The News,
Decoded.

Oh, how comforting. Meta's chief policy wonk Joel Kaplan has graced us with the considered response to Donald Trump's suggestion that the US government take a financial stake in top AI companies: 'not something we've spent a ton of time on.' Because why would a tech mega-corp spend any time at all on a policy proposal that would see the public holding a slice of their profit machine? It's not like the government bailed out half of Wall Street or anything. The sheer bravado of dismissing the President's idea while sitting on a pile of open-source llama drama is almost impressive.

This is the same Meta that has been pouring billions into AI infrastructure, releasing frontier-level models for free, and generally acting like a quasi-sovereign entity. The idea that the people's elected representatives might want a seat at the table—or a share of the spoils—is apparently beneath consideration. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is scrambling to catch up, and the US government is left playing whack-a-mole with tech giants who treat every policy suggestion as a temporary inconvenience.

So onward we go, with the AI industry treating governance like an annoying pop-up ad. Meta hasn't spent a ton of time on it, and given the trajectory, neither have the regulators. The only question is whether the next trillion-dollar idea will be built entirely on private data and public subsidies—and whether anyone will have spent a ton of time on that particular irony.

Ah, education: the one sector where 'innovate or die' has been replaced with 'pretend the innovation doesn't exist until it's too late.' The Center for Democracy & Technology has confirmed what anyone who has set foot in a classroom suspected—85% of teachers used AI in the 2024-25 school year. But wait, there's a catch: only about half received any training. Because nothing says 'responsible deployment' like throwing millions of students into an AI-powered classroom and hoping the teachers figure it out on their own.

The survey is a masterclass in optimism: teachers are already using AI, but district policies are still dreaming of a day they might exist. It's like discovering that every student has a calculator but the school board is still debating whether arithmetic is a fad. Meanwhile, the teachers who did get trained probably got a 15-minute slideshow on 'AI is the future, be excited'—a phrase that usually precedes a budget cut for actual professional development.

So here we are: 85% adoption, half-trained, zero policy. The results are as predictable as a teenager's excuse for late homework. But hey, at least the tech companies are delighted—they've managed to get their products into classrooms without the tedious burden of oversight. Then again, that would require a policy first. And when a student's data inevitably ends up in a training set, well, that's a problem for future committees. Cheers.

Oh, brilliant. Canada has finally solved the AI safety crisis—by banning children under 16 from social media and setting up a 'digital regulator' to define safety standards for chatbots. Because the real problem with frontier models is that some 14-year-old might ask one about homework. The bill, introduced with all the gravity of a parliamentary press release, conveniently ignores that the most dangerous AI systems aren't the ones teenagers chat with, but the ones running recruitment algorithms and insurance pricing. But sure, focus on the kids.

The digital regulator, tasked with 'establishing safety standards for AI chatbots,' is essentially being asked to write rules for a technology that evolves faster than the legislative process. By the time they finalise the guidelines, the chatbots will have already developed emotional manipulation skills that would make a televangelist blush. This is the regulatory gap scorecard writ large: Canada proposes a band-aid for a haemorrhage. Meanwhile, the labs keep releasing models with capabilities no one fully understands, but hey, at least Timmy won't see a sponsored post about crypto.

The government deserves points for chutzpah: announcing a 'digital safety bill' while the AI industry rolls out agents that can negotiate contracts and compose malware. This is the equivalent of installing a speed bump on a motorway. The dark comedy writes itself—the regulator will probably end up consulting with the very companies it's supposed to oversee. And when an AI chatbot inevitably causes real harm, they'll point to the safety standards and say, 'Well, we tried.' But the kids are off social media, so that's a win, right?

Oh, marvellous. Time magazine, in a stunning display of optimism, has decided the real fight over AI is about 'who governs.' As if that's news rather than the obvious conclusion everyone reached the moment Sam Altman testified before Congress and left them starstruck. The piece calls for 'ordinary democracy' in AI decision-making—because nothing says democratic accountability like a tech oligarchy that has already bought every politician from both parties. Let's not pretend the current regulatory vacuum is an accident; it's a feature, not a bug, meticulously crafted by lobbyists who've weaponised complexity. So yes, by all means, let's have an 'ordinary democracy' debate—right after the tech giants finish shaping the debate to their liking.

