A Year-End Message from Ye Olde Bookseller
by Albert Wan
In a year defined largely by bad news, shocking news and news-not-worth-sharing-other-than-as-a-warning-of-things-to-come, one short lived news cycle sticks out in my mind. It lasted one maybe two weeks and concerned the proliferation of unregulated, profit-driven AI technology. During that time, expert after expert took to the airwaves to warn of the dangers that this technology, if left unchecked, would pose to the public. A few such experts, I seem to recall, were the same ones who helped design and commercialize for public consumption the kinds of AI bots we now see with every click of the mouse or swipe of the screen, insistently asking us if we can “use some help” with an innately human activity like writing, drawing or composing music.
Not much happened during or after this news cycle. No national study was commissioned to study the effects, both good and bad, of AI technology. No comprehensive federal legislation has been enacted to protect the public from the harmful effects of AI and to hold accountable those who use AI in a way intended to place others in harm’s way. In fact, as the year came to a close, the President issued an executive order that would thwart much of the fledgling and incremental progress other parties, including state governments, have made to address the concerns raised by experts about unregulated, AI technology.
Jenny and I and our kids were recently invited to a dinner hosted by some good friends we met through the bookshop. During the dinner, Michael, one of our hosts, asked Charlie about school. What were his interests, what did he want to do after school, etc, etc. Charlie mentioned being a part of his school robotics team. Michael, who knows a thing or two about computers, asked Charlie what programming language he used to program the robots he and his teammates built. Charlie said “Scratch” but that he didn’t like it or find it especially effective. Then Michael said to Charlie something to the effect of: it really doesn’t matter what language you use. It’s the problem that matters most. Once you define the problem, then you will find the right language to suit your needs.
This past year, I forced myself to draw again, like I did often when I was a kid. I have at the bookshop one of those sandwich board signs that I’ve commandeered for this purpose. It’s forgiving because the chalk goes on and comes off easily. The only pressures I feel when I’m drawing are those of time (the bookshop ain’t gonna run itself) and aesthetics (the drawing should be faithful to whatever it is I envision as being my sign of the day). I have taken up this activity of drawing because I want to prove to myself that it’s something I can do, and do with a level of competence that doesn’t derive in any way from the whims of a faceless, grovelling robot.
To borrow from Michael’s profound observation and astute advice to Charlie: it’s the language I have decided to adopt and use to address what I see as the problem of unchecked, artificial intelligence. My language is one of labor, of creativity, of thought, perhaps even of emotion too. It is, in my view, the language that makes humans unique among the many other living species with whom we share this planet.
I worry sometimes that we are in peril of losing this language through systemic atrophy and disuse; a tragedy hastened and abetted by the greed and muscle of the rich and powerful. In writing this piece, I wish only to describe what I perceive as a reality that might be shared by others. I don’t expect that anyone will decide to take up drawing, creative writing or photography after reading this. Nor do I believe that such a response is warranted to combat the dangers posed by our freewheeling AI purveyors. It is enough, for now, to remind ourselves that humans, however imperfect and limited they might be, still possess in themselves the keys to their collective destiny.
Haruki Murakami, still one of our greatest living novelists, said it best:
We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others’ souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.
Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.
2025, you’ve done your worst. Now it’s our turn to return the favor. Bring on 2026.