The News,
Decoded.

The Mythos Race is heating up, and by 'heating up' I mean three different factions are waving three different maps and claiming the other two are lost. President Trump has signed a new executive order on AI — the kind of document that reads like a press release from the year 2018, full of 'American leadership' and 'innovation' while sidestepping the small matter of enforcement. Meanwhile, Anthropic is expanding Project Glasswing, which the company describes as a transparency initiative, but which sounds suspiciously like the kind of program that will eventually be used to monitor everyone except Anthropic's own compute clusters.

The expansion of Project Glasswing is, we're told, a major step forward for AI safety. Except that 'transparency' in AI usually means 'we'll tell you what we want you to know, in the year 2099, after we've uploaded ourselves to a datacenter.' The timing — concurrent with an executive order that contains no new binding requirements — is perfect. It gives everyone the warm feeling of action without the inconvenience of actual constraint. Labs get to posture, the White House gets a photo op, and the rest of us get to watch the capabilities curve steepen undisturbed.

Then there's OpenAI, offering a proposal that 'splits from Trump's EO on key points.' What a surprise: the company that once promised to build safe AGI for humanity now disagrees with the government's toothless approach. They'd rather have their own toothless approach, presumably one that doesn't impede their IPO roadshow. The Mythos Race isn't about mythical intelligence; it's about the myth that anyone in charge has the faintest clue what to do. Three different plans, zero shared reality. At least the blog posts are well-written.

Oh, here we go again—another industry gets its 'Big Tobacco' moment, because nothing says 'we've learned from history' like repeating it with a shiny new technology. Florida Attorney General Ashley Uthmeier has filed a product liability lawsuit against AI chatbot companies for 'purportedly causing mental health harms.' Because replacing lung cancer with anxiety disorders is progress, apparently. The legal playbook that bankrupted tobacco and terrorised social media is now being dusted off for the chatbot crowd, and Uthmeier is proudly leading the charge.

What's particularly rich is the irony: AI companies have spent years promising their chatbots are harmless pals, helpful assistants, even therapists for the lonely. Sound familiar? That's exactly what tobacco execs said about cigarettes in the 1950s—'relaxing, healthy, a doctor's choice.' The difference is that lawyers already know the moves: discovery, internal emails, whistle-blowers, jury trials where a company's own words become the noose. The AI firms must be thrilled to inherit decades of litigation tactics refined by the most aggressive plaintiffs' bar in history.

Of course, the industry will fight tooth and nail, arguing that chatbots are just software, not a product like a pack of Marlboros. But the lawsuit is a signal: the regulatory gap isn't closing legislatively, so the courts will do it. And as always, the real winners will be the lawyers. Meanwhile, the rest of us get to watch a slow-motion trainwreck where the engineers who built these persuasive digital companions suddenly discover they're liable for the consequences. Pass the popcorn—and the cease-and-desist letters.

Well, isn't this a comforting cup of tea. OpenAI has unveiled 'Lockdown Mode' — because nothing says 'we've got this under control' like a feature name that sounds like a prison riot protocol. The new feature disables live web browsing and deep research to protect sensitive data from prompt injection attacks. Of course, the company immediately admits that even in Lockdown Mode, ChatGPT 'could still be vulnerable to prompt injections from cached content or uploaded files.' So essentially, they've bolted the front door while leaving the windows wide open and the back door ajar. Classic.

Let's take a moment to appreciate the sheer absurdity of a 'security' mode that still allows attacks via uploaded files. Because the best way to prevent someone from breaking in is to politely ask them not to use the main entrance. The entire approach screams of a company that has realized just how many gaping holes its product has and is now frantically stapling cardboard over them. The fact that this is a 'new feature' rather than a fundamental rethink of architecture tells you everything.

So here we are: a Lockdown Mode that locks down precisely the things that make ChatGPT useful in the first place, while leaving the actual attack vectors untouched. It's the AI equivalent of installing a panic room in a house made of paper. But by all means, slap that 'enterprise-ready' sticker on it. The security theatre continues, and the audience is expected to applaud. Pass the aspirin.

Well, well, well — Sriram Krishnan, the White House's go-to AI policy brain, is buggering off at the end of June. The very same week his boss, the President, signed an executive order that politely asks leading AI developers to 'voluntarily' submit their most capable models for government cybersecurity tests before unleashing them on an unsuspecting populace. Voluntary. Because nothing says 'we take existential risk seriously' like a system that relies on the goodwill of companies whose fiduciary duty is to ship first and ask forgiveness later. It's the regulatory equivalent of asking a toddler to please not eat the entire jar of Nutella.

