For decades, we were told to fear the foreign hacker. From shadowy Russian cybercriminals to the inscrutable might of Chinese state-sponsored hacking groups, the boogeyman was always out there, lurking behind a keyboard in a bunker somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. We envisioned catastrophic scenarios: electrical grids going dark, bank accounts drained overnight, government secrets stolen. National security experts warned that the next great war wouldn’t be fought on battlefields but in cyberspace.
Yet when the great disruption came, it wasn’t from some Kremlin-linked hacking syndicate or a team of Chinese cyberwarriors. It came from one of our own—Elon Musk.
Musk, the supposed wunderkind of the tech world, was once hailed as a genius, a visionary, even a savior. He was the man who would take us to Mars, electrify our highways, and solve the energy crisis. He was the closest thing Silicon Valley had to a self-styled disruptor with an audacious belief that he alone had the solutions to humanity’s problems. But over the last two years, we have come to see that Musk is less a hero and more an unaccountable tyrant, wielding his enormous influence in ways that threaten democracy, national security, and social stability.
Consider Twitter—now rebranded as “X.” Once a messy but useful platform for public discourse, it has been turned into a breeding ground for misinformation and extremism under Musk’s ownership. With reckless abandon, he fired the company’s trust and safety teams, reinstated conspiracy theorists and hate mongers, and eroded the credibility of the platform. Now, Twitter—once a crucial tool for real-time journalism, emergency communication, and public accountability—has become an engine of chaos. And all because Musk saw moderation as a personal affront rather than a civic responsibility.
But his impact extends far beyond social media. Musk’s control over Starlink, the satellite internet system that has become vital to Ukraine’s defense efforts, has raised alarming questions about the power of a single billionaire to dictate the fate of nations. The revelation that Musk personally limited Ukraine’s ability to use Starlink in critical military operations, reportedly due to his own political leanings and fears of escalating the conflict, sent shockwaves through diplomatic and defense circles. Here was an American businessman, not an elected leader, singlehandedly altering the course of a war in real time. Had the Kremlin itself hacked into Starlink and shut down service, it would have been seen as an act of war. But when Musk did it? It was just another unpredictable move by a petulant billionaire.
His Tesla empire, too, has been rocked by cybersecurity concerns. The company’s self-driving technology has been accused of being woefully unprepared for real-world conditions, yet Musk pushes forward, sometimes ignoring safety regulators outright. Reports have surfaced of Tesla’s data security vulnerabilities, including sensitive driver information being accessible to employees and vehicle cameras that may not be as private as promised. Again, had China or Russia pulled off something similar— harvesting data from American vehicles—it would be a global scandal. But when Musk does it? His fans simply chalk it up to the growing pains of innovation.
Musk has now set his sights on government agencies, leveraging his influence to access private data and shut down departments that do not align with his interests. As a result of his support and quarter billion dollar contribution to Trump’s campaign, he has gained unprecedented access to critical government networks. He has been pressuring agencies to cut funding for initiatives he dislikes and even closing entire government operations that were authorized by congress. The notion that a single individual can do this for political or ideological reasons is deeply unsettling. If a foreign power had this level of access and control, it would be a national security crisis. Yet when Musk does it, it is brushed off as part of his disruptive genius.
For years, we feared the wrong threat. We spent decades obsessing over the idea that a hostile foreign power would infiltrate our infrastructure, steal our data, and manipulate our discourse. In reality, the person doing the most damage isn’t sitting in a bunker in Moscow or a high-rise in Beijing. He’s imbedding himself with a cadre of twenty year old software engineers wreaking havock at agency after agency.
Musk is not an innovator in the way his fans want to believe. He’s a disruptor in the most dangerous sense—one who prioritizes his own whims over the public good. We thought cyberwarfare would come from our enemies overseas. Instead, it came from a man whose biggest enemy is his own unchecked ego.