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Special Feature:
Reclaiming Feminism and Collective Liberation
Mia Khalifa & Céline Semaan on Healing, Identity, and Political Awakening
Reclaiming Feminism and Collective Liberation

CÉLINE SEMAAN: I have so many questions—they are a bit intense. So we are going to start with the intensity immediately… Anjed we woke up and the news was so disgusting. I mean this is our reality.
We joke and laugh because we’ve developed this amazing sense of humor, but the world we’ve grown up in has been very very intense. We’ve mastered the art of talking about heavy issues, making it personal because everything is political right?
MIA KHALIFA: Everything.
CÉLINE: I wrote something recently, about how ‘free Palestine’ is also about Lebanon. The Lebanese endured 35 years of war and genocide in Lebanon, all before social media existed. Back then, the media painted us as terrorists, manufacturing consent for the bombings. It’s a humanitarian crisis that’s rarely discussed, though as Lebanese people, it’s been our lived experience.
You and I both grew up in Lebanon. Today, waking up to what’s happening in South Lebanon, Dahiyeh, and Tyre, with 200 people killed just today, is heartbreaking. I hope when this is published, it’s over, but I’m not holding my breath.
As women, especially Arab women, we’ve faced oppression, both from conservative and so-called progressive spaces. How do you reconcile feminism when it doesn’t seem to include us?
MIA: That’s a very good question. Honestly, it’s only in the last few years, as I’ve grown older, that I’ve been able to reconcile those feelings. I realized that you can only control your own views and actions. For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.
I grew up in a predominantly white, predominantly Jewish area in Washington, DC, and Maryland. I didn’t see much support from feminist circles there. It wasn’t until I got older, traveled, and found community with women of color—Indigenous, Latinx, and especially Lebanese and Arab women—that I started to understand. It took time, but I get why others struggle to reconcile their place within feminism. It wasn’t until I got older that I began to find my own.

CÉLINE: Growing up in constant war, having to flee over and over. I’ve moved so many times. Just this morning, I was on a call with my parents, and they’re preparing to flee Lebanon again with everything that’s going on. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve had to leave and come back. It makes you rethink what home really means.
So now, sitting here in a hotel, I wonder, what does “home” mean to you?
MIA: Home, for me, is hearing your accent and having manoushes around the table. That’s what makes it feel like home—those little reminders that are so important. It’s all that really matters. As long as you’re surrounded by the right people, that’s it.
CÉLINE: This morning, as I was buying manoushe and heading to see you, I felt like, “Wow, I feel at home in New York,” just knowing there’s this place I can go to for that familiar taste. I literally inhaled that manoushe while watching the news, and it hit me—wherever we go, we’re transporting our home with us. It sounds cheesy, but anjad it’s true. We carry it within us—our bodies, our everything. We bring home wherever we are.
MIA: Growing up, the only thing we ever ate at home was Lebanese food, of course. But after moving to America, going out to different restaurants and trying new cuisines became a bit of a tradition. I remember one time we went out for Thai food, and my grandma brought a little Tupperware of tarator to eat with the fried fish.
CÉLINE: No way! That’s so cute!
MIA: At one point, the Thai restaurant actually asked if they could taste it, and then they asked her for the recipe so they could make it themselves—because the fried fish went so perfectly with the tarator.
That’s what home is. You make it wherever you are, even in a foreign restaurant eating a cuisine you’ve never had before. It’s one of my favorite stories about her—she’s an icon!
CÉLINE: That’s so cool! Growing up here, my parents also had a restaurant, and even though it wasn’t a Lebanese restaurant, but my mom made everything Lebanese! It was so fusion. She’d cook American dishes, but with a Lebanese twist. You want a hamburger? We make it kafta burger.
MIA: Sure, but with seven spices! Literally everything had that touch. I put that on everything. Za’atar too.
CÉLINE: What do you put za’atar on?!
MIA: Literally everything! I’ll even put za’atar on my cheese pizza—especially if it’s New York style. It’s so good when it mixes with the grease, like yum! It sounds wild, but honestly, it works!
‘For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.’ — Mia

CÉLINE: Let’s circle back to Everything is Political. Your whole life has been about liberation—liberating our bodies, minds, sexuality, and beauty. What does collective liberation mean to you?
MIA: To me, it’s as simple as the idea that none of us are free until Palestine is free. I don’t see that as a radical statement at all—it perfectly captures the sentiment. It’s a no-brainer for me. I get why you feel the need to defend it, because people probably ask, “What does that mean?” But honestly, if they’re asking, they might not want to get it. It’s always been clear: liberation means everyone. It’s not exclusive, and no one person or group is more entitled to it than another. We all have to work together.
CÉLINE: Even in the U.S., you’ve always advocated for a free Palestine, even before October 7. But since then, with the escalation of violence, the Free Palestine movement has transformed. The world has changed in how America views us and how America sees itself.
From your perspective, what have you observed regarding the sudden embrace of the Free Palestine movement? It used to feel niche and unwelcome, and it’s still not completely accepted— there’s significant censorship and backlash. But it does seem like there are way more people now willing to support the cause, doesn’t it?
MIA: Yeah, exactly. It’s hard to ignore the reality when people who were once neutral or wanted to stay out of it are now realizing just how egregious this situation is. This is pure genocide backed by Western powers, and it’s terrifying. The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates—and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.
It’s a wake-up call. Watching this unfold for so long, seeing it happen so blatantly, and witnessing the constant stream of heartbreaking videos… It’s heartbreaking that the pain of Arabs has to be exploited like this for people to finally believe it. It’s disgusting and incredibly hurtful.
CÉLINE: You know, sometimes we find ourselves advocating not just for our rights but for our very survival. At the same time, we’re human—we’re evolving, changing, and transforming. I feel a responsibility to ask you about the criticism you’ve received regarding the fetishization of the hijab, for instance. What are your thoughts on that criticism? How do you navigate those conversations, especially given the complexities involved?
MIA: I feel like that criticism is very valid because it comes from a place of young women feeling sexualized for something they didn’t do. I understand that I’m an easy person to target; I’m a public figure, and people can leave comments on my photos and tag me, making it simple to pinpoint the issue onto me.
