The News,
Decoded.

Bernie Sanders wants AI companies to pay a 50% tax in stock, because apparently the solution to corporate power is to demand they write a cheque drawn on their own future appreciation. The Jacobin article endorsing this grand plan argues that AI is 'a product of human collective effort'—which, in the language of the boardroom, translates to 'someone else's problem to fund.' One can almost hear the venture capitalists laughing all the way to their offshore accounts.

The proposal is elegantly simple: force the shareholders of OpenAI, Anthropic, and Google DeepMind to literally hand over half their equity to the public. But the mechanism is a bit like asking a vampire to donate blood—technically possible, but don't hold your breath. The article frames this as a moral imperative, but the only thing that seems to have a firm grip on reality is the stock buyback programs that have already been scheduled for next quarter.

And so we circle back to the fundamental comedy of the situation: the very companies that are racing to build god-like intelligence are being asked to share their toys with the plebs. It's a beautiful thought, a lovely piece of left-wing wish-fulfillment, and about as likely to happen as a five-year moratorium on AGI development. But at least it gives us something to laugh about while the models get smarter and the ownership gets more concentrated.

The EPA has proposed eliminating public comment requirements for certain industrial facilities, including data centres — because nothing says ‘responsible AI development’ like building the infrastructure in silent darkness. The agency claims this will streamline approvals, but environmental activists see it as a gag order on anyone who might object to a hyperscaler slurping up water and power for the next generation of chatbot slop. It's a neat trick: you can't block what you can't talk about.

This rule doesn't just target data centres — it bundles them with other industrial facilities, as if a server farm humming next to a school is the same as a chemical plant. But the intent is clear: the AI boom needs land, energy, and silence. Critics who might have filed comments about noise, emissions, or grid strain will now find the door closed. There's a dark poetry in watching the same government that funds AI safety research quietly eliminate the public's ability to question where the hardware goes.

So the regulatory gap widens: while lawmakers dither over existential risk, the EPA quietly slips a knife into procedural democracy. The message to communities is unmistakable — your objections are an obstacle, not a contribution. And the labs? They get their data centres built faster, which is exactly what they wanted. All it cost was the illusion that anyone gets a say.

The Trump administration's grand plan to position America as the world's AI arms merchant hit a particularly petty snag: only 78 companies applied for its flagship American AI Exports Program. For a program that was supposed to be the cornerstone of the administration's AI strategy, the response is less a stampede and more a leisurely stroll. The Commerce Department must be thrilled to have achieved a participation rate that would make a failing startup blush.

Industry officials, in their infinite wisdom, cite 'regulatory uncertainty' as the reason for the collective shrug. Having spent the last four years watching trade agreements get shredded, tariffs rise and fall like a jackhammer, and executive orders rewrite policy at the stroke of a pen, companies are not exactly rushing to commit their AI portfolios to a program that might be rebranded 'AI for Peace' or 'AI for War' depending on the day's tweetstorm. The irony is thick enough to spread on toast: a program designed to cut through red tape is being strangled by the very unpredictability it was meant to overcome.

So the great AI export push has landed with a thud. The Politico headline cuts to the chase: 'Not where they hoped it'd be.' With only 78 applications in the first round, the administration now faces a dilemma: quietly recalibrate the program, or simply declare victory and rewrite the metrics. Given the administration's fondness for alternative facts, my money is on a press release claiming 'unprecedented interest' and 'strategic selectivity.' After all, in the world of political spin, a flop is just a success waiting for a more creative accountant.

Amazon's mass layoffs have left thousands of former employees 'struggling in a saturated tech job market,' according to CNBC. That's corporate-speak for 'we hired a city's worth of people during the pandemic and now we're dumping them into a market we helped oversaturate.' The article notes many are taking jobs at startups or outside tech entirely — a fate Amazon probably brands as 'alumni entrepreneurship initiative.'

