 Why keeping Regulation (EU) 2015/2120 intact is essential for innovation, competition, and citizens’ rights.
Imagine it’s the year 2030, and you wake up in your mid-sized European city to the soft hum of your smart home devices. You pour a cup of coffee, check your emails, and fire up your favorite AI-driven personal assistant to organize your day. But something feels off. The video call for your remote job keeps freezing, with faces pixelating and voices lagging, while your employer’s preferred platform is suddenly forced into a slow lane by your internet provider unless they pay an exorbitant premium. You try to access a new AI-driven learning app that promised personalized lessons, only to watch it stall endlessly. Streaming your favorite shows, which used to be effortless, now requires an upgraded service plan, while alternative platforms crawl along at glacial speeds. You glance at your router, lights blinking in frustration, realizing that your options are limited; the local market is dominated by three giant telecom companies that dictate what you can and cannot access with ease. The vibrant, free-flowing digital landscape that once felt boundless now feels constrained, a maze controlled by invisible gatekeepers whose decisions shape your every click, view and download. This unsettling scenario illustrates what could happen if Europe were to repeal its Open Internet Regulationas part of its telecoms regulation reform. Regulation (EU) 2015/2120 guarantees end-users the right to access and distribute lawful content and use applications and services of their choice without discrimination by internet service providers (ISPs). It ensures that traffic is treated equally, prohibiting blocking or throttling except in narrowly defined circumstances. This regulation is a cornerstone of Europe’s digital ecosystem, safeguarding freedom of expression, innovation, competition and, significantly, consumer protection. The importance of the Open Internet Regulationcannot be overstated. It ensures that the internet remains a medium for free expression and access to information. Without these protections, ISPs could engage in opaque traffic-management practices, favoring certain content while throttling others, effectively deciding which voices and services succeed. Technically, this would involve deep packet inspection (DPI), a network technique that examines the content of data packets as they pass through the network, enabling ISPs to discriminate based on type, source, or destination of traffic. DPI could allow providers to throttle streaming platforms they do not own or prioritize specific corporate services, fundamentally altering the architecture of the internet from a neutral medium to a controlled pipeline. This principle of equality is crucial not only for individual users but also for start-ups and small companies. In a landscape dominated by large incumbents, the regulation levels the playing field, allowing innovative services to emerge and compete on merit rather than financial leverage or pre-existing network deals. Telecom companies have already shown a willingness to circumvent the spirit of the open internet regulation. In Germany, Deutsche Telekom’s “StreamOn” mobile tariff was ruled by the Bundesnetzagentur to be incompatible with EU net neutrality rules. The zero-rating plan exempted certain streaming services from data caps, giving them preferential treatment and disadvantaging competitors. The European Court of Justice confirmed that such tariffs violated the principle of equal treatment of traffic, leading to regulatory orders to phase them out by 2023. More recently, Deutsche Telekom has been accused of creating artificial bottlenecks at network entry points, effectively demanding content providers pay for “unrestricted access” to its customers, a de facto fast-lane arrangement. Meta Platforms even ended its direct peering relationship with DT in 2024 after alleging that the telco’s practices were putting subscribers behind a paywall for certain services. Telefónica in Spain has faced similar scrutiny for zero-rating and preferential service arrangements that favor their own content platforms over independent providers. These real-world cases demonstrate that, even with regulation, telcos are actively seeking ways to tilt the playing field in their favour. Imagine, then, if these companies were granted their wish and the Open Internet Regulationwas completely repealed. The landscape would likely become a patchwork of fast lanes and slow lanes dictated entirely by commercial deals, with start-ups and independent innovators systematically disadvantaged. Users would have fewer choices, higher costs, and more exposure to throttled or blocked content. Emerging technologies like AI, edge computing, and real-time IoT applications would face unpredictable performance and barriers to entry, slowing innovation across the continent. The scenario would mirror a dystopian vision of dependence on telecom giants—but on a far larger and more systemic scale. Europe’s digital ecosystem would be dominated by a handful of entrenched incumbents, eroding the principles of fairness, openness, and democratic access. The Open Internet Regulationunderpins the European digital single market, harmonizing rules across member states and preventing fragmentation. This harmonization ensures that companies can operate across borders without navigating a patchwork of national regulations, fostering a more competitive and innovative environment. The “best-effort” nature of the internet, which has historically allowed countless innovators to build applications without needing permission from network providers, is preserved through this regulation. Yet, the regulation faces pressure from telecom operators who argue that rising traffic volumes, driven by video streaming, cloud gaming, IoT, and AI workloads, necessitate a relaxation of rules. They claim that allowing paid prioritization and special treatment for certain services would incentivize investment and network expansion. While network investment is indeed crucial, weakening the fundamental principles of the open internet is not the solution. Regulatory stability is essential for long-term innovation and market confidence. The European Commission has noted that the current rules remain effective in protecting end-users’ rights and promoting open access to the internet. Even within the EU, there is no unified support for reopening the rules. According to reports, several Member States have expressed reservations about the European Commission’s plan to “reset” telecoms regulation as part of its upcoming Digital Networks Act. National governments fear that the proposed overhaul could weaken competition safeguards embedded in the current framework, notably those derived from Regulation (EU) 2015/2120, and shift excessive power toward large network operators. These countries argue that loosening market obligations or allowing greater industry consolidation would not guarantee higher investment but could instead erode consumer choice and slow broadband deployment in smaller markets. Their stance underscores a broader concern: rather than reforming Europe’s telecom framework to accommodate the demands of dominant incumbents, the EU should preserve the open, competitive environment that has fueled innovation and connectivity over the past decade. Reopening or diluting the regulation would risk creeping discrimination. Even limited carve-outs for specialized services could evolve into broader exceptions, allowing ISPs to act as gatekeepers, prioritizing content based on commercial arrangements rather than technical necessity. This could manifest in technical scenarios such as quality of service (QoS) throttling, where packet scheduling algorithms are manipulated to favor certain traffic flows while constraining others. Such practices directly disadvantage smaller providers and start-ups, as their traffic could be systematically delayed, leading to latency-sensitive applications, like real-time AI-driven analytics or remote surgery platforms, performing unreliably. This would undermine competition, stifle innovation, and erode consumer choice. The telecom lobby’s push for flexibility often conflates traffic management with investment needs, but these arguments overlook the broader societal and economic value of an open internet. Europe’s digital infrastructure must prioritise user rights and equitable access, resisting pressures that could lead to a tiered, unequal internet. The debate over traffic growth and new technologies often misses the core point. While it is true that traffic is increasing and new technologies such as 5G, full-fiber networks, edge computing, and AI services are emerging, these trends do not justify compromising the principle of equal treatment. Traffic growth has always been part of the internet’s evolution, and the regulation already allows for reasonable traffic management for objectively justified technical reasons. Advanced network management techniques, such as traffic shaping or congestion management, can be employed without discriminating among services, maintaining optimal network performance while preserving neutrality. New technologies benefit from an open internet precisely because it ensures that the network layer remains neutral and decoupled from the application layer. AI-driven services, cloud platforms, and innovative applications can develop without negotiating special deals with ISPs or facing barriers imposed by preferential treatment for established players. For example, machine learning models that require high-volume real-time data transfers, such as autonomous vehicle coordination systems or federated learning applications, rely on consistent and predictable network access. Any preferential throttling could compromise performance, safety, and fairness. The regulation thus indirectly fosters innovation by maintaining a level playing field where small and large companies alike can compete. Specialized services with specific quality requirements, such as telemedicine or autonomous driving support, are already accommodated under the regulation without affecting general internet access. This demonstrates that flexibility and openness are not mutually exclusive. Focusing solely on traffic figures distracts from the structural importance of the regulation. The critical question is not how much data flows through networks, but who controls access to that data and whether any actor can distort competition. Weakening the regulation would shift the focus from building more capacity to determining who can pay for faster access, granting undue advantage to telecom incumbents and large content providers. Such a shift would have long-term consequences for innovation and user choice, especially as new technologies like AI, IoT, and cloud services increasingly form the backbone of the economy. Europe should stop treating the Open Internet Regulation as relic of the past and start recognising it as the foundation of digital resilience and competitiveness. Rather than reopening or rewriting it, policymakers should focus on:
If Europe holds this line, it can lead globally in establishing a rights-based model of connectivity—a model that balances innovation with fairness, user empowerment with competition, and economic growth with democratic values. The best way to end this debate is to reaffirm that an open, neutral internet is not negotiable—it’s Europe’s greatest digital asset.  In an era when the Internet underpins nearly every aspect of human progress, the mechanisms that govern it must reflect the openness, inclusivity, and collaboration that define the digital space itself. The Internet Governance Forum (IGF), established by the United Nations as part of the World Summit in the Information Society process (WSIS), was conceived as a neutral, multistakeholder platform where governments, civil society, the private sector, and the technical community could discuss the public policy issues shaping the Internet. Over nearly two decades, the IGF and its network of national and regional initiatives (NRIs) have become indispensable laboratories for inclusive, evidence-based policy dialogue.
The Internet has become the nervous system of modern civilization — connecting people, powering economies, and enabling innovation across borders. Yet the governance of this shared resource remains one of the most complex policy challenges of our time. The IGF stands as one of the few truly global mechanisms where all voices can participate on equal footing. Its success lies not in enforcing rules, but in enabling knowledge exchange. The IGF, along with its regional and national initiatives, has shown what inclusive, evidence-based policy dialogue looks like. Rather than inventing new processes, the global community should invest in the ones that already work. The challenge ahead is to give the IGF the tools to go beyond discussion — to become a true implementation and coordination hub for digital cooperation. That means:
Because strengthening the IGF system is how we make multistakeholder governance real — not just a word in communiqués. 1. Evolving the IGF into a Coordination and Implementation Hub The IGF’s greatest strength — its open, non-binding nature — is also its limitation. While it excels at dialogue, its outputs too often remain disconnected from decision-making. The next step in its evolution should not be about creating new bureaucracies, but about building structured pathways that connect the IGF’s insights with the formal policy machinery of the United Nations. A practical approach is to anchor the IGF’s coordination role through a formal interface with UNGIS — the United Nations Group on the Information Society. As the UN’s internal coordination mechanism for digital and ICT policy, UNGIS brings together agencies such as ITU, UNESCO, UNDP, UNCTAD, and others. By linking with UNGIS, the IGF could channel its multistakeholder recommendations directly into inter-agency planning and program design. Each year, the IGF Secretariat, supported by the Multistakeholder Advisory Group (MAG), could compile a Digital Cooperation Compendium summarising key recommendations, case studies, and good practices from global, regional, and national IGFs. UNGIS could then review and integrate these findings into its collective work, ensuring that issues debated in multistakeholder settings inform the operational priorities of the UN system. UNGIS, in turn, could report back to the IGF community on how these inputs have influenced inter-agency coordination — thus creating a genuine feedback loop between open dialogue and institutional action. In this way, the IGF becomes not a decision-maker but a knowledge and coordination hub — ensuring that evidence-based, inclusive dialogue is embedded across the UN’s digital policy ecosystem. 2. Leveraging National and Regional IGFs: Building Upward from the Local The distributed architecture of the IGF ecosystem — with more than 150 national and regional initiatives — represents one of the UN system’s most successful experiments in bottom-up governance. These initiatives embody the principle that digital policy must be local to be legitimate. But their potential remains underutilised. a. Making National IGFs Engines of Capacity and Cooperation By 2027, each Member State should be encouraged to establish and sustain an active, inclusive national IGF. Yet this goal must go beyond symbolism. National IGFs should serve as. engines of digital capacity-building — convening public-private partnerships, incubating youth-led innovation challenges, and conducting open consultations on national digital strategies. However, some governments remain hesitant to invest in such mechanisms. To route around this reluctance, national IGFs can be supported through multi-source partnerships where local universities host IGF secretariats; development agencies provide grants through their digital inclusion programmes; and technology companies contribute in-kind support, such as data-sharing, mentorship, and technical resources. Philanthropic foundations and regional development banks could establish small grant schemes for national IGFs that demonstrate tangible impact — for example, advancing digital literacy, inclusion of marginalized communities, or responsible AI governance. In this way, the IGF ecosystem’s financial resilience would come from distributed ownership, not dependency. b. Regional IGFs as Policy Conduits and Knowledge Hubs Regional IGFs can serve as coordination bridges between national and global levels, articulating shared regional priorities and fostering policy coherence. To deepen this function, regional IGFs could develop policy observatories on cross-border issues such as cybersecurity, cross-jurisdictional data flows, and digital trade. These observatories would collect comparative evidence, map regional best practices, and feed structured policy analyses into the global IGF process. A Network of NRI Coordinators could also be institutionalised under the global IGF Secretariat, facilitating peer learning, mentoring, and the sharing of logistical and financial resources among NRIs. This would make the IGF ecosystem a living web of collaboration — dynamic, adaptive, and mutually reinforcing — rather than a linear hierarchy. c. Ensuring Global South Participation For the IGF to be truly global, participation from the Global South must not be aspirational but guaranteed. The barriers are well known — limited funding for travel, weaker digital infrastructure, and fewer institutional linkages with global policy circles. Addressing these requires both resources and imagination. The IGF Trust Fund could allocate a dedicated Global South Participation Facility to finance attendance, regional hubs, translation, and hybrid engagement platforms. Regional IGFs in Africa, Latin America, and Asia-Pacific should also receive targeted support to conduct capacity-building fellowships that train local stakeholders in Internet governance processes. Global institutions and donors must view Global South participation not as charity but as strategic necessity. Global digital policy cannot succeed if it excludes the regions where most of the next billion Internet users will come from. Mechanisms that amplify these voices — both financially and institutionally — are essential to the IGF’s legitimacy and future. 3. Mobilising the Internet Community: Co-Ownership of Digital Governance The IGF’s strength lies in its people. By now it is established that no single actor alone can govern the Internet; each stakeholder brings indispensable perspectives. The IGF embodies this ethos of shared responsibility — but the community must now take on a co-ownership role in sustaining it. The private sector can contribute not just financially but substantively — by sharing research, data, and technical expertise to inform policy debates. Civil society and academic networks can anchor the IGF’s evidence base, ensuring that policymaking remains rights-based and empirically grounded. Most importantly, youth inclusion must be institutionalised. Youth-led IGFs, supported through mentorship and microgrants, can become incubators for new ideas and leadership. The next generation of Internet stewards is already here; the IGF should give them the platforms and resources to shape digital futures, not just inherit them. Collaboration must be our engine — and the Internet community, in all its diversity, must be the fuel that keeps that engine running. 4. Creating a Government Cooperation Track within the IGF As global digital challenges increasingly require coordinated public policy responses, governments need a structured venue to deepen their dialogue within the IGF system — one that strengthens cooperation while remaining anchored in multistakeholder principles. To this end, the IGF could establish a Government Cooperation Track: a standing space within the annual IGF and its intersessional activities dedicated to intergovernmental dialogue on digital policy. This track would serve as a forum for enhanced cooperation — allowing governments to exchange policy experiences, identify convergence points, and discuss priorities for coordination on issues such as cross-border data governance, cybersecurity norms, and digital trade. Crucially, this process should not be isolated or closed. It must remain transparent and observable to the broader IGF community, preserving the Forum’s culture of openness. Multistakeholder observers — including civil society, technical experts, and the private sector — would have the opportunity to follow discussions and contribute written feedback. To ensure coherence, the outcomes of this track should feed back into the IGF plenary, informing wider multistakeholder debates and generating practical follow-up recommendations. This two-way feedback loop between governmental cooperation and the broader IGF community would transform the IGF into a truly integrated ecosystem — where dialogue, coordination, and inclusivity reinforce each other rather than compete. It would also address long-standing calls to operationalise enhanced cooperation within an existing, trusted UN framework — without creating parallel or duplicative structures. 