All that we ask of people in this society must be rational. It is rational to consume more, to change immediately what is worn out, to acquire more information, to satisfy an increasing number of desires. Constant growth is rational for our economic system.
Jacques Ellul, ‘The Technological Bluff’ (1990)1. Methodological preface: How to inquire into the European law of the everyday?
Just like the editors of this special issue, I believe there is need for a new approach to the study of EU law – one that accounts for how different people experience it, for the social relations it constitutes, the ways of living that it makes (im)possible and the normativity it projects for how social life should be ordered. This is why I find it productive to engage with the everyday lives of EuropeansFootnote 1 as a strategy to explain and unmask what EU law really is and does, joining the critical turn of resistance against the detachment of EU law’s institutions, key concepts and scholarly practice from the social world.Footnote 2
However, as exemplified by the different approaches taken in the essays of this symposium, it is not clear how such a move towards the everyday of EU law should be accomplished methodologically. Perhaps due to the infancy of this approach in EU legal scholarship, many doubts remain regarding its mechanics (how to practically go about it), limits (how far one can go in making validity claims) and underlying de-ontology (what we can and should – or should not – say about the everyday of anyone else other than ourselves).
In this sense, I would like to preface my contribution with two methodological reflections on the conditions for the possibility of the proposed analysis into the ‘European law of the everyday’ based on Ben Judah’s This is Europe.
The first reflection relates to the mechanics of this enterprise: in order to understand the law of the everyday, one has to embark on a journey of constant mobility between the everyday and the law. This requires a permanent shift of the researcher between four levels of analysis.
First, one should start by looking at what the law says about its objects – that is, the social realities it purports to regulate. What account of social life does the law give and how does it portray that which it regulates?
Second, one has to look for and thickly describe the everyday – that is, the lived experiences of people in a given place and at a given time. Such descriptions should prioritise depth over breadth. This means defending the epistemological and methodological value of extensively describing the experiences of a few, as opposed to the preference for quantitative statistical aggregations as proxies for explaining social reality.Footnote 3 What such analyses may lack in generalisability, they compensate for in providing an in-depth understanding of the social lived contexts where law operates, including people’s perceptions and understandings of that law.Footnote 4 Crucially, it is not possible to fully obtain such thick descriptions of the everyday without performing deep qualitative empirical studies of the lived experiences of European individuals and communities.Footnote 5
Third, one must seek to explain not just the everyday, but the everyday of law, meaning the material conditions of life as experienced by individuals because of the law. This, in essence, means asking two questions: (1) how are the conditions and possibilities of individuals’ and communities’ lives structured, determined and/or made (im)possible by the law?;Footnote 6 and (2) how do those individuals make sense of the law that structures their lives (e.g. accepting, using, reconstructing, contesting, resisting or ignoring it)?Footnote 7
Fourth, one must take this inquiry into the everyday and the everyday of law back to the law. This means reflecting on the knowledge gathered in the prior three stages of analysis and asking what in EU law’s account of the social does not reflect the identified lived realities. This mental move allows us to judge the accuracy with which law and legal institutions describe the reality they set out to regulate. It helps us understand the extent to which law overstates – or fully misses – its depiction of the social reality that it sets out to regulate. The validity claims made in this context should be of a negative nature; they should mainly focus on scrutinising and pointing out the impossibility – or lack of conditions – for EU law to state or assume something about social reality.Footnote 8 In other words, we should focus on contesting, at an epistemic and ontological level, the reductionist or distorted narratives of the social that EU law provides and reproduces.
Moving between these four levels of analysis enables a critical project aimed at inquiring the very justificatory premises for the concrete existence and form of (EU) law in a given area of social life.
Moving on, my second reflection relates to the conditions for the validity claims one may make as a consequence of this particular ‘law of everyday’ enterprise: I believe that the stories of Ben Judah’s book are not a sufficient and appropriate basis for making claims about what life in Europe is and what EU law does not capture about it. On the contrary, these stories can only constitute a much-welcomed alert and starting point for a deeper inquiry into the social realities that are invisible to EU legal research and practice. If one engages in a meta-critique of this project, following Neuvonen’s call for a methodological engagement with critical social theory in EU legal research,Footnote 9 I do not think that one can: (1) take the stories of Ben Judah; (2) accept that they are representative of lived reality in Europe; and then (3) based on them, make claims about how specifically EU law does not capture what lived reality is. At least one cannot, given only this “thin” basis, affirm points (2) and (3) in a definitive and totalising way.
To begin with, the stories that Ben Judah collected based on interviews he himself set up and conducted are filtered by him, a writer of a specific positionality – a white man – and intentionality – an artistic or literary one. Even if these stories refer to several realities, positionalities and modes of being and living in Europe, they nonetheless remain, in essence, collected. We do not know what Judah cut, left out or overlooked. We do not know the processes by which he gave meaning to what he saw. We do not know the process of selection of interviewees, nor do we know what Judah ignored on his travels. To be sure, this is not an indictment of Judah or his book; his merits as a writer are of no relevance to my argument. My point is that we cannot, as researchers, simply take a portrait of how Judah perceived life in Europe to be and turn it into the sole material basis to claim that this is how life in Europe is (or, to borrow the book’s words, that ‘this is Europe’). What is certainly a compelling artistic statement cannot be turned into an empirical or ontological claim – even if this is done in the name of the investment into a laudable critical aim,Footnote 10 which I share. Such an ontological claim cannot, in turn, be the basis for claiming exactly how EU law does not capture reality.
All in all, Ben Judah’s stories cannot be the ontological basis for making totalising claims about (1) lived realities in Europe and (2) the extent to which EU law does not consider them. Nonetheless, they contain the conditions for other types of (negative) claims. They, first and foremost, ‘sound the alarm’ regarding the methodological need for thick descriptions of lived social reality. It is in this sense that I have used Ben Judah’s stories in this essay: as clues, hints of potentially existing lived experiences of social reality that constitute injustices that (EU) law either causes, structures or amplifies and that should, therefore, be made visible. I have taken those clues to elicit an analysis of more widely documented instances of tech-mediated injustices occurring in the everyday. Whenever I point to one such lived experience and/or injustice, I do not mean to state that they definitively exist as described, or that I am not missing anything about them. And this is because I cannot possibly fully grasp the incommensurable infinitude of how the individuals depicted in the case studies of This is Europe have existed, perceived and lived through those instances of harm.Footnote 11
Therefore, whatever conclusions I reach in the next paragraphs are precarious and temporary; and I mean them like this. They are not a destination, but mainly the inception of a reflection that needs to venture way deeper into both the everyday of law and the law of the everyday.Footnote 12 In making them, I am motivated – like all contributors to this issue – by a profound worry regarding the disconnect between, on the one hand, EU (and all) law’s production and reproduction and, on the other hand, social reality.
2. Introduction
The core claim of this article is that EU tech law does not fully understand technology, since it does not account for its diverse impacts in the everyday lives of all people in European societies. ‘Understanding technology’ certainly requires understanding the capabilities, functionalities and other technical characteristics of technological artefacts. But it also means, as argued by Tranter, seeing technology’s impact in its presentness and embeddedness within the everyday lives of all people.Footnote 13 As Ben Judah himself has claimed, technology is acutely present in the lives of Europeans.Footnote 14 But, as I argue throughout this article, placing my central focus on digital technologies,Footnote 15 EU law does not fully see such presence of technology in the everyday. And, ultimately, EU law cannot fully understand that which it does not fully see.
EU law certainly sees the benefits of tech. Technologies are mostly seen as products that benefit people conceived, first and foremost, as consumers. These market benefits of technology are used as a justification for an approach to regulation that, under the motto of securing innovation and efficiency, creates a compliance apparatus that does not force tech companies to change unjust or harmful aspects of their business models. Instead, EU digital regulation secures such business models; as is argued in Section 3, it mostly aims to ensure the integrity of technology production and circulation processes, striving to make these processes ever faster, greater and more efficient. This is due to a pervasive regulatory grammar of risk that allows for the continued integration of technology in the internal market while requiring tech operators to be forward-looking and predict the potential harms their technologies may cause (i.e. their risks).
Consequently, as illustrated in Section 4, EU law systematically neglects or altogether sidelines the harms caused by or through technology to many individuals and communities in their everyday lives. Those affected range far beyond consumers and tech users. They include, for example, delivery platform workers forced into extreme anxiety due to task volume and app surveillance; several minorities systematically targeted by online abuse; or the migrants exposed to tech-mediated degrading treatment at the borders of Europe.
There is, therefore, a breadth of complexity about technology that (EU) lawFootnote 16 does not – or does not want to – fully see. This way of looking at and regulating tech comes at a cost: people and, more specifically, the ‘have-nots’ of technological progress.
