The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue.
The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the bung.
The age demanded that we dance And jammed us into iron pants.
And in the end the age was handed The sort of shit that it demanded.
(“The Age Demanded” by Ernest Hemingway)
In the shadows of capitalist digital empires, or technocracies, many contradictions breed. Within our hyperconnected existence, where algorithms dictate what trends and what fades, building online solidarity for political causes has become a paradoxical endeavour. Consider two recent instances where the impact of social media has been marked by contradictions- the Pro-Palestine protests (worldwide since October 2023) and Nepal protests (starting September 8, 2025) triggered by a blanket ban on social media.
On one hand, social media appears to be amplifying ordinary Palestinians’ voices in an oppressive regime, on the other, there is mass removal and shadowbanning of pro-Palestinian content. On one hand, social media facilitates the post-ironic mockery of elite excesses in Nepal, on the other, it continues to promote and embody elite influencer culture. This has created a need for revaluation of surrounding discourse.
There is general consensus amongst activists that social media’s role in political activism cannot be dismissed, though it carries a rather generous share of baggage- clicktivism, slacktivism, virtue signalling, echo chambers, desensitization, and commodification of suffering. To counter these, activists usually resort to self-policing.
Greta Thunberg acknowledges Instagram and Twitter (now X) in amplifying her first political stint as a schoolkid- Fridays For Future, but warns that only tangible action can fully materialize the goals of social change. While grassroots activism remains central, hesitation persists in writing off social media, especially given its renewed role in rallying protests. At the least, it disturbs the undisturbed; at its best, it makes mass organization possible and galvanizes global solidarity.
An intense authenticity crisis grips traditional global journalism today. We are witnessing an unprecedented rise in fake news and corporate-sponsored polarisation of media outlets.
Misrepresentation and vilification of Palestinians by prominent western media, and sanitized reporting by Nepali media obscuring the truth of growing unrest in the country, compel us to all but declare the demise of traditional media. This great institution, the watchdog of democracy, has, by and large, turned and bared its teeth at us. In this context, social media seemingly rises as a compelling alternative.
Kareen Haddad, a Palestinian writer-journalist coins the term “Instafada” (a portmanteau of Instagram and Intifada – an Arabic word for ‘resistance’, ‘uprising’) to refer to social media as a creative tool of resistance. In Nepal, where social media presents the only outlet for growing frustrations among the youth, the authoritarian decision of a blanket ban ignites long-repressed public outrage.
Both cases suggest that we have come to envision technology to be the next great equalizer, and have transferred our expectations of a democratic future on it. However, that may be merely wishful thinking.
Tech is a privatised ecosystem
At its core, modern technology isn’t a democratic commons; it’s a privatised ecosystem built and sustained by a narrow cadre of individuals and corporations. Consider social media and artificial intelligence ecosystems: platforms like Facebook (Meta), Twitter (now X), Instagram, and TikTok are controlled by a handful of conglomerates.
OpenAI (creators of ChatGPT) started as a nonprofit but pivoted to a for-profit model backed by Microsoft, one of the world’s largest tech giants. These aren’t grassroots inventions; they’re engineered by data scientists and executives from elite institutions (Stanford, MIT, Ivy League pedigrees), funded by venture capital firms like Sequoia, concentrating wealth among a tiny investor class. As of 2025, the top five tech companies (Apple, Microsoft, Alphabet, Amazon, Meta) control over 25% of the S&P 500’s market cap, embodying what critics call the “techno-oligarchy”.
This elite control isn’t accidental. Barriers to entry are immense. Building a social media/AI platform requires billions in centralized infrastructure, ensuring control remains in the hands of owners. The result? Innovation funnels upward, reinforcing a feedback loop where the technocrats who “own” the tech also set its rules. Tim Berners-Lee, the inventor of world wide web famously laments the transformation of open web into “walled gardens curated by elites”.
