Google: The World’s Favorite Panopticon, From Lagos to La Paz

Google: The Planet’s Favorite Panopticon
by D. Lockhart, filed from 37,000 feet above the Sea of Okhotsk

Somewhere over Siberia, I watched a Russian oligarch two rows ahead frantically clear his search history before the flight attendant confiscated his phone for “landing safety.” He needn’t have bothered. Google already has his dacha’s floor plan, his mistress’s ring size, and the exact vintage of Bordeaux that makes him cry at 3 a.m. local. The rest of us are no better off.

From Lagos laundromats to Laotian laundromats—yes, they exist—Google Search, Maps, Gmail, and Android now mediate reality like a bored translator who occasionally slips in jokes at your expense. In 2023 the company processed 8.5 billion queries per day, roughly one per human being who can still afford electricity. The remaining billion, presumably, are busy asking their phones how to emigrate to anywhere with fewer pop-ups and cheaper insulin.

The global implications are, to borrow a phrase from my Nigerian fixer, “madder than a Lagos traffic jam on Christmas Eve.” When Google tweaks its algorithm, entire economies sneeze. A minor ranking change last May vaporized 40 % of traffic to Indonesian rice-cooking blogs, sending food influencers back to actual kitchens. Meanwhile, the EU’s Digital Markets Act, a 2,000-page love letter to antitrust lawyers, now forces Google to let Europeans uninstall pre-loaded apps—like politely asking the Borg to drop its shields for a selfie.

In India, Sundar Pichai’s childhood nation, Google Pay’s QR codes have replaced the national handshake and possibly the Reserve Bank. Street chai vendors sport laminated posters: “Pay here or Google will know you’re cheap.” Across the border in Pakistan, the same service is banned for “security reasons,” proving that nothing unites South Asia like mutual suspicion and Alphabet stock volatility.

Africa is the newest playground. Loon balloons may have crashed into Kenyan giraffes, but Google’s free Wi-Fi at Ugandan bus stations beams baby-milk ads to mothers whose water supply is still negotiable. The company calls it “bridging the digital divide.” Critics call it “data colonialism with better graphics.” Both sides agree the Wi-Fi password is usually “admin123.”

China, of course, opted out entirely, preferring its own panopticon with local subtitles. Baidu, WeChat, and TikTok now serve 1.4 billion people a curated internet diet that would make Orwell reach for a VPN. The Great Firewall keeps Google at arm’s length, like an ex who still owes you money but looks fantastic at parties. Meanwhile, Chinese developers smuggle Google’s Flutter toolkit back in, proving that code, like herpes, is forever.

Latin America dances on the rim of the same volcano. In Brazil, Google News’ opaque ranking system decides which favela uprising makes page one and which gets buried under avocado toast recipes. Mexican journalists, already playing whack-a-mole with cartel death threats, now fret about SEO keywords. “If you can’t spell ‘disappear’ correctly, you might as well dig your own hashtag,” one editor told me over mezcal—purchased via Google Maps’ “nearby open now” filter.

Europe, ever the fretful chaperone, keeps slapping Google with fines hefty enough to buy a small Greek island (which Google probably already did for tax reasons). The latest €2.4 billion antitrust penalty is roughly what the company earns between breakfast and second breakfast. Google pays, shrugs, and updates its terms of service in 47 languages, including Luxembourgish, which three men and a dog speak fluently.

Yet the real punchline isn’t regulatory. It’s existential. Google has become the air we breathe: invisible, essential, and slightly carcinogenic. We rage against its monopoly while asking Bard to draft breakup texts. We protest its ad-tracking cookie while Chrome auto-fills our mistress’s address. The cognitive dissonance is so perfect it could win Cannes.

So as my flight descends through the smog of a city Google maps in 4K but still can’t spell correctly, I open Incognito Mode—not for porn, but to Google “how to disappear.” The first result? A sponsored link for Google Workspace. Free trial. Cancel anytime.

We never left the Garden; we just pay rent to the serpent now.