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AI and Trust

Post Syndicated from B. Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/12/ai-and-trust.html

I trusted a lot today. I trusted my phone to wake me on time. I trusted Uber to arrange a taxi for me, and the driver to get me to the airport safely. I trusted thousands of other drivers on the road not to ram my car on the way. At the airport, I trusted ticket agents and maintenance engineers and everyone else who keeps airlines operating. And the pilot of the plane I flew in. And thousands of other people at the airport and on the plane, any of which could have attacked me. And all the people that prepared and served my breakfast, and the entire food supply chain—any of them could have poisoned me. When I landed here, I trusted thousands more people: at the airport, on the road, in this building, in this room. And that was all before 10:30 this morning.

Trust is essential to society. Humans as a species are trusting. We are all sitting here, mostly strangers, confident that nobody will attack us. If we were a roomful of chimpanzees, this would be impossible. We trust many thousands of times a day. Society can’t function without it. And that we don’t even think about it is a measure of how well it all works.

In this talk, I am going to make several arguments. One, that there are two different kinds of trust—interpersonal trust and social trust—and that we regularly confuse them. Two, that the confusion will increase with artificial intelligence. We will make a fundamental category error. We will think of AIs as friends when they’re really just services. Three, that the corporations controlling AI systems will take advantage of our confusion to take advantage of us. They will not be trustworthy. And four, that it is the role of government to create trust in society. And therefore, it is their role to create an environment for trustworthy AI. And that means regulation. Not regulating AI, but regulating the organizations that control and use AI.

Okay, so let’s back up and take that all a lot slower. Trust is a complicated concept, and the word is overloaded with many meanings. There’s personal and intimate trust. When we say that we trust a friend, it is less about their specific actions and more about them as a person. It’s a general reliance that they will behave in a trustworthy manner. We trust their intentions, and know that those intentions will inform their actions. Let’s call this “interpersonal trust.”

There’s also the less intimate, less personal trust. We might not know someone personally, or know their motivations—but we can trust their behavior. We don’t know whether or not someone wants to steal, but maybe we can trust that they won’t. It’s really more about reliability and predictability. We’ll call this “social trust.” It’s the ability to trust strangers.

Interpersonal trust and social trust are both essential in society today. This is how it works. We have mechanisms that induce people to behave in a trustworthy manner, both interpersonally and socially. This, in turn, allows others to be trusting. Which enables trust in society. And that keeps society functioning. The system isn’t perfect—there are always going to be untrustworthy people—but most of us being trustworthy most of the time is good enough.

I wrote about this in 2012 in a book called Liars and Outliers. I wrote about four systems for enabling trust: our innate morals, concern about our reputations, the laws we live under, and security technologies that constrain our behavior. I wrote about how the first two are more informal than the last two. And how the last two scale better, and allow for larger and more complex societies. They enable cooperation amongst strangers.

What I didn’t appreciate is how different the first and last two are. Morals and reputation are person to person, based on human connection, mutual vulnerability, respect, integrity, generosity, and a lot of other things besides. These underpin interpersonal trust. Laws and security technologies are systems of trust that force us to act trustworthy. And they’re the basis of social trust.

Taxi driver used to be one of the country’s most dangerous professions. Uber changed that. I don’t know my Uber driver, but the rules and the technology lets us both be confident that neither of us will cheat or attack each other. We are both under constant surveillance and are competing for star rankings.

Lots of people write about the difference between living in a high-trust and a low-trust society. How reliability and predictability make everything easier. And what is lost when society doesn’t have those characteristics. Also, how societies move from high-trust to low-trust and vice versa. This is all about social trust.

That literature is important, but for this talk the critical point is that social trust scales better. You used to need a personal relationship with a banker to get a loan. Now it’s all done algorithmically, and you have many more options to choose from.

Social trust scales better, but embeds all sorts of bias and prejudice. That’s because, in order to scale, social trust has to be structured, system- and rule-oriented, and that’s where the bias gets embedded. And the system has to be mostly blinded to context, which removes flexibility.

But that scale is vital. In today’s society we regularly trust—or not—governments, corporations, brands, organizations, groups. It’s not so much that I trusted the particular pilot that flew my airplane, but instead the airline that puts well-trained and well-rested pilots in cockpits on schedule. I don’t trust the cooks and waitstaff at a restaurant, but the system of health codes they work under. I can’t even describe the banking system I trusted when I used an ATM this morning. Again, this confidence is no more than reliability and predictability.

Think of that restaurant again. Imagine that it’s a fast food restaurant, employing teenagers. The food is almost certainly safe—probably safer than in high-end restaurants—because of the corporate systems or reliability and predictability that is guiding their every behavior.

That’s the difference. You can ask a friend to deliver a package across town. Or you can pay the Post Office to do the same thing. The former is interpersonal trust, based on morals and reputation. You know your friend and how reliable they are. The second is a service, made possible by social trust. And to the extent that is a reliable and predictable service, it’s primarily based on laws and technologies. Both can get your package delivered, but only the second can become the global package delivery systems that is FedEx.

Because of how large and complex society has become, we have replaced many of the rituals and behaviors of interpersonal trust with security mechanisms that enforce reliability and predictability—social trust.

But because we use the same word for both, we regularly confuse them. And when we do that, we are making a category error.

And we do it all the time. With governments. With organizations. With systems of all kinds. And especially with corporations.

We might think of them as friends, when they are actually services. Corporations are not moral; they are precisely as immoral as the law and their reputations let them get away with.

So corporations regularly take advantage of their customers, mistreat their workers, pollute the environment, and lobby for changes in law so they can do even more of these things.

Both language and the laws make this an easy category error to make. We use the same grammar for people and corporations. We imagine that we have personal relationships with brands. We give corporations some of the same rights as people.

Corporations like that we make this category error—see, I just made it myself—because they profit when we think of them as friends. They use mascots and spokesmodels. They have social media accounts with personalities. They refer to themselves like they are people.

But they are not our friends. Corporations are not capable of having that kind of relationship.

We are about to make the same category error with AI. We’re going to think of them as our friends when they’re not.

A lot has been written about AIs as existential risk. The worry is that they will have a goal, and they will work to achieve it even if it harms humans in the process. You may have read about the “paperclip maximizer“: an AI that has been programmed to make as many paper clips as possible, and ends up destroying the earth to achieve those ends. It’s a weird fear. Science fiction author Ted Chiang writes about it. Instead of solving all of humanity’s problems, or wandering off proving mathematical theorems that no one understands, the AI single-mindedly pursues the goal of maximizing production. Chiang’s point is that this is every corporation’s business plan. And that our fears of AI are basically fears of capitalism. Science fiction writer Charlie Stross takes this one step further, and calls corporations “slow AI.” They are profit maximizing machines. And the most successful ones do whatever they can to achieve that singular goal.

And near-term AIs will be controlled by corporations. Which will use them towards that profit-maximizing goal. They won’t be our friends. At best, they’ll be useful services. More likely, they’ll spy on us and try to manipulate us.

This is nothing new. Surveillance is the business model of the Internet. Manipulation is the other business model of the Internet.

Your Google search results lead with URLs that someone paid to show to you. Your Facebook and Instagram feeds are filled with sponsored posts. Amazon searches return pages of products whose sellers paid for placement.

This is how the Internet works. Companies spy on us as we use their products and services. Data brokers buy that surveillance data from the smaller companies, and assemble detailed dossiers on us. Then they sell that information back to those and other companies, who combine it with data they collect in order to manipulate our behavior to serve their interests. At the expense of our own.

We use all of these services as if they are our agents, working on our behalf. In fact, they are double agents, also secretly working for their corporate owners. We trust them, but they are not trustworthy. They’re not friends; they’re services.

It’s going to be no different with AI. And the result will be much worse, for two reasons.

The first is that these AI systems will be more relational. We will be conversing with them, using natural language. As such, we will naturally ascribe human-like characteristics to them.

This relational nature will make it easier for those double agents to do their work. Did your chatbot recommend a particular airline or hotel because it’s truly the best deal, given your particular set of needs? Or because the AI company got a kickback from those providers? When you asked it to explain a political issue, did it bias that explanation towards the company’s position? Or towards the position of whichever political party gave it the most money? The conversational interface will help hide their agenda.

The second reason to be concerned is that these AIs will be more intimate. One of the promises of generative AI is a personal digital assistant. Acting as your advocate with others, and as a butler with you. This requires an intimacy greater than your search engine, email provider, cloud storage system, or phone. You’re going to want it with you 24/7, constantly training on everything you do. You will want it to know everything about you, so it can most effectively work on your behalf.

And it will help you in many ways. It will notice your moods and know what to suggest. It will anticipate your needs and work to satisfy them. It will be your therapist, life coach, and relationship counselor.

You will default to thinking of it as a friend. You will speak to it in natural language, and it will respond in kind. If it is a robot, it will look humanoid—or at least like an animal. It will interact with the whole of your existence, just like another person would.

The natural language interface is critical here. We are primed to think of others who speak our language as people. And we sometimes have trouble thinking of others who speak a different language that way. We make that category error with obvious non-people, like cartoon characters. We will naturally have a “theory of mind” about any AI we talk with.

More specifically, we tend to assume that something’s implementation is the same as its interface. That is, we assume that things are the same on the inside as they are on the surface. Humans are like that: we’re people through and through. A government is systemic and bureaucratic on the inside. You’re not going to mistake it for a person when you interact with it. But this is the category error we make with corporations. We sometimes mistake the organization for its spokesperson. AI has a fully relational interface—it talks like a person—but it has an equally fully systemic implementation. Like a corporation, but much more so. The implementation and interface are more divergent of anything we have encountered to date…by a lot.

And you will want to trust it. It will use your mannerisms and cultural references. It will have a convincing voice, a confident tone, and an authoritative manner. Its personality will be optimized to exactly what you like and respond to.

It will act trustworthy, but it will not be trustworthy. We won’t know how they are trained. We won’t know their secret instructions. We won’t know their biases, either accidental or deliberate.

We do know that they are built at enormous expense, mostly in secret, by profit-maximizing corporations for their own benefit.

It’s no accident that these corporate AIs have a human-like interface. There’s nothing inevitable about that. It’s a design choice. It could be designed to be less personal, less human-like, more obviously a service—like a search engine . The companies behind those AIs want you to make the friend/service category error. It will exploit your mistaking it for a friend. And you might not have any choice but to use it.

There is something we haven’t discussed when it comes to trust: power. Sometimes we have no choice but to trust someone or something because they are powerful. We are forced to trust the local police, because they’re the only law enforcement authority in town. We are forced to trust some corporations, because there aren’t viable alternatives. To be more precise, we have no choice but to entrust ourselves to them. We will be in this same position with AI. We will have no choice but to entrust ourselves to their decision-making.

The friend/service confusion will help mask this power differential. We will forget how powerful the corporation behind the AI is, because we will be fixated on the person we think the AI is.

So far, we have been talking about one particular failure that results from overly trusting AI. We can call it something like “hidden exploitation.” There are others. There’s outright fraud, where the AI is actually trying to steal stuff from you. There’s the more prosaic mistaken expertise, where you think the AI is more knowledgeable than it is because it acts confidently. There’s incompetency, where you believe that the AI can do something it can’t. There’s inconsistency, where you mistakenly expect the AI to be able to repeat its behaviors. And there’s illegality, where you mistakenly trust the AI to obey the law. There are probably more ways trusting an AI can fail.

All of this is a long-winded way of saying that we need trustworthy AI. AI whose behavior, limitations, and training are understood. AI whose biases are understood, and corrected for. AI whose goals are understood. That won’t secretly betray your trust to someone else.

The market will not provide this on its own. Corporations are profit maximizers, at the expense of society. And the incentives of surveillance capitalism are just too much to resist.

It’s government that provides the underlying mechanisms for the social trust essential to society. Think about contract law. Or laws about property, or laws protecting your personal safety. Or any of the health and safety codes that let you board a plane, eat at a restaurant, or buy a pharmaceutical without worry.

The more you can trust that your societal interactions are reliable and predictable, the more you can ignore their details. Places where governments don’t provide these things are not good places to live.

Government can do this with AI. We need AI transparency laws. When it is used. How it is trained. What biases and tendencies it has. We need laws regulating AI—and robotic—safety. When it is permitted to affect the world. We need laws that enforce the trustworthiness of AI. Which means the ability to recognize when those laws are being broken. And penalties sufficiently large to incent trustworthy behavior.

Many countries are contemplating AI safety and security laws—the EU is the furthest along—but I think they are making a critical mistake. They try to regulate the AIs and not the humans behind them.

AIs are not people; they don’t have agency. They are built by, trained by, and controlled by people. Mostly for-profit corporations. Any AI regulations should place restrictions on those people and corporations. Otherwise the regulations are making the same category error I’ve been talking about. At the end of the day, there is always a human responsible for whatever the AI’s behavior is. And it’s the human who needs to be responsible for what they do—and what their companies do. Regardless of whether it was due to humans, or AI, or a combination of both. Maybe that won’t be true forever, but it will be true in the near future. If we want trustworthy AI, we need to require trustworthy AI controllers.

We already have a system for this: fiduciaries. There are areas in society where trustworthiness is of paramount importance, even more than usual. Doctors, lawyers, accountants…these are all trusted agents. They need extraordinary access to our information and ourselves to do their jobs, and so they have additional legal responsibilities to act in our best interests. They have fiduciary responsibility to their clients.

We need the same sort of thing for our data. The idea of a data fiduciary is not new. But it’s even more vital in a world of generative AI assistants.

And we need one final thing: public AI models. These are systems built by academia, or non-profit groups, or government itself, that can be owned and run by individuals.

The term “public model” has been thrown around a lot in the AI world, so it’s worth detailing what this means. It’s not a corporate AI model that the public is free to use. It’s not a corporate AI model that the government has licensed. It’s not even an open-source model that the public is free to examine and modify.

A public model is a model built by the public for the public. It requires political accountability, not just market accountability. This means openness and transparency paired with a responsiveness to public demands. It should also be available for anyone to build on top of. This means universal access. And a foundation for a free market in AI innovations. This would be a counter-balance to corporate-owned AI.

We can never make AI into our friends. But we can make them into trustworthy services—agents and not double agents. But only if government mandates it. We can put limits on surveillance capitalism. But only if government mandates it.

Because the point of government is to create social trust. I started this talk by explaining the importance of trust in society, and how interpersonal trust doesn’t scale to larger groups. That other, impersonal kind of trust—social trust, reliability and predictability—is what governments create.

To the extent a government improves the overall trust in society, it succeeds. And to the extent a government doesn’t, it fails.

But they have to. We need government to constrain the behavior of corporations and the AIs they build, deploy, and control. Government needs to enforce both predictability and reliability.

That’s how we can create the social trust that society needs to thrive.

This essay previously appeared on the Harvard Kennedy School Belfer Center’s website.

AI and US Election Rules

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/10/ai-and-us-election-rules.html

If an AI breaks the rules for you, does that count as breaking the rules? This is the essential question being taken up by the Federal Election Commission this month, and public input is needed to curtail the potential for AI to take US campaigns (even more) off the rails.

At issue is whether candidates using AI to create deepfaked media for political advertisements should be considered fraud or legitimate electioneering. That is, is it allowable to use AI image generators to create photorealistic images depicting Trump hugging Anthony Fauci? And is it allowable to use dystopic images generated by AI in political attack ads?

For now, the answer to these questions is probably “yes.” These are fairly innocuous uses of AI, not any different than the old-school approach of hiring actors and staging a photoshoot, or using video editing software. Even in cases where AI tools will be put to scurrilous purposes, that’s probably legal in the US system. Political ads are, after all, a medium in which you are explicitly permitted to lie.

The concern over AI is a distraction, but one that can help draw focus to the real issue. What matters isn’t how political content is generated; what matters is the content itself and how it is distributed.

Future uses of AI by campaigns go far beyond deepfaked images. Campaigns will also use AI to personalize communications. Whereas the previous generation of social media microtargeting was celebrated for helping campaigns reach a precision of thousands or hundreds of voters, the automation offered by AI will allow campaigns to tailor their advertisements and solicitations to the individual.

Most significantly, AI will allow digital campaigning to evolve from a broadcast medium to an interactive one. AI chatbots representing campaigns are capable of responding to questions instantly and at scale, like a town hall taking place in every voter’s living room, simultaneously. Ron DeSantis’ presidential campaign has reportedly already started using OpenAI’s technology to handle text message replies to voters.

At the same time, it’s not clear whose responsibility it is to keep US political advertisements grounded in reality—if it is anyone’s. The FEC’s role is campaign finance, and is further circumscribed by the Supreme Court’s repeated stripping of its authorities. The Federal Communications Commission has much more expansive responsibility for regulating political advertising in broadcast media, as well as political robocalls and text communications. However, the FCC hasn’t done much in recent years to curtail political spam. The Federal Trade Commission enforces truth in advertising standards, but political campaigns have been largely exempted from these requirements on First Amendment grounds.

To further muddy the waters, much of the online space remains loosely regulated, even as campaigns have fully embraced digital tactics. There are still insufficient disclosure requirements for digital ads. Campaigns pay influencers to post on their behalf to circumvent paid advertising rules. And there are essentially no rules beyond the simple use of disclaimers for videos that campaigns post organically on their own websites and social media accounts, even if they are shared millions of times by others.

Almost everyone has a role to play in improving this situation.

Let’s start with the platforms. Google announced earlier this month that it would require political advertisements on YouTube and the company’s other advertising platforms to disclose when they use AI images, audio, and video that appear in their ads. This is to be applauded, but we cannot rely on voluntary actions by private companies to protect our democracy. Such policies, even when well-meaning, will be inconsistently devised and enforced.

The FEC should use its limited authority to stem this coming tide. The FEC’s present consideration of rulemaking on this issue was prompted by Public Citizen, which petitioned the Commission to "clarify that the law against ‘fraudulent misrepresentation’ (52 U.S.C. §30124) applies to deliberately deceptive AI-produced content in campaign communications." The FEC’s regulation against fraudulent misrepresentation (C.F.R. §110.16) is very narrow; it simply restricts candidates from pretending to be speaking on behalf of their opponents in a “damaging” way.

