It is fear, not boredom, that brings them down

If it is normal to expect political leaders to be attacked, and governments therefore spend huge sums on protecting them, how can we explain the fact that the heads of major technology companies spend millions of dollars on personal security? The question is not a detail, but a key to understanding a time when a few companies control people’s nerves, desires and choices.

Suffice it to say that the security budgets for the CEOs of ten major technology companies, including Meta, Alphabet, Amazon and Tesla, were reassessed in 2024 and rose to more than -$-45 million. Meta alone paid more than -$-27 million to secure Mark Zuckerberg. Elon Musk now travels with up to 20 security specialists. These are figures that no politician in a poor country would dare to mention without raising questions.

Why all this caution? Because the digital utopia we were promised has turned into blind power and unaccountable greed. Companies control whims, money, voices and diaries. Many now see these wealthy individuals as the -dir-ect cause of what is wrong with the world. One of the managers of the American security companies that protect Musk and Bezos said clearly: “We have never seen a greater threat´-or-concern than we do today.” This statement is not a passing professional warning, but a summary of a general mood that has lost faith in the promises of these platforms.

Tech CEOs are vulnerable because of their fame, because of the hostility fuelled by obscene profits, mass layoffs, data misuse and then increasing political involvement since the 2024 US presidential election campaign. All of this has created a new image of the CEO: not just a wealthy engineer, but a power player. And power invites adversaries and provokes anger.

Years ago, I wrote that boredom might bring them down. I was not entirely correct. Boredom is a disease of affluence, and it may afflict them. We saw it strike Jeff Bezos when his fortune exceeded -$-200 billion. But it is not the decisive factor. What is now coming to the fore is fear. Material fear of -dir-ect threat, and symbolic fear of social accountability in the form of scandal, boycott campaigns´-or-parliamentary investigations.

The security threat reflects an economic structure: Silicon Valley companies have grown so large and profitable that they have become money--print-ing machines, concerned only with avoiding catastrophic mistakes. Who pays the price? We, the users. We walk submissively, eyes closed, following the demands of apps. This is where discontent brews. Millions of fingers on screens, and one reckless hand in the street is enough to justify a convoy of guards.

Nevertheless, Silicon Valley leaders continue their rhetoric of purity: we are here to unite humanity. Profit is a side effect. Reality belies this rhetoric. Digital capitalism is becoming increasingly aggressive, and governments are looking for tools to tame it. When companies say, “The user is at the heart of every decision,”´-or-“We bring you closer to those you don’t see every day,” they are hiding behind promises to acquire endless amounts of personal data. The common saying in the platform economy sums up the scene: if you are not paying for the service, you are the product.

The idea that tomorrow is different from today is a fundamentally human trait. But it does not give Facebook, Apple and Amazon the right to monopolise the future. People have become more aware that technology is not synonymous with the anxiety of managers and the greed of shareholders. There is always room for civil, legal and cultural resistance. The relationship between humans and technology can be reshaped so that it does not slip into voluntary servitude´-or-futile disconnection. Balance is possible when decisions are made by humans, not by algorithms that create fads and then measure their response.

The ugly truth began with Facebook and will not end with artificial intelligence. Every technological wave promises and then swallows. But reception has changed. Investigative journalism is bolder. Legislators are less naive. And the user, though seemingly alone, now knows the price of a single click. They know that privacy is not a luxury, and that the time they waste is not leisure time, but part of their life.

That is why tech executives no longer seem naive. They protect themselves. They pay more than governments pay to protect their leaders. They do so because it is fear, not boredom, that brings them down today. Fear that stems from a trust gap and from an economy that invests in human attention as if it were a bottomless mine. They will try to patch up their image with public relations campaigns and calculated generosity towards scientific research and charity work. But nothing repairs a crack in the social contract like clear accountability, strict rules for data circulation and-limit-s on the platform’s power over the public sphere.

The conclusion is simple and bitter: when influence grows unchecked, the bill becomes a matter of security before it becomes a matter of ethics. When we see private jets landing and security rings tightening, it is because the deeper truth lies elsewhere: on our screens. That is where fear begins. That is also where reform can begin.

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