An AI Origin Story

Nowadays, no TV or movie franchise worth its salt is deemed complete unless it has some sort of origin story – from “Buzz Lightyear” to “Alien”, from “Mystery Road” to “Inspector Morse”. And as for “Star Wars”, I’ve lost count as to which prequel/sequel/chapter/postscript/spin-off we are up to. Origin stories can be helpful in explaining “what came before”, providing background and context, and describing how we got to where we are in a particular narrative. Reading Jeanette Winterson’s recent collection of essays, “12 Bytes”, it soon becomes apparent that what she has achieved is a tangible origin story for Artificial Intelligence.

Still from “Frankenstein” (1931) – Image sourced from IMDb

By Winterson’s own admission, this is not a science text book, nor a reference work on AI. It’s a lot more human than that, and all the more readable and enjoyable as a result. In any case, technology is moving so quickly these days, that some of her references (even those from barely a year ago) are either out of date, or have been superceded by subsequent events. For example, she makes a contemporaneous reference to a Financial Times article from May 2021, on Decentralized Finance (DeFi) and Non-Fungible Tokens (NFTs). She mentions a digital race horse that sold for $125,000. Fast-forward 12 months, and we have seen parts of the nascent DeFi industry blow-up, and an NFT of Jack Dorsey’s first Tweet (Twitter’s own origin story?) failing to achieve even $290 when it went up for auction, having initially been sold for $2.9m. Then there is the Google engineer who claimed that the Lamda AI program is sentient, and the chess robot which broke its opponent’s finger.

Across these stand-alone but interlinked essays, Winterson builds a consistent narrative arc across the historical development, current status and future implications of AI. In particular, she looks ahead to a time when we achieve Artificial General Intelligence, the Singularity, and the complete embodiment of AI, and not necessarily in a biological form that we would recognise today. Despite the dystopian tones, the author appears to be generally positive and optimistic about these developments, and welcomes the prospect of transhumanism, in large part because it is inevitable, and we should embrace it, and ultimately because it might the only way to save our planet and civilisation, just not in the form we expect.

The book’s themes range from: the first human origin stories (sky-gods and sacred texts) to ancient philosophy; from the Industrial Revolution to Frankenstein’s monster; from Lovelace and Babbage to Dracula; from Turing and transistors to the tech giants of today. There are sections on quantum physics, the nature of “binary” (in computing and in transgenderism), biases in algorithms and search engines, the erosion of privacy via data mining, the emergence of surveillance capitalism, and the pros and cons of cryogenics and sexbots.

We can observe that traditional attempts to imagine or create human-made intelligence were based on biology, religion, spirituality and the supernatural – and many of these concepts were designed to explain our own origins, to enforce societal norms, to exert control, and to sustain existing and inequitable power structures. Some of these efforts might have been designed to explain our purpose as humans, but in reality they simply raised more questions than they resolved. Why are we here? Why this planet? What is our destiny? Is death and extinction (the final “End-Time”) the only outcome for the human race? Winterson rigorously rejects this finality as either desirable or inevitable.

Her conclusion is that the human race is worth saving (from itself?), but we have to face up to the need to adapt and continue evolving (homo sapiens was never the end game). Consequently, embracing AI/AGI is going to be key to our survival. Of course, like any (flawed) technology, AI is just another tool, and it is what we do with it that matters. Winterson is rightly suspicious of the male-dominated tech industry, some of whose leaders see themselves as guardians of civil liberties and the saviours of humankind, yet fail to acknowledge that “hate speech is not free speech”. She acknowledges the benefits of an interconnected world, advanced prosthetics, open access to information, medical breakthroughs, industrial automation, and knowledge that can help anticipate danger and avert disaster. But AI and transhumanism won’t solve all our existential problems, and if we don’t have the capacity for empathy, compassion, love, humour, self-reflection, art, satire, creativity, imagination, music or critical thinking, then we will definitely cease to be “human” at all.