Extending this to explicitly cover deepfaked AI materials seems appropriate. We should broaden the standards to robustly regulate the activity of fraudulent misrepresentation, whether the entity performing that activity is AI or human—but this is only the first step. If the FEC takes up rulemaking on this issue, it could further clarify what constitutes “damage.” Is it damaging when a PAC promoting Ron DeSantis uses an AI voice synthesizer to generate a convincing facsimile of the voice of his opponent Donald Trump speaking his own Tweeted words? That seems like fair play. What if opponents find a way to manipulate the tone of the speech in a way that misrepresents its meaning? What if they make up words to put in Trump’s mouth? Those use cases seem to go too far, but drawing the boundaries between them will be challenging.

Congress has a role to play as well. Senator Klobuchar and colleagues have been promoting both the existing Honest Ads Act and the proposed REAL Political Ads Act, which would expand the FEC’s disclosure requirements for content posted on the Internet and create a legal requirement for campaigns to disclose when they have used images or video generated by AI in political advertising. While that’s worthwhile, it focuses on the shiny object of AI and misses the opportunity to strengthen law around the underlying issues. The FEC needs more authority to regulate campaign spending on false or misleading media generated by any means and published to any outlet. Meanwhile, the FEC’s own Inspector General continues to warn Congress that the agency is stressed by flat budgets that don’t allow it to keep pace with ballooning campaign spending.

It is intolerable for such a patchwork of commissions to be left to wonder which, if any of them, has jurisdiction to act in the digital space. Congress should legislate to make clear that there are guardrails on political speech and to better draw the boundaries between the FCC, FEC, and FTC’s roles in governing political speech. While the Supreme Court cannot be relied upon to uphold common sense regulations on campaigning, there are strategies for strengthening regulation under the First Amendment. And Congress should allocate more funding for enforcement.

The FEC has asked Congress to expand its jurisdiction, but no action is forthcoming. The present Senate Republican leadership is seen as an ironclad barrier to expanding the Commission’s regulatory authority. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has a decades-long history of being at the forefront of the movement to deregulate American elections and constrain the FEC. In 2003, he brought the unsuccessful Supreme Court case against the McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform act (the one that failed before the Citizens United case succeeded).

The most impactful regulatory requirement would be to require disclosure of interactive applications of AI for campaigns—and this should fall under the remit of the FCC. If a neighbor texts me and urges me to vote for a candidate, I might find that meaningful. If a bot does it under the instruction of a campaign, I definitely won’t. But I might find a conversation with the bot—knowing it is a bot—useful to learn about the candidate’s platform and positions, as long as I can be confident it is going to give me trustworthy information.

The FCC should enter rulemaking to expand its authority for regulating peer-to-peer (P2P) communications to explicitly encompass interactive AI systems. And Congress should pass enabling legislation to back it up, giving it authority to act not only on the SMS text messaging platform, but also over the wider Internet, where AI chatbots can be accessed over the web and through apps.

And the media has a role. We can still rely on the media to report out what videos, images, and audio recordings are real or fake. Perhaps deepfake technology makes it impossible to verify the truth of what is said in private conversations, but this was always unstable territory.

What is your role? Those who share these concerns can submit a comment to the FEC’s open public comment process before October 16, urging it to use its available authority. We all know government moves slowly, but a show of public interest is necessary to get the wheels moving.

Ultimately, all these policy changes serve the purpose of looking beyond the shiny distraction of AI to create the authority to counter bad behavior by humans. Remember: behind every AI is a human who should be held accountable.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and was previously published on the Ash Center website.

AI Risks

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/10/ai-risks.html

There is no shortage of researchers and industry titans willing to warn us about the potential destructive power of artificial intelligence. Reading the headlines, one would hope that the rapid gains in AI technology have also brought forth a unifying realization of the risks—and the steps we need to take to mitigate them.

The reality, unfortunately, is quite different. Beneath almost all of the testimony, the manifestoes, the blog posts, and the public declarations issued about AI are battles among deeply divided factions. Some are concerned about far-future risks that sound like science fiction. Some are genuinely alarmed by the practical problems that chatbots and deepfake video generators are creating right now. Some are motivated by potential business revenue, others by national security concerns.

The result is a cacophony of coded language, contradictory views, and provocative policy demands that are undermining our ability to grapple with a technology destined to drive the future of politics, our economy, and even our daily lives.

These factions are in dialogue not only with the public but also with one another. Sometimes, they trade letters, opinion essays, or social threads outlining their positions and attacking others’ in public view. More often, they tout their viewpoints without acknowledging alternatives, leaving the impression that their enlightened perspective is the inevitable lens through which to view AI But if lawmakers and the public fail to recognize the subtext of their arguments, they risk missing the real consequences of our possible regulatory and cultural paths forward.

To understand the fight and the impact it may have on our shared future, look past the immediate claims and actions of the players to the greater implications of their points of view. When you do, you’ll realize this isn’t really a debate only about AI. It’s also a contest about control and power, about how resources should be distributed and who should be held accountable.

Beneath this roiling discord is a true fight over the future of society. Should we focus on avoiding the dystopia of mass unemployment, a world where China is the dominant superpower or a society where the worst prejudices of humanity are embodied in opaque algorithms that control our lives? Should we listen to wealthy futurists who discount the importance of climate change because they’re already thinking ahead to colonies on Mars? It is critical that we begin to recognize the ideologies driving what we are being told. Resolving the fracas requires us to see through the specter of AI to stay true to the humanity of our values.

One way to decode the motives behind the various declarations is through their language. Because language itself is part of their battleground, the different AI camps tend not to use the same words to describe their positions. One faction describes the dangers posed by AI through the framework of safety, another through ethics or integrity, yet another through security, and others through economics. By decoding who is speaking and how AI is being described, we can explore where these groups differ and what drives their views.

The Doomsayers

The loudest perspective is a frightening, dystopian vision in which AI poses an existential risk to humankind, capable of wiping out all life on Earth. AI, in this vision, emerges as a godlike, superintelligent, ungovernable entity capable of controlling everything. AI could destroy humanity or pose a risk on par with nukes. If we’re not careful, it could kill everyone or enslave humanity. It’s likened to monsters like the Lovecraftian shoggoths, artificial servants that rebelled against their creators, or paper clip maximizers that consume all of Earth’s resources in a single-minded pursuit of their programmed goal. It sounds like science fiction, but these people are serious, and they mean the words they use.

These are the AI safety people, and their ranks include the “Godfathers of AI,” Geoff Hinton and Yoshua Bengio. For many years, these leading lights battled critics who doubted that a computer could ever mimic capabilities of the human mind. Having steamrollered the public conversation by creating large language models like ChatGPT and other AI tools capable of increasingly impressive feats, they appear deeply invested in the idea that there is no limit to what their creations will be able to accomplish.

This doomsaying is boosted by a class of tech elite that has enormous power to shape the conversation. And some in this group are animated by the radical effective altruism movement and the associated cause of long-term-ism, which tend to focus on the most extreme catastrophic risks and emphasize the far-future consequences of our actions. These philosophies are hot among the cryptocurrency crowd, like the disgraced former billionaire Sam Bankman-Fried, who at one time possessed sudden wealth in search of a cause.

Reasonable sounding on their face, these ideas can become dangerous if stretched to their logical extremes. A dogmatic long-termer would willingly sacrifice the well-being of people today to stave off a prophesied extinction event like AI enslavement.

Many doomsayers say they are acting rationally, but their hype about hypothetical existential risks amounts to making a misguided bet with our future. In the name of long-term-ism, Elon Musk reportedly believes that our society needs to encourage reproduction among those with the greatest culture and intelligence (namely, his ultrarich buddies). And he wants to go further, such as limiting the right to vote to parents and even populating Mars. It’s widely believed that Jaan Tallinn, the wealthy long-termer who co-founded the most prominent centers for the study of AI safety, has made dismissive noises about climate change because he thinks that it pales in comparison with far-future unknown unknowns like risks from AI. The technology historian David C. Brock calls these fears “wishful worries”—that is, “problems that it would be nice to have, in contrast to the actual agonies of the present.”

More practically, many of the researchers in this group are proceeding full steam ahead in developing AI, demonstrating how unrealistic it is to simply hit pause on technological development. But the roboticist Rodney Brooks has pointed out that we will see the existential risks coming—the dangers will not be sudden and we will have time to change course. While we shouldn’t dismiss the Hollywood nightmare scenarios out of hand, we must balance them with the potential benefits of AI and, most important, not allow them to strategically distract from more immediate concerns. Let’s not let apocalyptic prognostications overwhelm us and smother the momentum we need to develop critical guardrails.

The Reformers

While the doomsayer faction focuses on the far-off future, its most prominent opponents are focused on the here and now. We agree with this group that there’s plenty already happening to cause concern: Racist policing and legal systems that disproportionately arrest and punish people of color. Sexist labor systems that rate feminine-coded résumés lower. Superpower nations automating military interventions as tools of imperialism and, someday, killer robots.

The alternative to the end-of-the-world, existential risk narrative is a distressingly familiar vision of dystopia: a society in which humanity’s worst instincts are encoded into and enforced by machines. The doomsayers think AI enslavement looks like the Matrix; the reformers point to modern-day contractors doing traumatic work at low pay for OpenAI in Kenya.

Propagators of these AI ethics concerns—like Meredith Broussard, Safiya Umoja Noble, Rumman Chowdhury, and Cathy O’Neil—have been raising the alarm on inequities coded into AI for years. Although we don’t have a census, it’s noticeable that many leaders in this cohort are people of color, women, and people who identify as LGBTQ. They are often motivated by insight into what it feels like to be on the wrong end of algorithmic oppression and by a connection to the communities most vulnerable to the misuse of new technology. Many in this group take an explicitly social perspective: When Joy Buolamwini founded an organization to fight for equitable AI, she called it the Algorithmic Justice League. Ruha Benjamin called her organization the Ida B. Wells Just Data Lab.

Others frame efforts to reform AI in terms of integrity, calling for Big Tech to adhere to an oath to consider the benefit of the broader public alongside—or even above—their self-interest. They point to social media companies’ failure to control hate speech or how online misinformation can undermine democratic elections. Adding urgency for this group is that the very companies driving the AI revolution have, at times, been eliminating safeguards. A signal moment came when Timnit Gebru, a co-leader of Google’s AI ethics team, was dismissed for pointing out the risks of developing ever-larger AI language models.

While doomsayers and reformers share the concern that AI must align with human interests, reformers tend to push back hard against the doomsayers’ focus on the distant future. They want to wrestle the attention of regulators and advocates back toward present-day harms that are exacerbated by AI misinformation, surveillance, and inequity. Integrity experts call for the development of responsible AI, for civic education to ensure AI literacy and for keeping humans front and center in AI systems.

This group’s concerns are well documented and urgent—and far older than modern AI technologies. Surely, we are a civilization big enough to tackle more than one problem at a time; even those worried that AI might kill us in the future should still demand that it not profile and exploit us in the present.

The Warriors

Other groups of prognosticators cast the rise of AI through the language of competitiveness and national security. One version has a post-9/11 ring to it—a world where terrorists, criminals, and psychopaths have unfettered access to technologies of mass destruction. Another version is a Cold War narrative of the United States losing an AI arms race with China and its surveillance-rich society.

Some arguing from this perspective are acting on genuine national security concerns, and others have a simple motivation: money. These perspectives serve the interests of American tech tycoons as well as the government agencies and defense contractors they are intertwined with.

OpenAI’s Sam Altman and Meta’s Mark Zuckerberg, both of whom lead dominant AI companies, are pushing for AI regulations that they say will protect us from criminals and terrorists. Such regulations would be expensive to comply with and are likely to preserve the market position of leading AI companies while restricting competition from start-ups. In the lobbying battles over Europe’s trailblazing AI regulatory framework, US megacompanies pleaded to exempt their general-purpose AI from the tightest regulations, and whether and how to apply high-risk compliance expectations on noncorporate open-source models emerged as a key point of debate. All the while, some of the moguls investing in upstart companies are fighting the regulatory tide. The Inflection AI co-founder Reid Hoffman argued, “The answer to our challenges is not to slow down technology but to accelerate it.”

Any technology critical to national defense usually has an easier time avoiding oversight, regulation, and limitations on profit. Any readiness gap in our military demands urgent budget increases and funds distributed to the military branches and their contractors, because we may soon be called upon to fight. Tech moguls like Google’s former chief executive Eric Schmidt, who has the ear of many lawmakers, signal to American policymakers about the Chinese threat even as they invest in US national security concerns.

The warriors’ narrative seems to misrepresent that science and engineering are different from what they were during the mid-twentieth century. AI research is fundamentally international; no one country will win a monopoly. And while national security is important to consider, we must also be mindful of self-interest of those positioned to benefit financially.

As the science-fiction author Ted Chiang has said, fears about the existential risks of AI are really fears about the threat of uncontrolled capitalism, and dystopias like the paper clip maximizer are just caricatures of every start-up’s business plan. Cosma Shalizi and Henry Farrell further argue that “we’ve lived among shoggoths for centuries, tending to them as though they were our masters” as monopolistic platforms devour and exploit the totality of humanity’s labor and ingenuity for their own interests. This dread applies as much to our future with AI as it does to our past and present with corporations.

Regulatory solutions do not need to reinvent the wheel. Instead, we need to double down on the rules that we know limit corporate power. We need to get more serious about establishing good and effective governance on all the issues we lost track of while we were becoming obsessed with AI, China, and the fights picked among robber barons.

By analogy to the healthcare sector, we need an AI public option to truly keep AI companies in check. A publicly directed AI development project would serve to counterbalance for-profit corporate AI and help ensure an even playing field for access to the twenty-first century’s key technology while offering a platform for the ethical development and use of AI.

Also, we should embrace the humanity behind AI. We can hold founders and corporations accountable by mandating greater AI transparency in the development stage, in addition to applying legal standards for actions associated with AI. Remarkably, this is something that both the left and the right can agree on.

Ultimately, we need to make sure the network of laws and regulations that govern our collective behavior is knit more strongly, with fewer gaps and greater ability to hold the powerful accountable, particularly in those areas most sensitive to our democracy and environment. As those with power and privilege seem poised to harness AI to accumulate much more or pursue extreme ideologies, let’s think about how we can constrain their influence in the public square rather than cede our attention to their most bombastic nightmare visions for the future.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared in the New York Times.

Political Disinformation and AI

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/10/political-disinformation-and-ai.html

Elections around the world are facing an evolving threat from foreign actors, one that involves artificial intelligence.

Countries trying to influence each other’s elections entered a new era in 2016, when the Russians launched a series of social media disinformation campaigns targeting the US presidential election. Over the next seven years, a number of countries—most prominently China and Iran—used social media to influence foreign elections, both in the US and elsewhere in the world. There’s no reason to expect 2023 and 2024 to be any different.

But there is a new element: generative AI and large language models. These have the ability to quickly and easily produce endless reams of text on any topic in any tone from any perspective. As a security expert, I believe it’s a tool uniquely suited to Internet-era propaganda.

This is all very new. ChatGPT was introduced in November 2022. The more powerful GPT-4 was released in March 2023. Other language and image production AIs are around the same age. It’s not clear how these technologies will change disinformation, how effective they will be or what effects they will have. But we are about to find out.

Election season will soon be in full swing in much of the democratic world. Seventy-one percent of people living in democracies will vote in a national election between now and the end of next year. Among them: Argentina and Poland in October, Taiwan in January, Indonesia in February, India in April, the European Union and Mexico in June, and the US in November. Nine African democracies, including South Africa, will have elections in 2024. Australia and the UK don’t have fixed dates, but elections are likely to occur in 2024.

Many of those elections matter a lot to the countries that have run social media influence operations in the past. China cares a great deal about Taiwan, Indonesia, India, and many African countries. Russia cares about the UK, Poland, Germany, and the EU in general. Everyone cares about the United States.

And that’s only considering the largest players. Every US national election from 2016 has brought with it an additional country attempting to influence the outcome. First it was just Russia, then Russia and China, and most recently those two plus Iran. As the financial cost of foreign influence decreases, more countries can get in on the action. Tools like ChatGPT significantly reduce the price of producing and distributing propaganda, bringing that capability within the budget of many more countries.

A couple of months ago, I attended a conference with representatives from all of the cybersecurity agencies in the US. They talked about their expectations regarding election interference in 2024. They expected the usual players—Russia, China, and Iran—and a significant new one: “domestic actors.” That is a direct result of this reduced cost.

Of course, there’s a lot more to running a disinformation campaign than generating content. The hard part is distribution. A propagandist needs a series of fake accounts on which to post, and others to boost it into the mainstream where it can go viral. Companies like Meta have gotten much better at identifying these accounts and taking them down. Just last month, Meta announced that it had removed 7,704 Facebook accounts, 954 Facebook pages, 15 Facebook groups, and 15 Instagram accounts associated with a Chinese influence campaign, and identified hundreds more accounts on TikTok, X (formerly Twitter), LiveJournal, and Blogspot. But that was a campaign that began four years ago, producing pre-AI disinformation.

Disinformation is an arms race. Both the attackers and defenders have improved, but also the world of social media is different. Four years ago, Twitter was a direct line to the media, and propaganda on that platform was a way to tilt the political narrative. A Columbia Journalism Review study found that most major news outlets used Russian tweets as sources for partisan opinion. That Twitter, with virtually every news editor reading it and everyone who was anyone posting there, is no more.

Many propaganda outlets moved from Facebook to messaging platforms such as Telegram and WhatsApp, which makes them harder to identify and remove. TikTok is a newer platform that is controlled by China and more suitable for short, provocative videos—ones that AI makes much easier to produce. And the current crop of generative AIs are being connected to tools that will make content distribution easier as well.

Generative AI tools also allow for new techniques of production and distribution, such as low-level propaganda at scale. Imagine a new AI-powered personal account on social media. For the most part, it behaves normally. It posts about its fake everyday life, joins interest groups and comments on others’ posts, and generally behaves like a normal user. And once in a while, not very often, it says—or amplifies—something political. These persona bots, as computer scientist Latanya Sweeney calls them, have negligible influence on their own. But replicated by the thousands or millions, they would have a lot more.

