a16z supports: Crypto geeks’ ambition to build a nation through crowdfunding

Author: Gabriel Gatehouse; Source: BBC; Compiler: BitpushNews Shawn

Do you look ahead to the upcoming US presidential election and think about the political turmoil ahead and feel that democracy may be in trouble? A group of technology entrepreneurs backed by huge amounts of money in Silicon Valley feel the same way.

Imagine if you could choose your nationality like you choose a gym membership. This is the vision of the future proposed by Balaji Srinivasan. Balaji - like Madonna, his name is quite loud - is a "rock star" in the crypto world. As an entrepreneur and venture capitalist, he firmly believes that technology can do better in almost all the functions currently performed by governments.

Last fall, I witnessed Balaji present his ideas in a large conference hall on the outskirts of Amsterdam. He walked slowly on the stage and asked: "We can create companies like Google; we can build new communities like Facebook; we can create new currencies like Bitcoin and Ethereum; so, can we create new countries?" He wore a slightly loose gray suit and a loose tie, looking more like a middle manager in the company's accounting department than a rock star. But don't be fooled by his appearance, Balaji was once a partner of Andreessen Horowitz (a16z), a giant venture capital firm in Silicon Valley, and he has strong capital support behind him.

Silicon Valley is obsessed with disruption. Tech startups have been disrupting traditional media for years, and now they are infiltrating other fields, such as education, finance, and space travel. "Imagine thousands of startups, each replacing a different traditional institution," Balaji told the audience. "They coexist with the existing system, gradually attracting users and accumulating power until they become the new mainstream."

If startups can replace these traditional institutions, Balaji reasoned, they can also replace the state. He called this idea the "Network State": a startup nation. Here's how it works: First, communities form on the Internet based on shared interests or values, then those communities acquire land and become "physical nations" with their own laws. These nations will coexist with existing nation-states and eventually replace them. You'll choose your nationality just as you choose your ISP and become a citizen of your preferred cyber nation.

Corporations having excessive influence in national affairs is nothing new. The term "Banana Republic" comes from an American company, United Fruit, which virtually ruled Guatemala for decades starting in the 1930s. In addition to owning most of the land, it also controlled the railroads, postal services, and telegraphs. When the Guatemalan government tried to revolt, the CIA helped United Fruit stage a coup.

But the Net Nation movement seems to have even greater ambitions. Not only do they want existing governments to bend to corporations and let them run their own course, they want to replace governments with corporations.

Some see the idea of ​​a cyber state as a manifestation of neo-colonialism, replacing elected leaders with corporate dictators who serve the interests of shareholders. But others see it as a way to deal with the heavy regulation that Western democracies face today. Sounds like a fantasy of tech bros? In fact, some prototypes of a cyber state already exist.

At a conference in Amsterdam, some tech entrepreneurs showcased these "startup societies." Among them were Cabin, a modern rural cyber city with locations in the United States, Portugal and elsewhere, and Culdesac, a community in Arizona designed for remote work.

Balaj’s cyber-state concept is based on “Charter Cities” — special economic zones, akin to free ports. Several such projects are under construction around the world, including in Nigeria and Zambia. At a recent Las Vegas rally, Donald Trump promised that if he is elected in November, he would open up federal land in Nevada to create new special zones with “ultra-low taxes, ultra-low regulation” to attract new industries, build affordable housing and create jobs. Such a plan, he said, would revive “the frontier spirit and the American dream.”

Culdesac and Cabin are more like online communities with territorial bases. Próspera, on the coast of Honduras, is different: it calls itself a “private city” for entrepreneurs and promotes the science of longevity — offering unregulated gene therapies to slow the aging process.

Próspera, which is run by a for-profit company registered in Delaware, was granted autonomous legislative powers under special policies of Honduras' previous government. Current President Siomara Castro wants to remove its privileges and has begun to strip it of some of its special treatment. Próspera has filed a $10.8 billion lawsuit against the Honduran government as a result.

A free-market crypto city

During the day's pitch, Dryden Brown, a young man in a gray hoodie, took the stage to speak. He said he wanted to build a new city-state somewhere on the Mediterranean coast that would be governed not by a huge state bureaucracy but by blockchain, the technology behind cryptocurrencies. Its founding principles would be ideas like "dynamism" and "heroic virtue." He called it "Praxis," after the ancient Greek word for "action." He said the first citizens of the new country would be able to move in by 2026.

He was a little vague on the details. Where to move? Who will build the infrastructure? Who will manage it? Dryden Brown fiddled with the remote control on the stage and showed a slide that said Praxis was backed by tens of billions of dollars in capital.

However, for now, the "Praxis community" still exists mainly on the Internet. You can apply to become a citizen on their website. But it is not clear who these citizens are. Dryden showed another slide, a meme of Pepe the Frog, the sad cartoon frog that became a mascot for the alt-right during Trump’s 2016 campaign.

In the niche world of startup nation, Praxis is known for being edgy. They throw legendary parties: candlelit dinners in vast Manhattan lofts where introverted programmers mingle with fashionable models and figures from the Dark Enlightenment—including Curtis Yarvin, a blogger who advocates for a totalitarian future ruled by corporate “monarchs.” Yarvin’s ideas are sometimes described as fascistic, which he denies. Attendees of such parties sign nondisclosure agreements, and journalists are generally not welcome.

After his talk, I went to chat with Dryden Brown. He seemed guarded and distant, but he gave me his phone number. I messaged him several times, trying to talk, but got no response.

About six months later, I saw an interesting notification on Platform X: “Praxis Magazine Launch Party. Tomorrow night. Photocopy your favorite pages.” It didn’t give a specific time or place, just a link where you could apply to attend. I applied, but didn’t hear back. So the next morning, I texted Dryden Brown again. To my surprise, he responded immediately: “10 p.m., Ella Funt.”

