From Dêmos to Algorithms: Who Holds the Power?
Written by Luma Guerreschi
“He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that.” — John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (1859)
In ancient Athens, around 508 BC, lived an aristocrat named Cleisthenes. Athens had only recently escaped decades of tyranny, yet its political future was far from settled. When Cleisthenes found himself competing for power with another aristocrat, Isagoras, his opponent turned to the Spartan king Cleomenes I for support.
Cleisthenes, however, turned somewhere else: to the Athenian people.
What followed would eventually give a name to an idea that still defines much of our political world today: dêmokratía — dêmos, the people, and krátos, power.
But how did the power in their hands look like then , and how does it compare to our democracy now?
Athens practiced a form of direct democracy: citizens participated themselves by a show of hands in political decision-making. As opposed to today, where most democracies are representative, meaning that citizens entrust that power to elected representatives.
In their time, however, what was scarce was access: access to political participation and to the spreading of information. In fact, only free adult male Athenian citizens could participate in the democracy. Women, enslaved people and foreigners were excluded from such political power.
Their democracy nevertheless contained significant flaws, one of them being the power of persuasion within the Assembly. Although every citizen theoretically had the right to speak, particularly skilled and influential orators could sway the dêmos, sometimes appealing more to emotion than reason.
An interesting example of this happened in 427 BC, during the Peloponnesian War. The city of Mytilene had revolted against Athens, and when the Athenians regained control, the Assembly had to decide how the rebellion should be punished. Driven by anger, they initially voted for an extreme response: the execution of Mytilene’s adult male population and the enslavement of its women and children. A ship was sent to carry out the order.
By the following day, however, many Athenians had begun to regret their decision, and the Assembly gathered once again. Cleon, an influential political figure and speaker, argued that Athens should stand by the original punishment. Opposing him was Diodotus, who argued that such a massacre would not benefit Athens and would only make future rebellions more difficult to resolve.
This time, Diodotus persuaded the Assembly. The Athenians then reversed their original decision and immediately sent a second ship to Mytilene in an attempt to stop the first. According to Thucydides, the second ship arrived just in time to prevent the original order from being executed.
(Source: Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, Book III, 36-49)
The case shows both the power and vulnerabiliy of direct democracy. The dêmos was capable of reconsidering its own decision, yet the fate of an entire population could also shift within a day as a new speaker persuaded the assembly.
(Source: Fordham University, Ancient History Sourcebook - "The Mytilenian Debate")
With representative democracy we no longer have that problem ,- or do we?
A political candidate's goal is, indeed, to persuade and convince enough citizens to give them their vote. Representative democracy therefore hasn't eliminated political persuasion; it has simply changed the way in which that persuasion takes place.
Their persuasion, however, was more direct and straightforward: you knew that someone was actively trying to convince you, and you could recognise the political motives behind their words. Today, we tend to believe that our ideas and decisions are entirely our own. Yet, with the introduction of social media into political life, persuasion has become considerably less visible.
What appears on our screens is not simply a neutral collection of information. Algorithms select, rank and recommend the content we encounter, often according to what is most likely to capture and maintain our attention. Political influence, therefore, does not necessarily begin when somebody tries to convince us of an idea; it may begin much earlier, with which ideas we are exposed to in the first place.
What I mean is that we have developed a somewhat naive approach towards manipulation in modern politics, often disregarding the influence that new media such as Instagram and TikTok can have on citizens, particularly younger generations.
If a teenager grows up in a left- or right-leaning family, for example, they may naturally begin engaging with content that reflects those views. This isn’t inherently a bad thing. The problem arises when that initial engagement teaches an algorithm what keeps their attention. Similar content can then be recommended repeatedly, potentially reinforcing beliefs the user already holds while reducing their exposure to opposing perspectives (algorithmic amplification).
The person has not been directly told what to believe. In fact, they may feel that they have independently reached their conclusions. Though often, it’s a script already written by those in power, waiting for you to get caught in it.
An “echo chamber” is an environment in which individuals are repeatedly exposed to opinions that reinforce their existing beliefs, while encountering fewer opposing perspectives.
This phenomenon can encourage closed-mindedness across the political spectrum and poses a potential danger to both independent thought and healthy democratic debate. If we are constantly surrounded by ideas that confirm what we already believe, it becomes increasingly difficult to question our own assumptions.
Because we also tend to be selective with the information we expose ourselves to, it is important to recognise and break out of these feedback loops between ourselves and the algorithms that learn from our behaviour. Doing so requires us to actively seek different perspectives, critically examine the information we consume, and occasionally detach ourselves from what we have simply been taught .
That’s why it is our duty to make ourselves uncomfortable: to question what we’ve been fed, challenge what feels obvious, and confront ideas that contradict our own.
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