In previous conversations in this space, we discussed different manifestations of the same problem. First, the mismatch between a state designed for a reality that no longer exists and a society that has changed rapidly. Then, the almost permanent emergence of governments operating under the pressure of successive crises . Next, the difficulties of social protection in a context of aging, transformation of work, and reconfiguration of families. In all these cases, the conclusion pointed in the same direction: difficult decisions would need to be made, priorities would need to be established, and choices would need to be sustained over time. But that is precisely what, to a large extent, we are no longer able to do.
This observation leads to a key question: does the State still have the power to govern? Governing, here, is not just about managing routines or responding to immediate pressures, but about choosing between competing demands, establishing priorities, coordinating actors, and sustaining decisions over time. The question, therefore, is not only whether the State knows what to do, but whether it can, in fact, enforce its decisions.
Perhaps this is one of the central problems of our time: the State continues to be called upon to do more and more, but has fewer political and institutional conditions to prioritize, impose legitimate limits, and arbitrate conflicts in a stable manner. The power to govern does not depend solely on the size of the machinery and the volume of spending, nor on formal instruments or legal authority. It also depends, and fundamentally, on the capacity to transform decisions into effects, sustain priorities, and maintain some degree of social acceptance in the face of inevitable losses. And it is precisely this capacity that seems to be being eroded.
To govern is also to set limits.
Contemporary democracies have become more open, more pluralistic, and more demanding—which, in many respects, is a civilizational advance. There are more organized groups, more public voices, and more legitimate demands. The problem is that this expansion of voices and demands has not been accompanied by a corresponding strengthening of the capacity to prioritize collective needs. Almost everything becomes a legitimate demand. Almost every frustration turns into a claim. Almost every conflict is presented as an emergency. And yet, few actors naturally accept the existence of restrictions, costs, losses, or hierarchies. The idea of limits—which is at the heart of democratic politics—has become more difficult to sustain. When the State can no longer impose legitimate limits and uphold collective priorities, the problem is no longer just one of administrative efficiency. It is one of political power.
A society that demands everything and trusts little.
One of the most visible expressions of this difficulty is the ambiguous relationship between society and the State. Public authorities are expected to solve practically every problem—large and small, structural and contingent, individual and collective. At the same time, distrust grows regarding their capacity to act efficiently, fairly, or competently. Much is demanded, and little trust is placed in them. This combination is corrosive. Excessive demands increase pressure; distrust reduces room for maneuver. Any decision tends to be perceived as insufficient, late, unfair, or politically suspect.
This environment stems not only from real or perceived failures of the State itself. It also reflects a broader transformation of the public sphere, marked by greater polarization, social fragmentation, and increasing difficulty in building common references. In these contexts, public decisions cease to be evaluated solely by their results and are immediately filtered by political identities, preconceived suspicions, and disputes over belonging.
Under these conditions, governing increasingly becomes about managing constant disputes—with high consumption of political energy, diversion of focus, and reduced capacity to concentrate on medium- and long-term priorities. Decisions are questioned even before they take effect. Rules are continually challenged. The collective cost becomes increasingly difficult to justify. Institutional explanations lose ground to immediate judgments, often moralized and amplified by social media. Politics, which should also be the space for legitimate conflict management, begins to operate under constant pressure for instant validation.
This environment favors shortcuts, makeshift solutions, and populist-leaning "solutions." Faced with the difficulty of justifying unpopular choices or prioritizing issues, governments tend to resort to symbolic responses, broad promises, exceptional measures, and fragmented concessions. Often, the State assumes responsibilities that do not belong to it, not out of conviction, but due to political calculation. Instead of managing the conflict, it begins to absorb it reactively.
The problem is that this creates a vicious cycle. The more the State responds in an exceptional and improvised manner, the more it reinforces the expectation that it can respond to everything. The more it avoids explicitly stating limits, the more it weakens its future capacity to do so. And the more it governs through successive accommodations, the more it loses its strength as a legitimate instance of collective arbitration.
It would be a mistake, however, to locate this problem solely within the Executive branch—and even less so solely within the federal government. The difficulty in sustaining long-term choices, imposing limits, and resisting short-termism permeates the State in a broader sense. It also manifests itself in the Legislative branch, frequently subjected to fragmented pressures and short electoral horizons, and in the Judiciary, whose increasing intervention in public policies is not always accompanied by a greater capacity to prioritize collective needs. Although the Executive branch concentrates the most visible social pressure, the erosion of state capacity is more systemic and more widespread than it usually appears.
An analog state in a digital society.
There is a temporal component in this process that deserves special attention. Contemporary society already operates, to a large extent, on a digital logic: immediate, continuous, interactive, reactive. The State, in turn, remains organized according to procedural, sequential, deliberative, and often slow times. This difference is not only technological; it is institutional. Procedures essential to guarantee legality and predictability are perceived as slow or inefficient. The mismatch between the pace of expectations and the pace of public action is compounded by another problem: contemporary challenges are more interdependent and require coordination between areas, levels of government, and capabilities that the State often has difficulty articulating.
Even with technical knowledge and formal instruments, the State's operational capacity faces real obstacles. The logic of permanent urgency shortens learning time, reduces the space for evaluation, and hinders course corrections. The result is a perverse combination of high social demands, low tolerance for error, and pressure for quick responses to problems that would require more patient coordination.
Global digital platforms and large technology companies operate with speed, scale, and flexibility far superior to that of the nation-state, often escaping available regulatory capabilities. This produces new power asymmetries and shifts some of the capacity for social coordination outside the traditional structures of public authority.
This problem cannot be solved with technology, not even with artificial intelligence. Tools can increase efficiency, improve diagnoses, and support decisions. But they do not replace authority, legitimacy, political coordination, or the capacity to sustain difficult choices. Without these foundations, the State may function better, but it will continue to have difficulty governing.
Before the final conversation
The erosion of state power, therefore, does not stem solely from a scarcity of resources, administrative failures, or bureaucratic inefficiency. It also stems from something deeper: the growing difficulty of ordering a more fragmented, faster-paced, more demanding society, less willing to accept clear limits. The state continues to be called upon to act, but it has lost some of the political and symbolic weight necessary to stably arbitrate the conflicts that permeate this new reality.
This wear and tear rarely manifests itself spectacularly, but rather in a quieter and more cumulative way, manifesting as an inability to maintain priorities, a multiplication of competing urgencies, difficulty in planning, a tendency toward permanent reaction, a loss of predictability, and a feeling that almost everything is provisional, questionable, or insufficient.
If previous discussions showed why the State is under pressure and where it encounters increasing difficulties, this one makes clearer an obstacle that precedes any specific solution: without effective power to order, limit, and sustain decisions over time, the State cannot even choose between possible alternatives in a consistent manner.
Thinking about the future of the State therefore requires confronting this fundamental erosion. It's not about advocating for a larger or smaller State, a stronger or weaker one, but about recognizing that the central question has become the quality of its power in a profoundly transformed society. Or, to put it more directly: it's not enough to discuss what the State should do; we need to ask again under what conditions it can still govern.
It is this question — the most difficult, least comfortable, and perhaps most decisive — that should guide our final conversation.
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
Cover photo:
