🇺🇸 미국 · IT/기술 · "AWE" · 총 13건
필터 보기현재 지수
50.0
0 = 부정 우세
50 = 중립
100 = 긍정 우세
최근 7일 기준 12,137건을 분석한 결과, 뉴스 심리지수는 50.0(균형)입니다. 긍정 1건(0.0%)·중립 12,135건(100.0%)·부정 1건(0.0%)이며, 중립 비중이 뚜렷하게 높습니다. 성향 지수는 종합 19.3(중도 균형)입니다.
Researchers at Forum AI conducted an audit of four-leading chatbots: OpenAI’s ChatGPT, Anthropic’s Claude, Google’s Gemini and xAI’s Grok.
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Maybe flawed people were better than brute algorithms.
“Not in my backyard” is the rallying cry of citizens everywhere resisting projects proposed for their locality. Whether it’s affordable housing, a waste treatment plant, or a new data center, they may recognize the benefit of the activity. They just don’t want it near them. And the roots of that resistance differ from place to place. When it comes to the ongoing transition from fossil fuels to renewables, companies and policymakers need to know where, exactly, people are coming from. The Italian island of Sardinia is a textbook example. As IEEE Spectrum’s power and energy editor Emily Waltz discovered when she traveled there last October, Sardinian opposition to wind and solar projects runs deep. It spurred a quarter of the voting population to queue up in public squares in 2024 to sign a petition banning all construction of renewable energy. Waltz was surprised. She went there to see a promising new grid-scale energy storage system that uses domes inflated with carbon dioxide. While reporting on that project, she interviewed residents, engineers, activists, and professors about their attitudes toward climate change and the Italian government’s grand plans for renewable energy on the island. And Waltz soon learned of Sardinians’ profound antipathy toward renewable energy and its deep ties to a history of invasion, occupation, and exploitation stretching back 2,700 years. It started with the Phoenicians and then extended through the Romans, the Byzantines, and the Iberians. Sardinia was absorbed into a newly unified Italy in 1861, and it became an autonomous region of Italy in 1948. The island’s population is justifiably suspicious of outsiders, including the Italian government. “When you’re in Sardinia, the weight of history—you can feel it like in the air,” Waltz told me. “And it gets passed down from one generation to the next.” Now, Italy needs Sardinia to produce even more power to meet the country’s climate goals—something that Sardinians see as Rome’s problem, not theirs. “Sardinia already exports about 30 percent of its electricity. It’s not like they need more,” Waltz says. “So it’s hard to make the case to build, build, build.” The result of Waltz’s old-fashioned shoe leather reporting is this month’s cover story. She notes that the Sardinians she talked to aren’t climate-change deniers, and they don’t object to renewables per se. They just don’t like the way corporations and Italian policymakers are trying to plug into Sardinia like it’s one giant battery rather than the home of an ancient and proud people. “I think Sardinians would be more receptive to renewable projects if it was more of a ground-up, grassroots approach,” Waltz says. Indeed, this homegrown approach is already working in some places in Sardinia. She knows of more than 50 projects, called energy communities, where the residents are deploying renewables themselves. The idea also holds promise for other places struggling to get locals to buy into the renewable-energy transition. The Sardinian experience is both a cautionary tale and a blueprint. Ignore the weight of history that communities carry and your project risks failure. Meet the people where they are and you might just get somewhere. The same lesson applies whether you’re in Sulawesi or sub-Saharan Africa. You just have to show up to learn it.
The Chinese company is adapting to the demise of Moore’s Law, which guides chip production. It could complicate US chip dominance.
