Исследователи сравнивают современные монополии ИИ с колониальной властью Голландской Ост-Индской компании

Can we draw an analogy between European colonialism and today's AI monopolies? Why not! Could the shadow of the Dutch East India Company (VOC), founded in Amsterdam in 1602 with a spice monopoly and the power to wage war, mint money and execute people, also be visible in today's data monopolies? It all started when I was telling my son the story of an imaginary wooden boat builder. Then came a question: "Dad, did they have life jackets or lifebuoys for people who fell into the sea back then?" That question lit the first spark. I then began searching for statistics on the survival rates of ships during the Age of Exploration, which eventually led me to research the colonial era. I came across some extraordinary documents. Eline Jongsma and Kel O'Neill's multi-platform documentary project "Empire: The Unintended Consequences of Dutch Colonialism" traces the ghosts of the Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie, or VOC) and the GWC, or the Dutch West India Company (Geoctroyeerde Westindische Compagnie, or WIC), documenting the human-scale traces of colonialism over four years. Rather than focusing on grand narratives, the project turns to hidden corners, oral histories and personal stories. It shows how colonial conditions mutated and survived into the present day. Watching this striking archive, it is impossible not to look at today's most powerful monopolistic forces – AI companies – and see the same dynamics re-emerging in the digital age. When the VOC was founded in 1602, it was more than a trading company; it was the first multinational organization to wield state-like powers, including the authority to wage war, colonize territories, mint money and execute prisoners. Today's leading AI companies, whether OpenAI, Google DeepMind, Anthropic or China's DeepSeek, occupy a similarly monopolistic position in different ways. Their dominance over access to data, computing power, algorithmic decision-making and global user bases effectively turns them into the new VOCs. Just as the VOC established a monopoly over the spice trade, these companies exercise unprecedented control over the production, processing and distribution of knowledge. Governments use AI by seeking permission from them; laws struggle to keep pace with them; and fundamental social concepts such as privacy, labor and equality are left at the mercy of their algorithms. If you have no say in the models while they are being trained, you cannot expect to have a say when it comes to setting rules for them. The project's first chapter, Cradle, questioned the concepts of home and birthplace. The story of a Korean adoptee watching planes through binoculars at Schiphol Airport unfolded in parallel with that of a morgue worker preparing deceased migrants to be sent back to their homelands. In today's digital world, our data is similarly detached from where it originates and transported into global data pools. AI companies collect our "digital birth" information, from our dates of birth and health data to our preferences and interactions on social networks. Just as the morgue worker at Schiphol "sends" bodies back, this data is anonymized or commercialized and put to use in other contexts. And what about the adopted young man? Like every user trying to reach the roots they cannot fully identify, he searches for fragments of his own digital past in the blurred mirror of algorithms. The "Migrants" chapter focused on the modern-day remnants of the trans-Atlantic slave trade: Ghana's "Fancy Dress Festival," where people dress up like former colonial masters; the mixed-race community in Brazil descended partly from Dutch settlers; and the new society established in the Surinamese forests by escaped slaves. The AI ecosystem of today also contains a similar network of "digital slavery." Data labelers, content moderators and millions of people working for low wages to train AI systems, many of them from the Global South, sustain this empire through their largely invisible labor, much like enslaved people did in the 17th century. Yet, as the project demonstrates, exploitation is not only physical; cultural hybridization also creates new identities. Today, a generation raised alongside AI is feeding its local languages and cultures into AI models, "hybridizing" them in the process. It is much like the community in Brazil, blending Dutch and Indigenous cultures. The society built by escaped slaves in the forest may perhaps resemble today's open-source AI communities: micro-universes outside the giant monopolies, setting their own rules and promising liberation while still trying to survive in the shadow of monopolistic systems. Legacy examined the echoes of the VOC in the East Indies and the legacies left on the wrong side of history. A Nazi reenactment group in Indonesia and a white Afrikaner separatist community in South Africa show how the racial and ideological structures of colonialism can survive through time. In the AI world, similar legacies often appear