Reverb x Civicus
I love AI.
That probably is not how people expect a piece like this to begin, but it matters. I use AI almost every day. I use it for writing, research, brainstorming, organization, recipes, wellness tracking, and occasionally even job searching. I have spent years learning what these systems can do, where they excel, where they struggle, and where human judgment still matters.
That is precisely why I find myself increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation surrounding artificial intelligence.
Not because of the technology.
Because of the certainty.
Recently I watched two videos that approached AI from very different directions.
At first glance, these videos seem to be discussing different things. One focuses on implementation. The other focuses on power. But what struck me was how quickly they converged.
In the first video, we hear about AI systems struggling with tasks that were supposed to be straightforward. Inventory systems that promised efficiency still needed human verification. Companies that aggressively reduced staff because of AI later found themselves hiring people back. One of the examples discussed involved something almost laughably ordinary: counting products on shelves.
Milk.
Syrup.
Counting bottles.
Meanwhile, the second video is discussing enormous infrastructure projects, staggering amounts of capital, and some of the most powerful people in technology asking society to trust their vision of the future.
One story is about counting bottles.
The other is about reshaping civilization.
And somehow they are both asking the same question:
How certain are we that we know where this is going?
The Word That Stopped Me
One phrase from the second video stopped me in my tracks.
“We’re taking a risk.”
We.
Who exactly is “we”?
Because if executives, investors, venture capital firms, and technology companies are taking a risk with their own money, that is one thing. But when the consequences spill into labor markets, infrastructure, energy systems, education, media, politics, and daily life, the circle becomes much larger than the people making the decisions.
That is where my discomfort begins.
Not because AI exists. Not because innovation is bad. But because I increasingly hear conversations about the future framed as though the rest of us are spectators rather than stakeholders.
I Did Not Consent To Inevitability
One of the most striking things about AI discourse is how often it is presented as a foregone conclusion.
For years we have been told that AI will replace jobs, transform industries, reshape society, and eventually surpass human capabilities in countless domains. Some of those claims may prove true. Others may not. The point is not that disruption is impossible. Taking AI seriously does not require accepting every prediction as destiny.
The point is that disruption is being presented as destiny.
There is a subtle difference between saying:
“This technology may change the world.”
And saying:
“This technology is going to change the world, so you’d better get ready.”
One invites discussion.
The other assumes consent.
Imagine being twenty years old and hearing, year after year, that the career you are studying for may disappear, that your skills may become obsolete, and that machines are coming for work once considered uniquely human. Why wouldn’t young people push back?
Honestly, I appreciate the pushback.
Not because I want AI to fail.
Because skepticism is healthy.
The Interview
A few weeks ago, I was interviewing for a position.
As part of my job search, I had used AI to help analyze opportunities. One role paid more. On paper, it appeared to align more closely with some of my stated goals. The AI looked at the information available and concluded that another company might be the stronger fit.
Reasonable.
Logical.
Data-driven.
And completely incapable of making the final decision.
Because I was sitting in the interview room. I was the one having the conversation. I was the one experiencing the culture, the people, the energy, and the opportunity in front of me.
The AI had information.
I had judgment.
The AI provided assistance.
I retained authority.
That distinction feels increasingly important. In that room, I could keep authority because the decision was mine to make. What unsettles me about the larger AI conversation is how rarely that seems true when the decision affects all of us.
Trust Is Not A Governance Model
One of the most fascinating realizations I have had while writing about AI over the last few years is that many of the people leading this conversation feel surprisingly trustworthy.
Sam Altman is a good example.
I wrote previously about how safe he feels: calm, measured, reasonable, approachable. And then I realized something uncomfortable. Those qualities may influence whether I trust someone personally, but they tell me very little about whether the systems surrounding them deserve trust.
A calm executive can still oversee a flawed institution. A relatable founder can still benefit from incentives that the public never agreed to. A thoughtful interview can still leave important questions unanswered.
That realization shifted something for me. The question is not whether Sam Altman seems trustworthy. The question is whether trust itself is enough.
Because calm is not accountability.
Relatability is not transparency.
Intelligence is not oversight.
Trust matters.
But trust is not a governance model.
The Difference Between A Tool And A Savior
The irony in all of this is that I genuinely love AI. It helps me every week. Sometimes every day. It helps me organize information, pressure-test ideas, and accelerate parts of my workflow that used to take much longer. Those benefits are real.
But somewhere along the way, parts of the conversation stopped sounding like discussions about tools and started sounding like discussions about salvation.
AI will cure disease.
AI will solve poverty.
AI will revolutionize education.
AI will create abundance.
AI will transform humanity.
Perhaps some of those things will happen. I certainly hope AI contributes positively to the world. But history has taught me to be cautious whenever people begin speaking about a technology as though it will save us.
Not because progress is bad.
Because salvation narratives tend to produce blind spots.
A tool can be useful without being magical. A technology can be transformative without becoming sacred. And a future worth building should not require unquestioning faith from the people expected to live inside it.
What Having A Say Actually Looks Like
When I say people deserve a voice, I am not asking for a national referendum every time someone writes a new algorithm.
I am talking about something much simpler.
Transparency.
Independent oversight.
Environmental impact reporting.
Worker representation when systems are deployed in workplaces.
Public accountability when decisions affect communities.
The ability to understand what is being built before being told it is inevitable.
Those are not radical demands.
They are the basic expectations we place on systems that affect millions of lives.
There Is Still Value In People
Perhaps the strangest thing about the AI conversation is that the more some companies talk about replacing people, the more I find myself appreciating people.
The customer service representative who understands nuance.
The teacher who notices a struggling student.
The nurse who catches something a system missed.
The writer who sees meaning where data sees patterns.
The employee who notices the syrup bottle sitting on the shelf.
I am not interested in preserving inefficiency for its own sake.
But I am interested in preserving our understanding that human beings are more than labor costs waiting to be optimized.
The Right To Remain Unconvinced
The older I get, the more I find myself returning to a lesson that appears in religion, politics, technology, and power alike.
I respect truth too much to pretend certainty and truth are the same thing.
I do not hate AI.
I do not fear AI.
I do not want AI to disappear.
I want better questions.
I want transparency.
I want accountability.
I want ordinary people included in conversations that will affect their lives.
Most of all, I want the freedom to remain unconvinced when powerful people tell me the future is inevitable.
Not because they are necessarily wrong.
Because questioning is part of responsible citizenship.
The Future Is Not A Product Launch
The future does not belong to any executive, investor, company, or government.
It belongs to all of us.
Which means ordinary people deserve more than marketing campaigns, investor presentations, and declarations of inevitability.
We deserve a voice.
We deserve transparency.
We deserve oversight.
And we deserve the right to ask difficult questions before someone else volunteers us for the bet.
Because the future is not a product launch.
It is our home.
And I would like a say in how it is built.
Further Reading
These related reflections trace the larger questions behind this piece: AI, trust, certainty, power, and the right to remain fully human in systems that keep asking us to adapt.
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