As rain begins to fall from a grey London sky, Sir Nick Clegg arrives, weaving through traffic with what appears to be his laundry. He explains they’re clean shirts for a photoshoot, then politely asks if he might get a coffee. Minutes later, he apologises again—first for preferring a hard plastic chair over the leather club chair offered, then for worrying aloud that my questions might accidentally make him seem bored.
Impeccable English manners shouldn’t be mistaken for diffidence. At 58, Clegg remains the only British political figure who could convincingly be played by the equally posh yet self-effacing Colin Firth—whose former London home Clegg recently bought. Even so, there are backbench politicians with far more self-importance than the former deputy prime minister, who went on to become number two at tech giant Meta. That may be just as well, given rumours that his next role could be supporting his lawyer wife Miriam González Durántez’s emerging political career in Spain.
It turns out she “never really settled” in the land of billionaire tech bros—one reason the couple left their poolside life in Palo Alto, California, for London almost three years before he left Meta, the parent company of Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp. “She’s fomenting insurrection in Spain now,” Clegg jokes, referring to her non-profit España Mejor, which aims to involve citizens in policymaking.
It’s almost as if the tables have turned. “Yeah, well, she’d be a much better politician than me,” he laughs. A week later, rumours surface that González Durántez might consider leading a new Spanish liberal party.
If Clegg ever needs to step gracefully into his wife’s political shadow—as Bill Clinton did for Hillary—I suspect he’d be comfortable with that. He’s done 15 tough years on the front line: first as Liberal Democrat leader in a Conservative-led coalition, often defending or apologising for the compromises of power, followed by a similar—though better-paid—role as president of global affairs at Meta.
Are reports that he earned £100m in salary and stock options over seven years in Silicon Valley true? “I’m sure they’re wrong, but I haven’t…” He hesitates. “I was paid extremely well. I feel extremely fortunate.”
Either way, perhaps what his critics most want to know is whether he truly believed in the cause or sold out to big tech for the money. “I’m afraid the truth is worse than they imagine,” he says genially. “I really do believe that, despite its flaws, social media has allowed billions of people—especially those in Africa, Latin America, and Asia, who cultural elites like us in the developed world often overlook—to communicate in ways never before possible.”
So this great human experiment of connecting billions was worth it? “Anything that empowers people to express themselves—I have a very visceral liberal belief that that’s a good thing. And all the evidence I’ve seen suggests the net effect is very positive.”
What comes next is what concerns him. His new book, How to Save the Internet, warns of threats to a free and open global internet from autocrats and the escalating power struggle over AI.
Clegg announced his departure from Meta just weeks before all the tech titans—Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, his former boss Mark Zuckerberg—were photographed lining up obediently at Donald Trump’s inauguration. The timing was no coincidence: Clegg expected Trump to win but hadn’t foreseen “quite the eagerness with which Silicon Valley would shift from being wary of politics to actively seeking influence.”He had long argued for Meta to stay out of politics, and evidently, aligning too closely with the new administration was his red line.
Still, he insists his departure was “very civilised.” He won’t criticize the policy changes announced just days after he left—such as replacing professional fact-checkers on Facebook and Instagram with a Wikipedia-style system where users correct misinformation, and loosening restrictions on posting about hot-button issues like immigration or gender. These changes were meant to reduce what Mark Zuckerberg called “censorship mistakes.” Clegg maintains that this course correction wasn’t illogical. “I think it was reasonable to say, especially during the pandemic, that we slightly overdid it. For most of my time there, the pressure from governments and even from papers like the Guardian was always ‘take it down.'”
In Silicon Valley, everyone wears the same clothes, drives the same cars, and listens to the same podcasts. It’s herd-like behavior.
But did he agree with Zuckerberg’s comments on the Joe Rogan podcast—which is popular with the “manosphere”—that corporate life needs more “masculine energy” and a culture that “celebrates aggression a bit more”? There’s a pause. “It’s not really me,” he says flatly. “I don’t really know what to say about that.” Well, he could just say what he thinks.