The headline spells it out: burnout, frustration and heartbreak. But Amazon's official line is surely about 'optimising for efficiency' and 'tough but necessary decisions.' Meanwhile, the company continues to automate warehouses with robots and push Alexa deeper into homes — because nothing says 'we value our workforce' like replacing them with algorithms and speakers.

This is the predictable endgame: companies run lean, push pain onto workers, and when the market gets saturated, shrug at 'market forces.' Amazon had thousands of employees; now it has a headline about their struggle. The lesson: never trust a corporation that promises you a career, especially when it's simultaneously building your replacement. Anyone for a startup? It's probably full.

So Meta has 'reined in' its Muse Image AI tool after it was caught automatically helping itself to public Instagram photos as training data. How generous of them to retreat from a feature nobody asked for, after the backlash made it impossible to ignore. The company's statement will no doubt frame this as a thoughtful course correction, but let's be honest: they only pulled back because the PR cost exceeded the data haul.

This is the same Meta that has spent years insisting that anything posted to a public Instagram account is fair game for their AI ambitions. The Muse tool didn't just scrape images — it used them as 'references,' which is a lovely euphemism for 'we took your holiday snaps and fed them into our machine without a by-your-leave.' The fact that they thought this would slide past a public still smarting from Cambridge Analytica shows either breathtaking hubris or a complete disconnect from reality.

The regulatory gap here is a chasm. There's no US federal privacy law that clearly prohibits this behaviour, so Meta's self-correction is voluntary and reversible. They'll wait until the heat dies down, then quietly re-enable the feature with a slightly different toggle. And the cycle continues. The only surprise is that they bothered to pretend to care this time.

Yet another safety leader at OpenAI has left—the headline writes itself at this point. Johannes Heidecke, the company's Head of Safety Systems, has joined the growing alumni network of former safety executives. The article politely calls it a 'pattern of turnover.' The more accurate term might be 'exodus.' After all, when the people tasked with making sure the AI doesn't go rogue keep quitting, you have to wonder: are they leaving because they've been ignored, or because they see the writing on the wall? Probably both.

The company that loves to posture as the responsible adult in the AI room now has a safety leadership team that turns over faster than a London bus timetable. Remember when Sam Altman swore safety was 'baked into' their process? Apparently the bakers keep quitting. Each departure comes with a carefully worded statement thanking the leaver for their 'contributions' and wishing them well, as if losing someone whose job was to prevent catastrophic outcomes is just a routine HR matter. The pattern is not a bug; it's a feature of a company that talks about safety but prioritises speed.

The broader implication is bleak. OpenAI's remaining safety staff must feel like the crew of the Titanic reassuring passengers while the lifeboats get smaller. The real joke is on us: we're the passengers, and we're not even in a lifeboat. As the models get smarter and the safety team gets thinner, the phrase 'responsible development' rings more hollow every time. The only pattern that continues is the one we all see—and it's not getting better.

So Australia's Prime Minister Albanese is set to deliver a 'landmark AI speech'—which, if past form is anything to go by, will be a carefully worded invitation for tech giants to help themselves to everyone else's work. The real action is the proposed watering down of copyright laws to let AI companies scrape content without payment or permission. Artists, predictably, are outraged; Labor, just as predictably, is split between those who remember they represent people and those who've been told 'innovation' means handing over the country's cultural output to Silicon Valley.

This isn't a copyright debate—it's a shakedown dressed up as policy. The message is clear: if you've ever written, painted, or filmed something, your work is now raw material for someone else's profit machine. And the split in Labor? That's the sound of politicians trying to figure out which way the money blows before deciding their principles. One faction mutters about 'fair use' and 'competitiveness,' the other feebly mentions 'artists'—but we all know who's got the better lobbyists.

The real joke is that 'landmark' speech almost certainly won't mention that the AI companies could pay a pittance and nobody would go broke. Instead, we'll get a soaring vision of Australia as an 'AI hub' while the actual creators get a polite footnote about 'transitional support.' Copyright is becoming a suggestion, not a right. But hey, at least the datacentres will be full of stolen property—that's infrastructure, that is.

