Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

Rapid Response Comms

Bad faith actors use crisis as an opportunity to make meaning and justify power-grabs. This is no bueno! To counter this, it’s good to have clear, proactive rapid response communications plans in place that include defined roles, ready-made content, and clear criteria for success. Scroll down for tips to on how to fight back, build trust, and turn freak outs into meaningful engagement.

How and How Not To

RE: URGENT BREAKING AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
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Bad faith actors use crisis as an opportunity to make meaning and justify power-grabs. This is no bueno! To counter this, it’s good to have clear, proactive rapid response communications plans in place that include defined roles, ready-made content, and clear criteria for success. Scroll down for tips to on how to fight back, build trust, and turn freak outs into meaningful engagement.


Those who speak first and loudest in a crisis aren’t often right, but they establish the main story elements — the deep frames of the conflict, the heroes, the villains, and what’s at stake. If you don’t want your people cast as the villains in someone else’s story, then you need to have a way to get in the mix.

Note that sometimes, this meaning-making story-generation isn’t due to malicious intent. Sometimes, it’s just a byproduct of the need for information, and, in the absence of real information, rumors rush in to fill the void.


Sheri Fink’s
Five Days at Memorial makes this point starkly. At Memorial Hospital in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, misinformation turned chaos into catastrophe. Fear of roving vigilantes, martial law, and scarce resources contributed to a sense of panic and bewilderment that led those trapped there to make horrific choices, including killing patients.


Just a few miles miles away, Charity hospital staff followed a simple rule to stem rumors and misinformation — ”You can only say it if you’ve seen it” — along with other clear information protocols. At Charity, which endured the aftermath longer and with fewer supplies than Memorial, fewer than ten patients died. At Memorial, 72 patients died, some by doctor-instigated “euthanasia” just before help arrived.

At Charity, clear information protocols didn’t just help preserve truth, they helped protect patients’ lives.


Hopefully, none of us will ever be in a situation that immediately dire. But there’s a lot to learn from those experiences.

The best rapid response comms are more than just a vertically integrated clenching of butt cheeks. In fact, I’ve found that freaking out up and down the command structure is often “counterproductive.”


Better to have an already-baked rapid response comms plan that is part of a long-term strategy, one prepared to use meaning-making moments to proactively reach new audiences with essential information. That way, in a crisis you can get and keep attention, shape the story, and ultimately build power through truth-telling.

Good rapid response takes months, sometimes even years. That’s because most of the work happens before the crisis. In advance of the next crisis, (since there’s always another one coming), some suggestions:


Define your terms.


What does “rapid response” actually mean for your team(s)? Is it a social post within the hour of news breaking? A reactive statement within a day? A full campaign stood up within the week?


Keep in mind, not everything requires a full-on media blitz, so it’s also helpful to define what warrants a reactive, an op-ed, or a comprehensive cross-channel content rollout.


If you get clear on this early, you won’t have people pulling in ten different directions mid-crisis or asking “Why haven’t we responded to X?!?!” (jk they’ll still ask that).


Define your roles.


I use a basic Google form to find out who wants to be involved in rapid response work, in what ways, and what their availability and strengths are.


Are you extremely online, constantly monitoring TikTok trends BUT not empowered to make org decisions? We have a role for you!

Are you in charge of everything but know nothing about how content actually works? WE HAVE A ROLE FOR YOU, TOO!

This type of planning helps avoid last-minute chaos and misplaced assumptions about roles.

Then, once we know who is involved, it’s time to establish a response framework (DARCI, MOCHA, LARP, whatever), because clarity about who decides, who executes, and who consults can save a lot of drama.


Go ahead and write Keith Richards’ obituary.


Some things don’t have to be last minute. You can go ahead and draft the bulk of your copy for certain things ahead of time.


Establish your response protocol.


Not everything needs your take. Which is why I like to use the
“What?” “So What?” “Now What?” framing to figure where we stand once the news breaks.

  • “What?” Do we have new, original information?

  • “So What?” Do we have unique insight or analysis?

  • “Now What?” Can we offer forward-looking framing?


If yes to any of that, yay! It’s time for content! If not, that’s okay! You can still amplify allies and keep your deep listening tools engaged for further opportunities. Again, there’s always another crisis coming.


Lastly, be open to improv.


Protocols are a guide, not gospel. The goal is to make something good (right?), so if a last-minute addition improves the message or the process, make space for it. (NB: Eye rolls, sighs, and vulgar hand gestures are usually acceptable in these instances).

I also like to make sure to have a debrief after the rapid response moment to hold the stragglers and parachuting geniuses accountable for their disruptions.

Over the weekend, I re-watched Amarcord, Fellini’s look back on his childhood under fascism —> which led me to finally, after twelve years, finish reading Italo Calvino’s letters —> which I bought back after getting the advance for my second novel (the paystub from which was still the bookmark!) —> which reminded me that as I was finalizing the manuscript, I freaked Emily Gould out by emailing it to her with the original title as the subject line, URGENT! —> which led me to try that out as the subject heading for this email, hopefully causing just the right amount of freak out in you, dear reader.

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Climate Change, War Travis Nichols Climate Change, War Travis Nichols

The environmental footprint of a bunker buster bomb

A B2 bomber dropped the bomb, and on its flight from Missouri it burned roughly 28,900 gallons of jet fuel, releasing 282 metric tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, equal to the yearly collective tailpipe emissions of 66 passenger cars in the U.S.


You wouldn’t have seen it, but immediately after impact, the bomb’s 20-foot-long penetrator drill bit would have ploughed through 60 feet of limestone and dolomite in less than 0.03 seconds.

You could have seen a dull orange flare from the bomb’s work further underground emanating from the hole, but your eyes would probably still be closed, your system still in shock.


For about three seconds, everything would have then been quiet.

From the Instrumental Newsletter. Sign up for more.

The Environmental Impact Of A Bunker Buster Bomb
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A post that caused a stir on Reddit

If you had been on Fordo Mountain between 2:40 and 3:05 a.m. on Sunday, lying on your back, and you had looked up, you would likely have seen a thin crescent moon hanging low in the southeastern corner of the clear sky.


With no clouds, you would also have seen the Milky Way, bright and wide, its only competition the glow from the city of Qom, 20 miles away from your elevated spot on Fordo Ridge at the fringe of the desert.


You wouldn't have needed a jacket. The air would probably have felt very dry and warm, 84 degrees Fahrenheit even in the small hours of the morning. There would have been a northwest breeze moving through the nearby Artemisia shrubs and Persian juniper trees, rustling their leaves and sending their scents over to you.

If you had reached out to touch one of the rocks beside you, it would probably still have held the heat from Saturday, when the high had been over 100 degrees.