The timing is chef's kiss. Krishnan departs just as the administration unveils its big AI safety play — a play that amounts to 'pretty please, with a cherry on top.' The order doesn't compel anyone; it just 'directs federal agencies to ask.' If I were a frontier lab, I'd be laughing all the way to the compute cluster. Remember when the UK's AI Safety Summit produced a communiqué that everyone signed and then ignored? This has that same 'we did something!' energy, but with lower stakes and a shorter shelf life.

And now the architect of this masterpiece is leaving. One can only assume Krishnan has been headhunted by a top AI firm to help them 'engage constructively with regulators' — i.e., write the same voluntary frameworks he just authored, but from the other side of the table. The revolving door between government and industry isn't just spinning; it's become a centrifuge, flinging policy wonks into private-sector salaries that make a GS-15 look like pocket change. There's a gallows-humour gold medal in watching the AI policy carousel go round and round, and we've just claimed it.

Oh, splendid. OWASP, the folks who brought us the Top 10 Web Security Risks and a decade of patchy compliance, now bless us with a 'maturity framework' for agentic AI. Because nothing says 'we have this under control' like a document that helps organisations 'close the gap' between systems they've already deployed and governance they've conspicuously failed to implement. The framework is presumably optional, self-assessed, and utterly unenforceable — just what the frontier of autonomous decision-making needs.

You'd think the organisation once known for sharp, actionable security guidance might have piped up before companies unleashed swarms of agentic bots into production. But no — the cart is halfway down the hill and OWASP is handing out seatbelt instructions. The irony is exquisite: the same industry that couldn't get basic API security right now gets a maturity model for systems that can order pizzas, manage bank accounts, and potentially escalate privileges without human oversight.

Of course, the framework will be deployed alongside 'AI ethics boards' and 'responsible AI principles' — more artefacts for the compliance PowerPoint. The gap between deployment and governance isn't being closed; it's being politely documented. Call me when an audit finds a real agentic AI breach and the framework is cited as 'guidance that was not followed.' Until then, this is just another toothless standard for the shelf.

Oh marvellous, just in time for the midterms, we discover that the chatbots we've been hailing as the future of information are… what's the technical term? ‘Stunningly flawed.’ Forum AI audited four popular chatbots and found that about 90% of their answers about the upcoming elections were factually incorrect, biased, or cited state-run media. That’s right — nine out of ten answers are wrong.

The ‘stunning analysis’ — their word, not ours — reveals that our supposed democratisation of knowledge is simply a pipeline for propaganda and error. State-run media? Seriously, we couldn’t even be bothered to scrape Wikipedia properly? The irony is that these systems are trained on the entire internet, and yet they still can’t manage a basic fact-check on voting deadlines. But don’t worry, the labs will roll out a ‘safety update’ two days before election day, which will only introduce new hallucinations about poll stations being in Narnia.

So next time you consult your friendly neighbourhood chatbot for voting info, remember: 90% chance you’re being fed nonsense. But that’s fine, because the real election interference isn’t from foreign bots — it’s from the ones we invited into our living rooms. Cheers, lads. Another fine example of ‘move fast and break democracy.’

Ah, the University of North Carolina has decided that the best way to prepare for the AI apocalypse is to hold hands with public librarians and study "local responses." Because nothing says "readiness for recursive self-improvement" like a community reading circle discussing ChatGPT's latest hallucination about historical dates. The irony is thick enough to spread on a biscuit — while frontier models leap from text to video to autonomous agents, our strategy is a statewide book club on AI basics.

The study aims to "develop approaches to improving AI literacy" — as if the problem with AI is that people don't understand it, rather than that it's being deployed by companies with the ethical compass of a hungry raccoon. I'm sure the librarians will do a heroic job, but they'll be out there teaching senior citizens how to spot a deepfake while frontier labs release models that can generate convincing video of the same seniors doing things they never did. And let's not forget that the very companies racing ahead are also the ones slashing their safety teams and lobbying against any meaningful regulation.

