How government spyware became everyone's problem

In recent years the notion of government surveillance has evolved from a murky but distant concern into a concrete personal threat. The revelation that government-grade spyware is being deployed on an ever-widening scale represents not merely a technological or legal crisis, but a profound moral one. What began as a secretive trade in “lawful intercept” tools—ostensibly designed to catch terrorists and major criminals used by some of the world's most sophisticated intelligence agencies—has grown into a global industry that endangers journalists, activists, and ordinary citizens alike.

Spyware vendors, once niche and discreet, now operate as major technology exporters whose clients include a mixture of democratic and authoritarian states. The boundaries of legitimate use have blurred, and oversight has proved almost illusory.

Every manufacturer of surveillance software claims to sell its products exclusively to government agencies for lawful investigations. Yet the term “lawful” depends upon jurisdiction and political will. In liberal democracies, warrants and judicial review may exist in theory; in practice, emergency decrees or national security exemptions can bypass those safeguards. In authoritarian regimes, the definition of criminality itself can be expanded to include dissent, satire, or investigative journalism.

Memento Labs, one of the best-known Spyware vendors, and other European spyware suppliers are part of a system in which legality is a flexible marketing tool rather than a moral constraint. Once a government, or a private actor, gains access to such software, there are few external checks upon whom it targets. The result is predictable: instruments intended for counter-terrorism are repurposed for political surveillance, private vendettas, and intimidation.

Spyware, by its nature, scales easily. Once developed, a digital intrusion tool can be deployed across thousands of devices with minimal additional cost. As governments and private actors become accustomed to using these systems, their appetite for data increases. This technological logic of expansion undermines any claim of restraint.

The proliferation of older, less-controlled versions of such tools increases the risk of leakage and misuse. Former government clients, corrupt insiders, or hostile intelligence services can repurpose these abandoned versions. The very feature that makes spyware appealing to states—its stealth and efficiency—renders it uncontrollable once released.

The spyware industry thrives in opacity. Contracts are cloaked in secrecy, justified under national security exemptions, and often mediated through shell companies. There are no international mechanisms comparable to the arms-trade treaties that regulate conventional weaponry. The result is an unregulated market for invisibility, where powerful actors purchase the ability to penetrate private lives without detection or consequence.

Civil society organisations have attempted to fill this gap. Investigators from Citizen Lab, Amnesty International and others have traced infections back to government clients, revealing patterns of abuse. Yet such exposures are retrospective. They provide evidence of harm already done, not prevention for the next attack.

What makes the current wave of spyware deployment particularly alarming is its effect on the very fabric of civic life. When journalists suspect that their phones may be infected, sources dry up. When activists fear their movements are tracked, protests dissipate. The psychological burden of potential surveillance—what some scholars call the “anticipatory chill”—undermines the essential freedoms of thought, speech, and association.

In countries engaged in hybrid warfare, such as Ukraine, these dangers are magnified. Spyware becomes not only a domestic tool of control but also a weapon of foreign intelligence. It can map social networks, expose communication channels, and compromise humanitarian operations. The result is an erosion of both personal security and national resilience.

Towards Regulation and Resistance

The crisis revealed by a number of media reports demands an international response. Export controls must be strengthened to treat surveillance software as a weapon requiring licensing and transparency. Purchasers should be subject to human-rights due diligence, with the possibility of sanctions for misuse.

At the same time, citizens and institutions must cultivate technological self-defence: encrypted communication, secure hardware and collective awareness. Education is essential; surveillance thrives where ignorance prevails.

The most effective resistance lies in restoring the principle that privacy is not a privilege but a right. Without that foundation, every technological advance becomes a potential instrument of tyranny.

Government spyware represents the digital mutation of an ancient political temptation: the desire to know everything about one’s subjects. The modern incarnation is subtler and more pervasive, capable of crossing borders without a trace. What we find today is not merely an industry out of control, but a civilisation sleepwalking into self-surveillance.

The defence of liberty in the twenty-first century will not depend upon barricades or manifestos, but upon code, law and vigilance. If ordinary citizens are now the targets of government spyware, then the battle for privacy has ceased to be theoretical—it has entered every pocket and every screen.