5. Financing the IGF: Innovation and Shared Responsibility No forum can function effectively without predictable resources. The IGF’s reliance on voluntary contributions to the UN Trust Fund has proven insufficient. Yet even as some Member States hesitate to commit financially, there are creative ways to secure sustainable support. a. Diversifying Funding Streams The IGF can broaden its base of support by combining public, private, and philanthropic contributions. Transparent, multi-stakeholder funding windows could be established for specific themes — such as inclusion, cybersecurity, or youth engagement — allowing contributors to align with causes without influencing the Forum’s agenda. Regional IGFs could manage their own sub-funds, drawing on regional organisations, associations, and cross-border digital initiatives. This distributed financial model would mirror the Internet’s decentralized structure: resilient, diverse, and self-sustaining. b. Recognising Non-Financial Contributions Not all support must be monetary. Governments and organizations that cannot provide direct funding could contribute in-kind — hosting meetings, seconding experts, or providing technical infrastructure. Some of this is already happing, albeit not as structured. A cooperative contribution index could recognise all forms of support, ensuring transparency and rewarding engagement across all sectors. c. Exploring Innovative Mechanisms Financing the IGF’s long-term sustainability should align with global development priorities by mobilising existing mechanisms that already support digital transformation, capacity-building, and governance. International and regional development banks — such as the World Bank, the African Development Bank, and the Inter-American and Asian Development Banks — could integrate IGF participation and capacity-building into their digital economy programs. These banks already fund infrastructure and policy reforms for digital inclusion; extending this to support the IGF ecosystem would ensure that governance keeps pace with growth. Blended finance instruments could also be explored, linking public and private investment. Development finance institutions could create Digital Governance Catalytic Funds, co-financed by governments, philanthropic foundations, and responsible technology firms. These would support projects emerging from IGF processes — regional literacy campaigns, open data initiatives, or research on digital rights — turning IGF dialogue into cooperative implementation. The IGF could also form strategic partnerships with global initiatives such as UNDP’s Digital Strategy, the WEF’s EDISON Alliance, or OECD digital economy programs, channelling technical assistance and funding into national and regional IGFs. Similarly, public-philanthropic partnerships could underwrite youth fellowships, inclusion programmes, and research grants under the IGF umbrella, with full transparency through the IGF Trust Fund. In essence, innovative financing for the IGF is about new alliances. By aligning with the mandates of development banks, the private sector, and philanthropic actors, the IGF can secure diversified, predictable resources that reinforce its mission as a global public good. 6. Closing the Loop: From Dialogue to Decision For the IGF’s deliberations to shape real-world outcomes, they must feed systematically into the policy-making architecture of the United Nations. Through its formal relationship with UNGIS, the IGF can ensure that its outputs inform the digital strategies of UN agencies and intergovernmental bodies. Insights from IGF discussions on data governance could influence UNCTAD’s work on digital trade or the CSTD’s data governance deliberations; recommendations on digital literacy could inform UNESCO’s education initiatives; and deliberations on connectivity could complement ITU’s infrastructure programmes. Such alignment would create coherence across the UN system while preserving the IGF’s independence. A periodic UNGIS–IGF Dialogue Session, held alongside the global IGF, could review how the Forum’s multistakeholder insights have been reflected in UN action. This mechanism would institutionalise accountability and ensure a continuous feedback loop between dialogue, implementation, and evaluation. 7. Investing in What Works The Internet Governance Forum has proven that dialogue can be democratic, informed, and inclusive. It is the living embodiment of multistakeholder governance — but to remain relevant, it must now evolve into a coordination hub that connects conversation to cooperation, and participation to policy. Strengthening the IGF means reinforcing what the world already has: a proven mechanism that brings everyone to the table. By deepening its links with UNGIS, empowering its national and regional networks, ensuring participation from the Global South, diversifying its financing, and engaging the entire Internet community, we can ensure that the IGF remains the beating heart of global digital cooperation. Collaboration must be our goal — and the Internet Governance Forum is where that collaboration lives. By investing in it, we invest in a digital future that is open, secure, and governed by all.  Executive Summary
The Revision 1 (Rev1) text of the WSIS+20 outcome document represents a clear and mature evolution from the initial Zero Draft (ZD). While preserving the foundational WSIS vision of a people-centred, inclusive and development-oriented Information Society, Rev1 refines the language, modernises the substance, and strengthens the document’s operational focus. It remains grounded in the principles of human rights, inclusivity, equal participation, multistakeholder governance, and an open Internet, while demonstrating greater responsiveness to the inputs of Member States. The result is a more balanced and implementation-oriented text. 1. Evolution in Substance and Tone Rev1 marks a shift from broad reaffirmation to concrete implementation. Where the Zero Draft often relied on formulaic expressions of commitment, Rev1 adopts more assertive and purposeful language—phrases such as “we emphasise,” “we strongly urge,” and “we commit” replace the softer “we recognise” and “we reaffirm.” This subtle but consistent change signals a collective determination to move from vision to action. The substance of the text has also been modernised. Rev1 incorporates current policy priorities and technological developmentsbringing the WSIS agenda into alignment with today’s digital landscape. It thus transitions from a general reaffirmation of ICT for development to a practical roadmap for implementation and accountability. Equally significant is the expansion of inclusivity. The Zero Draft referred broadly to “marginalised communities” and “persons with disabilities.” Rev1 expands this to name youth, older persons, Indigenous Peoples, migrants, refugees, internally displaced persons, and those in vulnerable situations. The effect is to humanise and particularise inclusion, shifting the tone from symbolic recognition to concrete representation. Overall, Rev1 reads as a confident and contemporary diplomatic text—less rhetorical and more grounded in policy realities. 2. Implications for the Open Internet and Multistakeholder Governance One of the most notable strengths of Rev1 is its consistent reaffirmation of the multistakeholder model at the heart of WSIS. The text explicitly recognises the indispensable roles of governments, the private sector, civil society, the technical and academic communities, and youth in shaping the Information Society. It calls for “full and effective participation by all stakeholders in governance and standardisation processes,” a direct reinforcement of the open and distributed governance approach that underpins the global Internet. This inclusive framing ensures that the open Internet remains central to the WSIS vision. Rev1 encourages cooperation across sectors and countries, promotes open and non-discriminatory digital environments, and discourages unilateral restrictive measures that could fragment the Internet. It also emphasises the importance of interoperability, openness, and fairness as preconditions for digital transformation. Taken together, these developments confirm that Rev1 does not retreat from the WSIS commitment to an open, interoperable, and people-centred Internet. On the contrary, it reinforces it through a more precise articulation of shared responsibilities and mechanisms for cooperation. 3. Integration of Member State Inputs and Protection of Rights Rev1 clearly reflects the extensive input of Member States and stakeholders. It places greater emphasis on development finance, capacity-building, and digital inclusion—responding to calls for more tangible mechanisms of support for developing countries. The addition of references to blended finance, community networks, and investment partnerships demonstrates a pragmatic shift toward operational detail. At the same time, the revised text preserves and, in some areas, strengthens the WSIS commitment to human rights and democratic principles. References to freedom of expression, privacy, equality, and human dignity remain integral. These are now framed within broader discussions of security, trust, and emerging technologies, highlighting that technological advancement must respect and uphold human rights online and offline. Rev1 thus balances national policy space with global normative commitments. It acknowledges state responsibilities and diverse development paths without compromising the universality of human rights or the participatory spirit of WSIS. The result is a text that is politically inclusive yet normatively robust. 4. Overall Assessment The WSIS+20 Rev1 text stands as a more advanced and coherent document than the Zero Draft. It is technically sophisticated, politically balanced, and normatively consistent. Its strengthened operational focus, updated policy vocabulary, and expanded inclusivity make it a forward-looking instrument for digital cooperation. From the perspective of open Internet principles and democratic digital governance, Rev1 represents a positive evolution. It reinforces multistakeholder engagement, sustains a strong rights-based framework, and integrates Member State priorities without diluting foundational WSIS values. Rev1’s evolution demonstrates that the WSIS process continues to serve as an effective platform for consensus-building on global digital policy—one capable of integrating state, private, civil society, and technical perspectives into a coherent, inclusive, and rights-respecting vision for the future of the Information Society. Conclusion In sum, the progression from the Zero Draft to Rev1 reflects maturity, inclusivity, and practical ambition. The revised text successfully balances the developmental imperatives of Member States with the universal principles of human rights and democratic participation. It is a constructive and advanced text—modern in content, balanced in tone, and forward-looking in vision. Rev1 not only consolidates the achievements of the past two decades of WSIS but also reaffirms the open, multistakeholder, and rights-based model that remains essential for a sustainable and inclusive digital future. Section by Section analysis
In contrast, Revision 1 streamlines the text while keeping its core content. Each lettered paragraph is shorter, presenting one main idea per section, which improves readability. References to resolutions and agreements are maintained but are less detailed; the text assumes the reader can consult the full resolutions if needed. Contributions from stakeholders are summarized more generally, without singling out youth, and challenges like ICT gaps are not explicitly mentioned, making the text broader and more formal. References to reports and forums are preserved but phrased more smoothly; multiple sources are merged in some sentences to reduce repetition. The result is a preamble that reads more clearly and concisely, adhering to a typical UN style, while still acknowledging the historical context, preparatory processes, and key documents that inform the twenty-year review. Overall, the key difference lies in focus and readability. The zero draft is exhaustive, process-heavy, and highly specific, whereas Revision 1 emphasizes clarity and narrative flow, presenting the information in a structured, concise manner suitable for formal adoption. While some granularity and specific mentions are lost, the preamble gains a smoother, more professional tone that makes it easier to scan and understand.
The zero draft Introduction opened with a broad reaffirmation of the global commitment to a people-centred, inclusive, and development-oriented Information Society. It emphasized the ability of everyone to create, access, utilize, and share information and knowledge to achieve their full potential, promoting sustainable development and improving quality of life, all grounded in the principles of the UN Charter and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In Rev1, this opening is largely retained but slightly reworded to explicitly reference the World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS) vision, giving a clearer anchoring to the Summit’s legacy. Both versions reaffirm the commitments to the Geneva Declaration of Principles, the Geneva Plan of Action, the Tunis Commitment, and the Tunis Agenda. The zero draft stressed multi-stakeholder cooperation, emphasizing governments, private sector, civil society, international organizations, and technical and academic communities, with balanced representation from all countries. Rev1 preserves this core idea but adds explicit mention of youth as stakeholders and slightly streamlines the sentence structure. Additionally, Rev1 introduces the principle of the sovereign equality of all states, reinforcing equitable participation and ensuring that no country or community is left behind, a nuance that is less explicit in the zero draft. Regarding developing countries, the zero draft discussed barriers to participation in global digital governance and the importance of capacity building, technology sharing, and financial resources, highlighting groups such as African countries, LDCs, LLDCs, and SIDS. Rev1 conveys similar concerns but streamlines the language, combining governance, decision-making, and standardization processes into a single discussion, while retaining attention to countries in special situations and emphasizing “all stakeholders, particularly from developing countries.” In terms of digital growth and technological developments, both drafts acknowledge the tremendous growth of connectivity and the Internet, highlighting their role in enabling economic growth, social development, and innovation. The zero draft also mentiondsocial media and other applications, whereas Rev1 generalizes this to “online services,” slightly broadening the scope. The zero draft discussed the transformation of public discourse and policy-making dynamics due to the Internet, but this observation is omitted in Rev1, which instead focuses more directly on digital inclusion and its alignment with the Sustainable Development Goals. The legal and human rights context in the zero draft emphasized that WSIS outcomes are anchored in international law, including human rights law, and highlights the promotion of civil, political, economic, social, and cultural rights online and offline. Rev1 retains this commitment but frames it in a more consolidated way, linking the UN Charter explicitly to international law and human rights, and highlighting the commitment to a digital space that is inclusive, open, safe, and secure for all. Both drafts address digital divides, gender equality, and the empowerment of women and girls. The zero draft detailed the barriers, affordability, content in local languages, and digital skills, while Rev1 mirrors this structure but emphasizes investment in infrastructure and connectivity, linguistic diversity, and skills development. Both affirm commitments to vulnerable groups, but Rev1 expands the list to include migrants, refugees, internally displaced people, and those in vulnerable situations, reflecting broader inclusivity. Regarding emerging technologies and associated risks, both drafts acknowledge new possibilities and risks, underscoring the importance of human oversight to advance sustainable development and human rights. Similarly, the discussion on ICT confidence, security, and regulatory frameworks is largely maintained, with both drafts emphasizing innovation, consumer protection, digital talent, fair competition, entrepreneurship, and trust in the digital economy. Overall, the shift from the zero draft to Rev1 demonstrates a streamlining of language, slight reorganization of concepts, more explicit inclusion of youth, migrants, refugees, and internally displaced people, and a stronger emphasis on state equality and equitable participation. Some nuanced reflections from the zero draft, such as the impact of digital transformation on public discourse, are omitted in Rev1, likely in an effort to maintain a more concise, policy-focused narrative.
Both versions affirm that information and communications technologies (ICTs) hold great potential to contribute to human welfare, prosperity, and sustainable development. The zero draft emphasizes ICTs’ role in advancing the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, noting their rapidly growing capabilities and pervasiveness and the opportunities they create for governments, the private sector, and other stakeholders to improve productivity, prosperity, and quality of life. The Rev1 version slightly streamlines the language, focusing on “prosperity and sustainable development” and omitting explicit reference to the 2030 Agenda, while retaining the emphasis on new opportunities for development. Regarding digital divides and constraints on ICT potential, both drafts express deep concern that inequalities between and within countries, regions, and communities limit ICTs’ development impact. The zero draft emphasized digital divides and inequalities and noted that a third of the world’s population does not use the Internet, while many with access make limited use due to affordability, local content availability, and digital skills. Rev1 rephrases this as “persistent inequalities,” and explicitly adds digital literacyalongside skills. Additionally, Rev1 reaffirms closing these divides as a core WSIS+20 priority, which is a stronger anchoring to the Summit process than in the zero draft. Both versions call for strengthened international cooperation and enabling policy environments to address these gaps, though Rev1 slightly generalizes the language around challenges to participation. Both drafts recognize the importance of digital public goods and digital public infrastructure as drivers of inclusive digital transformation and innovation. The zero draft included a sentence on the alignment of WSIS outcomes with the Sustainable Development Goals and the Global Digital Compact, urging stakeholders to align their work for digital development; this is absent in Rev1, which omits the explicit reference to the UN Group on the Information Society and the Global Digital Compact. Otherwise, the discussion of digital public goods—including open-source software, open data, open AI models, open standards, and open content adhering to privacy and international standards—is largely unchanged. Both versions stress that resilient, safe, inclusive, and interoperable digital public infrastructure can deliver services at scale, enhance opportunities for all, and that societies will develop shared digital systems according to their priorities and needs. In summary, the key changes in Rev1 are:
Both versions begin by acknowledging the expansion of Internet access and digital services since the World Summit on the Information Society, highlighting the growth in broadband coverage, mobile phone ownership, and Internet use. The zero draft provided specific statistics on population coverage by broadband and 4G networks, mobile phone ownership, and Internet use from 2005 to 2025. Rev1 retains these statistics but cites the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) as the source and slightly reframes the text to emphasize the “significant expansion” in access, streamlining the narrative. Both drafts express concern over persistent digital divides between and within regions, countries, and communities. The zero draft presented specific figures for high-income versus low-income countries, urban versus rural populations, and included a statement on the rapid pace of digital development potentially exacerbating inequalities. Rev1 largely maintains these details but frames digital divides as limiting capabilities and opportunities for full participation, highlighting a multi-dimensional challenge encompassing affordability, language, ability, and technological capacity. Rev1 explicitly links bridging divides to the 2030 Agenda, WSIS vision, and the Global Digital Compact, giving a stronger policy and development framing. On gender digital divides, both versions highlight disparities in mobile phone and Internet usage between women and men, under-representation in education, employment, and digital activities, and call on stakeholders to address these gaps. Rev1 adds “reported by ITU” to reinforce data credibility. Regarding persons with disabilities, both drafts reference the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, noting ongoing accessibility gaps. Rev1 expands this section to include “assistive technologies” as a means to promote equal access. For other disadvantaged groups, both drafts identify older persons, ethnic and linguistic minorities, Indigenous Peoples, refugees, migrants, and vulnerable populations, urging inclusion in national and local digital strategies. Rev1 modifies wording slightly to emphasize “perspectives and needs”, highlighting participatory inclusion rather than just access. In terms of policy measures and commitments, the zero draft emphasizes entry-level broadband affordability, local content in multiple languages, and development of digital literacy skills. Rev1 elaborates further on mechanisms to achieve affordable broadband, including collaboration between private and public sectors, blended finance, universal service funds, community networks, and continued public access facilities. The emphasis on multilingual content is maintained, with additional references to progress towards Universal Acceptance of Internationalized Domain Names, reflecting updated technical and policy developments. Overall, Rev1:
In summary, Rev1 is a more policy-focused, structured, and internationally anchored version, emphasizing both the scale of digital progress and the multi-dimensional challenges that remain, along with concrete strategies to address them.
