The Modern Notion of Freedom

In the contemporary digital landscape, the boundaries between public and private life have become increasingly porous. The proliferation of online platforms, the ubiquity of artificial intelligence, and the normalization of remote work and virtual meetings have created an environment where surveillance often goes unnoticed.

Each message sent, every search performed, and all participation in online meetings add to a growing reservoir of personal data. This information is accessible to organizations, corporations, and governments. As a result, questions about who is watching, what is being collected, and how this information is used have become central to the debate on privacy and autonomy in the age of AI.

History demonstrates that moments of collective anxiety, whether caused by the outbreak of disease, the threat of war, or the rise of disruptive AI technologies, often leads people to accept increased oversight. In the name of security, individuals and societies cede control, allowing external authorities to monitor, record, and ultimately shape behavior.

Michel Foucault, in his seminal work “Discipline and Punish,” explores how such dynamics of control emerge and consolidate, using the example of the “plague city” (or “plague stricken town”) as a historical paradigm for the exercise of surveillance and discipline.

Foucault describes the measures taken during a plague outbreak at the end of the seventeenth century: “First, a strict spatial partitioning: the closing of the town and its outlying districts, a prohibition to leave the town on pain of death, the killing of all stray animals; the division of the town into distinct quarters, each governed by an intendant. Each street is placed under the authority of a syndic, who keeps it under surveillance; if he leaves the street, he will be condemned to death.”

This “enclosed, segmented space, observed at every point, in which the individuals are inserted in a fixed place, in which the slightest movements are supervised, in which all events are recorded… all this constitutes a compact model of the disciplinary mechanism.” For Foucault, “the plague (envisaged as a possibility at least) is the trial in the course of which one may define ideally the exercise of disciplinary power”

Building on this, Foucault turns to the architectural metaphor of the panopticon, originally conceived by the philosopher Jeremy Bentham as a design for prisons. The panopticon consists of a central observation tower surrounded by cells, arranged so that a single guard can observe all inmates without being seen.

This design achieves its effect through uncertainty; inmates never know when they are being watched, which leads them to internalize the gaze of authority and regulate their own behavior accordingly. The panopticon thus becomes a powerful symbol for modern forms of discipline, where the mere potential for observation is enough to ensure conformity.

Today, as artificial intelligence systems become more sophisticated and data collection more intrusive, the logic of the plague city and the panopticon is no longer confined to physical spaces. It extends into the digital realm, shaping both the ways we are seen and the ways we perceive ourselves.

The challenge, then, is to understand the mechanisms by which surveillance and discipline are enacted in the digital age, and to critically examine the implications for privacy, autonomy, and the very notion of freedom.

The disciplinary mechanisms of the plague city, as described by Foucault, are anything but invisible. In this model, control is exercised through a relentless and highly visible apparatus of authority. The city is divided into quarters, each governed by an intendant, with every street placed under the constant watch of a syndic.

Daily, the syndic inspects each house, requiring every inhabitant to appear at the window and account for themselves, under threat of severe punishment. The presence of militia, sentinels at the gates, and a system of permanent registration ensures that no movement or deviation escapes notice. “Inspection functions ceaselessly,” Foucault writes, and the entire population is subjected to a meticulous, almost theatrical display of power and order

In this environment, the illusion of freedom is virtually nonexistent. The inhabitants of the plague city are acutely aware of the disciplinary gaze; Their compliance is secured through the certainty of observation, rather than any subtle possibility of being watched.

The threat of punishment is immediate and explicit, and the machinery of surveillance is woven into the fabric of daily life. The plague city stands as a model of perfect and “absolutely violent” discipline. In this society, autonomy is suspended in favor of security, and every action is subject to scrutiny.

This model of overt, present authority contrasts sharply with the logic of the panopticon, where discipline is internalized and the watcher is unseen. In the plague city, power is exercised through direct intervention and visible checks; in the panopticon, it is the possibility of being watched that compels self-regulation.

—Yet both models reveal how fear, whether it originates from disease, punishment, or the unknown, can justify and sustain systems of surveillance and control.

As we navigate the complexities of digital surveillance today, it is essential to recognize the historical roots of these mechanisms. The plague city reminds us that the most extreme forms of discipline are often justified by crisis, and that the promise of safety can come at the cost of personal freedom.

If the plague city represents the apex of visible, direct discipline, a system in which every movement is checked, every presence accounted for, and every deviation swiftly punished, the panopticon marks a profound transformation in the exercise of power.

In Foucault’s analysis, the panopticon is not merely an architectural curiosity, but a model for a new kind of surveillance: one that is continuous, individualized, and, above all, invisible. Here, the machinery of discipline is no longer anchored in the ceaseless inspections of syndics and intendants, but in the silent possibility of being observed at any moment.

The genius of the panopticon, as Foucault notes, lies in its asymmetry. The observer is hidden, the observed are exposed. “Visibility is a trap”; the individual never knows when the gaze is upon them, and so must assume it is always present.

This uncertainty compels a new form of self-regulation. The subject internalizes the disciplinary gaze, adjusting behavior not in response to direct orders or visible threats, but to the mere possibility of surveillance. The result is a population that polices itself, rendering overt displays of authority increasingly unnecessary.

During my years as a prosecutor, I was often struck, at times with amazement and at other moments with unease, by the sheer number of “eyes” that populate our world. Surveillance cameras, both public and private, are everywhere, quietly recording the details of everyday life.

From the moment we are born, we are entered into a growing constellation of databases: birth registries, health records, educational files, financial accounts, and, eventually, digital footprints that expand with every online interaction. Rarely, if ever, are we asked whether we wish to participate in this system; participation is simply assumed, a condition of modern existence.

What is perhaps most unsettling is not the visibility of these mechanisms, but their invisibility. Telecommunications companies and smartphones can pinpoint our locations with astonishing precision, often without our explicit awareness.

The devices we carry, the platforms we use, and the services we rely on all contribute to a vast, interconnected web of data that is accessible to legitimate authorities, and if we are not careful, can also be exploited by those with malicious intent.

In my work, I witnessed firsthand how easily individuals could be tracked and how trails of personal and sensitive information could be pieced together by anyone determined to find them.

In the digital age, the logic of the panopticon has been amplified and diffused. Surveillance is no longer confined to the walls of an institution or the boundaries of a city. Instead, it is woven into the very fabric of daily life: in the algorithms that track our preferences, the cameras that monitor public spaces, the metadata that maps our movements, and the platforms that record our conversations.

Yet, the effect is unmistakable.The awareness, or even the mere suspicion, that our actions are being monitored shapes how we present ourselves, what we choose to share, and how we interact.

We moderate our speech in online meetings, curate our digital profiles, and hesitate before expressing dissenting views, not because we are directly compelled, but because we have internalized the possibility of being watched. The boundaries between public and private, voluntary and coerced, become increasingly blurred.

This invisible surveillance does not simply restrict behavior; it produces it. The panoptic gaze encourages conformity, discourages deviation, and fosters a culture of self-censorship. In this environment, the illusion of freedom persists, but it is a freedom circumscribed by the silent, pervasive presence of surveillance.

We behave in certain ways not because we are explicitly instructed to do so, but because we know or suspect that we are being observed. The challenge, then, is to move beyond merely recognizing the presence of surveillance and to understand its implications for privacy, autonomy, and the fragile sense of security that underpins our daily lives.

If the panopticon represents the architecture of invisible surveillance, creating an environment where the mere possibility of being watched compels us to self-discipline, the challenge of our era is to reclaim spaces and practices that restore privacy, agency, and authentic self-expression. Reclaiming our privacy is not simply a matter of escaping surveillance; it involves actively shaping the conditions under which we participate in digital life.

In the digital age, this pursuit takes many forms. People adopt encryption technologies and anonymizing tools, and there is a growing movement for data sovereignty and digital rights.

Many now demand transparency from those who collect and process our data, and insist on meaningful consent as a prerequisite for participation in digital systems. There is also renewed appreciation for private spaces, ephemeral communication, and the right to be forgotten.

I remember a moment from my days as a part of an investigation unit when I once asked, almost out of curiosity, “What is the best way of not getting our cell phone tracked?” Someone whose name I will not disclose, answered with a wry smile, “Well, do not share your phone number with anyone.”

The implications of this advice were immediately clear. In today’s world, the ability to keep your cell phone number private or to live without a smartphone has become something of a luxury. Stepping away from the digital world, or distancing oneself from society, is not a choice everyone can make and, in some contexts, not having a smartphone might be even considered an eccentricity or simply regarded as odd.

During my time as a prosecutor, I observed that some people went to great lengths to escape control or detection. They refused to own smartphones, stayed off social media, and restricted access to their personal contact information.

Instead of taking calls or messages directly, they relied on trusted intermediaries to relay important communications, which made it more difficult to trace their activities. In certain circles, it was common practice to change devices frequently, for example by replacing a phone every month or two, in order to further reduce the risk of being tracked or profiled.

Although such extreme measures are not practical for everyone, there are more accessible ways to regain a measure of privacy.

Zero data retention policies ensure that information is not stored beyond what is strictly necessary, in line with data protection laws such as the GDPR. By limiting how long personal data is kept, organizations help protect individuals’ privacy and reduce the risk of unauthorized access. If data has been lawfully deleted because it is no longer needed, it will not be available for disclosure in response to third-party requests, including judicial orders, since organizations are required to comply with retention and deletion obligations under applicable law.

Non-disclosure agreements and the establishment of recording-free meetings create environments where participants can speak freely, without fear that their words will be permanently archived or shared without consent.

The right to be forgotten, now recognized in some legal frameworks, empowers individuals to demand the erasure of their personal data from digital repositories.

Opting out of data storage, whether by declining to use certain services or by exercising privacy settings, offers another layer of protection. Conscious minimization of personal information shared online or with organizations also helps.

Underpinning all these measures is the ongoing struggle for stronger personal data rights: the right to know what is collected, to control how it is used, and to seek redress when those rights are violated.

The pursuit of privacy is not without its challenges. The very tools that promise to shield us from surveillance can become instruments of control, subject to co-optation or circumvention by more powerful actors.

Efforts to withdraw from digital platforms can result in new forms of exclusion or marginalization. The desire for privacy must also be balanced against legitimate needs for security, accountability, and social connection.

Reclaiming our privacy is an ongoing negotiation. It requires vigilance, technical literacy, and a willingness to question the assumptions that underlie our participation in digital life.

This process calls for more than passive acceptance of surveillance. It demands active engagement with the systems that shape our experience. Engagement is both individual and collective. It is expressed in personal choices about what to share and with whom, and in broader social movements that challenge the normalization of constant observation.

Ultimately, reclaiming our privacy serves as a reminder that freedom is not simply the absence of constraint. Freedom is found in the presence of alternatives. In a world where surveillance is increasingly invisible, the task is to recognize the watcher and to imagine and build spaces where we can see ourselves, and each other, without fear.