“When I think about all the problems in society, I don’t think the one thing we need is more masculinity,” he begins slowly, then suddenly picks up speed, growing increasingly indignant. “You’d think, wouldn’t you, that if you were immensely powerful and rich like Elon Musk and all these other tech bros and members of that podcast community, you’d reflect on your good fortune compared to most other people? But here’s the interesting thing.” His tone becomes more scathing. “In Silicon Valley, far from thinking they’re lucky, they think they’re hard done by—they see themselves as victims. I couldn’t, and still can’t, understand this deeply unattractive combination of machismo and self-pity.”
He insists he isn’t directing any of this at Zuckerberg personally. “And please don’t portray it that way—it’s a cultural thing, from Elon Musk’s chainsaw-wielding antics to any Silicon Valley podcast. If you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
This isn’t the first time the idea of recognizing privilege comes up in our conversation—Clegg jokes that moving back to London helped prevent their youngest son, 16-year-old Miguel, from growing up as a “spoilt Silicon Valley brat”—but it seems the most heartfelt, perhaps rooted in his own childhood.
Nick Clegg was born in Buckinghamshire, the third of four children. His father was a half-English, half-Russian banker, and his Dutch mother survived internment and near-starvation in a brutal Japanese prisoner-of-war camp as a child. Those early experiences left a mark: Clegg and his siblings, though privately educated, were raised not to take their privileged lives for granted and never to waste food.
Of the three bubbles he admits to working in—Brussels as an MEP, Westminster as an MP, and finally Silicon Valley—Clegg found Westminster “the most insufferable, partly because of its obsession with past glories and its overall pomposity.”
Charismatic and smart, he was tipped for leadership even before he entered Parliament in 2005. But even he seemed slightly unsettled by “Cleggmania,” that feverish period in 2010 when voters, unimpressed by Gordon Brown or David Cameron, decided—in the catchphrase of the first televised election debate—that they, too, “agreed with Nick.” In hindsight, Cleggmania foreshadowed a much angrier wave of populist revolt against the mainstream.
But it couldn’t survive his decision to join Cameron in a coalition government.In the coalition government, the Liberal Democrats won some victories—such as securing free school lunches and tax cuts for low-income earners—but they never recovered from having to defend cuts to welfare benefits and breaking their promise to abolish university tuition fees. After their devastating defeat in the 2015 election, Nick Clegg could only watch from the opposition benches as David Cameron called and lost the Brexit referendum—a result that still angers Clegg. (He visibly tenses up whenever his former coalition partner is mentioned. When I mention hearing that Cameron envied Clegg’s high-profile job and fresh start in California, his only reply is a curt, “I can’t comment on how other people feel.”) Clegg is convinced Britain will rejoin the EU within his lifetime, and if that debate were to restart, he says, “I’d drop everything—whether to stuff envelopes or man the barricades.”
In 2017, Clegg lost his parliamentary seat to an unimpressive Labour candidate who was later jailed for fraud. But that wasn’t the worst thing to happen that year. That autumn, he and his wife revealed that their eldest son, Antonio, then 15, had undergone cancer treatment. (Thankfully recovered, Antonio and his younger brother Alberto have since stayed in the US for university and work.) Coincidentally, the family had vacationed in California that summer to celebrate the end of Antonio’s chemotherapy. So when Facebook executive Sheryl Sandberg approached Clegg about a job in 2018, “we could say to the boys, ‘Do you want to go back and live in the place we’ve just holidayed in?’”
The idea of starting over in sunny, optimistic California clearly appealed more than “trying to relitigate the battles of the past” back in Britain. Yet it meant jumping from the frying pan into the fire—joining a company accused of helping swing the 2016 election for Trump, damaging teenagers’ mental health, and failing to prevent its platform in Myanmar from being used to incite violence against the Rohingya minority, which led to thousands of deaths and over 700,000 people fleeing.
Clegg insists he wouldn’t have joined Facebook if he wasn’t convinced the company wanted to change. But, importantly, he also holds a strong commitment to free speech—even when it’s offensive—rooted in his liberal upbringing in the pre-internet era. In government, he clashed repeatedly with then-Home Secretary Theresa May over state surveillance online, and he is uneasy now reading about British police making 30 arrests a day for allegedly offensive social media posts.