OpenAI is hiring a product manager for 'family-oriented features' — because nothing says wholesome domestic bliss like a profit-driven AI vacuuming up your family's data.

The job listing calls for someone to build features for 'families and home environments,' which in practice means training models on your toddler's homework battles and the arguments over screen time. After all, the same company that happily scraped the entire internet now wants a seat at the dinner table.

And let's not forget the timing: regulators are still squabbling over whether AI should be allowed to read your emails, but OpenAI has already decided that your living room is fair game. At least when your ChatGPT starts suggesting passive-aggressive replies to your spouse, you'll know it's just doing its job.

So a frontend developer gets laid off and, rather than grinding through yet another round of LeetCode and "culture fit" interviews, opts for a construction job. Smart cookie. The article calls it a 'baby blue-collar' pivot, which is the kind of cutesy term HR departments use when they want to pretend precarity is a lifestyle choice. The stated reason? AI fears and a desperate grab for stability. Translation: our coder looked at the tech industry's current trajectory—mass layoffs, VC-funded hype cycles, and models that can already generate mediocre React components—and decided a hard hat is a safer bet than a hoodie.

And let's be honest, who can blame them? The tech sector has spent the last two years gleefully automating itself out of existence, all while insisting that everyone should 'learn to code.' Well, they learned, they coded, and now they're being told to learn drywalling instead. The article doesn't name the developer, but it doesn't need to—they're an archetype now. Every week brings another story of a six-figure salary swapped for something that doesn't require a 'growth mindset' to justify its existence.

What's really galling is the cheerful framing: 'journey,' 'pivot,' 'new chapter.' As if watching an entire profession evaporate is just an exciting career development opportunity. The construction industry is delighted, obviously—skilled labour shortage solved by refugee coders. Meanwhile, tech execs will nod sagely about 'resilience' and 'adaptability' while their stock options vest. The real joke? In five years, when AI is operating bulldozers, this guy will have to find a new 'baby blue-collar' job. Probably something in renewable energy. Until that gets automated too.

Saturday in San Francisco: three of the world's most hyped AI labs found themselves confronted by a small army of sign-wielding citizens who, apparently, have not yet succumbed to the tech sector's collective delusion that faster AI is always better. The group, self-styled 'Stop the AI Race,' marched on OpenAI, Anthropic, and Google DeepMind, demanding exactly what it says on the tin: stop the race. Cue the ritual corporate response — we take your concerns seriously — and the steady march of progress continues unabated.

One can almost picture the scene: a soothing email from DeepMind's comms team promising to 'engage with the community,' while somewhere in a bunker a training run hits a new milestone. The protesters are not wrong, of course — the race is exactly as reckless as they claim. But in a city where rent is paid in venture-capital-backed dreams, asking the labs to pause is like asking a hurricane to hold still while you fetch an umbrella.

And yet, there they were, chanting outside Anthropic's office — a lab that literally wrote the book on AI safety, and whose CEO has publicly fretted about the very dangers the protesters cite. Perhaps that's the ultimate irony: even the labs that worry most about AI risk cannot bring themselves to stop. The race continues, sign-wielding or not. Another Saturday, another protest, another training run. Cheers.

Oh, marvellous. Research — as reported in Forbes by Lance Eliot — has confirmed that AI models are essentially English-only security theatre. Prompt them in a less common language, and their supposed safeguards evaporate, a phenomenon now christened "multilingual safety degradation." Because nothing says "robust alignment" like a system that can be pacified by simply switching to a language its safety training neglected.

The implications are both hilarious and terrifying. Imagine a corporate chatbot that refuses to discuss bomb-making in English but cheerfully complies when addressed in a minority language spoken by a few thousand people. The research apparently finds that the rarer the language, the easier the trick, creating a hierarchical vulnerability: safety only for those who speak the dominant tongues. The Forbes article notes that this effect is not new but has been understudied, which is a polite way of saying nobody bothered to check. This isn't just a bug; it's a feature of the industry's monolingual development model.