That’s just one scenario. The military officers in Russia, China, and elsewhere in charge of election interference are likely to have their best people thinking of others. And their tactics are likely to be much more sophisticated than they were in 2016.

Countries like Russia and China have a history of testing both cyberattacks and information operations on smaller countries before rolling them out at scale. When that happens, it’s important to be able to fingerprint these tactics. Countering new disinformation campaigns requires being able to recognize them, and recognizing them requires looking for and cataloging them now.

In the computer security world, researchers recognize that sharing methods of attack and their effectiveness is the only way to build strong defensive systems. The same kind of thinking also applies to these information campaigns: The more that researchers study what techniques are being employed in distant countries, the better they can defend their own countries.

Disinformation campaigns in the AI era are likely to be much more sophisticated than they were in 2016. I believe the US needs to have efforts in place to fingerprint and identify AI-produced propaganda in Taiwan, where a presidential candidate claims a deepfake audio recording has defamed him, and other places. Otherwise, we’re not going to see them when they arrive here. Unfortunately, researchers are instead being targeted and harassed.

Maybe this will all turn out okay. There have been some important democratic elections in the generative AI era with no significant disinformation issues: primaries in Argentina, first-round elections in Ecuador, and national elections in Thailand, Turkey, Spain, and Greece. But the sooner we know what to expect, the better we can deal with what comes.

This essay previously appeared in The Conversation.

On Robots Killing People

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/09/on-robots-killing-people.html

The robot revolution began long ago, and so did the killing. One day in 1979, a robot at a Ford Motor Company casting plant malfunctioned—human workers determined that it was not going fast enough. And so twenty-five-year-old Robert Williams was asked to climb into a storage rack to help move things along. The one-ton robot continued to work silently, smashing into Williams’s head and instantly killing him. This was reportedly the first incident in which a robot killed a human; many more would follow.

At Kawasaki Heavy Industries in 1981, Kenji Urada died in similar circumstances. A malfunctioning robot he went to inspect killed him when he obstructed its path, according to Gabriel Hallevy in his 2013 book, When Robots Kill: Artificial Intelligence Under Criminal Law. As Hallevy puts it, the robot simply determined that “the most efficient way to eliminate the threat was to push the worker into an adjacent machine.” From 1992 to 2017, workplace robots were responsible for 41 recorded deaths in the United States—and that’s likely an underestimate, especially when you consider knock-on effects from automation, such as job loss. A robotic anti-aircraft cannon killed nine South African soldiers in 2007 when a possible software failure led the machine to swing itself wildly and fire dozens of lethal rounds in less than a second. In a 2018 trial, a medical robot was implicated in killing Stephen Pettitt during a routine operation that had occurred a few years earlier.

You get the picture. Robots—”intelligent” and not—have been killing people for decades. And the development of more advanced artificial intelligence has only increased the potential for machines to cause harm. Self-driving cars are already on American streets, and robotic "dogs" are being used by law enforcement. Computerized systems are being given the capabilities to use tools, allowing them to directly affect the physical world. Why worry about the theoretical emergence of an all-powerful, superintelligent program when more immediate problems are at our doorstep? Regulation must push companies toward safe innovation and innovation in safety. We are not there yet.

Historically, major disasters have needed to occur to spur regulation—the types of disasters we would ideally foresee and avoid in today’s AI paradigm. The 1905 Grover Shoe Factory disaster led to regulations governing the safe operation of steam boilers. At the time, companies claimed that large steam-automation machines were too complex to rush safety regulations. This, of course, led to overlooked safety flaws and escalating disasters. It wasn’t until the American Society of Mechanical Engineers demanded risk analysis and transparency that dangers from these huge tanks of boiling water, once considered mystifying, were made easily understandable. The 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire led to regulations on sprinkler systems and emergency exits. And the preventable 1912 sinking of the Titanic resulted in new regulations on lifeboats, safety audits, and on-ship radios.

Perhaps the best analogy is the evolution of the Federal Aviation Administration. Fatalities in the first decades of aviation forced regulation, which required new developments in both law and technology. Starting with the Air Commerce Act of 1926, Congress recognized that the integration of aerospace tech into people’s lives and our economy demanded the highest scrutiny. Today, every airline crash is closely examined, motivating new technologies and procedures.

Any regulation of industrial robots stems from existing industrial regulation, which has been evolving for many decades. The Occupational Safety and Health Act of 1970 established safety standards for machinery, and the Robotic Industries Association, now merged into the Association for Advancing Automation, has been instrumental in developing and updating specific robot-safety standards since its founding in 1974. Those standards, with obscure names such as R15.06 and ISO 10218, emphasize inherent safe design, protective measures, and rigorous risk assessments for industrial robots.

But as technology continues to change, the government needs to more clearly regulate how and when robots can be used in society. Laws need to clarify who is responsible, and what the legal consequences are, when a robot’s actions result in harm. Yes, accidents happen. But the lessons of aviation and workplace safety demonstrate that accidents are preventable when they are openly discussed and subjected to proper expert scrutiny.

AI and robotics companies don’t want this to happen. OpenAI, for example, has reportedly fought to “water down” safety regulations and reduce AI-quality requirements. According to an article in Time, it lobbied European Union officials against classifying models like ChatGPT as “high risk” which would have brought “stringent legal requirements including transparency, traceability, and human oversight.” The reasoning was supposedly that OpenAI did not intend to put its products to high-risk use—a logical twist akin to the Titanic owners lobbying that the ship should not be inspected for lifeboats on the principle that it was a “general purpose” vessel that also could sail in warm waters where there were no icebergs and people could float for days. (OpenAI did not comment when asked about its stance on regulation; previously, it has said that “achieving our mission requires that we work to mitigate both current and longer-term risks,” and that it is working toward that goal by “collaborating with policymakers, researchers and users.”)

Large corporations have a tendency to develop computer technologies to self-servingly shift the burdens of their own shortcomings onto society at large, or to claim that safety regulations protecting society impose an unjust cost on corporations themselves, or that security baselines stifle innovation. We’ve heard it all before, and we should be extremely skeptical of such claims. Today’s AI-related robot deaths are no different from the robot accidents of the past. Those industrial robots malfunctioned, and human operators trying to assist were killed in unexpected ways. Since the first-known death resulting from the feature in January 2016, Tesla’s Autopilot has been implicated in more than 40 deaths according to official report estimates. Malfunctioning Teslas on Autopilot have deviated from their advertised capabilities by misreading road markings, suddenly veering into other cars or trees, crashing into well-marked service vehicles, or ignoring red lights, stop signs, and crosswalks. We’re concerned that AI-controlled robots already are moving beyond accidental killing in the name of efficiency and “deciding” to kill someone in order to achieve opaque and remotely controlled objectives.

As we move into a future where robots are becoming integral to our lives, we can’t forget that safety is a crucial part of innovation. True technological progress comes from applying comprehensive safety standards across technologies, even in the realm of the most futuristic and captivating robotic visions. By learning lessons from past fatalities, we can enhance safety protocols, rectify design flaws, and prevent further unnecessary loss of life.

For example, the UK government already sets out statements that safety matters. Lawmakers must reach further back in history to become more future-focused on what we must demand right now: modeling threats, calculating potential scenarios, enabling technical blueprints, and ensuring responsible engineering for building within parameters that protect society at large. Decades of experience have given us the empirical evidence to guide our actions toward a safer future with robots. Now we need the political will to regulate.

This essay was written with Davi Ottenheimer, and previously appeared on Atlantic.com.

LLMs and Tool Use

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/09/ai-tool-use.html

Last March, just two weeks after GPT-4 was released, researchers at Microsoft quietly announced a plan to compile millions of APIs—tools that can do everything from ordering a pizza to solving physics equations to controlling the TV in your living room—into a compendium that would be made accessible to large language models (LLMs). This was just one milestone in the race across industry and academia to find the best ways to teach LLMs how to manipulate tools, which would supercharge the potential of AI more than any of the impressive advancements we’ve seen to date.

The Microsoft project aims to teach AI how to use any and all digital tools in one fell swoop, a clever and efficient approach. Today, LLMs can do a pretty good job of recommending pizza toppings to you if you describe your dietary preferences and can draft dialog that you could use when you call the restaurant. But most AI tools can’t place the order, not even online. In contrast, Google’s seven-year-old Assistant tool can synthesize a voice on the telephone and fill out an online order form, but it can’t pick a restaurant or guess your order. By combining these capabilities, though, a tool-using AI could do it all. An LLM with access to your past conversations and tools like calorie calculators, a restaurant menu database, and your digital payment wallet could feasibly judge that you are trying to lose weight and want a low-calorie option, find the nearest restaurant with toppings you like, and place the delivery order. If it has access to your payment history, it could even guess at how generously you usually tip. If it has access to the sensors on your smartwatch or fitness tracker, it might be able to sense when your blood sugar is low and order the pie before you even realize you’re hungry.

Perhaps the most compelling potential applications of tool use are those that give AIs the ability to improve themselves. Suppose, for example, you asked a chatbot for help interpreting some facet of ancient Roman law that no one had thought to include examples of in the model’s original training. An LLM empowered to search academic databases and trigger its own training process could fine-tune its understanding of Roman law before answering. Access to specialized tools could even help a model like this better explain itself. While LLMs like GPT-4 already do a fairly good job of explaining their reasoning when asked, these explanations emerge from a “black box” and are vulnerable to errors and hallucinations. But a tool-using LLM could dissect its own internals, offering empirical assessments of its own reasoning and deterministic explanations of why it produced the answer it did.

If given access to tools for soliciting human feedback, a tool-using LLM could even generate specialized knowledge that isn’t yet captured on the web. It could post a question to Reddit or Quora or delegate a task to a human on Amazon’s Mechanical Turk. It could even seek out data about human preferences by doing survey research, either to provide an answer directly to you or to fine-tune its own training to be able to better answer questions in the future. Over time, tool-using AIs might start to look a lot like tool-using humans. An LLM can generate code much faster than any human programmer, so it can manipulate the systems and services of your computer with ease. It could also use your computer’s keyboard and cursor the way a person would, allowing it to use any program you do. And it could improve its own capabilities, using tools to ask questions, conduct research, and write code to incorporate into itself.

It’s easy to see how this kind of tool use comes with tremendous risks. Imagine an LLM being able to find someone’s phone number, call them and surreptitiously record their voice, guess what bank they use based on the largest providers in their area, impersonate them on a phone call with customer service to reset their password, and liquidate their account to make a donation to a political party. Each of these tasks invokes a simple tool—an Internet search, a voice synthesizer, a bank app—and the LLM scripts the sequence of actions using the tools.

We don’t yet know how successful any of these attempts will be. As remarkably fluent as LLMs are, they weren’t built specifically for the purpose of operating tools, and it remains to be seen how their early successes in tool use will translate to future use cases like the ones described here. As such, giving the current generative AI sudden access to millions of APIs—as Microsoft plans to—could be a little like letting a toddler loose in a weapons depot.

Companies like Microsoft should be particularly careful about granting AIs access to certain combinations of tools. Access to tools to look up information, make specialized calculations, and examine real-world sensors all carry a modicum of risk. The ability to transmit messages beyond the immediate user of the tool or to use APIs that manipulate physical objects like locks or machines carries much larger risks. Combining these categories of tools amplifies the risks of each.

The operators of the most advanced LLMs, such as OpenAI, should continue to proceed cautiously as they begin enabling tool use and should restrict uses of their products in sensitive domains such as politics, health care, banking, and defense. But it seems clear that these industry leaders have already largely lost their moat around LLM technology—open source is catching up. Recognizing this trend, Meta has taken an “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” approach and partially embraced the role of providing open source LLM platforms.

On the policy front, national—and regional—AI prescriptions seem futile. Europe is the only significant jurisdiction that has made meaningful progress on regulating the responsible use of AI, but it’s not entirely clear how regulators will enforce it. And the US is playing catch-up and seems destined to be much more permissive in allowing even risks deemed “unacceptable” by the EU. Meanwhile, no government has invested in a “public option” AI model that would offer an alternative to Big Tech that is more responsive and accountable to its citizens.

Regulators should consider what AIs are allowed to do autonomously, like whether they can be assigned property ownership or register a business. Perhaps more sensitive transactions should require a verified human in the loop, even at the cost of some added friction. Our legal system may be imperfect, but we largely know how to hold humans accountable for misdeeds; the trick is not to let them shunt their responsibilities to artificial third parties. We should continue pursuing AI-specific regulatory solutions while also recognizing that they are not sufficient on their own.

We must also prepare for the benign ways that tool-using AI might impact society. In the best-case scenario, such an LLM may rapidly accelerate a field like drug discovery, and the patent office and FDA should prepare for a dramatic increase in the number of legitimate drug candidates. We should reshape how we interact with our governments to take advantage of AI tools that give us all dramatically more potential to have our voices heard. And we should make sure that the economic benefits of superintelligent, labor-saving AI are equitably distributed.

We can debate whether LLMs are truly intelligent or conscious, or have agency, but AIs will become increasingly capable tool users either way. Some things are greater than the sum of their parts. An AI with the ability to manipulate and interact with even simple tools will become vastly more powerful than the tools themselves. Let’s be sure we’re ready for them.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared on Wired.com.

December’s Reimagining Democracy Workshop

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/08/decembers-reimagining-democracy-workshop.html

Imagine that we’ve all—all of us, all of society—landed on some alien planet, and we have to form a government: clean slate. We don’t have any legacy systems from the US or any other country. We don’t have any special or unique interests to perturb our thinking.

How would we govern ourselves?

It’s unlikely that we would use the systems we have today. The modern representative democracy was the best form of government that mid-eighteenth-century technology could conceive of. The twenty-first century is a different place scientifically, technically and socially.

For example, the mid-eighteenth-century democracies were designed under the assumption that both travel and communications were hard. Does it still make sense for all of us living in the same place to organize every few years and choose one of us to go to a big room far away and create laws in our name?

Representative districts are organized around geography, because that’s the only way that made sense 200-plus years ago. But we don’t have to do it that way. We can organize representation by age: one representative for the thirty-one-year-olds, another for the thirty-two-year-olds, and so on. We can organize representation randomly: by birthday, perhaps. We can organize any way we want.

US citizens currently elect people for terms ranging from two to six years. Is ten years better? Is ten days better? Again, we have more technology and therefor more options.

Indeed, as a technologist who studies complex systems and their security, I believe the very idea of representative government is a hack to get around the technological limitations of the past. Voting at scale is easier now than it was 200 year ago. Certainly we don’t want to all have to vote on every amendment to every bill, but what’s the optimal balance between votes made in our name and ballot measures that we all vote on?

In December 2022, I organized a workshop to discuss these and other questions. I brought together fifty people from around the world: political scientists, economists, law professors, AI experts, activists, government officials, historians, science fiction writers and more. We spent two days talking about these ideas. Several themes emerged from the event.

Misinformation and propaganda were themes, of course—and the inability to engage in rational policy discussions when people can’t agree on the facts.

Another theme was the harms of creating a political system whose primary goals are economic. Given the ability to start over, would anyone create a system of government that optimizes the near-term financial interest of the wealthiest few? Or whose laws benefit corporations at the expense of people?

Another theme was capitalism, and how it is or isn’t intertwined with democracy. And while the modern market economy made a lot of sense in the industrial age, it’s starting to fray in the information age. What comes after capitalism, and how does it affect how we govern ourselves?

Many participants examined the effects of technology, especially artificial intelligence. We looked at whether—and when—we might be comfortable ceding power to an AI. Sometimes it’s easy. I’m happy for an AI to figure out the optimal timing of traffic lights to ensure the smoothest flow of cars through the city. When will we be able to say the same thing about setting interest rates? Or designing tax policies?

How would we feel about an AI device in our pocket that voted in our name, thousands of times per day, based on preferences that it inferred from our actions? If an AI system could determine optimal policy solutions that balanced every voter’s preferences, would it still make sense to have representatives? Maybe we should vote directly for ideas and goals instead, and leave the details to the computers. On the other hand, technological solutionism regularly fails.

Scale was another theme. The size of modern governments reflects the technology at the time of their founding. European countries and the early American states are a particular size because that’s what was governable in the 18th and 19th centuries. Larger governments—the US as a whole, the European Union—reflect a world in which travel and communications are easier. The problems we have today are primarily either local, at the scale of cities and towns, or global—even if they are currently regulated at state, regional or national levels. This mismatch is especially acute when we try to tackle global problems. In the future, do we really have a need for political units the size of France or Virginia? Or is it a mixture of scales that we really need, one that moves effectively between the local and the global?

As to other forms of democracy, we discussed one from history and another made possible by today’s technology.

Sortition is a system of choosing political officials randomly to deliberate on a particular issue. We use it today when we pick juries, but both the ancient Greeks and some cities in Renaissance Italy used it to select major political officials. Today, several countries—largely in Europe—are using sortition for some policy decisions. We might randomly choose a few hundred people, representative of the population, to spend a few weeks being briefed by experts and debating the problem—and then decide on environmental regulations, or a budget, or pretty much anything.

Liquid democracy does away with elections altogether. Everyone has a vote, and they can keep the power to cast it themselves or assign it to another person as a proxy. There are no set elections; anyone can reassign their proxy at any time. And there’s no reason to make this assignment all or nothing. Perhaps proxies could specialize: one set of people focused on economic issues, another group on health and a third bunch on national defense. Then regular people could assign their votes to whichever of the proxies most closely matched their views on each individual matter—or step forward with their own views and begin collecting proxy support from other people.

This all brings up another question: Who gets to participate? And, more generally, whose interests are taken into account? Early democracies were really nothing of the sort: They limited participation by gender, race and land ownership.

We should debate lowering the voting age, but even without voting we recognize that children too young to vote have rights—and, in some cases, so do other species. Should future generations get a “voice,” whatever that means? What about nonhumans or whole ecosystems?