I have immense compassion for those women and feel a deep guilt that an innocent young woman is being fetishized for something she chooses to embrace as part of her religious beliefs. But I think, as women, we should focus on the larger issue—the patriarchal system that promotes this, produces this and distributes this, which continues to fetishize women. Even if they’re not using Arab actresses, they’re often casting Latin women who could pass as Arab. I’m not the first nor the last to face this; I’m just the one people can identify because there’s a face connected to the name and to the action.
CÉLINE: Absolutely. When we talk about feminism and this idea of purity, it often feels like you have to come from a place of purity to advocate for human rights, right? Do you feel that pressure? It’s almost as if you have to be a saint to be taken seriously in these conversations. What are your thoughts on that?
MIA KHALIFA: Oh my gosh, I completely disagree with that! Most of us don’t come into these mindsets from a place of purity. Many of us are traumatized individuals dealing with so much that we need to work through to reach these realizations. I wasn’t the same person I was even five or six years ago; my thoughts were nowhere near what they are now.
I know it might sound insane, but every single thing I see radicalizes me further and further. The way I thought when I was 20 was influenced by my own internalized misogyny and racism, along with many other issues that shaped my actions and beliefs. But then I started going to therapy and delving deeper into myself, actually growing into my identity. That’s why I feel so secure in who I am now.
CÉLINE: Criticism can be so harsh. Yet in this movement for liberation, there seems to be a punitive mindset, a carceral approach that contradicts the very essence of liberation. The idea that you can publicly punish someone or correct them through harassment is so counterproductive. How do you feel about this? Where do you draw the boundary, and how do you navigate your own evolution and transformation in this public space?
‘The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates— and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.’ —Mia

MIA: You just have to give people grace. It’s essential to consider intentions before judging actions. At the end of the day, it comes down to listening, understanding, and being empathetic and compassionate when it’s necessary. Of course, not everyone deserves that grace, but for those who do, it can make all the difference.
Ultimately, I believe that to grow and transform in this world, you have to embrace contradictions. You can’t change without acknowledging that you might have to contradict yourself along the way.
CÉLINE: It’s all about grace and generosity. We often discuss radical generosity in our culture. In Arab culture, it’s like this dance where you fight to pay the bill or show up at someone’s house with more than enough. There’s a deep-rooted understanding that sharing and giving are essential parts of our community.
MIA: Oh, exactly! You call ahead and show up at the restaurant six hours early just to slip your credit card to cover the bill. Then you leave and come back, saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry I was late!” It’s all part of that generous spirit.
CÉLINE: Yes, exactly! There’s this radical generosity that you embody so well through your constant acts of giving. I’d love to hear how your approach to giving has evolved and how you’re seeing the impact of your actions. Where do you want to focus your generosity now?
MIA: Thank you for saying that; it really means a lot. I’ve always felt this innate need to contribute because you’re not truly deserving of anything if you’re not also supporting your community. It’s like a mental version of Reaganomics that actually could work if it weren’t so corrupt! That’s how community is supposed to function.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize there’s a big difference between just giving and giving with purpose.
CÉLINE: Your recent tweet really resonated with us: “You get to a point in life when you realize everything is political—the brands you support, the places you patronize, the celebrities you platform, and even the people you date. If they’re not at least trying to be informed, have a stance, and be vocal, then they’re not in alignment.” This was so powerful, especially since we just launched our “Everything is Political” initiative. We knew we wanted to be in conversation with you, and this tweet felt like a perfect alignment!
MIA: Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.
Whether you’re walking down the street or staying in a hotel, every action counts. Holding the door open for someone behind you or treating housekeeping staff with respect—these seemingly small gestures reflect our shared humanity. It’s all interconnected, and we need to recognize that our choices impact those around us. Every single role we play comes with responsibility, and it’s time we embrace that fully.
CÉLINE: I feel like that’s very cultural to us, like the idea of responsibility. This is how we were raised—to really understand our place in the world and our responsibility in it. This brings me to addressing “poverty porn”, by showing images of dying brown kids covered in blood.
There’s a gap between that and our dignity as humans. Those images actually hurt our dignity. People say this is one of the most documented genocides, yet it’s not moving the needle because many don’t even see us as human.
So, we started this idea of building a fund for collective liberation so that we can put our money in multiple places at once. It’s not just about feeding the poor or educating the uneducated—categories that are ultimately so colonial. We wanted a fund that was more holistic because it’s a case-by- case situation.
There’s no standardized way to heal the world; it has to be designed in a modular way that fluctuates with the situation. I feel like Arabs understand this inherently, especially Lebanese and people from the Levant. The ways in which we have survived could not have happened if we were stuck in a one- track, standardized mindset. This idea of a fund for collective liberation came to be, and I know it spoke to you. In what ways did it resonate with you?
MIA: That’s exactly the reason. The fact that I don’t just have to commit to education—because education is so important—but if a tragedy strikes, which unfortunately has been happening way too often, I want to be partnered with an organization that can go with the ebb and flow of life. When, thankfully, things are quiet and good, we can fund arts, education, and other things that are important for culture.
CÉLINE: I’m so grateful to be in community with you. I wanted to ask you, oftentimes people ask, “What would you tell your younger self?” But I feel like the question could also be, “What do you think your younger self would say and do now?” Like, what’s your inner child saying to you these days? I feel like there’s a lot of repair we have to do in reconciling with our inner child.
For me personally, my whole healing journey and all of my therapy sessions have focused on my inner child because she’s someone who was born in a war, fled the war, and experienced a lot of neglect. I’m sure that you can relate because you were in Lebanon during that time as well. Our parents were stressed, and we were being neglected.
Now, looking at what’s happening in Gaza, there’s a war on children currently happening, and I feel like our inner children are acting up—they’re being vocal. What does Sarah’s inner child say?
MIA: She says, “Thank you for caring about making sure there’s a place for me to go back to, and thank you for not being ashamed of me anymore. Thank you for doing all the things I would have wanted to do. And can I borrow your shoes?” What does yours say?
CÉLINE: Mine says, “Thank you for being the person who protects me, the person who would have held me and cared for me. Thank you for doing everything you can to ensure that people like us have a place to be, and for never forgetting that you are me.” You know, I’m very much a kid at heart. I mean, I feel like the biggest conversation is about healing, you know? I want to ask you, what’s your practice for healing? How did you invite healing into your life?