3. Is this tech? An account of what EU law says about tech
I start my argument by looking at how EU law accounts for the tech that it sets out to regulate, its uses and effects. This requires answering three questions: (1) How does EU law see tech?; (2) Why does it regulate tech?; and (iii) How does it regulate tech? These three questions are successively interconnected. EU law’s account of technology (How does it see tech?) determines, to a large extent, the reasons why EU law intervenes in this field (Why does it regulate tech?). In turn, those normative justifications for regulating tech shape the regulatory framework, governance structures and toolbox of EU tech law (How does it regulate tech?). So let me start with how EU law sees tech. To begin with, and as with any other segment of social reality, technology is part of (EU) law’s object – something that the law purports to regulate.Footnote 17 Following the contemporary definition of ‘technology’ as ‘any tool or technique, any product or process, any physical equipment or method of doing or making’, which as a material manifestation of scientific knowledge extends human capability,Footnote 18 a great deal of what EU law regulates is indeed technology. But apart from treating tech as its regulatory object, and in line with its market nature, EU tech regulation conceives of technologies as products that circulate in the internal market,Footnote 19 striving to secure the constitution and operation of technological sub-markets within the broader single market.Footnote 20 In other words, EU law accepts, assumes and ensures that technologies will be developed, made available and used by persons and companies across a unified market. Equally and consequently, EU law accepts that technologies will cause harm.Footnote 21 These observations require further elaboration.
First, according to EU law, technology benefits people considered, first and foremost, as consumers: they will enjoy the advantages that different technologies offer as available products in the market.Footnote 22 EU law aims to ensure that people are able to consume technology (think of the newest iPhone) or through technology (think of online shopping platforms) while, crucially, trusting that what they consume is safe. In this sense, it strives to achieve an optimal balance between, on the one hand, technology production, circulation and innovation, and, on the other hand, the protection of tech consumers.Footnote 23
Second, technologies are not seen by EU law as creating harm right now; instead, they are seen as posing risks of harm – that is, they may cause harm. The grammar of risk – just as in most internal market law – is crucial here.Footnote 24 Risk has become the regulatory term-of-art used by EU law to achieve the above-mentioned optimal balance between tech innovation and any protective objectives that the EU claims for its secondary law, from rights to digital fairness, product safety, democracy or civic discourse, just to give a few examples.Footnote 25
But the ‘risk way’ did not have to be ‘the way’. In fact, framing technologies’ harms as risks is not a neutral, apolitical choice.Footnote 26 Namely, a risk-based approach makes tech regulation adopt a forward-looking perspective, accepting that technologies will create harm in the future,Footnote 27 but requiring that such potential harms be managedFootnote 28 by the regulated private actors that are developing or deploying such technologies. It is for these actors to continuously identify, assess and manage the risks emerging from their technologies as they are used in the internal market.Footnote 29 These risk management operations, as the literature amply demonstrates, typically show a limited predictive capacity for unquantifiable harms,Footnote 30 and are communicated as exclusively technical and de-politicised processes.Footnote 31 Such a regulatory approach leads, as argued by Kysar, to a fundamental distancing between the law and the lived negative experiences of its subjects: the technocratic nature of risk management implies a shirking of the responsibility of law towards the individuals and societal goods potentially harmed by a risk source.Footnote 32
So the question must be asked: Why did EU institutions choose risk regulation – with all its abovementioned ‘policy baggage’Footnote 33 – as the strategy to regulate tech in the internal market? The argument usually goes that risk regulation offers the necessary flexibility to adapt the law to the fast-paced evolution of the capabilities and uses of technology in modern life.Footnote 34 In this way, law can accompany the speed of tech and preserve a space where technological innovation can thrive.Footnote 35 EU law’s intention to be fast is key here: it does not just want to accompany tech development and innovation; it wants to secure it. The option for a lighter-touch risk-based approach to digital regulation is predicated on an intention of the law to allow regulated companies to claim they are complying with the applicable legal regime while creating minimal disruption to their business models.Footnote 36 It is hard to interpret otherwise a regulatory strategy that, by default: (1) accepts tech’s introduction