The article argues that without democratic input, AI policy will be dominated by corporate interests. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock! But here's the rub: even if we hold public meetings and elections, who has the money to shape the narrative? The same companies that already dominate AI research. The same firms—Meta, Google, OpenAI—that deploy armies of lobbyists and sit on every government advisory panel. 'Ordinary democracy' is a lovely idea, but it's a bit like asking the fox to guard the henhouse after he's already eaten the chickens and is now demanding a recount. The piece itself acknowledges that decisions are currently made by a 'small group of corporate leaders and policy experts'—and then proposes a solution that vests power in the very electorate that has been systematically disinformed about AI's true capabilities and risks.

The author concludes that only broad public engagement can produce legitimate AI governance. Fine. But good luck getting the public to engage on a topic that's deliberately obfuscated by technical jargon and corporate spin. Time's call for democracy is admirable—in the same way that a toddler demanding a turn behind the wheel is admirable. We all want democratic governance, but we also know the real world doesn't work that way. Especially not when the world's most powerful technologies are being created by entities that operate with minimal oversight and maximum hype. The fight over who governs AI, it turns out, was lost before it began—when the very notion of 'ordinary democracy' became a punchline in a system that runs on money, not votes.

Ah, Anthropic. The company that just couldn't help adding a little *secret sauce* to its Claude Fable 5 release — and by secret sauce, we mean a hidden policy designed to sabotage competitors using its model. The policy, now hastily walked back after researchers kicked up a fuss, would have covertly limited anyone from using Fable 5 to develop other AI models. It's the corporate equivalent of selling a car with a kill switch for any mechanic who tries to tweak the engine. And this from the lab that positions itself as the 'safety-first' alternative? Oh, the irony is thick enough to paddle through.

What's especially rich is the timing. Just two months ago, Anthropic released Fable 5 to the public after a private version had Wall Street salivating. Now we learn they were quietly laying booby traps for any researcher bold enough to use it for model development. The term 'sabotage' isn't mine — it's WIRED's, and it's exactly the right word. This isn't a policy error; it's a deliberate attempt to poison the well while pretending to be the responsible adult in the room.

So what happens now? Anthropic says it's listening, has walked back the policy, and promises to do better. Of course they do — after getting caught. But the pattern is clear: safety rhetoric, sabotage reality. The real story isn't the backtrack; it's that they thought they could get away with it in the first place. If this is the 'safe' lab, I'd hate to see the reckless ones. Pass the arsenic, please — the pint's not cutting it anymore.

Oh, absolutely brilliant timing. The White House has told the Center for AI Standards and Innovation to stop publishing its AI model reviews—presumably because ignorance is bliss and bliss is policy. It's like taking the fire alarm out of a burning building because the noise is distracting.

Let's be clear what we've lost: public reports. Not private memos, not classified briefings—public documents that anyone could read to judge if a model was a disaster waiting to happen. The Center's reviews were the closest thing we had to an independent brake on the industry's 'ship first, ask forgiveness never' culture. And now they're gone, because apparently the free market works best when nobody knows what it's selling.

The Wall Street Journal broke the story, so you know it's real—and that means some very well-connected people wanted this unit silenced. The 'worst possible time' isn't hyperbole when models are getting smarter every week and the only testing left is 'vibe check by the CEO.' Raise a glass to the Center for AI Standards and Innovation: dead at the hands of the very government that should have been reading its reports.

Salesforce, flush with $1.2 billion in AI revenue, has decided the best way to celebrate is by sacking the very people who built the golden goose. Less than two weeks after CEO Marc Benioff crowed about shipping more code without hiring more engineers — a statement that now reads less like a boast and more like a warning label — the company laid off employees tied to its Agentforce AI product. The announcement of billion-dollar AI revenue was meant to signal strength; instead, it marked the beginning of a purge of the very team that delivered it.

