The enshittification of solar (and how to stop it)
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
I'm only a few chapters into Bill McKibben's stupendous new book Here Comes the Sun: A Last Chance for the Climate and a Fresh Chance for Civilization and I already know it's going to change my outlook forever:
McKibben is one of our preeminent climate writers and activists, noteworthy for his informed and brilliant explanations of the technical limits – and possibilities – of various climate interventions, and for his lifelong organizing work.
Here Comes the Sun is a capstone on several years' worth of surprising, infuriating and inspiring newsletter articles, particularly about the unheralded, unanticipated, and unbelievable growth of solar. Everything else might be utterly fucked, but solar is going great.
In McKibben's telling, everything about solar is going better than anticipated. Solar efficiency is increasing exponentially with prices falling through the floor. The material bill for solar is also in freefall. Everything surrounding solar is going amazing, too. Battery capacity is improving even faster than solar generation, and the best new batteries use the incredibly abundant element sodium (not lithium) to store those useful electrons. Long-haul transmission lines are crisscrossing the world.
Hyper-reliable electric cars keep getting cheaper, and the batteries are lasting much longer than we used to think they would. Some of these vehicles are nigh-miraculous, from the ebikes that get 5 miles to the penny, to the world's heaviest EV, a dump truck that shuttles to a quarry atop a hill where it is loaded with rocks, then regeneratively brakes its way back down the hill, accumulating enough charge to get back up to the top again (a perpetual motion machine!). Heat pumps and induction tops are actually more efficient than burning natural gas – in other words, it's cheaper to convert sunshine into electrons and electrons into heat than it is to just burn gas:
Then there's the capacity. China's solar capacity growth is insane – the solar equivalent of a new coal plant is coming online every eight hours. But it's even more intense in poor regions of the global south, like in Pakistan, where a legion of installers have learned their craft from Tiktok videos set to songs from popular musical films, leading to one of the most rapid electrification rollouts in human history. The closer a country is to the equator, the more sense solar makes, of course, so solar is sweeping some of the poorest countries in the world, liberating them from the need to attract foreign currency they can use to buy dollar-denominated barrels of oil.
Everything we thought would be a solar bottleneck turns out to be a feature, not a bug. Perhaps you've heard that solar is unsustainable because it competes for agricultural land, making starvation the price of clean energy. Wrong: solar provides shade for many crops that have been withering in the soaring heat of a climate-wracked world, and limits evaporation, reducing the amount of water needed to produce food crops. What's more, the cooling effect of that soil-retained moisture helps keep the shade-providing solar panels within their optimal operating temperature, increasing the efficiency of their power generation. And of course, every time someone switches from hydrocarbon fuels to solar, they reduce the demand for ethanol, and a third of America's corn goes into making this stupid, wasteful fuel additive (and corn is America's most prolific crop). That's land that can be given over to growing useful food crops. Solar is increasing our agricultural yields, not competing for farmland.
Then there's the material bill for solar: a recurring (and legitimate, and worthwhile) concern about electrification is that it comes with a vast material bill that will necessitate massive extraction projects. There's good reason to worry that the copper, lithium and conflict minerals needed for planetary solarization will come at the expense of the despoilation of habitat, the poisoning of indigenous people, and the ruination of miners.
Happily, this, too is turning out to be a tractable problem. First off, because the material bill for solarization just isn't that big when compared to the amount of fossil fuels we consume every year. To create the batteries we need to keep the whole world's lights on when the sun goes down and the wind stops blowing, we will need to extract one seventeenth of the amount of minerals we burn every year in the fossil fuel system:
And while some of those materials will have to be replaced – necessitating more extraction – most of them can be recycled. The biggest bottleneck in recycling complex manufactured products like batteries is that it's energy intensive, but solar makes energy cheap. We're starting to see solar-powered solar-panel recycling operations that recover 99% of the materials in used up and superannuated solar panels, and use those materials to make new, modern, super-efficient solar panels:
And holy smokes is solar going to provide us with lot of cheap energy. Materials scientist Deb Chachra's book How Infrastructure Works estimates that we could give every person in the world the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, only colder) by harvesting 0.4% of the solar rays that strike the Earth's surface:
The last time I spoke with Deb, she waxed lyrical about how all that too-cheap-to-meter energy will make it possible to recover materials from old energy systems that weren't designed to be broken down and re-integrated into the material stream at their end-of-life, and how it will also allow us to economically make new devices that are designed to be broken down and re-used when their duty-cycles end.