in the internal market; (2) accepts that it will create harm, focusing on reducing its likelihood or mitigating its impact; (3) mostly foresees regulatory interventions that reduce complex contextual assessments of tech’s impact to quantitative variables and the production of compliance documentation;Footnote 37 and (4) makes regulated tech companies the primary decision-makers regarding the identification, assessment and management of technological risks.Footnote 38 This regulatory approach, even if coated with strong political claims that EU institutions are asserting the EU rulebook and values against foreign big tech companies, is in line with the policy and scholarly proposals of tech regulatory arrangements that do not excessively constrain private tech companies’ ability to innovate.Footnote 39 Such regulatory arrangements, it is claimed, will ensure economic growth and, consequently, that European societies will enjoy an ever-greater quality of life.Footnote 40
So what happens when digital harms occur? Then the solution is to develop and design better tech. The question of whether a given technology or certain uses of that technology should be allowed is sidestepped, and the regulatory discussion starts at a later stage: it asks how tech can be designed, used and finetuned to be more accurate, function better and cause fewer problems.Footnote 41 This ‘techno-solutionist’ or ‘techno-correctionist’Footnote 42 mentality underpinning EU tech regulation mostly serves an aim of trust production both in technology and the law that regulates technology.Footnote 43 Since the presence of tech in the everyday, even if it may cause harm, is accepted as inevitable, then EU law is set up to make people trust tech’s everyday presence in their lives.Footnote 44 EU legal discourse openly states that it seeks to make technology fair, safe and, crucially, trustworthy.Footnote 45 The fairness and safety of tech are, for these purposes, a perception: more important than making technology fair and safe is that people trust it to be so.
In conclusion, as Tranter argues for tech law in general,Footnote 46 technological futures are the present of (EU) law’s mechanisms and, I would add, justificatory discourse for why and how it regulates tech. To recap, in order to secure the promise of tech products for consumers, EU law largely accepts their circulation in the internal market, empowering tech companies to predict and address the risks their tech may create. EU authorities merely oversee the regulatory actions taken by companies, often attaching to those actions a value of ‘compliance’ intended to manufacture people’s trust in tech’s safety. All the foregoing raises an interesting hypothesis: by looking at the future through this light-touch, risk-based approach, is EU tech law missing something about tech’s impact right now?
4. What does EU tech law not understand about technology? Almost everything
This is where Ben Judah’s This is Europe comes in: it gives us some clues about where to start our inquiry about tech’s presence in everyday life in Europe. As stated in the preface, this is only a starting point, and thicker inquiries of tech and tech law’s presence in everyday life must follow. In any case, this section aims to provide a starting point into the second and third steps of the methodological strategy devised in the preface: to look for the lived experiences of people with technology and seek to explain how the material impacts of tech in their lives are, at least in part, made possible by tech law.
As Judah claims, tech is profoundly present in the lives of Europeans, altering and re-shaping everyday interactions from communication to love.Footnote 47 Indeed, there are countless examples in the book of tech’s ability to connect people with their fellow community members and loved ones – for instance, the phone of Imam Mahjoub being flooded with messages from the faithful of his religious community in the wake of France’s first COVID lockdown;Footnote 48 or Syrian refugee Laila’s ability to momentarily escape depression and discontent about living in Germany by talking on WhatsApp with her sister who lived in Syria.Footnote 49 In addition, social media platforms are described as creating the possibility for romantic relationships between people who would otherwise never have met – such as the two lonely Romanian truck drivers, Camila and Ionut,Footnote 50 or elderly couple Maria and (also) truck driver Gustaf.Footnote 51 This ‘connective’ potential of digital technologies and social media is not something that escapes EU law, which often cites this as one of the main benefits of the introduction of such technologies in the internal market.Footnote 52
Nevertheless, the pervasive presence and use of tech in ordinary lifeFootnote 53 also creates instances of violence, alienation and dehumanisation. It is the latter – structurally caused by digital technologiesFootnote 54 – that, I argue, are hardly a concern of EU digital regulation. I have grouped these oft-invisible instances of tech violence into three main tropes: (1) everyday total surveillance of individuals; (2) tech-induced stress and addiction; and (3) tech-mediated gender-based violence.
