The network country not only hopes that the existing government will succumb to the company and let the company do its own thing, but also hopes to use the company to replace the government.

Written by: Gabriel Gatehouse

Translated by: BitpushNews Shawn

As you look forward to the upcoming US presidential election and contemplate the future political turmoil, do you feel that democracy may be in jeopardy? A group of tech entrepreneurs supported by Silicon Valley's massive funds also share this sentiment.

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

Last autumn, I witnessed Balaji expound his ideas in a large conference hall in the suburbs of Amsterdam. As he paced the stage, he asked, "We can start 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?" Dressed in a slightly loose gray suit with a loose tie, he didn't look like a rock star, but more like a middle manager in a company's accounting department. But don't be fooled by appearances, Balaji was a partner at the Silicon Valley giant venture capital firm Andreessen Horowitz (a16z), with strong capital support behind him.

Silicon Valley is enthusiastic about "disruption." Tech startups have been disrupting traditional media for years, and now they are also penetrating other fields such as education, finance, and space travel. Balaji told the audience, "Imagine thousands of startups replacing different traditional institutions. They coexist with the existing system, gradually attract users, accumulate power, and eventually become the new mainstream."

If startups can replace these traditional institutions, Balaji reasoned, they can also replace nations. He called this concept "Network State": a startup nation. Its operation is as follows: first, communities will form on the internet based on common interests or values, and then these communities will acquire land and become "entity nations" with their own laws. These nations will coexist with existing nation-states and eventually replace them. You will choose your nationality like choosing an internet service provider and become a citizen of your desired network country.

The excessive influence of companies in national affairs is nothing new. The term "Banana Republic" originated from a US company—United Fruit, which almost ruled Guatemala for decades starting in the 1930s. In addition to owning most of the land, it also controlled the railways, postal services, and telegraphs. When the Guatemalan government tried to resist, the CIA assisted United Fruit in launching a coup.

But the ambition of the network country movement seems even greater. They not only hope that the existing government will succumb to the company and let the company do its own thing, but also hope to use the company to replace the government.

Some people believe that the concept of network countries is a manifestation of neo-colonialism, replacing elected leaders with corporate dictators serving shareholder interests. But some people also believe that this is a way to deal with the heavy regulation in Western democratic countries today. Sounds like a fantasy of the tech brothers at first glance? In fact, some prototypes of network countries already exist.

At the conference in Amsterdam, some tech entrepreneurs showcased these "startup societies." Among them is Cabin, a modern rural network city distributed in the United States, Portugal, and other places; and Culdesac, a community located in Arizona designed for remote work.

Balaji's concept of network countries is based on "Charter Cities"—these cities are special economic zones similar to free ports. Several such projects are being built around the world, including in Nigeria and Zambia. At a recent gathering in Las Vegas, Donald Trump promised that if he is elected in November, he will open federal land in Nevada to create a "super low-tax, super low-regulation" new district to attract new industries, build affordable housing, and create job opportunities. He said this plan will revitalize the "pioneer spirit and the American dream."

Culdesac and Cabin are more like online communities with territorial bases. Próspera, located on the coast of Honduras, is different. It claims to be a "private city" serving entrepreneurs, promoting longevity science—providing unregulated gene therapy to slow down the aging process.

Próspera is operated by a for-profit company registered in Delaware, USA, and has been granted legislative autonomy under the special policies of the former government of Honduras. The current president, Xiomara Castro, hopes to revoke its privileges and has begun to deprive it of some special treatment. As a result, Próspera has filed a $10.8 billion lawsuit against the Honduran government.

A free-market encrypted city

During a day of promotional activities, a young man named Dryden Brown, wearing a gray hoodie, took the stage. He said he wanted to build a new city-state somewhere on the Mediterranean coast, a country that would not be managed by a huge national bureaucracy, but governed by blockchain—the technology behind cryptocurrencies. Its founding principles will be concepts such as "vitality" and "heroic virtues." He called it "Praxis," derived from ancient Greek, meaning "action." He said the first batch of citizens of this new country will be able to move in by 2026.

He was somewhat vague on the details. Where will they move to? Who will build the infrastructure? Who will manage it? Dryden Brown fiddled with a remote control on stage and displayed a slide, indicating that Praxis has the support of hundreds of billions of dollars in capital.

However, currently the "Praxis community" mainly exists on the internet. You can apply to become a citizen on their website, but it's unclear who these citizens are. Dryden showed another slide, a "Pepe" frog meme, the sad cartoon frog that became the mascot of the "alt-right" during the 2016 Trump campaign.

In this niche world of startup countries, Praxis is known for its "avant-garde." They have hosted legendary parties: candlelit dinners in a huge loft in Manhattan, where introverted programmers mingled with fashionable models and figures of the "dark enlightenment"—including blogger Curtis Yarvin, who advocates for a future ruled by corporate "sovereigns." Yarvin's ideas are sometimes described as fascist, which he denies. Party attendees are required to sign nondisclosure agreements, and journalists are usually not welcome.

After his speech, I went to talk to Dryden Brown. He seemed somewhat guarded and aloof, but he still gave me his phone number. I messaged him several times, trying to talk to him, but received no response.

About six months later, I saw an interesting notification on X platform: "Praxis Magazine Launch Event. Tomorrow night. Print your favorite page." The notification did not provide a specific time and location, only a link to apply to attend. I applied, but did not receive a response. So the next morning, I texted Dryden Brown again. To my surprise, he immediately replied: "10 pm tonight, Ella Funt."