under the label of "algorithmic bias." Facial recognition systems have higher error rates for people with darker skin; hiring algorithms tend to screen out female candidates; credit-scoring models can penalize ethnic minorities. What are these if not digital mutations of the racist classifications of the colonial era? Just as the Afrikaner community resists within its own interpretation of history, these algorithms repeatedly reproduce the historical discrimination embedded in their training data. Unfortunately, even being aware of this legacy is not enough to change it, because monopolistic companies retain control over these systems. The project's most playful chapter, "Periphery," focused on the unexpected consequences of colonialism. An Indonesian actor being offered only Mexican roles and an Aboriginal Australian motorcyclist searching for a connection with exiled Dutch sailors both show how identities can become trapped within categories imposed from outside. Today, billions of people interacting with AI are experiencing a similar kind of categorical confinement: recommendation engines trap us in "similar user" groups, language models generate the "most likely" answer on our behalf, and generative AI systems reproduce stereotypes embedded in their training data. Like the characters in "Periphery," we are searching for our own individuality within the peripheral spaces defined by AI. Sometimes, like the Aboriginal motorcyclist's surprising genealogy, that search reveals unexpected connections. More often, however, monopolistic systems confine us to their own narrow frameworks. The project's art book served as a lasting record of its four-year journey. In the age of AI, the permanence of data is a far bigger issue. The data held by these companies, like today's colonial archives, will be both a legacy and a burden for future generations. Yet just as the VOC's commercial records shed light on history for scholars today, today's data flows could give tomorrow's historians an opportunity to understand the digital colonial structure. That is, if we have access to the data. Unfortunately, monopolistic companies retain tight control and ownership over this information. Jongsma and O'Neill's project teaches us that colonialism never truly disappeared; it merely changed form. Today's AI monopolies, like the VOC and GWC, have the potential to deepen global inequalities, reshape identities, reinforce historical injustices and create new forms of "colonies." Yet the project's most valuable contribution is its focus not on grand narratives but on personal stories, oral histories and hidden corners. Perhaps resistance does not lie in offering a single alternative to monopoly, but in each of us questioning our own digital colonial past and present and building plural, local narratives. Just as escaped slaves built a new society in the forest, can we build our own digital forests, spaces based on privacy awareness, data literacy, open-source solidarity and ethical oversight? Or will monopolies, like the ghosts of colonial powers, mutate and continue to exist in an even more invisible and powerful form? The project leaves the question unanswered. Perhaps the answer is hidden in the oral histories of the future. But at the very least, it teaches us not merely to "watch," but to "look." Türk Telekom Prime, the brand that adds value to the lives of customers of one of Türkiye's leading telecoms and technology companies, Türk Telekom, continues to bring summer evenings together with the enjoyment of open-air cinema. The Türk Telekom Prime Open-Air Cinema events, which began on July 30, have met moviegoers in Samsun, Rize, Trabzon and Bozcaada. Participants enjoyed summer evenings with Türk Telekom Prime privileges, with competitions, surprise gifts and experience zones organized before the film screenings. The open-air cinema events of Türk Telekom Prime, the Türk Telekom brand that adds value to customers' lives with high-GB mobile plans and high-speed home internet, as well as privileges across a wide range of areas from travel and entertainment to grocery shopping and e-commerce, have become a summer classic. The events met moviegoers in Samsun, Rize, Trabzon and Bozcaada between July 30 and Aug. 8. Combining the enjoyment of watching movies outdoors with entertaining experiences, the events took place at Samsun Batıpark on July 30-31, Rize's July 15 Democracy and Republic Square on Aug. 1-2, Trabzon Atatürk Square on Aug. 3-4, and Bozcaada Republic Square on Aug. 7-8. Visitors to the Türk Telekom Prime Open-Air Cinema events experienced a vibrant festival atmosphere beyond the film screenings. At the Türk Telekom Prime tent set up at the event area, participants were able to take part in festival makeup and hair-braiding activities. Visitors who followed the Türk Telekom Prime social media account, accompanied by a host, were able to spin a prize wheel and win a range of surprise gifts. At the 5G experience zone, participants who completed the reflex wall course within the designated time also received various promotional gifts.