Ella Funt is a Manhattan bar and nightclub that was once a legendary venue for New York’s gay scene; in the 1950s, writers and artists would go there to drink cocktails served by women in tuxedos and watch drag shows in the basement. Now it was holding a private party for those who wanted to build a new country, and I was invited. But I was in Utah, 2,000 miles away. If I wanted to make it, I had to book a flight right away. I was one of the first to arrive. The place was mostly empty, save for a few Praxis staffers who were placing magazines around the bar. I flipped through them: The magazines were printed on thick, expensive paper and contained a variety of seemingly random ads: perfume, 3D-printed guns, and milk. Like Pepe the frog, milk is an internet meme. In alt-right circles, the milk bottle icon represents white supremacy. The magazine encouraged readers to "copy the pages and post them around your town"—a metaphor for the spread of online culture. A photocopier was brought into the bar.

A group of young men walked in, some wearing cowboy boots. They didn’t look like true outdoorsy types, though. I chatted with one of them, who introduced himself as Zach, a “crypto cowboy” from Milton Keynes (he wore a leather cowboy hat).

“I kind of represent the Wild West spirit of America,” he said. “I feel like we’re on the frontier.”

Many people associate cryptocurrencies with scams: highly volatile online currencies whose value can evaporate overnight. But in the world of the Cyber ​​Nation, they love cryptocurrencies. They see them as the currency of the future — one that governments can’t control.

Next I chatted with another man who called himself Az. I asked his last name. He smiled and replied, “Mandias.” It was a reference to Shelley’s poem “Ozymandias”: Ozymandias, King of Kings. Anonymity is a big part of the cryptocurrency ethos. I felt like no one at this party told me their real name.

Mandhis is from Bangladesh but grew up in Queens, New York. He founded a tech startup. He believes that just as the printing press contributed to the collapse of feudalism in Europe 500 years ago, today’s new technologies — cryptocurrency, blockchain and artificial intelligence — will lead to the collapse of democratic nation-states.

“Obviously, democracy is great,” he said, “but the best ruler is a moral dictator. Some people call them ‘philosopher kings.’”

The rise of corporate monarchies?

Az said he was excited about “standing on the brink of a coming Renaissance.” But before that renaissance, he predicts a “Luddite movement” against new technologies that will destroy millions of jobs and monopolize the global economy. He thinks the Luddites will ultimately fail.

However, he predicts that the transition to what he calls the "next stage" of human social evolution - the "cyber state" stage - will be violent and "Darwinian."

Az is not disturbed by this prospect. Instead, he seems excited by the idea that new kings will emerge from the ashes of democracy: corporate dictators who will rule their cyber empires.

I walked to the bar and bought a drink. There, I met two people who didn't look like the crypto scene. Ezra is the manager of another nightclub nearby, and her friend Dylan is a student. They look like they were invited to add glamour to the party - after all, this party is basically a gathering of crypto bros and computer geeks. But they also have some opinions on the whole idea of ​​the cyber state.

"What if you don't have enough hospital staff or school teachers?" Dylan asked. "It's not realistic to build a city without any government." Ezra finds the whole concept dystopian. "We want to see what this 'real' cult meeting is like," she said, half-joking.

Just then, Dryden Brown appeared, the co-founder of Praxis. He stepped outside for a cigarette, and I followed him. He told me that Praxis magazine was a way to showcase the kind of new culture he hoped to showcase. Praxis, Dryden said, was about "the pursuit of the frontier spirit" and "heroic virtues."

I doubted that Dryden could really last long in the Wild West. He looked exhausted by it all. I wanted to ask him some tough questions about the cyber-state project: Who would be the citizens of this new world? Who would govern it? What about all those far-right memes? And — Dylan’s question — who’s going to staff the hospitals?

But we keep getting interrupted by more guests. Dryden Brown invites me to visit the “Praxis Embassy” the next day. We say our goodbyes and go inside, where the party is getting wilder. Ezra, Dylan, and a few of their model-like friends climb onto the copy machine, where they’re copying not pages from magazines but parts of their bodies. I grab a magazine and leave.

Back at my tiny Airbnb above Chinatown, I flip through the magazines. Along with the white supremacist memes and gun ads, there’s a QR code. It leads to a short film: a 20-minute indictment of the emptiness of modern life, an elegy for a vanished world of hierarchy and heroism.

What’s the underlying meaning?

“You are entertained and satisfied,” the voiceover says, “and you appear to be productive. But you are not great.” The voice talks about “algorithms that make you hate yourself and your own civilization.”

In the film, an animated character points a pistol directly at the viewer.

“Any ideal that contemporary media claims to have is fascism,” the voiceover continues. “Everything that has beliefs is fascism.”

Is this an invitation to accept the fascist label? The movement seems nostalgic for a particular kind of Western culture—a Nietzschean world where the strongest survive and chaos and destruction breed greatness.

The next day, I went to the “Praxis Embassy,” a huge loft on Broadway. Sure enough, the bookshelves were filled with Nietzsche’s works, a biography of Napoleon, and a copy of The Dictator’s Handbook. I stayed there for a while, but Dryden Brown didn’t show up.

I left wondering what I had witnessed the night before: was it a harbinger of a future in which countries like the US and UK collapse into a networked world of corporate societies, where you can choose to become a citizen of one of the cyberstates? Or were Dryden Brown and his friends just “playing a prank,” tech bros playing alt-right revolutionaries, mocking the system and having a good time?

Will Dryden Brown one day become a CEO-king, ruling over an alt-right empire across the Mediterranean? I doubt it. But there are certainly efforts to push for more autonomous regions, freeports and charter cities. If democracy is in trouble, the cyberstate movement looks like it’s waiting in the wings.