This article is adapted by the author with permission from Tech Policy Press. Read the original article. South Africa is not just another developing country struggling to govern artificial intelligence; it is the exception with leverage, and the window to act on it is closing. It holds approximately 88 percent of global platinum-group metal reserves, critical inputs to parts of the semiconductor and data-center supply chains that make AI infrastructure possible. It hosts the largest data-center market on the continent. Its existing hyperscaler relationships give it procurement leverage that most African states will never have. And a major geopolitical contest over AI infrastructure is being fought on its soil right now, between Chinese and American technology companies competing for control of the systems that will underpin an entire continent’s public sector. In physics, leverage requires three things: a fulcrum, a lever arm, and the ability to apply force. The Bushveld Complex, the world’s largest platinum-group metal deposit, is the fulcrum: a mineral endowment that gives South Africa a position in the semiconductor supply chain that no other African state holds. The since-withdrawn draft policy is the lever arm. The unresolved “OPTION” provisions in the policy are where force would be applied. Without a policy that specifies what South Africa wants in return for market access, the lever arm sits unused, and the weight of two of the world’s largest technology ecosystems settles exactly where those ecosystems want it to settle. This makes South Africa a global test case. Not because its proposed means of governance is exemplary, but because it is the one developing country with enough structural leverage to negotiate genuinely different terms, and the one that is choosing, through inaction, not to. The recent announcement of a new panel to update the draft policy is an important opportunity. But the deeper failure is not that an AI policy contained bad references. It is that no verification process caught them before the document entered the public domain. That is a systems problem, not merely a political one. It points to a missing layer in how governments are adopting AI. The contest already underway Last year, Huawei pitched an emerging-product bundle to tech executives across the continent. Huawei was now bundling access to DeepSeek’s large language model with its own cloud and storage infrastructure. The price differential was stark—in some cases by more than 90 percent. At the same time, Microsoft announced plans to spend ZAR 5.4 billion ($300 million) by the end of 2027 on cloud and AI infrastructure in South Africa, building on a prior ZAR 20.4 billion investment. Google, Amazon Web Services, and Oracle already have cloud regions in the country. According to one analysis, the country’s data-center market was valued at US $2.16 billion in 2024, the largest in Africa. These are not commercially neutral investments. Huawei’s infrastructure reach has been explicitly linked to Chinese strategic objectives, including a documented track record of providing governments with surveillance infrastructure through its Safe Cities network. U.S. hyperscaler investment comes with its own dependency structure: closed models, pricing set unilaterally, and terms of access that no African government has meaningfully shaped. South Africa is being asked to choose between these dependency models without a policy that specifies what it wants in return. The leverage it has There is a particular irony in South Africa’s position. The country whose mines supply platinum-group metals essential to semiconductor manufacturing, and through them to AI compute, has drafted a policy that treats it as a consumer of AI systems rather than a stakeholder in their governance. South Africa digs up the minerals that make AI possible. It has no say over the AI built from them. The AI triad framework covers algorithms, compute, and data. South Africa has no frontier model development capacity. South Africa holds significant data assets in financial services, health care, and agriculture, with no clear framework for their sovereign management. South Africa possesses PGM (Platinum Group Metals) leverage of global significance on the compute axis, currently being transferred without meaningful condition. It also has exceptionally high solar irradiance and significant renewable-energy potential. A country that can offer both critical mineral inputs and the energy to power the infrastructure those minerals help build occupies a negotiating position of unusual strength. The Draft Policy proposes no minimum terms for hyperscaler investment, no data sovereignty requirements, no technology transfer conditions and no compute visibility mechanism. Multiple provisions are explicitly left unresolved, marked “OPTION,” including the most consequential choices about how governance will function. Infrastructure decisions made now determine what is renegotiable later, and the answer is: very little. Three futures, one default The three infrastructure futures on offer each create a structurally different form of dependency, and only one creates sovereign capability. The Huawei-hosted DeepSeek integration offers low cost and open-source weights, but with data stored on infrastructure potentially accessible under Chinese legal frameworks, creating surveillance dependency in a pattern already documented across Africa. The second is U.S. closed-model dependency: higher capability, more reliable data protection, but complete API dependency on