Musk Has Made Himself Into The World's Arch Villain— Is There Anything That Can Be Done About It?

Elon Musk became “the richest man in the world” on January 7, 2021, when his net worth surpassed Jeff Bezos’ and his wealth was estimated to be $185 billion. Since then, he has gotten a lot richer and his net worth is in the area of $420 billion (give or take a couple billion). His political affiliations have “evolved” over time. In the early 2000s, he donated to both Democratic and Republican candidates, including contributions to George W. Bush and his 2004 Democratic challenger, John Kerry. He also supported California Democrats and the NRCC ahead of the 2006 midterms. In the 2008 presidential primaries, he contributed to both Obama and Hillary. He claims to have not contributed to either Hillary or Señor T during the 2016 election. 

People who know him, have said he’s always been very right-wing and only contributed to Democrats to hedge his bets from a business perspective, although, until recently, he’s described himself as “politically moderate” and a registered independent voter. Even before he’s basically come out as a full-fledged Nazi, in May 2022, he stated that he could “no longer support” the Democratic Party, labeling them as the “party of division and hate,” while encouraging “independent-minded voters” to vote Republican in the elections that year. He endorsed DeSantis for the 2024 U.S. presidential election and hosted his campaign announcement on a Twitter Spaces event. He bought into Trump in July, 2024— literally, and spent over a quarter billion dollars helping to elect Trump and his allies, the most money ever spent on an election campaign. In return, Trump seems to have given him some kind special access and possibly veto power over White House personnel hires.

He has also threatened to use his money in primaries against Republicans who don’t toe the line and for conservative Democrats against progressives.

Yesterday, The Hill ran a story, The Trump-Musk Bromance Is Breaking Up And Could Break America, that seems pretty dramatic. “The honeymoon,” wrote John Ghlionn, “is now officially over. Barely had Trump announced his artificial intelligence infrastructure project, Stargate, when Musk, his so-called ‘First Buddy,’ slipped into the role of disgruntled spouse. The White House rollout, featuring SoftBank, OpenAI and Oracle, promised a half-trillion-dollar leap into AI supremacy. ‘They don’t actually have the money,’ Musk sniped on Twitter, his personal soapbox. ‘SoftBank has well under $10B secured. I have that on good authority.’ Musk’s rapid turn from ally to adversary sends a clear signal: Trump needs to cut ties— before the bromance drags him, and possibly the nation, under. What might have initially seemed like a strategic alignment— a billionaire tech mogul and a bombastic political leader coming together to shape America’s future— was, in reality, a ticking time bomb… [The] public mockery of Trump’s AI initiative is not just a minor jab— it’s a declaration of independence. For Trump, who demands absolute loyalty and reverence, this is tantamount to betrayal. But Musk has never been one to play second fiddle, and Trump has never been one to share the stage. Their alliance was never rooted in mutual respect. Rather, it was a transaction of convenience, driven by mutual utility.”

Musk had the money, the influence, and the tech-world clout to help amplify Trump’s reelection campaign, casting himself as a visionary willing to bet on a populist wildcard. Trump, in turn, held the ultimate prize: the keys to the kingdom.

For Musk, those keys unlocked an unprecedented opportunity for federal largesse— contracts worth billions, aimed squarely at propelling his enterprises to new heights. SpaceX could solidify its dominance in the race for the stars with long-term NASA and Department of Defense funding. Tesla could secure its place as the backbone of the nation’s energy infrastructure, with federal dollars subsidizing sprawling projects tied to renewable energy grids. The newly announced AI infrastructure project, Stargate, represented yet another goldmine, with Musk poised to position himself as the architect of America’s technological future.

For Trump, Musk’s support was a strategic coup. Musk’s backing brought an air of Silicon Valley sophistication to Trump’s administration, creating a rare bridge between populism and the tech elite. It was lust, not love— a high-stakes quid pro quo driven by ambition, not allegiance.

Moreover, and this is a critical point, Trump’s brand of traditionalism stands in direct opposition to Musk’s vision of a tech-driven future. Musk fancies himself a modern-day Prometheus, delivering the fire of innovation to humanity: electric vehicles to revolutionize transportation, plans to colonize Mars as a backup for civilization and AI advancements to reshape industries. His worldview is one of relentless progress, a future unshackled from the constraints of the past.

Trump, by contrast, embodies a different archetype of power. His appeal is rooted in populism, nostalgia, and a promise to restore America to a bygone era of strength and simplicity— a time when industry roared, borders were fortified and traditional values defined the nation’s character. Trump wants to make Detroit great again. Musk wants to turn it into a launchpad for Mars.