Ella Funt is a bar and nightclub in Manhattan, formerly known as Club 82, a legendary venue in New York's gay circle; in the 1950s, writers and artists would drink cocktails served by women in tuxedos and watch drag performances in the basement. Now, it is hosting a private party for those who want to establish a new country, and I actually received an invitation. But at that time, I was in Utah, 2000 miles away from the party venue. If I wanted to make it to the party, I had to book a flight immediately.

I was actually one of the first people to arrive. The venue was almost empty at this point, with only a few Praxis staff members placing magazines around the bar. I flipped through them: the magazine was printed on expensive thick paper, with various seemingly random advertisements: perfume, 3D-printed guns, and a milk ad. Like the "Pepe" frog, milk is also an internet meme. In the "alt-right" circle, the icon of a milk bottle represents white supremacy.

The magazine encouraged readers to "copy pages and post them around your town"—a metaphor for the spread of internet culture. There was even a photocopier brought into the bar.

A group of young people walked in, some wearing cowboy boots. However, they didn't look like real outdoorsy types. I struck up a conversation with one of them, who introduced himself as Zack, the "crypto cowboy" from Milton Keynes (he was wearing a leather cowboy hat).

"I represent the spirit of the American frontier," he said. "I feel like we're on the edge of the wilderness."

Many people associate cryptocurrency with scams: it's a highly volatile digital currency that can lose its value overnight. But in the world of "network countries," they love cryptocurrency. They see it as the currency of the future—a currency that governments cannot control.

Next, I chatted with another person who called himself Az. I asked him his last name. He smiled and replied, "Mandias." This is a reference to the poem "Ozymandias" by Shelley: "Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Anonymity is an important part of the spirit of cryptocurrency. I felt like no one at this party had told me their real names.

Mandias is from Bangladesh but grew up in Queens, New York. He founded a tech startup. He believes that just as the printing press led to the collapse of the feudal system 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 call it a 'philosopher king.'"

The rise of corporate monarchy?

Az expressed excitement about "standing on the edge of an impending renaissance." But before this renaissance, he predicted a "Luddite movement" against new technologies that would destroy millions of jobs and monopolize the global economy. He believed the Luddites would ultimately fail.

However, he predicted a "violent and 'Darwinian'" transition period to what he called the "next stage" of human society's evolution—the "network country" stage.

Az was not disturbed by this prospect; on the contrary, he seemed excited about the idea of new kings emerging from the ruins of democracy: corporate dictators ruling their network empires.

I went to the bar and bought a drink. There, I met two people who didn't look like they belonged in the cryptocurrency circle. Ezra was the manager of another nearby nightclub, and her friend Dylan was a student. They seemed to have been invited to increase the appeal of the party—after all, this party was basically a gathering of crypto brothers and computer geeks. But they also had their own thoughts on the whole idea of network countries.

"What if you don't have enough hospital staff or school teachers?" Dylan asked. "Building a city without any government is not realistic." Ezra felt the whole idea was like a dystopia. "We just wanted to see what a 'real' cult gathering looks like," she half-jokingly said.

At that moment, Dryden Brown, the co-founder of Praxis, appeared. He went outside to smoke, and I followed. He told me that the Praxis magazine was a way for him to showcase the new culture he hoped to create. Praxis, Dryden said, is about "pursuing the pioneer spirit" and "heroic virtues."

I doubted whether Dryden could really last long in the wild west. He seemed exhausted by it all. I wanted to ask him some pointed questions about the network country project: who would become citizens of this new world? Who would govern it? What's the deal with those far-right memes? And—Dylan's question—who would provide hospital staff?

But we were constantly interrupted by more guests. Dryden Brown invited me to visit the "Praxis Embassy" the next day. After saying our goodbyes, we went back inside, and the party became more and more frenzied. Ezra, Dylan, and a few of their friends who looked like models climbed onto the photocopier, and they were not copying pages of the magazine, but parts of their bodies. I grabbed a magazine and left.

Back at my small Airbnb above Chinatown, I flipped through the magazine. In addition to white supremacist memes and gun ads, there was a QR code. It led to a short film: a 20-minute indictment of the emptiness of modern life, a lament for the vanished hierarchy and heroic world.

"What you have is entertainment and satisfaction," a voiceover said, "you seem very productive. But you are not great." The voice talked about "algorithms that make you hate yourself and your civilization."

In the video, an animated character pointed a gun directly at the audience.

"Contemporary media claims that having any ideals is fascism," the voiceover continued. "Anything with belief is fascism."

Is this inviting people to accept the label of fascism? This movement seems to yearn for a specific Western culture—a Nietzschean world where the strongest survive, chaos and destruction breed greatness.

The next day, I went to the "Praxis Embassy"—a huge loft on Broadway. The bookshelves were indeed filled with works by Nietzsche, a biography of Napoleon, and a copy of "The Dictator's Handbook." I stayed for a while, but Dryden Brown did not show up.

As I left, I was still pondering what I had witnessed the night before: was it a harbinger of the future? In this future, will countries like the US and the UK collapse into a network world composed of corporate societies, where you can choose to be a citizen of a network country? Or were Dryden Brown and his friends just playing a "prank," with these tech brothers playing the role of alt-right revolutionaries to mock the system and enjoy a wild party?

Will Dryden Brown one day become a CEO and king, ruling an alt-right empire spread across the Mediterranean? I have my doubts about that. But there are indeed efforts to promote more autonomous regions, free ports, and charter cities. If democracy is in jeopardy, the network country movement seems to be waiting in the wings.

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