Should everyone get the same voice? Right now in the US, the outsize effect of money in politics gives the wealthy disproportionate influence. Should we encode that explicitly? Maybe younger people should get a more powerful vote than everyone else. Or maybe older people should.

Those questions lead to ones about the limits of democracy. All democracies have boundaries limiting what the majority can decide. We all have rights: the things that cannot be taken away from us. We cannot vote to put someone in jail, for example.

But while we can’t vote a particular publication out of existence, we can to some degree regulate speech. In this hypothetical community, what are our rights as individuals? What are the rights of society that supersede those of individuals?

Personally, I was most interested in how these systems fail. As a security technologist, I study how complex systems are subverted—hacked, in my parlance—for the benefit of a few at the expense of the many. Think tax loopholes, or tricks to avoid government regulation. I want any government system to be resilient in the face of that kind of trickery.

Or, to put it another way, I want the interests of each individual to align with the interests of the group at every level. We’ve never had a system of government with that property before—even equal protection guarantees and First Amendment rights exist in a competitive framework that puts individuals’ interests in opposition to one another. But—in the age of such existential risks as climate and biotechnology and maybe AI—aligning interests is more important than ever.

Our workshop didn’t produce any answers; that wasn’t the point. Our current discourse is filled with suggestions on how to patch our political system. People regularly debate changes to the Electoral College, or the process of creating voting districts, or term limits. But those are incremental changes.

It’s hard to find people who are thinking more radically: looking beyond the horizon for what’s possible eventually. And while true innovation in politics is a lot harder than innovation in technology, especially without a violent revolution forcing change, it’s something that we as a species are going to have to get good at—one way or another.

This essay previously appeared in The Conversation.

Political Milestones for AI

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/08/political-milestones-for-ai.html

ChatGPT was released just nine months ago, and we are still learning how it will affect our daily lives, our careers, and even our systems of self-governance.

But when it comes to how AI may threaten our democracy, much of the public conversation lacks imagination. People talk about the danger of campaigns that attack opponents with fake images (or fake audio or video) because we already have decades of experience dealing with doctored images. We’re on the lookout for foreign governments that spread misinformation because we were traumatized by the 2016 US presidential election. And we worry that AI-generated opinions will swamp the political preferences of real people because we’ve seen political “astroturfing”—the use of fake online accounts to give the illusion of support for a policy—grow for decades.

Threats of this sort seem urgent and disturbing because they’re salient. We know what to look for, and we can easily imagine their effects.

The truth is, the future will be much more interesting. And even some of the most stupendous potential impacts of AI on politics won’t be all bad. We can draw some fairly straight lines between the current capabilities of AI tools and real-world outcomes that, by the standards of current public understanding, seem truly startling.

With this in mind, we propose six milestones that will herald a new era of democratic politics driven by AI. All feel achievable—perhaps not with today’s technology and levels of AI adoption, but very possibly in the near future.

Good benchmarks should be meaningful, representing significant outcomes that come with real-world consequences. They should be plausible; they must be realistically achievable in the foreseeable future. And they should be observable—we should be able to recognize when they’ve been achieved.

Worries about AI swaying an election will very likely fail the observability test. While the risks of election manipulation through the robotic promotion of a candidate’s or party’s interests is a legitimate threat, elections are massively complex. Just as the debate continues to rage over why and how Donald Trump won the presidency in 2016, we’re unlikely to be able to attribute a surprising electoral outcome to any particular AI intervention.

Thinking further into the future: Could an AI candidate ever be elected to office? In the world of speculative fiction, from The Twilight Zone to Black Mirror, there is growing interest in the possibility of an AI or technologically assisted, otherwise-not-traditionally-eligible candidate winning an election. In an era where deepfaked videos can misrepresent the views and actions of human candidates and human politicians can choose to be represented by AI avatars or even robots, it is certainly possible for an AI candidate to mimic the media presence of a politician. Virtual politicians have received votes in national elections, for example in Russia in 2017. But this doesn’t pass the plausibility test. The voting public and legal establishment are likely to accept more and more automation and assistance supported by AI, but the age of non-human elected officials is far off.

Let’s start with some milestones that are already on the cusp of reality. These are achievements that seem well within the technical scope of existing AI technologies and for which the groundwork has already been laid.

Milestone #1: The acceptance by a legislature or agency of a testimony or comment generated by, and submitted under the name of, an AI.

Arguably, we’ve already seen legislation drafted by AI, albeit under the direction of human users and introduced by human legislators. After some early examples of bills written by AIs were introduced in Massachusetts and the US House of Representatives, many major legislative bodies have had their “first bill written by AI,” “used ChatGPT to generate committee remarks,” or “first floor speech written by AI” events.

Many of these bills and speeches are more stunt than serious, and they have received more criticism than consideration. They are short, have trivial levels of policy substance, or were heavily edited or guided by human legislators (through highly specific prompts to large language model-based AI tools like ChatGPT).

The interesting milestone along these lines will be the acceptance of testimony on legislation, or a comment submitted to an agency, drafted entirely by AI. To be sure, a large fraction of all writing going forward will be assisted by—and will truly benefit from—AI assistive technologies. So to avoid making this milestone trivial, we have to add the second clause: “submitted under the name of the AI.”

What would make this benchmark significant is the submission under the AI’s own name; that is, the acceptance by a governing body of the AI as proffering a legitimate perspective in public debate. Regardless of the public fervor over AI, this one won’t take long. The New York Times has published a letter under the name of ChatGPT (responding to an opinion piece we wrote), and legislators are already turning to AI to write high-profile opening remarks at committee hearings.

Milestone #2: The adoption of the first novel legislative amendment to a bill written by AI.

Moving beyond testimony, there is an immediate pathway for AI-generated policies to become law: microlegislation. This involves making tweaks to existing laws or bills that are tuned to serve some particular interest. It is a natural starting point for AI because it’s tightly scoped, involving small changes guided by a clear directive associated with a well-defined purpose.

By design, microlegislation is often implemented surreptitiously. It may even be filed anonymously within a deluge of other amendments to obscure its intended beneficiary. For that reason, microlegislation can often be bad for society, and it is ripe for exploitation by generative AI that would otherwise be subject to heavy scrutiny from a polity on guard for risks posed by AI.

Milestone #3: AI-generated political messaging outscores campaign consultant recommendations in poll testing.

Some of the most important near-term implications of AI for politics will happen largely behind closed doors. Like everyone else, political campaigners and pollsters will turn to AI to help with their jobs. We’re already seeing campaigners turn to AI-generated images to manufacture social content and pollsters simulate results using AI-generated respondents.

The next step in this evolution is political messaging developed by AI. A mainstay of the campaigner’s toolbox today is the message testing survey, where a few alternate formulations of a position are written down and tested with audiences to see which will generate more attention and a more positive response. Just as an experienced political pollster can anticipate effective messaging strategies pretty well based on observations from past campaigns and their impression of the state of the public debate, so can an AI trained on reams of public discourse, campaign rhetoric, and political reporting.

With these near-term milestones firmly in sight, let’s look further to some truly revolutionary possibilities. While these concepts may have seemed absurd just a year ago, they are increasingly conceivable with either current or near-future technologies.

Milestone #4: AI creates a political party with its own platform, attracting human candidates who win elections.

While an AI is unlikely to be allowed to run for and hold office, it is plausible that one may be able to found a political party. An AI could generate a political platform calculated to attract the interest of some cross-section of the public and, acting independently or through a human intermediary (hired help, like a political consultant or legal firm), could register formally as a political party. It could collect signatures to win a place on ballots and attract human candidates to run for office under its banner.

A big step in this direction has already been taken, via the campaign of the Danish Synthetic Party in 2022. An artist collective in Denmark created an AI chatbot to interact with human members of its community on Discord, exploring political ideology in conversation with them and on the basis of an analysis of historical party platforms in the country. All this happened with earlier generations of general purpose AI, not current systems like ChatGPT. However, the party failed to receive enough signatures to earn a spot on the ballot, and therefore did not win parliamentary representation.

Future AI-led efforts may succeed. One could imagine a generative AI with skills at the level of or beyond today’s leading technologies could formulate a set of policy positions targeted to build support among people of a specific demographic, or even an effective consensus platform capable of attracting broad-based support. Particularly in a European-style multiparty system, we can imagine a new party with a strong news hook—an AI at its core—winning attention and votes.

Milestone #5: AI autonomously generates profit and makes political campaign contributions.

Let’s turn next to the essential capability of modern politics: fundraising. “An entity capable of directing contributions to a campaign fund” might be a realpolitik definition of a political actor, and AI is potentially capable of this.

Like a human, an AI could conceivably generate contributions to a political campaign in a variety of ways. It could take a seed investment from a human controlling the AI and invest it to yield a return. It could start a business that generates revenue. There is growing interest and experimentation in auto-hustling: AI agents that set about autonomously growing businesses or otherwise generating profit. While ChatGPT-generated businesses may not yet have taken the world by storm, this possibility is in the same spirit as the algorithmic agents powering modern high-speed trading and so-called autonomous finance capabilities that are already helping to automate business and financial decisions.

Or, like most political entrepreneurs, AI could generate political messaging to convince humans to spend their own money on a defined campaign or cause. The AI would likely need to have some humans in the loop, and register its activities to the government (in the US context, as officers of a 501(c)(4) or political action committee).

Milestone #6: AI achieves a coordinated policy outcome across multiple jurisdictions.

Lastly, we come to the most meaningful of impacts: achieving outcomes in public policy. Even if AI cannot—now or in the future—be said to have its own desires or preferences, it could be programmed by humans to have a goal, such as lowering taxes or relieving a market regulation.

An AI has many of the same tools humans use to achieve these ends. It may advocate, formulating messaging and promoting ideas through digital channels like social media posts and videos. It may lobby, directing ideas and influence to key policymakers, even writing legislation. It may spend; see milestone #5.

The “multiple jurisdictions” piece is key to this milestone. A single law passed may be reasonably attributed to myriad factors: a charismatic champion, a political movement, a change in circumstances. The influence of any one actor, such as an AI, will be more demonstrable if it is successful simultaneously in many different places. And the digital scalability of AI gives it a special advantage in achieving these kinds of coordinated outcomes.

The greatest challenge to most of these milestones is their observability: will we know it when we see it? The first campaign consultant whose ideas lose out to an AI may not be eager to report that fact. Neither will the campaign. Regarding fundraising, it’s hard enough for us to track down the human actors who are responsible for the “dark money” contributions controlling much of modern political finance; will we know if a future dominant force in fundraising for political action committees is an AI?

We’re likely to observe some of these milestones indirectly. At some point, perhaps politicians’ dollars will start migrating en masse to AI-based campaign consultancies and, eventually, we may realize that political movements sweeping across states or countries have been AI-assisted.

While the progression of technology is often unsettling, we need not fear these milestones. A new political platform that wins public support is itself a neutral proposition; it may lead to good or bad policy outcomes. Likewise, a successful policy program may or may not be beneficial to one group of constituents or another.

We think the six milestones outlined here are among the most viable and meaningful upcoming interactions between AI and democracy, but they are hardly the only scenarios to consider. The point is that our AI-driven political future will involve far more than deepfaked campaign ads and manufactured letter-writing campaigns. We should all be thinking more creatively about what comes next and be vigilant in steering our politics toward the best possible ends, no matter their means.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared in MIT Technology Review.

The Need for Trustworthy AI

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/08/the-need-for-trustworthy-ai.html

If you ask Alexa, Amazon’s voice assistant AI system, whether Amazon is a monopoly, it responds by saying it doesn’t know. It doesn’t take much to make it lambaste the other tech giants, but it’s silent about its own corporate parent’s misdeeds.

When Alexa responds in this way, it’s obvious that it is putting its developer’s interests ahead of yours. Usually, though, it’s not so obvious whom an AI system is serving. To avoid being exploited by these systems, people will need to learn to approach AI skeptically. That means deliberately constructing the input you give it and thinking critically about its output.

Newer generations of AI models, with their more sophisticated and less rote responses, are making it harder to tell who benefits when they speak. Internet companies’ manipulating what you see to serve their own interests is nothing new. Google’s search results and your Facebook feed are filled with paid entries. Facebook, TikTok and others manipulate your feeds to maximize the time you spend on the platform, which means more ad views, over your well-being.

What distinguishes AI systems from these other internet services is how interactive they are, and how these interactions will increasingly become like relationships. It doesn’t take much extrapolation from today’s technologies to envision AIs that will plan trips for you, negotiate on your behalf or act as therapists and life coaches.

They are likely to be with you 24/7, know you intimately, and be able to anticipate your needs. This kind of conversational interface to the vast network of services and resources on the web is within the capabilities of existing generative AIs like ChatGPT. They are on track to become personalized digital assistants.

As a security expert and data scientist, we believe that people who come to rely on these AIs will have to trust them implicitly to navigate daily life. That means they will need to be sure the AIs aren’t secretly working for someone else. Across the internet, devices and services that seem to work for you already secretly work against you. Smart TVs spy on you. Phone apps collect and sell your data. Many apps and websites manipulate you through dark patterns, design elements that deliberately mislead, coerce or deceive website visitors. This is surveillance capitalism, and AI is shaping up to be part of it.

Quite possibly, it could be much worse with AI. For that AI digital assistant to be truly useful, it will have to really know you. Better than your phone knows you. Better than Google search knows you. Better, perhaps, than your close friends, intimate partners and therapist know you.

You have no reason to trust today’s leading generative AI tools. Leave aside the hallucinations, the made-up “facts” that GPT and other large language models produce. We expect those will be largely cleaned up as the technology improves over the next few years.

But you don’t know how the AIs are configured: how they’ve been trained, what information they’ve been given, and what instructions they’ve been commanded to follow. For example, researchers uncovered the secret rules that govern the Microsoft Bing chatbot’s behavior. They’re largely benign but can change at any time.

Many of these AIs are created and trained at enormous expense by some of the largest tech monopolies. They’re being offered to people to use free of charge, or at very low cost. These companies will need to monetize them somehow. And, as with the rest of the internet, that somehow is likely to include surveillance and manipulation.

Imagine asking your chatbot to plan your next vacation. Did it choose a particular airline or hotel chain or restaurant because it was the best for you or because its maker got a kickback from the businesses? As with paid results in Google search, newsfeed ads on Facebook and paid placements on Amazon queries, these paid influences are likely to get more surreptitious over time.

If you’re asking your chatbot for political information, are the results skewed by the politics of the corporation that owns the chatbot? Or the candidate who paid it the most money? Or even the views of the demographic of the people whose data was used in training the model? Is your AI agent secretly a double agent? Right now, there is no way to know.

We believe that people should expect more from the technology and that tech companies and AIs can become more trustworthy. The European Union’s proposed AI Act takes some important steps, requiring transparency about the data used to train AI models, mitigation for potential bias, disclosure of foreseeable risks and reporting on industry standard tests.

Most existing AIs fail to comply with this emerging European mandate, and, despite recent prodding from Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, the US is far behind on such regulation.

The AIs of the future should be trustworthy. Unless and until the government delivers robust consumer protections for AI products, people will be on their own to guess at the potential risks and biases of AI, and to mitigate their worst effects on people’s experiences with them.

So when you get a travel recommendation or political information from an AI tool, approach it with the same skeptical eye you would a billboard ad or a campaign volunteer. For all its technological wizardry, the AI tool may be little more than the same.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared on The Conversation.

AI and Microdirectives

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/07/ai-and-microdirectives.html

Imagine a future in which AIs automatically interpret—and enforce—laws.

All day and every day, you constantly receive highly personalized instructions for how to comply with the law, sent directly by your government and law enforcement. You’re told how to cross the street, how fast to drive on the way to work, and what you’re allowed to say or do online—if you’re in any situation that might have legal implications, you’re told exactly what to do, in real time.

Imagine that the computer system formulating these personal legal directives at mass scale is so complex that no one can explain how it reasons or works. But if you ignore a directive, the system will know, and it’ll be used as evidence in the prosecution that’s sure to follow.

This future may not be far off—automatic detection of lawbreaking is nothing new. Speed cameras and traffic-light cameras have been around for years. These systems automatically issue citations to the car’s owner based on the license plate. In such cases, the defendant is presumed guilty unless they prove otherwise, by naming and notifying the driver.

In New York, AI systems equipped with facial recognition technology are being used by businesses to identify shoplifters. Similar AI-powered systems are being used by retailers in Australia and the United Kingdom to identify shoplifters and provide real-time tailored alerts to employees or security personnel. China is experimenting with even more powerful forms of automated legal enforcement and targeted surveillance.

Breathalyzers are another example of automatic detection. They estimate blood alcohol content by calculating the number of alcohol molecules in the breath via an electrochemical reaction or infrared analysis (they’re basically computers with fuel cells or spectrometers attached). And they’re not without controversy: Courts across the country have found serious flaws and technical deficiencies with Breathalyzer devices and the software that powers them. Despite this, criminal defendants struggle to obtain access to devices or their software source code, with Breathalyzer companies and courts often refusing to grant such access. In the few cases where courts have actually ordered such disclosures, that has usually followed costly legal battles spanning many years.

AI is about to make this issue much more complicated, and could drastically expand the types of laws that can be enforced in this manner. Some legal scholars predict that computationally personalized law and its automated enforcement are the future of law. These would be administered by what Anthony Casey and Anthony Niblett call “microdirectives,” which provide individualized instructions for legal compliance in a particular scenario.

Made possible by advances in surveillance, communications technologies, and big-data analytics, microdirectives will be a new and predominant form of law shaped largely by machines. They are “micro” because they are not impersonal general rules or standards, but tailored to one specific circumstance. And they are “directives” because they prescribe action or inaction required by law.

A Digital Millennium Copyright Act takedown notice is a present-day example of a microdirective. The DMCA’s enforcement is almost fully automated, with copyright “bots” constantly scanning the internet for copyright-infringing material, and automatically sending literally hundreds of millions of DMCA takedown notices daily to platforms and users. A DMCA takedown notice is tailored to the recipient’s specific legal circumstances. It also directs action—remove the targeted content or prove that it’s not infringing—based on the law.