Solar is a technology, not a fuel. Every generation of it is cheaper and better. There's so much low-hanging fruit for solar conversion. In Saul Griffith's Electrify, he offers lists of simple, tried and tested tweaks to safety codes that dramatically reduce the cost of installing and maintaining solar:
That's the good news. You probably know about the bad news: Donald Trump explicitly promised the fossil fuel industry legislation that he would kill renewables if they donated $1b to his campaign, which they did:
Money talks and bullshit walks. When Texas Republicans introduced state legislation requiring power companies to install a new fossil fuel plant every time they added new solar capacity, the bill died in a roar of opposition from rural, Trump-voting Texans who didn't want "DEI for natural gas":
There's nothing about renewables that cuts against the aesthetics or values of the conservative movement. Generating your own power on the roof of your own homestead (or with a clip-on panel attached to your apartment balcony) is fully compatible with the ideal of a sovereign individual, not beholden to a government-regulated power monopoly.
Solar also fits neatly within the idea of Christian Dominionism, that "God gave man all the things of the Earth." An existence dependent on setting fire to a dwindling supply of critters that died millions of years ago leaves a lot of value on the table. If God wants us to breed chickens to have vast drumsticks and breasts, why wouldn't He want us to capture the hyperabundant sunshine He sends our way every morning at dawn? Why would we limit ourselves to this inefficient, inconvenient and expensive ancient garbage?
What's more, solar is cheap – over the past year, we've crossed a threshold, and solar is now substantially cheaper than coal, natural gas or oil. It's getting cheaper still, with no bottom in sight. No wonder solar deployment is growing exponentially. Exponential growth is notoriously difficult to really get your head around, hence the ancient parable of the chessboard and the grains of rice:
Some of McKibben's critics have fallen into the same trap as King Shihram, failing to appreciate how fast the small absolute magnitude of an exponentially growing number can grow to engulf the world:
But the fossil fuel industry understands exponentials, and they're freaking the fuck out. Unluckily for them, their champion Donald Trump is singularly bad at making the case against renewables. Trump's big line for getting people to hate offshore wind is this bullshit story he tells about turbines confusing whales:
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-66928305
Earth to fascist: your people seriously don't give a shit about whales dying. If you're going to make up a story about wind turbines killing some kind of charismatic macrofauna, at least pick something deranged Maga freaks pretend to care about, like eagles or some shit.
Same goes for Trump's story about the environmental hazards of solar panels, that "rabbits get caught in solar panels":
But unfortunately, Donald Trump isn't in charge of ratfucking the solar transition. That role will fall to much smarter people from the fossil fuel industry, the same people who masterminded decades of climate denial. They're scarily good at their jobs.
From the fossil fuel industry's perspective, the problem with solar isn't that it's different from oil and coal. Big Carbon isn't shy about capex – they're always blowing millions on cool, eye-wateringly expensive new gadgets for sucking old dead things out of the land and sea.
The whole point of an extraction economy is to control a key factor of production so that other people need to come to you in order to do everything else. The ideal oil economy consists of a series of holes in the ground surrounded by people with guns, owned by a cartel that chokes off supply to maximize profits while leaving a highly visible share of the world's population shivering in the dark as a warning to anyone complaining about their prices.
Fossil fuels are valuable because they are a chokepoint on the entire productive economy. Anyone who's seen the Mad Max documentaries knows how this goes: even the most mid, paunchy, straw-haired boomer with volcanic bacne and shitty dress-sense can seize power over the whole population if he controls the supply of one of life's essentials.