developers abroad. The third is locally hosted open-weight infrastructure: models governed under South African data-sovereignty rules, on infrastructure subject to minimum terms, developed with South African data. As Nathan Lambert at Interconnects has observed, open-weight models are likely the only realistic way to get sovereign AI off the ground as a real effort, enabling local communities and economies to integrate meaningfully with the technology. But this requires procurement conditions, not goodwill. What binding governance looks like The GovAI “Governing Through the Cloud” framework identifies four roles compute providers should accept as conditions of operating at scale: securers (protecting model weights and training data), record keepers (maintaining infrastructure usage logs), verifiers (confirming customer compliance with safety standards) and enforcers (restricting access when violations occur). These are operational requirements, not theoretical categories—specific, enforceable, and well within the bargaining power of a market of South Africa’s size and mineral position. A detailed policy analysis submitted to the Department of Communications and Digital Technologies (DCDT) identifies the specific provisions the final policy must contain: mandatory minimum terms for foreign compute infrastructure investments above ZAR 500 million (~$30 million); a compute reporting threshold; a National AI Safety Institute mandate covering defensive monitoring of AI capability accumulation; and National AI Champion Sector designations to create data assets for domestic model development. Each provision converts a structural advantage into a governance instrument before that advantage is foreclosed by market reality. Just as modern software security increasingly depends on knowing what components are inside a system—model provider, training data, compute environment, evaluation methods, update cadence, human review points, and failure-reporting procedures—public-sector AI governance requires a clear account of the stack before deployment, not after a problem surfaces. A public institution that cannot verify the sources in its own AI policy is unlikely to be ready to verify the AI systems it procures, deploys, or regulates. Why this is the continental test case South Africa’s choices will establish a regional precedent for what is commercially negotiable in AI infrastructure. If South Africa negotiates data-sovereignty guarantees and technology-transfer conditions as requirements for hyperscaler investment, it creates a replicable model. If Microsoft’s $300 million investment and Huawei’s infrastructure expansion proceed on standard commercial terms, as they are currently, it normalizes extractive AI infrastructure across the continent. The lesson is not specific to Africa. Governments everywhere are producing AI strategies while lacking AI assurance infrastructure. South Africa is an early warning, not an isolated case. The public comment period closed when the policy was withdrawn. But a parallel process remains live: the National Treasury’s Draft General Public Procurement Regulations—the legal instrument that will govern every government AI contract—closes for comment on June 15. Those regulations contain no AI-specific provisions. South Africa has more AI leverage than any country on the continent. Some argue, with force, that governance requirements risk deterring the infrastructure investment South Africa urgently needs: compute capacity, reliable energy, venture capital, and talent retention. That concern deserves a direct answer. Minimum procurement terms, compute reporting thresholds, and technology transfer conditions are not barriers to investment. They are the conditions under which investment serves the host country rather than extracting from it. Infrastructure built without minimum terms produces dependency. Infrastructure built with them produces leverage. To serve the public interest, its AI policy must use it. When late last month News24 reported AI-hallucinated references in the draft AI policy, Minister of Communications and Digital Technologies Solly Malatsi withdrew the draft policy. That was a mistake that could cost South Africa and the rest of the continent the initiative on this urgent issue. His more recent constitution of an independent panel is a belated step in the right direction, if it can turn South Africa’s leverage into policy. The panel—chaired by Professor Benjamin Rosman of the Wits Machine Intelligence and Neural Discovery Institute, and including Professors Vukosi Marivate and Alison Gillwald of Research ICT Africa and Dr. Jabu Mtsweni of the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research—has the technical and governance credibility to produce a stronger document. What it has not yet produced is a timeline. No revised draft has been scheduled. South Africa remains without a formal AI governance framework in the interim.
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Huawei will start making 1.4-nanometer chips by 2031 with its own “LogicFolding” technology, Huawei’s semiconductor chief He Tingbo said Monday.
Chinese telecom giant Huawei announced Monday a new way of designing chips that improves their capabilities, despite U.S. restrictions on the company.
The hedge fund billionaire turned gubernatorial candidate wants to tax California’s ultrawealthy, regulate AI, and keep Silicon Valley happy at the same time. Good luck with that.
While the U.S. is currently the global AI tech leader, our advantages will disappear if we don’t take action.
