Most Americans have never heard of Palantir. That’s by design. It doesn’t make phones or social platforms. It doesn’t beg for your data with bright buttons or discount codes. Rather, it just takes it. Quietly. Legally. Systematically. Palantir is a back-end beast, the silent spine of modern surveillance infrastructure.
Palantir’s influence isn’t hypothetical. It’s operational. From the battlefields of Ukraine to the precincts of Los Angeles, its software guides drone strikes, predicts crime, allocates police resources, and even helps governments decide which children might someday become “threats.” These aren’t sci-fi hypotheticals. They are pilot programs, already integrated, already scaling.
This software—Gotham, Foundry, and now its Artificial Intelligence Platform (AIP)—is designed to swallow everything: hospital records, welfare files, license plate scans, school roll calls, immigration logs and even your tweets. It stitches these fragments into something eerily complete—a unified view of you. With each data point, the image sharpens.
If Facebook turned people into products, Palantir turns them into probabilities. You’re not a user. You’re a variable—run through predictive models, flagged for anomalies, and judged in silence.
This is not just surveillance. It’s prediction. And that distinction matters: Surveillance watches. Prediction acts. It assigns probabilities. It flags anomalies. It escalates risk. And it trains bureaucrats and law enforcement to treat those algorithmic suspicions as fact. In short: the software decides, and people follow.
In the US, Palantir the company services contracts with ICE, the FBI, the DoD and over 100 municipal police departments. In the UK, it runs parts of the National Health Service‘s backend. In Germany and France, it supports counterterrorism work. In Ukraine, it’s operationalized on the battlefield in real time. / FABRICE COFFRINI / AFP via Getty Images
You want to know where power is going? Follow the contracts. Palantir isn’t growing by solving problems. It’s growing by becoming unavoidable. And none of this growth would be possible without the aforementioned Karp.
The 57-year-old doesn’t resemble the usual Silicon Valley archetype. He wears windbreakers instead of hoodies. He speaks like a philosophy professor giving a TED Talk on the death of liberalism. Insiders familiar with Karp describe him in no uncertain terms: ‘batshit crazy,’ egotistical and completely unfiltered. He runs Palantir like a personal war room; he quotes Heidegger mid-meeting. He can’t drive and lives alone in rural New Hampshire with a full-time ski instructor.
He calls himself a socialist and speaks often about defending Western civilization while building tech that quietly erodes its foundations. He practices Tai Chi and advocates for mindful living but sells software that enables governments to track their citizens. It sounds contradictory—until you realize what he’s selling isn’t ideology. It’s order.
In his book, The Technological Republic, a not-so-subtle nod to Plato’s Republic, Karp makes his intentions clear. It’s a message—a warning. Like Plato, Karp sees democracy not as sacred, but as a flaw. Plato’s “ideal state” was top-down, run by philosopher-kings who knew better than the mob. In his view, the average person was too emotional, too chaotic, too easily swayed to be trusted. Karp doesn’t just admire that vision. He’s coding it. In his world, democracy isn’t broken—it’s buggy. And Palantir is the patch.
This belief manifests in everything the company does. Palantir doesn’t sell to consumers. It sells to governments, militaries, and agencies tasked with control. Its growth depends on access—and it only scales by infringing. The more granular the data, the more profitable the forecast.
Palantir stock is skyrocketing. Wall Street appears to have fully embraced the surveillance state—not because it loves the Constitution, but because it sees the future. And the future is profitable panic. Palantir thrives on volatility because it markets itself as the only defense against it. It needs chaos to justify its growth. Its success is tethered to the failure of institutions, the erosion of public trust, the acceleration of uncertainty. In a society fraying at the seams, it becomes indispensable.
What makes Palantir considerably more dangerous than Meta or X isn’t what it shows; it’s what it hides. Musk and Zuckerberg beg for public attention. Karp cultivates mystery. There are no Palantir influencers. No flashy keynotes. No consumer devices. Just contracts. Code. And ever-growing access to the organs of the state.
This isn’t capitalism as we know it. It’s something darker: a convergence of public authority and private ambition with no clear accountability. Palantir doesn’t lobby the government; it replaces its functions. It’s not just a vendor; it’s an informant, an adjudicator, a silent partner in the construction of a predictive regime.
It doesn’t build a better world. It builds a better model of it—one where deviation is risk, dissent is data, and trust is something to be managed, not earned. You’re supposed to feel watched. You’re supposed to feel uneasy. Because if you don’t, the system isn’t doing its job. It’s not about catching you. It’s about reminding you that it can.