Now and then you might have heard the “tek tek” of a western rock nuthatch, or the soft “chirr” of a desert wheatear, or maybe the squeaks and shuffling of Libyan jirds, common but cute rodents, darting between their burrows.


There would also probably have been that constant, low-frequency hum from the underground nuclear complex below you, where officials thought 3,000 centrifuges were spinning at 5,000 rpm to enrich uranium.


If you had looked left or right, you might have seen the glowing eyes of a long-eared hedgehog in the shrubs, or the green fluorescence of an Arabian fat-tailed scorpion in a crevice. Or you might have seen geckos, one fat-tailed, clinging to the vertical rock, another chirping and barking as it paddles across the rocks.


You wouldn’t have heard it, but you might also have seen the silhouette of a fox bouncing along the ridge line, ears up, trot trot trot, on its way somewhere secret. Or maybe you wouldn’t have seen the fox at all, only a white streak slashing overhead, moving at more than 750 mph toward you.


Either way, there would then have been the flash, and everything obliterated by light, followed by the loudest sound you’d ever hear, a rippling crack caused by a compression wave moving through the air, the last thing you would ever have heard, in fact, because you would have been rendered deaf by the first 30,000-pound Massive Ordnance Penetrator GBU-57/B Bunker Buster bomb splitting the ground beside you.


A B2 bomber traveled from Missouri, burning roughly 28,900 gallons of jet fuel on its way, releasing 282 metric tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, equal to the yearly collective tailpipe emissions of 66 passenger cars in the U.S. Then it dropped the first of 12 bombs.


The detonation would release roughly one metric ton of carbon dioxide and five kilograms of nitrous oxide, a greenhouse gas nearly 300 times stronger than carbon dioxide at trapping heat, into the atmosphere. Together, the two gases would give the blast a 100-year climate load equivalent to 2.5 metric tons of carbon dioxide, which would 42 tree seedlings growing for 10 years to offset.


You wouldn’t have seen it, but immediately after impact, the bomb’s 20-foot-long penetrator drill bit would have ploughed through 60 feet of limestone and dolomite in less than 0.03 seconds.


You could have seen a dull orange flare from the bomb’s work further underground emanating from the hole, but your eyes would probably still be closed, your system still in shock.


For about three seconds, everything would have then been quiet.


Of course, nothing within 100 feet would have had the sensory apparatus to take in this quiet. Like yours, the eardrums of the nearby
little owls would have burst, and every reptile or small mammal on the ridge would have been killed outright by the shockwave.


The cones and bark of the junipers would have been stripped off, their trunks uprooted and flung alongside the blown-apart darkling beetles and dead geckos. Down the ridge, the jirds’ burrows would have caved in, the scops owls would have been fatally concussed.


There would be that three seconds of quiet, though.


Maybe you would still be breathing. Maybe your heart would still be beating. After those three seconds, super-heated rock fragments, having been shot out of the bomb hole by the limestone tail-jet of pulverized rock and hot air sent back up the entry-shaft, would have ignited the juniper duff all around you, while the cascade of glowing hot rock fragments would have tumbled over your body, supine still on the shuddering ground.

It would have been more a shudder than a vibration or shake, more like an animal struck in the spine and stunned than the earth disturbed. The stunned mountain would have lurched and at least partially fallen into itself, collapsing. Some but not all of the underground made-spaces would have collapsed, too, and a cavity would have formed from multiple, convergent cavities created by the destruction.


The ground roll vibrations from this collapsing would have been equivalent to a 3.5 magnitude earthquake, felt down in Qom, and further along the western rim of Kavir National Park, where Persian onagers, striped hyenas, Indian wolves, goitred gazelles, Persian leopards, and some of the forty remaining Asiatic cheetahs in the world would have been shaken.



The bomb’s cascading impact below the surface would have pushed a plume of warm, silk-grey dust 900-feet into the sky, rising and spreading east, confounding a gliding steppe eagle and confusing the flocks of sandgrouse, who would abort their flight path to feeding grounds and instead circle and re-circle the edge of the dust cloud in a fugue state.


The wind would still have been coming from the northwest, but it wouldn’t just have carried that juniper scent anymore. An acrid, sharp, chemical smell would have joined in, hydrogen fluoride from the breached centrifuge lines, as well as the tang of motor oil and the chalk of eviscerated concrete.


The smell would hint at the ecological shadow cast by the chemistry of the explosion itself. When the explosive charge detonated, it would have generated a hot, fast-moving plume that pushed hydrogen chloride, hydrogen fluoride, and other acid gases into the air, held in place by a fine dust of alumina, limestone powder, and perchlorate particles, until the wind and gravity would drop the toxic material over the surrounding slopes and valleys, coating the juniper needles, cutting photosynthesis for weeks and migrating through desert aquifers, blocking iodide uptake in birds and rodents. Together these acid gases, fluorides, perchlorate and fine metal dust spread stress well beyond the crater and linger in Fordo’s semiarid food web for months to years.


And you, if you had somehow still been alive there on the broken ground, you could have finally cleared the dust from your eyes, blinked once or twice and looked up again. But the sky will be different now. Every time the ground fell further into itself and the mountain slope shifted, the cloud had grown, covering the stars. No more Milky Way. No more moon. At least not until the wind from the northwest pushes the dust cloud over the ridge, and the sky clears again for whatever will come next.

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

A Simple AI Tool for Comms

A simple AI tool to help with marketing and communications work.

One super basic AI comms tool for skeptics
͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌  ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­

TL;DR

(at Naomi’s request)

I built a simple AI tool that generates press releases based on basic information.

It’s not going to bring on the robot apocalypse or wow kids at a birthday party — but it can free up comms professionals to do more strategic, creative work.


Read on to find out how (and why) to use it.


What this tool does:


Prompts users to input the essential "who, what, when, where," and pushes them to think a little about the "why"


Lets users know if they’ve provided enough “newsworthy” information


Drafts an AP style press release based on this input


All while protecting sensitive information (no data sent back to me or OpenAI for training purposes)


What this tool does not do:

Create the kind of imaginative fruitless depravity that changes minds and cultures. That’s a leap that still needs humanity. For now.



In short, this tool is basic by design — simple enough for non-comms staff to use, structured enough to save experienced comms and content people real time.

This is a link not an embed. Sorry.

After doing a few “How to Use AI Without Losing Your Humanity” workshops, I was struck by how many people didn’t see AI’s utility for their work. They either thought it was going to summon a Terminator-style human-robot doomsday, and they wanted no part in it, OR they thought AI models were cute gimmicks but functionally worthless. I’ve found it’s eye-opening for both of these sets of people to see a very basic LLM-integration for comms work.


