It doesn’t take a conspiracy to dismantle democracy — just concentrated wealth and time.
Across the globe, but especially in the United States, the ultra-wealthy have learned to bend democratic institutions not through revolution or coups d’état, but through slow but determined erosion. They don’t storm the halls of power; they sponsor those halls, sue them if they resist, and slowly discredit them if they persist. They present themselves to the public and a pliant media as hardnosed realists and pragmatists — people who know how to get things done – rational actors disillusioned with what they denounce as ‘the inefficiencies of self-rule.’ But what they’re really doing is waging a cold and relentless war on the very machinery of democratic life.
The corrosion starts subtly: A billionaire funds a lawsuit, quietly buys a newspaper, or drops millions into a political race. It initially appears to be wholesome participation (Bezos saving journalism by giving it room to breathe) — civic engagement by successful individuals. But with the benefit of time, the scale and intent reveal something else.
When Peter Thiel bankrolled the lawsuit that bankrupted Gawker Media, he wasn’t just seeking justice for a perceived personal slight. He was sending a clear message: If you cross a billionaire, we will destroy you — and we won’t need to win an argument to do it. You will not be debated; you will be swiftly liquidated.
The legal system, which in theory protects the weak from the powerful, is in practice yet another arena where wealth sets the rules. Strategic lawsuits against public participation (SLAPP suits) have become the favorite tool of oligarchs to intimidate journalists, whistleblowers, and activists into silence. The goal isn’t to win in court; it is to bleed critics dry with legal fees and drag them through years of debilitating litigation. In a democracy, speech should be protected; in an oligarchy, it is priced and, in that way, snuffed out.
The media, too, has been captured — not in a dramatic coup, but through purchase after purchase.
Rupert Murdoch’s sprawling empire has normalized the idea that facts are pliable, that narratives are weapons, and that partisanship isn’t a danger but a business model. Elon Musk’s takeover of Twitter (now X) is a more recent version of the same impulse: Control the flow of information, and you control what people believe is real. Democracy depends on shared reality, while plutocracy, in sharp contrast, thrives and prospers in the fog.
Meanwhile, the electoral process itself is flooded with dark money. The idea that votes are the currency of democracy is now hopelessly quaint. Billionaires channel millions into Super PACs, shell organizations, and influence networks with surgical precision. In a real sense, these actors don’t fund ideas; they fund outcomes. Their money distorts policy long before any citizen casts a vote. And once elected, politicians must continue courting the donors who got them there, making governance a marketplace rather than a deliberation.
But the richest trick of all is privatizing democracy through philanthropy. With breathless press releases and carefully branded initiatives, billionaires position themselves as democracy’s very saviors. But since they don’t believe in the messy business of collective decision-making, of schools being run by communities or health systems being publicly accountable. Instead, they fund the institutions they like and withdraw support from those they don’t. They develop “solutions” and pilot programs without public mandate, then pull the plug when results don't align with their metrics. What they call generosity is actually manipulative, cynical governance without consent.
And through it all, they refuse to pay their share. Amazon pays no federal income tax in some years. Elon Musk goes years without paying a cent in personal taxes, instead living off loans collateralized by his own wealth. This isn’t innovation; it’s naked extraction. The mega-rich benefit from public roads, public workers, public infrastructure, and public order, and then deny the very public its claim to that wealth. As state budgets starve, public services falter, and trust in government collapses. The wealthy then turn around and say: “See? Democracy doesn’t work.”
And then the final insult: After years of sabotage, these same people declare the system broken and offer themselves as its replacement. The rise of openly anti-democratic ideologies like “effective accelerationism” or the “Dark Enlightenment” — both of which advocate for rule by an elite technocratic caste — is no accident, nor unforeseen consequence. They are the ideological aftershocks of a material, concerted campaign. They cloak the raw pursuit of power in the language of efficiency and order and denounce democracy as too slow, too irrational, too emotional. But what they mean is: Democracy lets the wrong people decide.
But democracy was never supposed to be efficient. It was meant to be participatory, inclusive, and accountable. These qualities are not design flaws — they are its very strength. A truly participatory democratic system is what prevents government from becoming the private playground of the rich. And it is precisely these strengths that billionaires target and weaken, not with coups or tanks, but with lawyers, accountants, algorithms, and well-heeled PR firms.
What we are witnessing is not the failure of democracy. We are witnessing its deliberate asphyxiation and dismembering by those who fear it the most: People with too much to lose from the many having a real say in how their lives are run and what priorities should be followed by those they vote into office. Such people do not want to fix democracy: They want to outlive it, and then replace it with a system where wealth itself is the qualification for rule. And if we let them, they will not just own our homes and our media — they will own our very futures and destinies.
The fight is not and has never been between ideologies – the left vs. the right – but between power that answers to the people and power that doesn’t answer at all.
Ahmed Bouzid is the Co-Founder of The True Representation Movement
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A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.