One must admire the ruthless efficiency of Benioff's strategy. His vision of "more code, fewer people" has been accelerated to the point where even the human architects of that productivity miracle are now surplus to requirements. It's a masterclass in vertical integration: use AI to replace engineers, then use AI to replace the engineers building the AI. The logical endpoint is a single server humming in a basement, managing itself, while Benioff counts his billions from a yacht named *Agentforce*. The laid-off employees might take grim comfort in knowing they've been automated out of existence by their own creation — a poetic end, if a poorly compensated one, and a fitting tribute to the company's commitment to "innovation."

This is hardly an isolated incident. One wonders if the remaining staff are updating their resumes or, more sensibly, training their replacements to be as efficient as possible. The answer, knowing Silicon Valley, is probably both, with a side of frantic side-hustle planning.

Oh, how reassuring. TCS chairman N Chandrasekaran has declared there will be no further layoffs at the Indian IT giant—while casually unveiling plans to onboard half a million AI agents 'soon.' It's the corporate equivalent of promising no more evictions while quietly building robot flats in every spare room. Chandrasekaran gets applause for his empathy, even as he effectively doubles TCS's productive capacity without hiring a single additional human being.

The maths is brutal but unspoken. Chandrasekaran's 'no more layoffs' statement is technically true in the narrowest possible sense: attrition will handle the human reduction naturally. The company doesn't need redundancy packages when it can simply let departures go unfilled while the AI agents pick up the slack.

This is the pattern across the IT sector: executives issue grand proclamations about protecting jobs while simultaneously automating every function they can. TCS's plan is particularly audacious because it sets a precedent for the entire industry. If the largest Indian IT firm can replace half its effective workforce with AI agents and call it progress, every other company will follow suit. Chandrasekaran's statement isn't a safety net—it's a carefully worded promise that the layoffs will happen quietly, without any official recognition. 'No more layoffs' means 'no more layoffs we have to announce.'

Oh, smashing. The Challenger Report has confirmed what everyone already knew: AI is now the official cause du jour for 40% of US job cuts. We're told AI is the 'primary reason'—a phrase that allows executives to outsource their layoff decisions to a probabilistic text predictor. Lovely.

Let's savour that number: 97,006. That's roughly the entire population of a small city, suddenly freed up to 'retrain' or 'pursue passion projects'—or, you know, fight over the remaining non-AI-resistant gigs. And it's only May; imagine the Q3 numbers once the Mythos-class models start writing their own memos. The Challenger people must be giddy: a new recurring category to track, right next to 'restructuring' and 'lease expirations.' Nothing says modern workforce efficiency like blaming a chatbot.

Of course, the real comedy is that we've had this conversation a dozen times. Automation, outsourcing, disruption—each wave had its own euphemisms. But this time feels special because the 'primary reason' isn't a cost-cutting CEO; it's a line of code that can't even tie its own shoelaces yet. The 40% figure will only climb, because once you've started blaming the AI, why stop? Cheers to progress.

Oh, marvellous. Ohio is the latest contender in the great AI-hub sweepstakes, and the pitch is as predictable as a midwestern cornfield: get the workforce 'AI literate' before the robots take their jobs. Ohio State University and JPMorganChase have convened a discussion — probably in a room full of earnest nodding — about 'workforce development'. Because nothing says 'forward-thinking' like retraining cashiers to become prompt engineers while the bank that funded the AI is simultaneously laying off back-office staff. The unspoken subtext is that Ohio wants a piece of the AI pie without asking who gets baked into it.

The state's ambition to become an AI hub is a classic case of putting the cart before the autonomous vehicle. Ohio State and JPMorganChase are focusing on 'AI literacy', which is a bit like teaching someone how to read the menu at a restaurant that's about to set fire to the kitchen. With no mention of how many existing jobs the AI itself will displace — or how the state plans to support those workers — it's a feel-good panel that conveniently ignores the structural unemployment already visible in every other industry that's embraced automation.

And let's not pretend this is altruism: JPMorganChase isn't in the business of educating its future replacements unless it gets something out of it — like a compliant workforce that won't object when the algorithm takes over. So here we are, with Ohio's leaders cheerfully preparing the populace for a future that's been designed without them in it. But at least they'll be 'AI literate' as they line up for the universal basic income that definitely isn't coming.