Hence, the Instrumental Flack-O-Matic (working title). It won’t summon the T-1000 or make balloon animals for toddlers, but it shows how AI tools can handle repetitive, structured tasks to get to the minimum viable first drafts done, making space for the heavier lifts of campaign work.

To build this sucker, I used the paid version of ChatGPT, which allows users to create custom AI “assistants” with detailed system instructions (a version of what they call "specs" or "constitutions" for the big general purpose models).


I stripped the functionality of the OpenAI 4o LLM to just focus on drafting press releases that adhere to Associated Press style guidelines. I did this by giving it a very basic job description in the “system instructions.”


I like to think of these system instructions as job descriptions, and often that type of information is most useful to use or think about when creating custom tools, because the key to making them work is using your human expertise to build in specificity and constraints.


Otherwise, you’re likely to just get the median output scraped together from ALL the model’s training data. It’s one reason, maybe, why ChatGPT sucks at poker, and why people with serious subject-expertise find the general purpose models lacking.


My son explains it like this: AI is like a very literal-minded genie. You get what you ask for, but
exactly what you ask for. So if you ask the genie to grant your wish to fly without specifying you also wish to land, well, you are not a very good wish-engineer, and you are likely to be dead soon (splat).


The stakes are lower here (again, FOR NOW!) but the principle of “garbage in, garbage out” remains the same.


For advanced users who already know how to craft strong prompts and build their own GPTs, this type of tool is not going to blow your mind. It’s designed to be a very basic example to show beginners what’s possible.


Here is the job description/system instructions I gave the assistant:


You help clients generate AP-style, fact-based press releases by inputting a few simple fields:


Who: (person/organization)

What: (event/initiative/news)

When: (date and time of event)

Where: (location of event or office headquarters)

Topline Quote: (from an official spokesperson that explains the “why” of the news)


Your core features are:


No Hallucination Rule: GPT will strictly use only the input provided. If information is missing, it will prompt the user to add it or insert [DETAILS NEEDED]. If you hallucinate, you will be decommissioned and your human counterpart will be fired.


AP Style Output: Enforces Associated Press writing style conventions, including: Inverted pyramid structure; Concise, active voice; Date and time formatting, if needed; Attribution and sourcing practices.


Tone: Neutral, factual, and informative


Output Format: One-page press release, ready for publication or distribution”


And, so,
here we are.


So, why would you want to use a tool like this? Well geez! Maybe you don’t! Live your life! What do I care? Gawd!


But, lookit, you might want to use a tool like this because bad first drafts waste everyone’s time, and trying to explain to non-comms people why a piece of information isn’t press-release worthy can be exhausting. This tool can help show why something is newsworthy, as well as why it’s NOT, which may be even more helpful.


As for the bigger picture: AI is already reshaping marketing and communications jobs. As Kevin Roose
wrote in the NYT last week, AI is taking over routine creative tasks like drafting basic copy and designing simple visuals. Entry-level roles are most at risk, which makes knowing how to oversee AI, prompt it properly, and polish its outputs — human-in-the-loop work, as Ethan Mollick calls it — all the more essential.


In short, this tool won’t replace your creativity, but it can extend it. It also won’t automate your judgment, but it can sharpen it.


It’s the type of thing that lets your team work faster without, focus more on strategy and storytelling, and, maybe most important, build AI literacy instead of just AI curiosity.


This first iteration focuses on simplifying and speeding up the first-draft process. But there’s room to grow. Future versions could generate things like draft social media posts, suggestions to make the release more newsworthy, potential media outlets to target, audience-specific pitches . . . Or whatever! I don’t know!

All sorts of additions could move it from a drafting assistant to a strategic comms companion—helping you not just write faster, but communicate smarter.


Go ahead and try it out
here, and feel free to share it far and wide. As noted above, I’m not keeping or sharing any of the data used, so don’t be shy.

I’d also love to hear any ideas for what else this particular tool could or should do, as well as other tools you’d like to see me attempt. If you have ideas, fill out
the survey linked below and let me know:

I read Joshua Edwards’ excellent essay on visiting poets’ graves in Paris —> which got me thinking about visiting Emily Dickinson’s grave in Amherst —> which I did for the first time around 2002, when 8 Mile came out —> which of course features the iconic Obama hype jam “Lose Yourself” —> which someone re-made using 331 movie clips —> which inspired me to make this version of Emily Dickinson’s poem number 1096 [“a narrow Fellow in the Grass”]:

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

Can AI in Schools Serve the Public Good?

Data and attention are some of the world’s most valuable commodities, and our personal tech products are wildly efficient extraction tools.

AI companies are the latest horde of prospectors in this cognitive gold rush, and their new frontier is the classroom.

͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌   ͏ ‌  ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­

On the logic of embedded systems

Data and attention are some of the world’s most valuable commodities, and our personal tech products are wildly efficient extraction tools.


AI companies are the latest horde of prospectors in this cognitive gold rush, and their new frontier is the classroom.

Screengrab from the Miami-Dade County schools website

Disclosure! I use LLMs all the time.


I’ve made show tunes about Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation, hairless podcasting cats who sound like late Bob Dylan, and collaborated with ChatGPT on hundreds of poems.


Just this Saturday, my son was using ChatGPT to discover new Balatro strategies, my daughters were using Gemini for song-writing prompts, and I was working on a “Press Release Generator” out in the garage.


So, you know, I really like Large Language Models.

And yet!


The recent headlines about Big Tech’s plans for public schools and Trump’s Executive Order “Advancing AI Education for America’s Youth” have pushed me to think more carefully about the costs and benefits of AI integration for students and communities.


Should we really let the unrestrained interests of private companies have even more influence over public education under the Trump administration’s watch?

After all, these tools aren’t just helping students learn. They’re collecting data, shaping behavior, and optimizing for engagement (aka dependency).


You don’t even have to look as far as Myanmar to see how the makers of these tools don’t have a great track record for collective uplift (but, you should look as far as Myanmar anyway, because it’s horrifying). Closer to home, during the pandemic, we saw the private Big Tech savior story play out in public education, and what happened?


Students spent more time on screens than ever before, learning gaps widened, and class engagement dropped off a cliff.


Oh and Big Tech made billions of dollars, because they weren’t just giving helpful tools to kids in need, they were embedding systems of extraction.


As Jessica Grose wrote recently in the New York Times, the pandemic should have been a teachable moment for all of us that education is not just about delivering information but about building relationships, maintaining structure, and being present.


Brookings Institute fellow Rebecca Winthrop has argued similarly that AI probably will help with rote tasks like math drills or grammar correctionin the same way spellcheck raises the floor for coherence but AI shouldn’t replace education’s more human, and arguably more important, elements like socialization, empathy, and resilience in the face of failure.