The two main instances of tech total surveillance described in This is Europe relate to work and migration. In the Briançon and Budapest chapters, Ivorian refugee BricoFootnote 55 and Syrian asylum seeker IbrahimFootnote 56 are forced to give their fingerprints through a biometric scanner. Right after the despair, danger and, in the case of Brico, near-death experience associated with fleeing their origin countries to arrive in Europe, this fingerprint collection is their first contact with the state in Europe; this encounter is mediated by technology. Something that, in the EU, is a highly intrusive and, in principle, prohibited data collection operation of sensitive data (art. 9 GDPR) is forced upon these migrants with no information about related consequences (“I signed. I didn’t know what I was signing. But I signed,” says Brico.) Indeed, in line with the extremely broad national security exemptions from EU tech law obligations afforded to Member States,Footnote 57 highly intrusive technologies – from biometric scanners to AI-powered emotion recognition systems – are used every day to violently ‘datify’ migrants, facilitating in the name of efficiency their detention and sorting. The place of law here is reduced to mere compliance, to formalised performative actions such as Brico’s uninformed signature of a form.Footnote 58 In other words, the law of tech creates ‘technological states of exception’ – that is, tech law is invoked to produce spaces where the law Footnote 59 does not exist, thereby enabling the unconstrained application of intrusive technologies with very little (if any) regard from the human targets of said application.Footnote 60
Going beyond migration control, Judah also describes instances of total surveillance of delivery workers. In these cases, technology is deployed to control the location of truck and Amazon drivers at all times during their workday, setting a strict route for their deliveries and notifying them incessantly of their non-compliance with such routes if they are late or take alternative paths – which can be forced on them by external but very common circumstances such as traffic. The devices used to control their location and route compliance – the tacograph in the case of truck drivers like Ionut,Footnote 61 or an app in the case of Amazon driver AboudFootnote 62 – are described as incredibly powerful and omnipresent sources of stress, used to constantly remind them to drive “more”, “get there faster” and that they are “going to be late”. This is consistent with the increased demands for ever-faster and more efficient circulation of products in the digitalised economy, which is done at the expense of these lived realities of precarious and incredibly stressful work experienced by delivery workers under digital surveillance.Footnote 63 This digitalised economic model, of ever-greater circulation of products, is ensured by EU internal market law, as explained in the previous section.
In the Budapest chapter, Judah also describes the social media addiction of pornographic content creator Ibrahim, who is obsessed with finding ever more dehumanising ways of producing porn to make his online reach profitable,Footnote 64 and is, in addition, addicted to consuming online porn.Footnote 65 His exposure to social media even led him to experience suicidal thoughts.Footnote 66 These experiences are not exclusive to Ibrahim. Predominantly but not exclusively among adolescents, social media use may generate addiction,Footnote 67 produce alienating feelings of anxiety and self-loathing,Footnote 68 increase the likelihood of self-harm and suicidalityFootnote 69 and promote engagement in violent behaviour towards others.Footnote 70 Even though EU law now enables the identification and management of systemic risks of social media platforms and their AI systems through arts 34 and 35 of the DSA, it is unlikely that these obligations will make platforms structurally change their business models, which are meant to capture user attention and hook people into unhealthy amounts of social media use.Footnote 71 In fact, the first round of systemic risk-management reports and audits has shown how EU law enables platform performative and ‘box-checking’ regulatory compliance exercises, rather than requiring structural changes to harmful platform design practices and business models.Footnote 72
Furthermore, and despite the current European Commission’s action to tackle certain specific systemic risks such as electoral disinformation and online child safety,Footnote 73 these enforcement priorities obscure the fact that the problem with digital platforms is much larger and keeps on growing. EU law is missing the broader picture by concentrating the enforcement of the law on only some issues – arguably those that can more easily be made the object of a depoliticised consensusFootnote 74 – and framing them as problems that can be solved through either small technical tweaks that make platforms safe for consumption, use prohibitions or the removal of harmful content produced by ‘bad actors’.Footnote 75 Indeed, these digital spaces are already creating or amplifying many other forms of structural social harm, which new research suggests emerge not from ill-intentioned actors but from platforms’ design,Footnote 76 business modelsFootnote 77 and ownership.Footnote 78 In the face of most of these structural harms, EU law’s place in the lives of those affected is not – it is one of absence. EU law largely permits and legitimises that tech companies structure the creation or (unparalleled) amplification of such lived harms.Footnote 79 At the top of the list is gender-based violence, alluded to in the Liepaja chapter, where 16-year-old Nora is harassed, body-shamed and forced to strip in an online chat.Footnote 80 Add to this the countless episodes of women whose intimate imagesFootnote 81 or instances of abuseFootnote 82 are shared among thousands of men on platforms like Telegram, or those cases where false AI-generated and AI-disseminated pornographic content targets and debases women, sometimes as a part of broader online shaming campaigns.Footnote 83 There have been, to date, no enforcement actions seeking to force platforms and AI companies to structurally change their policies and design that allow for the massification and increased reach of these instances of gender-based violence. On the contrary, social media platforms and their algorithmic recommender systemsFootnote 84 are used to engender and perpetuate long-existing patterns of gender-based violence: they promote – especially among young men – extremely violent content and ideologies of women hate;Footnote 85 and demote, or make totally invisible, content whereby LGBTQ+ activists and social media users attempt to express their identities and fight discrimination.Footnote 86
5. It’s about people, not tech
What is common to all the lived experiences described above is their effect: tech-mediated dehumanisation and alienation of people from the societies in which they exist. It is not that all those harms are new: in some cases, technology amplifies the magnitude of problems that pre-existed it – think, for example, of violence against women. In any case, all of this is treated under EU law as inevitable collateral damage of the ever-greater and ever-faster introduction and circulation of tech within the internal market.