MIA: Therapy and mushrooms.
CÉLINE: Oh, wow! yes.
‘Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.’
—Mia

MIA: Ya.
CÉLINE: That helped you?
MIA: What caused me to start going to therapy was really just being fed up. I’ve never been against it, so it wasn’t a hard sell.
CÉLINE: Sometimes, culturally, we’re like, “Oh, we’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” you know? And then we don’t take the time.
MIA: I was just in denial. Finally, it got to a point where there was one specific moment where I exploded on a radio host during an interview. The way they introduced me triggered me and felt very disrespectful. It was a sports show, and I just didn’t feel like the way they introduced me was respectful. I exploded on them, and then I got a fine from the SEC because it was live radio, and it went viral. People were like, “This bitch is crazy,” and I was like, “Yeah, this bitch is crazy. She needs to go to therapy, actually.”
So, I went to therapy, and then I realized, oh, that was a trigger because I have unhealed shame from unhealed trauma—from things I did because of my unhealed trauma. So that was the catalyst. Psilocybin and mushrooms has been a lot more recent. When I got access to it in California, it was first in chocolate form, then in gummy form. I started microdosing, and then I worked my way up to proper psilocybin, like just grown mushrooms. I have someone guiding me, or sometimes I follow a schedule. My microdosing is very self-guided. I’ll do a cacao ceremony with a spiritual guide or in a group setting, in a very positive environment. But with microdosing, I just wake up in the morning and decide what flavor I want.
CÉLINE: That’s amazing! I did that for the first time in Montreal when I was in my 20s. Yeah, in my 20s, we would make Nutella sandwiches and put a ton of mushrooms in them, then go out and walk in the forest all day, eating the Nutella sandwiches. It was life-altering for me. I started understanding so much; I did my own little healing, doing that therapy in nature—eating a Nutella sandwich with my friends, walking all day, laughing, and just being in nature.
But then one time, we went inside a little too early, and I realized that if you’re very high on mushrooms and you’re indoors…I got SCARED.
MIA: No, no, I did it at Universal Studios.
CÉLINE: Yeah, it was not okay. No, you cannot be around people. I saw myself in the mirror, and I was like, “No, don’t ever look at yourself in the mirror!”I see why you’re guided now because I did it by myself in my 20s, and now it’s so common, right? There’s a big transformation in the healing space where people are finally recognizing the beauty of it and the power of plant medicine. You did it at Universal Studios?
MIA: I did it at Universal Studios! I cried on the Hogwarts Express, and people had to come and ask my friend, “Is your friend okay?” It was bad. We threw up in the bushes.
In Conversation:
Photography by:
Céline Semaan (author, founder and Slow Factory Creative Director) chats with Mia Khalifa (entrepreneur, digital creator, philanthropist & human rights activist) over manousheh. The two discuss how they navigate being a Lebanese woman in America at this time, Global South generosity, politics, making home in the diaspora and how they reconciled their heritage with their own path to create the type of world they want.
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"title" : "Reclaiming Feminism and Collective Liberation: Mia Khalifa & Céline Semaan on Healing, Identity, and Political Awakening",
"author" : "Mia Khalifa, Céline Semaan",
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"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/mia-khalifa-celine-semaan-reclaiming-feminism-collective-liberation",
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"content" : "CÉLINE SEMAAN: I have so many questions—they are a bit intense. So we are going to start with the intensity immediately… Anjed we woke up and the news was so disgusting. I mean this is our reality.We joke and laugh because we’ve developed this amazing sense of humor, but the world we’ve grown up in has been very very intense. We’ve mastered the art of talking about heavy issues, making it personal because everything is political right?MIA KHALIFA: Everything.CÉLINE: I wrote something recently, about how ‘free Palestine’ is also about Lebanon. The Lebanese endured 35 years of war and genocide in Lebanon, all before social media existed. Back then, the media painted us as terrorists, manufacturing consent for the bombings. It’s a humanitarian crisis that’s rarely discussed, though as Lebanese people, it’s been our lived experience.You and I both grew up in Lebanon. Today, waking up to what’s happening in South Lebanon, Dahiyeh, and Tyre, with 200 people killed just today, is heartbreaking. I hope when this is published, it’s over, but I’m not holding my breath.As women, especially Arab women, we’ve faced oppression, both from conservative and so-called progressive spaces. How do you reconcile feminism when it doesn’t seem to include us?MIA: That’s a very good question. Honestly, it’s only in the last few years, as I’ve grown older, that I’ve been able to reconcile those feelings. I realized that you can only control your own views and actions. For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.I grew up in a predominantly white, predominantly Jewish area in Washington, DC, and Maryland. I didn’t see much support from feminist circles there. It wasn’t until I got older, traveled, and found community with women of color—Indigenous, Latinx, and especially Lebanese and Arab women—that I started to understand. It took time, but I get why others struggle to reconcile their place within feminism. It wasn’t until I got older that I began to find my own.CÉLINE: Growing up in constant war, having to flee over and over. I’ve moved so many times. Just this morning, I was on a call with my parents, and they’re preparing to flee Lebanon again with everything that’s going on. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve had to leave and come back. It makes you rethink what home really means.So now, sitting here in a hotel, I wonder, what does “home” mean to you?MIA: Home, for me, is hearing your accent and having manoushes around the table. That’s what makes it feel like home—those little reminders that are so important. It’s all that really matters. As long as you’re surrounded by the right people, that’s it.CÉLINE: This morning, as I was buying manoushe and heading to see you, I felt like, “Wow, I feel at home in New York,” just knowing there’s this place I can go to for that familiar taste. I literally inhaled that manoushe while watching the news, and it hit me—wherever we go, we’re transporting our home with us. It sounds cheesy, but anjad it’s true. We carry it within us—our bodies, our everything. We bring home wherever we are.MIA: Growing up, the only thing we ever ate at home was Lebanese food, of course. But after moving to America, going out to different restaurants and trying new cuisines became a bit of a tradition. I remember one time we went out for Thai food, and my grandma brought a little Tupperware of tarator to eat with the fried fish.CÉLINE: No way! That’s so cute!MIA: At one point, the Thai restaurant actually asked if they could taste it, and then they asked her for the recipe so they could make it themselves—because the fried fish went so perfectly with the tarator.That’s what home is. You make it wherever you are, even in a foreign restaurant eating a cuisine you’ve never had before. It’s one of my favorite stories about her—she’s an icon!CÉLINE: That’s so cool! Growing up here, my parents also had a restaurant, and even though it wasn’t a Lebanese restaurant, but my mom made everything Lebanese! It was so fusion. She’d cook American dishes, but with a Lebanese twist. You want a hamburger? We make it kafta burger.MIA: Sure, but with seven spices! Literally everything had that touch. I put that on everything. Za’atar too.CÉLINE: What do you put za’atar on?!MIA: Literally everything! I’ll even put za’atar on my cheese pizza—especially if it’s New York style. It’s so good when it mixes with the grease, like yum! It sounds wild, but honestly, it works!