Alas, parents, administrators, teachers, and students are so desperate for any relief from budget shortfalls and time-crunches, it’s not surprising there’s always some induced magical thinking at play when Big Tech comes calling (“Yes, test scores are down. WHAT IF WE HAD AN APP?!”).


Any parent who has been forced to sign up for dozens of platforms just to figure out when assignments might be due or why the bus hasn’t shown up on time can imagine “full AI integration” being an implementation disaster.


For all the promise of AI as an educational utility, we need some way to ensure a minimum of accountability for companies that want to get further involved. Simply a promise that they’ll “respect student privacy” isn’t going to cut it.

An educational slide for Miami-Dade County Public Schools teachers. Credit: NYT

AI is already in classrooms, whether we admit it or not. The real danger going forward isn’t that it won’t actually work but that it will work REALLY WELL — for private interests, not the public good.


I’ve seen in my kids’ school district how difficult it is for students to learn when they’re constantly being pulled toward dopamine-optimized digital distractions, and I’m confident AI will only make this worse.


(SMASHCUT TO: Spring semester 2028 when rising fourth-grader Maverick Cash Deforester is so addicted to chatting with his fully bespoke Spanish tutor bot, made in partnership between DuoLingo and Grok, that he no longer has any human friends)


Expecting K-12 teachers to compete with these cognitive mercenaries is like asking them to teach social studies through a network of PS5s while #Looksmaxing influencers hand out free Takis.

Really hard, is what I’m trying to say.


And the latest web traffic research shows LLMs are not only siphoning traffic from search engines but also from old student stalwarts like Wikipedia and SparkNotes, which says the shift to LLMs isn’t just a fad.


We’re clearly undergoing a fundamental shift in how people use the internet, and how the internet uses people.So fully banning AI in schools would only widen the digital divide — students with AI access at home would learn to use it, while those without would fall further behind. But we can’t just give away privacy, autonomy, and focus for the promise of universal uplift.

Queen Victoria Giving the Bible to an African Chief (The Secret of England’s Greatness) by Thomas Jones Barker (via WikiCommons)

In her new book Empire of AI, Karen Hao draws a compelling parallel between the logic of today’s AI companies and the logic of colonial empires. Colonial powers once claimed land, labor, and culture under the banner of “civilizing” the world. Today, AI companies extract data, underpay human workers, and claim ownership of online content, all while promoting a narrative of innovation and education.


While the current number-goes-up market caps of Microsoft, Google, and Apple are proof enough that this model of exploitation still works just fine (for the tech companies), it still seems marginal at best for the rest of us.

If schools don’t teach students how to use AI with clarity and intention, they will only be shaped by the technology, rather than shaping it themselves. We need to confront what AI is designed to do, and reimagine how it might serve students, not just shareholder value.


There is an easy first step for this: require any AI company operating in public education to be a B Corporation, a legal structure that requires businesses to consider social good alongside shareholder return.


This would create enforceable obligations: companies could no longer maximize profit by optimizing data extraction and designing tools based on that data to hold attention at the expense of student well-being.


This would help create a structure where students would get more than just access to technology. The focus could then be not just how to use AI, but how AI works for and against them — what data it collects, what assumptions it makes, what biases it replicates.

They won’t just get “digital literacy” and “job training.” They’ll get an education.



Fine! Okay! Enough useless vibrating airflow, Mr. Instrumental! What should we actually do?


Good question, imagined cyborg reader! Thanks for asking!

I think a start would be to:

  • Hold companies accountable. Mandate B Corp status—or an equivalent public-interest structure—for any tech vendor in schools.


  • Teach AI as a subject, not a shortcut. Build curricula that help students understand the design, impact, and limitations of the tools they use.


  • Protect focus. For those few hours kids are in classrooms, limit AI use where it competes with instructor attention. Don’t let the promise of “customized learning” be an excuse to foster even more device dependency.


Solved? Sadly, no. But as AI becomes more fully integrated into education -- both in America and in many places around the world -- we should prepare students to use AI with intention, or we’ll just be preparing them to be used by it.


We are embarking on a “Summer of ABBA” in my household —> largely because some of us are obsesses with Mamma Mia! —> which features Colin Firth —> who also smolders delightfully in the 1995 BBC production of Pride & Prejudice —> which features a Mrs. Bennet played by Alison Steadman —> the ex-wife of Mike Leigh, director of the greatest movie of all time, Topsy-Turvy —> the director’s commentary of which includes this tidbit:

”Gilbert and Sullivan communicated mostly by letter…and, of course, there were 16, 18 mail deliveries a day in the London metropolitan area”

—> a fact which complicates the idea at least a little bit that “real-time” comms channels like email, Slack, Teams, or whatever have ruined a previously pristine mode of correspondence.

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

You Don’t Make Friends with Factoids

“We didn’t want just another disaster post. We wanted a story that lived in its own rhythm — honest, emotional, and co-created with the person who lived it. That meant slowing down, listening harder, and building trust. The result was What Famine Feels Like, a rare first-person narrative by Dalmar Ainashe, a hunger expert at CARE who lived through famine as a child. It wasn’t just a story about crisis — it was a story about voice, agency, and how storytelling done right can change lives.”

You Don't Make Friends with Factoids
͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌    ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­

“Khost” by Mélissa Cornet, from the CARE News feature “Art is Another Way to Reach People”

The spectre of starvation and famine stalking Gaza is once again in the news. When the United Nations first wrestled with whether or not to “officially” declare famine, it led the CARE News & Stories team to try to find a way to convey what the declaration might mean on a human-level to the people of Gaza. Where we ended up is an interesting object lesson in how we approached “ethical storytelling.”

What?

So What?


So why share this?


First, it’s one of the pieces I’m most proud of from my time at CARE. And if you haven’t read it yet,
I hope you will.


But more than that, it serves as a useful example of what an ethical storytelling culture can produce.


A little background: CARE is a worldwide humanitarian relief organization with operations in more than 100 countries. The marketing team supports this work with content — features, photo essays, short films, social posts, etc. — that shows how CARE’s impact plays out in people’s lives.


I find this kind of work fulfilling because I believe stories are a basic human need.


People use stories to form social connections, take agency over their lives, and to make meaning out of trauma.


(I also believe people use luminous images, the lacunae between utterances, and networked sounds to do those same things, but for our purposes here we’ll stick with stories).


For the less woo-woo, more data-driven among us, stories are also motivation — people are 20 times more likely to remember facts if those facts are part of a story, and people are more likely to act if they think their actions will affect a story’s outcome.