These conflicting ideologies were always destined to clash. Musk’s techno-utopianism leaves little room for Trump’s vision of a grounded, tradition-oriented resurgence.

This will not end well.

When billionaires feud, the repercussions rarely stay confined to their personal disputes. Both Musk and Trump command vast influence, shaping entire industries, political ideologies and cultural movements. A public falling out between these two powerhouses risks exacerbating existing societal divides, potentially stalling progress in crucial areas of innovation and policy.

We’ve already had a preview of this clash during the H-1B visa controversy, where Musk’s call for expanded tech talent collided head-on with MAGA’s staunch protectionism [and racism].

Now, I ask you to imagine this tension writ large.

Musk’s legion of tech-savvy futurists, who hail him as a modern-day Tony Stark, pitted against Trump’s loyal traditionalists, who view him as the guardian of American values. Such a schism would not only deepen ideological fractures but also risk turning cultural and policy debates into entrenched battlegrounds, paralyzing collaboration.

The two men represent two competing forces shaping the 21st century.

When personal quests outweigh collaboration, the price is paid by everyone. Trump would be wise to cut ties with Musk now— before it’s too late.

Nor is Musk just a problem in the U.S. Yesterday, Anne Applebaum went through the problems he’s causing in Europe, where, unlike in the U.S., elections aren’t supposed to be bought. “In Britain,” she wrote, “political parties are, at least during the run-up to an election, limited to spending no more than £54,010 per candidate. In Germany, as in many other European countries, the state funds political parties, proportionate to their number of elected parliamentarians, so that politicians do not have to depend on, and become corrupted by, wealthy donors. In Poland, courts fast-track election-related libel cases in the weeks before a vote in order to discourage people from lying. Nor is this unique to Europe. Many democracies have state or public media that are obligated, at least in principle, to give equal time to all sides. Many require political donations to be transparent, with the names of donors listed in an online registry. Many have limits on political advertising. Some countries also have rules about hate speech and indict people who break them. Countries apply these laws to create conditions for fair debate, to build trust in the system, and to inspire confidence in the winning candidates. Some democracies believe that transparency matters—­ that voters should know who is funding their candidates, as well as who is paying for political messages on social media or anywhere else. In some places, these rules have a loftier goal: to prevent the rise of anti­democratic extremism of the kind that has engulfed democracies—­ and especially European democracies—­­ in the past. But for how much longer can democracies pursue these goals? We live in a world in which algorithms controlled by American and Chinese oligarchs choose the messages and images seen by millions of people; in which money can move through secret bank accounts with the help of crypto schemes; and in which this dark money can then boost anonymous social-media accounts with the aim of shaping public opinion.”

Not all of this is new. Surreptitious political-party funding was a feature of the Cold War, and the Russian government has continued this practice, sometimes by offering deals to foreign business­people close to pro-Russian politicians. Press moguls with international political ambitions are hardly a novelty. Rupert Murdoch, an Australian who has U.S. citizenship, has long played an outsize role in U.K. politics through his media companies. John Major, the former British prime minister and Conservative Party leader, has said that in 1997, Murdoch threatened to pull his newspapers’ support unless the prime minister pursued a more anti-European policy. Major refused. Murdoch has said, “I have never asked. Prime minister for anything,” but one of his Conservative-leaning tabloids, The Sun, did endorse the Labour Party in the next election. Major lost.

…Social media not only has far greater reach— Musk’s personal Twitter account has more than 212 million followers, giving him enormous power to set the news agenda around the world— it also exists outside the legal system. Under the American law known as Section 230, passed nearly three decades ago, internet platforms are not treated as publishers in the U.S. In practice, neither Facebook nor Twitter has the same legal responsibility for what appears on their platforms as do, say, the Wall Street Journal and CNN. And this, too, has consequences: Americans have created the information climate that other countries must accept, and this allows deceptive election practices to thrive. If countries don’t have their own laws, and until recently most did not, Section 230 effectively requires them to treat social-media companies as if they exist outside their legal systems too.

Brazil broke with this pattern last year, when a judge demanded that Musk comply with Brazilian laws against spreading misinformation and political extremism, and forced Twitter offline until he did. Several European countries, including the U.K., Germany, and France, have also passed laws designed to bring the platforms into compliance with their own legal systems, mandating fines for companies that violate hate-speech laws or host other illegal content. But these laws are controversial and hard to enforce. Besides, “illegal speech” is not necessarily the central problem. No laws prevented Musk from interviewing Alice Weidel, a leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, on Twitter, thereby providing her with a huge platform, available to no other political candidate, in the month before a national election. The interview, which included several glaringly false statements (among others, that Weidel was the “leading” candidate), was viewed 45 million times in 24 hours, a number far beyond the reach of any German public or private media.