‘For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.’ — MiaCÉLINE: Let’s circle back to Everything is Political. Your whole life has been about liberation—liberating our bodies, minds, sexuality, and beauty. What does collective liberation mean to you?MIA: To me, it’s as simple as the idea that none of us are free until Palestine is free. I don’t see that as a radical statement at all—it perfectly captures the sentiment. It’s a no-brainer for me. I get why you feel the need to defend it, because people probably ask, “What does that mean?” But honestly, if they’re asking, they might not want to get it. It’s always been clear: liberation means everyone. It’s not exclusive, and no one person or group is more entitled to it than another. We all have to work together.CÉLINE: Even in the U.S., you’ve always advocated for a free Palestine, even before October 7. But since then, with the escalation of violence, the Free Palestine movement has transformed. The world has changed in how America views us and how America sees itself.From your perspective, what have you observed regarding the sudden embrace of the Free Palestine movement? It used to feel niche and unwelcome, and it’s still not completely accepted— there’s significant censorship and backlash. But it does seem like there are way more people now willing to support the cause, doesn’t it?MIA: Yeah, exactly. It’s hard to ignore the reality when people who were once neutral or wanted to stay out of it are now realizing just how egregious this situation is. This is pure genocide backed by Western powers, and it’s terrifying. The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates—and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.It’s a wake-up call. Watching this unfold for so long, seeing it happen so blatantly, and witnessing the constant stream of heartbreaking videos… It’s heartbreaking that the pain of Arabs has to be exploited like this for people to finally believe it. It’s disgusting and incredibly hurtful.CÉLINE: You know, sometimes we find ourselves advocating not just for our rights but for our very survival. At the same time, we’re human—we’re evolving, changing, and transforming. I feel a responsibility to ask you about the criticism you’ve received regarding the fetishization of the hijab, for instance. What are your thoughts on that criticism? How do you navigate those conversations, especially given the complexities involved?MIA: I feel like that criticism is very valid because it comes from a place of young women feeling sexualized for something they didn’t do. I understand that I’m an easy person to target; I’m a public figure, and people can leave comments on my photos and tag me, making it simple to pinpoint the issue onto me.I have immense compassion for those women and feel a deep guilt that an innocent young woman is being fetishized for something she chooses to embrace as part of her religious beliefs. But I think, as women, we should focus on the larger issue—the patriarchal system that promotes this, produces this and distributes this, which continues to fetishize women. Even if they’re not using Arab actresses, they’re often casting Latin women who could pass as Arab. I’m not the first nor the last to face this; I’m just the one people can identify because there’s a face connected to the name and to the action.CÉLINE: Absolutely. When we talk about feminism and this idea of purity, it often feels like you have to come from a place of purity to advocate for human rights, right? Do you feel that pressure? It’s almost as if you have to be a saint to be taken seriously in these conversations. What are your thoughts on that?MIA KHALIFA: Oh my gosh, I completely disagree with that! Most of us don’t come into these mindsets from a place of purity. Many of us are traumatized individuals dealing with so much that we need to work through to reach these realizations. I wasn’t the same person I was even five or six years ago; my thoughts were nowhere near what they are now.I know it might sound insane, but every single thing I see radicalizes me further and further. The way I thought when I was 20 was influenced by my own internalized misogyny and racism, along with many other issues that shaped my actions and beliefs. But then I started going to therapy and delving deeper into myself, actually growing into my identity. That’s why I feel so secure in who I am now.CÉLINE: Criticism can be so harsh. Yet in this movement for liberation, there seems to be a punitive mindset, a carceral approach that contradicts the very essence of liberation. The idea that you can publicly punish someone or correct them through harassment is so counterproductive. How do you feel about this? Where do you draw the boundary, and how do you navigate your own evolution and transformation in this public space?‘The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates— and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.’ —MiaMIA: You just have to give people grace. It’s essential to consider intentions before judging actions. At the end of the day, it comes down to listening, understanding, and being empathetic and compassionate when it’s necessary. Of course, not everyone deserves that grace, but for those who do, it can make all the difference.Ultimately, I believe that to grow and transform in this world, you have to embrace contradictions. You can’t change without acknowledging that you might have to contradict yourself along the way.CÉLINE: It’s all about grace and generosity. We often discuss radical generosity in our culture. In Arab culture, it’s like this dance where you fight to pay the bill or show up at someone’s house with more than enough. There’s a deep-rooted understanding that sharing and giving are essential parts of our community.MIA: Oh, exactly! You call ahead and show up at the restaurant six hours early just to slip your credit card to cover the bill. Then you leave and come back, saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry I was late!” It’s all part of that generous spirit.CÉLINE: Yes, exactly! There’s this radical generosity that you embody so well through your constant acts of giving. I’d love to hear how your approach to giving has evolved and how you’re seeing the impact of your actions. Where do you want to focus your generosity now?MIA: Thank you for saying that; it really means a lot. I’ve always felt this innate need to contribute because you’re not truly deserving of anything if you’re not also supporting your community. It’s like a mental version of Reaganomics that actually could work if it weren’t so corrupt! That’s how community is supposed to function.But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize there’s a big difference between just giving and giving with purpose.CÉLINE: Your recent tweet really resonated with us: “You get to a point in life