During an American election, wealthy individuals can distribute $1 million checks to potential voters. Both companies and individuals can utilize secretly funded “dark money” nonprofits to contribute unlimited funds, anonymously, to super PACs, which subsequently use these funds for advertising campaigns. Partisans, podcasters, or anyone can propagate outrageous, incendiary lies about candidates, amplifying these falsehoods through targeted online advertising. There are no specialized courts or election regulations capable of halting the spread of disinformation before voters cast their ballots. The court of public opinion, which has witnessed everything over the last decade, shows little concern. U.S. elections have transformed into a political Las Vegas: anything goes.
However, this is not the case in other nations. In the United Kingdom, political parties are restricted, at least during the lead-up to an election, to spending no more than £54,010 per candidate according to electoral regulations. In Germany, as in many other European countries, the state provides funding to political parties based on the number of elected parliamentarians they have, ensuring that politicians do not have to rely on and become corrupted by wealthy donors. In Poland, courts expedite election-related libel cases in the weeks leading up to a vote to deter lies.
This is not exclusive to Europe. Numerous democracies have state or public media mandated, at least in principle, to grant equal airtime to all sides. Many of these democracies require political donations to be transparent, maintaining an online registry of donor identities. Some impose limits on political advertising and have laws against hate speech, prosecuting violators.
Countries implement these laws to foster fair debate, build trust in the electoral system, and cultivate confidence in winning candidates. Certain democracies believe in the importance of transparency—that voters should be aware of who funds their candidates and the sources financing political messages on social media or elsewhere. In some regions, these regulations aim higher: to prevent the rise of anti-democratic extremism that has recently troubled democracies—especially in Europe.
But how much longer can democracies pursue these objectives? We inhabit a world where algorithms managed by American and Chinese oligarchs determine the messages and images seen by millions; where money can traverse secret bank channels via crypto schemes; and where this dark money can bolster anonymous social media accounts with the goal of influencing public opinion. In such a landscape, how can any election regulations be effectively enforced? If you’re Albania or even the United Kingdom, do you still have the authority to set standards for public discourse? Or are you compelled to become Las Vegas as well?
Although it’s easy to become sidetracked by the childish nicknames and reckless pedophilia accusations hurled by Elon Musk, these are the critical issues raised by his open, aggressive use of X to disseminate misinformation and promote extremist and anti-European politicians in the U.K., Germany, and beyond. The integrity of elections—and the potential for debate free from misinformation injected from external sources—is similarly jeopardized by TikTok, the Chinese platform, and by Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta, which encompasses Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, and Threads. TikTok claims it does not accept any paid political advertisements. Meta, which announced in January it would cease fact-checking on its platforms in the U.S., also asserts it will adhere to European laws. However, even prior to Zuckerberg’s drastic policy shift, such promises were hollow. Meta’s acclaimed content curation and moderation have never been transparent. No one knows what Facebook’s algorithm promotes and why. Users often encounter spammers, scammers, and obscure accounts engaged in foreign influence operations. There is no guide to the algorithm, nor any genuine choices about it, on Meta products, X, or TikTok.
In reality, no one can ascertain whether any platforms genuinely comply with political funding regulations either, as external observers cannot fully monitor online activities during an intense election campaign—and after voting concludes, it’s already too late. According to declassified Romanian intelligence documents, someone allegedly spent over $1 million on TikTok content in the 18 months leading up to an election in support of a Romanian presidential candidate who claimed he had spent nothing. In a delayed effort to address this and other alleged discrepancies, a Romanian court nullified the first round of that election, a ruling that further harmed Romanian democracy.
This situation is not entirely new. Covert political party funding was characteristic of the Cold War, and the Russian government continues this practice, sometimes by offering incentives to foreign business figures allied with pro-Russian politicians. Media moguls with international political aspirations are hardly a recent phenomenon. Rupert Murdoch, an Australian with U.S. citizenship, has long wielded significant influence in U.K. politics through his media enterprises. John Major, the former British prime minister and Conservative Party leader, recounted that in 1997, Murdoch threatened to withdraw his newspapers’ backing unless the prime minister adopted a more anti-European stance. Major resisted. Murdoch has claimed, “I have never asked a prime minister for anything,” yet one of his Conservative-leaning tabloids, The Sun, endorsed the Labour Party in the subsequent election. Major lost.
That episode now appears almost quaint. Even at the peak of its influence, the print edition of The Sun sold 4 million copies daily. More importantly, it operated, and continues to operate, within the confines of U.K. regulations, as do all forms of broadcast and print media. Murdoch’s newspapers consider British libel and hate-speech laws when publishing stories. His business strategy is inevitably influenced by regulations limiting ownership concentration. After his journalists faced allegations of phone hacking and police bribery in the early 2000s, Murdoch himself had to testify before an investigative commission, resulting in the permanent closure of one of his tabloids.
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Social media platforms not only possess considerably greater reach—Musk’s personal X account boasts over 212 million followers, endowing him with immense power to shape the global news agenda—but they also operate outside the legal framework. Under the American law known as Section 230, enacted nearly three decades ago, internet platforms are not classified as publishers in the U.S. Consequently, neither Facebook nor X bears the same legal accountability for the content appearing on their platforms as do traditional media outlets like The Wall Street Journal and CNN. This lack of accountability has significant repercussions: Americans have constructed an information climate that other nations are compelled to endure, allowing deceptive electoral practices to flourish. If nations lack their own regulatory frameworks, and until recently, most did not, Section 230 effectively mandates that they treat social media companies as if they operate outside their legal jurisdictions.