Editor’s note: If you’d like to pinpoint the instant when the world entered the nuclear age, 5:29:45 a.m. Mountain War Time on 16 July 1945, is an excellent choice. That was the moment when human beings first unleashed the power of the nucleus in an immense, blinding ball of fire above a gloomy stretch of desert in the Jornada del Muerto basin in New Mexico. Emily Seyl’s Trinity: An Illustrated History of the World’s First Atomic Test (The University of Chicago Press) offers hundreds of startlingly vivid photographs of the Manhattan Project that emerged from a 20-year restoration effort. This excerpt and the accompanying photos record the massive effort to capture the awesome detonation of “the Gadget.” aspect_ratioReprinted with permission from Trinity: An Illustrated History of the World’s First Atomic Test by Emily Seyl with contributions by Alan B. Carr, published by The University of Chicago Press. © 2026 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. In the North 10,000 photography bunker, Berlyn Brixner was listening to the countdown on a loudspeaker, his head inside a turret loaded with cameras and film. He was one of the only people instructed to look toward the blast—through his welder’s glasses—ready to follow the path of the fireball as it launched into the sky. The two Mitchell movie cameras at his station would deliver the best footage to come of the Trinity test, used by Los Alamos scientists to make some of the first measurements of the effects of a nuclear explosion. Related: New Trinity Book Uncovers Images of the First Atomic Test When the detonators fired, the cameras captured what Brixner could not have seen—the very first light of a violent, silent sea of energy unfurling into the basin. As 32 blocks of high explosives erupted all together, their incredible force surged inward toward the sleeping plutonium core, compressing the dense sphere of metal instantaneously from all sides and bringing its atoms impossibly close together. A carefully timed burst of neutrons sowed momentary, uncontrolled chaos, and then, as quickly as it began, the fission chain reaction ended. Footage from a high-speed Fastax camera in Brixner’s bunker, shot through a thick glass porthole, shows a translucent orb bursting through the darkness less than a hundredth of a second after detonation, as a rush of heat, light, and matter blew apart the Gadget. When the brightness faded enough for witnesses to make out ground zero, they saw a wall of dust rise up around a brilliant, shape-shifting, multicolored ball of flames—forming a fiery cloud that shot into the sky atop a twisting stream of debris. The camera footage tells a story no less dramatic but hundreds of times more intricate, preserving the moment for scientists to return to again and again to measure and describe the behavior of the fireball and other visible effects with exacting detail. On balance, the photography effort was a huge success, despite only 11 of the 52 cameras producing satisfactory images. By arranging those cameras at intentionally staggered distances, complementary angles, and with a broad spectrum of frame rates and focal lengths, the Spectrographic and Photographic Measurements Group was able to piece together a remarkably complete picture of their subject. On 12 July 1945, Herbert Lehr, a U.S. Army sergeant and electrical engineer assigned to Los Alamos, delivered the plutonium core to the McDonald ranch house, where the bomb was assembled. Los Alamos National Laboratory According to the group’s leader, Julian Mack, the more than 100,000 frames that were captured still “give no idea of the brightness, or of time and space scales.” Mack attributed fortune, as much as foresight, to the photographic record that was made, especially during the earliest phase of the blast. Indeed, the explosion was several times more powerful than predicted, and the intensity of its effects overwhelmed many of the cameras and diagnostic instruments. The human observers were similarly overcome. “The shot was truly awe-inspiring,” said Norris Bradbury, the physicist who would succeed Robert Oppenheimer as director of Los Alamos. “Most experiences in life can be comprehended by prior experiences, but the atom bomb did not fit into any preconception possessed by anybody. The most startling feature was the intense light.” Norris Bradbury, the physicist responsible for the final assembly of the Gadget, stands next to the partially assembled bomb at the top of the shot tower. The cables on the outside of the bomb would transmit the signals to trigger the synchronized detonations of conventional explosives, which would then create the inward-directed shock wave that would compress the bomb’s plutonium core. Bradbury would go on to succeed Robert Oppenheimer as director of Los Alamos on 17 October 1945.Los Alamos National Laboratory It is a common sentiment that words and even pictures pale in comparison to the experience of the explosion. Even so, soldiers, scientists, and many other witnesses have added their firsthand accounts—often absorbing and poetic—to complement the trove of hard data collected during the test shot. They describe an intense and blinding brightness that filled the basin with daytime; an ominous, darkening cloud rearing its head in eerie silence; the wait for the invisible wave rushing out from the heart of the Gadget; and the mighty roar that arrived at last, in a thunder, and seemed never to leave. Physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi, watching from 20 miles away, remembered, “It blasted; it pounced; it bored its way right through you.” James Chadwick, head of the British contingent of scientists who joined the Manhattan Project, later said, “Although I had lived through this moment in my imagination many times during the past few years and everything happened almost as I had pictured it, the reality was shattering.” The blast, captured with an assortment of high-speed and motion-picture cameras, shows the fireball expanding between 25 milliseconds and 60 seconds, by which time the mushroom cloud is over 3 kilometers high.Los Alamos National Laboratory And physicist George Kistiakowsky found himself certain that “at the end of the world—in the last millisecond of the Earth’s existence—the last human will see what we saw.”