It’s easy to see how the AI systems being deployed by retailers to identify shoplifters could be redesigned to employ microdirectives. In addition to alerting business owners, the systems could also send alerts to the identified persons themselves, with tailored legal directions or notices.

A future where AIs interpret, apply, and enforce most laws at societal scale like this will exponentially magnify problems around fairness, transparency, and freedom. Forget about software transparency—well-resourced AI firms, like Breathalyzer companies today, would no doubt ferociously guard their systems for competitive reasons. These systems would likely be so complex that even their designers would not be able to explain how the AIs interpret and apply the law—something we’re already seeing with today’s deep learning neural network systems, which are unable to explain their reasoning.

Even the law itself could become hopelessly vast and opaque. Legal microdirectives sent en masse for countless scenarios, each representing authoritative legal findings formulated by opaque computational processes, could create an expansive and increasingly complex body of law that would grow ad infinitum.

And this brings us to the heart of the issue: If you’re accused by a computer, are you entitled to review that computer’s inner workings and potentially challenge its accuracy in court? What does cross-examination look like when the prosecutor’s witness is a computer? How could you possibly access, analyze, and understand all microdirectives relevant to your case in order to challenge the AI’s legal interpretation? How could courts hope to ensure equal application of the law? Like the man from the country in Franz Kafka’s parable in The Trial, you’d die waiting for access to the law, because the law is limitless and incomprehensible.

This system would present an unprecedented threat to freedom. Ubiquitous AI-powered surveillance in society will be necessary to enable such automated enforcement. On top of that, research—including empirical studies conducted by one of us (Penney)—has shown that personalized legal threats or commands that originate from sources of authority—state or corporate—can have powerful chilling effects on people’s willingness to speak or act freely. Imagine receiving very specific legal instructions from law enforcement about what to say or do in a situation: Would you feel you had a choice to act freely?

This is a vision of AI’s invasive and Byzantine law of the future that chills to the bone. It would be unlike any other law system we’ve seen before in human history, and far more dangerous for our freedoms. Indeed, some legal scholars argue that this future would effectively be the death of law.

Yet it is not a future we must endure. Proposed bans on surveillance technology like facial recognition systems can be expanded to cover those enabling invasive automated legal enforcement. Laws can mandate interpretability and explainability for AI systems to ensure everyone can understand and explain how the systems operate. If a system is too complex, maybe it shouldn’t be deployed in legal contexts. Enforcement by personalized legal processes needs to be highly regulated to ensure oversight, and should be employed only where chilling effects are less likely, like in benign government administration or regulatory contexts where fundamental rights and freedoms are not at risk.

AI will inevitably change the course of law. It already has. But we don’t have to accept its most extreme and maximal instantiations, either today or tomorrow.

This essay was written with Jon Penney, and previously appeared on Slate.com.

The AI Dividend

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/07/the-ai-dividend.html

For four decades, Alaskans have opened their mailboxes to find checks waiting for them, their cut of the black gold beneath their feet. This is Alaska’s Permanent Fund, funded by the state’s oil revenues and paid to every Alaskan each year. We’re now in a different sort of resource rush, with companies peddling bits instead of oil: generative AI.

Everyone is talking about these new AI technologies—like ChatGPT—and AI companies are touting their awesome power. But they aren’t talking about how that power comes from all of us. Without all of our writings and photos that AI companies are using to train their models, they would have nothing to sell. Big Tech companies are currently taking the work of the American people, without our knowledge and consent, without licensing it, and are pocketing the proceeds.

You are owed profits for your data that powers today’s AI, and we have a way to make that happen. We call it the AI Dividend.

Our proposal is simple, and harkens back to the Alaskan plan. When Big Tech companies produce output from generative AI that was trained on public data, they would pay a tiny licensing fee, by the word or pixel or relevant unit of data. Those fees would go into the AI Dividend fund. Every few months, the Commerce Department would send out the entirety of the fund, split equally, to every resident nationwide. That’s it.

There’s no reason to complicate it further. Generative AI needs a wide variety of data, which means all of us are valuable—not just those of us who write professionally, or prolifically, or well. Figuring out who contributed to which words the AIs output would be both challenging and invasive, given that even the companies themselves don’t quite know how their models work. Paying the dividend to people in proportion to the words or images they create would just incentivize them to create endless drivel, or worse, use AI to create that drivel. The bottom line for Big Tech is that if their AI model was created using public data, they have to pay into the fund. If you’re an American, you get paid from the fund.

Under this plan, hobbyists and American small businesses would be exempt from fees. Only Big Tech companies—those with substantial revenue—would be required to pay into the fund. And they would pay at the point of generative AI output, such as from ChatGPT, Bing, Bard, or their embedded use in third-party services via Application Programming Interfaces.

Our proposal also includes a compulsory licensing plan. By agreeing to pay into this fund, AI companies will receive a license that allows them to use public data when training their AI. This won’t supersede normal copyright law, of course. If a model starts producing copyright material beyond fair use, that’s a separate issue.

Using today’s numbers, here’s what it would look like. The licensing fee could be small, starting at $0.001 per word generated by AI. A similar type of fee would be applied to other categories of generative AI outputs, such as images. That’s not a lot, but it adds up. Since most of Big Tech has started integrating generative AI into products, these fees would mean an annual dividend payment of a couple hundred dollars per person.

The idea of paying you for your data isn’t new, and some companies have tried to do it themselves for users who opted in. And the idea of the public being repaid for use of their resources goes back to well before Alaska’s oil fund. But generative AI is different: It uses data from all of us whether we like it or not, it’s ubiquitous, and it’s potentially immensely valuable. It would cost Big Tech companies a fortune to create a synthetic equivalent to our data from scratch, and synthetic data would almost certainly result in worse output. They can’t create good AI without us.

Our plan would apply to generative AI used in the US. It also only issues a dividend to Americans. Other countries can create their own versions, applying a similar fee to AI used within their borders. Just like an American company collects VAT for services sold in Europe, but not here, each country can independently manage their AI policy.

Don’t get us wrong; this isn’t an attempt to strangle this nascent technology. Generative AI has interesting, valuable, and possibly transformative uses, and this policy is aligned with that future. Even with the fees of the AI Dividend, generative AI will be cheap and will only get cheaper as technology improves. There are also risks—both every day and esoteric—posed by AI, and the government may need to develop policies to remedy any harms that arise.

Our plan can’t make sure there are no downsides to the development of AI, but it would ensure that all Americans will share in the upsides—particularly since this new technology isn’t possible without our contribution.

This essay was written with Barath Raghavan, and previously appeared on Politico.com.

On the Need for an AI Public Option

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/06/on-the-need-for-an-ai-public-option.html

Artificial intelligence will bring great benefits to all of humanity. But do we really want to entrust this revolutionary technology solely to a small group of US tech companies?

Silicon Valley has produced no small number of moral disappointments. Google retired its “don’t be evil” pledge before firing its star ethicist. Self-proclaimed “free speech absolutist” Elon Musk bought Twitter in order to censor political speech, retaliate against journalists, and ease access to the platform for Russian and Chinese propagandists. Facebook lied about how it enabled Russian interference in the 2016 US presidential election and paid a public relations firm to blame Google and George Soros instead.

These and countless other ethical lapses should prompt us to consider whether we want to give technology companies further abilities to learn our personal details and influence our day-to-day decisions. Tech companies can already access our daily whereabouts and search queries. Digital devices monitor more and more aspects of our lives: We have cameras in our homes and heartbeat sensors on our wrists sending what they detect to Silicon Valley.

Now, tech giants are developing ever more powerful AI systems that don’t merely monitor you; they actually interact with you—and with others on your behalf. If searching on Google in the 2010s was like being watched on a security camera, then using AI in the late 2020s will be like having a butler. You will willingly include them in every conversation you have, everything you write, every item you shop for, every want, every fear, everything. It will never forget. And, despite your reliance on it, it will be surreptitiously working to further the interests of one of these for-profit corporations.

There’s a reason Google, Microsoft, Facebook, and other large tech companies are leading the AI revolution: Building a competitive large language model (LLM) like the one powering ChatGPT is incredibly expensive. It requires upward of $100 million in computational costs for a single model training run, in addition to access to large amounts of data. It also requires technical expertise, which, while increasingly open and available, remains heavily concentrated in a small handful of companies. Efforts to disrupt the AI oligopoly by funding start-ups are self-defeating as Big Tech profits from the cloud computing services and AI models powering those start-ups—and often ends up acquiring the start-ups themselves.

Yet corporations aren’t the only entities large enough to absorb the cost of large-scale model training. Governments can do it, too. It’s time to start taking AI development out of the exclusive hands of private companies and bringing it into the public sector. The United States needs a government-funded-and-directed AI program to develop widely reusable models in the public interest, guided by technical expertise housed in federal agencies.

So far, the AI regulation debate in Washington has focused on the governance of private-sector activity—which the US Congress is in no hurry to advance. Congress should not only hurry up and push AI regulation forward but also go one step further and develop its own programs for AI. Legislators should reframe the AI debate from one about public regulation to one about public development.

The AI development program could be responsive to public input and subject to political oversight. It could be directed to respond to critical issues such as privacy protection, underpaid tech workers, AI’s horrendous carbon emissions, and the exploitation of unlicensed data. Compared to keeping AI in the hands of morally dubious tech companies, the public alternative is better both ethically and economically. And the switch should take place soon: By the time AI becomes critical infrastructure, essential to large swaths of economic activity and daily life, it will be too late to get started.

Other countries are already there. China has heavily prioritized public investment in AI research and development by betting on a handpicked set of giant companies that are ostensibly private but widely understood to be an extension of the state. The government has tasked Alibaba, Huawei, and others with creating products that support the larger ecosystem of state surveillance and authoritarianism.

The European Union is also aggressively pushing AI development. The European Commission already invests 1 billion euros per year in AI, with a plan to increase that figure to 20 billion euros annually by 2030. The money goes to a continent-wide network of public research labs, universities, and private companies jointly working on various parts of AI. The Europeans’ focus is on knowledge transfer, developing the technology sector, use of AI in public administration, mitigating safety risks, and preserving fundamental rights. The EU also continues to be at the cutting edge of aggressively regulating both data and AI.

Neither the Chinese nor the European model is necessarily right for the United States. State control of private enterprise remains anathema in American political culture and would struggle to gain mainstream traction. The tech companies—and their supporters in both US political parties—are opposed to robust public governance of AI. But Washington can take inspiration from China and Europe’;s long-range planning and leadership on regulation and public investment. With boosters pointing to hundreds of trillions of dollars of global economic value associated with AI, the stakes of international competition are compelling. As in energy and medical research, which have their own federal agencies in the Department of Energy and the National Institutes of Health, respectively, there is a place for AI research and development inside government.

Beside the moral argument against letting private companies develop AI, there’s a strong economic argument in favor of a public option as well. A publicly funded LLM could serve as an open platform for innovation, helping any small business, nonprofit, or individual entrepreneur to build AI-assisted applications.

There’s also a practical argument. Building AI is within public reach because governments don’t need to own and operate the entire AI supply chain. Chip and computer production, cloud data centers, and various value-added applications—such as those that integrate AI with consumer electronics devices or entertainment software—do not need to be publicly controlled or funded.

One reason to be skeptical of public funding for AI is that it might result in a lower quality and slower innovation, given greater ethical scrutiny, political constraints, and fewer incentives due to a lack of market competition. But even if that is the case, it would be worth broader access to the most important technology of the 21st century. And it is by no means certain that public AI has to be at a disadvantage. The open-source community is proof that it’s not always private companies that are the most innovative.

Those who worry about the quality trade-off might suggest a public buyer model, whereby Washington licenses or buys private language models from Big Tech instead of developing them itself. But that doesn’t go far enough to ensure that the tools are aligned with public priorities and responsive to public needs. It would not give the public detailed insight into or control of the inner workings and training procedures for these models, and it would still require strict and complex regulation.

There is political will to take action to develop AI via public, rather than private, funds—but this does not yet equate to the will to create a fully public AI development agency. A task force created by Congress recommended in January a $2.6 billion federal investment in computing and data resources to prime the AI research ecosystem in the United States. But this investment would largely serve to advance the interests of Big Tech, leaving the opportunity for public ownership and oversight unaddressed.

Nonprofit and academic organizations have already created open-access LLMs. While these should be celebrated, they are not a substitute for a public option. Nonprofit projects are still beholden to private interests, even if they are benevolent ones. These private interests can change without public input, as when OpenAI effectively abandoned its nonprofit origins, and we can’t be sure that their founding intentions or operations will survive market pressures, fickle donors, and changes in leadership.

The US government is by no means a perfect beacon of transparency, a secure and responsible store of our data, or a genuine reflection of the public’s interests. But the risks of placing AI development entirely in the hands of demonstrably untrustworthy Silicon Valley companies are too high. AI will impact the public like few other technologies, so it should also be developed by the public.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and appeared in Foreign Policy.

Snowden Ten Years Later

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/06/snowden-ten-years-later.html

In 2013 and 2014, I wrote extensively about new revelations regarding NSA surveillance based on the documents provided by Edward Snowden. But I had a more personal involvement as well.

I wrote the essay below in September 2013. The New Yorker agreed to publish it, but the Guardian asked me not to. It was scared of UK law enforcement, and worried that this essay would reflect badly on it. And given that the UK police would raid its offices in July 2014, it had legitimate cause to be worried.

Now, ten years later, I offer this as a time capsule of what those early months of Snowden were like.

It’s a surreal experience, paging through hundreds of top-secret NSA documents. You’re peering into a forbidden world: strange, confusing, and fascinating all at the same time.

I had flown down to Rio de Janeiro in late August at the request of Glenn Greenwald. He had been working on the Edward Snowden archive for a couple of months, and had a pile of more technical documents that he wanted help interpreting. According to Greenwald, Snowden also thought that bringing me down was a good idea.

It made sense. I didn’t know either of them, but I have been writing about cryptography, security, and privacy for decades. I could decipher some of the technical language that Greenwald had difficulty with, and understand the context and importance of various document. And I have long been publicly critical of the NSA’s eavesdropping capabilities. My knowledge and expertise could help figure out which stories needed to be reported.

I thought about it a lot before agreeing. This was before David Miranda, Greenwald’s partner, was detained at Heathrow airport by the UK authorities; but even without that, I knew there was a risk. I fly a lot—a quarter of a million miles per year—and being put on a TSA list, or being detained at the US border and having my electronics confiscated, would be a major problem. So would the FBI breaking into my home and seizing my personal electronics. But in the end, that made me more determined to do it.

I did spend some time on the phone with the attorneys recommended to me by the ACLU and the EFF. And I talked about it with my partner, especially when Miranda was detained three days before my departure. Both Greenwald and his employer, the Guardian, are careful about whom they show the documents to. They publish only those portions essential to getting the story out. It was important to them that I be a co-author, not a source. I didn’t follow the legal reasoning, but the point is that the Guardian doesn’t want to leak the documents to random people. It will, however, write stories in the public interest, and I would be allowed to review the documents as part of that process. So after a Skype conversation with someone at the Guardian, I signed a letter of engagement.

And then I flew to Brazil.

I saw only a tiny slice of the documents, and most of what I saw was surprisingly banal. The concerns of the top-secret world are largely tactical: system upgrades, operational problems owing to weather, delays because of work backlogs, and so on. I paged through weekly reports, presentation slides from status meetings, and general briefings to educate visitors. Management is management, even inside the NSA Reading the documents, I felt as though I were sitting through some of those endless meetings.

The meeting presenters try to spice things up. Presentations regularly include intelligence success stories. There were details—what had been found, and how, and where it helped—and sometimes there were attaboys from “customers” who used the intelligence. I’m sure these are intended to remind NSA employees that they’re doing good. It definitely had an effect on me. Those were all things I want the NSA to be doing.

There were so many code names. Everything has one: every program, every piece of equipment, every piece of software. Sometimes code names had their own code names. The biggest secrets seem to be the underlying real-world information: which particular company MONEYROCKET is; what software vulnerability EGOTISTICALGIRAFFE—really, I am not making that one up—is; how TURBINE works. Those secrets collectively have a code name—ECI, for exceptionally compartmented information—and almost never appear in the documents. Chatting with Snowden on an encrypted IM connection, I joked that the NSA cafeteria menu probably has code names for menu items. His response: “Trust me when I say you have no idea.”

Those code names all come with logos, most of them amateurish and a lot of them dumb. Note to the NSA: take some of that more than ten-billion-dollar annual budget and hire yourself a design firm. Really; it’ll pay off in morale.

Once in a while, though, I would see something that made me stop, stand up, and pace around in circles. It wasn’t that what I read was particularly exciting, or important. It was just that it was startling. It changed—ever so slightly—how I thought about the world.

Greenwald said that that reaction was normal when people started reading through the documents.

Intelligence professionals talk about how disorienting it is living on the inside. You read so much classified information about the world’s geopolitical events that you start seeing the world differently. You become convinced that only the insiders know what’s really going on, because the news media is so often wrong. Your family is ignorant. Your friends are ignorant. The world is ignorant. The only thing keeping you from ignorance is that constant stream of classified knowledge. It’s hard not to feel superior, not to say things like “If you only knew what we know” all the time. I can understand how General Keith Alexander, the director of the NSA, comes across as so supercilious; I only saw a minute fraction of that secret world, and I started feeling it.

It turned out to be a terrible week to visit Greenwald, as he was still dealing with the fallout from Miranda’s detention. Two other journalists, one from the Nation and the other from the Hindu, were also in town working with him. A lot of my week involved Greenwald rushing into my hotel room, giving me a thumb drive of new stuff to look through, and rushing out again.

A technician from the Guardian got a search capability working while I was there, and I spent some time with it. Question: when you’re given the capability to search through a database of NSA secrets, what’s the first thing you look for? Answer: your name.

It wasn’t there. Neither were any of the algorithm names I knew, not even algorithms I knew that the US government used.

I tried to talk to Greenwald about his own operational security. It had been incredibly stupid for Miranda to be traveling with NSA documents on the thumb drive. Transferring files electronically is what encryption is for. I told Greenwald that he and Laura Poitras should be sending large encrypted files of dummy documents back and forth every day.