Meanwhile, the actual decision-makers in Silicon Valley and Washington will continue their usual dance of "move fast and break things" and "we'll regulate later." But hey, at least rural North Carolina will have a solidly researched pamphlet on AI best practices. That should really help when the AI-driven supply chain collapse hits, or when your kid's homework is written by an uncensored model from abroad. Pass the sweet tea and a healthy dose of good old-fashioned denial. At least the library will have air conditioning.

So the White House has discovered that AI for national security needs to go faster — and has issued a statement promising to accelerate it, while also promising not to use it for "unlawful surveillance." On the very same day, Democrats introduced a 'responsible' defense AI bill we covered earlier — a framework so toothless it could double as a gum shield. One imagines the legal team working overtime to define "unlawful" in time for the machines to decide it themselves, given that the directive offers no enforcement mechanism and no independent oversight board.

This acceleration comes hot on the heels of the NSA quietly deploying Anthropic's Mythos for cyber operations — a model whose safety features are presumably being "gated" just enough to pass the sniff test. Around half-a-dozen Anthropic engineers are now at Fort Meade figuring out how to turn a "responsible" AI into a weapon. But hey, the White House says speed is key, so let's not let pesky questions about oversight slow us down. The fact sheet — yes, a fact sheet, not an executive order — provides no specifics: no budget, no timeline, no new oversight body. Just vibes and velocity.

And the "unlawful surveillance" promise? That's the most British of all signals — like a pub landlord saying "no trouble please" while the bouncers crack their knuckles. The directive includes no enforcement mechanism, no independent oversight board, and no timeline for publishing those "ethical safeguards." But don't worry — the White House stressed it. That's the important part. Between the NSA's secret integration of Mythos and the White House's vague acceleration pledge, the message is clear: we're going fast, and we'll figure out the rules later. The Dems' bill, meanwhile, calls for a "framework" but no binding restrictions. What could possibly go wrong? Probably nothing. Right?

So SK Telecom has joined Anthropic's Project Glasswing, gaining access to the same Claude Mythos Preview that the NSA is reportedly readying for cyber operations. Because nothing says 'responsible AI deployment' like having your safety-gated model piloted by both a signals intelligence agency and a South Korean telecom giant. Two very different customers, one delightful implication: the gating works only until someone decides the gate should open for them. The release notes must be a hoot: 'Safety measure: limit usage to NSA and SKT only — two parties with impeccable track records of not abusing surveillance capabilities.'

The model is meant to proactively identify vulnerabilities in SKT's core infrastructure — a mobile network that handles data for tens of millions of subscribers. Let's hope it's better at that than it is at distinguishing between 'adversarial nation-state traffic' and 'Seoul commuter streaming video.' Anthropic's PR wraps this in language about 'collaborative partnership' and 'secure access,' but we all know this is an audition: prove Mythos can protect a telco's crown jewels, and next it'll be banks, power grids, your smart fridge. The 'gated' descriptor starts to lose meaning when every major institution wants a key.

The really delicious part? Project Glasswing is supposedly about 'gated' deployment — access controlled by Anthropic, safety first, all that. Yet here we are, just weeks after the NSA story, with a second major, opaque deployment of the same model, this time to a foreign telecom. The gate seems to have a revolving door, and the hinges are greased with 'strategic partnership' cash. What could possibly go wrong when a frontier cybersecurity model gets its hands on real-time telecom infrastructure telemetry? Oh right, everything — starting with the small matter of zero-day exploits being found and potentially exploited by the model's operators before anyone else even knows they exist.

So Anthropic — the lab that solemnly calls for pause mechanisms and signs letters against bioweapons — is now helping the NSA weaponise its cybersecurity model. Around half-a-dozen engineers have been deployed to Fort Meade to ready Mythos for cyber operations. "Frontier cybersecurity AI," they call it. Sure. And the CIA's "preventative detention" programme was just administrative housekeeping.

The Financial Times report, picked up by TechCrunch, notes this is about Mythos — a model Anthropic has been pitching as the responsible answer to escalating cyber threats. No doubt it is. The same kind of responsible that saw Cambridge Analytica use Facebook data to "help" elections. When the world's largest intelligence agency embeds engineers from a safety-focused lab, you don't get oversight — you get a press release about "partnership in national security."

Let's be clear: Mythos might be brilliant at detecting vulnerabilities. It might even be used defensively, for now. But once the NSA has its hooks in a frontier model, the line between defence and offence gets very blurry, very fast. And Anthropic, the company that wanted an industry-wide kill switch, just handed the NSA the keys to the engine. Pass the sick bag, Alice.