The fossil fuel industry is a magnet for people who love a chokepoint. These people are born tollboth operators and they never stop hunting for turnpikes. They are landlords for ancient corpses, charging the whole world rent to keep the lights on. They are chokepoint-trophic. You can't be a warlord amid plenty – why would anyone get down on all fours and volunteer to be your footstool if they can get everything they need over the next hill?
I think there's a collision looming between these rent-seeking missiles and the ever-cheaper, ever-better solar world. Eventually, these garbage people will stop trying to halt renewables, and they'll start looking to own them.
You can already see the first stirrings of this: the more daring carbon barons are starting to flirt with geothermal and nuclear, and they're awfully fond of hydroelectric. Whatever the merits or demerits of these technologies, they have the (dubious) advantage that they are amenable to rent-extraction. To put up a dam, you need to own the land around the river. To run a nuke, you need to own a uranium mine.
Even geothermal is ineluctably place-based: there are lots of places where a borehole will hit something hot and bubbly, but it's an expensive proposition with a big, fat capital moat that limits competition. Anyone can slap a solar panel on their roof – but you can't dig a geothermal borehole in your back yard with a garden spade.
It's hard to find a chokepoint for the sun, but you know what has a lot of chokepoints? Technology. Remember, solar isn't a fuel, it's a technology. When big companies use technological chokepoints to screw their customers and competitors, we call that enshittification:
There's already tons of enshittification that's oozed into the cleantech sector. EV manufacturers like to boast that their cars are "software-based." Practically speaking, that means that when the manufacturer goes bust, all the cars sitting in inventory are permanently bricked:
Tesla is the greatest enshittifier the automotive world has ever seen, with scams that make Dieselgate look like amateur-hour. Imagine selling an EV and charging a monthly subscription fee to drivers who want to access more than half the charge in their batteries:
Residential solar inverter companies like Solaredge require an internet connection and shut themselves off after a protracted period of no-contact with the company's servers:
As with the solar revolution, the solar enshittification revolution is just getting started. There are so many ways that a "smart" device can be remotely downgraded. There's a "smart" sous-vide wand that got a mandatory software update that deleted its most popular features and turned them into monthly subscription "upgrades":
There's no (legal) reason that Samsung or LG couldn't do the same thing to the new induction top you spent thousands of dollars to buy and install (or built a custom kitchen around).
If I was a Big Oil company, I'd be investing heavily in the control systems for EVs, solar inverters, induction tops, heat pumps, smart thermostats, and anything else that depends on an internet-connected computer to operate. I'd flood every sales channel, offering zero-money-down installations with teaser zero rate loans and I'd do exclusivity deals with landlords and property developers. I'd get states and city councils to pass "safety" laws requiring grid coordination using a proprietary protocol and/or authentication token. I'd ship products that were compatible with open protocols, and later push mandatory updates to them that flip them to using proprietary controllers, like Chamberlain did with virtually every garage door opener in America:
I'd also be pushing the narrative that all this cleantech stuff is already enshittified – by China. I'd be out there shrieking about the possibility of China shutting off everyone's heat pumps in the dead of winter, or bricking every solar inverter if America doesn't back away from supporting Taiwanese independence.
It wouldn't even be (entirely) wrong. There are a hell of a lot of creepy things that a nation-state can do if they export critical, internet-connected infrastructure to the whole planet. Just ask any farmer who owns a John Deere tractor – every one of which is killswitched, meaning Donald Trump could order Deere to shut down a nation's entire agricultural sector:
The Tiktok ban provides a template for how this could be rolled out: gin up a moral panic about sinister foreign control over a key aspect of daily American life, then force a sale to one of Trump's billionaire cronies:
Trump could easily flip the whole cleantech sector to a consortium of US oil companies fronted by, say, Rex Tillerson. If you can't beat 'em, expropriate 'em.
I raise all this not to alarm people who are as excited by McKibben's news as I am, but rather, to game out the likely response of our sworn enemies so that we can get ready to fight them. These rent-seeking chokepoint obsessives have one move: corner a market and squeeze. They've been ratfucking renewables for decades because it competed with their existing racket.
