But this existential brand of AI safety, built on philosophical thought experiments, would soon come under fire as the AI research community awakened to the less apocalyptic and immediate real-world harms of AI. Around the same time Amodei published his paper, ProPublica published a groundbreaking investigation called “Machine Bias” that revealed algorithms were being used across the US criminal justice system in misguided attempts to predict future criminals, and those algorithms were classifying Black people as higher risk than white ones who had more extensive criminal records. The piece, and an overall souring on Big Tech post-2016 over the harms of social media, sparked a new wave of research reckoning with the harmful societal impacts of AI.

These two features of technology revolutions—their promise to deliver progress and their tendency instead to reverse it for people out of power, especially the most vulnerable—are perhaps truer than ever for the moment we now find ourselves in with artificial intelligence. Since its conception, the development and use of AI has been propelled by tantalizing dreams of modernity and shaped by a narrow elite with the money and influence to bring forth their conception of the technology. That conception is what has led to the exploding social, labor, and environmental costs that are playing out around the world today, particularly, as we’ll see, in many Global South countries, for which the consequences of their dispossession by historical empires still linger in delayed economic development and weaker political institutions. And yet, just like the South Carolina congressman, Silicon Valley has painted the experiences of those being exploited and harmed by the technology as happier because of it.

That year, I stumbled across a Massachusetts-based, Harvard-incubated startup selling AI- powered headbands that said it could measure a student’s brain wave activity to tell a teacher whether or not the child was focused. The startup was piloting them in elementary schools in Colombia and China, in exchange for the rights to use their students’ data to advance the company’s technology.

“We have the first mover’s advantage,” a research scientist at the company had said at an education technology conference in 2017. “We’ll be able to build one of the largest brain wave databases in the world. All that data will help us improve our algorithms and therefore our products, creating a higher barrier to entry.”

A few months after I came across the startup, a data privacy outcry in China from parents horrified at their kids being turned into guinea pigs forced the company to pivot to a different application of its technology.

But the story left me with an uneasy feeling that the successful backlash was an anomaly, and the company’s original approach—to go to countries eager to embrace the promise of technology for finding data donors and product testers—was in fact a trend.

As I recounted this worry to a colleague, she introduced me to a phrase that had already been coined for the phenomenon: “data colonialism.”

At a time when freewheeling corporate research was still permitted, Microsoft anthropologist Mary L. Gray and computational social scientist Siddharth Suri were among the first to show the world the plight of workers like those in Kenya who build their livelihoods around an essential piece of the AI supply chain.

In 2019, they published their book Ghost Work, based on five years of extensive fieldwork, revealing a hidden web of piecemeal labor and digital exploitation that propped up Silicon Valley. Tech giants and unicorns were building their extravagant valuations not just with engineers paid six-figure salaries in trendy offices. Essential, too, were workers, often in the Global South, being paid pennies to carefully annotate reams of data. Take self-driving cars. A self-driving car needs to drive in the correct lane, respond to erratic driving behavior, and pause at a safe distance for schoolchildren crossing the road. To do this, the software system controlling the car uses an amalgamation of several deep learning models, including those dedicated to recognizing objects on the road: lane markings, road signs, traffic lights, vehicles, trees, pedestrians.

Finally, to redistribute power along our third axis, influence, we need broad-based education. The antidote to the mysticism and mirage of AI hype is to teach people about how AI works, about its strengths and shortcomings, about the systems that shape its development, about the worldviews and fallibility of the people and companies developing these technologies. As Joseph Weizenbaum, MIT professor and inventor of the ELIZA chatbot, said in the 1960s, “Once a particular program is unmasked, once its inner workings are explained in language sufficiently plain to induce understanding, its magic crumbles away.” I hope this book is just one offering to help induce understanding. It builds on the work of the many scholars, journalists, activists, and educators before me who have dedicated themselves to public education. May it be a new ground upon which many more after will rise up and build.