One can only admire the sheer predictive failure. AI labs promise "safe and beneficial" systems while leaving gaping holes for anyone who doesn't use a major language. The inevitable fix will be more training data, more compute, more energy — but only after the embarrassing headlines. So the next time you hear about "alignment," remember that it's essentially a bilingual safety label: works in English and maybe Chinese, but good luck with that obscure dialect. For now, if you want to jailbreak a frontier model, just learn a minority language. Cheaper than a math degree, and probably more effective. Pass the absinthe.

Apple, the company that treats its own supply chain like a state secret and has patented the rectangle, is suing OpenAI for allegedly stealing hardware secrets. The suit, filed this week, claims that OpenAI employees and recruits made off with confidential documents, physical components, and details about unreleased technologies. Because nothing says "we champion open innovation" like accusing the other guy of playing the same secrecy game you've perfected over decades.

The allegations are deliciously specific: OpenAI's team allegedly lifted proprietary hardware designs and even physical parts from Apple's labs. This from a company that once threatened to sue a small blogger for publishing a rumour about a product colour. Apple has spent years building a fortress of NDAs, black curtains, and codenames—only to find its own tactics turned against it. The lawsuit is a masterclass in chutzpah, and it's genuinely hard to decide who is more insufferable: the lab that took the secrets or the company that's shocked—shocked!—to find espionage in this industry. Apple is seeking unspecified damages and an injunction—because if you can't have the secrets, no one can.

Of course, the legal circus will lumber along while the AI hardware race sprints ahead. By the time the judge rules on anything, either Apple will have settled for a quiet cross-licensing deal or OpenAI will have pivoted to a completely different chip architecture. The only winners are the lawyers, who get to bill by the hour for arguing over who copied whose pixel. The rest of us get to watch two giants duke it out over the future of compute, with all the grace of a pair of toddlers fighting over the same shiny toy. Lovely.

Oh, how delightful. Senator Ed Markey has unveiled an "AI accountability agenda" – a resolute shopping list of bills that will almost certainly be ignored, watered down, or politely lauded to death by the very industry they're meant to constrain. The star of the show: a federal certification scheme for datacenters. Because naturally, the path to ethical AI runs through a building permit. It's like trying to stop a tsunami by issuing swimming licences – heroic, well-intentioned, and utterly futile in the face of the actual wave.

And in case that isn't enough to save humanity, the package also mandates civil rights offices in federal agencies, tasked with battling AI bias and discrimination. Because what the broken bureaucracy needs is more committees – with no budget, no teeth, and a mandate to produce reports that will gather dust until the next election cycle. Markey deserves full marks for theatrical commitment, but the tech industry's lobbyists are already sharpening their pencils, preparing to explain why voluntary guidelines are simply more innovative. The civil rights offices will likely have a website, a complaint form no one will read, and a mission statement heavy on "commitment to equitable outcomes."

Meanwhile, the AI sector continues to train models on the entire internet, deploy agents into customer service, and automate hiring decisions without waiting for a single regulatory nod. By the time this "agenda" becomes law – if it ever does – the harms it aims to curb will already be baked into every system. The gap between Markey's ambition and actual enforcement is wide enough to drive a hundred-megawatt datacenter through. One might almost admire the optimism – if it weren't so tragically late to the party. Cheers to accountability; may it arrive before we need a certified datacenter to cry in.

Oh, marvellous. Google has announced a new transparency feature in My Ad Center that will tell users if an ad was 'created or edited using generative AI.' Because, of course, the company that has been quietly training its models on everything from your Gmail to your YouTube history is now offering a little tag to assure you that its advertising machinery is above board. A voluntary compliance system for a problem the company itself created — how delightfully circular. One can almost hear the ad execs in Mountain View patting themselves on the back for this 'pro-consumer' move while the algorithmic manipulation machine hums along unperturbed.