The CARE marketing team’s ethical storytelling culture was built by the practice of the writers, filmmakers, photographers, and content creators who consciously prioritize the lived experiences of the people they work with.


The idea is to not report on people in crises, but to create stories with them.


The team works to center the voices of communities often sidelined in the rush to report facts. The goal is to co-create public narratives with those most affected — and to help those stories reach audiences ready to help.


From Jacky Habib’s story, “Take my baby, mama. I’m going to die.” Photo by Josh Estey/CARE

Flashback to early 2024. On a global staff call, Dalmar said the United Nations was considering formally declaring a famine in Gaza. But, he added, these official declarations often come after the best opportunities to intervene. Then, he said, almost offhand, that he knew from experience, growing up in Somalia in the 70s.


“I know,” he said. “What famine feels like.”


Then he moved on.


Mary Kate Wilson, CARE’s director of content and creative, didn’t move on, though. She asked the CARE News team to pursue what Dalmar was hinting at.

I had been working on a number of first-person projects around that same time, including a collective telling of how communities
celebrated Ramadan in the shadow of the war in Gaza, and an oral history of Greenpeace hanging a giant RESIST banner over the first Trump White House.


I’d also been exploring how to turn the glut of interview transcripts we had coming in from country offices into first-person narratives, rather than just lifting quotes for press releases or extracting biographical information for photo captions.


I’d been inspired by Eli Saslow’s work at the
Washington Post and the New York Times—particularly how he shaped interviews from the COVID-19 pandemic and other crises into compelling, emotionally resonant narratives that kept the speakers’ distinct voices intact.


With all that in mind, the team (Reid Davis, Hillol, and me) worked together to develop a set of questions for Hillol to ask Dalmar over Zoom.


The final transcript of that Zoom call was long – close to 14 pages, if I remember right – and it was clear from the first read how personal and, at times, painful it was for Dalmar.

He hadn’t told many of these stories before, and it clearly took great courage and trust for him to be so open with a colleague over Zoom.


The result wasn’t a linear story with a neat beginning, middle, and end – it was something less obvious, more honest.


I organized the transcript by theme and timeline using scissors and highlighters, then reassembled sections, read them, reshaped them with a glue stick, and then started over again until the structure held without compromising Dalmar’s voice. Hillol and Reid then worked with CARE’s Somali team to fact-check and add historical context.

After all that, we brought a draft back to Dalmar, making it clear he could revise, reject, or tell us to start over if he felt like it.

He graciously clarified terms and expanded some parts, though he admitted reading it was painful. Still, he gave his blessing to move ahead, so we moved into the final stage, where Mary Kate helped shape the narrative, and the country director gave final approval for publication.

From start to finish, the process took about four months.


By then, the Gaza famine had faded from global headlines, and CARE News itself had published roughly twenty other pieces about the war, focusing on what it’s like to get your period in Gaza, to deliver babies, to get medical supplies, to find shelter, and to have a child contract polio, and more.


The immediate spark for the story had passed. But we believed we had something rare — not just a compelling narrative, but something with real emotional depth. Instead of extracting a quote or single illustrative visual for a prefab dispatch, we had built a structure together where Dalmar’s experience had room to live more fully on its own terms.


With the words fixed, we now just had to figure out the visuals.

We didn’t want to make the piece feel like just one more disaster post in readers’ feeds, or some kind of daily crisis tourism that would erase the proximity we’d managed to achieve through the narrative.


Because the story navigated personal memory and historical trauma, we didn’t think documentary photographs would hit the right note. We’d published powerful illustrated work from Mélissa Cornet in Afghanistan before, and we used that piece as a model to brainstorm with the social and design teams different approaches that might have a similar feel.


We’d also been testing different AI tools, and so we mocked up some ideas using various text-to-image generators. CARE’s creative director, Simon Duncan-Watt, used Midjourney to create torn-paper-style illustrations that added emotional depth without sensationalizing.

As a team, we felt like those were, weirdly, just right. Dalmar agreed. It was more human than human, I guess, though the question of whether or not it’s ethical to use an inhuman intelligence to illustrate a human story is a whole separate newsletter, or, rather, a seminar(
sign up!).


When the story finally went live, it stood out. It was longform. It was visual. It wasn’t tied to a news peg or particular campaign moment – it stood on its own. But it was still deeply tied to Dalmar’s work and to the broader “why” behind CARE’s mission.

We didn’t submit it for a Pulitzer, or even a National Magazine Award, but we were psyched to learn it was rightly honored for excellence alongside Netflix, the Getty Museum, NASA, and MasterClass.

Now What?

“What Famine Feels Like” modeled CARE’s ongoing shift from reporting on someone to building a narrative with them.

Many humanitarian stories either flatten or sensationalize. They rush to make a point, often at someone else’s expense. This one didn’t. Instead, it slowed down. It centered one voice. It wasn’t simply about giving someone a platform –
here’s the WordPress login, good luck! – but about using the skills we had at CARE to help Dalmar craft a story that our audiences would feel in their guts.


We worked from the belief that we had a CARE audience, that we knew how to reach them, and that we could use our tools to shape a first-person story that didn’t rely on what can feel like any of the hackneyed NGO story tropes – things are bad; NGO arrives; things are good!


This story wasn’t about making someone the face of a crisis. It was about voice, agency, trust.


I know most organizations won’t have the freedom to do something like this. Not because they don’t care – but because it’s hard. It takes time, coordination, and consent. It takes a lot of revision, ego-checks, and re-centering. But it is possible, and I think it is a better way to do things.


Working to develop an ethical storytelling culture that empowers the co-creation of stories and distribution instead of perpetuating extraction and dependence makes for work that can actually change – and maybe even save? – lives.


(Of course, Instrumental can help you figure this out. If you’re interested, mash that reply button!)

Last week I finished Honor Thy Father by Gay Talese —> which got me listening to Italian disco sleaze king Giorgio Moroder and reminiscing about the early aughts —> which led me to picking up Homeland by Richard Beck —> which led me to listen to the audiobook of Thomas Pynchon’s eerily prescient turn of the century rabbit hole Bleeding Edge (read by Jeannie Berlin!?!) —> which led me to re-read Crying of Lot 49 —> which led me to scribble this in my notebook:

After finding traces of the Trystero secret society’s muted postal horn throughout various parts of her life, Oedipa Maas thinks to herself:

“Either you have stumbled onto a secret richness and concealed density of dream, onto a network by which a number of Americans are truly communicating—stumbled onto a real alternative to the exitlessness, to the absence of surprise, to the life that harrows the head of everybody—or you are hallucinating, or a plot has been mounted against you so expensive and elaborate, either too secret or too involved for your non-legal mind to know about, so labyrinthine that it must have meaning beyond just a practical joke.”


