It feels like “tax the billionaires”, or the more poetic “eat the rich”, became more mainstream post-pandemic. And I think it’s because the state of public services, and the quality of life for regular working folk, was noticeably worsening.

So, would mainstream anti-billionaire sentiment exist if economic stability and social mobility was easily accessible for all? E.g. was the sentiment alive between 2000-2007?

If no, and stay with me here, is it the billionaire that directly led to underfunded public services and lower quality of life? Probably not. Yet indirectly, via regulatory capture, probably yes. The more they accumulate, the more they influence to accumulate further. Eventually wealth becomes gravity.

And so to the notion of taxing billionaires, using Jeff Bezos as a convenient example. He’s worth ~$250bn. Enough to buy a kebab every second for nearly 8,000 years.

Tax, by the way, became an ugly word that made people run away to Dubai. But people agree to live in communal areas, and they contribute to keep that area pretty and the community’s needs served. Now scale that thought up to a national level. It’d cost a libertarian a ton of time and money to train and equip themselves as a firefighter, or road repairer…compared to a community pooling together for a specialised, cost-efficient and resource-efficient team.
Caveat: This is for cities. I can’t speak for remote regions until I’ve completed my Walden life chapter.

Having said that, I can understand why people flinch at tax. For many young people, the social contract has been broken. They might think, “why is a third of my tax bill going to pensioners, some of whom are sitting on immense property wealth, while I have to pay exorbitant amounts to rent a windowless room with a DIY shower unit assembled near my bed? My calathea is dying”. Tax has negative optics because trust in public institutions is low.

Back to Bezos. ~$250bn. He owns around 881mn Amazon shares. Currently worth ~$210bn. That’s 84% of his wealth.
This is where it gets awkward. How do you tax someone whose wealth is mostly unrealised gains, without triggering a further tax-planning arms race?
Because if he sells shares, he faces capital gains tax. If he doesn’t, then the gain just sits there. Very large. Very untaxed.

There are also wealthy folks who take out loans against their assets, instead of paying themselves a salary. Because debt isn’t taxable. Even if they’re getting their hands on cash to pay for milk and eggs, they’ve done it without paying income tax first like the rest of society did. That imbalance needs to be addressed. Why should they be able to enjoy community living when they’re intentionally skirting community contributions?

Did you also know that instead of selling shares, and facing capital gains taxes, he could instead gift them to a charity? Such as the Bezos Day One Fund. No capital gains, no money flowing back to communities in a democratic manner. However, lots of personally-directed social power to further causes and narratives he prefers. And maybe even a tax deduction for being so charitable.

Countries like Norway, Spain, France, and Switzerland have some form of threshold-based wealth taxes. Norway applies it to global net wealth, whereas France only applies it to real estate. So let’s use Norway as an example of how much the billionaires would “suffer”.

Norway’s wealth tax is applied on a net basis (assets minus liabilities), and is charged at roughly 1%. Meaning a Norwegian Bezos wouldn’t be able to rely only on unrealised gains, loans and charitable structures to avoid contributing to his community.

If his net wealth was $250bn, he’d have to fork out $2.5bn. Which seems like a lot. But consider that wealthy people are usually invested in appreciating and yield-generating assets. As a benchmark, a low-risk money market fund full of US bonds and short-term debt securities is currently yielding around 3.5% per year. On $250bn, that would be $8.75bn in one year. So even after paying $2.5bn in wealth tax, he could still be up around $6.25bn. Seems less dramatic now.
Caveat: In reality, bad market years, illiquid stock, concentration (Bezos’ case), valuation rules, and forced selling all need to be factored in. But their wealth planning teams still using Windows xp can handle that.

If we’re comfortable taxing wages before money even reaches a nurse, teacher, builder, or person renting beside a shower unit, it doesn’t seem insane to require the extremely wealthy to contribute annually at a rate that resembles normal civic obligation.

If their wealth becomes gravity and starts influencing public power, they should probably get a bill for that.

I used to think, “thank god physical disciplining in schools went away and the experience was safer for kids”.

Then I thought, well if some kids are getting abused at home, like they were previously, it just gives their trauma room to manifest in that safer school environment. Where the ugliest manifestations can hinder schooling more than physical disciplining would’ve.

Then I thought, but maybe if that safer school environment could now also treat kids as humans pending discovery of some form of intelligence I.e. who are the builders, movers, thinkers, performers, carers, strategists, artists?

I realised that the factory of schooling has remained the same, minus some cruelty.

And I wondered, “why did we stop halfway on the journey to giving kids dignity?”

Lisbon isn’t just its buildings, restaurants, hotels, sea views, and investment returns. Lisbon, or any city, is memory. It’s family networks, small shops, old neighbours, ordinary routines, language, humour, grief, pride, and continuity.

It becomes a form of exploitation when investors are allowed to bid for a culture nurtured over generations, prune its rough edges, and then sell access to it for maximum profit…rendering it beautiful, but hollow. Meanwhile, those who created much of its value are left with higher rents, weaker communities, and a growing sense that their own country no longer has room for them.

But at least it enriches a narrow class /s

To be clear, the danger isn’t tourism itself. Tourism brings money, jobs, visibility, and cultural exchange. The danger is this modern extractive form of it. And it doesn’t take much imagination to consider the consequences. You’d only need to look at London, Paris, Geneva, among countless others, to notice how wealth preserved the surface while shifting the life beneath it.

I write this seemingly naively, as if private equity and wealthy investors are merely oblivious to the effects of their quarterly goals. Unfortunately, and with great insomnia, I know it’s a business model: privatise the gains and socialise the losses. All enabled by regulatory capture, political incentives, and a dash of scorn that community isn’t as profitable as individual isolationism.

