Power and Progress summary

In 1879, a French diplomat named Ferdinand de Lesseps stood before an international conference in Paris, confidently pitching a grand idea: a sea-level canal through Panama. He had recently overseen the successful construction of the Suez Canal and believed that past success gave him the authority to repeat it. He dismissed engineering concerns, ignored local conditions, and shut down alternatives. 

The project collapsed in disaster – tens of thousands died from disease and accidents, and the effort was abandoned. The failure followed a pattern seen throughout history: a powerful figure with a persuasive vision pushed forward despite warnings, and the costs were borne by others.

History demonstrates a clear and repeating lesson: innovation without inclusion leads to inequality. For much of history, technological advancement has served to widen the gap between the powerful and the powerless. Centuries before factories and smartphones, agricultural societies were already experimenting with tools to raise output – better plows, improved crop rotations, and more efficient milling. But for the vast majority of people, these changes brought little relief. 

In medieval Europe, for example, nearly 90 percent of the population were peasants. As farming methods advanced, they were expected to work harder and produce more, yet they saw almost none of the resulting gains. What should have been a period of progress instead reinforced the power of landowners and the church.

By the mid-1800s, life inside Britain’s factories had become a symbol of industrial misery. Long hours, dangerous machinery, and meager wages defined daily existence for much of the working class. But slowly, something began to change. As workers clustered in industrial towns and began forming unions, they gained the leverage to push back. Labor protests, strikes, and demands for political inclusion started reshaping both the economy and the use of technology itself.

This economic change didn’t unfold on its own. It moved because people organized to demand a fairer share of the wealth their labor created. In Britain, wage stagnation finally gave way to rising incomes only after decades of pressure for better conditions and a voice in decision-making. The political environment changed too – unions gained legal recognition, voting rights expanded, and reformers pushed for limits on child labor and excessive working hours.

The arrival of the digital revolution repeated a familiar historical pattern, reversing the previous era of shared prosperity. Just as with the agricultural and industrial innovations of the past, the benefits of this new wave of technology accumulated at the top. As computers and digital tools spread from the 1980s onward, the link between rising productivity and better wages began to break.

For many workers without a college degree, this meant their earnings stagnated or declined. Jobs that once offered security were replaced with contract work, low-paid service roles, or were eliminated entirely.

In 2018, a change to Facebook’s algorithm dramatically altered what appeared in users’ feeds. The stated goal was to promote “Meaningful Social Interactions” by pushing posts from friends forward and news back. While engagement soared, the algorithm discovered that the most potent interactions were driven by outrage and division. As a result, the effect was toxic. The system amplified the most emotionally charged content, causing misinformation to spread faster and deepening political polarization. The decision was made by a handful of executives, not governments or voters. The broader public had no say – despite being the ones most affected.

This example points to a deeper issue. As digital systems grow more powerful, the decisions about how they are built and used increasingly shape public life. From credit scores determining who can take out a mortgage to the algorithmic sorting of job candidates or medical access, technological choices now influence everything from civic freedoms to economic opportunity.  These systems reflect the priorities of those who control them – typically private firms or political elites.