I first met Robert Woo in 2011, during his third time walking in a powered exoskeleton. The architect had been paralyzed in a construction accident four years earlier, but he was determined to get back on his feet. Watching him clunk across a rehab room in an exoskeleton prototype, the technology felt astonishing. I had the same reaction when reporting on early brain-computer interfaces (BCIs), which enabled paralyzed people to move robotic arms or communicate by thought alone. Both types of bionic technology seemed to verge on magic. But that initial sense of awe, I’ve learned over many years of reporting on these technologies, is only a starting point. What matters is not what these systems can do in a carefully staged demo but how they perform in the real world. Do they work reliably? Can people with disabilities use them for their intended purposes? And what does it actually cost—in time, effort, and trade-offs—to do so? The question isn’t whether the technology looks impressive the first time but whether it holds up on the hundredth. The special report in this issue, “Cyborg Tech From the Inside” takes that perspective seriously. In my feature article on Woo, an exoskeleton super-user who has spent 15 years testing these systems, the story of the technology is inseparable from the story of its use. Woo’s relentless feedback has driven steady, incremental improvements. In Edd Gent’s reporting on the pioneers testing the earliest BCIs, the experience of these extraordinary technologies likewise resolves into something more complex. As one trial participant notes, these early adopters are like the first astronauts, who barely reached space before coming back down to Earth. Together, these stories reframe these individuals not as passive medical patients but as the ultimate beta testers and co-engineers of the bionic age. I saw the gap between demonstration and daily use firsthand when I interviewed Woo in a Manhattan showroom recently, where he was testing a new self-balancing exoskeleton from Wandercraft. The device is a striking advance that kept him upright without crutches, but it also revealed the friction of the real world. As Woo tried to walk out the door, barely an inch of slope on the Park Avenue sidewalk was enough to trigger the machine’s safety sensors and halt his progress. It was a stark reminder of how far these systems must evolve before they fit seamlessly into everyday life. For the people who use them, that seamless integration is the ultimate goal. Getting there will depend not just on technical breakthroughs but on how well these systems hold up outside controlled environments, over time, and under real conditions. Looking from the inside doesn’t make these technologies any less remarkable, but it does change how we judge them—not by what they can do once for a photo but by what they can sustain over a lifetime. That’s the standard their users have been applying all along. Our commitment to evaluating technology from the user’s perspective extends beyond this special report. To provide a necessary corrective to the “techno-solutionism” that often dominates coverage of assistive devices, IEEE Spectrum created the Taenzer Fellowship for Disability-Engaged Journalism, under which six writers with disabilities are contributing articles about the devices they rely on daily. As Special Projects Director Stephen Cass notes, these journalists “aren’t afraid to ask clear-eyed questions about the tech and are deeply aware of how it impacts humans.” You can read the fellows’ work at spectrum.ieee.org/tag/taenzer-fellowship.