Modern technology doesn’t just connect us; it harvests us. Social media and AI devou rpetabytes of digital data produced by us. So, is technocracy the new imperialism? Proponents of this view point to “data colonialism” where international organizations (IMF, World Bank, UN) deploy technocrats to shape developing nations’ policies under the guise of reform, aligning them with capitalist interests, muddying good governance. If we draw parallels with colonial-era policies, data is the new ‘raw material’, and data extracted locally fuels foreign innovation, often undercutting our sovereignty over our produce.
Data colonialism, and technocratic neo-imperialism interconnect with global contemporary issues like the takedown of pro-Gaza posts and Nepal’s social media ban, through mechanisms of information control, narrative suppression, and power asymmetries. Technocrats and governments collaborate to curate digital spaces, extracting data for profit while censoring content that challenges dominant political or economic interests—mirroring colonial-era control tactics.
This creates a digital hierarchy- a stratified world where terms are dictated top-down by elites and aligned states. Platforms dangle the promise of unfettered expression to draw users in, but this “free speech” is conditional, bound by the imperative to maximize profits through data extraction, advertising revenue, and risk avoidance. This creates a facade where users feel empowered, yet the underlying architecture—algorithms, moderation policies, and business models—prioritizes monetization over genuine discourse.
Wherever tech and state are not colluding, they are at loggerheads, as in the case of Nepal protests, often at the expense of democratic discourse. The ban in Nepal aimed at suppressing viral criticism from ordinary citizens who were highlighting garish displays of wealth in political families, while the country struggled with widespread economic hardship. This trending outrage, fueled by memes, exposing the stark contrast between elite extravagance and alarming youth unemployment rates, scared politicians, prompting the ban under the guise of curbing “misinformation” and “hate speech.” However, while a government led ban weakens democracy, it would be unwise to suggest that Big Tech could be its guardian and defender.
There are certainly instances where progressive voices circumvent the controlling gaze of Big Brother algorithm, employing creative tactical strategies to maintain visibility, like the use of VPNs and misspelling commonly flagged words to avoid censorship. However, platforms continually adapt, and government control tightens as a response (e.g., Nepal arresting users for VPN-posted comments), both in effect penalizing activists and discouraging social change. The mislabelling of existing social media as a legitimate alternative to journalism, despite its structural incompatibility with democratic ideas, dilutes progressive movements. It is futile to resist within this panopticon.
Fair, open and free social media
To this dilemma, two solutions are given- one argues that we must decentralize social media from our conversations around progressive politics. We fetishize technology so much so that we exaggerate its role in social change. Real change emerges from grassroots activism.
The elite class would have us believe that social media is our only voice, and yet would make mockery of digital activism. We have to realise that social media is merely a tool, and we promptly discard the tools that don’t help us forge a path forward.
The other, more nuanced perspective recognizes that control in modern technology flows through the profit-driven algorithm. It imagines an inherently democratic technology that is publicly owned, not-for-profit, and decentralized so as to provide users a stake in programming, production and dissemination of information. Calling for decentralized, crowdfunded platforms like Mastodon with open protocols, user-owned servers, and transparent, interoperable networks like blockchain to push power to the edges, can reduce centralization’s chokepoints and potentially enable “algorithmic democracy”.
In an interview with Time Magazine, Mastodon inventor/owner Eugen Rochko claims his platform is “not for sale”; it runs on crowdfunding where people bear the cost of setting up their own servers as opposed to centralized platforms like Twitter(X) where the data servers are funded and owned by Meta. Unlike Twitter, Mastodon can’t force compliance.
While this sounds like a recipe for disaster, Rochko notes most users block problematic servers, isolating them into echo chambers. These servers may persist unless removed by law enforcement, but their influence is curtailed. Rochko calls this user-driven moderation “truly democratic.”
The path to true digital democracy lies in dismantling tech imperialism, not in rejecting tech-mediated advancement. Yet vigilance is essential, lest this new frontier be seized by the very technocracy it seeks to resist. People of the world unite, for we have nothing to lose but our algorithms!
(The author holds a master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Delhi and has academic interests in political economy, literature and activism.)
