{ "article": { "title" : "The Dandy Strikes Back: The Bold Legacy of Black Elegance (and Why the 2025 Met Gala Might Be Its Riskiest Yet)", "author" : "Louis Pisano", "category" : "essays", "url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/the-dandy-strikes-back", "date" : "2025-05-04 10:13:00 -0400", "img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/black-dandy.jpg", "excerpt" : "", "content" : "This year’s Met Gala theme, “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style” could pass for a late tribute or a slick PR stunt, but it’s got way sharper claws: it’s a full-on provocation. We’re living in a time where Black stars dazzle on red carpets but get sidelined in boardrooms, classrooms, and courtrooms. In this climate, hyping the Black dandy is a sly rebellion. It thrusts a figure into the spotlight who’s always been political, always strategic, and always dressed to slay not just with swagger, but with razor-sharp intent.Let’s keep it 100: Black dandyism isn’t just about serving looks. It’s about serving looks when the world said you had no right to. When society labeled you chaotic, threatening, or invisible, and you stepped out in a suit so crisp it could carve through bias. As DEI gets dismantled and Black studies programs vanish from campuses, the Met Gala’s theme hits less like a festivity and more like a stylish counterpunch.So, what’s the deal with a Black dandy?The word “dandy” usually conjures prissy white men from 19th-century Europe, think Oscar Wilde in lush velvet or aristocrats in wigs and buckled kicks. But Black dandyism? It flips that whole aesthetic on its head. It’s not about chasing white refinement; it’s about torching it. It’s wielding style to claim your humanity in a system built to snatch it away.Scholar Monica L. Miller literally wrote the book on it, “Slaves to Fashion” maps out how Black men across the diaspora used elegance as resistance, turning the dandy from a Eurocentric trope into a global tool of survival and spectacle. The book serves as an inspiration for this year’s theme with Miller guest curating the Met’s exhibition.Take Frederick Douglass, the ultimate image maestro. One of the most photographed men of his era, every portrait, hand on lapel, lion’s mane, fierce gaze, was a study in defiance. He didn’t just dress well; he crafted a persona that screamed, “I’m not your stereotype. I’m your equal.” In a media world drowning in blackface and minstrel mockery, Douglass turned the camera into a weapon, armed with a tailored suit and an unbreakable stare.This vibe, Black men dressing to disrupt, carried through the 19th and 20th centuries. In the Caribbean, newly freed men rocked European-style suits to flex their liberty. In South Africa, young Black men called “tsotsis” used tailoring as rebellion and a ladder up, even under apartheid’s weight.As Monica Miller argues in “Slaves to Fashion”, these weren’t just style choices, they were political blueprints, passed through generations and across continents.And then came the Sapeurs of the Congo.The Sapeurs: Style as Post-Colonial FlexThe “Société des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes” (Society of Ambiance-Makers and Elegant People), aka Sapeurs, kicked off in the 1920s and went wild in the 1960s post-independence era. These Congolese men strutted through Kinshasa and Brazzaville in vibrant, impeccably tailored European suits, often dropping more on clothes than rent. This wasn’t mere vanity, it was sartorial warfare. In a post-colonial world still haunted by European superiority, Sapeurs dressed like Parisian kings, not to blend in, but to outshine.They turned colonial dress codes into a bold performance, using designer labels to mock and mimic the elite. Sapeurism wasn’t just a look; it was a manifesto that self-worth could rise through elegance, even in empire’s ashes.Their influence still ripples through global menswear and Black diasporic fashion. Pharrell rocked Sapeur-inspired fits in his “Something in the Water” visuals. Solange gave them a nod in “Losing You”. And now, the Met’s finally catching the wave.The Harlem Renaissance: Style as Intellectual SwagIn the 1920s and ’30s, Harlem wasn’t just a cultural hotspot, it was a fashion mecca. Black artists, poets, and thinkers knew style was power. Cue the Harlem dandy.Men like Alain Locke, the first Black Rhodes Scholar and Harlem Renaissance trailblazer, dressed with Oxford-level polish. His style was an extension of his politics, smashing stereotypes of the “Negro intellectual” as primitive or pitiable. Even Langston Hughes, more poet than