Both versions recognize that the digital economy is increasingly central to global trade and economic development, emphasizing that information and communications technologies (ICTs) have created new markets, businesses, and employment opportunities. The zero draft provides specific statistics, noting e-commerce accounts for about 20% of global retail trade, while Rev1 generalizes this to say that e-commerce “plays a major part in economic activity at international, national and local levels,” broadening the framing beyond retail trade. Both acknowledge the adoption of digital technologies across all economic sectors, enhancing productivity, enabling new forms of manufacturing and services, and fostering new business models. Equitable inclusion and market concentration are highlighted in both drafts. The zero draft mentioned the need to tackle concentrations of technological capacity and market power to ensure fair distribution of benefits, while Rev1 preserves this point but places slightly more emphasis on integrating developing countries into global value chains and innovation networks and framing a non-discriminatory digital environment as a prerequisite for stronger global digital economic cooperation. Regarding financial services, both versions discuss the evolution of digital transactions, Internet banking, cashless payments, and mobile money systems, noting their role in increasing access to financial services. The drafts similarly commit to supporting developing countries in creating enabling domestic environments for digital financial services. Rev1 slightly simplifies the phrasing but retains the full policy intent. The zero draft included specific references to agriculture, noting that ICTs improve productivity in large-scale food production and support small-scale and subsistence farmers. This section is omitted in Rev1, which instead focuses on broader digital services and enterprise development. Both drafts emphasize opportunities for micro, small, and medium enterprises (MSMEs), including those led by women. Rev1 streamlines the text slightly, removing repetitive language about open, fair, and non-discriminatory digital environments, while maintaining the emphasis on enabling MSMEs to thrive with financial support and access to capital. On employment and emerging technologies, both drafts acknowledge impacts such as changes in workplace environments, flexible working, and digital labour platforms. Both discuss the role of automation, robotics, and AI in reshaping employment, including potential displacement of professional, clerical, and manual roles. Rev1 expands this section to emphasize that emerging technologies should complement and augment human labour, highlighting safeguarding employment rights and welfare, which is a more explicit articulation of social responsibility than in the zero draft. In summary, key differences in Rev1 include:
Overall, Rev1 is more concise, globally framed, and socially oriented, emphasising inclusion, equity, and the integration of emerging technologies with human welfare, while preserving the zero draft’s core points about the digital economy, financial services, and enterprise opportunities.
Both versions recognise that information and communications technologies (ICTs) enhance social welfare and inclusion by providing channels for individuals, businesses, and governments to share knowledge and participate in decisions affecting livelihoods, social welfare, and public services. The zero draft emphasized the contribution of ICTs to education, health, employment, business, and science, while Rev1 broadens and streamlines the language, highlighting profound impacts on public service delivery and the ways individuals and communities interact, consume, and spend their time. Both drafts note that while many impacts are positive, ICTs also raise concerns regarding human rights, health, employment, and overall welfare. Regarding government strategies and e-services, both versions highlight national strategies leveraging ICTs and the provision of e-government services. Rev1 slightly reframes the language to emphasize “social and economic development” and the enabling role of e-services in providing information, advice, and online transaction opportunities. For education and training, both drafts discuss innovative approaches such as distance learning, open educational resources, and online courses. Rev1 explicitly includes digital literacy as a factor limiting access, whereas the zero draft focuses more on digital divides in connectivity and educational facilities. Both reaffirm the goal of connecting every school to the Internet by 2030. On health and medicine, both texts note the role of ICTs in disseminating public health information, supporting local health workers, improving health data analysis, and enhancing clinical practice. Rev1 specifies sexual and reproductive health and adds a reaffirmed commitment to leveraging ICTs to improve health access, especially in developing countries. Regarding cultural and creative sectors, both drafts recognise the positive impact of ICTs on cultural expression and urge stakeholders to preserve cultural heritage. Rev1 slightly updates the phrasing to “access to cultural resources” rather than “recorded information,” broadening the focus. Both versions acknowledge ICTs’ role in natural disaster response and humanitarian assistance, including hazard monitoring, early warning systems, preparedness, response, recovery, and reconstruction, with little change between the drafts. Finally, on digital divides and equitable delivery of social and economic development, both drafts express concern about persistent inequalities in access, connectivity, affordability, and skills. Rev1 slightly refines the language, emphasizing limited digital skills alongside poor connectivity and affordability and explicitly calls for greater international cooperation to enhance impact and progress toward the Sustainable Development Goals. The zero draft emphasized attention to digital inclusion, literacy, capacity building, and financial mechanisms, while Rev1 generalizes these into broader international cooperation. In summary, Rev1:
Overall, Rev1 is more concise, policy-oriented, and internationally framed, while retaining the zero draft’s focus on ICT contributions to social welfare, inclusion, education, health, culture, disaster response, and equitable development.
Both versions begin by welcoming the role of digital technologies in supporting environmental sustainability, including monitoring environmental change, implementing early warning systems, and enabling governments and development partners to prioritize interventions. The zero draft emphasized protecting those at greatest risk and forecasting priorities for future action, while Rev1 slightly streamlines the phrasing to “protect those at risk and identify priorities.” Both note that digital technologies can improve energy and resource efficiency through smart management of systems and processes, and both commit to leveraging these technologies while minimising negative environmental impacts. On energy consumption and climate impacts, both drafts express concern about rising energy demand from digitalisation, data traffic, data centres, IoT, and AI. The zero draft specifically mentioned greenhouse gas emissions contributing to climate change, whereas Rev1 frames the concern more broadly around energy demand, security, access, affordability, and climate impacts. The call for global reporting standards and stakeholder cooperation present in the zero draft is not explicitly included in Rev1, making it slightly less prescriptive. Regarding critical resources, both drafts highlight the importance of sustainable use and equitable access to scarce minerals needed for digital equipment. The zero draft added references to human rights abuses, dangerous employment practices, and civil conflict associated with mineral extraction, which is not present in Rev1. On electronic waste (e-waste), the zero draft expressed concern over rapid growth, pollution, and health risks, especially in developing countries, and called for improved data gathering, collaboration, technology sharing, and compliance with the Basel Convention. Rev1 omits these specific details, condensing the discussion into broader concerns about resource use and sustainable consumption. Both drafts emphasise promoting sustainable consumption, production patterns, and circular economy approaches. Rev1 slightly expands the framing to “international standards” and emphasises all stakeholders, particularly governments and the private sector, in designing sustainable digital products and ensuring reuse, repair, and recycling. Finally, both texts stress the need for an inclusive and integrated approach for aligning digital and environmental policies. Both highlight lifecycle sustainability, resource efficiency, and conservation. Rev1 adds the words “global, regional and national challenges” to stress multi-level policy alignment but slightly reduces the prescriptive detail about poverty eradication and context-specific measures present in the zero draft. In summary, key differences in Rev1 include:
Overall, Rev1 is more concise, general in its prescriptions, and internationally framed, while the zero draft contained more detailed, prescriptive elements regarding environmental risks, e-waste, and social impacts.
Both drafts emphasise the importance of a positive enabling environment for investment, innovation, and technological development in supporting a people-centred, inclusive, and development-oriented Information Society (zero draft) or the WSIS vision (Rev1). Both stress that such an environment is critical for the implementation and realization of digital development goals. Regarding science, technology, and innovation, both versions recognize their integral role in digital development and the importance of ensuring participation by stakeholders in all countries. The zero draft highlights the contribution of rapidly growing digital capabilities to research and development across scientific fields, while Rev1 adds a reference to the development and harmonisation of standards, refining the focus on actionable aspects of digital innovation. On policies and legal/regulatory frameworks, both texts acknowledge their importance for deploying digital services, covering areas such as market structure, digital transactions, data protection and privacy, consumer rights, intellectual property, human rights, and environmental impacts. Rev1 additionally emphasises that experience since the World Summit demonstrates the effectiveness of certain approaches in promoting investment, bridging digital divides, and fostering development—a nuance that is not explicit in the zero draft. Both drafts support international, regional, and national efforts to develop enabling environments, including predictable and transparent policies, legal and regulatory frameworks, and sharing best practices. Both call on stakeholders to provide technical assistance to developing countries, in line with national digital transformation priorities. On technology transfer, both texts encourage the international community to promote technology on mutually agreed terms and adopt policies and programs that help developing countries leverage technology through technical cooperation and capacity-building. The zero draft specifically tasks the Commission on Science and Technology for Development (CSTD) and Action Line facilitatorsto work with stakeholders to provide policy advice, technical assistance, and capacity-building to support the enabling environment. Rev1 reorganizes and clarifies this, including a new explicit call urging States to refrain from unilateral measures that impede development or the well-being of people, which adds an international law dimension not present in the zero draft. Rev1 also commends the work of United Nations Regional Commissions and other regional organisations and calls on them, along with the CSTD, to share experience and support demand-driven policy guidance. In summary, the main differences in Rev1 include:
Building Confidence and Security in the Use of ICTs Both drafts reaffirm that strengthening confidence and security in ICTs is crucial for innovation and sustainable development and that this must be consistent with human rights. Both commend efforts by governments, the private sector, civil society, and the technical community to protect infrastructure, services, transactions, and digital activity from cyber threats. In terms of scope, the zero draft listed specific threats and risks, including sexual and gender-based violence, hate speech, discrimination, misinformation, disinformation, cyberbullying, and child sexual exploitation and abuse. It also emphasized the establishment and maintenance of robust risk mitigation and redress measures that protect privacy and freedom of expression. Rev1, in contrast, does not enumerate these specific risks, instead framing the concern more generally around malicious cyber activities and physical risks to infrastructure, including critical Internet infrastructure. Rev1 introduces references to recent institutional developments that are not in the zero draft, including the report of the Open-ended Working Group on ICT Security (2021–2025) and the Global Mechanism on Developments in the Field of ICTs, highlighting efforts to advance responsible state behaviour in the use of ICTs. Both drafts recognize the challenges faced by developing countries in building ICT confidence and security. Both reiterate the General Assembly resolution 70/125 (2015) calling for capacity-building, education, knowledge-sharing, regulatory practice, multistakeholder cooperation, and awareness-raising among users, particularly the poorest and most vulnerable. The zero draft provided more detail on targeted support, including aligning regulatory frameworks with international norms and supporting cooperation between CERTs/CSIRTs. Rev1 condenses this, leaving the commitments general without specifying CERT/CSIRT cooperation or alignment with norms. In summary, the main differences in Rev1 are:
Overall, Rev1 shifts from detailed operational guidance and specific threats toward a higher-level, institutional, and internationally framed approach, while keeping the essential goals of ICT confidence, security, and inclusive support intact.
Both drafts identify lack of capacity as a major barrier to closing digital divides and emphasise that capacity development—including for innovation—should empower local experts and communities to benefit from and contribute to ICT applications for development. Both also recognise the importance of digital skills and lifelong access to learning opportunities, tailored to social, cultural, and linguistic contexts and to persons of all ages. The zero draft placed strong emphasis on international cooperation to promote human resource development, training, and support at national and local levels, particularly to enable developing countries to innovate and participate fully in a people-centred, inclusive Information Society. Rev1 integrates this point with the scaling up of international cooperation and financing for digital capacity development, and explicitly ties this to supporting the development of local content relevant to local realities, similar to the zero draft, but in a more concise formulation. Rev1 adds more detail on technical and policy capacity: it stresses the importance of capacity development in technological innovation, governance, and complex challenges of digitalisation. It commends the work of the technical community, UN entities, and other stakeholders in building technical expertise and the capacity of civil servants and the judiciary. It also calls for the strengthening of initiatives to support digital capabilities in these critical areas of digital transformation—points that were less explicit in the zero draft. Regarding digital literacy and individual empowerment, both texts highlight the need to equip people to identify reliable information, access opportunities, safeguard online security and privacy, and exercise data protection rights. Rev1 consolidates this into a single, action-oriented call to all stakeholders to promote digital skills and literacy, whereas the zero draft separates the literacy aspect from broader empowerment and awareness-raising. In summary, the main differences in Rev1 are:
Overall, Rev1 strengthens the operational focus on developing the human and technical capacities necessary for digital transformation, while keeping the core commitments to closing digital divides and fostering local empowerment intact.
Both versions acknowledge that financial investment in ICT infrastructure has expanded significantly since WSIS, driven by new markets, technological capabilities, and service innovations. Both also stress that harnessing ICTs for development and bridging digital divides requires sustained investment in infrastructure and services, capacity-building, research and development, and technology transfer, involving both public and private actors. The zero draft framed the call for investment in more general terms, highlighting the need for an enabling policy environment, fostering public-private cooperation, and promoting universal service funds and innovative financing mechanisms to achieve meaningful connectivity and support the Sustainable Development Goals. Rev1 largely retains this formulation but integrates the call for international financial organizations and development partners to mainstream ICTs in their programs and concessional finance, adding a clearer operational dimension. Regarding private sector and development partner contributions, both drafts recognize the critical role of private sector investment and the importance of public funding and development banks in supporting deployment in commercially unviable areas. Both mention innovative mechanisms like universal access funds and community networks to extend connectivity to remote areas. The treatment of the Sevilla Commitment is slightly different: the zero draft mentioned it as the outcome document of the Fourth International Conference on Financing for Development (July 2025), reaffirming its call for coordinated investment and international collaboration in digital infrastructure, including digital public infrastructure and digital public goods. Rev1 anchors the Sevilla Commitment more formally with the UN General Assembly resolution reference (79/323 of 25 August 2025) and emphasises the development of financing plans and coordination between governments, multilateral institutions, and private actors. Rev1 adds additional forward-looking actions not present in the zero draft:
In summary, Rev1 retains all the zero draft’s core points on investment needs, public-private cooperation, and the role of development partners but adds greater specificity, operational guidance, and forward-looking initiatives, including formal UN references and explicit actions to support national e-strategies and future financial mechanisms.
Both versions place human rights at the center of the Information Society, highlighting that ICTs can strengthen access to information, freedom of expression, assembly, and association. Both reaffirm the universality, indivisibility, interdependence, and interrelation of human rights, referencing core international human rights instruments and noting the mutual reinforcement of democracy, sustainable development, and good governance. The zero draft emphasized the commitment to protect offline rights online, referencing UN resolutions (69/166 and 78/213) and pledging adherence to international human rights law across the lifecycle of digital and emerging technologies. Rev1 covers the same points but slightly streamlines the references and integrates commitments to safeguards, human rights due diligence, and remedy mechanisms into a tighter narrative. Both texts highlight the responsibilities of stakeholders, particularly the private sector, to embed human rights into the conception, design, deployment, and operation of digital technologies. Rev1 mirrors this but adds explicit reference to harmonization with the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, and gives a concise acknowledgement of the OHCHR’s advisory role on human rights and technology. Regarding freedom of expression and privacy, both texts reaffirm article 19 and article 12 of the UDHR, with the zero draft providing slightly more detailed context on privacy obligations, while Rev1 uses a more integrated phrasing to cover arbitrary interference, online shutdowns, and measures targeting Internet access. Both emphasize media independence and protection of journalists and civil society actors, with Rev1 consolidating points on safeguarding media freedom, preventing harassment, and supporting public media into a single cohesive paragraph. The zero draft separated these aspects across several paragraphs but covers the same substantive concerns. Both drafts recognize that digital technologies can facilitate harmful manipulation of information and stress the importance of promoting information integrity, tolerance, and respect online, while countering misinformation, disinformation, and hate speech. Rev1 slightly reorganizes the narrative for clarity and flow. On gender and child rights, both texts stress the urgent need to ensure women’s and girls’ full, equal, and meaningful participation, countering technology-facilitated gender-based violence, and protecting children’s rights online in line with the CRC. Rev1 integrates these commitments more closely with earlier human rights obligations, making the narrative tighter and more action-oriented. Key differences in Rev1:
Overall, Rev1 keeps all the substantive commitments of the zero draft but organizes them into a clearer, more cohesive framework, enhancing readability and emphasizing actionable obligations for stakeholders while maintaining alignment with international law and human rights standards.
