That “freak coincidence” revealed a disturbing formula. When faced with economic collapse, Venezuela suddenly checked off the perfect mix of conditions for which to find an inexhaustible supply of cheap labor: Its population had a high level of education, good internet connectivity, and, now, a zealous desire to work for whatever wages. It was not the only country that fit that description. More populations were getting wired to better internet. And with accelerating climate change and growing geopolitical instability, it was hard to bet against more populations plunging into crisis. “It’s quite likely there will be another Venezuela,” Schmidt said.

In the 1950s and ’60s, as developmental economics took root in Chile and Uruguay, favoring strong government regulation and an inward focus on industrialization as the path to maturing a developing economy, American multinationals who had made billions from their holdings in Chilean mines began to chafe against the growing state taxes and restrictions. The US government subsequently embarked on a quest to refashion Chile’s economic policies to be more favorable to American business interests, launching a program in 1956 called “the Chile Project” to educate a hundred Chilean students at the University of Chicago under the intellectual tutelage of American economist Milton Friedman.

Today Chile produces roughly a third of the world’s lithium, second only to Australia. The material is primarily extracted out of the Salar de Atacama, the largest salt flat in the country, by pumping its brine out into shimmering pools of turquoise and waiting for the sun to evaporate and crystallize the solution into lithium and other by-products. The salares were once home to flocks of pink flamingos, which the Atacameños consider their spiritual siblings. Now the flamingos are gone; the young daughter of one Indigenous leader in the Peine community has only her ancestors’ stories and a flamingo plushie by which to remember them.

In Brazil, a 2023 art exhibition coproduced by a Chilean university showed the vast chasm between the reality of Latin America’s rich Indigenous cultures and the woefully bereft depictions of them spit out by Midjourney and Stable Diffusion as primitive, technologically inept peoples.

In recent years, the Atacameños have mounted more and more resistance. They fly black flags on their houses to denounce the exploitation of their lands and their community. They’ve organized protests to physically block the roads that company buses and trucks must take to get to the mines. They’ve contracted lawyers to assert their legal rights as Indigenous peoples under international law, which protects their cultural and territorial sovereignty. As companies and the Chilean government have been forced to invite them to negotiations, central to Indigenous demands are the need for the government to conduct research into the health of the Atacama Desert’s ecosystems and to quantify the water loss and any irreparable damage.

In Uruguay, Daniel Pena draws the same conclusions. The AI industry’s supply chain is convoluted and expansive. “They take energy from here, the data goes there, they extract minerals from somewhere, they bring workers from somewhere else,” he says. Against these sprawling impacts and the massive, powerful companies behind them, each community fighting their local struggle can feel isolated and disempowered, especially when hamstrung by their own governments that “need the companies to maintain an appearance of a stable economy.”