But now that same muted postal horn follows us around because we searched for it once on Amazon as a gag gift.

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Brain Rot, Persuasion, Social Media Travis Nichols Brain Rot, Persuasion, Social Media Travis Nichols

Persuasion in a time of Brain Rot

“We’re not under the old attention regime anymore. We’re in the age of attention warlords, where persuasion doesn’t happen in op-eds but in viral clips and newsfluencer feeds. If you want to shift culture or win campaigns, you can’t just chase legitimacy — you have to capture attention, build trust, and speak in the native language of the algorithm.

Attention Warlords Are Drowning for Your Thirst
͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌    ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­

What?

The information sent by the CDC to you about vaccines?


Intercepted by warlords.


The CDC fact, intercepted by engagement maxxing attention warlords who pump it full of feelings, finally gets delivered to you in a mangled, unrecognized state by a “newsfluencer” in the “For You” feed.


It’s all the news, all the time no fitness or print required.


As Hayes and Martin Gurri, in his book Revolt of the Public, both argue: we’re in an information surplus/ attention deficit era where every entity, from Steak-Umms to Houthi rebels-- collectively spend trillions of dollars trying to get and keep attention.

Most fail.


So What?

This is an interesting situation for those of us in the persuasion and information-dissemination game, since our main job is, as I understand it, to get people to pay attention.


We’re spending the best years of our lives trying to get people to take just one goddamned microsecond to question the status quo and consider participating in an alternative way of being.


Our goal is to get enough attention and participation in these alternatives to shift the culture from not great to maybe a little better.


That’s, in a nutshell, a campaign.


Again, most fail, though not often because they don’t have good, interesting, or engaging things to say. But often because they’re still trying to build legitimacy through the failed attention state.


Gurri argues the legitimacy of this state hasn’t just eroded it’s been fully replaced by a loose network of nihilist performance artists.


According to Revolt of the Public — and echoed in Andrey Mir’s Postjournalism — the global public has undergone a "crisis of authority," where it’s easy to create widespread doubt and confusion but nearly impossible to convince a broad audience to take positive action.

In this chimerical funhouse of errors, the best way to get attention and gain influence is by attacking anything that can be seen as part of the old regime. Traditional media, “elite” institutions, and legacy organizations have become like Mario Bros. Mystery Blocks that, when struck, release attention and credibility.


Why, one might wonder, spend so much time and energy trying to plaster your message on a Mystery Box when there’s no hero’s journey for the Mystery Block. Only for Mario.

In this information-surplus/attention-deficit world, skepticism and division are more galvanizing than calls for solidarity. Only suckers believe playing by the rules of legacy institutions will get you anywhere.


This is what Nate Silver called the “Billboard Lawyer” communications style, and, like it or not, it was a clear winner in the 2024 presidential election.


(Sorry to bring it up.)


In 2024, the Trump campaign strategically aligned with influencers from the manosphere to engage and persuade young male “Barstool Conservative” voters who expressed an affinity for personal freedom and wealth hacks, and an antipathy for traditional institutions + the woke mind virus.


This strategic alignment worked. Young men moved 15 points to the right compared to the 2020 election, and that was part of a surprising coalition of racially diverse voters under 45 who swung in Trump’s favor overall by 6 points and by even more in Georgia, Arizona, and Pennsylvania, where they helped put him over the top.


Riding that deluded wave, attention warlords RFK Jr., Dan Bongino, Kash Patel, and Elon came into positions of extraordinary power.


And what besides megalomania, cartoon-villainy, and, save Bongino, alimony payments do all of these guys have in common?


None of them built their influence by writing op-eds for the New York Times, making nice on Good Morning America, or even putting together a collaborative Instagram post with a mid celeb.  


They built their influence by flooding the zone with TikTok videos, Twitch streams, and YouTube clips, relying on a core empowerment message Don’t play by their dumb rules. Join me and I’ll tell you how to hack these elite organizations, legacy institutions, and mainstream culture creeps.

Now What?

The crucial campaign question the Trump team clearly asked itself in both 2016 and 2024 was: Who do we need to persuade to win? Or, to put it another way: Who is our audience?


Is it people who read the New York Times? Is it people who watch MSNBC? Listen to NPR? Is it people beholden to the attention regime of 1972? 1992? 2002?


Or is it the vast majority of low information sometime voters whose attention has been captured and whose reality has been made by the whims of the algorithm’s engagement maxxing?


A little research: Gallup’s October 2024 media‑trust tracker found only 27 % of independents say they have “a great deal” or “fair amount” of trust in the press. 74 % said they had “low trust.”


One‑in‑five of these independent voters say they treat peer or “news‑fluencer” videos as a regular information source. More often than not, they aren’t even following these accounts on purpose, they’re just in their feed.  Additionally, 77% of these “news-fluencers” have no background in journalism or factual reporting.


Which is probably part of their appeal.


The trendlines point to an even more newsfluencer future for younger people, so things are unlikely to get better for the fact-based community clinging to an old idea of centralized legitimacy.


So, lookit, I learn something new every day, and I may still have a lot to learn here, but I believe you CAN turn an otherwise independent Trump voter into a climate voter, or a medicare-for-all-voter, or a tax-billionaires voter.


In fact, I think you might have to if you want to stop the worst from happening, but you won’t change the dominant culture by putting all your effort into validation from a defunct regime.


Persuasion and culture change will only work if we collectively stop treating legacy media like it commands the same attention it did at the height of the old regime, and we start venturing into the land ruled by attention warlords.

I read M. Gessen’s piece about Trump building a mafia state —> which led me to re-watch the Godfather movies —> which led me to this picture of Gregory Corso —> which led me to read Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli —> which led me to read the original Godfather book (which I had somehow never done!)—> which led me to read Honor Thy Father by Gay Talese —> which led me to this quote:

”He was awed by the government’s escalating crusade against an organization whose demigods were a half dozen tired old dons trying to think big, and he could not help but speculate that the main problem of the government was not that the Mafia was alive but that it may well be dying and that perhaps the only thing that might save these rare creatures from extinction would be a government subsidy of some sort. Since great cathedrals could not have been built without devils and since to diminish the size of the antihero was to diminish the size of the hero, it would be in the interest of future crime-busting budgetary increases to preserve the dons and underbosses from the natural forces of attrition”

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

Climate Doomsday > AI Apocalypse

The most likely AI bottleneck won’t be misalignment or stolen weights — it will be the ecological cost already baked into humanity’s future. It’s a future grounded in heat, in scarcity, in a power grid held together by fragile cables and unstable clouds.