But they aren't emotionally committed to setting fire to old dead things – they're just nature's most compulsive toll-booth operators, and they're sure as shit going to be looking for ways to stick toll-booths in our renewables future. Big Tech has shown them how to do it. So this is just another reason to defeat enshittification, which we must do anyway.
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It’s still censorship (even if it doesn’t violate the First Amendment)
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
One of the dumbest, shrewdest tricks corporate America ever pulled was teaching us all to reflexively say, "If a corporation blocks your speech, that doesn't violate the First Amendment and therefore it's not censorship":
Censorship isn't limited to government action: it's the act of preventing a message from a willing speaker from reaching a willing listener. The fact that it's censorship doesn't (necessarily) mean that it's illegitimate or bad: there may be times when it's totally reasonable to prevent a willing speaker from reaching a willing listener. If you own a speech forum (say, a restaurant), and a patron stands on a table and starts declaiming about "illegals ruining America" and you 86 that racist fuck, that's totally OK with me – even if there a few other racists in the booths are shouting, "Right on, brother!"
But don't pretend it's not censorship. You are managing a speech forum by preventing certain consensual communications from taking place because of your views. Which is fine. It's even fine if you support doing this only in some cases, for example, if you support the right of protesters to disrupt a Klan rally without being removed, but not the right of a racist to ruin everyone's dinner by shouting racist garbage in a restaurant.
That doesn't make you a hypocrite, it just makes you someone who rejects the legitimacy of some viewpoints and believes that it's tactically sound to prevent those viewpoints from being aired. That's a common perspective, and it's a rare "free speech defender" who won't grudgingly admit that there are some protesters whose right to disrupt others' speech they will defend; and some whose disruptions they'll condemn.
State censorship – the kind that violates the First Amendment – is also censorship, and it's a particularly pernicious form of censorship, so much so that the First Amendment to the US Constitution broadly prohibits it, and most other countries put some limits on it (for example, Canada's Charter of Rights and Freedoms prohibits the government from interfering with "freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication").
First Amendment protections for speech seek to prevent the government from limiting speech because when the state interferes with a speaker, they can potentially snuff out that person's message altogether. The racist who gets 86ed from a restaurant can find a Trump rally (or a Klan rally) to mouth off at – but if the state bans their speech altogether, they have to leave the country to find somewhere safe to speak.
The argument goes that even if you don't want racist speech to have a home anywhere, a ban on government censorship protects your views, too. Rather than letting states choose winners in the "marketplace of ideas," we ask them to act as the speech forum of last resort, and we preserve the right of anyone to speak in any public place, with (almost) no limits on what they can say (in theory, at least).
Let's stipulate to this – that doesn't mean we must also stipulate that all private censorship is justified. Nor do we have to agree that it is harmless. Private actors can amass enormous power, and use that power to suppress speech that would weaken their power. In other words, they can turn the marketplace of idea into a command economy where arguments about their unfitness to govern our speech choices are stifled.
A good example here is Facebook. Earlier this year, the whistleblower Sarah Wynn-Williams published Careless People, a tell-all memoir recounting the callous, vicious acts of Facebook's top executives, especially Mark Zuckerberg, Sheryl Sandberg and Joel Kaplan:
Facebook doesn't allege that Wynn-Williams's book is factually inaccurate. Rather, they say that her employment contract prohibits her from warning the company's billions of users about its defects so that they can make better choices about whether to trust it to manage their main speech forum.
One interesting (terrible) wrinkle here: Facebook didn't even have to go to court to bring Wynn-Williams to the precipice of financial ruin. They were able to get a private arbitrator (a random dude in Facebook's pay) to hand down a "judgment" fining her $50,000 every time she criticizes Facebook. That's because Wynn-Williams's employment contract contains a "binding arbitration" clause that says that she can't ever have her case heard by a judge:
Binding arbitration clauses were once a rarity, their use legally restricted to resolving contractual disputes between giant companies of equal power. Then, Antonin Scalia changed the law and opened the floodgates, so that today, everyone from your physiotherapist to your solar installer to your boss requires you to give up the right to a hearing in order to transact normal, everyday activities:
Wynn-Williams isn't the only person to face private censorship that limits the ability of the public to hear multiple points of view and make up their own minds about the issues of the day. A host of media figures have been forced out of their jobs for republishing Charlie Kirk's own views on issues like gun control, race, and the acceptable nature of public, lethal violence.