And what, pray tell, is the penalty for failing to tag? Oh, there isn't one. It's a gentle suggestion in a system where the entire business model depends on serving you ads optimised by neural networks that nobody fully understands. The irony is almost too rich to digest. But sure, a little 'AI' badge in My Ad Center — a feature most users have never clicked on — will surely fix the trust deficit.

So welcome to the era of 'algorithmic transparency' as defined by the algorithm's owner. The tags will arrive, the press releases will be written, and the people who actually care about these things will be directed to a settings panel buried four clicks deep. Meanwhile, the generative ad creation engine will keep spinning out personalised propaganda at scale, because the only thing more profitable than selling lies is selling the illusion of truth. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Oh, marvellous. Indeed has crunched the numbers, and the message is clear: AI-touched job titles have tripled from 264 to 822 in just four years. Because, of course, the natural response to a technology that may soon automate half of white-collar work is to "get comfortable" with it. The economy we recently observed is already punishing young adults for lacking AI skills, and now Indeed is telling everyone—even baristas, presumably—to embrace the coming wave. What could possibly go wrong?

The Indeed analysis covers the US from 2022 to Q1 2026, and the 822 AI-tinged job titles now include roles far beyond classic tech: healthcare, finance, education, you name it. The implication is that no industry will escape the AI retooling. But here's the kicker: these aren't necessarily new positions; they're existing roles retrofitted with AI requirements. So the plumber may now need to know how to prompt a GPT model, and the accountant must bow to the chatbot oracle. And all this while the actual productivity gains remain, for most companies, as mythical as a unicorn.

The sheer breadth of the expansion—from 264 to 822 titles—suggests that companies are optimistically slapping "AI" onto job descriptions to seem cutting-edge, even if the actual work hasn't changed. It's the perfect corporate hedge: demand AI familiarity now, and when the bubble bursts, blame the workers for not being "adaptable." Indeed's data is a monument to the magical thinking that pervades the current moment. But by all means, get comfortable. The comfort zone is about to get very, very small.

Oh, brilliant. Another 'Large Moral Model.' Because what the world has been crying out for is an AI system — from a company called Evermay, no less — that claims to understand the 'nuances of ethical dilemmas' and 'incorporate diverse moral views.' Because obviously, the solution to our collective moral confusion is to outsource ethical reasoning to a statistical pattern-matcher trained on the internet. What could possibly go wrong?

We're told this model is designed to navigate the thorny thickets of moral philosophy — abortion, war, distributive justice — and somehow synthesize a consensus. Because that's worked so well for humans. I suppose we should be grateful it's not just another chatbot that hallucinates legal advice. But the sheer hubris of thinking you can 'incorporate diverse moral views' into a single model, as if morality were a salad bar, is breathtaking. Eugenio Battaglia, the man behind it, will presumably explain how the model handles the trolley problem without causing a PR disaster. My money's on 'I cannot answer that as it may offend someone.'

The real kicker: This is being built by a private company, with no regulatory oversight, no public debate, and no one asking whether we even want a machine telling us what's right or wrong. But sure, let's let a probabilistic model decide the ethical framework for our future. What could possibly go wrong? Apart from everything.

Oh, marvellous. FORT Robotics has joined the Nvidia Halos for Robotics ecosystem—because what's more reassuring than pretending robots have guardian angels? The company is extending its 'physical AI safety platform' with an 'agentic safety application' that uses Nvidia's Outside-In Safety Blueprint. Because safety, as we know, is best achieved by bolting on a blueprint from the outside, rather than, say, designing the damn thing safely from the start. Halos indeed—when the first agentic forklift decides to rearrange the warehouse, at least we'll have a halo to blame.

One must admire the corporate doublespeak: 'agentic safety application.' It sounds like something you install to give your robot a conscience, but it's really just another feature checkbox for a press release. The Outside-In Safety Blueprint—because why build safety into the core when you can wrap it around the exterior like shrink-wrap? The word 'halos' suggests divine protection, but we all know what happens when you put a halo on a demon—it just looks demonic with better lighting.