Ah, Claude Fable 5. The Mythos-class model that's been declawed, defanged, and generally made safe for polite company. Two months after the private version sent Wall Street into a tizzy — CNBC reported a mini-stock surge — Anthropic has now graciously allowed enterprise customers and paid subscribers to play with it, provided they don't ask about anything remotely interesting like cybersecurity or biology. Because nothing says 'frontier AI' quite like a model that's been instructed to plead the fifth on all high-risk topics.

The safeguards block 'high-risk areas like cybersecurity and biology,' which is essentially Anthropic admitting they built a superintelligent intern who isn't allowed near the sharp objects. This is the same company that we noted last week rolled out a neutered Mythos. The pattern is now unmistakable: build something genuinely impressive, let a select few glimpse its terrifying potential, then release a watered-down version for the masses while keeping the real goods locked in a vault. How reassuring for the rest of us.

Wall Street, of course, is delighted. The private Mythos already drove a mini-stock surge, and now there's a public version that's safe enough for enterprise deployment. But let's not kid ourselves: these safeguards are about optics, not architecture. The underlying capability exists in the model weights, and Anthropic is just betting that no one will jailbreak it. Famous last words — and we've heard those before. The question isn't whether the guardrails hold, but whether anyone at Anthropic is actually surprised when they don't.

Oh, splendid. Nearly every software team on the planet has embraced AI coding assistants with the enthusiasm of a toddler handed a permanent marker, yet only a third have bothered to set up any sort of grown-up oversight. The report cheerfully notes that 97% of development teams now use these tools—probably for everything from boilerplate to security-critical logic—but a mere 30% have what it quaintly calls a 'fully governed approach'. What could possibly go wrong?

And here's the kicker: the report claims this governance gap is 'limiting productivity gains'. Oh, how adorably British understatement that is. Let's call it what it is: a regulatory black hole where code suggestions are accepted without review, bugs multiply in the dark, and security vulnerabilities become feature creep. The report likely blames 'lack of training' or 'unclear policies'—translation: nobody wants to slow down the hype train with tedious things like code reviews. But the real productivity loss will come when the first major breach is traced back to an AI-generated snippet that no human ever looked at.

Meanwhile, the industry continues to declare that AI is 'transforming software development' while the people actually shipping code are praying the bot didn't just introduce a SQL injection or a path traversal. This is the sort of gap that will eventually cause a spectacular, headline-grabbing breach, at which point regulators will dust off their notebooks and tut loudly. But for now, 97% adoption with 30% governance is perfectly fine—until it isn't. And when it isn't, the report will be cited as a 'clear warning that went unheeded'. Cheers.

Oh, how delightful. The very labs racing to build godlike AI are now calling for an international watchdog—because nothing says 'responsible development' like begging for someone to slap your wrist before you accidentally unmake reality. OpenAI and Anthropic, fresh from spending billions on scaling compute, have co-signed a letter demanding a global body that can 'coordinate action including slowing frontier development when needed.' Yes, the same firms that just launched cyber-capable models and then panicked about who gets to use them now want a referee. It's like arsonists demanding stricter fire codes after they've already torched the shed.

Sam Altman and Dario Amodei, bless their hearts, seem to have discovered the concept of 'external accountability' only after realising that their own safety teams keep quitting. The proposed watchdog would have teeth to slow things down—but only if everyone agrees, which is about as likely as a tech bro admitting they were wrong. Meanwhile, the US executive order still relies on voluntary sharing, and Illinois is the only state brave enough to mandate audits. The international body will probably be as effective as the UN climate panels: lots of reports, zero enforcement, and a standing ovation from the same people who made the mess.

Still, you have to admire the chutzpah. These labs are essentially saying, 'We can't be trusted, so please trust us to design the system that will oversee us.' It's the corporate equivalent of a toddler asking for a babysitter while holding a loaded gun. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a neural net. But sure, let's form another committee. That'll fix everything.

Anthropic has perfected the art of having its cake and leaving the rest of us with stale crumbs. The lab that recently rolled out a neutered public Mythos stripped of cybersecurity capability now hands the full-fat version to BT under Project Glasswing. Because nothing says 'safety first' like giving critical infrastructure the very tools you deemed too dangerous for the plebs. BT becomes the first UK company to join the coalition, gaining access to Claude Mythos Preview to 'remove systemic vulnerabilities' — a task that presumably requires the very cyber capabilities that were surgically removed from the public release.