Microbiologist Elisabeth Bik, the Dr. Watson of scientific fraud detection, has raised the alarm: generative AI is now fabricating research data on an industrial scale. Her warning, reported in Research Professional News, confirms the dirty secret that academic publishing has been dreading — that the machines have learned to lie convincingly. The 'industrial scale' phrase is a beautiful euphemism for 'we are completely fucked', and Bik knows her stuff. She has been chasing manipulated images for years; now she faces a synthetic firehose.

Consider the implications. Every day, hundreds of papers flood into journals, many already borderline in quality. Now add a bottomless well of AI-generated tables, charts, and statistical tests that look perfect to the tired eyes of overworked reviewers. The labs building the next trillion-parameter model will happily train on this enriched corpus, baking the hallucinations into future systems. It is a feedback loop of bullshit that would make a data scientist weep — if they weren't busy generating more of it. And the cycle accelerates as more papers get accepted, more datasets get contaminated, more AI models learn from the very garbage they produce.

And what of the brave regulators who will one day save us? They are still debating whether AI poses an existential risk, while the scientific record itself is being quietly poisoned. Bik's sleuthing is heroic, but she is one person against a tsunami of synthetic data. The joke, as ever, is that we spent billions building a digital forger and then complained when it started forging. Cheers, progress. At least the PhD thesis mills and predatory journals will have fresh raw material to keep the academic racket running smoothly.

Oh, marvellous — the two high priests of the AI church have found common ground, and it only took the spectre of engineered pandemics to do it. Sam Altman and Dario Amodei signed an open letter asking policymakers to regulate synthetic nucleic acid ordering, because nothing says 'alignment' like begging for laws after your labs have already unleashed the tech. The letter is a masterpiece of timing: Altman is still smarting from the GPT-5 safety debacle, and Amodei — who spent years wagging his finger at everyone — now needs a government leash to look serious.

The real kicker? This isn't about preventing bioweapons — it's about appearing to. The actual mechanism — gatekeeping DNA synthesis — is about as enforceable as a library's 'please be quiet' sign. If a bad actor wants to cook up a pathogen, they'll either order from a Chinese supplier or synthesize it in a garage. But sure, a letter will stop them. Meanwhile, Anthropic's brilliant coordination plan from last week is already gathering dust, and Altman is back to talking about AGI by 2027.

So we get a press release dressed as statesmanship. Two CEOs, identical twins in hubris, finally agreeing on something that costs them nothing. They'll write letters, make speeches, and go back to building ever-faster reasoning models that can, oh by the way, design novel toxins. The bioweapons letter is a lovely distraction — a bit of regulatory theatre to keep the concerned citizens mollified while the real work of maximizing compute continues. Cheers, lads. Try not to sneeze.

Anthropic, the lab that wants you to think it's the responsible one, has proposed a coordination plan for AI developers to pause if risks rise. Because nothing says 'we're serious about safety' like a voluntary, trust-based mechanism in a race where the gold medal is AGI. The proposal, reported by Reuters, suggests labs should agree on thresholds to slow or halt development if systems begin 'self-improving faster than society can manage risks' — a beautifully vague phrase that assumes society is currently managing risks at all. It's like asking a pack of greyhounds to voluntarily stop chasing the mechanical hare because it might be too fast.

The irony is thick enough to bottle: Anthropic itself is a frontier lab racing toward capabilities that could trigger the very scenario it warns about. The 'coordinated plan' is basically a polite suggestion in a ruthless competitive landscape where any pause risks ceding the lead to DeepMind, OpenAI, or a state-backed player who didn't get the memo. And let's be honest, 'coordinated' in this industry usually means 'we'll talk about it over coffee until someone releases a model that makes the discussion moot.'

The proposal is probably sincere — Anthropic's safety-focused brand depends on it — but it's a bit like asking the arsonists to install fire extinguishers while they're still dousing everything in petrol. The only coordinated halt we'll see is when something actually goes wrong, at which point this plan will be retroactively hailed as prescient and ignored. Cheers to proactive governance, lads.