when you realize everything is political—the brands you support, the places you patronize, the celebrities you platform, and even the people you date. If they’re not at least trying to be informed, have a stance, and be vocal, then they’re not in alignment.” This was so powerful, especially since we just launched our “Everything is Political” initiative. We knew we wanted to be in conversation with you, and this tweet felt like a perfect alignment!MIA: Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.Whether you’re walking down the street or staying in a hotel, every action counts. Holding the door open for someone behind you or treating housekeeping staff with respect—these seemingly small gestures reflect our shared humanity. It’s all interconnected, and we need to recognize that our choices impact those around us. Every single role we play comes with responsibility, and it’s time we embrace that fully.CÉLINE: I feel like that’s very cultural to us, like the idea of responsibility. This is how we were raised—to really understand our place in the world and our responsibility in it. This brings me to addressing “poverty porn”, by showing images of dying brown kids covered in blood.There’s a gap between that and our dignity as humans. Those images actually hurt our dignity. People say this is one of the most documented genocides, yet it’s not moving the needle because many don’t even see us as human.So, we started this idea of building a fund for collective liberation so that we can put our money in multiple places at once. It’s not just about feeding the poor or educating the uneducated—categories that are ultimately so colonial. We wanted a fund that was more holistic because it’s a case-by- case situation.There’s no standardized way to heal the world; it has to be designed in a modular way that fluctuates with the situation. I feel like Arabs understand this inherently, especially Lebanese and people from the Levant. The ways in which we have survived could not have happened if we were stuck in a one- track, standardized mindset. This idea of a fund for collective liberation came to be, and I know it spoke to you. In what ways did it resonate with you?MIA: That’s exactly the reason. The fact that I don’t just have to commit to education—because education is so important—but if a tragedy strikes, which unfortunately has been happening way too often, I want to be partnered with an organization that can go with the ebb and flow of life. When, thankfully, things are quiet and good, we can fund arts, education, and other things that are important for culture.CÉLINE: I’m so grateful to be in community with you. I wanted to ask you, oftentimes people ask, “What would you tell your younger self?” But I feel like the question could also be, “What do you think your younger self would say and do now?” Like, what’s your inner child saying to you these days? I feel like there’s a lot of repair we have to do in reconciling with our inner child.For me personally, my whole healing journey and all of my therapy sessions have focused on my inner child because she’s someone who was born in a war, fled the war, and experienced a lot of neglect. I’m sure that you can relate because you were in Lebanon during that time as well. Our parents were stressed, and we were being neglected.Now, looking at what’s happening in Gaza, there’s a war on children currently happening, and I feel like our inner children are acting up—they’re being vocal. What does Sarah’s inner child say?MIA: She says, “Thank you for caring about making sure there’s a place for me to go back to, and thank you for not being ashamed of me anymore. Thank you for doing all the things I would have wanted to do. And can I borrow your shoes?” What does yours say?CÉLINE: Mine says, “Thank you for being the person who protects me, the person who would have held me and cared for me. Thank you for doing everything you can to ensure that people like us have a place to be, and for never forgetting that you are me.” You know, I’m very much a kid at heart. I mean, I feel like the biggest conversation is about healing, you know? I want to ask you, what’s your practice for healing? How did you invite healing into your life?MIA: Therapy and mushrooms.CÉLINE: Oh, wow! yes.‘Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.’—MiaMIA: Ya.CÉLINE: That helped you?MIA: What caused me to start going to therapy was really just being fed up. I’ve never been against it, so it wasn’t a hard sell.CÉLINE: Sometimes, culturally, we’re like, “Oh, we’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” you know? And then we don’t take the time.MIA: I was just in denial. Finally, it got to a point where there was one specific moment where I exploded on a radio host during an interview. The way they introduced me triggered me and felt very disrespectful. It was a sports show, and I just didn’t feel like the way they introduced me was respectful. I exploded on them, and then I got a fine from the SEC because it was live radio, and it went viral. People were like, “This bitch is crazy,” and I was like, “Yeah, this bitch is crazy. She needs to go to therapy, actually.”So, I went to therapy, and then I realized, oh, that was a trigger because I have unhealed shame from unhealed trauma—from things I did because of my unhealed trauma. So that was the catalyst. Psilocybin and mushrooms has been a lot more recent. When I got access to it in California, it was first in chocolate form, then in gummy form. I started microdosing, and then I worked my way up to proper psilocybin, like just grown mushrooms. I have someone guiding me, or sometimes I follow a schedule. My microdosing is very self-guided. I’ll do a cacao ceremony with a spiritual guide or in a group setting, in a very positive environment. But with microdosing, I just wake up in the morning and decide what flavor I want.CÉLINE: That’s amazing! I did that for the first time in Montreal when I was in my 20s. Yeah, in my 20s, we would make Nutella sandwiches and put a ton of mushrooms in them, then go out and walk in the forest all day, eating the Nutella sandwiches. It was life-altering for me. I started understanding so much; I did my own little healing, doing that therapy in nature—eating a Nutella sandwich with my friends, walking all day, laughing, and just being in nature.But then one time, we went inside a little too early, and I realized that if you’re very high on mushrooms and you’re indoors…I got SCARED.MIA: No, no, I did it at Universal Studios.CÉLINE: Yeah, it was not okay. No, you cannot be around people. I saw myself in the mirror, and I was like, “No, don’t ever look at yourself in the mirror!”I see why you’re guided now because I did it by myself in my 20s, and now it’s so common, right? There’s a big transformation in the healing space where people are finally recognizing the beauty of it and the power of plant medicine. You did it at Universal Studios?MIA: I did it at Universal Studios! I cried on the Hogwarts Express, and people had to come and ask my friend, “Is your friend okay?” It was bad. We threw up in the bushes."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Ziad Rahbani and the Art of Creative Rebellion",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/ziad-rahbani-creative-rebellion",
"date" : "2025-07-28 07:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_7_for-EIP-ziad-rahbani.jpg",