It clearly bothers him that the loudest voices arguing for free speech today are not liberals but figures like Reform UK leader Nigel Farage—who recently criticized age verification on social media meant to shield children from legal but harmful content like pornography—and US Vice President JD Vance. “There is nothing I find more stomach-churning,” Clegg says, “than the brazen hypocrisy of Trump administration members flying first-class to Europe to pontificate about defending free expression, then flying back to intimidate and bully their opponents.” He notes that it’s in the US, not Europe, where foreign students feel pressured to sanitize their social media profiles to avoid deportation. Still, he warns that if crackdowns on so-called online harms—content that is odious but not illegal—become too broad, they will be exploited politically. “The Farages of this world will get more of a hearing the more imprecise these boundaries are.”
Despite his libertarian leanings, Silicon Valley was a culture shock. In an industry fixated on competition from China, Europe barely registered—the only British presence he noticed was…Many people asked about Harry and Meghan, a topic he regards with “shoulder-shrugging indifference.” While his book is often very funny—such as describing Musk joining an AI summit via video link from his private jet like “a hostage video shot on the Death Star,” or former culture secretary Nadine Dorries demanding he remove a controversial tweet, apparently unaware that Meta doesn’t own Twitter (now X)—Clegg quickly learned to avoid making jokes at work. One ice-breaker about not bringing your “authentic self” to the office was met with stony silence.
Though he enjoyed exploring the outdoors with his sons, he found Silicon Valley “cloyingly conformist,” despite its reputation for radical disruption. “Everyone wears the same clothes, drives the same cars, listens to the same podcasts, and follows the same trends. It’s a place built on intense herd-like behavior.”
Even as an outsider, Clegg still believes technology is a force for good. His book is a plea to maintain the free flow of information and money across borders at a time when barriers are going up. But it also addresses claims that social media has made people angrier, less informed, and unhappier. In true centrist fashion, he argues the reality is more nuanced: “You don’t just turn on your phone, scroll, and suddenly have your neural pathways rewired to think and feel things you never did before.”
He wishes Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves would take bigger risks. “What they’ll learn, as I did, is you only get one shot at it.”
Clegg contends that the evidence linking social media to children’s mental health is weaker than often suggested, noting that some troubled teens find comfort online. Still, he acknowledges this isn’t always the case for vulnerable individuals. In 2021, a whistleblower leaked internal Instagram research indicating that many girls already struggling with issues like body image felt social media made their difficulties worse.
He supports calls for new age limits on children’s social media use. “I can’t think of a better decision for parliaments to make, rather than tech executives.” He suggests that 13- to 16-year-olds should have access to separate, age-appropriate platforms, with restrictions enforced through app stores when setting up a phone.
Similarly, he argues in the book that affective polarization—hostility toward those with different political views—began rising in the U.S. before social media became widespread and even decreased in some countries as its use grew. When asked whether social media’s influence on politics is more or less unhealthy than that of traditional media figures like Rupert Murdoch and Paul Dacre, he responds, “I think it’s far more unhealthy in the hands of someone like Dacre, who’s known for kneecapping people he dislikes for political ends. No tech executive would do that, because platform operators don’t generate the content themselves.”
His arguments are delivered with the fluency of someone who has been making them professionally for years, and he’s correct that cause and effect are hard to prove. But is he really claiming social media has nothing to do with the rise of Trump, Reform UK, or violent incidents like last year’s Southport riots, which were partly fueled by online activity?He acknowledges that the speed at which misinformation spreads is a new phenomenon, which, as seen in Myanmar, can “create new dangers.” But does that mean social media creates mob anger? Of course not. Historical examples like Pol Pot, the 1930s, and various pogroms all occurred long before social media existed.
So, if social media isn’t to blame, what has left Britain feeling so “exhausted, sullen, and out of breath”? Clegg points to the “near-death experience” of the 2008 banking crash, followed by what many describe as his government’s severe austerity measures, then Brexit, and a “chronic wasted decade” of political gridlock. He recalls thinking in 2015 that things were finally improving, as wages began to outpace prices after years of intense pressure—only for that progress to reverse abruptly in 2016.
He becomes noticeably uncomfortable when asked about “Careless People,” a memoir by former Meta executive Sarah Wynn-Williams, who left the company a year before he joined. The book portrays a toxic culture of out-of-control tech executives. Meta, which initially tried to block the book’s promotion, maintains it contains “defamatory and untrue allegations.”