Brazil broke this pattern last year when a judge mandated that Musk adhere to Brazilian laws against misinformation and political extremism, temporarily taking X offline until compliance was achieved. Several European nations, including the U.K., Germany, and France, have also enacted laws aimed at aligning these platforms with their legal standards, imposing fines on companies that violate hate-speech regulations or host illegal content. However, these laws are contentious and difficult to enforce. Moreover, “illegal speech” may not necessarily represent the core issue. No laws barred Musk from interviewing Alice Weidel, a leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, on X, thus providing her with an unparalleled platform, unavailable to any other political candidate, in the month preceding a national election. That interview, containing several blatant falsehoods (including claims that Weidel was the “leading” candidate), amassed 45 million views within 24 hours, far exceeding the reach of any German public or private media.
Only one institution globally possesses the scale and authority necessary to draft and enforce regulations that could compel tech companies to alter their policies. For this reason, the European Union may soon find itself as a primary target for the Trump administration. Theoretically, the EU’s Digital Services Act, which was fully implemented last year, can regulate, penalize, and in extreme cases, ban internet companies whose practices conflict with European laws. However, the primary objective of the act is not punitive; rather, it aims to enhance platform transparency: to grant vetted researchers access to platform data and provide citizens with greater clarity regarding the information they encounter. Freedom of speech also encompasses the right to receive information, yet social media companies currently operate in opacity. We lack insight into whether they are promoting or suppressing particular viewpoints, curbing or facilitating orchestrated political campaigns, or encouraging or deterring violent protests. Most importantly, we remain unaware of the sources financing the dissemination of misinformation online.
Historically, the EU has not hesitated to apply European law to tech companies. Over the last decade, for instance, Google faced three fines totaling over $8 billion for violating antitrust laws (one of these fines was overturned by the EU’s General Court in 2024).
In November, the European Commission levied a fine of over $800 million against Meta for unfair trade practices. However, how long will the EU retain this authority? In the fall, J. D. Vance issued a notably blunt threat, one frequently echoed 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 declared in an interview, “why don’t you respect American values and respect free speech?” Zuckerberg, mirroring Vance’s misuse of the term free speech to denote “freedom to conceal company practices from the public,” articulated it more crudely. During a conversation with Joe Rogan in January, Zuckerberg expressed his belief that Trump would intervene to prevent the EU from enforcing its own antitrust regulations: “I think he just wants America to win.”
Does America “winning” imply that European democracies, and potentially other democracies, will suffer? Some European politicians suspect it might. Robert Habeck, Germany’s vice chancellor and a leader of the Green Party, posits that Musk’s frenetic political maneuvers on X are not random outbursts of a confused mind, but rather are “logical and systematic.” In his New Year’s address, Habeck stated that Musk is intentionally “strengthening those who are weakening Europe,” including the overtly anti-European AfD. He believes this is because “a weakened Europe benefits those who view regulation as an unwarranted restriction on their power.”
Until recently, Russia was the foremost state actor attempting to undermine European institutions. Vladimir Putin has consistently opposed the EU due to its limitations on Russian companies’ capacities to intimidate and bribe European political leaders and firms, and because the EU’s strength surpasses that of Russia, while individual European nations do not possess the same power. Now, a cadre of American oligarchs also seeks to destabilize European institutions, aiming to evade regulation—and they may have the American president as an ally. Soon, the European Union, along with the United Kingdom and other democracies worldwide, might confront a dilemma: choosing between their alliance with the United States and their ability to conduct elections and select leaders independently, free from the influence of aggressive external interference. Ironically, nations like Brazil, which lack the same deep military, economic, and cultural connections to the U.S., may find it easier to safeguard their political systems’ sovereignty and the transparency of their information landscapes than their European counterparts.
A critical juncture is approaching, as the European Commission concludes a year-long investigation into X. Notably, two advisors to the commission regarding this investigation were only willing to speak off the record, given the potential for reprisals against them and their organizations—whether through online harassment or legal action. Yet both advisors conveyed that the commission possesses the authority to protect Europe’s sovereignty and compel platforms to enhance transparency. “The commission should assess the plethora of laws and regulations at its disposal and determine how they can be applied,” one advisor stated, “always remembering that this is not about stifling individual voices. This is the commission asserting that every voice should carry equal weight.”
In theory, no country is bound to succumb to becoming an electoral Las Vegas, as America has. Global democracies could advocate for greater transparency regarding algorithm usage, both in social media and in the broader online advertising sphere. They could grant consumers more agency over their viewing experiences, as well as more insight into content they are not exposed to. They could enforce their own campaign financing regulations. Such reforms could foster a more open and equitable internet, making it a better, safer environment for exercising free speech. If the likelihood of success appears slim, it’s not due to a lack of a feasible legal framework—rather, it stems from a current climate of cowardice that spreads as rapidly as one of Musk’s tweets.
This article appears in the March 2025 print edition under the headline “Can Europe Stop Elon Musk?”