"excerpt" : "When I turned fourteen in Beirut, I came across Ziad Rahbani’s groundbreaking work. I immediately felt connected to him, his words, his perspective and his unflinching commitment to liberation for our people and for Palestine. My first love introduced me to his revolutionary plays, his unique contributions to Arab music and very soon I had listened to all of his plays and expanded my understanding of our own culture and history.",
"content" : "When I turned fourteen in Beirut, I came across Ziad Rahbani’s groundbreaking work. I immediately felt connected to him, his words, his perspective and his unflinching commitment to liberation for our people and for Palestine. My first love introduced me to his revolutionary plays, his unique contributions to Arab music and very soon I had listened to all of his plays and expanded my understanding of our own culture and history.Ziad Rahbani’s passing marks more than the end of a brilliant life—it marks the closing of a chapter in the cultural history of our region. His funeral wasn’t just a ceremony, it was a collective reckoning; crowds following his exit from the hospital to the cemetery. The streets knew what many governments tried to forget: that he gave voice to the people’s truths, to our frustrations, our absurdities, our grief, and our undying hope for justice. Yet he died as an unsung hero.Born into a family that shaped the musical soul of Lebanon, Ziad could have taken the easy path of replication. Instead, he shattered the mold. From his early plays like Sahriyye and Nazl el-Surour, he upended the elitism of classical Arabic theatre by placing the working class, the absurdity of war, and the contradictions of society at the center of his work. He spoke like the people spoke. He made art in the language of the taxi driver, the student, the mother waiting for news of her son.In his film work Film Ameriki Tawil, Ziad used satire not only as critique, but as rebellion. He exposed the rot of sectarian politics in Lebanon with surgical precision, never sparing anyone, including the leftist circles he moved in. He saw clearly: that political purity was a myth, and liberation required uncomfortable truths. His work, deeply rooted in class consciousness, refused to glorify any side of a war that tore his country apart.And yet, Ziad Rahbani never lost his clarity on Palestine. While others wavered, diluted their positions, or folded into diplomacy, Ziad remained steadfast. His support for the Palestinian struggle was not an aesthetic position—it was a political and ethical commitment. And he did so not as an outsider or savior, but as someone who understood that our futures are intertwined. That the liberation of Palestine is integral to the liberation of Lebanon. That anti-sectarianism and anti-Zionism are not contradictions, but extensions of each other.He brought jazz into Arabic music not as a novelty, but as a defiant act of cultural fusion—proof that our identities are not fixed, but fluid, diasporic, ever-evolving. He blurred the lines between Western musical forms and Arabic lyricism with intention, not mimicry. His collaborations with his mother, the legendary Fairuz, carried the weight of generational dialogue, but his own voice always broke through—wry, melancholic, grounded in the everyday.Ziad taught us that being a revolutionary doesn’t require a uniform or a slogan. It requires listening. It requires holding complexity, laughing in the face of despair, and making room for joy even when the world is on fire. He reminded us that culture is the deepest infrastructure of any resistance movement. He refused to be sanitized, censored, or simplified.As we mourn him, we also inherit his clarity. For artists, for organizers, for thinkers: Ziad Rahbani gave us a blueprint. Create without permission. Tell the truth. Fight for Palestine without compromising your own roots. And never forget that the people will always hear what is real.He was, and will always be, a compass for creative rebellion."
}
,
{
"title" : "Saul Williams: Nothing is Just a Song",
"author" : "Saul Williams, Collis Browne",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/saul-williams-interview",
"date" : "2025-07-21 21:35:46 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_SaulWilliams_Shot_7_0218.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Saul Williams: Many artists would like to believe that there is some sort of sublime neutrality that art can deliver, that it is beyond or above the idea of politics. However, art is sometimes used as a tool of Empire, and if we are not careful, then our art is used as propaganda, and thus, it becomes essential for us to arm our art with our viewpoints, with our perspective, so that it cannot be misused. I have always operated from the position that all my work carries politics in it, that there are politics embedded in it. And I’ve never really understood, if you are aiming to be an artist, why you wouldn’t aim to speak directly to the times. Addressing the political doesn’t have to take away from the personal intimacy of your work.",
"content" : "Collis Browne: Is all music and art really political?Saul Williams: Many artists would like to believe that there is some sort of sublime neutrality that art can deliver, that it is beyond or above the idea of politics. However, art is sometimes used as a tool of Empire, and if we are not careful, then our art is used as propaganda, and thus, it becomes essential for us to arm our art with our viewpoints, with our perspective, so that it cannot be misused. I have always operated from the position that all my work carries politics in it, that there are politics embedded in it. And I’ve never really understood, if you are aiming to be an artist, why you wouldn’t aim to speak directly to the times. Addressing the political doesn’t have to take away from the personal intimacy of your work.Even now, we are reading the writings of Palestinian poets in Gaza and the West Bank, not to mention those who are part of the diaspora, who are charting their feelings and intimate experiences while living through a genocide. These works of art are all politically charged because they are charged with a reality that is fully suppressed by oppressive networks and powers that control them.Shakespeare’s work was always political. He found a way to speak about power to the face of power, knowing they would be in the audience. But also found a way to play with and talk to the “groundlings,” the common people who were in the audience as well.Collis Browne: Was there a moment when you realized that your music could be used as a tool of resistance?Saul Williams: Yeah, I was in third grade, about eight or nine years old. I had been cast in a play in my elementary school. I loved the process of not only performing, but of sitting around the table and breaking down what the language meant and what the objective and the psychology of the character was, and what that meant during the time it was written. I came home and told my parents that I wanted to be an actor when I grew up. My father had the typical response: “I’ll support you as an actor if you get a law degree.” My mother responded by saying, “You should do your next school report on Paul Robeson, he was an actor and a lawyer.”So I did my next school report on Paul Robeson. And what I discovered was that here was an African American man, born in 1898, who had come to an early realization as an actor that the messages of the films he was being cast in—and he was a huge star—went against his own beliefs, his own anti-colonial and anti-imperial beliefs. In the 1930s, he started talking about why we needed to invest in independent cinema. In 1949, during the