Consolidation of Big tech to create monopolies are an existential threat to democracy.

Now, a growing “post-Chicago school” argues that antitrust law should be enforced more vigorously. Antitrust enforcement is necessary, they believe, because unregulated markets cannot stop the rise and entrenchment of anticompetitive monopolies. The shortcomings of the Chicago school’s approach to antitrust have also led to the “neo‑Brandeisian school” of antitrust. This group of legal scholars argues that the Sherman Act, the country’s early federal antitrust statute, was meant to protect not just economic values but also political ones, such as free speech and economic equality. Since digital platforms both wield economic power and control communication bottlenecks, these companies have become a natural target for this camp.

Big Tech poses unique threats to a well-functioning democracy.

It is true that digital markets exhibit certain features that distinguish them from conventional ones. For one thing, the coin of the realm is data. Once a company such as Amazon or Google has amassed data on hundreds of millions of users, it can move into completely new markets and beat established firms that lack similar knowledge. For another thing, such companies benefit greatly from so-called network effects. The larger the network gets, the more useful it becomes to its users, which creates a positive feedback loop that leads a single company to dominate the market. Unlike traditional firms, companies in the digital space do not compete for market share; they compete for the market itself. First movers can entrench themselves and make further competition impossible. They can swallow up potential rivals, as Facebook did by purchasing Instagram and WhatsApp.

But the jury is still out on the question of whether the massive technology companies reduce consumer welfare. They offer a wealth of digital products, such as searches, email, and social networking accounts, and consumers seem to value these products highly, even as they pay a price by giving up their privacy and allowing advertisers to target them. Moreover, almost every abuse these platforms are accused of perpetrating can be simultaneously defended as economically efficient. Amazon, for instance, has shuttered mom-and-pop retail stores and gutted not just main streets but also big‑box retailers. But the company is at the same time providing a service that many consumers find invaluable. (Imagine what it would be like if people had to rely on in-person retail during the pandemic.) As for the allegation that the platforms purchase startups to forestall competition, it is hard to know whether a young company would have become the next Apple or Google had it remained independent, or if it would have failed without the infusion of capital and management expertise it received from its new owners. Although consumers might have been better off if Instagram had stayed separate and become a viable alternative to Facebook, they would have been worse off if Instagram had failed altogether.

The economic case for reining in Big Tech is complicated. But there is a much more convincing political case. Internet platforms cause political harms that are far more alarming than any economic damage they create. Their real danger is not that they distort markets; it is that they threaten democracy.

THE INFORMATION MONOPOLISTS

Since 2016, Americans have woken up to the power of technology companies to shape information. These platforms have allowed hoaxers to peddle fake news and extremists to push conspiracy theories. They have created “filter bubbles,” an environment in which, because of how their algorithms work, users are exposed only to information that confirms their preexisting beliefs. And they can amplify or bury particular voices, thus having a disturbing influence on democratic political debate. The ultimate fear is that the platforms have amassed so much power that they could sway an election, either deliberately or unwittingly.

Critics have responded to these concerns by demanding that the platforms assume greater responsibility for the content they broadcast. They called for Twitter to suppress or fact-check President Donald Trump’s misleading tweets. They lambasted Facebook for stating that it would not moderate political content. Many would like to see Internet platforms behave like media companies, curating their political content and holding public officials accountable.

But pressuring large platforms to perform that function—and hoping they will do it with the public interest in mind—is not a long-term solution. This approach sidesteps the problem of their underlying power, and any real solution must limit that power. Today, it is largely conservatives who complain about Internet platforms’ political bias. They assume, with some justification, that the people who run today’s platforms—Jeff Bezos of Amazon, Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook, Sundar Pichai of Google, and Jack Dorsey of Twitter—tend to be socially progressive, even as they are driven primarily by commercial self-interest.

Internet platforms’ real danger is not that they distort markets; it is that they threaten democracy.

This assumption may not hold up in the longer run. Suppose that one of these giants were taken over by a conservative billionaire. Rupert Murdoch’s control over Fox News and The Wall Street Journal already gives him far-reaching political clout, but at least the effects of that control are plain to see: you know when you are reading a Wall Street Journal editorial or watching Fox News. But if Murdoch were to control Facebook or Google, he could subtly alter ranking or search algorithms to shape what users see and read, potentially affecting their political views without their awareness or consent. And the platforms’ dominance makes their influence hard to escape. If you are a liberal, you can simply watch MSNBC instead of Fox; under a Murdoch-controlled Facebook, you may not have a similar choice if you want to share news stories or coordinate political activity with your friends.

Consider also that the platforms—Amazon, Facebook, and Google, in particular—possess information about individuals’ lives that prior monopolists never had. They know who people’s friends and family are, about people’s incomes and possessions, and many of the most intimate details of their lives. What if the executive of a platform with corrupt intentions were to exploit embarrassing information to force the hand of a public official? Alternatively, imagine a misuse of private information in conjunction with the powers of the government—say, Facebook teaming up with a politicized Justice Department.

Digital platforms’ concentrated economic and political power is like a loaded weapon sitting on a table. At the moment, the people sitting on the other side of the table likely won’t pick up the gun and pull the trigger. The question for U.S. democracy, however, is whether it is safe to leave the gun there, where another person with worse intentions could come along and pick it up. No liberal democracy is content to entrust concentrated political power to individuals based on assumptions about their good intentions. That is why the United States places checks and balances on that power.