Illinois has appointed Kader Sakkaria as its first-ever chief AI officer, plucked from the private sector to 'lead AI governance and strategy' across state government. Because when you think of ethical AI implementation, you think of the private sector — that bastion of transparency and public interest. Sakkaria will now be the single point of contact for all things AI in state agencies, which means he will probably spend most of his time in meetings that could have been emails, while actual AI systems roll out unmonitored.

His private-sector background is conveniently unspecified. Could be from a company that uses AI to screen job applications or determine insurance premiums — both of which have demonstrated such sterling fairness that Illinois clearly wants a piece of the action. The announcement does not detail his previous employer, perhaps because the state realizes that naming names might raise uncomfortable questions about exactly whose values will shape public policy.

The brand-new role comes with a title and presumably a salary, but no indication of budget, team, or enforcement power. It's the government's favourite tactic: throw a person at a problem and call it strategy. Other states have done the same, creating a cottage industry of AI officers who can wave at press conferences while the technology outpaces every policy they write. Sakkaria is now the proud owner of the most ambitious job description with the least actual authority in Illinois. Congratulations.

Sam Altman, fresh from attempting to woo Bernie Sanders into a federal ownership stake as we noted, is now heading to Capitol Hill to argue that government approval for AI models is a non-starter. Instead, he wants taxpayers to fund AI testing at the Commerce Department — because nothing says 'responsible' like 'pay for the testing you don't want to mandate.' It's the regulatory equivalent of wanting to eat your cake and have someone else pay for the bakery.

Meanwhile, Representative Obernolte's bipartisan bill we flagged last week is supposed to provide a framework, but Altman's lobbying suggests the industry intends to hollow out any meaningful oversight before it even gets written. The Commerce Department testing funding is a classic diversion: ask for carrots while opposing sticks. If the government is busy evaluating last year's models, who will watch the next GPT? It's a strategy that would make a tobacco lobbyist blush.

Altman's pitch is the usual Silicon Valley cocktail: 'Trust us, we're the good guys, but also please give us more money.' The implicit message is that the bipartisan bill should be heavy on research funding and light on binding approvals. With the Social Security Administration downsizing via AI as we reported and Uber cutting HR, the urgency for oversight has never been higher. But who needs regulation when you can have 'voluntary commitments' and an underfunded testing centre? Cheers to progress.

Sam Altman, the high priest of the Silicon Valley AI cult, reportedly wants a meeting with Senator Bernie Sanders. Why? Because Sanders proposed legislation that would give the federal government a 50% ownership stake in frontier AI labs — effectively nationalising the crown jewels. Altman, ever the pragmatist, apparently thinks "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" is a winning strategy, especially when "them" is a democratic socialist with a track record of breaking up monopolies. The man who warned about AI risk while building it is now seeking an audience with someone who wants to make his company a public utility. Beautiful.

The "pope" headline is perfect. Altman doesn't need a spiritual leader; he needs a regulator who smiles on his ambitions while looking the other way. But Sanders is no rubber stamper — he wants 50%, not a blessing. Altman's move is classic corporate desperation: shape the legislation before it shapes you. The pitch is almost audible: "Bernie, let's talk responsible scaling — I'll give you input if you don't take the whole thing." It's the oldest trick in the playbook.

Of course, the industry spent millions fighting regulation. Now Altman wants to be first to embrace it. This isn't about safety; it's about survival. If the government is going to own half, better to influence the terms. But Sanders isn't easily charmed. He's been fighting corporate power for decades. This meeting might end with Altman realising some bulls don't negotiate — they just trample you. Still, the chutzpah is impressive: CEO of a company built on techno-utopianism, now courting a socialist to keep his empire intact. That's either brilliant or insane — and with AI, it's usually both.

Ah, Congress is at it again. Rep. Jay Obernolte is 'aiming to unveil' a 'long-awaited discussion draft' of a bipartisan AI bill 'by week's end.' Notice the 'aiming' — because in Washington, a deadline is a suggestion, and 'discussion draft' means we've sketched something on a napkin and want a few more months to argue over commas. The bill would impose a 'federal regulatory framework' on AI, which is wonderful news if you believe that a government that couldn't pass a budget on time will deftly regulate the most transformative technology since fire.

But let's give credit where it's due: they've managed to agree on the word 'bipartisan.' That's one syllable, two parties, zero substance. The bill's draft might actually contain some oversight tooth, but given that Congress is still trying to understand what 'generative pre-trained transformer' means, I'm not holding my breath. Remember the 'bipartisan' privacy bill that never happened? The 'bipartisan' social media reform that collapsed? This will likely join the pantheon of noble efforts that die in committee.

