Google released a commercial this week imagining the Founding Fathers drafting the Declaration of Independence with access to Google Workspace.
The appeal is obvious—the commercial wraps cutting-edge technology in the most serious garment available to American culture, the document that founded the nation. It's not selling you efficiency or cost savings, but legitimacy, gravitas borrowed from 1776.
This is not a new move. IBM did it first, methodically, beginning in the 1960s when mainframe computers were genuinely alarming to American business—they were expensive, centralized, controlled by distant specialists. Threatened the autonomy of the local manager. IBM's response was to position computerization as an extension of American democratic promise, wrapping its equipment in the mythology of the Founders and the language of freedom, expansion, and progress.
The mechanism is identical across decades. You take a technology that concentrates power in a small number of hands. You locate historical authority in documents or moments when power appeared to be distributed. You bridge the gap by claiming your technology serves the same ideals the historical moment represented—and skepticism becomes un-American, caution looks like rejecting progress itself.
What changed is the speed of repetition and the scope. IBM had years to build the narrative. Google built this commercial in a moment when AI's labor-displacement potential is no longer theoretical—when the question of who controls the tools of cultural and economic production feels genuinely urgent. The commercial arrives not after the technology is settled and safe, but while it's still being fought over. That's not confidence. That's hurry.
Find one recent tech commercial or press release and identify what historical moment or value it invokes to sell you—then ask whether the technology actually distributes power or concentrates it.