Once, at Greenwald’s home, I walked into the backyard and looked for TEMPEST receivers hiding in the trees. I didn’t find any, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Greenwald has a lot of dogs, but I don’t think that would hinder professionals. I’m sure that a bunch of major governments have a complete copy of everything Greenwald has. Maybe the black bag teams bumped into each other in those early weeks.

I started doubting my own security procedures. Reading about the NSA’s hacking abilities will do that to you. Can it break the encryption on my hard drive? Probably not. Has the company that makes my encryption software deliberately weakened the implementation for it? Probably. Are NSA agents listening in on my calls back to the US? Very probably. Could agents take control of my computer over the Internet if they wanted to? Definitely. In the end, I decided to do my best and stop worrying about it. It was the agency’s documents, after all. And what I was working on would become public in a few weeks.

I wasn’t sleeping well, either. A lot of it was the sheer magnitude of what I saw. It’s not that any of it was a real surprise. Those of us in the information security community had long assumed that the NSA was doing things like this. But we never really sat down and figured out the details, and to have the details confirmed made a big difference. Maybe I can make it clearer with an analogy. Everyone knows that death is inevitable; there’s absolutely no surprise about that. Yet it arrives as a surprise, because we spend most of our lives refusing to think about it. The NSA documents were a bit like that. Knowing that it is surely true that the NSA is eavesdropping on the world, and doing it in such a methodical and robust manner, is very different from coming face-to-face with the reality that it is and the details of how it is doing it.

I also found it incredibly difficult to keep the secrets. The Guardian’s process is slow and methodical. I move much faster. I drafted stories based on what I found. Then I wrote essays about those stories, and essays about the essays. Writing was therapy; I would wake up in the wee hours of the morning, and write an essay. But that put me at least three levels beyond what was published.

Now that my involvement is out, and my first essays are out, I feel a lot better. I’m sure it will get worse again when I find another monumental revelation; there are still more documents to go through.

I’ve heard it said that Snowden wants to damage America. I can say with certainty that he does not. So far, everyone involved in this incident has been incredibly careful about what is released to the public. There are many documents that could be immensely harmful to the US, and no one has any intention of releasing them. The documents the reporters release are carefully redacted. Greenwald and I repeatedly debated with Guardian editors the newsworthiness of story ideas, stressing that we would not expose government secrets simply because they’re interesting.

The NSA got incredibly lucky; this could have ended with a massive public dump like Chelsea Manning’s State Department cables. I suppose it still could. Despite that, I can imagine how this feels to the NSA. It’s used to keeping this stuff behind multiple levels of security: gates with alarms, armed guards, safe doors, and military-grade cryptography. It’s not supposed to be on a bunch of thumb drives in Brazil, Germany, the UK, the US, and who knows where else, protected largely by some random people’s opinions about what should or should not remain secret. This is easily the greatest intelligence failure in the history of ever. It’s amazing that one person could have had so much access with so little accountability, and could sneak all of this data out without raising any alarms. The odds are close to zero that Snowden is the first person to do this; he’s just the first person to make public that he did. It’s a testament to General Alexander’s power that he hasn’t been forced to resign.

It’s not that we weren’t being careful about security, it’s that our standards of care are so different. From the NSA’s point of view, we’re all major security risks, myself included. I was taking notes about classified material, crumpling them up, and throwing them into the wastebasket. I was printing documents marked “TOP SECRET/COMINT/NOFORN” in a hotel lobby. And once, I took the wrong thumb drive with me to dinner, accidentally leaving the unencrypted one filled with top-secret documents in my hotel room. It was an honest mistake; they were both blue.

If I were an NSA employee, the policy would be to fire me for that alone.

Many have written about how being under constant surveillance changes a person. When you know you’re being watched, you censor yourself. You become less open, less spontaneous. You look at what you write on your computer and dwell on what you’ve said on the telephone, wonder how it would sound taken out of context, from the perspective of a hypothetical observer. You’re more likely to conform. You suppress your individuality. Even though I have worked in privacy for decades, and already knew a lot about the NSA and what it does, the change was palpable. That feeling hasn’t faded. I am now more careful about what I say and write. I am less trusting of communications technology. I am less trusting of the computer industry.

After much discussion, Greenwald and I agreed to write three stories together to start. All of those are still in progress. In addition, I wrote two commentaries on the Snowden documents that were recently made public. There’s a lot more to come; even Greenwald hasn’t looked through everything.

Since my trip to Brazil [one month before], I’ve flown back to the US once and domestically seven times—all without incident. I’m not on any list yet. At least, none that I know about.

As it happened, I didn’t write much more with Greenwald or the Guardian. Those two had a falling out, and by the time everything settled and both began writing about the documents independently—Greenwald at the newly formed website the Intercept—I got cut out of the process somehow. I remember hearing that Greenwald was annoyed with me, but I never learned the reason. We haven’t spoken since.

Still, I was happy with the one story I was part of: how the NSA hacks Tor. I consider it a personal success that I pushed the Guardian to publish NSA documents detailing QUANTUM. I don’t think that would have gotten out any other way. And I still use those pages today when I teach cybersecurity to policymakers at the Harvard Kennedy School.

Other people wrote about the Snowden files, and wrote a lot. It was a slow trickle at first, and then a more consistent flow. Between Greenwald, Bart Gellman, and the Guardian reporters, there ended up being steady stream of news. (Bart brought in Ashkan Soltani to help him with the technical aspects, which was a great move on his part, even if it cost Ashkan a government job later.) More stories were covered by other publications.

It started getting weird. Both Greenwald and Gellman held documents back so they could publish them in their books. Jake Appelbaum, who had not yet been accused of sexual assault by multiple women, was working with Laura Poitras. He partnered with Spiegel to release an implant catalog from the NSA’s Tailored Access Operations group. To this day, I am convinced that that document was not in the Snowden archives: that Jake got it somehow, and it was released with the implication that it was from Edward Snowden. I thought it was important enough that I started writing about each item in that document in my blog: “NSA Exploit of the Week.” That got my website blocked by the DoD: I keep a framed print of the censor’s message on my wall.

Perhaps the most surreal document disclosures were when artists started writing fiction based on the documents. This was in 2016, when Poitras built a secure room in New York to house the documents. By then, the documents were years out of date. And now they’re over a decade out of date. (They were leaked in 2013, but most of them were from 2012 or before.)

I ended up being something of a public ambassador for the documents. When I got back from Rio, I gave talks at a private conference in Woods Hole, the Berkman Center at Harvard, something called the Congress and Privacy and Surveillance in Geneva, events at both CATO and New America in DC, an event at the University of Pennsylvania, an event at EPIC and a “Stop Watching Us” rally in DC, the RISCS conference in London, the ISF in Paris, and…then…at the IETF meeting in Vancouver in November 2013. (I remember little of this; I am reconstructing it all from my calendar.)

What struck me at the IETF was the indignation in the room, and the calls to action. And there was action, across many fronts. We technologists did a lot to help secure the Internet, for example.

The government didn’t do its part, though. Despite the public outcry, investigations by Congress, pronouncements by President Obama, and federal court rulings, I don’t think much has changed. The NSA canceled a program here and a program there, and it is now more public about defense. But I don’t think it is any less aggressive about either bulk or targeted surveillance. Certainly its government authorities haven’t been restricted in any way. And surveillance capitalism is still the business model of the Internet.

And Edward Snowden? We were in contact for a while on Signal. I visited him once in Moscow, in 2016. And I had him do an guest lecture to my class at Harvard for a few years, remotely by Jitsi. Afterwards, I would hold a session where I promised to answer every question he would evade or not answer, explain every response he did give, and be candid in a way that someone with an outstanding arrest warrant simply cannot. Sometimes I thought I could channel Snowden better than he could.

But now it’s been a decade. Everything he knows is old and out of date. Everything we know is old and out of date. The NSA suffered an even worse leak of its secrets by the Russians, under the guise of the Shadow Brokers, in 2016 and 2017. The NSA has rebuilt. It again has capabilities we can only surmise.

This essay previously appeared in an IETF publication, as part of an Edward Snowden ten-year retrospective.

EDITED TO ADD (6/7): Conversation between Snowden, Greenwald, and Poitras.

Open-Source LLMs

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/06/open-source-llms.html

In February, Meta released its large language model: LLaMA. Unlike OpenAI and its ChatGPT, Meta didn’t just give the world a chat window to play with. Instead, it released the code into the open-source community, and shortly thereafter the model itself was leaked. Researchers and programmers immediately started modifying it, improving it, and getting it to do things no one else anticipated. And their results have been immediate, innovative, and an indication of how the future of this technology is going to play out. Training speeds have hugely increased, and the size of the models themselves has shrunk to the point that you can create and run them on a laptop. The world of AI research has dramatically changed.

This development hasn’t made the same splash as other corporate announcements, but its effects will be much greater. It will wrest power from the large tech corporations, resulting in both much more innovation and a much more challenging regulatory landscape. The large corporations that had controlled these models warn that this free-for-all will lead to potentially dangerous developments, and problematic uses of the open technology have already been documented. But those who are working on the open models counter that a more democratic research environment is better than having this powerful technology controlled by a small number of corporations.

The power shift comes from simplification. The LLMs built by OpenAI and Google rely on massive data sets, measured in the tens of billions of bytes, computed on by tens of thousands of powerful specialized processors producing models with billions of parameters. The received wisdom is that bigger data, bigger processing, and larger parameter sets were all needed to make a better model. Producing such a model requires the resources of a corporation with the money and computing power of a Google or Microsoft or Meta.

But building on public models like Meta’s LLaMa, the open-source community has innovated in ways that allow results nearly as good as the huge models—but run on home machines with common data sets. What was once the reserve of the resource-rich has become a playground for anyone with curiosity, coding skills, and a good laptop. Bigger may be better, but the open-source community is showing that smaller is often good enough. This opens the door to more efficient, accessible, and resource-friendly LLMs.

More importantly, these smaller and faster LLMs are much more accessible and easier to experiment with. Rather than needing tens of thousands of machines and millions of dollars to train a new model, an existing model can now be customized on a mid-priced laptop in a few hours. This fosters rapid innovation.

It also takes control away from large companies like Google and OpenAI. By providing access to the underlying code and encouraging collaboration, open-source initiatives empower a diverse range of developers, researchers, and organizations to shape the technology. This diversification of control helps prevent undue influence, and ensures that the development and deployment of AI technologies align with a broader set of values and priorities. Much of the modern internet was built on open-source technologies from the LAMP (Linux, Apache, mySQL, and PHP/PERL/Python) stack—a suite of applications often used in web development. This enabled sophisticated websites to be easily constructed, all with open-source tools that were built by enthusiasts, not companies looking for profit. Facebook itself was originally built using open-source PHP.

But being open-source also means that there is no one to hold responsible for misuse of the technology. When vulnerabilities are discovered in obscure bits of open-source technology critical to the functioning of the internet, often there is no entity responsible for fixing the bug. Open-source communities span countries and cultures, making it difficult to ensure that any country’s laws will be respected by the community. And having the technology open-sourced means that those who wish to use it for unintended, illegal, or nefarious purposes have the same access to the technology as anyone else.

This, in turn, has significant implications for those who are looking to regulate this new and powerful technology. Now that the open-source community is remixing LLMs, it’s no longer possible to regulate the technology by dictating what research and development can be done; there are simply too many researchers doing too many different things in too many different countries. The only governance mechanism available to governments now is to regulate usage (and only for those who pay attention to the law), or to offer incentives to those (including startups, individuals, and small companies) who are now the drivers of innovation in the arena. Incentives for these communities could take the form of rewards for the production of particular uses of the technology, or hackathons to develop particularly useful applications. Sticks are hard to use—instead, we need appealing carrots.

It is important to remember that the open-source community is not always motivated by profit. The members of this community are often driven by curiosity, the desire to experiment, or the simple joys of building. While there are companies that profit from supporting software produced by open-source projects like Linux, Python, or the Apache web server, those communities are not profit driven.

And there are many open-source models to choose from. Alpaca, Cerebras-GPT, Dolly, HuggingChat, and StableLM have all been released in the past few months. Most of them are built on top of LLaMA, but some have other pedigrees. More are on their way.

The large tech monopolies that have been developing and fielding LLMs—Google, Microsoft, and Meta—are not ready for this. A few weeks ago, a Google employee leaked a memo in which an engineer tried to explain to his superiors what an open-source LLM means for their own proprietary tech. The memo concluded that the open-source community has lapped the major corporations and has an overwhelming lead on them.

This isn’t the first time companies have ignored the power of the open-source community. Sun never understood Linux. Netscape never understood the Apache web server. Open source isn’t very good at original innovations, but once an innovation is seen and picked up, the community can be a pretty overwhelming thing. The large companies may respond by trying to retrench and pulling their models back from the open-source community.

But it’s too late. We have entered an era of LLM democratization. By showing that smaller models can be highly effective, enabling easy experimentation, diversifying control, and providing incentives that are not profit motivated, open-source initiatives are moving us into a more dynamic and inclusive AI landscape. This doesn’t mean that some of these models won’t be biased, or wrong, or used to generate disinformation or abuse. But it does mean that controlling this technology is going to take an entirely different approach than regulating the large players.

This essay was written with Jim Waldo, and previously appeared on Slate.com.

EDITED TO ADD (6/4): Slashdot thread.

Ted Chiang on the Risks of AI

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/05/ted-chiang-on-the-risks-of-ai.html

Ted Chiang has an excellent essay in the New Yorker: “Will A.I. Become the New McKinsey?”

The question we should be asking is: as A.I. becomes more powerful and flexible, is there any way to keep it from being another version of McKinsey? The question is worth considering across different meanings of the term “A.I.” If you think of A.I. as a broad set of technologies being marketed to companies to help them cut their costs, the question becomes: how do we keep those technologies from working as “capital’s willing executioners”? Alternatively, if you imagine A.I. as a semi-autonomous software program that solves problems that humans ask it to solve, the question is then: how do we prevent that software from assisting corporations in ways that make people’s lives worse? Suppose you’ve built a semi-autonomous A.I. that’s entirely obedient to humans­—one that repeatedly checks to make sure it hasn’t misinterpreted the instructions it has received. This is the dream of many A.I. researchers. Yet such software could easily still cause as much harm as McKinsey has.

Note that you cannot simply say that you will build A.I. that only offers pro-social solutions to the problems you ask it to solve. That’s the equivalent of saying that you can defuse the threat of McKinsey by starting a consulting firm that only offers such solutions. The reality is that Fortune 100 companies will hire McKinsey instead of your pro-social firm, because McKinsey’s solutions will increase shareholder value more than your firm’s solutions will. It will always be possible to build A.I. that pursues shareholder value above all else, and most companies will prefer to use that A.I. instead of one constrained by your principles.

EDITED TO ADD: Ted Chiang’s previous essay, “ChatGPT Is a Blurry JPEG of the Web” is also worth reading.

Building Trustworthy AI

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/05/building-trustworthy-ai.html

We will all soon get into the habit of using AI tools for help with everyday problems and tasks. We should get in the habit of questioning the motives, incentives, and capabilities behind them, too.

Imagine you’re using an AI chatbot to plan a vacation. Did it suggest a particular resort because it knows your preferences, or because the company is getting a kickback from the hotel chain? Later, when you’re using another AI chatbot to learn about a complex economic issue, is the chatbot reflecting your politics or the politics of the company that trained it?

For AI to truly be our assistant, it needs to be trustworthy. For it to be trustworthy, it must be under our control; it can’t be working behind the scenes for some tech monopoly. This means, at a minimum, the technology needs to be transparent. And we all need to understand how it works, at least a little bit.

Amid the myriad warnings about creepy risks to well-being, threats to democracy, and even existential doom that have accompanied stunning recent developments in artificial intelligence (AI)—and large language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT and GPT-4—one optimistic vision is abundantly clear: this technology is useful. It can help you find information, express your thoughts, correct errors in your writing, and much more. If we can navigate the pitfalls, its assistive benefit to humanity could be epoch-defining. But we’re not there yet.

Let’s pause for a moment and imagine the possibilities of a trusted AI assistant. It could write the first draft of anything: emails, reports, essays, even wedding vows. You would have to give it background information and edit its output, of course, but that draft would be written by a model trained on your personal beliefs, knowledge, and style. It could act as your tutor, answering questions interactively on topics you want to learn about—in the manner that suits you best and taking into account what you already know. It could assist you in planning, organizing, and communicating: again, based on your personal preferences. It could advocate on your behalf with third parties: either other humans or other bots. And it could moderate conversations on social media for you, flagging misinformation, removing hate or trolling, translating for speakers of different languages, and keeping discussions on topic; or even mediate conversations in physical spaces, interacting through speech recognition and synthesis capabilities.

Today’s AIs aren’t up for the task. The problem isn’t the technology—that’s advancing faster than even the experts had guessed—it’s who owns it. Today’s AIs are primarily created and run by large technology companies, for their benefit and profit. Sometimes we are permitted to interact with the chatbots, but they’re never truly ours. That’s a conflict of interest, and one that destroys trust.

The transition from awe and eager utilization to suspicion to disillusionment is a well worn one in the technology sector. Twenty years ago, Google’s search engine rapidly rose to monopolistic dominance because of its transformative information retrieval capability. Over time, the company’s dependence on revenue from search advertising led them to degrade that capability. Today, many observers look forward to the death of the search paradigm entirely. Amazon has walked the same path, from honest marketplace to one riddled with lousy products whose vendors have paid to have the company show them to you. We can do better than this. If each of us are going to have an AI assistant helping us with essential activities daily and even advocating on our behalf, we each need to know that it has our interests in mind. Building trustworthy AI will require systemic change.

First, a trustworthy AI system must be controllable by the user. That means that the model should be able to run on a user’s owned electronic devices (perhaps in a simplified form) or within a cloud service that they control. It should show the user how it responds to them, such as when it makes queries to search the web or external services, when it directs other software to do things like sending an email on a user’s behalf, or modifies the user’s prompts to better express what the company that made it thinks the user wants. It should be able to explain its reasoning to users and cite its sources. These requirements are all well within the technical capabilities of AI systems.