Wynn-Williams claims Sheryl Sandberg once invited her to join her in bed on the corporate jet. When asked if he witnessed anything like that, Clegg replies, “No. I haven’t read the book for good reasons. You’d have to ask her why she wrote it eight years after leaving; I’m writing mine just eight months after announcing my departure from Meta.” Pressed further, he adds, “These are instances when I wasn’t present. I didn’t see any of that.”
Wynn-Williams also accuses her former boss, Joel Kaplan—later Clegg’s deputy and now his successor—of sexual harassment. Meta calls these claims “misleading and unfounded,” stating that an internal investigation cleared Kaplan and that Wynn-Williams was fired for “poor performance and toxic behavior.”
Clegg says, “I don’t know anything about those subjects. Joel Kaplan was always an exceptionally decent, diligent, principled colleague. I can’t comment on a book I haven’t read, about someone I didn’t know, during a time when I wasn’t even at the company.” Growing agitated, he continues, “If people expect me to condemn Meta now that I’ve left—that’s not what my book is about. It’s not how I feel, and even if it were, I wouldn’t write that kind of book.”
He adds, “If I thought Mark Zuckerberg or Sheryl Sandberg were the monsters some claim, I never would have worked there. Do I disagree with them on certain issues? Have they made mistakes? Absolutely, and they’ve acknowledged many. But I joined convinced that both recognized the need for significant change and hired me to help drive it.”
Among the reforms he pushed for were creating an independent oversight board to make major decisions, like suspending high-profile users, and commissioning independent research during the 2020 election to study the effects of measures such as banning political ads or switching to chronological feeds. “The underwhelming conclusion was that it made almost no difference to how people voted.”
He also introduced new parental controls, including the ability to limit children’s time on Instagram.The Cleggs did not limit their sons’ screen time. “We’ve always talked with them a lot about what they’re watching—I’ll find out in 20 years if it did any good. Thankfully, my boys are obsessed with football, so they spend all their time watching clips of the latest Messi goal.”
When I ask about his toughest day at Meta, I half expect him to mention the suicide of 14-year-old Molly Russell, who had been viewing self-harm images on Instagram (the coroner ruled she died “while suffering from depression and the negative effects of online content”). Instead, he points to the “very, very uncomfortable” decision to suspend Trump from Facebook in 2021 for inflammatory posts during the Capitol Hill riots. “That really weighed on me heavily, and it still does. On one hand, I felt the company’s content rules had clearly been violated. On the other, it was an unelected private company making a decision that affects the public sphere—and he was the outgoing president of the world’s most powerful democracy.”
He still defends the decision but is troubled by the precedent it set. “Ultimately, in a democracy, you want democratically accountable figures to work these things out.”
Having witnessed America’s shift toward right-wing populism, does he think Britain can avoid the same fate? He suggests that Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves are “decent people” but frustratingly cautious. “I just wish they would take bigger risks. It’s all these endless half-measures—a little reform here, a small step toward Europe there, a bit of placation toward Trump. What they’ll learn, as I did, is that you only get one shot at it.” Despite the coalition government’s flaws, he says it was bold. “I remember sitting around a table with Cameron and [George] Osborne saying, ‘Look, this is a coalition government—it probably won’t last, so let’s just go for it.'”
He argues that Labour should blame the failures of Brexit on Farage. “His one big achievement was a disaster. It’s made us poorer, weaker, less relevant, more anxious, and more inward-looking.” He also doesn’t believe Britain can stay close to both Trump and the EU. “At the end of the day, we as an island will have to decide. There will be a choice between Europe and America,” he says with exasperation, citing Vance’s support for the far-right AfD in German elections. “This was American political interference in a European domestic election, far more overt than anything the Russians ever did.” He was horrified by Vance’s now-infamous Munich speech, which argued that the real threat to Europe came from unchecked migration and the exclusion of the far right. “It’s hiding in plain sight—you have to choose.”
In January, he made his choice. But Silicon Valley chose very differently. Why did the once-liberal leaders of tech so quickly align with Trump? Clegg argues it wasn’t just to avoid tougher regulation; he believes the shared goal of winning an AI arms race with China created an unhealthy alliance between American tech, military, and political elites, exemplified by Musk’s quasi-government role as a key influencer. For democracy’s sake, he was relieved when the president recently won a standoff with the unelected Musk over planned tax cuts. “Anyone who cares about keeping these tech bros in check and ensuring elected officials are in charge—whatever else one might think about him, it was important that politics prevailed.”