Moral imagination is key, and unfortunately, sparsely executed. I struggle between accepting unwarranted accumulation as an inevitable human impulse, and whether surrendering to that conclusion is a kind of defeat. Greed often feels more powerful than kindness, because it is easier: easier to take than to care, easier to extract than to preserve, easier for a few determined people to damage what many gentler people are trying to protect.

A country shouldn’t measure success only by how much capital it attracts, how much property appreciates, or how many luxury developments appear. It should ask whether one of its young people can afford to live near their family. Whether an elderly resident can remain in the neighbourhood they know. Whether workers in the tourism economy can build stable lives from the wealth they help generate. Whether local people feel included in the future of their own city.



A city that forgets whom it belongs to may still be beautiful, but it has already begun to disappear.

The irony is that I came to Lisbon as part of the very class of people stoking change.

I was raised in London, a city I no longer feel I belong to, and moved here with the kind of mobility many Portuguese people don’t have. I know that makes my concern complicated. I’m inside the problem, trying to live with some awareness of it. But that’s also why I feel it so sharply.

I’ve seen what happens when a city becomes increasingly organised around capital rather than belonging. I’ve seen parallel worlds emerge: one for those with money, mobility, and international networks, and another for the people who carry the place through ordinary life.

In Lisbon, I feel the parallel worlds too: the expat world of specialty coffee, brunch, English-speaking spaces, and aesthetic consumption; and the Portuguese world of families, workers, elderly neighbours, sarcasm, saudade, and the slight twitch of memories from difficult political histories. These worlds occupy the same streets, but they don’t always meet.

I’m learning Portuguese. I read Camões and the country’s history. I feel at home amongst the soulfulness and sarcasm of the Portuguese. In many ways, I feel more kinship here than in the city that raised me. I try, imperfectly, not to treat Portugal as a lifestyle accessory. But I still feel the weight of being grouped with those who arrive without curiosity, humility, or any real desire to belong beyond consumption.

There is a strange loneliness in loving a place while knowing my presence may symbolise something painful to the people from here.

I don’t think growth is inherently wrong. But if Lisbon’s transformation turns the city’s own people into background characters in a prosperity story written for investors, tourists, remote workers, and elites…then that growth has cost too much. A humane society should not ask ordinary Portuguese people to sacrifice their homes, neighbourhoods, and sense of belonging so the country can appear successful from the outside.

I feel for the Portuguese not because I imagine myself morally separate from the problem, but rather because I’ve already lost a version of home to the same problem.

London taught me what happens when ordinary people are priced out of the places that formed them. So when I see Lisbon beginning to split into parallel worlds, I can’t pretend it’s harmless.

I know what this story looks like when it is allowed to continue.


Though I moved to Lisbon with the mobility of a London expat, it wasn’t with a face people usually associate with that world.

Sometimes I feel suspended between the Lisbon of remote workers and the Lisbon of Uber drivers, Glovo riders, and service staff working behind the scenes…people whose presence is relied upon, yet rarely welcomed with the same ease.

I’m close enough to see both, and oftentimes misread by both, but I don’t quite belong to either.

So…even within the outsider class, there are hierarchies.

AI won’t determine the future nearly as much as how the gains end up being distributed. I think what the AI faff has exposed is the gap between economic systems and human needs.

It’s a fair aspiration to remove work from human hands (ongoing for millennia), but it’s not fair to gate-keep the value that comes with it.

Bigger Q:
What happens when intelligence is a commodity in a system built on scarcity?
How will our identities, structures, and search for meaning change?

Entering a small elevator, especially if someone’s already inside:
First “Bom dia/tarde/noite”, then “Posso?” before entering

As you reach to press your button:
“Com licença”

When exiting:
another “Bom dia/tarde/noite”

It may sound too formal, but I’m firmly on the side of these small pleasantries. They’re the soft edges of a community… a small “price” to pay to stop a place from feeling like everyone’s just passing through each other. We are wired for connection, after all.

Tbh I’ve said “bom dia” to more people in a month, in Portugal…. than I’ve done in 30 years in London.

I read Moxie Marlinspike’s (Founder of Signal) critique of democracy recently, that there are problems inherent to the system itself:

• Democracy turns people into passive selectors of pre-made options, implying that those who control the agenda hold real power.
• The majority imposes decisions on minorities, even though technically the “majority” is often just the largest minority group.
• Built-in (unfixable) vulnerabilities include: demagoguery, lobbying, and corruption.
• It presents itself as the only legitimate system, and synonymous with freedom. But voting gives an illusion of control, real power remains elsewhere.
• Participating in elections legitimises the system. It channels dissent into safe, limited actions instead of direct change.

Their alternative is anarchy (self-organisation and direct action), which is great for smaller scale matters, but how would that work for the public service elements? Transport, power grids, healthcare. These things necessitate long-term infrastructure planning, oversight, maintenance, standards, among other considerations. Fragmented decision-making from loose voluntary groups most likely cannot deliver outcomes efficiently enough. There would still be a need of some form of large-scale coordination system.

I always think about, “How do we keep large-scale coordination, but give people more direct influence and control?”. Some rabbit holes:

• Preferendums during elections (rank issues on priority, giving leaders a mandate to follow)
• Energy co-operatives in Schönau and Feldheim. Owned and run by the people.
• Use tech for faster feedback loops. Continuous engagement by proposing policies and voting more frequently
• Citizens assemblies to deliberate on specific issues
• Participatory budgeting: Schools vs roads vs parks etc