Both versions emphasise the importance of responsible and interoperable data governance as a means to advance development objectives, protect human rights, foster innovation, and promote economic growth. This foundational point is unchanged between the two drafts. Both texts reference the Global Digital Compact as the framework guiding the approach to data governance. The zero draft simply “reaffirms the approach adopted by the General Assembly,” while Rev1 elaborates slightly by reaffirming the objective to advance responsible, equitable, and interoperable data governance, giving a bit more emphasis to the principles of fairness and equity. Both drafts note the creation of a working group by the Commission on Science and Technology for Development to conduct a comprehensive, inclusive multistakeholder dialogue on data governance. The zero draft mentioned that the group may develop recommendations including fundamental principles of data governance arrangements, whereas Rev1 slightly refines this by specifying that the dialogue includes follow-up recommendations towards equitable and interoperable data governance arrangements, keeping the language consistent with the emphasis on equity and interoperability. Key differences in Rev1:
Overall, Rev1 retains the substance of the zero draft while clarifying the focus on equitable and interoperable data governance and providing slightly more structured language regarding the working group’s role.
Both versions recognise the emergence and significance of artificial intelligence (AI) within the Information Society and its transformative impact on human societies, including potential negative implications for employment, labor, the environment, human rights, and information integrity. The zero draft explicitly noted these risks, while Rev1 does not restate them, focusing instead on capacity building and governance measures. Both texts reaffirm the approach to international governance of AI as adopted by the General Assembly in the Global Digital Compact. This remains a core reference in both drafts, underlining a commitment to AI governance for the benefit of humanity. Regarding capacity building and leveraging existing UN resources, both versions emphasize using specialized agencies, funds, programs, and UN system-wide mechanisms. The zero draft detailed actions such as conducting research, mapping and analysis, reporting on progress and challenges, and providing tailored assistance. Rev1 consolidates this, framing it as leveraging resources to bridge AI divides, facilitate access, and build capacity in high-performance computing and related skills, with a stronger emphasis on developing countries and international partnerships for training and SME participation. Both drafts request the Secretary-General to establish an AI Research Programme and an AI capacity-building fellowship, particularly focused on developing countries to enhance AI expertise in the Global South. Rev1 links the AI Research Programme explicitly to the work of the Independent International Scientific Panel on AI, adding clarity to the program’s connection with scientific assessments. On the Independent International Scientific Panel on AI and the Global Dialogue on AI Governance, both drafts welcome the establishment of the panel for evidence-based assessments and note the upcoming Global Dialogue involving governments and stakeholders. Rev1 adds a reference to the Secretary-General’s Report on Innovative Voluntary Financing Options for AI Capacity-Building, further reinforcing financial mechanisms to support AI capacity development. Key differences in Rev1:
Overall, Rev1 retains the substance and initiatives of the zero draft, while sharpening the focus on equitable access, international partnerships, and structured capacity-building in developing countries, and integrating references to financing mechanisms.
Both versions reaffirm the working definition of Internet governance from the Tunis Agenda for the Information Society, emphasizing the development and application of shared principles, norms, rules, decision-making procedures, and programs by governments, the private sector, and civil society. Both stress the multistakeholder, global, transparent, and democratic nature of Internet governance, with active involvement of all relevant actors. The two texts similarly highlight the need to promote greater participation in Internet governance, particularly by stakeholders from developing countries and underrepresented groups, including African countries, least developed countries, landlocked developing countries, and small island developing states. Both underscore the Internet as a critical global facility for inclusive and equitable digital transformation, noting its open and interoperable nature as foundational for services spanning governance, economy, development, and rights. Both reaffirm that Internet governance should continue to follow the provisions set forth in the Geneva and Tunis summit outcomes, including enhanced cooperation, and acknowledge the work of the Working Group on Enhanced Cooperation in providing recommendations on implementing enhanced cooperation. Both drafts stress the importance of improving coordination among international and intergovernmental organizations involved in Internet governance. Where Rev1 diverges from the zero draft is in its inclusion of new references and updated structures. Rev1 explicitly mentions the NETmundial+10 guidelines (April 2024) as a contribution to strengthening inclusive, balanced, and open multistakeholder governance. It also expands the description of the Internet Governance Forum (IGF) ecosystem to include Dynamic Coalitions, Best Practice Forums, and Policy Networks, along with National, Regional, and Youth IGFs, emphasizing broader participation. Both texts commend the successful development of the IGF and outline its evolution into a broader ecosystem with intersessional activities, leadership structures, and mechanisms for reporting outcomes to relevant UN entities. Both call for the IGF to become a permanent UN forum, enhance its working modalities, strengthen its Secretariat, support intersessional and regional activities, and broaden stakeholder participation, particularly from developing countries. Rev1 further stresses the IGF’s role as an inclusive platform for dialogue on emerging technologies and its continuous improvement in engagement with governments and stakeholders from developing countries. Key differences in Rev1:
Overall, Rev1 retains the foundational principles of the zero draft while updating the governance framework with recent initiatives, broader participation structures, and a stronger focus on emerging technologies, emphasising inclusivity, transparency, and capacity-building for developing countries.
Both versions recognize that the Tunis Agenda provides a solid foundation for continuing the implementation of the WSIS vision and principles. They acknowledge that experiences since the Summit, coupled with the evolution of the Information Society, indicate the need to ensure alignment with the Global Digital Compact and continued relevance in achieving WSIS objectives. Both drafts emphasize the importance of multistakeholder participation, highlighting the contributions of governments, international organizations, private sector, civil society, the technical community, and academia. They reaffirm the values of multistakeholder cooperation established at the Summit, reiterated in General Assembly resolution 70/125, and reinforced in the Global Digital Compact. Both underscore the sovereign equality of States and the importance of equitable participation to ensure no country or community is left behind in building a people-centred, inclusive, and development-oriented Information Society. The texts also stress the alignment of WSIS implementation with the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, the Pact for the Future, and the Global Digital Compact, aiming to build synergies, avoid duplication, and ensure all stakeholders can participate fully. Both versions acknowledge the support of UN entities and Action Line facilitators in implementing WSIS outcomes over the past two decades. They highlight the role of UN Regional Commissions in developing regional action plans, coordinating implementation, and providing technical assistance, capacity building, and partnerships. Both note the establishment of the Secretary-General’s Office for Digital and Emerging Technologies to enhance UN system-wide coordination and support implementation of the Global Digital Compact. Both recognise the annual WSIS Forum as a key platform for multistakeholder dialogue, networking, sharing best practices, and reviewing Action Lines, calling for its continuation. Both affirm the importance of the WSIS Action Line framework, including its value to governments in developing national digital strategies, and call for alignment with the 2030 Agenda. They also emphasise the integration of human rights, gender equality, and empowerment of women and girls across all Action Lines, involving OHCHR and UN-Women. Where Rev1 diverges slightly from the zero draft:
Overall, Rev1 maintains the foundational principles of the zero draft while streamlining references, clarifying coordination mechanisms, and strengthening links between WSIS Action Lines, SDGs, and the Global Digital Compact to enhance implementation, monitoring, and accountability.
Both versions underline the critical importance of data and statistics in supporting ICT for development. They call for the collection of quantitative data to enable evidence-based decision-making and emphasize the inclusion of ICT data in national statistical strategies and regional statistical work programmes. Both texts stress the need for strengthened international cooperation to address gaps in development data and advocate for the responsible use and sharing of data to advance the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). Both versions recognise and appreciate the work of the Partnership on Measuring ICT for Development, highlighting its contributions to developing indicators, gathering data, and disseminating knowledge about the Information Society. They also acknowledge the contributions of UN agencies and other stakeholders in creating targets, indicators, and metrics. Both texts express commitment to the further development and strengthening of internationally agreed targets, indicators, and metrics, including those for universal, meaningful, and affordable connectivity, and emphasize the need to align these measures with SDGs. They call for periodic review of methodologies, taking into account differences in national contexts, levels of development, and sharing of country case studies. Where Rev1 differs from the zero draft:
Both versions highlight the need for capacity-building and funding for national statistical systems, encouraging development partners to provide resources and share best practices. Both also urge the private sector to support data collection and analysis, strengthening research, policymaking, and the work of governments, civil society, and academia.
Both texts underscore that the ongoing implementation of WSIS outcomes requires continuous commitment from all stakeholders, including governments, civil society, the private sector, international organisations, technical and academic communities, and youth (explicitly added in Rev1). Both highlight the importance of annual review of progress across all Action Lines to achieve the Summit’s vision. Both versions stress the need for convergence between WSIS outcomes and the Global Digital Compact (GDC) to avoid duplication, increase synergies, and maximize efficiency and impact. They call for strengthening UNGIS as the United Nations’ inter-agency mechanism to coordinate policy, programmatic coherence, and multistakeholder dialogue. Both texts request the expansion of UNGIS membership to include additional UN entities with responsibilities in digital cooperation and stakeholder engagement. Rev1 emphasizes consultation with the Chief Executives Board for Coordination as part of this process, adding a layer of governance clarity. Both acknowledge the value of the WSIS–GDC mapping matrix, which links Compact objectives to existing WSIS structures and mechanisms, providing a structured framework for follow-up. They call for the development of a joint implementation roadmap to integrate WSIS and GDC commitments, to be presented to the Commission on Science and Technology for Development at its 29th session in 2026. Rev1 adds explicit language that the roadmap should maximize synergies across the UN system, strengthening coherence and resource efficiency. The roles of ECOSOC and the Commission on Science and Technology for Development are highlighted in both texts, focusing on overseeing system-wide follow-up, assessing progress, and providing strategic guidance and recommendations. Both versions request annual reporting by the Secretary-General through the Commission on progress in implementing WSIS outcomes and the GDC. Both texts mention high-level review meetings: one in 2027 for the GDC, one in 2030 as input to the 2030 Agenda review, and one in 2035 for a comprehensive review of WSIS implementation. Rev1 slightly refines the language around stakeholder input and encourages consideration of coherence and alignment between WSIS outcomes and GDC implementation during the 2027 high-level meeting. Overall, Rev1 keeps the core commitments of the original text while providing more precise language on stakeholder roles, UN governance mechanisms, and alignment between WSIS and GDC processes, and it adds explicit references to youth and the Chief Executives Board for Coordination. The structure is slightly streamlined, with greater emphasis on coherence, resource efficiency, and systematic reporting.  In 1869, when the first transcontinental railroad was completed in the United States, newspapers declared it a triumph of progress — a steel ribbon that would bind a vast nation together. Yet within a generation, it became clear that the same tracks that united some also isolated others. Towns bypassed by the main line faded into obscurity; Indigenous communities were displaced from ancestral lands; and wealth pooled along the routes determined by a handful of engineers and financiers. The railroad, celebrated as a symbol of connection, had quietly encoded inequality into geography itself.
A century later, when the Internet was first imagined, its architects believed they had learned from such lessons of centralization. This time, the network would have no single track, no privileged junctions, no gatekeepers. It would be the most democratic technology in human history — a decentralized web of networks without a center, without a master, without prejudice. Its architecture itself was supposed to guarantee fairness. No single entity could control it, no government could dictate its operation, no corporation could own its core. Anyone, anywhere, with a connection and a modest machine could join and be part of a global community of equals. That was the idea. Decentralization was the design’s moral claim. Paul Baran’s 1964 vision of “distributed communications networks” was born from the Cold War fear of nuclear annihilation — a system resilient because it had no single point of failure. When Vint Cerf and Bob Kahn later translated that idea into TCP/IP, the guiding principle was indifference: routers didn’t care who you were or where you came from, only that you spoke the common language of packets. This technical neutrality was meant to be a structural defense against bias. If no one was in charge, then no one could discriminate. Yet as a Cloudflare research makes clear, the neutrality of design did not guarantee the equality of experience. Bias crept in not through censorship or control, but through the quiet accumulation of technical and economic asymmetries. The Internet’s architecture — designed for openness — was gradually shaped by the unequal distribution of resources, timing, and attention. The story begins, ironically, at the very level of the Internet’s atomic structure: the IP address. In the 1980s and early 1990s, before the Internet was a household word, address space was freely given to early adopters — universities, corporations, and government agencies, overwhelmingly in the United States and Western Europe. These allocations were generous, sometimes recklessly so: Stanford University once held more IPv4 addresses than the entire continent of Africa. The assumption was that there would always be more to go around, and that those connecting early were the natural stewards of the network’s growth. It was a small group of people making decisions for a world they could barely imagine. By the time the Internet reached the Global South in full force, the pool of IPv4 addresses had nearly run dry. The early open-handedness had become a zero-sum game. To keep new users online, Internet service providers in Africa, Asia, and Latin America were forced to rely on Carrier-Grade Network Address Translation (CGNAT), a workaround that allows thousands of users to share a single public IP address. Cloudflare’s study shows the consequences of that workaround: requests from CGNAT-shared addresses — common in Nigeria, India, or Indonesia — are three times more likely to be rate-limited or blocked by online services than those from the unique addresses typical of Europe or North America. On paper, the Internet still functions as a universal network. In practice, it has become a layered one. People in the Global South often connect through labyrinths of shared addresses and intermediate proxies, while those in the Global North usually enjoy direct, unique routes. The result is not just slower service, but structural misrecognition. When multiple users share an IP, the misbehavior of one can lead to collective punishment: an entire neighborhood or region suddenly locked out of websites or platforms. The Internet was built to treat all packets equally, but the packets coming from some parts of the world are more likely to be mistrusted. This bias is not ideological but infrastructural. It arises from an asymmetry embedded at the birth of the network. The Internet’s early designers believed that decentralization itself would prevent inequality — that if no one controlled the system, it would naturally remain fair. But history offers many examples of systems built on similar optimism that later hardened into inequality. In the early 20th century, electricity was hailed as the “great democratizer” — a force that would light every home and level every economy. But grids were laid first in industrial and urban centers, leaving vast rural regions literally in the dark for decades. Infrastructure designed to connect the many instead deepened the divide between those who could afford early access and those who could not. The Internet’s topology, both logical and physical, has produced a digital parallel: the grids of privilege were laid early, and they are hard to reroute. As the network commercialized in the 1990s, another layer of bias took hold — economic rather than technical. The prevailing wisdom was that the Internet’s evolution should be left to the market. The U.S. government’s decision to privatize core Internet functions in the mid-1990s reflected a deep faith in what economist Milton Friedman called “the invisible hand of innovation.” Infrastructure was treated as a business opportunity, not a public good. Under this model, questions of fairness — who got addresses, who built cables, who could afford backbone connections — became questions of profit. Decentralization, which had been a safeguard against control, became a justification for disengagement. No one was responsible for ensuring global equity because, supposedly, no one was in charge. The architecture that once guaranteed openness became a substrate for market concentration: today, a handful of companies control the majority of the world’s cloud and content delivery infrastructure. The Internet remains decentralized in form, but deeply centralized in function. The Global South feels this contradiction most acutely. The digital divide has long been framed in terms of access and skills, as if the solution were simply to connect more people and train them to use technology. But the divide now runs deeper — into the operational logic of the network itself. A user in Nairobi or Dhaka may have the same smartphone and broadband plan as someone in Berlin, yet their connection traverses more intermediaries, carries more latency, and is more likely to be misclassified or penalized. This is not a failure of connectivity, but of architecture — a kind of invisible infrastructure of inequality. The rise of artificial intelligence threatens to magnify that gap. AI depends on abundant, stable, and uniquely identifiable data streams. But in CGNAT environments, where thousands of devices share a single address, the “uniqueness” of users becomes mathematically blurred. AI systems trained on data from the Global North may interpret this shared connectivity as noise or fraud, misreading the realities of the Global South as anomalies. In this way, architectural bias feeds algorithmic bias, which then reinforces architectural disadvantage — a feedback loop of inequity. These are not merely engineering problems; they are political ones. Many governments in the Global South have turned to the United Nations and other multilateral fora for redress, recognizing that no single nation can correct an imbalance rooted in global infrastructure. Processes such as the World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS+20) review, the implementation of the Global Digital Compact, and debates around Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI) reflect a growing insistence that the Internet’s evolution must be guided by public interest, not market expedience. The challenge is not only to connect more people, but to rebuild the network so that its architecture does not systematically disadvantage them. Here, the framework of human rights may offer a moral compass. The UN Human Rights Council has affirmed that the same rights people enjoy offline must be protected online, recognizing Internet access as a facilitator of fundamental freedoms. But access, in the human-rights sense, cannot mean mere connectivity. It must mean meaningful connectivity — a quality of access that allows individuals to participate fully and equally. If the Internet’s architecture prevents that, then the inequality is not just technical but moral. Human-rights law offers an important distinction between intentional and structural discrimination. The latter occurs when neutral rules produce unequal outcomes — when systems designed without malice nonetheless disadvantage some groups. The Internet’s architecture fits this definition precisely. The early allocation of IPv4 addresses, the market-driven approach to infrastructure investment, and the indifference to the lived realities of late-connecting regions have created a pattern of structural discrimination, even if no one meant for it to happen. Recognizing that is the first step toward redress. Correcting architectural inequality will require more than policy declarations. It will mean accelerating IPv6 adoption in underserved regions, rethinking how global Internet governance allocates resources, and ensuring that emerging technologies — from AI to edge computing — are built with diverse network conditions in mind. It also means rejecting the idea that the Internet’s evolution should be guided solely by what is financially viable. The notion that the market will automatically optimize for human well-being has been tested, and it has failed. Some decisions about the Internet — how it connects people, who it empowers, and what it values — must be made because they are good for humans, even if they are not profitable. To ask whether the Internet is biased, then, is to confront a deeper irony. The Internet’s design — decentralized, open, resilient — was meant to immunize it against precisely the kinds of bias we now see. And in theory, it still could. Decentralization is not the problem; the problem lies in the early choices that structured who got to participate in that decentralization and on what terms. Like a democratic constitution written by a narrow elite, the Internet’s founding architecture enshrined equality in principle but distributed power unevenly in practice. To ask Is the Internet biased? is to confront the legacy of choices made when the network was young — choices that privileged business over humanity, speed over solidarity. The question, then, is not merely diagnostic but prophetic: will the next evolution of the Internet — through AI, digital public infrastructure, and global governance — repeat those choices, or finally redeem the promise of a truly universal network? Because if the Internet is biased, it is only because we made it so. And that means we can unmake it, too.  In the crowded world of digital cooperation, new initiatives seem to appear every year — new panels, dialogues, frameworks, and compacts, each promising to bring order to the fast-changing digital landscape. Yet in the midst of this proliferation, we risk overlooking something remarkable: the World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS) already gave us a working architecture for inclusive, legitimate, and sustained global collaboration on digital issues. Long before “digital cooperation” became a buzzword, WSIS established a framework that remains one of the UN system’s most trusted and durable. It connects policy analysis, multistakeholder dialogue, implementation, and coordination through four complementary mechanisms:
Together, these mechanisms form a unique ecosystem of trust and cooperation — one that most new processes would envy. It is inclusive, participatory, and proven. It brings governments, civil society, the technical community and the private sector together under a shared, long-standing framework. And crucially, it has endured for two decades, building institutional memory, legitimacy, and a rhythm of engagement that few other processes in the digital sphere can match. But the WSIS ecosystem also extends far beyond these formal structures. Across the world, conversations inspired by WSIS values and themes continue to unfold — in national and regional IGFs, ICANN meetings, technical community gatherings, and countless development and policy dialogues. These spaces reflect the same spirit of openness and cooperation that WSIS seeded twenty years ago. They demonstrate that WSIS is not confined to Geneva or New York — it is a living, distributed network of dialogue and trust that spans continents and communities. Now, as the WSIS+20 Review approaches, the global community faces a pivotal opportunity: not merely to commemorate the Summit’s twentieth anniversary, but to rediscover and reinvigorate the power of WSIS itself. This review should not be a technical exercise in reporting progress — it should be a moment of renewal, a chance to reaffirm the WSIS architecture as the foundation for coherent, inclusive digital cooperation at a time when global trust is in short supply. Rather than searching for new frameworks or creating parallel structures, the WSIS+20 process can re-energize coordination across the existing WSIS pillars — aligning them around shared priorities, ensuring their outputs inform each other, and demonstrating how a twenty-year-old framework can still guide the world through the next generation of digital transformation. The call, then, is not to reinvent — but to reconnect. The Temptation to Reinvent the Wheel The current Global Digital Compact (GDC) process has generated new initiatives — notably the AI Scientific Panel,and the Global Dialogue on AI Governance. These are important efforts towards global coordination but they remain narrow in scope, limited to a single technology domain, and still in early stages of building the kind of multistakeholder legitimacy that WSIS mechanisms have cultivated over nearly two decades. Rather than creating parallel or duplicative platforms, the smarter path is to connect and amplify what already exists. The WSIS ecosystem, if better aligned internally, can provide precisely the kind of coherence and legitimacy the global community is seeking through the GDC. Connecting the Dots Within the WSIS Ecosystem Each WSIS mechanism operates effectively within its mandate — but the threads between them could be stronger. Better coordination does not require new institutions, resolutions, or reforms. It requires only that we make the existing architecture work as one coherent whole. Here are practical ways to do that — fully within existing mandates: 1. A Common Calendar and Agenda Map Create a shared digital calendar linking the timelines of UNGIS, CSTD, IGF, and the WSIS Forum. This simple step would prevent overlap and make it easier for outcomes in one venue to inform the next. 2. Thematic Bridges Across Processes Identify a few cross-cutting themes — such as AI governance, data, inclusion, and digital capacity-building — and ensure that each mechanism contributes its perspective:
3. Shared Knowledge Repository A joint online hub for reports, outcome documents, and best practices would make the wealth of WSIS-related knowledge accessible and cumulative. 4. Structured Feedback Loops Each body’s outcome documents could include a section titled “Relevance for Other WSIS Processes.” A small but powerful gesture to ensure outputs are not isolated. 5. Cross-Representation and Joint Sessions Regular briefings among the four secretariats and a rotating “WSIS Ecosystem Dialogue” session at one major annual event would enhance visibility and reinforce complementarity. 6. A System-Wide Synthesis Report UNGIS could prepare an annual Digital Cooperation Synthesis Report, drawing on inputs from the CSTD, IGF, and WSIS Forum. This would serve as a single, coherent reference point for policymakers and stakeholders. Why It Matters At its core, the WSIS architecture is not simply a collection of meetings and reports — it is a rare, living example of trust-based global cooperation in the digital domain. And in today’s fractured geopolitical environment, that trust is more valuable than ever. 1. Trust, Continuity, and Institutional Memory The WSIS processes have operated continuously for over two decades, guided by the same set of principles and commitments endorsed by the entire UN membership. That continuity has built institutional memory, procedural fairness, and — perhaps most importantly — trust. Participants know the WSIS ecosystem. They know how to engage. They know that the outcomes, while not legally binding, are legitimate, transparent, and grounded in multilateral and multistakeholder dialogue. In an era where digital governance is often contested — where new initiatives must constantly prove their neutrality and legitimacy — the WSIS architecture stands as a trusted space where all actors still show up. Governments from every region, private sector, civil society, the technical community, and the UN system itself all continue to invest in it because it works. 2. A 20-Year Global Consensus That Still Holds The WSIS outcomes represent one of the few remaining global consensus frameworks on digital issues. They were negotiated by all UN Member States, supported by all major stakeholder groups, and reaffirmed repeatedly through the CSTD and the UN General Assembly. That kind of legitimacy cannot be easily recreated. It was built painstakingly, through compromise and mutual respect. In a world where even discussing internet governance or AI regulation can fracture along geopolitical lines, WSIS remains the one framework everyone has already agreed to — and continues to respect. This continuity is not just bureaucratic stability. It’s political capital. And it must not be underestimated. 3. Cooperation in a Fragmented World Today’s geopolitical environment is marked by deepening divides: on data flows, AI safety, digital sovereignty, and even the norms of multilateral engagement itself. Against this backdrop, spaces of trustful cooperation are shrinking. WSIS — through the CSTD, IGF, WSIS Forum, and UNGIS — remains one of the few arenas where dialogue still happens constructively across political and economic blocs. It has demonstrated that multilateral and multistakeholder approaches can coexist and even reinforce one another. That coexistence is precious. It shows that cooperation on digital issues is still possible — that the digital domain can be a bridge, not another fault line. In many ways, WSIS may indeed be the last globally agreed architecture for digital cooperation we will have for some time. That alone makes it worth strengthening, not sidelining. 4. A Proven, Scalable Model for New Challenges The issues have evolved — from bridging the connectivity divide to governing artificial intelligence, from ICT for development to digital transformation — yet the WSIS architecture continues to adapt and endure. The Action Lines remain relevant; the forums evolve; and the stakeholders keep coming back because WSIS still provides something few processes can: a trusted, working platform that grows with the digital age. The WSIS model doesn’t need reinvention — it needs reimagination from within. We can make it the engine of the next phase of digital cooperation by modernizing how the ecosystem collaborates and learns. Imagine, for example:
5. Efficiency, Legitimacy, and Coherence Finally, there’s a pragmatic case. Coordination within the WSIS ecosystem offers efficiency (by leveraging existing structures), legitimacy (through long-standing intergovernmental endorsement), and coherence (by linking analysis, dialogue, and implementation). These are the exact qualities that many new processes are still struggling to build from scratch. In times of institutional fatigue and limited resources, it makes little sense to multiply platforms when the architecture already exists — trusted, proven, and globally recognized.   For decades, the internet has stood as the clearest expression of globalization’s inevitability. A “network of networks,” stretching across borders and built on protocols that cared little for nationality, it was the world’s most potent example of interdependence. From Silicon Valley startups to Bangalore’s coding hubs, from e-commerce giants to the vast informal economies enabled by social media, the internet once represented a shared global infrastructure. It was the symbol and the engine of a borderless world, one in which information, capital, and communication flowed freely. The idea of a global internet was not just an aspiration—it was almost a reality. Its seamless communication, frictionless trade, and real-time exchange of culture and ideas were precisely what globalization was all about.
Yet, as the 2020s unfold, this vision has begun to fracture. The internet remains global in reach but increasingly national in character. Instead of a shared, universal system, we see a patchwork of digital ecosystems shaped by geopolitical rivalries, national security imperatives, and economic competition. What was once a network designed to flatten differences has become a terrain for asserting sovereignty and influence. The optimism that information wants to be free has yielded to a transactional logic of control, access, and power. The world is not deglobalizing in the sense of becoming disconnected—it is globalizing differently, through competition rather than cooperation, through guarded exchange rather than open integration. The internet is now in a phase where the idea of a connected world is being challenged. Instead of the open, borderless network it once was, it’s becoming shaped by national interests and more give-and-take, transactional relationships. This shift raises big questions about how we got here, what it means for the way the world stays connected, and whether the internet can push back against these growing pressures. I. The Internet as Globalization’s Perfect Expression In its early decades, the internet was more than just a technology — it was globalization’s purest expression. It captured the idea that the world could be interconnected through code, rather than geography or politics. From its origins as a small network linking universities and government labs, it evolved into a planetary system of communication, trade, and culture. What had once been a handful of computers exchanging packets of data became, by the 1990s, a single digital web binding economies and societies together. When the World Wide Web went public in the 90s, it unleashed a revolution in how people interacted with the world around them. Suddenly, anyone with a modem could reach beyond their borders — to buy, sell, learn, and share in ways that had never been possible before. A small manufacturer in Vietnam could find customers in Europe. A teenager in Brazil could watch the same music videos as one in Los Angeles. The physical constraints of time and space were replaced by digital immediacy. The internet made distance disappear. This was globalization in its most distilled form: open, fast, and borderless. Its decentralized design — built on shared standards like TCP/IP and HTTP — embodied the idea that no one should control access, and that everyone should be able to participate. The network had no center and no single owner. It grew not by permission, but by connection. The internet’s architecture was democracy translated into technology. It was also the perfect infrastructure for global capitalism. The emergence of online platforms like eBay, Amazon, and Alibaba redefined how economies functioned. Supply chains became digital, financial transactions instantaneous, and information more valuable than oil. By the early 2000s, multinational corporations depended on the internet to coordinate operations, communicate in real time, and manage logistics across continents. In the cultural sphere, it turned consumers into creators — music, news, entertainment, and ideas circulated with unprecedented speed. The internet didn’t just support globalization; it became its bloodstream. No one captured this transformation more vividly than journalist Thomas Friedman, who famously declared that “the world is flat.” By this, he meant that technology — especially the internet — had leveled the global playing field, erasing traditional barriers between countries, companies, and individuals. The web, in this view, was the great equalizer: a platform that allowed a coder in Bangalore to compete with a company in Boston, and a startup in Nairobi to reach investors in London. Globalization was no longer driven solely by governments or trade agreements; it was driven by networks, by code, by connection. The optimism of that era was contagious. In the 1990s and early 2000s, the internet was spoken of not just as a technical breakthrough but as a moral force — one that could make societies more open, economies more efficient, and people more informed. Policymakers and entrepreneurs alike believed that a connected world would naturally be a freer one. The “global village,” a term first imagined by media theorist Marshall McLuhan, seemed to have finally arrived, not as a metaphor but as a daily experience. Yet even in that golden age of digital optimism, cracks were forming beneath the surface. The internet’s openness — its lack of a single authority, its ability to transcend borders — was both its greatest strength and its greatest vulnerability. It allowed creativity to flourish, but it also created asymmetry. Most of the hardware, software, and platforms that powered global connectivity were based in the United States and Western Europe. American companies like Google, Microsoft, Cisco, and later Facebook became global gatekeepers. The promise of a shared digital space began to look, from the outside, like an extension of Western economic and cultural dominance. Still, for much of its early life, the internet’s identity as a global commons remained intact. It was the infrastructure of a world that believed in the inevitability of integration — a world that assumed progress meant openness, and openness meant prosperity. The early internet community, built on collaboration between engineers, academics, and idealists, reflected that worldview. Its protocols were public, its governance decentralized, and its spirit cooperative. What made the internet globalization’s perfect expression wasn’t just its reach, but its philosophy. It embodied the conviction that humanity could be linked by something larger than nations or markets — that connection itself was a kind of progress. For a time, it seemed unstoppable: the ultimate triumph of communication over distance, of networks over walls. But as later decades would reveal, that same borderless design that made the internet so powerful would also make it vulnerable to politics, nationalism, and control. What began as a promise of shared global space would, in time, become the stage for a new struggle over power and identity in the digital age. II. The Geopolitical Turn: When Openness Became a Vulnerability If the early internet represented the optimism of a borderless world, the following decades revealed the cost of that ideal. What had begun as a shared global project — built on open standards and mutual trust — gradually collided with the realities of power, politics, and national interest. The very openness that made the internet so successful also made it fragile. By the late 2000s, the belief that the internet was inherently good — that it naturally encouraged freedom and cooperation — began to fade. Governments realized that connectivity, while empowering, could also undermine authority. The same platforms that allowed global trade and communication also enabled dissent, surveillance, and manipulation. The internet was no longer just a tool for globalization; it had become a weapon in global politics. China and Russia have long viewed the internet’s global interconnection as a problem rather than a feature — a bug in the system, not a strength. They saw the open internet as an instrument of Western influence, one that carried not only data but ideology. Western platforms dominated the digital landscape, shaping how information spread and whose voices were heard. The infrastructure of the internet — its servers, cables, and software — was largely controlled by Western firms. To Beijing and Moscow, this was less a neutral space of communication and more an architecture of dependency. China’s response was decisive. Rather than reject the internet, it reengineered it. In the early 2000s, China built what came to be known as the Great Firewall — a vast digital system of filters, surveillance tools, and access controls that allowed its citizens to go online, but on its own terms. It wasn’t isolation; it was adaptation. Behind the wall, China fostered a thriving tech ecosystem: companies like Tencent, Alibaba, and Baidu became digital empires, serving hundreds of millions of users. These firms didn’t just copy Western platforms — they replaced them, creating an alternative internet that was still global in reach but national in character. This model — open enough to trade, closed enough to control — proved remarkably effective. By the 2010s, China’s approach was being studied, and in some cases imitated, by governments around the world. Beijing’s “Digital Silk Road” initiative began exporting not just technology but also its philosophy: connectivity could coexist with control. The internet didn’t have to mean openness; it could mean power. Russia took a similar but more defensive path. After the wave of political protests in 2011 and 2012 — which spread through online networks — the Kremlin concluded that the global internet was a vulnerability. Western platforms like Twitter and Facebook were seen not as neutral tools but as potential instruments of regime change. In response, Moscow tightened control over data, passed laws requiring local storage of information, and built mechanisms to isolate the Russian segment of the internet if needed. By 2019, the so-called “sovereign internet” law formalized these efforts, aiming to ensure that Russia’s network could function independently from the rest of the world. Even the United States, once the loudest champion of a free and open internet, began to see connectivity in strategic terms. The Snowden revelations in 2013 exposed the extent of U.S. surveillance activities, eroding global trust in the idea of a neutral internet. Later, as competition with China intensified, Washington moved to restrict the global reach of Chinese technology firms. Huawei was banned from Western 5G networks. TikTok continues to face scrutiny with a deal for a US-ownership imminent. The had narrative shifted: the internet was no longer an open field for innovation but a strategic asset — something to be guarded, regulated, and, when necessary, weaponized. The European Union also entered the fray, though in a different way. Through the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) and subsequent digital laws, Brussels positioned itself as a regulator of global norms. These policies were framed as protections for users, but they also asserted European sovereignty over data and technology. The EU, lacking its own tech giants, became a “regulatory superpower” — setting global standards by leveraging its market size. Together, these developments marked a clear turning point. The internet had once been imagined as a borderless commons; it was now becoming a map of borders redrawn. States were asserting control not only over information but over the infrastructure that carried it. Cables, servers, cloud centers — all had become pieces on the geopolitical chessboard. Connectivity itself had becomestrategic terrain. This shift is not simply a story of censorship or regulation. It reflects a deeper transformation: the merging of digital power with national power. The new logic is not “connect and share” but “connect on our terms.” Every government, in its own way, has begunto view the internet less as a neutral utility and more as a domain of competition — economic, political, and military. In this sense, the internet hasn’t disappeared; it’s simply learning to operate under new, more fragmented conditions.. The global network still exists but its meaning has shifted. The dream of a single, open web has given way to something more fragmented, more contested, and more transactional. The age of digital idealism is over. The age of digital realism has begun. III. A Transactional Globalization The fragmentation of the internet doesn’t mean that globalization has disappeared. In many ways, the world is more connected than ever — data still crosses borders in milliseconds, social media links billions of users, and supply chains remain deeply digital. What has changed is the logic of connection. The internet’s early spirit of openness and collaboration has given way to something more conditional, more systemic, and more transactional. The global network has not broken apart; it has hardened into competing systems, each defining the terms of exchange according to its own interests. This new phase might be called “transactional globalization”. It’s not about tearing down