In this sense, and proceeding to the fourth step of the abovementioned methodological strategy for studying the law of the everyday, I conclude by reflecting on two questions: Does EU law’s account of tech distort, or in any way make invisible, the social reality that it sets out to regulate? If so, in what ways? As stated in the preface, just basing ourselves on This is Europe, it is not possible to fully juxtapose EU law’s discourse on tech with the everyday of tech in Europe. A cumulative and ever-growing ensemble of thick empirical descriptions of that everyday will be needed as a basis for such claims. However, I do think I am able to present, at this stage, four concluding reflections on both the misguided lens of EU tech law and the impossibility of EU law, institutions and practitioners to say or assume certain things about the social reality of tech.
First, as shown in Section 3, and contrary to what many claim, it is false that EU regulation is very constraining of tech development;Footnote 87 it is not. It creates a big compliance apparatus that legitimises, instead of questioning, the increasing introduction of technologies in our lives despite the harms they presently create. Second, EU tech law, like most or maybe even all tech law, is misguidedly structured by reference to the future, failing to fully engage with the everyday presence and very tangible negative effects that certain tech uses are already producing. Contrary to what flows from the regulatory logic of EU tech law, technologies do not merely pose risks of harm that may materialise in the future; they are already causing harms now. And it suffices to point to certain instances of lived harm, as I have in Section 4, to assert that EU law is not fully considering or capturing – be it in its rules or their enforcement – very distinct and structural forms of violence and dehumanisation mediated by digital technologies.
Third, EU tech law worries little about people beyond their existence as consumers: it is more worried about making European consumers trust tech than about holding their developers and deployers accountable for already existing forms of tech-mediated injustices suffered by several individuals and communities all over Europe. In this sense, EU law does not fully see, and therefore epistemically excludes, these lived experiences of tech harm from the regulatory dialogue.Footnote 88 And a legal regime that does not recognise and is not responsive to all lived realities of those it regulates ultimately fails at a deeper political and moral level.Footnote 89
Finally, even if all of the above are deeply political choices about how EU tech regulation accounts for the social realities it regulates, such choices are communicated as if they were merely technical and non-political, through a grammar of risk.Footnote 90 The harms EU law ignores and therefore accepts are the rational outcome of a balancing exercise. EU law thus chooses a language of balance and risk over others, such as one of permanent contestation of how tech is produced, regulated and introduced in Europeans’ lives – one where all beings subjected to the EU’s legal order may assert and claim equal consideration for their everyday experiences with tech.Footnote 91
In this sense, there are deeper (constitutional) questions to be asked: Should tech law focus on the future or the everyday present of tech? And, speaking of the present, what type of reality do we want? One where technology serves ever faster free movement and ever greater growth in the name of rational progress and happiness? One of absolute technological efficiency of consumption processes – at the expense of workers – and of public administrations – at the expense of totalising people surveillance? Or do we want less tech? Can we have a reality where spaces for contestation are opened and people are given the space to resist and say no to tech and progress where that either does not serve or actively harms them?Footnote 92 Can there be ways of introducing and regulating tech while fully accounting for its presence in societies?
The problem of EU tech law is, I am afraid, a democratic one: we are not even asked or allowed to ask these questions. In other words, our problem is one of imagination: EU law moves forward, unencumbered by those who may want different presents for technology.