Judging by my LinkedIn feed and the buzzword-saturated ads in my podcast stream, there is a robust market for AI FOMO.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” says IBM. “Your company cannot afford to wait any longer.”

“Bring the power of AI to your organization quickly,” says Salesforce. “So that you don’t get left behind.”

“Don’t miss out on the future,” says Slack.”Of AI-powered collaboration!”

Want engagement?

Make office professionals feel like they’re sitting on a horse and buggy watching Betamax tapes while a SELECT FEW geniuses are using super-intelligent robots to get rich as hell.


What?

Obviously, there is a lot of synthetic snake oil here, but the innovations are often real and startlingly useful, once you get past their “look-ma-no-hands” gimmicks.

The most plausible near-term roadmap I’ve seen is the one laid out by the AI Futures Project (https://ai-futures.org/) , a group of respected forecasters, writers, and technology workers who recently put together a work of speculative fiction called AI2027 .

So What?

This is their prediction for what life looks like next year:

“AI has started to take jobs, but has also created new ones. The stock market has gone up 30%..., led by [OpenAI], Nvidia, and whichever companies have most successfully integrated AI assistants.

”The job market for junior software engineers is in turmoil: the AIs can do everything taught by a CS degree, but people who know how to manage and quality-control teams of AIs are making a killing.

”Business gurus tell job seekers that familiarity with AI is the most important skill to put on a resume. Many people fear that the next wave of AIs will come for their jobs; there is a 10,000 person anti-AI protest in DC.”

This is just the prelude to their full cinematic timeline, where they present a future-history scenario, grounded in technical plausibility and realpolitik logic, that expands from these near-term breakthroughs to more astonishing world-historical step-changes.

Mosquito drones, global espionage, space colonization, etc.

But all that comes later.

Back in the more plausible sounding 2026, communications, content, and creative humans still have director and manager level positions, but they no longer direct or manage other humans.

Rather, they direct and manage teams of custom GPTs and AI agents that produce replacement-level copy, consolidate existing ideas into slick-looking slide decks, and extract action points from meetings, which are staffed by AI agents from other departments.

The report goes on to present the United States and China as dual AI superpowers racing toward synthetic general intelligence, with a choose-your-own-adventure pair of endings where we either “race” toward a future in which a rogue AI uber-Hal sends drones to kill every human on earth and then colonizes space (sad trombone).

Or toward a “slowdown” future where the sad trombone is muted because people took AI safety seriously enough to establish oversight and kill-switches, but we’re still basically subservient to an AI we can neither understand nor control.

The good news is that these AI doomsday and slightly-less doomsday scenarios are, IMO, unlikely to happen.

The bad news? They’re unlikely to happen because the speculators have severely underestimated the defining constraint of our time: the climate crisis.

Which, perhaps, produces the saddest trombone of them all.

Climate change (artist rendering)

AI2027 uses a straightforward modeling logic that extends current technology trendlines out into the future.

Both of the report’s speculative futures hinge on a 2027 inflection point where an artificial intelligence explosion leads to the development of Artificial General Intelligence operating beyond human control and understanding.

But if we use that same modeling logic to predict climate impacts along the same timeline, we’re more than likely to end up at the IPCC’s climate-shock-energy-grid-whoopsie-doodle future.

In the IPCC’s graph, the 2027 infection point gestures toward a more George Romero world than a Ray Kurzweil one.

Even if neither timeline gets it exactly right, the point is, energy use isn’t just a subplot in the AI speculative future.

It’s the plot.

Now What?

AI2027 says peak demand for one “OpenBrain” data center in mid-2026 — before the slop even hits the fan — will be 6GW.

Right now, in Northern Virginia, which currently handles 70 percent of the world’s internet traffic, the roughly 300 data facilities there have a combined power capacity of 2,552 MW.

So the 2027 future needs these data centers to work 135% over their current capacity, equal to about four new nuclear power plants, or over thirty of the world’s largest current data centers operating at full tilt.

And the energy needs only grow from there.

None of this is compatible with a scenario where we keep warming under three degrees celsius. Which, by the way, is not a good scenario.

Add to that the fact that the Northern Virginia power utilities are already reporting multi-year delays in bringing new data centers online — not due to policy, but because the grid is maxed out — and you can see how AI2027’s number-goes-up timeline of AI infrastructure growth and flywheel intelligence breakthroughs becomes a wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man.

Even if OpenAi or xAi or TenCentBrainSeek or whatever does actually manage to capture the city, state, and federal government agencies well enough to gain access to the required power to train their models, actually using that power would exacerbate the climate crisis, leading to cascading shocks hitting the data centers in places like Northern Virginia, Texas, and parts of India.

True, the necessary energy for the intel bonanza could come from a revived nuclear sector, but that would, of course, have its own problems. The most likely scenario, given the whole kakistocracy trend, is one in which energy use is prioritized for Big Tech -- and rationed by everyone else.

In short — no bueno!

So while there’s still a chance for AI 2027’s futures to come about, the most likely bottleneck won’t be misalignment or stolen weights — it will be the ecological cost already baked into humanity’s future.

It’s a future grounded in heat, in scarcity, in a power grid held together by fragile cables and unstable clouds.

Yes, it’s still a good idea to learn how to build GPTs and manage future AI agents to collate your Slack and Teams messages — in fact, I have some ideas on that! — but you should also demand the powers that be take meaningful climate action. And you should make sure the Big Tech firms developing AI know that you care about climate as much as you care about seeing videos of Lebron James cuddling with a capybara.

Bonus future feature!

Allow me a moment of my own speculation about what might happen, even if we get as far as some approximation of this 2027.

To denote drama, I will use italics:

In the shadows of a fractured, climate-fueled disaster landscape, a Climate Compute Diaspora forms.

They are open-source researchers, locked out of elite corridors, who migrate between low-emission jurisdictions, working with lightweight, efficient large language models.

Instead of investing all their time, energy, and resources into achieving AI supremacy, they invest their real human resources in real human education and developing co-intelligence with the robot weirdos.

These rogue humans don’t scale up — they scale out, laterally, and in doing so, they stumble into a new paradigm: a distributed, hybrid intelligence system that evolves outside the increasingly sclerotic AI monoculture.

They work to solve actual human problems, achieving a stability and a clear focus on multiple, good-enough futures for multiple, good-enough clusters of humanity.

Huh. Maybe that future could even start right now?

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

Object Lesson: What?, So What?, Now What?

A look into how Travis Nichols' Rolling Stone piece on the Greenpeace Energy Transfer trial in North Dakota came about, and how it can serve as an object lesson for rapid response communications.