The Bibliography to this book is an invaluable resource in itself – and provides for a wealth of additional reading. One book that is not listed, but which might be of interest to her readers, is “Chimera”, a novel by Simon Gallagher, published in 1981 and subsequently adapted for radio and TV. Although this story is about genetic engineering (rather than AI), nevertheless it echoes some of Winterson’s themes and concerns around the morals and ethics of technology (e.g., eugenics, organ harvesting, private investment vs public control, playing god, and the over-emphasis on the preservation and prolongation of human lifeforms as they are currently constituted). Happy reading!

Next week: Digital Perfectionism?

 

Dud Housing*

Recent media commentary suggests we have a housing crisis in Australia – ranging from affordability and supply, to quality and location, as reported here. Renters are being priced out of the market, ageing stock means houses that are too cold in winter or too hot in summer, and there aren’t enough homes to rent where people want to live. I suspect that all of these factors have been in place for several years, but the knock-on effects from the Covid pandemic have exacerbated these trends.

“House” (1993) © Rachel Whiteread. Photo © Rory Manchee

For background, I should explain that at the start of my career, I worked as a housing officer and paralegal in the UK. I worked for three different local councils in inner London, advising tenants, leaseholders and landlords on their respective rights and obligations – and where there were infringements, preparing prosecutions against landlords and their agents. I dealt with people facing harassment, unlawful eviction, homelessness and housing disrepair. Mostly, my work involved advising the parties of their legal position and available remedies, often I helped them reach an amicable solution, and occasionally I had to take enforcement action with the support of the council’s legal powers. The latter included injunctions against the threat of unlawful eviction, the issuance of proper rent records, repair notices, rehousing directives, and even compulsory purchase orders.

It was stressful, and at times confrontational, work – after 5 years, I was pretty burned out, and decided to make a career change. At the time, London (and the UK) was experiencing a huge amount of change that impacted both the public and private rental sectors. First, the Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher had introduced “right to buy” legislation, meaning public housing tenants could apply to buy the homes they lived in. Second, the government also introduced “mortgage interest relief at source” (MIRAS) which meant home buyers received tax relief on their interest payments. Third, central London in particular was going through a period of gentrification, with public money made available to property owners to improve and upgrade period homes. As a result, Georgian and Victorian houses that had been sub-divided into apartments (mainly occupied by long-term tenants) were restored to single family homes. Added to that, one of the council’s I worked for had been engaged in a “homes for votes” scandal, a “policy” to (re-)engineer the local demographics.

In the past, I’ve been both a tenant and a landlord, so I’ve also experienced some of these issues for myself. As a tenant, I’ve had landlords who denied that their properties were poorly wired or had defective plumbing (despite formal notifications from the council), and denied all requests to have the defects fixed. As a landlord, I’ve had tenants sub-letting to their “friends”, and who assured me that these “friends” could pay the rent.

So what is going on in parts of Australia, that there is such a misalignment between where tenants want to live, and vacant housing stock?

First, to touch on property ownership. Home owners don’t receive anything like the former MIRAS scheme in the UK, but there are various financial incentives for first-time buyers (such as zero stamp duty when buying a property off the plan), and during the Covid pandemic, some first-time buyers could access their superannuation (pension) fund to help with the deposit or down-payment. Property investors can take advantage of negative gearing to offset mortgage interest payments and costs of repairs against their income tax. These factors are generally considered to push up house prices – and despite recent interest rate rises, the cost of borrowing has remained at historic lows for more than a decade. Housing inflation means aspiring buyers are priced out of the market (especially as wages have not kept pace with inflation, let alone the rise in property prices). And landlords are now seeking to increase rents to offset rising interest rates.

Second, I’ve never really understood why some landlords don’t maintain their properties to an adequate standard – it surely detracts from the value of their assets, as well as deterring potential tenants. And when there may be improvement funds available (e.g., insulation grants, solar rebates) why wouldn’t they take advantage? On the reverse, should tenants have more powers to undertake essential repairs and improvements, and withhold rent to cover the costs? (Equally, I find it surprising that some tenants don’t feel it is their responsibility to undertake minor maintenance or running repairs, such as mowing the grass, clearing gutters or replacing cracked window panes.)

