Thirty years ago, the commercial internet burst onto the scene amid sweeping predictions. It would transform commerce, eliminate industries, reshape labor markets, and create fortunes on an unprecedented scale. It did all of those things. Yet there was not just remarkably little public appetite for confiscating half the equity of internet companies and redistributing it through a government-run fund: there was none. Americans largely accepted that entrepreneurs, investors, and workers who assumed extraordinary risks would also enjoy extraordinary rewards. Today, by contrast, a new survey finding that roughly seven in ten Americans support transferring half the stock of major AI companies into a public wealth fund suggests that something more profound than anxiety over a new technology is taking place.

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Every technological revolution has its Luddites, however, marginal their appearance. What’s new is that today’s Luddites don’t merely want to stop the machines; they want to confiscate their owners’ property.

Certainly, artificial intelligence has generated genuine concerns. Many fear job displacement, misinformation, privacy violation, or the concentration of economic power in a handful of firms. Those concerns deserve discussion. But support for effectively nationalizing half the ownership of successful companies marks a dramatic departure from the country’s traditional understanding of property rights, entrepreneurship, and the relationship between entrepreneurship and reward.

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The internet itself offers an illuminating comparison. Few technologies have been as economically disruptive. Newspapers collapsed, retailers disappeared, travel agencies became obsolete, music stores vanished, classified advertising evaporated, and countless occupations either changed radically or ceased to exist. At the same time, the internet created entirely new industries employing millions of people while dramatically lowering costs, expanding consumer choice, and increasing productivity. Although critics worried about monopolies or privacy, proposals to seize half the ownership of companies such as Microsoft, Amazon, Google, or eBay scarcely emerged, let alone attracting something approaching majority public support.

Why has the public reaction shifted so dramatically?

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One explanation is that Americans have become increasingly accustomed to viewing wealth through a zero-sum lens. For decades, political rhetoric, media coverage, and even educational institutions have increasingly emphasized inequality over wealth creation as an engine of overall prosperity. Rather than asking whether society as a whole becomes richer through innovation, discussion often centers on whether innovators have become “too rich.” When economic success itself is viewed with suspicion, redistribution naturally appears more reasonable than allowing innovators to retain the returns from their investments.

A second explanation is declining confidence in upward mobility. During the internet boom, many Americans believed they could personally participate in the gains, whether by starting businesses, purchasing stocks, or finding new career opportunities. Today, younger generations often face high housing costs, elevated student debt, and persistent pessimism about their future prospects. If people increasingly believe they won’t participate in economic growth through ordinary market participation, government intervention begins to seem like the only remaining avenue to benefit from economic progress.

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A third possibility is that artificial intelligence itself feels more immediate and personal than previous technological revolutions. The internet largely complemented human labor before gradually replacing certain businesses and occupations. AI, by contrast, appears capable of performing cognitive tasks once thought uniquely human. White-collar professionals from writers, programmers, accountants, designers, and analysts now perceive direct competition from software. Fear often produces demands for political intervention that would have seemed unnecessary under more optimistic circumstances. (See the New Deal for additional evidence.)

None of this means policymakers should ignore legitimate questions surrounding AI. Governments have an appropriate role in enforcing contracts, protecting property rights, ensuring competition, prosecuting fraud, and addressing clearly demonstrated harms. But confiscating ownership after firms have invested billions of dollars in research and accepted enormous commercial risks would establish a troubling precedent extending well beyond artificial intelligence. Among other effects, inventors, and their backers would understandably ask which successful industry might be next.

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The survey therefore reveals something larger than public opinion about AI. It reflects a striking evolution in American attitudes toward markets, technological, advancement, and private property. The internet transformed the economy every bit as profoundly as artificial intelligence promises to do, yet Americans overwhelmingly viewed its rewards as something to be earned rather than redistributed. If American citizens increasingly see extraordinary innovation as justification for extraordinary government force, the most important story may not be artificial intelligence at all. It may be the changing philosophy of the society deciding how to govern it. If a majority can be persuaded that today’s successful innovators no longer deserve to own what they built, there is little reason to believe AI will be the last industry to find itself in the redistributionist crosshairs.

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Image generated by ChatGPT.