the network, but about using it selectively — trading access, data, and infrastructure as instruments of power. Nations still need the internet, but they increasingly treat it the way they treat oil, trade routes, or rare earth minerals: as a resource to be protected, leveraged, and controlled. One of the clearest examples of this shift lies in the way countries manage data. Once viewed as a borderless commodity, data has become a matter of national security and economic sovereignty. Governments now negotiate over where information is stored, how it moves, and who can access it. The United States restricts the export of advanced chips that power artificial intelligence; the European Union enforces strict data localization requirements; China demands that companies operating within its borders store data domestically and comply with government oversight. Every packet of information is now political. The private sector, too, has adapted to this new world. The same tech giants that once championed an open, universal internet now operate like quasi-states, balancing the laws and expectations of multiple jurisdictions. Google maintains different versions of its search engine depending on local regulations; Apple adjusts its app store to meet the demands of various governments; Meta’s platforms are banned outright in some countries. Instead of one global internet, there are multiple — overlapping, interconnected, but governed by different rules. In the early years, being “online” meant entering a single shared space. Today, it means navigating a mosaic of digital territories. China’s WeChat ecosystem, for instance, is largely self-contained — a universe of payments, messaging, and media that rarely interacts with Western counterparts. The Russian internet is increasingly isolated from global platforms. The European Union’s legal frameworks create another distinct layer. Within the supposedly borderless web, there are invisible fences — legal, political, and technological — that shape how people experience connectivity. This transactional model has redefined international relationships as well. Technology partnerships are now part of foreign policy. Nations compete to build undersea cables, satellite systems, and 5G networks — not just to improve communication, but to extend influence. China’s Digital Silk Road, for example, is not only about infrastructure investment; it’s about establishing a Chinese technological footprint in developing countries. Similarly, U.S. efforts to secure “trusted networks” are meant to align allies around Western infrastructure standards. In both cases, connectivity itself has become an arena of competition. At the same time, regulation has become a new form of diplomacy. Take for instance, the European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), which came into effect in 2018 and set a global precedent for privacy and data rights. Companies worldwide were forced to comply, effectively extending European norms beyond Europe’s borders. This was globalization in a new form — not through trade or culture, but through law. The EU discovered that by regulating its own market, it could shape the behavior of global tech firms everywhere. Power no longer flowed just from innovation, but from rule-setting. Yet this transactional globalization is not purely adversarial. It also reflects a pragmatic recognition: total isolation is impossible. Even as governments tighten control, economies remain deeply intertwined. A smartphone designed in California still depends on materials mined in Africa, chips fabricated in Taiwan, and assembly lines in China. Cloud services and AI systems require cooperation across jurisdictions, even as those jurisdictions compete. The internet continues to connect, but now it does so through negotiation rather than idealism. In this new environment, openness is no longer assumed — it must be bargained for. Access is conditional, and participation is strategic. Countries weigh the benefits of integration against the risks of dependence. Businesses tailor their operations to the political climate of each region. Individuals find that their online experiences are shaped less by technology itself and more by the boundaries imposed by governments and corporations. This is globalization without the glow — stripped of the easy promises of the 1990s. It’s not about flattening the world, as Thomas Friedman once described, but about managing the seams where worlds meet. The internet still connects us, but those connections are constantly negotiated, priced, and policed. For users, the internet now feels less like a shared space and more like a network of gated communities. For states, it means digital power is measured not just by innovation but by control — over platforms, data, and infrastructure. For the world as a whole, it means that the internet’s global nature survives, but its global spirit is fading. The irony is that this new, harder form of globalization depends on the same interdependence it seeks to manage. No country can truly disconnect, but no country wants to be fully open either. The result is a delicate balance — a world that is both connected and divided, unified and fragmented. A world where the internet remains global in scope, but transactional in soul. IV. Can the Internet Push Back? Can the internet reclaim the openness that once defined it, or is the age of the truly global network over? There are reasons to think it’s not finished yet. The internet’s architecture — decentralized, resilient, and adaptive — was built to survive disruption. The system of protocols that underpins it, from TCP/IP to DNS, still operates on the principle that data can move along countless routes, finding paths even when blocked or censored. This design makes total fragmentation technically difficult. Even in countries with tight controls, information leaks through — via VPNs, encrypted messaging, satellite networks, and the simple human desire to connect. The technical DNA of the internet still leans toward openness. But technology alone can’t save the internet’s global character. The real struggle is political and cultural. Over the past decade, the governance of the internet has become a battleground between competing visions: one that sees connectivity as a global public good, and another that treats it as an extension of national sovereignty. The early internet thrived on a kind of informal trust — among engineers, governments, and users — that everyone benefited from shared standards and open access. That trust has eroded. Restoring it will require new kinds of cooperation that fit the realities of today’s multipolar world. The first step is acknowledging that openness is not the same as uniformity. A future global internet does not have to mean one-size-fits-all. It can tolerate diversity — of laws, cultures, and values — without losing its essential connectivity. What matters is not that every country operates the same way online, but that they remain interoperable: able to communicate, trade, and share knowledge across digital borders. The internet’s future depends less on erasing differences than on managing them wisely. That means defending a few key principles. First, access must remain non-negotiable. Being online should never be contingent on politics, geography, or regime type. In the coming era of digital authoritarianism, the digital divide will be less about connectivity and more about human rights: the ability to connect, learn, communicate, and participate in society is a fundamental modern right that underpins education, commerce, and civic life worldwide. Second, transparency and accountability must be strengthened at every level — from the algorithms that shape what people see to the decisions that governments and corporations make about censorship, moderation, and data control. Openness can survive regulation, but it cannot survive secrecy. And third, trust needs to be rebuilt across borders. That will require institutions — global, regional, and local — that can mediate between national interests and collective ones. The Internet Governance Forum (IGF) and similar multistakeholder platforms were once designed for this role, but they must evolve to meet a more contested age. The private sector also has an essential part to play. Tech companies were among the first to globalize, and they remain the connective tissue of the internet. Yet as they’ve grown, they’ve also become instruments of state influence, often compromising values of openness in exchange for market access. For the internet to push back, these companies must rediscover their own stake in keeping the web open — refusing to normalize digital censorship as 'local adaptation,' committing to transparent data practices, defending encryption and privacy even when politically inconvenient, and resisting pressure from powerful figures or administrations that seek to bend them to partisan or personal agendas. Civil society, too, remains a crucial force. Journalists, digital rights activists, researchers, and ordinary users are often the last defenders of the internet’s original ideals. In many parts of the world, they are already pushing back — building independent networks, developing open-source technologies, and finding creative ways to keep information free. Their work is a reminder that the internet’s power has always come from below, from the millions who use it to share, create, and challenge authority. But perhaps the most important change needed is in mindset. For too long, discussions about the internet’s future have been shaped by fear — fear of security risks, misinformation, or foreign interference. Those are real concerns, but when fear drives policy, openness always loses. To rebuild a healthy global internet, the world needs to think in terms of resilience, not retreat. That means designing systems that can withstand manipulation and abuse without collapsing into isolation — networks that are robust not because they’re closed, but because they’re adaptable. A resilient internet for a changing global order would look different from the utopian visions of the 1990s. It would not assume that connection automatically leads to freedom or that technology is neutral. It would recognize that power and politics are baked into every line of code, every infrastructure decision, every trade negotiation. But it would also hold onto a simple truth: connection is still the world’s greatest defense against division. This doesn’t require tearing down existing systems, but rather rebuilding the foundation on fairer terms. That means supporting shared technical standards, protecting cross-border data flows from becoming geopolitical bargaining chips, and encouraging collaboration in areas where humanity’s challenges are undeniably global — from climate monitoring and disaster response to scientific research and education. The internet’s strength has always been its ability to make cooperation possible even among rivals. That is a strength worth preserving. The pushback, then, is not about nostalgia — it’s about renewal. It’s about recognizing that the internet was never meant to be owned, only used; never meant to serve nations, but people. The global order is changing, and the internet will change with it. The real question is whether that change will make it smaller, more closed, more fearful — or whether it can adapt without losing the openness that once made it extraordinary. If the first age of the internet was about connection and the second about control, then its third must be about balance — finding a way to coexist in a networked world without surrendering to fragmentation. That future won’t be built by governments alone, or by corporations, or by activists. It will be built, as the internet always has been, by everyone who chooses to stay connected in spite of everything trying to pull them apart. VI. Conclusion: The Internet’s Second Act The internet has always mirrored the world it connects. Its first act was globalization—open, optimistic, and universalist. Its second act, unfolding now, is shaped by rivalry, nationalism, and control. But between these two poles lies the possibility of renewal: an internet that learns from its past, embraces its complexity, and reclaims its purpose as a bridge rather than a border. The question is not whether the internet can remain global, but what kind of global it will be. Will it serve as an arena of transactional power, or as a shared infrastructure for human progress? The answer depends on whether states, corporations, and citizens choose to rebuild its foundations on trust rather than competition. The internet was globalization. Today, it stands at a crossroads—still global, but in tension with the very forces that made it so. Whether it can push back depends on our collective will to keep it open, to keep it human, and to remember that its greatest strength has always been its ability to connect, not divide.  Technological revolutions rarely arrive as ruptures. They come as repetitions—patterns that echo past cycles of promise, consolidation, and control. The rise of artificial intelligence is no exception. Beneath the rhetoric of “democratization” and “empowerment” lies a familiar playbook: Centralize. Control. Consume. It is a strategy that has shaped every major technological epoch from the telegraph to the internet, and it is now being rewritten for the age of AI.
Each wave of digital innovation begins with openness and ends in consolidation. The early internet promised decentralization—a “network of peers,” in the words of its architects—but soon gave way to powerful intermediaries. Google’s search algorithms evolved from neutral tools of discovery into gatekeepers of attention. Facebook transformed from a social connector into an engine for behavioral data extraction. Amazon’s marketplace, once a platform for small sellers, became a mechanism for self-preference and exclusion. These firms perfected the modern cycle of dominance: scale quickly, capture infrastructure, then extract value. What began as democratization ended as enclosure. The same arc now defines AI. Leading firms—OpenAI, Google DeepMind, Anthropic, Microsoft—deploy the language of accessibility while constructing proprietary models, gated APIs, and closed ecosystems. The public narrative is openness; the operational reality is control. The new AI giants are not inventing a new model; they are following the old one. Like their predecessors in search or social media, they exploit the properties of the networked world—zero marginal cost, global reach, and data accumulation—to scale at unprecedented speed. Once scale is achieved, the logic of centralization takes over: restrict access, limit interoperability, and subsume competitors. History offers precedents. AT&T’s telephone monopoly in the early 20th century justified its dominance as “universal service,” even as it stifled competition. IBM’s mainframe empire in the 1960s promised efficiency but imposed dependency. Facebook, too, acquired nascent competitors such as Instagram and WhatsApp not solely to expand offerings but to neutralize threats to its attention monopoly. Today’s AI rhetoric--democratization through APIs—follows the same logic. Beneath the veneer of access lies the consolidation of computational capital. Yet two features distinguish this moment from earlier ones. First, the geopolitical dimension. The United States no longer holds a monopoly on innovation. China now rivals Silicon Valley in AI research, cloud infrastructure, and surveillance applications. This competition intensifies the drive for scale, secrecy, and speed. AI is not merely a technological race; it is a struggle for global influence, where openness becomes a liability. Second, the assertion of agency from the Global South. During the rise of Web 2.0, much of the world served as a market for Western platforms. That is no longer the case. Researchers and governments across Africa, Latin America, and South Asia now insist on participation in shaping datasets, linguistic models, and ethical frameworks. This shift challenges the one-directional flow of technology and knowledge that characterized the first internet era. It also introduces a critical moral dimension: technological sovereignty is increasingly framed not as protectionism, but as empowerment. The deeper concern is cultural, not merely economic. The early web empowered users to build: to code, share, remix, and publish. Over time, that agency was eroded. Algorithms began curating what people saw, thought, and bought. Users became data points in systems optimized for engagement rather than understanding. AI intensifies this passivity. It does not merely filter experience—it produces it. When systems draft our emails, write our code, and generate our art, the boundary between tool and author blurs. As dependence deepens, human initiative contracts. This is not an inevitable outcome of AI, but the result of incentive structures that reward control over creativity. Moreover, the centralization of AI has implications for knowledge itself. Historically, innovation thrived where experimentation was distributed and localized. Bell Labs and Xerox PARC, for example, succeeded because researchers had autonomy and access to open experimentation spaces. Today, centralized AI platforms risk replicating the opposite model: research agendas dictated by the priorities of a few corporate decision-makers, shaping what is studied, published, and deployed globally. The business model behind AI echoes that of earlier monopolies: subsidize access, capture users and data, and then restrict alternatives. Standard Oil did it with pipelines; Microsoft with operating systems; Google with information. The invisible bars today are data lock-ins, model dependencies, and ecosystem exclusivity. Once entrenched, such systems are difficult to escape because they are designed not just to serve but to enclose. Reclaiming Agency AI is not inherently monopolistic. Its underlying technologies—open-source models, federated learning, community datasets—could enable distributed power and creativity. The question is whether these alternatives can survive the gravitational pull of capital and scale. History suggests they can, but only with deliberate intervention. The rise of open-source software in the 1990s showed that collaborative models can compete with proprietary systems. Similarly, decentralized AI initiatives—from collaborative model hubs to community-governed datasets—point to a potential future where users reclaim agency over their tools and knowledge. The repetition of the “centralize, control, consume” cycle is not inevitable. History demonstrates that incentives, regulations, and technical architecture shape whether technology empowers or encloses. To counter monopolistic concentration in AI, three complementary strategies are critical: governance, interoperability, and participatory design. 1. Governance and Oversight. Governments and independent regulatory bodies can establish frameworks that prevent monopolistic consolidation while encouraging innovation. Just as antitrust actions against AT&T and Microsoft in the late 20th century created space for competition, policymakers today could enforce transparency in AI model ownership, data usage, and commercial exclusivity. International coordination is also essential: AI is global, and unilateral regulation risks ceding influence to actors who enforce weaker standards, whether corporations or states; in practice, this may require a patchwork approach—alliances of like-minded countries, interoperable regional frameworks, and shared technical standards that raise the floor globally. 2. Interoperability and Open Standards. Centralization thrives on lock-in. Mandating open APIs, standardized model formats, and cross-platform compatibility can reduce dependency on a single provider. Historical precedents include the early internet protocols (TCP/IP, HTML) that enabled broad participation and competition. Federated AI models, which allow local training while sharing knowledge across nodes, offer a technical analog: users retain control while benefiting from collective intelligence. 3. Participatory Design and Local Agency. The Global South’s insistence on inclusive AI demonstrates the importance of context-sensitive systems. Community-governed datasets, multilingual models, and local ethical oversight ensure AI tools reflect diverse values, rather than reproducing centralized norms. Early open-source software projects exemplify how distributed collaboration can generate robust, widely adopted technology while avoiding enclosure. These interventions are mutually reinforcing. Governance provides the guardrails, interoperability reduces lock-in, and participatory design empowers users as creators rather than passive consumers. Combined, they chart a path for AI to realise the early internet’s promise: a tool for collective creativity, knowledge, and agency. The Cage and the Playground Every technological era creates both playgrounds and cages. The early internet was a playground because users were active co-creators—they could build websites, share code, form communities, and shape the norms and culture of the web. Platforms like Geocities, early forums, and open-source projects empowered ordinary people to participate in ways previously unimaginable. Knowledge, creativity, and social connection were decentralised, flowing in multiple directions rather than being filtered through a few gatekeepers. But this playground became a cage as control migrated upward. Commercial incentives, centralized platforms, and algorithmic curation gradually siphoned agency away from users. Google, Facebook, and Amazon did not start as monopolies, but their architectures and business models concentrated power, reducing users to passive participants who scrolled, clicked, and consumed content dictated by attention-maximizing systems. What had been a generative space of co-creation became a curated ecosystem of consumption. The AI era faces the same crossroads, but with higher stakes. Unlike the early web, AI systems can anticipate our decisions, generate content, and even influence thought and behavior. They promise convenience and efficiency, but this very promise risks displacing human judgment, experimentation, and initiative. The question, then, is not what AI can do, but who it serves. Will it amplify human creativity and decision-making, or will it cement centralized authority under the guise of assistance? If left to the same incentives that governed Big Tech’s rise, the pattern will repeat: scale fast, centralize ruthlessly, and control relentlessly. But history also offers a roadmap for a different outcome. By insisting on openness, transparency, interoperable standards, and mechanisms that return control to users, AI can become the first technology that genuinely breaks the cycle rather than repeats it. The choice is not technical—it is cultural, political, and ethical: whether we use AI to expand human agency or allow it to quietly diminish the space in which we think, create, and participate.  In what might seem like a routine UN procedural decision, member states of the International Telecommunication Union voted to hold the 2027 World Radiocommunication Conference (WRC-27) in Shanghai — a move that is anything but ordinary. For China, it’s a strategic coup. For the rest of the world, it’s a wake-up call. Beneath the dry acronyms and diplomatic formalities lies a shift in global influence, one that speaks volumes about where technological power now resides — and where it’s heading next. What looks like a venue announcement is, in fact, a marker of geopolitical intent.