Third, it’s an economic imperative to have a supply of housing stock in the rental market. It helps people who prefer to rent rather then buy, it allows for workforce mobility, and it supports seasonal demand in industries like agriculture. I don’t believe that all rental stock should be held and managed in the public sector – it represents a huge obligation (not just an asset) on government balance sheets, tying up capital and incurring huge running costs. We need a component of public housing, but otherwise leave it to the private sector, with appropriate safeguards.

Fourth, why the apparent mismatch between supply and demand? On one level, developers are building the wrong types of properties and/or building in the wrong locations. Inner city areas have seen a massive growth in high-rise apartments over the past 20 years, supposedly in response to increased housing demand. In theory, these projects generate more yield for developers, although the apparent over-supply leads to depressed rents, and some banks won’t lend against these properties due to uncertain re-sale value and over-capitalised assets.

In the suburbs, archetypal quarter acre blocks have been sub-divided to cram in more town houses and units, or developers are building bigger houses (McMansions) on smaller plots, leaving minimal gardens and no breathing space between properties, as they build right up to the boundary lines. Many new suburban developments lack proper infrastructure and services (public transport, schools, shops, clinics), making them less attractive to renters – while the owners expect higher rents to cover the cost of their mortgages. Plus, many new properties have been built “on the cheap”, using inferior materials and design – hence the issues with heating/cooling. On the other hand, ageing stock, especially weatherboard and brick veneer structures, can also be hard to heat/cool. Many houses (new and old) lack double-glazing, for example, which would go a long way to resolving this energy conundrum.

Meanwhile, the recent lock downs in Melbourne (and to a lesser extent, Sydney) have meant many urbanites have moved to regional locations, putting upward pressure on property values and rents, pricing out locals who already live and work there. Of course, another reason for the mismatch in supply and demand is the growth in short-term lets, mainly for holiday-makers – such that local stock is taken out of the regular rental market. However, a lot of the Airbnb accommodation I have used over the years would never have been available on the rental market, because they were pre-existing holiday lets, or they are principal homes, where the owners are temporarily working abroad or interstate. And this type of flexible accommodation is also in demand by a mobile workforce that can, and prefers to, work from anywhere (so-called digital nomads).

None of which explains or resolves the current crisis. If governments want to address the bigger issues, they need to consider a range of solutions: updating building standards, upgrading land-use rezoning and planning regulations, encouraging a greater variety of housing development and management (soclal housing, shared ownership, property exchanges, rent holidays in return for repairs and improvements), and the use of modular/portable homes to meet fluctuating demand. All of which requires vision, and most party political objectives are driven by short term goals and the next election cycle.

* Apologies to Pere Ubu for (mis-)appropriating the title of their second album

Next week: Picasso and his circle

Free speech up for sale

When I was planning to post this article a couple of weeks ago, Elon Musk’s bid to buy Twitter and take it into private ownership was looking unlikely to succeed. Musk had just declined to take up the offer of a seat on the Twitter board, following which the board adopted a poison-pill defence against a hostile takeover. And just as I was about to go to press at my usual time, the news broke that the original bid had now been accepted by the board, so I hit the pause button instead and waited a day to see what the public reaction was. What a difference 72 hours (and US$44bn) can make… It seems “free speech” does indeed come with a price.

Of course, the Twitter transaction is still subject to shareholder approval and regulatory clearance, as well as confirmation of the funding structure, since Musk is having to raise about half the stated purchase from banks.

Musk’s stated objective in acquiring Twitter was highlighted in a press release put out by the company:

“Free speech is the bedrock of a functioning democracy, and Twitter is the digital town square where matters vital to the future of humanity are debated,” said Mr. Musk. “I also want to make Twitter better than ever by enhancing the product with new features, making the algorithms open source to increase trust, defeating the spam bots, and authenticating all humans. Twitter has tremendous potential – I look forward to working with the company and the community of users to unlock it.”

This latest development in Musk’s apparent love/hate relationship with Twitter is bound to further divide existing users as to the billionaire’s intentions, as well as raise concerns about the broader implications for free speech. Musk himself has encouraged his “worst critics” to stay with the platform. Meanwhile, founder and former CEO, Jack Dorsey has renewed his love of Twitter, despite only recently stepping away from the top job to spend more time on his other interests.

