Ars Technica
중도 성향
IT/기술
Cable lobby warns of chaos if FCC doesn't relax ban on foreign routers
NCTA seeks waiver from foreign-router ban, citing memory and substrate shortages.
🇺🇸 미국 · IT/기술 · "CABLE" · 총 12건
필터 보기현재 지수
50.0
0 = 부정 우세
50 = 중립
100 = 긍정 우세
최근 7일 기준 10,229건을 분석한 결과, 뉴스 심리지수는 50.0(균형)입니다. 긍정 1건(0.0%)·중립 10,227건(100.0%)·부정 1건(0.0%)이며, 중립 비중이 뚜렷하게 높습니다. 성향 지수는 종합 19.2(중도 균형)입니다.
NCTA seeks waiver from foreign-router ban, citing memory and substrate shortages.
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The social media company will add to the board's irrevocable trust, though the exact amount has not been disclosed
Fosi Audio announced a new sound card today with a unique feature designed to give FPS players an advantage. The C3 Gaming Sound Card, which sits outside your PC or laptop and connects with a USB-C cable, includes the company's StepSense "audio enhancement technology" powered by a model that was "trained on extensive FPS audio […]
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 The since-withdrawn draft policy is the lever arm.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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Hyperscalers are pushing the Gulf to rethink internet infrastructure as AI raises the stakes of cable disruptions.
The Coyl uses a coil design for the power cable, keeping it neat and taut between the desk and the wall. And instead of relying on boring levers to adjust the height, it has a nifty rotary dial.
In the late 1940s—when computer engineers were grappling with unreliable hardware and noisy transmission environments—a team of engineers inside a modest lab at the University of Manchester, England, confronted a problem so fundamental that it threatened the viability of digital computing itself. Machines could generate bits, but they could not reliably read them back. The inconsistent reading back of memory data did not initially present itself as a grand theoretical challenge. It showed up as something more mundane: inconsistent computing results. Engineers including Frederic C. Williams, Tom Kilburn, and G. E. (Tommy) Thomas traced the failures not to logic errors but to the physical behavior of the machines themselves. The team devised a technique for keeping a transmitter and a receiver synchronized without relying on a separate clock signal. Their innovation, known as Manchester code or phase encoding, encoded each bit with a transition in the middle of the bit period, effectively embedding timing information directly into the data stream to be a self-clocking signal. So, even if the signal degraded or the timing drifted slightly, the receiver could continually keep time based on those regular transitions. By eliminating the need for separate clocks and reducing synchronization errors, Manchester code made data transfer more robust across cables and circuits. Those qualities later made it a natural fit for technologies such as Ethernet and early data storage systems. Its self-clocking nature helped standardize how machines communicate, and it laid the groundwork for modern networking and digital communication protocols. On 13 April 2026, this breakthrough was honored with an IEEE Milestone plaque during a ceremony at the University of Manchester. Dignitaries from IEEE and the university attended the ceremony. Embedding timing in signals Those 1940s Manchester University engineers were working on systems that fed into the Manchester Mark I, one of the first practical stored-program machines. When troubles arose, they used oscilloscopes to probe signals. They found that electrical pulses did not arrive with consistent timing. Memory signals also blurred over time, making them harder to read, and when long runs of identical bits occurred, the waveform flattened into stretches with no transitions. That led to a crucial insight: The problem was not just detecting whether a signal was high or low; the system also lost track of when to sample the signal. Without reliable timing markers, even correctly formed signals were misread. Bits could effectively be lost or miscounted because the system fell out of sync. At first, the engineers tried to tame the hardware. They experimented with stabilizing circuits and more consistent pulse generation, attempting to impose a regular rhythm on an inherently unstable system. But the fixes proved fragile, and the electronics of the day could not maintain the required precision. So the Manchester group took a different approach. If the hardware could not provide a dependable clock, the signal itself would have to carry one. Instead of representing data as static levels, each bit changed state, with a guaranteed transition in the middle. Embedding timing in the signal reduced erratic behavior. Machines were suddenly able to reliably transmit, store, and read back data—an essential step toward practical stored-program computing. Making signals unmistakable The Manchester code addressed several issues at once. Regular transitions allowed continuous timing recovery. Transitions proved easier to detect than static levels, and long runs of identical bits no longer produced flat, ambiguous waveforms. Rather than fighting the imperfections of early electronics, the design worked with them. From lab curiosity to a global standard What began as a local solution in Manchester shaped digital communication systems for decades, including early Ethernet technology, for which timing and shared-medium communication were central challenges. According to Robert Metcalfe, a member of the team that built the first Ethernet system at Xerox PARC in 1973, he and his colleagues relied on Manchester code. “Manchester code solved a fundamental problem for us: timing,” Metcalfe says, explaining that each bit carried its own clock and removed the need for a global synchronized signal. That self-clocking property wasn’t the only benefit