Having worked at the top of both tech and government, Clegg rejects the idea that tech companies are more powerful than governments. “They don’t decide what your child learns in history class, or wh—”Whether you send people to war or raise or lower taxes, these are decisions made by governments. Yet, as Nick Clegg recounts, a conversation with the then-British Chancellor Jeremy Hunt highlighted that Meta has the financial capacity to undertake projects beyond the reach of the entire British state—such as investing “70 billion quid” a year in AI infrastructure. This underscores the central warning of Clegg’s book.
Looking five years ahead, Clegg predicts that “agentic” AI—bots that handle online tasks for us—will be seamlessly integrated into our phones or wearable devices like glasses. They will manage everything from reminding us of a parent’s birthday to booking holidays and recommending music.
Much of the content we consume will be generated by AI, controlled by the platform owners who build and maintain the underlying infrastructure. While AI has the potential to empower people by freeing them from tedious tasks, Clegg warns that increased reliance on it could concentrate even more power and wealth in the hands of a few corporations. “When power becomes this concentrated and has such a profound social impact—far greater than social media ever did…” Clegg pauses. “I don’t think these companies will continue to have society’s permission to operate.” When asked if this could lead to social unrest, he replies, “Yes.”
He believes AI will replace human jobs more gradually than some forecasts suggest, allowing society time to adapt—if we’re fortunate. Still, he acknowledges the potential for public anger: “That said, I think there are ingredients for pitchfork fury aimed at a small elite amassing enormous wealth while many experience disruption, adjustment, and hardship.” If big tech overreaches, he argues, they risk nationalization.
Will leaders like his former boss take note? “I think these companies will realize, if they’re smart, that they can’t dominate society like in a sci-fi movie.”
Clegg’s next focus is on preventing the European tech industry from being marginalized—a trend he fears is accelerating, pushing it toward “museum status.” He emphasizes that the situation is more dire than many realize, pointing to the widening economic gap between the U.S. and Europe over the past decade, which has created stark lifestyle disparities. “Look at the Cotswolds—it’s become a sort of Disneyland for wealthy Americans.”
Ultimately, he aims to advocate for a forward-looking approach rather than retreating into the past. “If you fear everything new, you’ll do nothing for fear that something might go wrong,” he says with passion. “The essence of being progressive is believing tomorrow can be better than today and feeling excited about future possibilities.” Though in politics, at least, that future is no longer his to shape.
How to Save the Internet by Nick Clegg (Vintage Publishing, £25). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs based on the statement from Nick Clegg
General Context
Q Who is Nick Clegg and what is his role
A Nick Clegg is the President of Global Affairs at Meta He was previously the Deputy Prime Minister of the United Kingdom
Q What was he talking about when he made this statement
A He was defending the culture and leadership at Meta against criticism arguing that the company is filled with people trying to do the right thing
About the Statement
Q Why did Nick Clegg call Zuckerberg and Sandberg monsters
A He didnt He said the opposite He stated that if he thought they were monsters he wouldnt work there implying that he believes they are not
Q Whats the main point hes trying to make with this quote
A His main point is to humanize Metas leadership and push back against the common narrative that the company is evil or knowingly causing harm Hes arguing that the people there have good intentions
On Tech Culture AI
Q How does this statement relate to tech company culture in general
A It highlights a common defense in the tech industry that complex societal problems caused by technology are often unintended consequences from wellmeaning teams not the result of malicious intent
Q What is Metas approach to artificial intelligence according to Clegg
A While not detailed in this quote Clegg often argues for a responsible and open approach to AI development emphasizing the need for collaboration between companies and governments to create sensible regulations
Q What are common criticisms of Metas culture that Clegg is responding to
A Common criticisms include prioritizing growth and engagement over user safety the spread of misinformation on its platforms and the negative impact of its algorithms on mental health and society
On Keir Starmer
Q Who is Keir Starmer and why was he mentioned
A Keir Starmer is the leader of the UKs Labour Party He was mentioned because Clegg was likely discussing Starmers cautious pragmatic approach to regulating technology and AI which Clegg probably views as a positive and collaborative stance