Only one institution on the planet is large enough and powerful enough to write and enforce laws that could make the tech companies change their policies. Partly for that reason, the European Union may soon become one of the Trump administration’s most prominent targets. In theory, the EU’s Digital Services Act, which took full effect last year, can be used to regulate, fine, and, in extreme circumstances, ban internet companies whose practices clash with European laws. Yet a primary intent of the act is not punitive, but rather to open up the platforms: to allow vetted researchers access to platform data, and to give citizens more transparency about what they hear and see. Freedom of speech also means the right to receive information, and at the moment social-media companies operate behind a curtain. We don’t know if they are promoting or suppressing certain points of view, curbing or encouraging orchestrated political campaigns, discouraging or provoking violent riots. Above all, we don’t know who is paying for misinformation to be spread online.

In the past, the EU has not hesitated to try to apply European law to tech companies. Over the past decade, for example, Google has faced three fines totaling more than $8 billion for breaking antitrust law (though one of these fines was overturned by the EU’s General Court in 2024).

In November, the European Commission fined Meta more than $800 million for unfair trade practices. But for how much longer will the EU have this authority? In the fall, J. D. Vance issued an extraordinarily unsubtle threat, one that is frequently repeated in Europe. “If NATO wants us to continue supporting them and NATO wants us to continue to be a good participant in this military alliance,” Vance told an interviewer, “why don’t you respect American values and respect free speech?” Mark Zuckerberg, echoing Vance’s misuse of the expression free speech to mean “freedom to conceal company practices from the public,” put it even more crudely. In a conversation with Joe Rogan in January, Zuckerberg said he feels “optimistic” that President Donald Trump will intervene to stop the EU from enforce its own antitrust laws: “I think he just wants America to win.”

Does America “winning” mean that European democracies, and maybe other democracies, lose? Some European politicians think it might. Robert Habeck, the German vice chancellor and a leader of that country’s Green Party, believes that Musk’s frenzies of political activity on Twitter aren’t the random blurts of an addled mind, but rather are “logical and systematic.” In his New Year’s address, Habeck said that Musk is deliberately “strengthening those who are weakening Europe,” including the explicitly anti-European AfD. This, he believes, is because “a weak Europe is in the interest of those for whom regulation is an inappropriate limitation of their power.”

Until recently, Russia was the most important state seeking to undermine European institutions. Vladimir Putin has long disliked the EU because it restricts Russian companies’ ability to intimidate and bribe European political leaders and companies, and because the EU is larger and more powerful than Russia, whereas European countries on their own are not. Now a group of American oligarchs also want to undermine European institutions, because they don’t want to be regulated— and they may have the American president on their side. Quite soon, the European Union, along with Great Britain and other democracies around the world, might find that they have to choose between their alliance with the United States and their ability to run their own elections and select their own leaders without the pressure of aggressive outside manipulation. Ironically, countries, such as Brazil, that don’t have the same deep military, economic, and cultural ties to the U.S. may find it easier to maintain the sovereignty of their political systems and the transparency of their information ecosystems than Europeans.

A crunch point is imminent, when the European Commission finally concludes a year-long investigation into Twitter. Tellingly, two people who have advised the commission on this investigation would talk with me only off the record, because the potential for reprisals against them and their organizations—­ whether it be online trolling and harassment or lawsuits—­ is too great. Still, both advisers said that the commission has the power to protect Europe’s sovereignty, and to force the platforms to be more transparent. “The commission should look at the raft of laws and rules it has available and see how they can be applied,” one of them told me, “always remembering that this is not about taking action against a person’s voice. This is the commission saying that everyone’s voice should be equal.”

At least in theory, no country is obligated to become an electoral Las Vegas, as America has. Global democracies could demand greater transparency around the use of algorithms, both on social media and in the online-advertising market more broadly. They could offer consumers more control over what they see, and more information about what they don’t see. They could enforce their own campaign-funding laws. These changes could make the internet more open and fair, and therefore a better, safer place for the exercise of free speech. If the chances of success seem narrow, it’s not because of the lack of a viable legal framework—­rather it’s because, at the moment, cowardice is as viral as one of Musk’s tweets.