Some of this censorship comes directly from government sources. Take Louisiana Congressman Clay Higgins, who has pledged to "use Congressional authority and every influence with big tech platforms to mandate immediate ban for life of every post or commenter that belittled the assassination of Charlie Kirk":
But even if lawmakers like Higgins stopped bellowing the quiet part out loud, that wouldn't be the end of the government's involvement in censorship. As we see in Sarah Wynn-Williams's case, government changes to contract law can have far-reaching implications for free expression.
Government action also plays an important role in the wave of neo-McCarthyite deplatformings over Charlie Kirk's killing. There's nothing natural about the collapse of the media ecosystem into an inbred collection of hyperscaled giga-conglomerates. The transformation of the internet into "five giant websites filled with screenshots of the other four" wasn't inevitable.
After the Trump I election, progressives were aghast over the photos of the leaders of all of the major tech companies seated around a table atop Trump Tower:
The outrage was over the fact that these titans of industry were willing to normalize Trump. Boy, did that ever miss the point. The real issue was that all the leaders of the tech industry fit around a single table. Eight years later, the industry had grown so consolidated that the tech industry's top bosses could all fit in a semicircle of folding chairs on Trump's inaugural dais:
It's a terrible mistake to think that the societal risk of these terrible billionaires comes from their individual moral failings. The danger to society comes from the existence of billionaires – from the transfer of power (to decide who may speak and who may be heard) into the hands of a few very rich men whose collective cowardice can erase whole swathes of public discourse.
The power of those billionaires didn't come from the billionaires themselves. They weren't born billionaires – the government made them billionaires. These oligarchs owe their existence to presidents like Ronald Reagan, but also (especially) to Democrats like Bill Clinton and Barack Obama.
Take Facebook. In 2012, the company faced a serious threat from Instagram, a tiny company that had grown at unheard-of speed, primarily by luring Facebook users to quit the platform and join Instagram instead. Zuckerberg bought the company for $1b. It's not necessarily illegal for a large company to acquire a new competitor, but if the acquisition is an attempt to reduce competition, then it is radioactively illegal and the government is legally required to halt the transaction.
When the Obama administration considered Facebook's Instagram acquisition, it had to decide whether Facebook was motivated by the desire to reduce competition. Lucky for Obama's enforcers, Mark Zuckerberg sent his CFO a memo explicitly stating that he was buying Instagram to neutralize a competitor. For antitrust regulators, this is the equivalent of a signed confession: "This killing was definitely a murder, and I totally premeditated it." That wasn't exactly a surprise – after all, Zuck's motto (also committed to writing), is "It is better to buy than to compete." Despite this, the Obama administration waved the merger through:
Obama served as Enshittifier-in-Chief, presiding over an orgy of illegal, anticompetitive mergers that transformed the internet as a handful of manifestly terrible men seized near-total authority over who could speak and what we could hear.
We know how the internet collapsed into strangled Habsburg gargling. But how did we end up in a place where a handful of media bosses get to decide who we hear on the radio and see on cable, broadcast and satellite TV?
Thank Bill Clinton, whose 1996 Telecommunications Act eliminated New Deal-era restrictions on media consolidation, paving the way for media companies to corner regional markets, for example, by buying your town's newspaper, radio station and TV station (or to buy the major radio stations in every city, as Clearchannel did).
The effects of the Telecommunications Act on public discourse became evident almost immediately. As Matt Stoller writes, after 9/11, Republicans got the media barons (that Clinton created) to fire popular media figures for opposing George Bush's catastrophic, illegal, blood-soaked invasion of Iraq:
The reason the First Amendment singles out government restrictions on speech, rather than private speech restrictions, is that governments have monolithic power to shut down speakers in ways that private actors (supposedly) can't. But when governments allow a handful of firms to seize control over our speech forums, they vest state-like power in these unaccountable private actors.
