It’s Time to Stop Worshipping Mario Draghi

William Burns is a fellow at Tech Policy Press.

The Catalan newspaper, Ara, dubbed Italian economist Mario Draghi “the oracle” last month following his speech at a high-level conference in Brussels. A year after his call for dramatic reform of European science and industrial policies, Draghi is now celebrated as the leading advocate of European technological sovereignty. Former head of the European Central Bank, married into the ancient Medici clan, and now, in a sense, he commands attention across the Brussels policy bubble. Compared with younger US counterparts like presidential science adviser Michael Kratsios, Draghi certainly seems oracular. The problem is that his conclusions are deeply flawed.

Draghi’s first mistake is to promote the US military-industrial complex, such as the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) and the complex’s historic shaper, Vannevar Bush, an engineer and political conservative. By treating this model as Europe’s blueprint, he overlooks the subtleties of American innovation policy, presenting a narrow, authoritarian vision. This vision ignores the democratic, experimental approaches to science and technology that Europe urgently needs.

His second mistake is a failure to acknowledge Europe’s rich history of industrial policies. For more than fifty years, ambitious programs aimed at fostering high-tech industry have delivered limited economic and social benefits, often at enormous cost. Draghi’s proposals, echoing these decades-old initiatives, risk repeating the same mistakes rather than generating the transformative change he promises.

The reason I make these points with such confidence is that Draghi uncannily mirrors a largely forgotten European official called Christopher Layton, who, in the 1970s, was also fascinated by America’s military-industrial strength and sought to build a rival of his own. Few in Brussels today would recognize his name, and I would guess Draghi may never have heard of him. Yet Layton’s career offers an instructive precedent.

Draghi-like policies in action

A British aristocrat who became a European Commission official, Layton published in 1969 a book provocatively titled European Advanced Technology: A Program for Integration. Like Draghi, Layton admired the USA but also saw it as a looming threat. He regarded Europe as a “divided, weak protectorate” of America, chafing under its dominance. His antidote: intricate and cross-border engineering programs that would forge a new European superstate. Unified business regulations, “buy European” procurement, and joint research projects were all part of this blueprint, designed to finally earn Europe the respect of the United States.

Layton’s approach was deeply “federalist”. Altiero Spinelli, the talismanic “father” of European federalism, said of him that “it would be difficult to find somebody better suited to this function [technology policy].” Layton viewed Britain’s legacy military-industrial complex as a political catnip in the “Common Market” (one of the EU’s predecessor groupings), proof that shared knowledge and coordinated industrial effort could recover Europe’s pride, and reduce dependency on American weapons. Layton outlined ambitious projects, from, high-tech weapons to a handful of civilian contraptions, such as “hovertrains,” believing that technical mastery could reshape Europe’s geopolitical stature.

When the Commission gained broader powers in the 1970s, Layton rose to the positions of chief of staff and later director of technology and industrial affairs. He focused on microelectronics, a sector then, and now, seen as strategically vital. His team pursued an audacious industrial policy aimed at challenging IBM, the US technology monopoly of the era. This included the ESPRIT program, subsidies for research and development, and nearly a decade of legal maneuvering on antitrust grounds, all documented in archival studies by historian Arthe Van Laer.

The antitrust campaign itself was emblematic. By early 1973, Layton had conceived the effort but hesitated when confronted with IBM’s formidable $300 million legal department. Spinelli urged him forward. After a protracted struggle, complicated by interference from Reagan-era officials, the Commission compromised: IBM agreed to disclose interface information to competitors, a form of “unbundling” in modern parlance. The tangible public impact was minimal, but psychologically, it signaled that Europe could, in principle, stand up to a global tech giant.

Yet the political logic behind Layton’s policies was inconsistent. He framed his strategy as liberal, but as a member of the British elite, the son of a baron and the former editor of The Economist, no less, he ignored public preferences and the material realities of everyday life. Weapons systems, in his mind, were abstract instruments in a geopolitical chess game, interchangeable with civilian technologies in his calculations. Even when referencing Australia’s Woomera range, he glossed over the fact that its use involved bombing Indigenous lands, a glaring moral blind spot in his otherwise detailed vision.

In sum, Layton’s story illustrates a persistent feature of European industrial policy: ambitious, technologically focused programs designed to secure parity with the United States, often at enormous economic and moral cost. These initiatives occasionally shifted the balance of power in narrow technical arenas, but they failed to produce broad societal benefit.

Assessing Layton’s legacy

Layton later reflected that the Commission “accepted the basic argument that Europe needed some part in the strategically vital computer industry and that it could not afford to be wholly dependent on one company [IBM], controlled from outside, and supported by heavy US government finance.” While this view influenced European thinking, it never fully dominated. Nor was Layton a lone visionary; many contemporaries shared his ambitions. Yet the Commission’s endgame often remained murky.

The antitrust case against IBM illustrates both the ambition and the limitations of his approach. Initially conceived by Layton in early 1973, the campaign faltered under the weight of IBM’s formidable legal apparatus. Spinelli’s intervention pushed it forward, but after years of twists, negotiations, and international pushback, the Commission settled for limited concessions from IBM. The result was largely symbolic – IBM faced pressure, European officials felt emboldened, but the public received few tangible benefits.

This episode highlights a broader tension in European industrial policy. On one hand, it projects a “David versus Goliath” narrative, Europe asserting itself against global powers. On the other hand, it is shaped by elite liberal thinking, detached from everyday societal needs. Layton rarely considered the public perspective, and his focus on weapons and high-tech programs ignored moral and material consequences. European industrial policy, then and now, has roots in geopolitical competition and Cold War anxieties, often prioritizing prestige over public welfare.

The future we want

The lesson for today is clear. Europe cannot simply replicate Draghi’s DARPA-inspired model and expect transformative results. While investment in research infrastructure, advanced computing, and defense technology is ambitious, it risks repeating the mistakes of Layton’s era, prioritizing symbolic or strategic gains over social and economic benefits. The underlying assumption, that such programs can counterbalance American power, is untested and potentially costly, both economically and morally.

Instead, Europe should design science and technology policies that embody humane, democratic values. Policies should prioritize societal benefit, equity, and inclusivity, drawing on the EU’s occasional liberal and progressive urges. Examples include the 2017 Lamy report, analyses by Pestre and Wynne, and pilot initiatives like Urban Innovative Actions. These initiatives follow in the footsteps of past visionary programs, such as Édith Cresson’s 1990s Society: the Endless Frontier, which explicitly aimed to counterbalance the US military-industrial model with socially-oriented research policy.

Draghi’s appeal, politically and psychologically, is understandable. Many Europeans fear external threats and admire decisive figures offering solutions. Scholars like Mariana Mazzucato have reinforced this narrative, framing the state as a relentless entrepreneurial force akin to the Apollo program. But the US example, both in innovation and economic power, emerged from complex historical circumstances, state-level experimentation, civil rights movements, and democratic political pressures, not just military-industrial might. European policy could similarly draw on participatory, consultative, and experimental approaches to innovation. These strategies are more likely to produce equitable progress, resilience against autocracy, and long-term societal benefit than an uncritical replication of DARPA-style models.