posh, got the memo. “I wear my gold watch and fob,” he wrote, “and I am proud of that.”Harlem dandies weren’t just rocking white fashion, they were remixing it, blending Savile Row cuts with African American jazz energy to craft something modern, urban, and unapologetically Black. That energy echoes forward in Dapper Dan’s Gucci-covered Harlem atelier, where logomania meets legacy, and in Beyoncé’s Black Is King, a 21st-century tribute to diasporic elegance that channels Harlem Renaissance glam, Zulu regality, and couture-level pageantry into one glittering sermon.And it wasn’t just the guys. Women like Zora Neale Hurston and Josephine Baker weaponized style, using fringe, furs, and feathers to defy racial and gender norms. Baker, especially, used her image to rule 1920s Paris, a city that fetishized her even as she bent it to her will.Civil Rights to Soul PowerBy the 1960s and ’70s, Black style went from mimicry to mastery. Picture Malcolm X in his trench coat and glasses, every inch the revolutionary scholar. James Baldwin in turtlenecks and tailored suits, daring you to dismiss him. Stokely Carmichael in a Nehru jacket, channeling Pan-African vibes while preaching Black Power.Even as Afrocentrism and “Black is Beautiful” took off, the dandy aesthetic didn’t fade, it leveled up. You saw it in Sammy Davis Jr., blurring showman and activist, or Marvin Gaye, whose velvet blazers and silk shirts mixed sensuality with gravitas.Dandyism wasn’t just a jab at white supremacy anymore; it was a full-blown cultural identity.The Hip-Hop EraIn the ’80s and ’90s, Black style split and soared. Hip-hop brought baggy jeans, Timberlands, and oversized everything, but the dandy lane stayed open. Think André 3000 in ruffled shirts and suspenders or Biggie Smalls in Coogi and Versace.This mix of street and suit, rebellion and luxury, still fuels modern Black style. Today, we’re in a dandy renaissance, led by icons like the late André Leon Talley, who spun his Black Southern roots into high-fashion wizardry, owning front rows with fur and flair. Colman Domingo, this year’s Met Gala co-chair, whose bold tuxedos and jewel-toned suits turn red carpets into Black Broadway. LeBron James, whose NBA tunnel walks are runway-level flexes of tailoring and culture. Billy Porter, queering the dandy game with tuxedos-meet-tulle, smashing every gender norm. And now the Met Gala, the place where fashion’s biggest circus meets its richest donors, is finally giving the dandy his due.Why This Theme Hits Different Now“Superfine: Tailoring Black Style” drops in 2025, a year of political chaos. Trump’s comeback is real and terrifying. DEI programs are getting shredded. Companies that posted black squares in 2020 are ghosting their diversity vows. The culture war rages on.So, the Met Gala, a night dripping in privilege and performative allyship, celebrating Black dandyism right now? That’s almost revolutionary. Almost.This theme’s a sneaky beast. It’s about tailoring, sure, but also history, resistance, and refusing to shrink. It’s about claiming beauty as a right and a weapon.It’s also about the labor, the Black tailors, seamstresses, stylists, and designers, often nameless, whose craft made others shine while they stayed in the shadows.The RiskOf course, there’s danger here. The Met Gala has a habit of aestheticizing without understanding. Of flattening history into looks. We’ve seen it before religious iconography turned into fashion cosplay, punk neutered into couture. And now, the dandy risks becoming just another “inspiration.”I can already see it: white celebs in zoot suits calling it “homage.” Fast fashion brands throwing kente cloth on everything “diasporic.” TikTokers thinking Sapeur’s a fragrance line.But I can also dream big.A gallery of Baldwin’s suits, Baker’s feathers, Talley’s capes. Red carpet looks pulling from Caribbean tailoring, South African street vibes, HBCU homecoming energy, and Harlem ballroom fire. A moment where Black beauty isn’t an afterthought, it’s the whole show.Black Dandyism Still SnapsWhat we wear is never just fabric. For Black folks, getting dressed has always been more than vanity it’s survival, defiance, and joy. In 2025’s messy political climate, that message hits like a thunderclap.So let this Met Gala be a slay-fest, but also a reckoning. A shout-out to the tailors, the dandies, the disruptors. The ones who stitched rebellion into every seam. The ones who refused to be erased, demanding style and substance. The ones who showed the world:We’ve always been superfine." } , "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." } ] }