Furthermore, users should be in control of the data used to train and fine-tune the AI system. When modern LLMs are built, they are first trained on massive, generic corpora of textual data typically sourced from across the Internet. Many systems go a step further by fine-tuning on more specific datasets purpose built for a narrow application, such as speaking in the language of a medical doctor, or mimicking the manner and style of their individual user. In the near future, corporate AIs will be routinely fed your data, probably without your awareness or your consent. Any trustworthy AI system should transparently allow users to control what data it uses.

Many of us would welcome an AI-assisted writing application fine tuned with knowledge of which edits we have accepted in the past and which we did not. We would be more skeptical of a chatbot knowledgeable about which of their search results led to purchases and which did not.

You should also be informed of what an AI system can do on your behalf. Can it access other apps on your phone, and the data stored with them? Can it retrieve information from external sources, mixing your inputs with details from other places you may or may not trust? Can it send a message in your name (hopefully based on your input)? Weighing these types of risks and benefits will become an inherent part of our daily lives as AI-assistive tools become integrated with everything we do.

Realistically, we should all be preparing for a world where AI is not trustworthy. Because AI tools can be so incredibly useful, they will increasingly pervade our lives, whether we trust them or not. Being a digital citizen of the next quarter of the twenty-first century will require learning the basic ins and outs of LLMs so that you can assess their risks and limitations for a given use case. This will better prepare you to take advantage of AI tools, rather than be taken advantage by them.

In the world’s first few months of widespread use of models like ChatGPT, we’ve learned a lot about how AI creates risks for users. Everyone has heard by now that LLMs “hallucinate,” meaning that they make up “facts” in their outputs, because their predictive text generation systems are not constrained to fact check their own emanations. Many users learned in March that information they submit as prompts to systems like ChatGPT may not be kept private after a bug revealed users’ chats. Your chat histories are stored in systems that may be insecure.

Researchers have found numerous clever ways to trick chatbots into breaking their safety controls; these work largely because many of the “rules” applied to these systems are soft, like instructions given to a person, rather than hard, like coded limitations on a product’s functions. It’s as if we are trying to keep AI safe by asking it nicely to drive carefully, a hopeful instruction, rather than taking away its keys and placing definite constraints on its abilities.

These risks will grow as companies grant chatbot systems more capabilities. OpenAI is providing developers wide access to build tools on top of GPT: tools that give their AI systems access to your email, to your personal account information on websites, and to computer code. While OpenAI is applying safety protocols to these integrations, it’s not hard to imagine those being relaxed in a drive to make the tools more useful. It seems likewise inevitable that other companies will come along with less bashful strategies for securing AI market share.

Just like with any human, building trust with an AI will be hard won through interaction over time. We will need to test these systems in different contexts, observe their behavior, and build a mental model for how they will respond to our actions. Building trust in that way is only possible if these systems are transparent about their capabilities, what inputs they use and when they will share them, and whose interests they are evolving to represent.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared on Gizmodo.com.

Large Language Models and Elections

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/05/large-language-models-and-elections.html

Earlier this week, the Republican National Committee released a video that it claims was “built entirely with AI imagery.” The content of the ad isn’t especially novel—a dystopian vision of America under a second term with President Joe Biden—but the deliberate emphasis on the technology used to create it stands out: It’s a “Daisy” moment for the 2020s.

We should expect more of this kind of thing. The applications of AI to political advertising have not escaped campaigners, who are already “pressure testing” possible uses for the technology. In the 2024 presidential election campaign, you can bank on the appearance of AI-generated personalized fundraising emails, text messages from chatbots urging you to vote, and maybe even some deepfaked campaign avatars. Future candidates could use chatbots trained on data representing their views and personalities to approximate the act of directly connecting with people. Think of it like a whistle-stop tour with an appearance in every living room. Previous technological revolutions—railroad, radio, television, and the World Wide Web—transformed how candidates connect to their constituents, and we should expect the same from generative AI. This isn’t science fiction: The era of AI chatbots standing in as avatars for real, individual people has already begun, as the journalist Casey Newton made clear in a 2016 feature about a woman who used thousands of text messages to create a chatbot replica of her best friend after he died.

The key is interaction. A candidate could use tools enabled by large language models, or LLMs—the technology behind apps such as ChatGPT and the art-making DALL-E—to do micro-polling or message testing, and to solicit perspectives and testimonies from their political audience individually and at scale. The candidates could potentially reach any voter who possesses a smartphone or computer, not just the ones with the disposable income and free time to attend a campaign rally. At its best, AI could be a tool to increase the accessibility of political engagement and ease polarization. At its worst, it could propagate misinformation and increase the risk of voter manipulation. Whatever the case, we know political operatives are using these tools. To reckon with their potential now isn’t buying into the hype—it’s preparing for whatever may come next.

On the positive end, and most profoundly, LLMs could help people think through, refine, or discover their own political ideologies. Research has shown that many voters come to their policy positions reflexively, out of a sense of partisan affiliation. The very act of reflecting on these views through discourse can change, and even depolarize, those views. It can be hard to have reflective policy conversations with an informed, even-keeled human discussion partner when we all live within a highly charged political environment; this is a role almost custom-designed for LLM. In US politics, it is a truism that the most valuable resource in a campaign is time. People are busy and distracted. Campaigns have a limited window to convince and activate voters. Money allows a candidate to purchase time: TV commercials, labor from staffers, and fundraising events to raise even more money. LLMs could provide campaigns with what is essentially a printing press for time.

If you were a political operative, which would you rather do: play a short video on a voter’s TV while they are folding laundry in the next room, or exchange essay-length thoughts with a voter on your candidate’s key issues? A staffer knocking on doors might need to canvass 50 homes over two hours to find one voter willing to have a conversation. OpenAI charges pennies to process about 800 words with its latest GPT-4 model, and that cost could fall dramatically as competitive AIs become available. People seem to enjoy interacting with chatbots; Open’s product reportedly has the fastest-growing user base in the history of consumer apps.

Optimistically, one possible result might be that we’ll get less annoyed with the deluge of political ads if their messaging is more usefully tailored to our interests by AI tools. Though the evidence for microtargeting’s effectiveness is mixed at best, some studies show that targeting the right issues to the right people can persuade voters. Expecting more sophisticated, AI-assisted approaches to be more consistently effective is reasonable. And anything that can prevent us from seeing the same 30-second campaign spot 20 times a day seems like a win.

AI can also help humans effectuate their political interests. In the 2016 US presidential election, primitive chatbots had a role in donor engagement and voter-registration drives: simple messaging tasks such as helping users pre-fill a voter-registration form or reminding them where their polling place is. If it works, the current generation of much more capable chatbots could supercharge small-dollar solicitations and get-out-the-vote campaigns.

And the interactive capability of chatbots could help voters better understand their choices. An AI chatbot could answer questions from the perspective of a candidate about the details of their policy positions most salient to an individual user, or respond to questions about how a candidate’s stance on a national issue translates to a user’s locale. Political organizations could similarly use them to explain complex policy issues, such as those relating to the climate or health care or…anything, really.

Of course, this could also go badly. In the time-honored tradition of demagogues worldwide, the LLM could inconsistently represent the candidate’s views to appeal to the individual proclivities of each voter.

In fact, the fundamentally obsequious nature of the current generation of large language models results in them acting like demagogues. Current LLMs are known to hallucinate—or go entirely off-script—and produce answers that have no basis in reality. These models do not experience emotion in any way, but some research suggests they have a sophisticated ability to assess the emotion and tone of their human users. Although they weren’t trained for this purpose, ChatGPT and its successor, GPT-4, may already be pretty good at assessing some of their users’ traits—say, the likelihood that the author of a text prompt is depressed. Combined with their persuasive capabilities, that means that they could learn to skillfully manipulate the emotions of their human users.

This is not entirely theoretical. A growing body of evidence demonstrates that interacting with AI has a persuasive effect on human users. A study published in February prompted participants to co-write a statement about the benefits of social-media platforms for society with an AI chatbot configured to have varying views on the subject. When researchers surveyed participants after the co-writing experience, those who interacted with a chatbot that expressed that social media is good or bad were far more likely to express the same view than a control group that didn’t interact with an “opinionated language model.”

For the time being, most Americans say they are resistant to trusting AI in sensitive matters such as health care. The same is probably true of politics. If a neighbor volunteering with a campaign persuades you to vote a particular way on a local ballot initiative, you might feel good about that interaction. If a chatbot does the same thing, would you feel the same way? To help voters chart their own course in a world of persuasive AI, we should demand transparency from our candidates. Campaigns should have to clearly disclose when a text agent interacting with a potential voter—through traditional robotexting or the use of the latest AI chatbots—is human or automated.

Though companies such as Meta (Facebook’s parent company) and Alphabet (Google’s) publish libraries of traditional, static political advertising, they do so poorly. These systems would need to be improved and expanded to accommodate user-level differentiation in ad copy to offer serviceable protection against misuse.

A public, anonymized log of chatbot conversations could help hold candidates’ AI representatives accountable for shifting statements and digital pandering. Candidates who use chatbots to engage voters may not want to make all transcripts of those conversations public, but their users could easily choose to share them. So far, there is no shortage of people eager to share their chat transcripts, and in fact, an online database exists of nearly 200,000 of them. In the recent past, Mozilla has galvanized users to opt into sharing their web data to study online misinformation.

We also need stronger nationwide protections on data privacy, as well as the ability to opt out of targeted advertising, to protect us from the potential excesses of this kind of marketing. No one should be forcibly subjected to political advertising, LLM-generated or not, on the basis of their Internet searches regarding private matters such as medical issues. In February, the European Parliament voted to limit political-ad targeting to only basic information, such as language and general location, within two months of an election. This stands in stark contrast to the US, which has for years failed to enact federal data-privacy regulations. Though the 2018 revelation of the Cambridge Analytica scandal led to billions of dollars in fines and settlements against Facebook, it has so far resulted in no substantial legislative action.

Transparency requirements like these are a first step toward oversight of future AI-assisted campaigns. Although we should aspire to more robust legal controls on campaign uses of AI, it seems implausible that these will be adopted in advance of the fast-approaching 2024 general presidential election.

Credit the RNC, at least, with disclosing that their recent ad was AI-generated—a transparent attempt at publicity still counts as transparency. But what will we do if the next viral AI-generated ad tries to pass as something more conventional?

As we are all being exposed to these rapidly evolving technologies for the first time and trying to understand their potential uses and effects, let’s push for the kind of basic transparency protection that will allow us to know what we’re dealing with.

This essay was written with Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared on the Atlantic.

EDITED TO ADD (5/12): Better article on the “daisy” ad.

AI to Aid Democracy

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/04/ai-to-aid-democracy.html

There’s good reason to fear that AI systems like ChatGPT and GPT4 will harm democracy. Public debate may be overwhelmed by industrial quantities of autogenerated argument. People might fall down political rabbit holes, taken in by superficially convincing bullshit, or obsessed by folies à deux relationships with machine personalities that don’t really exist.

These risks may be the fallout of a world where businesses deploy poorly tested AI systems in a battle for market share, each hoping to establish a monopoly.

But dystopia isn’t the only possible future. AI could advance the public good, not private profit, and bolster democracy instead of undermining it. That would require an AI not under the control of a large tech monopoly, but rather developed by government and available to all citizens. This public option is within reach if we want it.

An AI built for public benefit could be tailor-made for those use cases where technology can best help democracy. It could plausibly educate citizens, help them deliberate together, summarize what they think, and find possible common ground. Politicians might use large language models, or LLMs, like GPT4 to better understand what their citizens want.

Today, state-of-the-art AI systems are controlled by multibillion-dollar tech companies: Google, Meta, and OpenAI in connection with Microsoft. These companies get to decide how we engage with their AIs and what sort of access we have. They can steer and shape those AIs to conform to their corporate interests. That isn’t the world we want. Instead, we want AI options that are both public goods and directed toward public good.

We know that existing LLMs are trained on material gathered from the internet, which can reflect racist bias and hate. Companies attempt to filter these data sets, fine-tune LLMs, and tweak their outputs to remove bias and toxicity. But leaked emails and conversations suggest that they are rushing half-baked products to market in a race to establish their own monopoly.

These companies make decisions with huge consequences for democracy, but little democratic oversight. We don’t hear about political trade-offs they are making. Do LLM-powered chatbots and search engines favor some viewpoints over others? Do they skirt controversial topics completely? Currently, we have to trust companies to tell us the truth about the trade-offs they face.

A public option LLM would provide a vital independent source of information and a testing ground for technological choices with big democratic consequences. This could work much like public option health care plans, which increase access to health services while also providing more transparency into operations in the sector and putting productive pressure on the pricing and features of private products. It would also allow us to figure out the limits of LLMs and direct their applications with those in mind.

We know that LLMs often “hallucinate,” inferring facts that aren’t real. It isn’t clear whether this is an unavoidable flaw of how they work, or whether it can be corrected for. Democracy could be undermined if citizens trust technologies that just make stuff up at random, and the companies trying to sell these technologies can’t be trusted to admit their flaws.

But a public option AI could do more than check technology companies’ honesty. It could test new applications that could support democracy rather than undermining it.

Most obviously, LLMs could help us formulate and express our perspectives and policy positions, making political arguments more cogent and informed, whether in social media, letters to the editor, or comments to rule-making agencies in response to policy proposals. By this we don’t mean that AI will replace humans in the political debate, only that they can help us express ourselves. If you’ve ever used a Hallmark greeting card or signed a petition, you’ve already demonstrated that you’re OK with accepting help to articulate your personal sentiments or political beliefs. AI will make it easier to generate first drafts, and provide editing help and suggest alternative phrasings. How these AI uses are perceived will change over time, and there is still much room for improvement in LLMs—but their assistive power is real. People are already testing and speculating on their potential for speechwriting, lobbying, and campaign messaging. Highly influential people often rely on professional speechwriters and staff to help develop their thoughts, and AI could serve a similar role for everyday citizens.

If the hallucination problem can be solved, LLMs could also become explainers and educators. Imagine citizens being able to query an LLM that has expert-level knowledge of a policy issue, or that has command of the positions of a particular candidate or party. Instead of having to parse bland and evasive statements calibrated for a mass audience, individual citizens could gain real political understanding through question-and-answer sessions with LLMs that could be unfailingly available and endlessly patient in ways that no human could ever be.

Finally, and most ambitiously, AI could help facilitate radical democracy at scale. As Carnegie Mellon professor of statistics Cosma Shalizi has observed, we delegate decisions to elected politicians in part because we don’t have time to deliberate on every issue. But AI could manage massive political conversations in chat rooms, on social networking sites, and elsewhere: identifying common positions and summarizing them, surfacing unusual arguments that seem compelling to those who have heard them, and keeping attacks and insults to a minimum.

AI chatbots could run national electronic town hall meetings and automatically summarize the perspectives of diverse participants. This type of AI-moderated civic debate could also be a dynamic alternative to opinion polling. Politicians turn to opinion surveys to capture snapshots of popular opinion because they can only hear directly from a small number of voters, but want to understand where voters agree or disagree.

Looking further into the future, these technologies could help groups reach consensus and make decisions. Early experiments by the AI company DeepMind suggest that LLMs can build bridges between people who disagree, helping bring them to consensus. Science fiction writer Ruthanna Emrys, in her remarkable novel A Half-Built Garden, imagines how AI might help people have better conversations and make better decisions—rather than taking advantage of these biases to maximize profits.

This future requires an AI public option. Building one, through a government-directed model development and deployment program, would require a lot of effort—and the greatest challenges in developing public AI systems would be political.

Some technological tools are already publicly available. In fairness, tech giants like Google and Meta have made many of their latest and greatest AI tools freely available for years, in cooperation with the academic community. Although OpenAI has not made the source code and trained features of its latest models public, competitors such as Hugging Face have done so for similar systems.

While state-of-the-art LLMs achieve spectacular results, they do so using techniques that are mostly well known and widely used throughout the industry. OpenAI has only revealed limited details of how it trained its latest model, but its major advance over its earlier ChatGPT model is no secret: a multi-modal training process that accepts both image and textual inputs.

Financially, the largest-scale LLMs being trained today cost hundreds of millions of dollars. That’s beyond ordinary people’s reach, but it’s a pittance compared to U.S. federal military spending—and a great bargain for the potential return. While we may not want to expand the scope of existing agencies to accommodate this task, we have our choice of government labs, like the National Institute of Standards and Technology, the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, and other Department of Energy labs, as well as universities and nonprofits, with the AI expertise and capability to oversee this effort.

Instead of releasing half-finished AI systems for the public to test, we need to make sure that they are robust before they’re released—and that they strengthen democracy rather than undermine it. The key advance that made recent AI chatbot models dramatically more useful was feedback from real people. Companies employ teams to interact with early versions of their software to teach them which outputs are useful and which are not. These paid users train the models to align to corporate interests, with applications like web search (integrating commercial advertisements) and business productivity assistive software in mind.

To build assistive AI for democracy, we would need to capture human feedback for specific democratic use cases, such as moderating a polarized policy discussion, explaining the nuance of a legal proposal, or articulating one’s perspective within a larger debate. This gives us a path to “align” LLMs with our democratic values: by having models generate answers to questions, make mistakes, and learn from the responses of human users, without having these mistakes damage users and the public arena.

Capturing that kind of user interaction and feedback within a political environment suspicious of both AI and technology generally will be challenging. It’s easy to imagine the same politicians who rail against the untrustworthiness of companies like Meta getting far more riled up by the idea of government having a role in technology development.

As Karl Popper, the great theorist of the open society, argued, we shouldn’t try to solve complex problems with grand hubristic plans. Instead, we should apply AI through piecemeal democratic engineering, carefully determining what works and what does not. The best way forward is to start small, applying these technologies to local decisions with more constrained stakeholder groups and smaller impacts.

The next generation of AI experimentation should happen in the laboratories of democracy: states and municipalities. Online town halls to discuss local participatory budgeting proposals could be an easy first step. Commercially available and open-source LLMs could bootstrap this process and build momentum toward federal investment in a public AI option.