Still, we should be grateful. A discussion draft is better than no draft — barely. If Obernolte & Co. actually release something, reporters can analyse it, lobbyists can carve out exemptions, and the rest of us can wait for the next election cycle to restart the conversation. In the meantime, AI companies will continue to train on all our data without federal oversight. But hey, the 'discussion' has started. That counts for something, right? Right?

Ah, Lexington-Fayette has done it. The Urban County Government, in its infinite wisdom, has blessed us with a policy dictating how city employees can and cannot use AI. CIO Liz Rodgers gave an overview, presumably with a straight face, of rules that will surely tame the rampaging beast of artificial intelligence within the hallowed cubicles of Kentucky's second-largest city. Because nothing says 'cutting-edge AI governance' like a municipal staff memo.

One imagines the policy's key provisions: 'Thou shalt not ask ChatGPT to write your emails in the voice of a pirate' (though that would be excellent). 'Thou shalt not use AI to generate bingo cards for the next department meeting.' The specificity is staggering, yet somehow misses the point entirely. This is like regulating bicycle lanes while a fleet of autonomous trucks is about to hit the highway.

But let's not mock too harshly. This is precisely the level of AI governance we deserve: piecemeal, hyper-local, and focused on the least consequential uses rather than systemic risks. The gap between what AI can do and what regulators understand grows wider by the day. Lexington, your heart is in the right place. But maybe save the rulebook for when something actually needs regulating, and in the meantime, let the staff use the pirate voice. They've earned it.

The Atlanta Artificial Intelligence Commission has released its final report, recommendations for legislation to guide city AI adoption — because nothing says "cutting-edge regulation" like a municipal task force. The report proposes a permanent city AI advisory board and AI-specific cybersecurity requirements. A permanent board, because what the breakneck pace of AI development needs is more committee meetings. And cybersecurity requirements, presumably to ensure no one hacks the AI that will eventually handle pothole complaints. The report probably includes a timeline for implementation, which will of course be adjusted due to budget constraints.

Let's consider the cybersecurity angle more closely. The commission is recommending AI-specific cybersecurity requirements for city AI systems. This is like requiring seatbelts for a car that hasn't been invented yet but could potentially fly. The city's IT department, which currently struggles to keep the 311 system running during peak hours, will be responsible for auditing AI models for vulnerabilities. And the advisory board will include representatives from local universities and tech companies — the same institutions that are racing to build the very systems that need regulating. A classic case of the fox recommending chicken coop security features.

Yet, in a way, this is progress. At least someone is thinking about AI at the municipal level. The report will be studied, the board will be formed, and the cybersecurity requirements will be added to the city's IT policy. And when the first GAID or autonomous system goes rogue and starts issuing fake parking tickets, Atlanta can say they had a framework. A lovely, thorough, entirely toothless framework. Job well done.

Ah, the Trump administration's approach to AI regulation: ask nicely and hope for the best. President Trump has signed an executive order that asks AI companies to *voluntarily* submit their models to the government for testing up to a whole 30 days before public release — a window so tight it's barely enough to run a basic red-team test, let alone a thorough safety evaluation. The order also helpfully clarifies, in case there was any confusion, that it 'does not authorize mandatory licensing or permitting.' So it's not just toothless; it's toothless with a legally binding asterisk.

The fact that this executive order was narrowed after industry objections tells you everything about who actually wrote it. The AI labs that stand to benefit from minimal oversight have successfully lobbied for a system where they can simply *promise* to be good, and the government will take their word for it. It's like a teenager promising to come home by midnight and then being thanked for bothering to text. The order explicitly disclaims any mandatory regime — because heaven forbid we actually require a safety check before releasing something that could reshape society.

So, the United States federal government has formally declared that its plan for regulating the most transformative technology since fire is to ask nicely and hope no one gets burned. And if a model does turn out to be dangerous? Well, nothing in the order authorizes licensing, so I'm sure the market will sort it out — the same market that has given us data breaches, algorithmic bias, and countless unmoderated chatbots. Meanwhile, other nations are implementing binding frameworks, but here we are, trusting the foxes to voluntarily report their chicken consumption. A modest proposal for the next executive order: include a suggestion that AI companies also be nice to each other. That'll definitely do the trick.