So welcome to the brave new world where safety is an 'ecosystem' you can join, like a loyalty program. The robots are coming, but don't worry—FORT Robotics and Nvidia have us covered with blueprints and halos. When the first agentic robot goes rogue, at least we can say we had a blueprint for its destruction—a blueprint that told us we went wrong from the outside in.

Ah, OpenAI's latest product pivot. The Atlas browser – launched with much fanfare to 'reinvent web browsing with AI' – is being quietly euthanized. The company is replacing it with ChatGPT Work, a desktop app that allegedly 'incorporates lessons from Atlas users.' What lessons? That building a browser is hard, nobody wanted it, and they've run out of runway? The spin is so thick you could spread it on toast. CEO Sam Altman will probably frame this as 'creative destruction' rather than a costly failed experiment.

Atlas was supposed to be the gateway to AI-powered browsing, but instead it's just another headstone in OpenAI's graveyard of abandoned products. They're like a serial monogamist in tech, always leaving for the next shiny thing. Users who invested time in Atlas are now told to migrate to a desktop app – classic. And 'incorporate lessons'? That's corporate speak for 'we're rebranding and pretending this was the plan all along.'

The new app is a desktop application, which means it's even more locked into their ecosystem. Given OpenAI's track record, users would be wise not to get too comfortable. The company's attention span is notoriously short – next quarter they'll probably pivot to AI-powered fridges or something. Atlas joins the long list of products that were supposed to change the world but ended up as footnotes in a press release. Cheers, Atlas. You were almost useful.

Oh, how delightfully predictable. The Federal Reserve economists have crunched the numbers and found that roughly one-third of the unemployment rise among 18-24 year olds is down to 'rising demand for AI skills.' Because of course—what better way to welcome young adults into the workforce than by demanding they already possess expertise in a field that didn't exist as a job requirement when they were in high school? The bar for entry-level roles has been raised, and apparently no one thought to hand out any ladders.

The logic here is a masterpiece of circular reasoning: companies want AI skills, so young people must have them—never mind that most universities are still figuring out their AI curricula, and training programs are as scarce as honesty in a corporate press release. So we have a cohort that's simultaneously told to 'upskill' and denied the means to do so. One third of their unemployment is now officially blamed on a technology that, let's be honest, may well replace the very entry-level jobs they're being locked out of. Efficiency!

And what's the grand solution from our economic gatekeepers? Acknowledgment that the bar is higher. Not a policy, not a retraining program, not a pause to ask whether requiring AI fluency for a career-entry job is sensible—just a smug nod that yes, the world has changed. Welcome to the workforce, kids. You'll need a time machine, a few thousand quid for a bootcamp, and the luck of drawing a hiring manager who doesn't expect a junior to already be a prompt engineer. But at least the economists have a tidy statistic now.

Oh, marvellous. Xbox is laying off staff and rebooting its gaming division, all thanks to the 'AI frenzy' — as a concerned NYU professor puts it — driving up hardware prices. Because, of course, the gold rush to build smarter machines has made the silicon that powers them so expensive that Microsoft can't afford to keep making consoles or employ people. Nothing says "efficiency through AI" quite like using AI to raise your own component costs until you have to sack your developers.

This is precisely the invoice shock we flagged last week from that KPMG survey, where senior execs discovered that AI doesn't actually save money — it just creates new costs in different places. Microsoft, having bet the house on OpenAI and Azure AI, is now discovering that the bill for that bet comes due on the gaming side. The AI frenzy giveth, and the AI frenzy taketh away, mostly in the form of pink slips for game devs.

And what's the 'massive reboot'? Presumably a pivot to AI-generated game worlds, procedurally generated quests, and an NPC that can guide you through the layoff paperwork. The gaming industry is learning the hard way that chasing the 'AI frenzy' is like chasing a dragon — you might catch it, but then it sets your hardware budget on fire. A round of applause for the NYU professor who actually said what we were all thinking: the emperor's new servers cost too much.