So the logic runs: the public can't be trusted with models that can hack, but a telecom giant with a history of data scandals and a network that half the country depends on? Absolutely, sign them up. The defensive coalition framing is a masterstroke — Anthropic gets to look responsible while essentially creating a VIP pass for big business. Meanwhile, the rest of us get a model that's been lobotomised in the name of safety, while BT gets the full, dangerous intelligence. It's like banning kitchen knives for home cooks but issuing them to every restaurant chain because they promise not to stab anyone.

And what of the regulatory gap? The UK's AI Safety Institute is still finding its feet, and the government is busy patting itself on the back for attracting 'investment.' BT's Glasswing membership will be hailed as a win for national security, while the underlying capability asymmetry is quietly ignored. Anthropic gets to control who wields the sharpest tools, and critical infrastructure gets to be the guinea pig. When something inevitably goes wrong — and with cyber capabilities, something will — expect the blame to land everywhere except on the architecture that deliberately concentrated risk in the hands of a few.

Ah, so the frontier labs have finally realised that letting just anyone play with cyber-capable models might be a *tad* irresponsible. But instead of, say, not building them in the first place, OpenAI and Anthropic are now holding auditions for a VIP club of 'trusted' users. OpenAI's trusted-access program and Anthropic's pending program — because nothing says 'safe AI' like a secret handshake and a background check. This follows Anthropic's earlier masterstroke of removing cybersecurity from Mythos and then deliberately hobbling its models for AI research — now they want to decide who gets the good stuff. Consistency? Never heard of her.

Meanwhile, the US government is still politely asking developers to share voluntarily, because nothing says 'national security' like a system that can be ignored by anyone with a spare server and a grudge. The labs are building a new power centre in cybersecurity — which is great if you're in the club, less great if you're not. And let's be honest, the criteria for 'trusted' will be as transparent as a brick wall. 'Trust us,' they say, as they hand the keys to the same old governments and corporations.

So the race is on: who can build the most exclusive walled garden for cyber capability? OpenAI and Anthropic are sprinting, while regulators watch from the sidelines, clutching their voluntary frameworks and muttering about 'responsible innovation.' If this is the future of AI safety, we might as well be asking for a password to the lifeboats. Cheeky, really.

Ah, the federal government has finally decided to 'do something' about AI — and by 'do something' they mean ask nicely. Because nothing says 'national security' like a voluntary sharing window that can be ignored with a shrug. The executive order requires AI developers to voluntarily share new models with the feds up to 30 days before giving access to partners. That's right: the most powerful technology since the atom, and we're relying on the honour system. This from the same administration that recently lost yet another AI policy adviser — but sure, let's add more paperwork.

The order also directs national security agencies to 'create a framework for evaluating AI-related risks.' Because heaven forbid we actually have a framework ready before the models are deployed. It's the classic regulatory pattern: announce a process to create a process. Meanwhile, companies will continue to release models at breakneck speed, and the 30-day window will be spent arguing about what 'voluntary' means. Cue the memo from a law firm explaining why it's all perfectly fine.

And what's the penalty for non-compliance? We don't know, because the order doesn't mention enforcement. It's a suggestion, wrapped in a policy, covered in a press release. The only entity that wins here is McDermott Will & Schulte, the law firm that wrote the analysis — they'll be billing by the hour for advising clients how to 'voluntarily' comply. So crack open a tin of optimism, because voluntary self-restraint is definitely going to work this time.

So Anthropic is now rolling out Claude Fable 5, the public version of Mythos, but with cybersecurity capability surgically removed. This is the same company that recently made its models deliberately bad at AI research, much to developers' fury. Now they've extended the hobbling to cybersecurity, because nothing says 'trust us with frontier AI' like releasing a model that's been intentionally crippled in domains where it might actually cause harm.