Every four years, the world’s telecom regulators and spectrum engineers gather under the ITU banner to rewrite the global Radio Regulations — a treaty that decides how the invisible airwaves around us are divided, shared, and secured. It sounds esoteric, but the stakes could not be higher. Spectrum governs everything from your mobile phone’s connection to the Internet to the satellites that beam navigation signals and weather data, to the radar systems guarding national borders. The decisions made at the WRC ripple through every modern industry — mobile, aerospace, maritime, defense, even agriculture. Whoever holds the pen in that process doesn’t just get bragging rights. They pretty much shape the rules of the digital future. And now, for the first time, China will hold that pen on home soil. Hosting the WRC gives Beijing something far more valuable than prestige. It offers control over the setting, the tempo, the access — the soft but substantial levers that influence how global consensus is built. In the language of diplomacy, that’s “agenda-setting power.” In the language of strategy, it’s a head start. Spectrum regulation may be about physics and engineering, but it’s also about politics, market share, and security. When global delegates fly into Shanghai in 2027, they won’t just be negotiating bandwidth; they’ll be stepping into China’s carefully curated showcase of technological prowess. The timing is almost poetic. As the world prepares for 6G, expands low-earth orbit satellite networks, and races to connect billions of new devices, China is positioning itself as both the workshop and the rulebook author for this next wave. The WRC in Shanghai will be a platform for China to demonstrate its growing command of telecom ecosystems — from Huawei’s base stations to Beidou’s navigation satellites to the country’s 6G research. Hosting the world’s spectrum negotiators effectively tells the planet: “We’re not just participants. We’re the venue.” For the United States, the loss of the hosting bid is more than a scheduling mishap. It’s emblematic of something deeper — a lapse in engagement that once would have been unthinkable. Traditionally, Washington led or heavily influenced these UN technical bodies, leveraging its diplomatic muscle to secure leadership positions and venues. But, this time around, the U.S. came in late, unprepared and without a clear strategy. As Steve Lang noted in Broadband Breakfast, this “would normally not have happened” had the U.S. maintained a visible and consistent presence in the UN system. China filled that vacuum with organization, charm diplomacy, and, crucially, timing. This outcome carries consequences that go far beyond symbolism. Spectrum isn’t just about consumer tech; it underpins the global economy’s arteries. The frequencies assigned for future networks will determine which companies — and which countries — can deploy infrastructure first, at scale, and with whose technology. For Chinese firms, regulatory harmonization achieved on home turf can translate directly into market advantage. For Beijing’s broader ambitions, it reinforces the narrative that China is now the global convener in digital policy — not just a fast follower or manufacturing hub, but an agenda-setter in its own right. Yet beneath the glossy optics of global cooperation, there is an undercurrent of unease. Delegates attending the conference will be arriving in a country where cybersecurity and data governance are not abstract policy issues but instruments of statecraft. While every major nation conducts some level of digital monitoring, most stakeholders agree that doing business or diplomacy in China requires heightened vigilance. At past conferences and trade missions, foreign delegations have been advised to use “clean” or “burner” devices — temporary phones and laptops stripped of sensitive data — due to the well-documented risks of digital surveillance. This isn’t an accusation unique to this event; it’s a precaution that has become standard practice. (I’ve had to do it myself during two separate visits to China for international conferences.) That means that when WRC-27 convenes, many of its participants will likely be operating in a kind of parallel awareness: negotiating global rules for wireless communication while worrying about the security of their own. The ITU will almost certainly implement cybersecurity protocols, but the backdrop is unavoidable — China’s reputation for extensive state monitoring adds a layer of tension that will colour every conversation, every handshake, every exchange of devices or documents. And perhaps that’s the point. For China, the symbolism works both ways. Hosting the WRC says: we are confident enough to invite you in, and powerful enough to define the terms of engagement. It is both an act of openness and a demonstration of control. For Beijing, this is soft power in the service of hard strategic goals — reinforcing the idea that the global centre of gravity in technology is shifting eastward, one rulebook at a time. For the rest of the world, especially the United States, the lesson is clear. Technical forums like the ITU are not technocratic side shows; they are battlefields of quiet competition. Influence here determines how technologies are standardised, how companies win contracts, how nations secure their communications. Losing the bid to host may seem small, but it’s a symptom of a larger disengagement from the machinery of global governance — the kind that doesn’t make headlines but does shape the future. When the delegates gather in Shanghai in 2027, they will debate wavelengths and power limits, satellite coordination zones and interference thresholds. But the subtext will be political: who defines the parameters of the world’s next generation of networks, and whose values those networks reflect. China’s victory is not just logistical; it’s ideological. It shows that Beijing understands something many in Washington seem to have forgotten — that leadership in global technology doesn’t start with invention alone. It starts with presence, persistence, and the patience to shape the rules. The world’s attention will turn to Shanghai for a few weeks that year. But the consequences of what happens there will last for decades. The conference’s final acts will determine how the airwaves — that invisible infrastructure underpinning everything from smartphones to satellites — are divided and governed. And the fact that China will be hosting those conversations is no small matter. It’s a signal, written across the radio spectrum itself, that the balance of global technological power is not just shifting. It’s already in transmission.  A Democratic Architecture for the Digital Age
Digital sovereignty has become a central concern for governments worldwide, yet its meaning remains contested. Too often it is framed as isolation—control through exclusion—rather than as capacity: the ability to act effectively and responsibly within interdependent systems. China’s model of “cyber sovereignty,” codified in its 2017 Cybersecurity Law, exemplifies a sovereignty of enclosure. It secures state control by localizing data, centralizing infrastructure, and constraining flows of information. Russia’s 2019 “sovereign internet” law follows the same logic. These approaches define security through separation, projecting strength while eroding openness and accountability. Democratic nations need an alternative. Sovereignty should not be the power to disconnect, but the capability to participate on one’s own terms—to govern technology through democratic principles of transparency, accountability, and rights. That capacity depends on interoperability: the ability to connect diverse systems, laws, and institutions without coercion or dependence. This essay calls that principle interoperable sovereignty—a model where autonomy and cooperation are mutually reinforcing. It builds on the argument advanced in my previous essay The Case for Open Sovereignty in a Fragmenting Internet, which proposed open sovereignty as a framework for reconciling autonomy with interdependence: the ability to protect one’s values and institutions while remaining engaged in global systems. The Evolution of Sovereignty as Capacity Sovereignty has always adapted to the architectures of power that define its age. Each historical shift in technology, economy, and governance has redefined what it means for states to act autonomously and cooperatively. The Treaty of Westphalia (1648) enshrined territorial control as the organizing principle of political authority. Sovereignty was conceived as exclusivity: the right of rulers to govern within fixed borders without external interference. This system fit the infrastructure of its time—armies, fortifications, and physical frontiers defined both power and protection. By the 19th century, sovereignty was already evolving alongside new networks of industrial and financial interdependence. The Congress of Vienna (1815) and later the Gold Standard (1870s–1914) introduced early forms of coordination across borders. Even as empires expanded, the need for stable exchange rates, standardized time zones, and interoperable communication systems (such as the International Telegraph Union, which later became the International Telecommunications Union, founded in 1865) demonstrated that sovereignty could no longer rely solely on territorial control; it now depended on participation in shared infrastructures. The post-1945 order marked a further transformation. After two world wars, sovereignty was reimagined as cooperation through institutions. The creation of the United Nations, the Bretton Woods system, and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT)embedded interdependence into governance. Europe went further still: the European Coal and Steel Community (1951) and later the Single Market (1993) institutionalized pooled authority. By aligning rules and standards, European states converted economic interdependence into strategic strength. Sovereignty became not just control within borders but capacity exercised through shared frameworks. Today, the locus of sovereignty has shifted again—from territory and law to infrastructure. Networks of code, data, and standardsnow determine how states, markets, and citizens operate. Control over data flows, algorithmic decision-making, and network architectures shapes economic competitiveness and political agency as decisively as control over territory once did. The early internet embodied a radically different model of power. Designed for resilience during the Cold War and structured around open protocols like TCP/IP, it distributed authority across nodes rather than centralizing it. Its architecture allowed “permissionless innovation”: anyone could connect, build, and share. This interoperability created the first truly global infrastructure of communication—one that mirrored, in digital form, the cooperative logic that had governed the postwar international order. That openness is now under strain. As digital systems underpin everything from supply chains to public services, states have sought to reclaim control through data localization, national firewalls, and proprietary standards. These mechanisms re-territorialize cyberspace, fragmenting the shared network into competing zones of influence. The result is a return to zero-sum sovereignty—security through separation—at the expense of collective capacity. The challenge for democracies, therefore, is the same one their predecessors faced at earlier turning points: to design institutions that preserve autonomy while enabling cooperation. Just as postwar leaders built financial and political architectures that reconciled sovereignty with interdependence, today’s policymakers must craft digital infrastructures that balance security with openness. Sovereignty, in this sense, is no longer a static claim but a design problem—an evolving capacity to act effectively in the systems that structure power. Where past generations built railways, telegraphs, and monetary unions to sustain coordination, this generation must build interoperable digital architectures that do the same for data, algorithms, and networks. Interoperable Sovereignty: Autonomy Through Connection Interoperable sovereignty treats connectivity itself as a sovereign resource. It is not autonomy from others but the capacity to act with others—securely, confidently, and on democratic terms. This approach rests on three dimensions:
Historically, such interoperability has strengthened rather than diluted sovereignty. The Bretton Woods system (1944) established financial interoperability that stabilized currencies while preserving national authority. The Chicago Convention on International Civil Aviation (1944) created common airspace standards that respected national control. Even 19th-century railway gauge standardization enabled cross-border movement without dissolving borders. Each example demonstrates that shared frameworks amplify national capacity by reducing friction in global systems. Why Interoperability Anchors Sovereignty The internet’s success was built on interoperability—from TCP/IP’s unification of networks to open web standards governed by the W3C. Yet the principle that once sustained openness is weakening under competing regulatory and proprietary systems. Reasserting interoperability as a strategic norm is therefore essential to preserving both democracy and sovereignty. 1. Data Governance Effective data sovereignty depends on the ability to share securely, not merely to store locally. The EU’s GDPR set a global privacy benchmark but revealed the limits of unilateralism: compliance burdens and legal divergence constrained cooperation. A more durable approach lies in interoperable trust frameworks—mutual adequacy agreements and shared privacy principles that enable legitimate data flows between trusted jurisdictions. 2. Infrastructure and Cloud Systems Digital infrastructure underpins national security and economic resilience. Yet autonomy does not require isolation. Federated models—sovereign in governance, interoperable in function—allow nations to retain control while engaging globally. The Open RAN initiative illustrates this logic: open standards for telecommunications enhance security and supplier diversity without centralization. Europe’s GAIA-X project, though ambitious, showed how complex coordination can hinder such visions. Its difficulties underscore that interoperability is a matter not only of standards but of governance design. 3. Digital Regulation and Standards Democratic regulation risks fragmentation without interoperable mechanisms. The postwar aviation and ISO systems demonstrated that compatibility—not uniformity—enables cooperation. In today’s context, frameworks like the OECD’s AI Principles (2019) and the Global Partnership on AI show how shared norms can align diverse legal systems around transparency, fairness, and accountability. Embedding interoperability into regulation transforms governance from protectionism into collaboration—allowing rules to communicate across borders while preserving democratic intent. Historical experience shows that sovereignty can be multiplicative—expanded through shared design rather than diminished by it. The European Union’s institutions exemplify this: common standards turned interdependence into strength. A similar architectural approach can guide the digital realm. Interoperable sovereignty would mean digital infrastructures that are autonomous yet connected:
Europe’s Digital Decade strategy gestures toward this model but lacks a unifying philosophy. By framing interoperability as the foundation of sovereignty—rather than a constraint upon it—Europe can leverage its regulatory and institutional tradition to lead a democratic digital order. A Democratic Alternative to Digital Authoritarianism The contest over digital governance is, at its core, a contest over what sovereignty means in the 21st century. Authoritarian systems have staked their claim: sovereignty as control. They define security through restriction—tightening borders, centralizing power, and constraining the flow of information. Their model is clear, coherent, and advancing. Democracies, by contrast, have hesitated. They invoke sovereignty often but define it rarely. Too much of the current debate treats “digital sovereignty” as political theater—a signal of ambition rather than a plan of action. It is time to reclaim the term, not as a slogan but as a tool of governance: a means of ensuring that democratic societies can act with purpose in a networked world. Interoperable sovereignty offers that path. It reframes sovereignty not as resistance to interdependence, but as the capacity to act through it. It grounds democratic power in systems that are open, accountable, and connected by design. Shared infrastructure, common standards, and joint governance are not compromises—they are the instruments of resilience in an interdependent age. This requires work, not words. Democracies—especially Europe—must prove that sovereignty can coexist with the open architecture that made the internet a public good in the first place. That means designing rules and infrastructures that protect autonomy without dismantling interoperability; that ensure security without suffocating exchange. The task is both political and architectural. It is about governance frameworks that foster trust across borders, standards that embed transparency into systems, and public investments that make openness a strength rather than a vulnerability. These are not abstract ideals—they are the operational foundations of democratic sovereignty in the digital era. Where authoritarian models export surveillance and control, interoperable sovereignty can export trust and accountability. It can demonstrate that cooperation, when structured around shared principles, generates more stability than isolation ever could. But this vision will only carry weight if democracies are willing to treat sovereignty as a capacity to be built, not a sentiment to be declared. It is time to move from posturing to design—from slogans to systems. The credibility of democratic governance in the digital age depends on whether we can make sovereignty work as a framework for connection, not a pretext for retreat.  This analysis compares and critiques the national submissions to the WSIS+20 review process, focusing on human rights, data governance, AI, Internet governance, and financing mechanisms. The analysis covers the positions of Russia, China, the G77 (including Brazil) and contrasts them with those of the European Union, the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, and Australia.
The WSIS+20 process revisits global commitments made two decades ago to build a people-centered, inclusive, and development-oriented information society. Yet, as these submissions reveal, the global consensus on how to achieve those goals has fractured. The same ideological and geopolitical rift visible in the WSIS+10 Review (2015) has not only persisted but deepened, turning the review into a proxy arena for broader struggles over digital sovereignty, development, and control. There are no real surprises in how the lines have been drawn: the Russia–China–G77 bloc continues to advance a state-centric and sovereignty-based vision of digital governance, while the EU, U.S., U.K., Canada, and Australia hold fast to a rights-based, multistakeholder model. But what has changed is the balance of influence and the political meaning of that divide. The sovereignty narrative, once seen as defensive or exclusionary, is now framed as a legitimate corrective to Western dominance, couched in the language of equity, development, and fairness. China’s role as de facto coordinator of the G77 on digital issues has amplified this framing, giving coherence and diplomatic weight to a position that was far more fragmented at WSIS+10. Moving forward, this shift has two profound implications. First, for the WSIS process itself, which increasingly finds itself in competition with the Global Digital Compact (GDC) and related UN initiatives. The GDC is emerging as a rival locus for digital norm-setting and, as a result, the WSIS process risks being perceived as outdated, Western-anchored, and institutionally rigid. Second, for the open Internet paradigm, the consequences are even more structural. The deepening divide means that the global Internet is no longer governed by a shared baseline of principles, but rather by competing philosophical orders: one grounded in open connectivity, interoperability, and universal rights; the other in sovereign control, state-led development, and managed interdependence. As more countries in the Global South align with the latter — often motivated by legitimate development concerns — the “open Internet” model risks losing its normative universality. Instead of a single global Internet governed by common rules, the world is drifting toward a pluralized digital order, in which governance is increasingly territorial, data regimes are nationally bounded, and interoperability becomes a matter of political negotiation rather than technical default. In this context, the WSIS+20 process is not merely a review of past commitments — it is a referendum on the future of global digital governance. Its outcomes will signal whether the multistakeholder ethos of openness and rights can adapt to the new development-sovereignty paradigm or whether the global community will pivot toward a more intergovernmental, state-managed digital system. Either way, the paradigm is shifting — from a focus on governance of the Internet to governance through the Internet, where digital systems themselves become instruments of geopolitical power and developmental leverage. Human Rights. The Western bloc — the EU, the US, UK, Canada, and Australia — maintains a clear and consistent line: human rights offline must be protected online. Their submissions affirm universal rights, accountability mechanisms, and the centrality of civil society and independent oversight. The EU submission explicitly cites the UDHR and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, calling for “rights-based and human-centric AI governance” and safeguards against mass surveillance and Internet shutdowns. The United States reinforces these themes but in a more reserved tone. Its submission underscores the need for transparency, freedom of expression, and private-sector responsibility, yet it lacks the expansive moral rhetoric that characterized the US’s previous“Internet Freedom” agenda. The tone is managerial — reaffirming rather than reimagining. By contrast, Russia, China, and the G77 invoke human rights but frame them differently. The G77 text reaffirms universality but situates rights within the context of development, state capacity, and national sovereignty. China and Russia continue to interpret rights through the lens of non-interference, emphasizing that states have primary responsibility for maintaining “public order” and “information security.” In practice, this formulation legitimizes strong regulatory and surveillance powers. The result is a familiar tension: agreement on human rights in principle but deep disagreement over implementation and enforcement. The Western bloc treats human rights as constraints on state action — legal limits to government power, guaranteed by multistakeholder oversight and individual recourse. Russia, China, and many G77 members, on the other hand, treat human rights as objectives to be realized through state authority and developmental policy. For them, rights are not merely protections from the state but promises that require an active state to deliver. What makes this moment distinct is how China has turned this framing into a strategic narrative advantage. By linking rights discourse to tangible outcomes — connectivity, access, education, and economic opportunity — Beijing presents a model that resonates across the Global South. Its message is pragmatic and politically astute: that “development is the foundation of human rights,” and that sovereignty and stability are prerequisites for inclusion. This rhetoric allows China to appear constructive and empathetic, while Western actors often sound abstract, legalistic, or moralizing. Meanwhile, the Western coalition’s messaging has grown increasingly disconnected from political realities. By emphasizing universal rights without addressing structural inequities — financing gaps, infrastructure deficits, and the legacy of digital colonialism — it inadvertently reinforces the perception that its model serves the already-connected. Even more damaging is the widening credibility gap: Western governments that promote freedom of expression and privacy abroad are simultaneously criticized for domestic practices that undermine those same values. This perceived hypocrisy weakens the persuasive power of Western human rights advocacy and strengthens China’s developmental framing. For many developing countries, the Western message no longer offers a viable path to digital empowerment; it feels like conditionality without delivery. In contrast, the China–G77 approach, though more state-centric, seems to offer agency — the promise that governments can shape digital transformation according to national priorities rather than external expectations. If this rhetorical dynamic continues, the global conversation on human rights online could tilt decisively toward the “sovereign developmental” paradigm, where legitimacy is measured less by legal conformity and more by tangible social outcomes. In such a world, China’s framing — that human rights flow from state-led development — risks becoming the new normative baseline, while the Western rights-based model is relegated to rhetorical defense rather than strategic leadership. However, insisting on human rights is more vital today than ever. As digital systems continue to mediate access to information, opportunity, and power, safeguarding fundamental freedoms remains essential to any credible vision of an inclusive information society. But the challenge for the Western bloc is not the principle of rights itself; it is the narrative and delivery. To regain moral and political traction, Western actors must learn to address human rights in ways that are responsive to the needs of the entire world, effectively framing rights not as abstract legal ideals but as practical enablers of development, dignity, and self-determination. This means connecting human rights discourse to tangible commitments: equitable access, financing, capacity-building, and technology transfer. Only by translating values into deliverables can the West make its human-rights narrative both authentic and relatable to those for whom digital inclusion is not yet a given. Data Governance The divide in data governance mirrors the human-rights debate. The EU and allied countries stress interoperability, privacy, and responsible data flows, echoing the principles of the GDPR. They argue that trust in digital systems depends on consistent, human-rights-based frameworks. The EU’s submission explicitly calls for “interoperable, rights-protecting data governance mechanisms.” Meanwhile, the G77 and Brazil emphasize equity and sovereignty. Their submissions call for new UN-supported mechanisms on data governance, including technical assistance and capacity-building for developing countries. Data is framed as a developmental resource — something that should serve national priorities and economic growth. Russia and China go further, embedding data governance in their long-standing advocacy for “cyber sovereignty.” Both insist that states must have the right to regulate domestic data and information flows to protect national interests. The G77’s framing is subtle but strategic: it combines legitimate calls for capacity-building with language that preserves the right to localize or restrict data flows. This duality makes their position politically resonant among developing countries while leaving ample space for state-centric governance. Artificial Intelligence In the field of AI governance, both camps acknowledge the need for international cooperation — but again diverge on who leads. The Western submissions call for AI governance anchored in transparency, accountability, and independent oversight. The EU in particular insists on human oversight and lifecycle accountability, echoing its internal AI Act framework. The emphasis is on safeguards, not control. The G77 and Brazil strongly advocate for the meaningful inclusion of developing countries in global AI and digital governance processes, emphasizing equity, capacity-building, and technology transfer. China echoes this position, aligning with the G77 in calling for governance frameworks that directly address the developmental needs and priorities of the Global South. Russia and China, meanwhile, favor intergovernmental coordination over multistakeholder models, cautioning against “fragmentation” — a term often used to signal opposition to Western dominance in standards-setting and policy leadership. The difference lies in philosophy: Western actors trust distributed networks of governance (industry, academia, civil society); G77 and sovereignty advocates prefer central coordination under UN auspices. Internet Governance This remains the core battleground. The Western bloc defends the multistakeholder model and the Internet Governance Forum (IGF) as the central platform for dialogue. Their submissions describe the IGF as an inclusive and flexible mechanism that has delivered results without the rigidity of intergovernmental control. They warn explicitly against “state-controlled or fragmented Internet architectures.” Enhanced cooperation continues to be a fault-line. Whereas the co-facilitators tried to defuse tensions around “enhanced cooperation” with language designed to appease multiple camps, the G77, alongside China and Russia, repeatedly insist on the term, signaling a deliberate effort to keep the debate alive. By framing the system as Western-led and private-sector dominated, they cast it as a failure — a narrative that exaggerates weaknesses and ignores the fact that, in practice, the system has, majorly, delivered meaningful coordination. Their push for state-centered governance and stronger UN coordination also overlooks a key reality: in today’s polarized geopolitical environment, “enhanced cooperation” is unlikely to solve the problems states cite and risks producing gridlock, a dynamic poorly suited to the pace of technological development. Enhanced cooperation is a concept the global south rightly values—but the way China and Russia insist on it points not to collaboration but to division. Their push lacks concrete proposals for how states can actually work together on digital governance; instead, it serves as a wedge, deepening geopolitical fault lines. Creating new UN mechanisms is, in reality, unfeasible today: financial constraints are severe, no one is eager to fund them, and we should be cautious of China or Russia leading the charge. At this stage, “enhanced cooperation” without practical guidance is less about solutions and more about shaping the debate to their advantage. This remains the core battleground. What is more interesting though is Brazil, often a bridge between the two camps, leans toward the G77 position in this cycle. Its submission, though mentioning the multistakeholder model, echoes calls for strengthened intergovernmental coordination while reiterating support for human rights — an attempt to harmonize development and rights language. Finally, the IGF enjoys broad recognition as a valuable forum, but support for its permanent status is cautious, particularly among China, Russia, and the G77. Both China and Russia favor intergovernmental coordination and “reserve” judgment on formalizing the IGF, signaling a desire to keep leverage over governance design rather than cede influence to a permanent multistakeholder body. The G77 similarly uses careful language, championing developing-country inclusion while stopping short of endorsing permanence outright — a stance that may reflect strategic positioning, leaving open the possibility of treating the IGF’s status as a bargaining chip in broader digital governance negotiations. Financing Mechanisms Here, the G77’s position is both politically powerful and substantively justified. Developing countries call for new concessional and sustainable financing mechanisms, technology transfer, and capacity-building to enable digital inclusion. Their argument is straightforward: without financing, all talk of inclusion is rhetorical. The Western submissions, by contrast, rely on market-led approaches and public-private partnerships. They stress innovation and investment climates rather than public financing. The EU and U.S. support capacity-building but stop short of committing to new funding mechanisms. This imbalance fuels the sovereignty narrative. When the G77 calls for financial justice, and the West offers governance lectures instead, the moral terrain shifts toward the Global South. APC has offered some thoughts on the issue of financing mechanisms and the way forward. Comparative Perspective: WSIS+10 vs WSIS+20 The WSIS+10 outcome in 2015 already exposed the underlying tension between multistakeholderism and multilateralism, yet there was a sense that these differences could be managed. Optimism at the time stemmed from two key developments. First, there was widespread faith in the potential of inclusive, multistakeholder governance to balance the interests of governments, the private sector, and civil society. Second, the IANA transition—the symbolic transfer of critical Internet infrastructure stewardship from U.S. control to the global multistakeholder community—was seen as a landmark achievement, signaling that governance could evolve cooperatively without exacerbating geopolitical rivalries. In this context, even when states disagreed on principles or procedures, the broader narrative was one of cautious optimism and potential convergence. Ten years on, the landscape has changed dramatically. The early hope that inclusive governance could bridge divides has eroded. Geopolitical competition has intensified, with major powers increasingly framing digital governance through the lens of strategic advantage rather than collaboration. The field itself is more fragmented: new players, both state and non-state, have emerged, and digital infrastructure and policy debates now intersect directly with national security, economic influence, and technological sovereignty. The stakes for institutional authority have grown accordingly. The G77 has become more cohesive, presenting a unified front that amplifies the voices of developing countries while aligning strategically with China and, in some instances, Russia. Western consensus, once a stabilizing factor in multistakeholder forums, has weakened under internal divisions and differing national priorities. Meanwhile, China’s diplomatic approach has matured into full-spectrum coordination: Beijing now integrates digital governance into its broader geopolitical strategy, leveraging trade, infrastructure, and development agendas to reinforce its position. As a result, familiar phrases—“enhanced cooperation,” “development-oriented governance,” “human rights online”—carry sharper geopolitical resonance. Where they once suggested broad, shared aspirations, today they function as coded signals: markers of alignment, instruments of leverage, and tools to assert influence in contested arenas. The discourse is no longer merely technical or procedural; it has become a proxy battlefield where conceptual framing itself shapes power and legitimacy in global Internet governance. Final Assessment — Geopolitical Reading and Outlook This analysis has focused on the EU, U.S., UK, Canada, and Australia versus Russia, China, the G77, and Brazil. While the alignments are familiar, the fault lines are deeper. The Western bloc defends a rights-based, open, and multistakeholder Internet order. The Russia–China–G77 axis, increasingly coordinated by China, advances an intergovernmental, sovereignty-based framework couched in the rhetoric of equity and inclusion. But it is in the United States where the shift is most noticeable. While there is continuity, it comes with subtle signs of retrenchment. The U.S. submission merits particular attention. It maintains the core multistakeholder message but reveals a shift from leadership to maintenance. In contrast to the proactive diplomacy of the previous administrations — when Internet freedom was a foreign policy priority and the U.S. led global governance initiatives — the WSIS+20 input is notably conservative. Gone is the ambitious rhetoric about “expanding digital freedom.” The text defends existing mechanisms rather than proposing new ones, and it offers little in the way of development financing or capacity-building. The shift reflects a broader U.S. turn toward techno-nationalism: prioritizing domestic AI champions, shaping data and competition rules at home, and leveraging its companies’ global reach as a tool of influence rather than investing in multilateral leadership. This restrained tone risks making the U.S. appear reactive in a landscape where China and Russia are advancing proactive, development-led narratives. Without renewed engagement or material commitments, Washington may struggle to persuade the Global South of its messaging. Deepening divides and difficult negotiations ahead Negotiations toward WSIS+20 are poised to be contentious, and with the clock ticking, failure carries real risks. The review must produce a forward-looking text that meaningfully builds on the 2015 outcome. Simply recycling the WSIS+10 language would be a lost opportunity—especially as WSIS directly competes with the GDC. A stagnant WSIS document risks irrelevance, unable to address today’s geopolitical realities. We need a new text, an advanced text, one that demonstrates evolution—particularly within this compressed timeframe. The gaps between camps are substantial, spanning human rights, AI, Internet governance, and financing. A compromise reaffirming both multistakeholderism and “enhanced cooperation” is possible, but it would likely be a semantic truce rather than genuine convergence. China’s coordination of the G77 has become a defining factor. By framing sovereignty in terms of development and fairness, Beijing presents its position as constructive rather than defensive, enhancing its influence across the Global South. In contrast, Western actors remain rhetorically assertive but politically cautious, reluctant to connect human rights with financial redistribution or infrastructure support—a dynamic already evident in the GDC process, where China successfully employed the same approach. Meanwhile, the G77 now articulates the priorities of the developing world more convincingly than the West. Its submissions are grounded in concrete realities—financing, infrastructure, inclusion—issues the EU and U.S. often treat as secondary. This asymmetry in both empathy and substance could shape the narrative balance of the final WSIS+20 outcome, determining whether the process yields real progress or merely a symbolic statement. The West should double down on what works: defend multistakeholderism, invest in the IGF, and lead by example in linking technology, human rights, and development. Crucially, it must genuinely listen to the Global South—understand their priorities, fund inclusive initiatives, and support digital capacity-building—just as China does, but with transparency and accountability. Influence through innovation, credibility, and partnership, not coercion. In this fragmented landscape, the West wins by proving that open, cooperative governance delivers results faster, fairer, and smarter than state-centered alternatives. Broader Conclusions
Final Reflection WSIS+20 reveals a world in digital bifurcation. The liberal, open Internet championed by the West persists as a normative aspiration, but the sovereignty-based, development-led model championed by China and the G77 is gaining political legitimacy. Unless the Western coalition reclaims strategic initiative by coupling its normative agenda with credible, financed commitments to inclusion and capacity-building, the balance of global digital governance will tilt decisively toward state-centric control. In the short time remaining before the WSIS+20 outcome, negotiators face not just a text but a choice of paradigms: an Internet governed through distributed participation and rights, or one managed through state authority and equitable development claims. Both will coexist, but the question is which model will inspire the majority of the world’s population. |