Personally, I’m not overly concerned that a platform such as Twitter is in private hands or under single ownership (subject, of course, to anti-trust rules, etc.). Far from creating an entrenched monopoly, it may actually encourage more competition by those who decide to opt out of Twitter. What I am less comfortable with is the notion that Twitter somehow acts as an exemplar of free speech, and as such, is a bastion of democracy.

On the positive side, we will be able to judge the veracity of Musk’s objectives against his actual deeds. For example, will Twitter actually introduce an edit button, make its algorithms open-source, exorcise the spam bots, verify users, and reduce/remove the platform’s reliance upon advertising?

On the negative side, what credible stance will Twitter now take on “free speech”, short of allowing an “anything goes” policy? If Musk is sincere that Twitter will be a platform for debating “matters vital to the future of humanity”, he may need to modify what he means by public discourse. Personal slanging matches with fellow-billionaires (and those less-able to defend themselves) do not make for an edifying public debating forum. Musk’s own disclosures about Twitter and his other business interests will also come under increased scrutiny. We know from past experience that Elon’s Tweets can move markets, and for this alone he should be aware of the responsibility that comes with ownership of the platform.

We have long understood that free speech is not the same as an unfettered right to say what you like in public – there are limits to freedom of expression, including accountability for the consequences of our words and actions, especially where they can cause harm. The broader challenges we face are:

  • technology outpacing regulation, when it comes to social media
  • defining what it means to “cause offence”
  • increased attacks on “mainstream media” and threats to freedom of the press

1. Just as the printing press, telegraphy, telephony, broadcasting and the internet each resulted in legislative changes, social media has continued to test the boundaries of regulation under which its predecessors now operate. Hitherto, much of the regulation that applies to social and digital media relates to privacy and data protection, as well as the existing law of defamation. But the latter varies considerably by jurisdiction, and by access to redress, and availability of remedies. Social media platforms have resisted attempts to treat them as traditional media (newspapers and broadcasters, which are subject to licensing and/or industry codes of practice) or treat them as publishers (and therefore responsible for content published on their platforms). (Then there is the question of how some social media platforms manage their tax affairs in the countries where they derive their revenue.)

The Australian government is attempting to challenge social media companies in a couple of ways. The first has been to force these platforms to pay for third-party news content from which they directly and indirectly generate advertising income. The second aims to hold social media more accountable for defamatory content published on their platforms, and remove the protection of “anonymity”. However, the former might be seen as a (belated) reaction to changing business models, and largely acting in favour of incumbents; while the latter is a technical response to the complex law of defamation in the digital age.

2. The ability to be offended by what we see or hear on social media is now at such a low bar as to be almost meaningless. During previous battles over censorship in print, on stage or on screen, the argument could be made that, “if you don’t like something you aren’t being forced to watch it”, so maybe you are deliberately going in search of content just to find it offensive. The problem is, social media by its very nature is more pervasive and, fed by hidden algorithms, is actually more invasive than traditional print and broadcast media. Even as a casual, passive or innocent user, you cannot avoid seeing something that may “offend” you. Economic and technical barriers to entry are likewise so low, that anyone and everyone can have their say on social media.

Leaving aside defamation laws, the concept of “hate speech” is being used to target content which is designed to advocate violence, or can be reasonably deemed or expected to have provoked violence or the threat of harm (personal, social or economic). I have problems with how we define hate speech in the current environment of public commentary and social media platforms, since the causal link between intent and consequence is not always that easy to establish.

However, I think we can agree that the use of content to vilify others simply based on their race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, economic status, political affiliation or religious identity cannot be defended on the grounds of “free speech”, “fair comment” or “personal belief”. Yet how do we discourage such diatribes without accusations of censorship or authoritarianism, and how do we establish workable remedies to curtail the harmful effects of “hate speech” without infringing our civil liberties?

