European democracy, once sold to us as government for the people, increasingly resembles government for the shareholders. The slogans haven’t changed—“freedom”, “fairness”, “choice”—but behind the scenes, the boardroom has quietly replaced the ballot box as the place where real decisions are made.
It’s not that politicians have stopped caring what the public thinks. It’s just that donors, lobbyists, and corporate advisors tend to shout louder—and arrive with champagne.
This isn’t a conspiracy. It’s a business model.
Welcome to Europe Inc., a four-part series on how neoliberalism turned the European project into a corporate shareholder meeting. From inequality to militarism, corporate capture to resistance, this isn’t just a critique — it’s a guided tour through the ruins and a map to the exits. Steeped in dry wit, and entirely unaffiliated with any hedge fund.
Political donations: legalised bribery, with better stationery
Let’s begin with the grubby bit that still manages to wear cufflinks: political donations. In theory, these are contributions to support democratic debate. In practice, they function as an investment—one that expects policy returns.
In the UK, a single businessman, Frank Hester, donated £10 million to the Conservative Party. That’s not so much a donation as a purchase order. Meanwhile, Labour, once the party of miners and milk monitors, now finds itself receiving hefty sums from hedge funds and consultancy types who consider the public sector something to be “streamlined”—ideally into pieces small enough to outsource.
Across Europe, it’s a familiar pattern. In Germany, car manufacturers all but wrote the emissions policy—until they were caught lying about it, of course. In France, the gilets jaunes protests were partly fuelled by anger over a government that found billions for tax cuts at the top while raising fuel prices for ordinary workers. In Brussels, the European Parliament hosts over 12,000 registered lobbyists. That’s about 25 lobbyists per MEP. Makes you wonder if they’ve got assigned seating.
As political economist Prem Sikka bluntly puts it, “governments indulge corporations… while condemning most voters to misery.” That’s not hyperbole. That’s just reading the budget.
Regulatory capture: when the fox writes the hen-house manual
Regulatory capture sounds technical, but it’s quite straightforward: it’s when the people supposed to keep corporations in check are instead taking notes from them. Or jobs. Or, occasionally, both.
Take the EU’s energy market. As gas prices soared and ordinary households struggled to heat their homes, energy giants posted record profits. Shell reported over £32 billion in profits in 2022. Did governments respond with windfall taxes and strict regulation? No. In the UK, the energy price cap turned out to be less of a cap and more of a polite suggestion.
Meanwhile, former ministers and civil servants regularly stroll into plum corporate board positions, while industry leaders are brought in to ‘advise’ on policies that just happen to benefit their old firms. The revolving door doesn’t squeak—it spins.
In Italy, Mario Draghi, a former Goldman Sachs executive, became Prime Minister. In France, Emmanuel Macron once worked for Rothschild. The UK’s list is endless: George Osborne went from Chancellor of the Exchequer to editing the Evening Standard—owned by a Russian billionaire—and advising BlackRock on the side. Because nothing says “public service” like moonlighting for the world’s biggest asset manager.
This isn’t illegal. It’s just depressingly normal.
Corporate welfare: socialism for the rich
When workers ask for fair pay, it’s “inflationary”. When the public sector requests funding, it’s “unsustainable”. But when corporations need a bailout, the cheque is in the post before the ink is dry.
Banks, airlines, car companies—when things go south, there’s always money. Trillions were poured into corporate rescue packages during the pandemic. Much of it was needed, no doubt. But plenty was funnelled into shareholder dividends, stock buybacks, and executive bonuses. In Denmark, companies that received emergency aid were later found to have paid out dividends worth billions. In the UK, firms were handed government-backed loans with minimal oversight, only to lay off staff weeks later.
In essence, it’s corporate welfare: the taxpayer takes the risk, the executive suite takes the reward. And the public gets a stern lecture about belt-tightening.
The illusion of free trade: freedom for whom, exactly?
Free trade, like diet cola, promises all the benefits with none of the side effects. In reality, modern trade deals are less about removing tariffs and more about empowering corporations to sue governments for daring to regulate.
Remember TTIP—the proposed EU-US free trade deal? It collapsed under public pressure, largely because it included Investor-State Dispute Settlement (ISDS) mechanisms. These would have allowed corporations to sue governments in secret tribunals if they introduced laws that cut into profits. You know—things like environmental protections, labour rights, or not letting tobacco companies market to children.
Australia was sued by Philip Morris for introducing plain cigarette packaging. Canada had to compensate a US firm for rejecting a quarry project that would have wrecked local ecosystems. These aren’t hypotheticals—they happened. And if TTIP had passed, the same could’ve happened across Europe.
So yes, trade is freer. For corporations. Everyone else? Not so much.
Guns, not butter: following the money
Ever wonder why defence budgets are ballooning while schools beg for glue sticks? It’s not because Europe is full of warmongers—it’s because defence spending is reliably profitable and politically safe.
The EU, historically cautious about militarisation, is now investing billions in joint defence initiatives. Germany announced a €100 billion rearmament programme. The UK, already one of the world’s biggest arms exporters, is upping its military spend while local councils declare bankruptcy.
Defence contracts are goldmines: high-margin, long-term, and often exempt from the sort of transparency expected in, say, a nursery renovation. And because arms deals are “strategic”, they’re rarely questioned—until the weapons are turned on civilians, at which point everyone suddenly remembers international law.
It’s no coincidence that ex-politicians regularly turn up on the boards of arms manufacturers, or that lobbyists for the defence sector are some of the best-funded in Brussels. If democracy has a price tag, the arms industry paid it in advance.
Democracy for sale: barely used, apply within
Europe still holds elections. Parliament buildings still stand. The language of democracy—choice, accountability, transparency—is still repeated like a prayer. But behind the scenes, policy is shaped by those with the deepest pockets and the most persistent lobbyists.
The result is a democracy that functions like a stage set. All the right scenery, but little of the substance. The public debates healthcare; corporations write the policies. The voters choose between candidates; the markets choose the constraints.
As Wolff might put it, this isn’t democracy failing—it’s capitalism succeeding. Political influence has become just another commodity, traded like any other. And the public, reduced to spectators, are told that’s just the cost of doing business.
What next?
The good news? This isn’t inevitable. The structure may be rigged, but it’s not unchangeable. Public awareness is growing. Grass-roots movements are pushing back—from campaign finance reform to demands for corporate transparency and fair taxation. Some parliaments (especially in the Nordics) remain relatively robust. And citizens still have the power to demand more than theatre.
But it starts with honesty. The current system doesn’t just have corporate influence—it runs on it. Until we confront that fact, the lobbyists will keep writing the lines, and the rest of us will keep clapping on cue.