McCarthy era, he had his passport taken from him so he could no longer travel outside of the US, because he refused to acknowledge that the enemies of the US were his enemies as well. He felt there was no reason Black people should be signing up to fight for the US Empire when they were going home and getting lynched.In 1951, he presented a mandate to the UN called “We Charge Genocide.” In it he charged the US Government with the genocide of African Americans because of the white mobs who were lynching Black Americans on a regular basis. [Editor’s note: the petition charges the US Government with genocide through the endorsement of both racism and “monopoly capitalism,” without which “the persistent, constant, widespread, institutionalized commission of the crime of genocide would be impossible.”] When Robeson met with President Truman, Truman said, “I’d like to respond, but there’s an election coming up, so I have to be careful.”Paul Robeson sang songs of working-class people, songs that trade unionists sang, songs that miners sang, songs that all types of workers sang across the world. He identified with the workers and with the working class, regardless of his fame. He was ridiculed by the American Government and even had his passport revoked for his activism. At that early age, I learned that you could sing songs that could get you labeled as an enemy of the state.I grew up in Newburgh, New York, which is about an hour upstate from New York City. One of my neighbors would often come sing at my father’s church. At the time, I did not understand why my dad would allow this white guy with his guitar or banjo to come sing at our church when we had an amazing gospel choir. I couldn’t understand why we were singing these school songs with this dude. When I finally asked my parents, they said, “You have to understand that Pete—they were talking about Pete Seeger—is responsible for popularizing some of the songs you sing in school.” He wrote songs like “If I Had a Hammer,” and he too was blacklisted by the US government because of the songs he chose to sing and the people he chose to sing them for, and the people he chose to sing them with. I learned at a very early age that music and art were full of politics. Enough politics to get you labeled as the enemy of the state. Enough politics to get your passport taken, or to be imprisoned.I was also learning about my parents’ peers, artists whom they loved and adored. Artists like Sonia Sanchez, Amiri Baraka, and Nikki Giovanni, all from the Black Arts Movement. Larry Neal and Amiri Baraka made a statement when they started the Black Arts Repertory Theatre School in Harlem that said essentially that all art should serve a function, and that function should be to liberate Black minds.It is from that movement that hip-hop was born. I was lucky enough to witness the birth of hip-hop. At first, it was playful, it was fun, but by the mid to late 1980s, it began finding its voice with groups like Public Enemy, KRS-One, Queen Latifa, Rakim, and the Jungle Brothers. These are groups that started using and expressing Black Liberation politics in the music, which uplifted it, made it sound better, and made it hit harder. The first gangster rap was that… when it was gangster, when it was directly challenging the country it was being born in.As a teenager, I identified as a rapper and an actor. I would argue with school kids who insisted, “It’s not even music. They’re just talking.” I would have to defend hip-hop as music, sometimes even to my parents, who found the language crass. But when I played artists like KRS-One and Public Enemy for my parents, they said, “Oh, I see what they’re doing here.”When Public Enemy rapped, “Elvis was a hero to most, But he never meant shit to me you see, Straight up racist that sucker was, Simple and plain, Motherfuck him and John Wayne, ‘Cause I’m Black and I’m proud, I’m ready and hyped plus I’m amped, Most of my heroes don’t appear on no stamps,” my parents were like Amen. They understood. They understood why I needed to blast that music in my room 24/7. They understood.When the music spoke to me in that way, suddenly I could pull off moves on the dance floor like doing a flip that I couldn’t do before. That’s the power of music. That’s power embedded in music. That’s why Fela Kuti said that music is the weapon of the future. And, of course, there’s Nina Simone and Billie Holiday. What’s Billie Holiday’s most memorable song? “Strange Fruit.” That voice connected, was speaking directly to the times she was living in. It transcended the times, where to this day, when you hear this song and you understand that the “strange fruit” hanging from Southern trees are Black people who have been lynched, you understand how the power of the voice, when you connect it to something that is charged with the reality of the times, takes on a greater shape.Collis Browne: Public Enemy broke open so much. I grew up in Toronto, in a mostly white community, but I was into some of the bigger American hip-hop acts who were coming out. Public Enemy rose to a new level. Before them, we were only connecting with punk and hardcore music as the music of rebellion.Saul Williams: Public Enemy laid down the groundwork for what hip-hop is: “the voice of the voiceless.” It was only after Public Enemy that you saw the emergence of huge groups in France, Germany, Bulgaria, Egypt, and across the world. There were big acts before them. Run DMC, for instance, but when Public Enemy came out, marginalized groups heard their music and said, “That’s for us. Yes, that’s for us.” It was immediately understood as music of resistance.Collis Browne: What have you seen or listened to out in the world that has a clear political goal, but has been appropriated and watered down?Saul Williams: We can stay on Public Enemy for that. Under Secretary Blinken, Chuck D became a US Global Music Ambassador during the genocide in Gaza. There are photos of him standing beside Secretary Blinken, accepting that role, while understanding that the US has always used music as a cultural propaganda tool to express soft power. I remember learning about how the US uses this “soft power” when I was working in the mid-2000s with a Swiss composer, who has now passed, named Thomas Kessler. He wrote a symphony based on one of my books, Said the Shotgun to the Head, and we were performing it with the Cologne, Germany symphony orchestra, when I heard from the head of the orchestra that, in fact, their main financier was the US Government through the CIA.During the Cold War, it was crucial for the American Government to put money into the arts throughout Western Europe to try to express this idea of “freedom,” as opposed to what was happening in the Eastern (Communist) Bloc. So it was a long time between when the US Government started enlisting musicians and other artists in their propaganda campaigns and when I encountered this information.There’s a documentary called Soundtrack to a Coup d’État, which talks about how the US Government used (uses) music and musicians to co-opt movements and propagate the idea of American freedom and democracy outside the US in the hope of winning over the citizens of other countries without them even realizing that so much of that art is there to question the system itself, not to celebrate it. Unfortunately, there are situations in which an artist’s work is co-opted to be used as propaganda, and the artist buys into it. They become indoctrinated, and you realize that we’re all susceptible to the possibility of taking that bait."
