DOGE isn’t Silicon Valley innovation—it’s just a sloppy rebrand of free-market dogma
At a press conference in the Oval Office earlier this month, Elon Musk—a billionaire who is not, at least formally, the President of the United States—was asked how the Department of Government Efficiency manages potential conflicts of interest to ensure “accountability and transparency.” In response, Musk suggested that simply opening a browser tab would assuage the reporter’s concerns. “We post our actions to the DOGE handle on X, and to the DOGE website,” he said. “So all of our actions are maximally transparent.”
One problem with this assertion: At the time, the DOGE.gov domain was more or less empty, an oversight that someone in Musk’s orbit had to hastily rectify. Now, nested beneath tabs on a white-on-black homepage is a “wall of receipts” tallying DOGE’s alleged cost savings as it attempts to hollow out the federal government. (These “receipts” reportedly included 10 figures’ worth of math errors shortly after the wall debuted.) Other tabs provide information about the salaries of the approximately 2.3 million federal employees Musk is trying to fire (data borrowed from the Office of Personnel Management) and agency-by-agency information about federal spending (figures taken from publicly available Treasury Department reports). There is no better distillation of Musk’s brand of “efficiency” than tasking underlings with building sloppy, dark-mode versions of free government resources that already exist.
The “Regulations” tab, however, reveals the true nature of Musk’s project, which is not to deliver tax relief to working people, but to free wealthy corporations from pesky regulatory oversight. The page abandons dollars-and-cents metrics for something different: an “Unconstitutionality Index” that divides the number of regulations enacted by federal agencies by the number of statutes passed by Congress each year. Users can scroll down to see how many regulations these agencies—”unelected bureaucrats,” as DOGE calls them—have published, and even how many hundreds of thousands of words those regulations run.
The clear implication is that the Code of Federal Regulations has become far too complicated—perhaps too complicated to be constitutional—and that only the fully optimized business brains at DOGE have the vision, courage, and managerial savvy necessary to wrangle this unruly mess.
DOGE’s war on the very concept of regulation demonstrates just how little “innovation” Musk and his henchteenagers are bringing to the putative task of streamlining the federal government’s workflow. Corporate interests, eager to shed even modest limitations on their ability to pay out executive bonuses and shareholder dividends, have spent decades arguing that regulations are unauthorized exercises of legislative power. At DOGE, Musk is simply repackaging these bog-standard, free-enterprise talking points with the trappings of Silicon Valley technobabble. In his position as this country’s de facto copresident, the more regulations he manages to scuttle, the more he and his cronies’ companies stand to profit.
To be clear, the regulations that Musk is demonizing here are simply the rules by which the executive branch, at Congress’s direction, implements and enforces the laws that Congress passes. For example, when lawmakers passed the Consumer Product Safety Act, a 1972 law that aims to “protect consumers against unreasonable risk of injury from hazardous products,” they tasked a federal agency, the Consumer Product Safety Commission, with spelling out the nitty-gritty rules for making different kinds of products safe. The logic here is pretty intuitive: Setting standards for, say, the maximum amount of force necessary to open a refrigerator door from the inside is technical, complex work best left to mechanical engineers and child safety researchers, not, say, Marjorie Taylor Greene.
In a sprawling country that is home to 340 million people, this system of delegation from professional politicians to subject-matter experts is what keeps air breathable, water potable, and kitchen appliances from becoming death traps for small children playing hide-and-seek. But it necessarily imposes costs on industry: Compliance with rules entails spending at least some money and forgoing at least some potential profit. As a result, the notion that regulation is evil and foolish has become an article of faith among pro-business groups and the Republican politicians they support, who argue that the proliferation of unnecessary, duplicative, burdensome rules stifles innovation and stunts economic growth.
Opponents often cite the increase in volume of rules over time as proof of their inherent illegitimacy, a sentiment the anti-tax activist Grover Norquist once summarized using a memorably unsettling metaphor. “I don’t want to abolish government,” he said. “I simply want to reduce it to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub.”
The “Unconstitutionality Index” on DOGE’s website is a fixture of the anti-regulation movement, created by the Competitive Enterprise Institute, a think tank that recently celebrated “40 years of eliminating excessive regulation and unleashing human potential.” (Several CEI staffers are listed as contributors to Project 2025, the policy “blueprint” drafted by conservative groups in anticipation of President Donald Trump’s reelection.) Organizations like CEI exist to raise the alarm about the dangers of bureaucracy; in congressional testimony last year, a CEI fellow told lawmakers that despite its best efforts, “unchecked regulation” is still “impeding economic efficiency and undermining progress.”
The Trump-Musk administration wasted little time delivering relief on this front: In an executive order last week, the White House announced plans to facilitate the “deconstruction of the overbearing and burdensome administrative state.” The order instructs agency heads, “in coordination with” DOGE, to identify regulations to put on the chopping block, including those that “significantly and unjustifiably imped[e] technological innovation” or “impose undue burdens on small business and impede private enterprise and entrepreneurship.” Suddenly, people who have spent decades framing regulations as an existential threat to their beloved free market have a White House willing to listen and eager to act.
Regulation has traditionally lagged behind the pace of the tech industry in particular, which is part of the reason Big Tech has remained so profitable despite doing all kinds of harm that rarely results in meaningful consequences. Maintaining this status quo is worth billions to the leaders of these companies, especially as they search out new sectors of the economy to upend in move-fast-break-things fashion.
By gutting the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, Musk has deftly greased the skids for X Money, a peer-to-peer payments service that Musk plans to roll out on his social media platform this year. As DOGE fires hundreds of employees at the Federal Aviation Administration, SpaceX engineers are quietly taking their places, and Musk is pushing for the agency to cancel a multibillion-dollar contract with Verizon and award it to his company instead. As sales stagnate, Tesla has taken to hyping its long-awaited driverless taxi business as the future of the company, a bet that becomes a little less risky with every regulatory hurdle that Musk manages to knock over between now and launch.
By enlisting Musk to go full Founder Mode on a dated federal bureaucracy, DOGE was pitched as the means of fulfilling every politician’s favorite promise: to run government more like a business. “We’re going to get the government off your back and out of your pocketbook,” Musk told rallygoers in October to rapturous applause. But there is nothing new about the DOGE playbook, other than the involvement of a celebrity tech executive who is amused by memecoin backronyms. It is a decades-long ideological project to empower people like Musk to make themselves even wealthier at the expense of everyone else.