Even with these approaches, building and fielding a democratic AI option will be messy and hard. But the alternative—shrugging our shoulders as a fight for commercial AI domination undermines democratic politics—will be much messier and much worse.

This essay was written with Henry Farrell and Nathan Sanders, and previously appeared on Slate.com.

EDITED TO ADD: Linux Weekly News discussion.

LLMs and Phishing

Post Syndicated from Bruce Schneier original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/04/llms-and-phishing.html

Here’s an experiment being run by undergraduate computer science students everywhere: Ask ChatGPT to generate phishing emails, and test whether these are better at persuading victims to respond or click on the link than the usual spam. It’s an interesting experiment, and the results are likely to vary wildly based on the details of the experiment.

But while it’s an easy experiment to run, it misses the real risk of large language models (LLMs) writing scam emails. Today’s human-run scams aren’t limited by the number of people who respond to the initial email contact. They’re limited by the labor-intensive process of persuading those people to send the scammer money. LLMs are about to change that. A decade ago, one type of spam email had become a punchline on every late-night show: “I am the son of the late king of Nigeria in need of your assistance….” Nearly everyone had gotten one or a thousand of those emails, to the point that it seemed everyone must have known they were scams.

So why were scammers still sending such obviously dubious emails? In 2012, researcher Cormac Herley offered an answer: It weeded out all but the most gullible. A smart scammer doesn’t want to waste their time with people who reply and then realize it’s a scam when asked to wire money. By using an obvious scam email, the scammer can focus on the most potentially profitable people. It takes time and effort to engage in the back-and-forth communications that nudge marks, step by step, from interlocutor to trusted acquaintance to pauper.

Long-running financial scams are now known as pig butchering, growing the potential mark up until their ultimate and sudden demise. Such scams, which require gaining trust and infiltrating a target’s personal finances, take weeks or even months of personal time and repeated interactions. It’s a high stakes and low probability game that the scammer is playing.

Here is where LLMs will make a difference. Much has been written about the unreliability of OpenAI’s GPT models and those like them: They “hallucinate” frequently, making up things about the world and confidently spouting nonsense. For entertainment, this is fine, but for most practical uses it’s a problem. It is, however, not a bug but a feature when it comes to scams: LLMs’ ability to confidently roll with the punches, no matter what a user throws at them, will prove useful to scammers as they navigate hostile, bemused, and gullible scam targets by the billions. AI chatbot scams can ensnare more people, because the pool of victims who will fall for a more subtle and flexible scammer—one that has been trained on everything ever written online—is much larger than the pool of those who believe the king of Nigeria wants to give them a billion dollars.

Personal computers are powerful enough today that they can run compact LLMs. After Facebook’s new model, LLaMA, was leaked online, developers tuned it to run fast and cheaply on powerful laptops. Numerous other open-source LLMs are under development, with a community of thousands of engineers and scientists.

A single scammer, from their laptop anywhere in the world, can now run hundreds or thousands of scams in parallel, night and day, with marks all over the world, in every language under the sun. The AI chatbots will never sleep and will always be adapting along their path to their objectives. And new mechanisms, from ChatGPT plugins to LangChain, will enable composition of AI with thousands of API-based cloud services and open source tools, allowing LLMs to interact with the internet as humans do. The impersonations in such scams are no longer just princes offering their country’s riches. They are forlorn strangers looking for romance, hot new cryptocurrencies that are soon to skyrocket in value, and seemingly-sound new financial websites offering amazing returns on deposits. And people are already falling in love with LLMs.

This is a change in both scope and scale. LLMs will change the scam pipeline, making them more profitable than ever. We don’t know how to live in a world with a billion, or 10 billion, scammers that never sleep.

There will also be a change in the sophistication of these attacks. This is due not only to AI advances, but to the business model of the internet—surveillance capitalism—which produces troves of data about all of us, available for purchase from data brokers. Targeted attacks against individuals, whether for phishing or data collection or scams, were once only within the reach of nation-states. Combine the digital dossiers that data brokers have on all of us with LLMs, and you have a tool tailor-made for personalized scams.

Companies like OpenAI attempt to prevent their models from doing bad things. But with the release of each new LLM, social media sites buzz with new AI jailbreaks that evade the new restrictions put in place by the AI’s designers. ChatGPT, and then Bing Chat, and then GPT-4 were all jailbroken within minutes of their release, and in dozens of different ways. Most protections against bad uses and harmful output are only skin-deep, easily evaded by determined users. Once a jailbreak is discovered, it usually can be generalized, and the community of users pulls the LLM open through the chinks in its armor. And the technology is advancing too fast for anyone to fully understand how they work, even the designers.

This is all an old story, though: It reminds us that many of the bad uses of AI are a reflection of humanity more than they are a reflection of AI technology itself. Scams are nothing new—simply intent and then action of one person tricking another for personal gain. And the use of others as minions to accomplish scams is sadly nothing new or uncommon: For example, organized crime in Asia currently kidnaps or indentures thousands in scam sweatshops. Is it better that organized crime will no longer see the need to exploit and physically abuse people to run their scam operations, or worse that they and many others will be able to scale up scams to an unprecedented level?

Defense can and will catch up, but before it does, our signal-to-noise ratio is going to drop dramatically.

This essay was written with Barath Raghavan, and previously appeared on Wired.com.

How AI Could Write Our Laws

Post Syndicated from Schneier.com Webmaster original https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2023/03/how-ai-could-write-our-laws.html

Nearly 90% of the multibillion-dollar federal lobbying apparatus in the United States serves corporate interests. In some cases, the objective of that money is obvious. Google pours millions into lobbying on bills related to antitrust regulation. Big energy companies expect action whenever there is a move to end drilling leases for federal lands, in exchange for the tens of millions they contribute to congressional reelection campaigns.

But lobbying strategies are not always so blunt, and the interests involved are not always so obvious. Consider, for example, a 2013 Massachusetts bill that tried to restrict the commercial use of data collected from K-12 students using services accessed via the internet. The bill appealed to many privacy-conscious education advocates, and appropriately so. But behind the justification of protecting students lay a market-altering policy: the bill was introduced at the behest of Microsoft lobbyists, in an effort to exclude Google Docs from classrooms.

What would happen if such legal-but-sneaky strategies for tilting the rules in favor of one group over another become more widespread and effective? We can see hints of an answer in the remarkable pace at which artificial-intelligence tools for everything from writing to graphic design are being developed and improved. And the unavoidable conclusion is that AI will make lobbying more guileful, and perhaps more successful.

It turns out there is a natural opening for this technology: microlegislation.

“Microlegislation” is a term for small pieces of proposed law that cater—sometimes unexpectedly—to narrow interests. Political scientist Amy McKay coined the term. She studied the 564 amendments to the Affordable Care Act (“Obamacare”) considered by the Senate Finance Committee in 2009, as well as the positions of 866 lobbying groups and their campaign contributions. She documented instances where lobbyist comments—on health-care research, vaccine services, and other provisions—were translated directly into microlegislation in the form of amendments. And she found that those groups’ financial contributions to specific senators on the committee increased the amendments’ chances of passing.

Her finding that lobbying works was no surprise. More important, McKay’s work demonstrated that computer models can predict the likely fate of proposed legislative amendments, as well as the paths by which lobbyists can most effectively secure their desired outcomes. And that turns out to be a critical piece of creating an AI lobbyist.

Lobbying has long been part of the give-and-take among human policymakers and advocates working to balance their competing interests. The danger of microlegislation—a danger greatly exacerbated by AI—is that it can be used in a way that makes it difficult to figure out who the legislation truly benefits.

Another word for a strategy like this is a “hack.” Hacks follow the rules of a system but subvert their intent. Hacking is often associated with computer systems, but the concept is also applicable to social systems like financial markets, tax codes, and legislative processes.

While the idea of monied interests incorporating AI assistive technologies into their lobbying remains hypothetical, specific machine-learning technologies exist today that would enable them to do so. We should expect these techniques to get better and their utilization to grow, just as we’ve seen in so many other domains.

Here’s how it might work.

Crafting an AI microlegislator

To make microlegislation, machine-learning systems must be able to uncover the smallest modification that could be made to a bill or existing law that would make the biggest impact on a narrow interest.

There are three basic challenges involved. First, you must create a policy proposal—small suggested changes to legal text—and anticipate whether or not a human reader would recognize the alteration as substantive. This is important; a change that isn’t detectable is more likely to pass without controversy. Second, you need to do an impact assessment to project the implications of that change for the short- or long-range financial interests of companies. Third, you need a lobbying strategizer to identify what levers of power to pull to get the best proposal into law.

Existing AI tools can tackle all three of these.

The first step, the policy proposal, leverages the core function of generative AI. Large language models, the sort that have been used for general-purpose chatbots such as ChatGPT, can easily be adapted to write like a native in different specialized domains after seeing a relatively small number of examples. This process is called fine-tuning. For example, a model “pre-trained” on a large library of generic text samples from books and the internet can be “fine-tuned” to work effectively on medical literature, computer science papers, and product reviews.

Given this flexibility and capacity for adaptation, a large language model could be fine-tuned to produce draft legislative texts, given a data set of previously offered amendments and the bills they were associated with. Training data is available. At the federal level, it’s provided by the US Government Publishing Office, and there are already tools for downloading and interacting with it. Most other jurisdictions provide similar data feeds, and there are even convenient assemblages of that data.

Meanwhile, large language models like the one underlying ChatGPT are routinely used for summarizing long, complex documents (even laws and computer code) to capture the essential points, and they are optimized to match human expectations. This capability could allow an AI assistant to automatically predict how detectable the true effect of a policy insertion may be to a human reader.

Today, it can take a highly paid team of human lobbyists days or weeks to generate and analyze alternative pieces of microlegislation on behalf of a client. With AI assistance, that could be done instantaneously and cheaply. This opens the door to dramatic increases in the scope of this kind of microlegislating, with a potential to scale across any number of bills in any jurisdiction.

Teaching machines to assess impact

Impact assessment is more complicated. There is a rich series of methods for quantifying the predicted outcome of a decision or policy, and then also optimizing the return under that model. This kind of approach goes by different names in different circles—mathematical programming in management science, utility maximization in economics, and rational design in the life sciences.

To train an AI to do this, we would need to specify some way to calculate the benefit to different parties as a result of a policy choice. That could mean estimating the financial return to different companies under a few different scenarios of taxation or regulation. Economists are skilled at building risk models like this, and companies are already required to formulate and disclose regulatory compliance risk factors to investors. Such a mathematical model could translate directly into a reward function, a grading system that could provide feedback for the model used to create policy proposals and direct the process of training it.

The real challenge in impact assessment for generative AI models would be to parse the textual output of a model like ChatGPT in terms that an economic model could readily use. Automating this would require extracting structured financial information from the draft amendment or any legalese surrounding it. This kind of information extraction, too, is an area where AI has a long history; for example, AI systems have been trained to recognize clinical details in doctors’ notes. Early indications are that large language models are fairly good at recognizing financial information in texts such as investor call transcripts. While it remains an open challenge in the field, they may even be capable of writing out multi-step plans based on descriptions in free text.

Machines as strategists

The last piece of the puzzle is a lobbying strategizer to figure out what actions to take to convince lawmakers to adopt the amendment.

Passing legislation requires a keen understanding of the complex interrelated networks of legislative offices, outside groups, executive agencies, and other stakeholders vying to serve their own interests. Each actor in this network has a baseline perspective and different factors that influence that point of view. For example, a legislator may be moved by seeing an allied stakeholder take a firm position, or by a negative news story, or by a campaign contribution.

It turns out that AI developers are very experienced at modeling these kinds of networks. Machine-learning models for network graphs have been built, refined, improved, and iterated by hundreds of researchers working on incredibly diverse problems: lidar scans used to guide self-driving cars, the chemical functions of molecular structures, the capture of motion in actors’ joints for computer graphics, behaviors in social networks, and more.

In the context of AI-assisted lobbying, political actors like legislators and lobbyists are nodes on a graph, just like users in a social network. Relations between them are graph edges, like social connections. Information can be passed along those edges, like messages sent to a friend or campaign contributions made to a member. AI models can use past examples to learn to estimate how that information changes the network. Calculating the likelihood that a campaign contribution of a given size will flip a legislator’s vote on an amendment is one application.

McKay’s work has already shown us that there are significant, predictable relationships between these actions and the outcomes of legislation, and that the work of discovering those can be automated. Others have shown that graphs of neural network models like those described above can be applied to political systems. The full-scale use of these technologies to guide lobbying strategy is theoretical, but plausible.

Put together, these three components could create an automatic system for generating profitable microlegislation. The policy proposal system would create millions, even billions, of possible amendments. The impact assessor would identify the few that promise to be most profitable to the client. And the lobbying strategy tool would produce a blueprint for getting them passed.

What remains is for human lobbyists to walk the floors of the Capitol or state house, and perhaps supply some cash to grease the wheels. These final two aspects of lobbying—access and financing—cannot be supplied by the AI tools we envision. This suggests that lobbying will continue to primarily benefit those who are already influential and wealthy, and AI assistance will amplify their existing advantages.

The transformative benefit that AI offers to lobbyists and their clients is scale. While individual lobbyists tend to focus on the federal level or a single state, with AI assistance they could more easily infiltrate a large number of state-level (or even local-level) law-making bodies and elections. At that level, where the average cost of a seat is measured in the tens of thousands of dollars instead of millions, a single donor can wield a lot of influence—if automation makes it possible to coordinate lobbying across districts.

How to stop them

When it comes to combating the potentially adverse effects of assistive AI, the first response always seems to be to try to detect whether or not content was AI-generated. We could imagine a defensive AI that detects anomalous lobbyist spending associated with amendments that benefit the contributing group. But by then, the damage might already be done.

In general, methods for detecting the work of AI tend not to keep pace with its ability to generate convincing content. And these strategies won’t be implemented by AIs alone. The lobbyists will still be humans who take the results of an AI microlegislator and further refine the computer’s strategies. These hybrid human-AI systems will not be detectable from their output.

But the good news is: the same strategies that have long been used to combat misbehavior by human lobbyists can still be effective when those lobbyists get an AI assist. We don’t need to reinvent our democracy to stave off the worst risks of AI; we just need to more fully implement long-standing ideals.

First, we should reduce the dependence of legislatures on monolithic, multi-thousand-page omnibus bills voted on under deadline. This style of legislating exploded in the 1980s and 1990s and continues through to the most recent federal budget bill. Notwithstanding their legitimate benefits to the political system, omnibus bills present an obvious and proven vehicle for inserting unnoticed provisions that may later surprise the same legislators who approved them.

The issue is not that individual legislators need more time to read and understand each bill (that isn’t realistic or even necessary). It’s that omnibus bills must pass. There is an imperative to pass a federal budget bill, and so the capacity to push back on individual provisions that may seem deleterious (or just impertinent) to any particular group is small. Bills that are too big to fail are ripe for hacking by microlegislation.

Moreover, the incentive for legislators to introduce microlegislation catering to a narrow interest is greater if the threat of exposure is lower. To strengthen the threat of exposure for misbehaving legislative sponsors, bills should focus more tightly on individual substantive areas and, after the introduction of amendments, allow more time before the committee and floor votes. During this time, we should encourage public review and testimony to provide greater oversight.

Second, we should strengthen disclosure requirements on lobbyists, whether they’re entirely human or AI-assisted. State laws regarding lobbying disclosure are a hodgepodge. North Dakota, for example, only requires lobbying reports to be filed annually, so that by the time a disclosure is made, the policy is likely already decided. A lobbying disclosure scorecard created by Open Secrets, a group researching the influence of money in US politics, tracks nine states that do not even require lobbyists to report their compensation.

Ideally, it would be great for the public to see all communication between lobbyists and legislators, whether it takes the form of a proposed amendment or not. Absent that, let’s give the public the benefit of reviewing what lobbyists are lobbying for—and why. Lobbying is traditionally an activity that happens behind closed doors. Right now, many states reinforce that: they actually exempt testimony delivered publicly to a legislature from being reported as lobbying.

In those jurisdictions, if you reveal your position to the public, you’re no longer lobbying. Let’s do the inverse: require lobbyists to reveal their positions on issues. Some jurisdictions already require a statement of position (a ‘yea’ or ‘nay’) from registered lobbyists. And in most (but not all) states, you could make a public records request regarding meetings held with a state legislator and hope to get something substantive back. But we can expect more—lobbyists could be required to proactively publish, within a few days, a brief summary of what they demanded of policymakers during meetings and why they believe it’s in the general interest.

We can’t rely on corporations to be forthcoming and wholly honest about the reasons behind their lobbying positions. But having them on the record about their intentions would at least provide a baseline for accountability.

Finally, consider the role AI assistive technologies may have on lobbying firms themselves and the labor market for lobbyists. Many observers are rightfully concerned about the possibility of AI replacing or devaluing the human labor it automates. If the automating potential of AI ends up commodifying the work of political strategizing and message development, it may indeed put some professionals on K Street out of work.

But don’t expect that to disrupt the careers of the most astronomically compensated lobbyists: former members Congress and other insiders who have passed through the revolving door. There is no shortage of reform ideas for limiting the ability of government officials turned lobbyists to sell access to their colleagues still in government, and they should be adopted and—equally important—maintained and enforced in successive Congresses and administrations.

None of these solutions are really original, specific to the threats posed by AI, or even predominantly focused on microlegislation—and that’s the point. Good governance should and can be robust to threats from a variety of techniques and actors.

But what makes the risks posed by AI especially pressing now is how fast the field is developing. We expect the scale, strategies, and effectiveness of humans engaged in lobbying to evolve over years and decades. Advancements in AI, meanwhile, seem to be making impressive breakthroughs at a much faster pace—and it’s still accelerating.

The legislative process is a constant struggle between parties trying to control the rules of our society as they are updated, rewritten, and expanded at the federal, state, and local levels. Lobbying is an important tool for balancing various interests through our system. If it’s well-regulated, perhaps lobbying can support policymakers in making equitable decisions on behalf of us all.

This article was co-written with Nathan E. Sanders and originally appeared in MIT Technology Review.