}
,
{
"title" : "The Culture of Artificial Intelligence",
"author" : "Sinead Bovell, Céline Semaan",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/sinead-bovell-on-ai-artifial-intelligence",
"date" : "2025-07-20 21:35:46 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/sinead-bovell-headshot.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Céline Semaan: It is being reported that AI will make humans dumber than ever, that it is here to rule the world, and to subjugate us all by bringing on a climate apocalypse. Being an AI and tech expert, how can you help people better understand AI as a phenomenon that will impact us but that we shouldn’t necessarily fear?",
"content" : "Céline Semaan: It is being reported that AI will make humans dumber than ever, that it is here to rule the world, and to subjugate us all by bringing on a climate apocalypse. Being an AI and tech expert, how can you help people better understand AI as a phenomenon that will impact us but that we shouldn’t necessarily fear?Sinead Bovell: It depends on where you are… in the Global North, and particularly in the US, perspectives on artificial intelligence and advanced technologies are more broadly negative. When you look at regions in the Global South, when you look at regions in Asia, AI is seen in a much more positive light. Their societies tend to focus on the benefits new technology can bring and what it can do for their quality of life. The social media ecosystem thrives on negative content, but it really does depend on where you are in the world as to how negatively you’re going to view AI. When it comes to the actual fears and the threats themselves, most of them have some validity. Humans could become less intelligent over time if they’re overly reliant on artificial intelligence systems, and the data does show that AI can erode core cognitive capacities.For example, most of us can’t read maps anymore. If you are in the military and your satellite gets knocked down and you need to understand your coordinates, that might be a problem. But for the average person, not reading a map has allowed us to optimize our time; we can get from A to B much more quickly. What do we fill the time with that AI gives us back with? That’s a really important question.Another important question is: How do we purposely engineer cognitive friction into the learning and thinking environment so we don’t erode that core capability? That’s not something that is just going to happen. We are humans, we take the path of least resistance, like all evolutionary species do. If you look at the printing press, the chaotic abundance of information eventually led to the scientific method and the peer review. Educators, academics, scientists, and creators needed to figure out a way to sort through the valuable information and the nonsense, and that led to more cognitive friction. Those pathways haven’t been developed yet for AI. How we use and assimilate AI depends on the actions we take when it comes to the climate apocalypse, for instance. As of now, how AI uses water and energy is nothing short of a nightmare. However, it’s not really AI in isolation. It’s our social media habits in general. When you look at them in aggregate and globally, our digital habits and patterns aren’t good for the climate in general. And then AI just exacerbates all of that.AI is not a technology that you are going to tap into and tap out of. It’s not like Uber where maybe you don’t use the app because you would prefer to bike, and that’s the choice that you make. AI is a general-purpose technology, and it’s important that we get that distinction, because general-purpose technologies, over time, become infrastructure, like the steam engine, electricity, and the internet. We rebuild our societies on top of them, and it’s important that we see it that way, so people don’t just unsubscribe out of protest. That only impedes their ability to make sure they keep up with the technology, and give adequate feedback and critiques of the technology.Céline Semaan: I recently saw you on stage and heard your response to a question about whether AI and its ramifications could be written into an episode of the TV show Black Mirror. Would you be able to repeat the answer you gave?Sinead Bovell: The stories we see and read about AI are usually dystopian. Arguably, there are choices we continue to make over and over again that we know will lead to negative outcomes, yet we don’t make different choices. To me, that’s the real Black Mirror episode… can we rely on ourselves? In some circumstances, we continually pick the more harmful thing. Most of the big challenges we face are complicated but not unsolvable. Even with climate, a lot of the solutions exist, and actually most of them are grounded in technology. What isn’t happening is the choice to leverage them, or the choice to subsidize them so they become more accessible, or the choice to even believe in them. That scares me a lot more than a particular use case of technology. Most of the biggest challenges we face are down to human choices, and we’re not making the right choices.Céline Semaan: Are you afraid of AI taking over the world and rendering all of our jobs useless? How do you see that?Sinead Bovell: There’s AI taking over the world, and that’s AI having its own desire and randomly rising up out of the laptop or out of some robot. I’m not necessarily concerned about that. You can’t say anything is a 0% chance, right? We don’t know. There are so many things you can’t say with 100% certainty. I mean, are we alone the universe? It’s really hard to prove or disprove those types of things. Where I stand on that is… sure allocate research dollars to a select group of scientists who can work on that problem. However, I am quite concerned about the impact AI is going to have on the workforce. We can see the destruction of certain jobs coming. It’s going to happen quickly, and we’re not preparing for it properly. Every general-purpose technology has led to automation and reconfiguration of the shape of the workforce. Let’s look at the first industrial revolution which lasted from approximately 1760-1840. If we were to zoom in on people working in agriculture, by the end of the 19th Century, around 70-80% of those people were doing something different. That is an astounding change. People had jobs, they just looked very different from working on the farm. But what if that happens in seven years rather than 80 years? That’s what scares me. I think the transition will be quite chaotic because it’s going to be quite quick, but it doesn’t have to be. History isn’t a great predictor of the future, but it does give you a lot of examples of what you don’t need to do again.The reason the industrial revolution turned out to be a good thing in the end, in terms of the life we all live, is that, for instance, we have MRIs and don’t have to have our blood drained to see if we’re sick. But people were just left to fend for themselves. It was chaos, and it turned into this kind of every person for themselves. Kind of figure it out. Get to the city. Bring your family. Don’t bring your family. It was really chaotic. How are we going to not repeat that? I don’t know if we are putting the security measures in place to make sure people are protecting that transition.The most obvious one to me is health care in the United States. I don’t know the exact number, maybe it’s around 60% of people, but don’t quote me on that, are reliant on their job for health care. That’s where their insurance comes from. What is going to happen to their insurance if their job goes away or if they transition to being self-employed? How do we help people transition? People don’t even dare go down that road, but those are the types of conversations that need to happen.Céline Semaan: In 10 years from now, will we look at AI as just another super calculator. And we will be asking the same questions that we are asking today, meaning that the change we’re seeking is not necessarily technological, but philosophical and cultural. How do you see that?Sinead Bovell: AI will look like much more of a philosophical, cultural, and social transition than solely a technological one. This is true of a lot of general-purpose technologies.The inventions in technology lead to how we organize our societies and how we govern them. If you look at the printing press, it led to a secular movement and gave power to that engine. You get big social, philosophical, cultural changes, and revolutions in society when you experience this scale of technical disruption. I think we will look back on the AI inflection point as one of the most pivotal transitions in human history in the past couple 100 years. I would say it’s going to be as disruptive as the printing press and maybe steam engine combined. And we made it through both of those. There was a lot of turmoil and chaos, but we did make it through both of those.We are a much more vibrant, healthy society now. We live longer and, relatively speaking, we have much more equality. There is a path where it works out, but we have to be making the decisions to make that happen. However, it’s not practical that a subset of the population makes the decisions on behalf of everyone. And that’s why I think it’s so important for people to get in the game and not see AI as this really technical device or technology, but instead, as a big social, cultural and philosophical transition. Your lived experience qualifies you to participate in these conversations; there’s nobody who can carry the weight of this on their own."
}
]
}