provided by the encoding scheme. On a shared coaxial cable, Manchester encoding did more than provide timing. Each transceiver left the medium undriven—effectively “off”—most of the time, allowing packets from other machines to pass without interference. Even during transmission, a station drove the signal only about half the time, leaving the line undriven during the other half of each bit cycle. This distinction—between a driven signal and an undriven line, rather than simple 1s and 0s—allowed receivers to recover both data and clock timing while also monitoring the cable for other activity. If a transceiver detected a signal when it expected the line to be undriven, the signal indicated that another station was transmitting at the same time. In other words, the system could detect collisions in real time and respond accordingly. The idea has proven durable far beyond local networks. Manchester code is being used aboard the Voyager spacecraft, which are now cruising through interstellar space—underscoring its reliability in extreme environments. The code also has found its way into everyday consumer electronics. Infrared remote controls for televisions and audio equipment commonly rely on Manchester code through protocols such as RC-5, developed by Philips in the early 1980s. The protocol encodes commands as timed infrared signals transmitted by a handset’s integrated circuit and LED, allowing devices to reliably interpret button presses even through noise and signal distortion. Manufacturers across Europe—and many in the United States—adopted the approach, extending Manchester code into the home. Why the Milestone matters An IEEE Milestone designation recognizes technologies with enduring impact. Manchester code qualifies because it solved a foundational timing problem at a critical moment in computing history. Without a way to embed timing in the data itself, early digital systems would have remained fragile and unreliable. Manchester code helped transform them into dependable machines, and it enabled much of today’s digital communication. “Manchester code solved a fundamental problem for us: timing,” —Robert Metcalfe, an Ethernet inventor Key participants at the plaque dedication ceremony included Tom Coughlin, 2024 IEEE president; Duncan Ivison, University of Manchester president and vice chancellor, and Nagham Saeed, chair of the IEEE U.K. and Ireland Section. Talks by Kees Schouhamer Immink (the 2017 IEEE Medal of Honor laureate probably best known for his work that made compact discs and other high-density digital media practical) and Peter Green (Manchester’s deputy dean for the engineering faculty) highlighted the code’s lasting impact on digital data storage and communications. The IEEE Milestone plaque for the Manchester code reads: “At this site in 1948–1949, Manchester code was invented for reliably encoding digital data stored on the Manchester Mark I computer’s magnetic drum. It became a standard for computer magnetic tapes and floppy disks and was used in digital communications, including the Voyager 1 and 2 spacecraft and early Ethernet networks. It found wide use in domestic remote controllers, radio frequency identification (RFID) tags, and many control network standards.” Administered by the IEEE History Center and supported by donors, the Milestone program recognizes outstanding technical developments worldwide. The IEEE U.K. and Ireland Section sponsored the nomination.
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.”
Laboratory or in-field measurements are often considered the gold standard for certain aspects of power system design; however, measurement approaches always have limitations. Simulation can help overcome some of these limitations, including speeding up the design process, reducing design costs, and assessing situations that are often not feasible to measure directly. In this presentation, we will discuss two examples from the power system industry. The first case we will discuss involves corona performance testing of high-voltage transmission line hardware. Corona-free insulator hardware performance is critical for operation of transmission lines, particularly at 500 kV, 765 kV, or higher voltages. Laboratory mockups are commonly used to prove corona performance, but physical space constraints usually restrict testing to a partial single-phase setup. This requires establishing equivalence between the laboratory setup and real-world three-phase conditions. In practice, this can be difficult to do, but modern simulation capabilities can help. The second case involves submarine HVDC cables, which are commonly used for offshore wind interconnects. HVDC cables are often considered to be environmentally inert from an external electric field perspective (i.e., electric fields are contained in the cable, and the cable’s static magnetic fields induce no voltages externally). However, simulation demonstrates that ocean currents moving through the static magnetic field satisfy the relative motion requirement of Faraday’s law. Thus, externally induced electric fields can exist around the cable and are within a range detectable by various aquatic species. Key Takeaway: Learn how to use modern simulation to translate single-phase laboratory corona mockups into accurate three-phase real-world performance for 500 kV and 765 kV systems. Explore the physics behind how ocean currents interacting with HVDC submarine cables create induced electric fields—a phenomenon often overlooked but detectable by aquatic species. Gain actionable insights into how to leverage simulation to reduce design costs and bypass the physical space constraints that often stall traditional testing. See a practical application of electromagnetic theory as we demonstrate how relative motion in static magnetic fields necessitates simulation where direct measurement is unfeasible. Register now for this free webinar!