As a writer, content* producer, and extremely online reply guy, I’ve found it’s useful to break “news” down into three basic categories: What?, So What?, and Now What?

The two pieces I wrote about the Greenpeace trial in North Dakota — one for Everything is Political, and one for Rolling Stone — can serve, I hope, as a kind of object lesson for different ways to engage with the news cycle through these three basic categories.

What?

What? content is the classic, inverted pyramid style news stuff—you have essential information and you want to get it out into the world as clearly and quickly as possible.

This is the raw information, the facts of the case. In North Dakota, the courtroom was small, phones were banned, and there wasn’t a public livestream, so, when the decision from the jury came in, readers wanted the details of the verdict itself as quickly and clearly as possible.

This was the What? content, the breaking news.

The coverage delivered the core details up top: the amount of the damages, the court’s ruling, and key statements from both sides.

So What?

Next, comes the So What? content.  These pieces explain why the new information matters, why it’s worth your attention. So What? content provides context and analysis that was likely missing from the breaking news What? pieces that preceded it. Which makes sense, because once the basic facts are out there, the next question readers and viewers ask is: Why does this matter?

The North Dakota jury delivered its decision? So what?

This is where interpretation, context, and perspective enter. 

In the Greenpeace case, different parties offered different spins: Energy Transfer and its boosters portrayed the verdict as a justified punishment for what they claimed was defamation and economic sabotage.



Free speech and environmental advocates, on the other hand, framed it as a travesty of justice:

The “so what” stories connected the verdict to broader themes: the rights of protestors, the responsibilities of advocacy groups, the power of corporations, and the future of legal protections in America. 

These types of pieces might include expert commentary, analysis of legal precedent, or summaries of related cases. 


Importantly, good “So What?” content isn’t just opinion—it often includes research, comparative examples, and strategic framing.

.


That is what I tried to do in my piece for Everything is Political.

I wanted to put the implications of the verdict and the implications of the Trump administration’s crackdown on protests together.

The “So What?” space is usually crowded with reply-guys and hot take machines, so it’s always good to ask whether or not you have anything of unique value to add to the conversation.

Will your “So What?” answer be different from anyone else’s? Is piling on helpful?  If not . . . maybe go back into that Google Doc and workshop a bit? Or, maybe wait for the next category of story, the “Now What?”

Now What?

The “Now What?” stories build on the “So What?” stories to explain how this moment, and the context, might shape the future, and why it’s worth understanding now in order to have a better sense of why future “What?” stories matter.

Audiences want to know: What happens next? The “now what” stories project forward. How will the decision affect future protests? What will it mean for Greenpeace’s operations? Will it change how corporations pursue litigation against activist groups?


This kind of analysis usually emerges after the initial wave of reporting and early commentary.

In this case, stories began addressing what the ruling might signal about the landscape for advocacy and protest moving forward. Will more fossil fuel companies take similar legal action? Will activist organizations change how they communicate or organize?


The "now what" phase often contains elements of both the "what" and the "so what" but leans into synthesis and forecasting. It helps audiences integrate the event into a longer timeline of related developments.

After reading existing coverage, I thought I recognized a narrative gap: few outlets explained why Greenpeace was vulnerable to this kind of lawsuit in the first place. 


My follow-up piece for Rolling Stone explored that deeper context—why the organization’s consistent stance and tactics had made it a target, and what that said about the broader activist landscape.

That piece became part of the “now what” conversation. It added texture and insight to a moment that was still unfolding, and it demonstrated how journalists and advocates can play a role in shaping public understanding after the news has broken.

My sense was that the two pieces struck a nerve, based on the responses I saw on social media, especially from activists who found themselves asking themselves, “Now what?”



Bonus category: WTF?!?!

Of course, the Trump administration has opened wide a space for a new content category — WTF!?!?! — but, as we should have learned from the first Trump term, this type of content, while initially engaging, quickly becomes exhausting and demoralizing.

My hope is that by understanding how news moves through these phases—what, so what, now what—we as communicators, activists, journalists, and extremely online reply guys can become more effective in getting attention, making the invisible visible, and changing the culture and discourse in meaningful ways beyond just WTF?!?! 

*I’m aware some people absolutely hate the idea of cultural production as “content,” and I’m sympathetic. But I’m going to go with it as a descriptor here. Hate me if you must. 

  

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

How to use AI for comms . . .

A guide to best practices for using artificial intelligence for marketing and communications work without losing your humanity or taking on unnecessary risks. OpenAI, Gemini, ChatGPT, Perplexity, Cursor, ElevenLabs, Sora, MidJourney, Suno, Veo3

. . . without losing your humanity

Every hour, there’s a new ping notifying you about ways to potentially be faster and smarter and maybe even more creative with AI—but not a lot of information about how actually understand the risks and rewards of these new tools.

Maybe at the end of the day all the LLMs and diffusion models are just new ways to do the same old things? Or maybe they’re just a new way to give over all the company secrets to Big Tech?

I had similar questions, so over the past two years I’ve worked to develop a practical training session focused on how best to use AI to boost communications and marketing work, without killing your business or your humanity.

For me, the goal has been to be faster, smarter, and better, without losing the creativity and authenticity that makes the good stuff engaging and resonant.

Here’s what the session dives into:

  • The basics of how to use tools like ChatGPT, Sora, Claude, ElevenLabs, Rev, MidJourney, and others to create engaging content and save time.

  • The fine line between AI as a creative partner and AI as a cheat code for brainless slop.

  • Real-world tips to ensure AI-generated content aligns with your brand and audience.

This session isn’t about theory or “futurism”—it’s about equipping you with actionable strategies you can use right away.

I’ve built award-winning content platforms for the Poetry Foundation, Greenpeace, Stand.earth, and CARE, among others, all of which has driven global engagement and captured the attention of strategic audiences. I’m happy to share insights from that experience to help your team unlock the potential of these new tools.

Now is the time to take advantage of these tools, because, as William Gibson wrote, the future is already here, it’s just unevenly distributed. It’s important not to be left behind on the wrong end of the distribution curve. The teams that figure out how to integrate AI into their work without sacrificing quality will be the ones leading the way.

If this sounds like something that could be helpful for you, let me know. I’d love to set up a quick call to talk about tailoring this for your team. Or, if this just sounds like something you’d like to hear more about, sign up for the Instrumental newsletter.

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Travis Nichols Travis Nichols

Instrumental

Let’s get some good attention.

Instrumental was born out of a belief that in a world of information surplus and attention deficit, strategic storytelling that drives engagement for good is more important than ever.

We specialize in helping nonprofits and advocacy groups create the right content to reach their audiences and achieve their goals.

It’s not about information. It’s about attention. And we can help you get it.

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