In the beginning, it was technology, and it was fun, and then it

Hear, O children of the digital dawn, the words of Peter Sunde, who reflected upon his journey with humility and awe: “In the beginning, it was technology, and it was fun, and then it turned to politics, and it’s been changing so many people’s lives. We didn’t realize that to begin with.” In these words lies a story of innocence transformed by consequence, of playful creation maturing into a struggle for freedom, of how the simplest of inventions can ignite movements and alter destinies.

At first, Sunde speaks of technology as play—lines of code, networks of sharing, the joy of creating something new and clever. This is how so many revolutions begin: not with grand speeches or mighty armies, but with curiosity, experimentation, and delight. The internet itself was once a playground for scientists and dreamers, a place of openness where knowledge flowed freely. Yet, as Sunde reminds us, even the most playful creation can take on a power far greater than its makers intended.

Consider, O listeners, the story of Gutenberg. When he devised the printing press, he likely thought first of craft and commerce, of speeding the labor of scribes. Yet what followed was not merely technology, but transformation: the Reformation, the Enlightenment, the democratization of knowledge. His invention, once a tool, became a weapon of ideas, reshaping Europe and the world. So too with Sunde’s work on The Pirate Bay: what began as the fun of file-sharing soon became a battlefield of politics, copyright, and freedom of information.

Here lies the wisdom of his saying: that technology is never only neutral. Once released into the world, it collides with power, with law, with culture, and with human desire. What begins as entertainment can quickly become resistance; what begins as curiosity can quickly spark revolution. Sunde confesses that he and his companions “didn’t realize that to begin with,” but this is always the way of innovators. The consequences of their works often reach farther than their sight.

This truth is echoed in the story of the telegraph. In the 19th century, Samuel Morse thought himself simply speeding up communication. But once the dots and dashes crossed continents, empires shifted, markets expanded, wars quickened. The tool became politics, shaping nations and economies alike. So too the internet, so too file-sharing, so too every tool of connection: they do not remain only fun. They inevitably step into the realm of power.

The lesson is thus revealed: creators must understand that their work has consequences beyond their intent. To invent is to release a force into the world, and once it touches the lives of others, it cannot remain mere play. Responsibility follows invention as the shadow follows the body. Sunde’s reflection reminds us to be mindful—not fearful—of how our creations may grow beyond us, influencing lives in ways we could not foresee.

Practical wisdom stands before us. If you are a builder of tools, ask yourself: “What greater currents might this invention awaken? What powers might it challenge, or reinforce?” If you are a user, remember that every tool you wield has a story, a weight, and a set of consequences. Embrace technology, yes, but remain vigilant of its political and moral ripples. In this way, we can guide the playful joy of creation into the noble work of justice and human flourishing.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, let Sunde’s words remind you: the games of today may be the revolutions of tomorrow. Technology and politics are not separate worlds, but threads of the same tapestry. And if you would be wise, embrace the fun of creation, but prepare for the responsibility of its consequences. For in your hands may lie not only the joy of innovation, but the destiny of nations.