If you care about free expression, you have to take notice of private censorship, and not confine your scrutiny to state action. That is especially true when the government is allied with a class of media oligarchs who have sewn up our communications channels.
But even when the government isn't in bed with the media barons, the mere existence of media barons are an existential threat to communications, and not just because the owners of media conglomerates routinely abuse their power over our speech. Once the communications industry has been crushed into to a handful of bros who fit comfortably on Trump's dais, they become the proverbial "one throat to choke" – a tractably small group of people who can be arm-twisted into serving as off-the-books agents of state censorship:
If you care about free expression, it's not enough to ask yourself whether the government is violating the First Amendment. Any law that lets powerful people enlist the state to silence their enemies, from Scalia's changes to contract law to Clinton's changes to media ownership law, have a profound, detrimental effect on our free speech.
The pandemic shortages forcefully reminded us that any industry with a single point of failure is liable to fail. Billionaires are a single point of failure in our speech regime. What's the point of defending the First Amendment to prevent elected officials from silencing their political opponents if you're willing to let the government give a handful of unaccountable oligarchs that power?
I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).
Three companies control the market for school lunch payments. They take as much as 60 cents out of every dollar poor kids' parents put into the system to the tune of $100m/year. They're literally stealing poor kids' lunch money.
In its latest report, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau describes this scam in eye-watering, blood-boiling detail:
These aren't credit card processors (most students don't have credit cards). Instead, they let kids set up an account, like a prison commissary account, that their families load up with cash. And, as with prison commissary accounts, every time a loved one adds cash to the account, the processor takes a giant whack out of them with junk fees:
If you're the parent of a kid who is eligible for a reduced-price lunch (that is, if you are poor), then about 60% of the money you put into your kid's account is gobbled up by these payment processors in service charges.
It's expensive to be poor, and this is no exception. If your kid doesn't qualify for the lunch subsidy, you're only paying about 8% in service charges (which is still triple the rate charged by credit card companies for payment processing).
The disparity is down to how these charges are calculated. The payment processors charge a flat fee for every top-up, and poor families can't afford to minimize these fees by making a single payment at the start of the year or semester. Instead, they pay small sums every payday, meaning they pay the fee twice per month (or even more frequently).
Not only is the sector concentrated into three companies, neither school districts nor parents have any meaningful way to shop around. For school districts, payment processing is usually bundled in with other school services, like student data management and HR data handling. For parents, there's no way to choose a different payment processor – you have to go with the one the school district has chosen.
This is all illegal. The USDA – which provides and regulates – the reduced cost lunch program, bans schools from charging fees to receive its meals. Under USDA regs, schools must allow kids to pay cash, or to top up their accounts with cash at the school, without any fees. The USDA has repeatedly (2014, 2017) published these rules.
Despite this, many schools refuse to handle cash, citing safety and security, and even when schools do accept cash or checks, they often fail to advertise this fact.
The USDA also requires schools to publish the fees charged by processors, but most of the districts in the study violate this requirement. Where schools do publish fees, we see a per-transaction charge of up to $3.25 for an ACH transfer that costs $0.26-0.50, or 4.58% for a debit/credit-card transaction that costs 1.5%. On top of this, many payment processors charge a one-time fee to enroll a student in the program and "convenience fees" to transfer funds between siblings' accounts. They also set maximum fees that make it hard to avoid paying multiple charges through the year.
These are classic junk fees. As Matt Stoller puts it: "'Convenience fees' that aren't convenient and 'service fees' without any service." Another way in which these fit the definition of junk fees: they are calculated at the end of the transaction, and not advertised up front.
Like all junk fee companies, school payment processors make it extremely hard to cancel an automatic recurring payment, and have innumerable hurdles to getting a refund, which takes an age to arrive.
Now, there are many agencies that could have compiled this report (the USDA, for one), and it could just as easily have come from an academic or a journalist. But it didn't – it came from the CFPB, and that matters, because the CFPB has the means, motive and opportunity to do something about this.
