It’s easy to feel conflicted about the digital economy, from cryptocurrencies to the sharing economy apps that enable things to be rented or borrowed. They all seem to exist in a sort of grey market, with the attendant dangers of inadequate safeguards, uncollected taxes, and precarious working arrangements. The owners of the apps certainly profit, and to consumers they might offer cheap new opportunities for accommodation, transportation, or investment; but it’s unclear whether they are beneficial to society as a whole. Lately, the merits and dangers of Bitcoin have been heatedly debated against the backdrop of a spectacular surge in its value.

After an initial wave of excitement, I found myself viewing all of these things more critically. I didn’t know whether I wanted to encourage a parallel digital economy of this sort to develop. Its various disruptive effects were evident, and overall it seemed that it had significant negative externalities. The consumers using the apps enjoyed more convenience and better rates, but authorities were having a tough time enforcing standard regulations, and competing businesses – whose physical presence generated employment and tax revenue in the jurisdiction in which they operated – were suffering, with an uncertain future. I realized, though, that as much as I no longer viewed this digital economy as the magical way forward, I didn’t want it to fail either. Simply by coming into being, it had created an unprecedented, important counterweight in economics and politics.

In their classic book on negotiation, Getting to Yes: Negotiating an Agreement without Giving In, Roger Fisher and William Ury expounded a theory of so-called “principled negotiation,” whose aim is to find a win-win resolution that takes into account the real interests of all parties, rather than the official positions that they profess to defend. Some commentators criticized this as a naive method that fails to consider the power imbalance that can often exist between parties in the real world. The authors, however, introduced an important concept: BATNA, or “best alternative to a negotiated agreement.” BATNA, they argued, is the real determinant of power at the negotiating table; this power isn’t based on the political leverage each party wields, or the amount of money or resources that it has. What matters is rather what each party can fall back on if the negotiation fails.

The corollary to this is that you are never more powerful than when you can walk away. Complaining, debating, and pleading ultimately have limited influence. People will only really take notice when you show a credible willingness to cease cooperating or participating. If the other side senses that there is a genuine danger of losing you or your business, it will tread carefully, and if you’ve already left, it may notice your discontent for the first time. This can create a set of conditions in which a reasonable, win-win arrangement is achievable even in a seemingly imbalanced relationship.

It seems to me that the digital economy has created precisely this kind of permanent power limbo. People, in their various capacities as consumers, citizens, or otherwise, are no longer beholden the way they once were. For example, in some countries cryptocurrencies are being used as a hedge against governments’ irresponsible monetary policies. Similarly, ride sharing apps have enabled people to escape the direly mismanaged taxi industries in certain cities. Complacency and token appeasement are less and less viable because people have an alternative that allows them to, figuratively, walk away. Escaping to this parallel economy might not be what either side ultimately wants, but the existence of this avenue of escape is in itself an important check. The BATNA has been upgraded, and that has wrought significant changes.