500. Last week, Salame arrived in court to plead guilty wearing orange-and-blue socks emblazoned with bitcoin logos. Those may not have been pricey, but they certainly showed confidence.

In what feels like a poignant—or maybe self-aggrandizing—touch, Salame invested some of his wealth in the restaurants of his home region, the Berkshires. (He grew up in Western Massachusetts and attended the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.) Salame swooped in with millions during the early days of the pandemic, and by the time he was 28, he owned nearly half of the full-service restaurants in the small town of Lenox, according to The Berkshire Eagle. He was a local boy done good—until FTX cratered. Now Salame must forfeit his interest in one of his key restaurant holdings (along with assets including millions of dollars and a 2021 Porsche) as part of a plea deal.

Whether Salame’s heart is truly in Republican politics or in restaurants or just in socks and personal advancement, he cuts a contrasting figure to those of his fellow former FTX executives, and he may continue on that path. The others who have pleaded guilty—Caroline Ellison, Nishad Singh, and Gary Wang—have all also agreed to cooperate with the government and to testify against their former boss. Salame has not. (Bankman-Fried has pleaded not guilty to all of the charges brought against him so far.) This time last year, those executives—Bankman-Fried most of all—were widely seen as responsible adults in a cowboy industry. That the walls have closed in this fast, and that their noble public personas have fully crumbled, remains stunning. Maybe Salame was frankest about his motives all along.

Related:

Sam Bankman-Fried, crypto-Republican? Sam Bankman-Fried pushed one boundary too many.

Today’s News

Kim Jong Un has reportedly departed the North Korean capital for a meeting with Vladimir Putin in his first international trip since the pandemic. The FDA has approved new COVID boosters from Pfizer and Moderna. Rollout is expected to begin later this week. Vietnam has formally raised its diplomatic relationship with the United States to the highest tier, alongside its ties with Russia and China.

Evening Read

‘I Was Responsible for These People’

By Tim Alberta

On the evening of September 4, 2021, one week before the 20th anniversary of 9/11, Glenn Vogt stood at the footprint of the North Tower and gazed at the names stamped in bronze. The sun was diving below the buildings across the Hudson River in New Jersey, and though we didn’t realize it, the memorial was shut off to the public. Tourists had been herded behind a rope line some 20 feet away, but we’d walked right past them. As we looked on silently, a security guard approached. “I’m sorry, but the site is closed for tonight,” the man said.

Glenn studied the guard. Then he folded his hands as if in prayer. “Please,” he said. “I was the general manager of Windows on the World, the restaurant that was at the top of this building. These were my employees.”

The man glanced over Glenn’s shoulder. “Which ones?”

Glenn didn’t say anything. Slowly, he turned and swept his open palm across the air, demonstrating the scale of the devastation: All 79 names were grouped together. The guard closed his eyes. “Take as much time as you need,” he said softly.

Read the full article.

More From The Atlantic

How Chile won back its democracy Elon Musk let Russia scare him. Book publishing has a Toys ‘R’ Us problem.

Photos

More than 2,600 people were killed and thousands of others were injured by a powerful earthquake in Morocco this past weekend. Rescue workers are reacting to find survivors. Our photo editor Alan Taylor compiled images of the earthquake’s aftermath.

Culture Break

Photo-illustration by Gabriela Pesqueira. Source: Randy Beacham / Alamy.

Read. “The Origin Revisited,” a new poem by Ada Limón.

“To enter here is to enter / magnitude, to feel an ecstatic somethingness, / a nothingness of your own name.”

Watch. Daisy Jones and the Six, streaming on Amazon Prime Video, is an absolute joy.

P.S.

I’ll leave you with a completely unrelated recommendation: I read the most fascinating article in T magazine yesterday about vanilla. Ligaya Mishan explores how the flavor, produced by beans that are actually incredibly rich and pungent, became synonymous with blandness. This story of vanilla spans continents, biosynthesis, and taste buds—and it’s beautifully written. Describing a stalk of the plant, Mishan writes, “It lies on my desk, skinny as a twig, with a little curling hook at one end, like a fossilized crochet needle, rough yet pliant to the touch. I am trying to write but the room is possessed by that scent, a summons of honeysuckle, sun-fat figs and red wine, of the dank sweetness of soil when the rain has soaked through it.”

— Lora

Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

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