The most dysfunctional and venomous relationship in modern American politics isn’t between opposing political parties, but rather between two giant, single-issue super PACs that share the exact same objective: shaping the political future of artificial intelligence. Instead of collaborating to support like-minded candidates, these multi-million-dollar groups are locked in a cutthroat, deeply personal civil war that has left a trail of canceled advertising blitzes, bruised egos, and terrified congressional candidates ducking for cover. This bitter feud is effectively a proxy war for the souls and bank accounts of Silicon Valley’s two biggest rivals: Anthropic and OpenAI. While the former is represented in the political arena by a safety-focused super PAC called Public First, the latter aligns with Leading the Future, a group pushing for rapid, industry-friendly growth. The resulting clash has transformed the midterm elections into a highly volatile battlefield where policy debates have been replaced by backroom ultimatums and relentless mudslinging.
At the heart of this conflict lies a fundamental, almost theological division over how artificial intelligence should be integrated into society. Public First and its network of donors, who champion Anthropic’s cautious outlook, advocate for tight governement oversight to prevent catastrophic outcomes—an approach their detractors mockingly label as “doomerism.” Conversely, Leading the Future, backed by OpenAI co-founder Greg Brockman and aligned with a more deregulation-friendly, accelerationist philosophy, argues that heavy-handed regulations will stifle American innovation and cede the technological high ground to global adversaries. Brad Carson, the former Democratic congressman who leads Public First, describes the relationship between the two PACs to that of “matter and antimatter,” openly admitting that his organization’s principal mission is to thwart and dismantle its rival’s influence. In response, Leading the Future’s strategists dismiss Public First’s relentless opposition as a vindictive, narrow-minded crusade that is entirely beneath the dignity of the crucial technological debate they claim to want to foster.
This ideological hostility frequently manifests as raw, bare-knuckle political extortion, as seen in the high-stakes Democratic primary in North Carolina. When Leading the Future prepared to launch an expensive ad campaign to rescue the embattled campaign of Representative Valerie Foushee, Public First delivered an uncompromising threat: if Leading the Future spent a single dollar on Foushee’s behalf, Public First would withdraw its own massive financial support. Terrified of losing a critical ally, Foushee’s campaign severed communication with Leading the Future, leaving a produced television ad to sit permanently on the shelf while Public First spent $1.6 million to push her over the finish line. This incident proved that these organizations are entirely willing to weaponize their fortunes to isolate one another, forcing vulnerable candidates to choose sides in a corporate feud they have no interest in joining.
The collateral damage of this proxy war is evident on Capitol Hill and in local districts, where candidates find themselves trapped in a high-tech minefield of unsolicited endorsements and aggressive counter-pressures. During a crowded Democratic congressional primary in Manhattan, the rivalry exploded into a direct financial shootout over candidate Alex Bores, with a group tied to Leading the Future spending $4 million to defeat him while a Public First-aligned faction poured $3.7 million into defending him. Meanwhile, Leading the Future caught several noncompetitive House Democrats by surprise by publicly endorsing them without their advance knowledge, hoping to quietly build a roster of political allies. Within days, those same bewildered lawmakers received hostile phone calls from operatives connected to Public First, demanding they denounce the endorsement and hinting that future financial support was contingent on their compliance—a transactional maneuver that left many seasoned politicians feeling deeply uncomfortable.
This relentless pressure has sent a wave of anxiety through the Democratic establishment, prompting candidates to adopt defensive strategies to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Many politicians are actively dodging policy questionnaires, slow-walking meetings, and attempting to placate both super PACs simultaneously without committing to either. The chaos has become so distracting that Mike Smith, the president of the House Majority PAC, has stepped in to play the role of behind-the-scenes peacekeeper, urging both factions to cease their scorched-earth tactics in vulnerable districts that are vital to the party’s chances of reclaiming the House majority. Strategists fear that if these tech billionaires continue to use highly competitive swing districts as their personal sandboxes, they could easily sink viable candidates and inadvertently hand crucial seats to their political opponents.
While the two tech factions burn through millions trying to outmaneuver one another, progressive critics argue that the entire spectacle reveals the hollow, transactional nature of big-money lobbying. To candidates like Nida Allam, who narrowly lost her primary in North Carolina, the distinction between the “safety” camp and the “innovation” camp is an illusion; both are ultimately massive corporate entities using astronomical sums of dark money to buy legislative influence and preemptively draft the laws that govern them. Amidst this cold, calculating struggle, rare glimpses of human restraint occasionally emerge, such as when Public First abandoned a planned $1 million attack campaign against former Illinois Congressman Jesse Jackson Jr. simply because Carson felt “queasy” about attacking a family in mourning after the death of the candidate’s father. Yet, these brief moments of empathy do little to mask the grim reality that the future of American technology policy is being decided not by democratic consensus, but by a relentless, ego-driven war of attrition between Silicon Valley’s most powerful elites.