Overall, there is a need to establish the author’s intent (their purpose as well as any justification), plus apply a “reasonable person” standard, one that does not simply affirm confirmation bias of one sector of society against another. We must recognise that hiding behind our personal ideology cannot be an acceptable defence against facing the consequences of our actions.

3. I think it’s problematic that large sections of the traditional media have hardly covered themselves in glory when it comes to their ethical standards, and their willingness to misuse their public platforms, economic power and political influence to undertake nefarious behaviour and/or deny any responsibility for their actions. Think of the UK’s phone hacking scandals, which resulted in one press baron being deemed “unfit to run a company”, as well as leading to the closure of a major newspaper.

That said, it hardly justifies the attempts by some governments, populist leaders and authoritarian regimes to continuously undermine the integrity of the fourth estate. It certainly doesn’t warrant the prosecution and persecution of journalists who are simply trying to do their job, nor attacks and bans on the media unless they “tow the party line”.

Which brings me back to Twitter, and its responsibility in helping to preserve free speech, while preventing its platform being hijacked for the purposes of vilification and incitement to cause harm. If its new owner is serious about furthering public debate and mature discourse, then here are a few other enhancements he might want to consider:

  • in addition to an edit button, a “cooling off” period whereby users are given the opportunity to reconsider a like, a post or a retweet, based on user feedback or community interaction – after which time, they might be deemed responsible for the content as if they were the original author (potentially a way to mitigate “pile-ons”)
  • signing up to a recognised industry code of ethics, including a victim’s formal right of reply, access to mediation, and enforcement procedures and penalties against perpetrators who continually cross the line into vilification, or engage in content that explicitly or implicitly advocates violence or harm
  • a more robust fact-checking process and a policy of “truth in advertising” when it comes to claims or accusations made by or on behalf of politicians, political parties, or those seeking elected office
  • clearer delineation between content which is mere opinion, content which is in the nature of a public service (e.g., emergencies and natural disasters), content which is deemed part of a company’s public disclosure obligations, content which is advertorial, content which is on behalf of a political party or candidate, and content which is purely for entertainment purposes only (removing the bots may not be enough)
  • consideration of establishing an independent editorial board that can also advocate on behalf of alleged victims of vilification, and act as the initial arbiter of “public interest” matters (such as privacy, data protection, whistle-blowers etc.)

Finally, if Twitter is going to remove/reduce advertising, what will the commercial model look like?

Next week: The Crypto Conversation

Public Indifference?

A few weeks ago, two connected but unrelated news items caught my attention. The first concerned the death of an elderly man, who froze to death in plain sight on a busy city street. The second, published barely 10 days later, reported that the mummified body of an elderly woman was only found two years after she died. Much of the commentary surrounding both stories talked about public indifference (even callousness) and lack of concern for our neighbours, especially those who live alone.

I suspect that two years of pandemic, lock-downs and isolation have only amplified preexisting conditions. Depending on our perspective, we may choose not to do or say anything in these situations because: we don’t want to get involved, we don’t want to interfere, we don’t want to risk infection, we don’t feel adequately trained to deal with these situations, or we simply don’t have the time.

Scenarios like these can often make us think about how we might react in similar circumstances – the thing is, we won’t know until it happens. But equally, acquiring some basic skills or adopting some common protocols might help prevent future individual tragedies.

In my inner city suburb, during the pandemic, there has been a sense of “looking out” for your neighbours – some enterprising folk even organised local soup deliveries, and unwanted home produce was left by front gates. It was all totally spontaneous, but largely driven by existing relationships. If we want to do this properly, by fully respecting older neighbours’ independence whilst not interfering in their daily lives, we need some different community models.

One positive example came from the ABC’s inspirational documentary series, “Old People’s Home For 4 Year Olds”. Although a large part of the outcome was to help older people in building up their physical and cognitive skills, by also framing it about boosting pre-schoolers’ social development, it underlined the longer-term community benefits of such initiatives. It also showed that in raising mutual awareness of the need for social interaction, and by creating a level of co- and inter-dependency, communities can find practical solutions and achievable outcomes, often using existing and available resources more creatively.

Next week: Ask an expert…