During a conversation in late May in Athens, Neil Rimer made a statement that lingered with me. At a vibrant new tech festival in the city, he discussed the growing wealth in AI and expressed a “strong sense that there will be some sort of a redistribution.” He elaborated, “It’ll either be voluntary or it’ll be involuntary, but it’ll happen, and I hope it’s voluntary,” adding that tech leaders “can play a leading role in seeing that through.”
From most, such remarks might sound like typical populism. However, coming from Rimer, a co-founder of Index Ventures, a highly successful venture firm over the past three decades, it was striking to hear publicly.
Rimer stepped away from day-to-day investing in 2021 and now resides mostly in Athens, where his wife is from and where his children value their Greek citizenship. He attended our interview in casual attire, contrasting with the more polished look of many peers. Nonetheless, Index has excelled recently: the firm has raised about $15 billion from external investors since its inception, and notable exits last year, including Figma’s IPO and Google’s acquisition of Wiz, reportedly earned Index around $9 billion.
Rimer actively contributes to philanthropic efforts. He is on the board of Endeavor Greece, supporting entrepreneurs in emerging markets, and led the board of Human Rights Watch from 2019 to 2025. In late 2021, he, along with his father and brothers, donated $13 million to McGill University for a campus renovation, resulting in the Rimer Building and the establishment of a new Institute for Indigenous Research and Knowledges.
His comments on redistribution arise at a peculiar time for philanthropy. The Giving Pledge, initiated by Warren Buffett and Bill Gates in 2010 to encourage billionaires to donate half their wealth, is losing traction. A New York Times report in March highlighted this trend: 113 families joined in its first five years, followed by 72, then 43, and only four in all of 2024. This highlights a shift away from philanthropy among wealthy tech figures. Elon Musk, noted as the world’s wealthiest person, remarked that his businesses “are philanthropy.”
This trend extends beyond the Pledge. American charitable giving reached a record $592.5 billion in 2024, yet the number of donors has declined for five consecutive years, with a 4.5% drop in 2024 alone, according to the Stanford Social Innovation Review. In 2000, two-thirds of households donated, compared to about half now, and data from Bank of America and Lilly Family School indicates a decline in giving even among affluent households, from 90% in 2017 to 81% last year.
This pattern is evident in Index’s portfolio, which includes Anthropic. Business Insider queried financial planner Alex Caswell on whether his newly wealthy clients, many associated with Anthropic and effective altruism, were dedicating their fortunes to philanthropy. While Anthropic matches employee donations up to 25% of their equity to charity, most clients were focused on angel investing or launching companies rather than philanthropy. “That’s what I’m seeing more than the desire to become philanthropic,” he told the outlet.
The lack of voluntary giving has prompted legislative measures instead. California voters will decide on a 5% one-time wealth tax targeting billionaires this year. Some, like Google founders Sergey Brin and Larry Page, have relocated to South Florida as a precaution.
OpenAI is reportedly considering going public in 2027, possibly influenced by the tax, which, if enacted, will calculate net worth based on global assets at the year’s end.
There’s significant opposition to wealth redistribution of this magnitude, including from Governor Gavin Newsom and economists who highlight that many industrialized nations have repealed similar taxes since 1990 after witnessing their wealthy individuals depart.
Alternative proposals are equally contentious. OpenAI has reportedly considered offering the government a 5% equity stake, an idea CEO Sam Altman describes as sharing AI’s benefits with the public. Critics, however, view it as a strategy to gain political favor in Washington. Silicon Valley has historically been reluctant to involve the government in its business affairs. As veteran investor Roelof Botha quipped in a previous conversation: “[Some] of the most dangerous words in the world are: ‘I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.’”
The extent of wealth beyond these mechanisms is considerable. Musk’s net worth surpassed $1 trillion after SpaceX’s recent IPO, marking him as the first to achieve this milestone. Forbes identified 45 new AI billionaires in its 2026 list, collectively valued at $2.9 trillion, even before Anthropic or OpenAI go public. According to Business Insider, employees of Anthropic and OpenAI, post-IPO, will possess enough wealth to purchase nearly a third of all San Francisco metro area homes.
This situation feels unprecedented, though whether it represents an extreme is debatable. The top 1% of U.S. households hold 31.7% of the country’s wealth, a record since the Federal Reserve began tracking in 1989, roughly equal to the combined wealth of the other 90% of households.
This is still below the 45% share held by the top 1% during the Gilded Age peak in 1916. However, the concentration among the very wealthy has intensified. Economist Gabriel Zucman notes that in 1910, the top four fortunes were worth 4% of U.S. GDP, while today, 19 households hold 14%.
Rimer’s two possibilities, voluntary or enforced redistribution, echo historical precedents from past periods of wealth concentration. In 1889, Andrew Carnegie’s essay urged wealthy individuals to treat their fortunes as trusts for public benefit, condemning dying rich as disgraceful. His work, “The Gospel of Wealth,” laid the foundation for modern philanthropy and inspired the Giving Pledge.
However, the voluntary path didn’t last. By the 1930s, Louisiana Senator Huey Long’s Share Our Wealth movement, advocating for heavy taxes on the rich to ensure income for all Americans, gained traction. To counter this, Franklin Roosevelt implemented what was dubbed the “soak-the-rich tax,” raising the top marginal income tax rate to 79%. Though it fell short of Long’s vision, it remains a prime example of politically enforced redistribution when voluntary giving didn’t suffice.
Rimer, having spent his career in tech, is no stranger to these dynamics. He is intrigued by the “moral center of tech companies,” a curiosity dating back to his days at Stanford in 1984, when Apple offered discounted Macintoshes to students, and Steve Jobs and other founders were celebrated for creating products perceived as positive contributions.
What disturbs him now is hearing his children speak about certain tech companies in the same vein earlier generations discussed defense contractors or tobacco firms.
Critics may point out that Rimer, as an investor in Anthropic and other tech firms, benefits directly from the wealth he suggests might need redistribution. He prefers, however, that beneficiaries voluntarily choose to return some of their gains rather than have them taken. Rimer hopes for a collective decision towards the easier path before history dictates a harder one.
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