The CFPB has emerged as a powerhouse of a regulator, doing things that materially and profoundly benefit average Americans. During the lockdowns, they were the ones who took on scumbag landlords who violated the ban on evictions:
They are forcing the banks to let you move your account (along with all your payment history, stored payees, automatic payments, etc) with one click – and they're standing up a site that will analyze your account data and tell you which bank will give you the best deal:
They're going after "buy now, pay later" companies that flout borrower protection rules, making a rogues' gallery of repeat corporate criminals, banning fine-print gotcha clauses, and they're doing it all in the wake of a 7-2 Supreme Court decision that affirmed their power to do so:
The CFPB can – and will – do something to protect America's poorest parents from having $100m of their kids' lunch money stolen by three giant fintech companies. But whether they'll continue to do so under a Kamala Harris administration is an open question. While Harris has repeatedly talked up the ways that Biden's CFPB, the DOJ Antitrust Division, and FTC have gone after corporate abuses, some of her largest donors are demanding that her administration fire the heads of these agencies and crush their agenda:
Tens of millions of dollars have been donated to Harris' campaign and PACs that support her by billionaires like Reid Hoffman, who says that FTC Chair Lina Khan is "waging war on American business":
Some of the richest Democrat donors told the Financial Times that their donations were contingent on Harris firing Khan and that they'd been assured this would happen:
https://archive.is/k7tUY
This would be a disaster – for America, and for Harris's election prospects – and one hopes that Harris and her advisors know it. Writing in his "How Things Work" newsletter today, Hamilton Nolan makes the case that labor unions should publicly declare that they support the FTC, the CFPB and the DOJ's antitrust efforts:
Don’t want huge companies and their idiot billionaire bosses to run the world? Break them up, and unionize them. It’s the best program we have.
Perhaps you've heard that antitrust is anti-worker. It's true that antitrust law has been used to attack labor organizing, but that has always been in spite of the letter of the law. Indeed, the legislative history of US antitrust law is Congress repeatedly passing law after law explaining that antitrust "aims at dollars, not men":
The Democrats need to be more than The Party of Not Trump. To succeed – as a party and as a force for a future for Americans – they have to be the party that defends us – workers, parents, kids and retirees alike – from corporate predation.
Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
Underground Empire: Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman's must-read account of "How America Weaponized the World Economy."
I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.
At the end of Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman's new book Underground Empire, they cite the work of John Lewis Gaddis, "preeminent historian of the Cold War," who dubbed that perilous period "The Long Peace":
Despite several harrowing near-misses, neither of the two hair-trigger, nuclear-tipped arsenals were ever loosed. When the Cold War ended, the world breathed a sigh of relief and set about refashioning itself, braiding together economic and social interdependencies that were supposed to make future war unthinkable. Nations that depend on one another couldn't afford to go to war, because they couldn't hurt the other without hurting themselves.
The standard account of the Cold War's "Long Peace" is that the game theorists who invented Mutually Assured Destruction set up a game where "the only way to win was not to play" (to quote the Matthew Broderick documentary War Games). The interdependency strategy of the post-Cold War, neoliberal, "flat" world was built on the same fundamentals: make war more costly than peace, victory worse than the status quo, and war would be over – if we wanted it.
But Gaddis has a different idea. Any effect Mutually Assured Destruction had on keeping fingers from pushing the buttons was downstream of a much more important factor: independence. For the most part, the US and the USSR had nonintersecting spheres of influence. Each of these spheres was self-sufficient. That meant that they didn't compete with one another for the use of the same resource or territory, and neither could put the other in check by seizing some asset they both relied on. The exceptions to this – proxy wars in Latin America and Southeast Asia – were the disastrous exceptions that proved the rule.
But the past forty years rejected this theory. From Thomas Friedman's "World Is Flat" to Fukyama's "End of History," the modern road to peace is paved with networks whose nodes can be found in every country. These networks – shipping routes, money-clearing systems, supply chains, the internet itself – weave together nearly every nation on Earth into a single web of interdependencies that make war impossible.
War, you may have noticed, has become very, very possible. Even countries with their own McDonald's franchises are willing to take up arms against one another.
That's where Farrell and Newman's book comes in. The two political scientists tell the story of how these global networks were built through accidents of history, mostly by American corporations and/or the American state. The web was built by accident, but the spider at its center was always the USA.
At various junctures since the Cold War, American presidents, spies and military leaders have noticed this web and tugged at it. A tariff here, a sanction there, then an embargo. The NSA turns the internet into a surveillance grid and a weapon of war. The SWIFT system is turned into a way to project American political goals around the world – first by blocking transactions for things the US government disfavors, then to cut off access for people who do business with people who do things that the US wants stopped.
Networks tend to centralization, to hubs. These central points are efficient, but (as we learned during the covid lockdown) brittle. One factory fails and an entire category of goods can no longer be made – anywhere. When it comes to global resiliency, these bottlenecks are are a bug; but when it comes to US foreign policy, these chokepoints are a feature.
Farrell and Newman skillfully weave a tale of individuals, powers, circumstances and forces, showing how the rise and rise of world-is-flat rah-rah globalism created a series of irresistable opportunities for "weaponized interdependence." Some players of the game wield these weapons like a scalpel; others (like Trump) use them like a club.
This is a chronicle of the dawning realization – among US power-players and their foreign adversaries, particularly in China – that the US lured its trading partners into entrusting it with financial clearing, IP enforcement, fiber landings, and other chokepoints, on the grounds that American wouldn't risk the wealth these systems generated by turning them into engines of coercion.
But then, of course, that's exactly what America did, from the War on Terror to economic sanctions on Iran, from seizing Argentinian reserves to freezing Russia's cash. Sometimes, the US did this for reasons that I sympathize with, other times, for reasons I am aghast at. But they did it, and did it, and did it.
America's adversaries (and frenemies, like the EU) have tried to build alternative "underground empires" to offset the risk of having their interdependencies weaponized (or to escape from an ongoing situation). But therein lies a conundrum: world-is-flat-ism has ended the age of indepedence. Countries really do need each other – for energy, materials, and finished goods. Independence is a long way off.
To create new interdependency networks, it's not enough for countries to agree that they don't trust America as neutral maintainer of their strategic chokepoints. They also have to agree to trust one of their own to operate those chokepoints. Lots of countries have come to mistrust US dollar-clearing and the SWIFT system – but few are willing to allow, say, China to run an alternative system that carries out settlements in Renminbi. The EU might be able to suck in some "friendly" countries for a Euro-clearing system, but would China trust them? How about Iran?
Farrell and Newman make a good case that US's position at the center of the web is a historical accident, and possibly a one-off, contingent on the ascendant post-Cold War ideology that said that markets and the interdependencies they create would neutralize the threat of handing a rival nation that much power.
Which leaves us in a world of interdependency in conflict. If Gaddis is right and the Long Peace was the result of independence, then this bodes very ill. The only thing worse than a world where no one can depend on anyone is a world where we must depend on entities that are hostile to us, and vice-versa. That way lies a widening gyre of conflict that felt eerily palpable as world events unfolded while I read this excellent, incisive book.
Political science, done right, has the power to reframe your whole understanding of events around you. Farrell and Newman set out a compelling thesis, defend it well, and tell a fascinating tale. And when they finish, they leave you with a way to make sense of things that seem senseless and terrible. This may not make those things less terrible, but at least they're comprehensible.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!
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"Actually, the struggle to secure #waterways is as ancient as the hills...'Such narrow #chokepoints are a key vulnerability for global seaborne trade: as mariners navigate the tight waterways, they face risks from pirates to militants and major powers vying for control'...#PresidentTrump who threatened to take control of the #PanamaCanal, has since acted on his threat by blocking #China from using the waterway for its trade with the Western Hemisphere. And Beijing is reportedly toying with the idea to 'rekindle building a #NicaraguaCanal' to neutralise US’ control of the Panama Canal."
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This weekly periodical features Roula Khalaf, the FT’s Editor, curating her top stories.
A significant geopolitical realization has dawned upon Europeans: firstly, their profound reliance on other global actors for numerous crucial aspects of their existence; and secondly, the growing inclination of these actors to employ their dominance to…
