I should declare a bias before I start. I grew up in regional Austria surrounded by agricultural co-operatives. The Lagerhaus sold the seed, the fertiliser and the diesel. The dairy co-op collected the milk. I’ve known them from the farm gate and, briefly, from inside the farmers’ league that runs alongside them. I’ve seen what they do well when their members actually run them, and I’ve seen what happens when governance gets comfortable and they start behaving like the corporations they were founded to keep at bay. They remain, perhaps sentimentally, a favourite of mine.

In 2018, IBM and Maersk launched TradeLens: a blockchain platform meant to digitise global shipping, replacing the paper trail that follows a container from a Vietnamese factory to a Rotterdam warehouse with a single, shared, tamper-proof ledger. It had the backing of two of the largest logistics operators on earth. By 2023, it was dead.

A three-part series on licensing and the economics of digital sovereignty was planned: how the commons got built, how Europe is choosing to defend it, how the AI stack could be governed as one. Then Martin Owens, an Inkscape developer and member of its project leadership committee, replied to part one on Mastodon, in two posts stitched together by the character limit, and pointed straight at something the series had missed entirely.

There are two dominant ways to think about who should govern artificial intelligence.

The market frame says: the data, the models, and the compute are private goods, owned by the organisations that assembled them, exchanged through contract and property rights. Governance follows ownership. OpenAI owns GPT-4. Google owns Gemini. These are products. Markets will sort it out.

The state frame says: AI is too consequential to leave to markets, so regulators must impose rules from above. The EU’s AI Act is the most developed version of this: binding requirements, conformity assessments, registration databases, penalties for violations.

€264 billion. That is how much European organisations spend annually on digital technology from non-European companies. And that number increases by roughly 10% every year, not because the products are getting better at the same rate, but because licence agreements are structured that way, and because the switching costs are designed to make leaving expensive. Some vendors have raised prices tenfold. The organisations paying them have, in most cases, no meaningful governance over the systems they depend on.

In 1976, Bill Gates wrote an open letter to hobbyists accusing them of stealing. What they were actually doing was sharing software they had written for each other (modifications, tools, documentation), the way people had shared knowledge since the first person showed another how to do something useful. Gates reframed mutual aid as intellectual property theft. It was not a philosophical claim. It was a property claim, backed by lawyers, Congress, and eventually the World Trade Organization.