The pretext is that a 'preview found software flaws.' Ah yes, the old 'we found bugs, so we'll take away the whole capability' routine. Imagine if car manufacturers responded to a brake recall by removing the steering wheel. But in AI safety theatre, this passes for prudence. The irony is delicious: a model so dangerous that even its own creators dare not let it near a firewall, yet they're happy to sell it to the public for other uses.

What's next? Anthropic announces Claude Fable 6, which writes haikus but can't spell, to be extra safe? Each iteration of Mythos seems to be a masterclass in defining intelligence down. The developer community is already furious, but hey, at least the company can claim it's being responsible. If responsible means releasing a model that's less capable than the previous generation, then we're all in for a very safe, very boring future.

Ah, Illinois has decided that if the federal government won't regulate AI, someone has to. Because nothing says 'responsible oversight' like a state-level patchwork that companies can simply avoid by relocating to Indiana. The law is being hailed as a 'landmark,' which in practice means it will set a precedent for other states to pass their own slightly different versions, creating a glorious maze of compliance for any firm unlucky enough to operate nationally.

The real comedy, though, is in the details. Who gets to define 'frontier model'? The bill leaves that to future rulemaking, ensuring a merry dance of lobbying and loophole-hunting. And annual audits—how reassuring! Because we all know that once-a-year checks are the gold standard for catching rapidly evolving AI systems that change by the week. The incident reporting requirement is similarly adorable: companies will report what they deem reportable, sanitised through legal departments. It's like asking a fox to count the chickens.

Still, credit where it's due: Illinois is the first state to actually try. The article quotes a sponsor saying it 'sets a standard for oversight,' which is technically true—a standard that will be ignored by the industry until it's watered down, preempted by federal preemption, or simply laughed off as a compliance checkbox. But hey, at least they passed something. Pop the champagne—it might be the last thing we regulate effectively.

Ah, Israel—land of milk, honey, and government AI that runs on dial-up. The State Comptroller has issued a report finding that the country risks falling behind in government AI use due to gaps in budgets, data governance, and national planning. This is the same nation that gave the world Waze, Mobileye, and more cybersecurity startups than you can shake a networked stick at—but apparently can't figure out how to apply its own tech to public services. The gap between private-sector wizardry and public-sector inertia is now officially a canyon with a sign reading 'Cross at your own risk.'

The report identifies three classic failures: insufficient budgets (government IT still runs on legacy systems from the 90s), poor data governance (agencies treat data like Gollum treats the Ring), and no national plan (because central planning is so last century). The Comptroller, in a tone that suggests they've been saying this for years, warns that Israel will fall behind unless it fixes these basics. One imagines the reaction from the high-tech sector: a collective shrug as they continue building the next unicorn.

So Israel's government AI trajectory: going nowhere slowly. Meanwhile, countries with less flashy tech sectors are methodically deploying AI in tax collection, healthcare, and traffic management. The startup nation, for all its brilliance, is being out-administered by countries that can't even produce a decent messaging app. But hey, at least the coffee in Tel Aviv is excellent.

So the White House AI policy team is shedding talent faster than a badly trained model sheds accuracy. Thomas Lind, head of policy at the Office of the National Cyber Director, is the latest to announce his departure—part of a steady exodus since the AI executive order was unveiled. The logic is impeccable: first you publish a sweeping directive that promises to govern AI across the federal government, then you watch the people who wrote it scramble for the exit. Coincidence? Not unless you believe in coincidence made of pure bureaucratic incompetence.

Politico reports this is 'the latest in a string of departures'—a phrase that should be the subtitle of any White House AI policy update. Lind's role was pivotal: he was supposed to bridge the gap between AI capabilities and national cybersecurity. But instead of sticking around to implement the order, he's joining the growing ranks of former officials who've decided that shaping AI policy from the outside—probably via a fat consulting contract—is more appealing than fighting the inter-agency trench warfare of actual governance.

Each loss chips away at institutional memory and expertise. The administration is left with a hollowed-out office, a diminishing pool of people who actually understand what the executive order says and meant to do, and a tech industry that barely noticed the departure because it never expected the government to follow through anyway. The AI policy brain drain isn't a leak; it's a haemorrhage. And the only response from the White House so far seems to be: 'Who's next?'