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진보 성향
IT/기술
Pope calls for robust regulation of AI in manifesto
Pope Leo XIV has called for robust regulation of artificial intelligence and for its developers to work for the common good rather than profit
🇺🇸 미국 · "COMMON" · 총 110건
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.
Pope Leo XIV has called for robust regulation of artificial intelligence and for its developers to work for the common good rather than profit
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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.
For years, the field of robotics has used the terms “dull, dirty, and dangerous” (DDD) to describe the types of tasks or jobs where robots might be useful—by doing work that’s undesirable for people. A classic example of a DDD job is one of “repetitive physical labor on a steaming hot factory floor involving heavy machinery that threatens life and limb.” But determining which human activities fit into these categories is not as straightforward as it seems. What exactly is a “dull” task, and who makes that assumption? Is “dirty” work just about needing to wash your hands afterwards, or is there also an aspect of social stigma? What data can we rely on to classify jobs as “dangerous?” Our recent work (which was not dull at all) tackles these questions and proposes a framework to help roboticists understand the job context for our technology. First, we did an empirical analysis of robotics publications between 1980 and 2024 that mention DDD and found that only 2.7 percent define DDD and only 8.7 percent provide examples of tasks or jobs. The definitions vary, and many of the examples aren’t particularly specific (for example, “industrial manufacturing,” “home care”). Next, we reviewed the social science literature in anthropology, economics, political science, psychology, and sociology to develop better definitions for “dull,” “dirty,” and “dangerous” work. Again, while it might seem intuitive which tasks to put into these buckets, it turns out that there are some underlying social, economic, and cultural factors that matter. Dangerous Work: Occupations or tasks that result in injury or risk of harm It’s possible to measure the danger of a task or job by using reported information. There are administrative records and surveys that provide numbers on occupational injury rates and hazardous risk factors. While that seems straightforward, it’s important to understand how this data was collected, reported, and verified. First, occupational injuries tend to be underreported, with some studies estimating up to 70 percent of cases missing in administrative databases. Second, injuries and risk factors are rarely disaggregated by characteristics like gender, migration status, formal/informal employment, and work activities. For example, because most personal protective equipment—such as masks, vests, and gloves—are sized for men, women in dangerous work environments face increased safety risks. These caveats are an opportunity for robotics to be helpful. If we went out and looked for it, we could probably find some less obviously dangerous work where robotics might be an important intervention, not to mention some groups that are disproportionately affected and would benefit from more workplace safety. Dirty Work: Occupations or tasks that are physically, socially, or morally tainted Colloquially, most people might think of dirty work as involving physical dirtiness, such as trash removal, cleaning, or dealing with hazardous substances. But social science literature makes clear that dirty work is also about stigma. Socially tainted jobs are often servile or involve interacting with stigmatized groups (for example, correctional officers), and morally tainted jobs include tasks that people commonly perceive as sinful, deceptive, or otherwise defying norms of civility (like a stripper or a collection agent). “Dirty work” is a social construct that can vary across time (like tattoo industry stigma in the United States) and culture (such as nursing in the U.S. versus in Bangladesh). One way to measure whether work is “dirty” is by using the closely related concept of occupational prestige, captured through quantitative surveys where people rank jobs. Another way to measure it is through qualitative data, like ethnographies and interviews. Similar to “dangerous,” we see some hidden opportunities for robotics in “dirty” work. But one of our more interesting takeaways from the data is that a lower-ranked job can be something that the workers themselves enjoy or find immense pride and meaning in. If we care about what tasks are truly undesirable, understanding this worker perspective is important. Dull Work: Occupations or tasks that are repetitive and lacking in autonomy When it comes to defining dull work, what matters most is workers’ own experiences. Outsiders can make a lot of false assumptions about what tasks have value and meaning. Sometimes things that seem boring or routine create the right conditions for developing skills and competence, such as the concentration needed for woodworking, or for socializing and support, when tasks are done alongside others. Instead of assuming that repetitive work is negative, it’s important to examine qualitative data on how people experience the work and what purpose it serves for them. DDD: An actionable framework In our paper, we propose a framework to help the robotics community explore how automation impacts individual jobs. For each term—dull, dirty, and dangerous—the framework gathers key pieces of information to reflect on what physical or social aspects of the task are, in fact, DDD. Worker perspective is an important part of all three considerations. The framework also emphasizes awareness of context—meaning the physical and social environment of an occupation and industry that can influence the DDD nature of a task. Our corresponding worksheet suggests existing data sources to draw on and encourages us to seek out multiple perspectives and consider potential sources of bias in the information. What makes tasks dull, dirty, or dangerous depends on the perspective of the humans doing those tasks.RAI Let’s take, for example, the waste and recycling industry. The world generates over 2 billion tonnes of waste annually, and this figure is expected to rise to nearly 4 billion tonnes by 2050. Intuitively, trash collection seems like a job that hits all the Ds. Going through our worksheet, we confirm that globally, workers in this industry face significant health hazards (dangerous), and waste collection is ranked as a low-status job (dirty), although interestingly, many workers take pride in providing this essential service. The job is also repetitive, but there are aspects that make it not dull. Specifically, workers cite the day-to-day interaction with their coworkers (which includes extensive insider vocabulary, work hacks, and mutual aid groups) and task variety as two of the most enjoyable aspects of the job. Task variety includes inspecting their vehicle and equipment, driving their truck, coordinating with crew members, lifting bins and bags, detecting incorrect sorting of waste, and unloading at the end destination. This finding matters because some types of robotic solutions will eliminate the parts of the job that workers most appreciate. For instance, the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH) recommends the adoption of automated side loader trucks and collision avoidance systems. This innovation increases safety, which is great, but it also results in a sole worker operating a joystick in a cab, surrounded by sensor and camera surveillance. Instead, we should challenge ourselves to think of solutions that make jobs safer without making them terrible in a different way. To do this, we need to understand all aspects of what makes a job dull, dirty, or dangerous (or not). Our framework aims to facilitate this understanding. Finally, it’s important to note that DDD is only one of many possible approaches to classify what work might be better served by robots. There are lots of ways we could think about which types of tasks or jobs to automate (for example, economic impact or environmental sustainability). Given the popularity of DDD in robotics, we chose this common phrase as a starting point. We would love to see more work in this space, whether it’s data collection on DDD itself or the creation of other frameworks. At RAI, we believe that the fusion of robotics and social sciences opens a whole new world of information, perspectives, opportunities, and value. It fosters a culture of curiosity and mutual learning, and allows us to create actionable tools for anyone in robotics who cares about societal impact. Dull, Dirty, Dangerous: Understanding the Past, Present, and Future of a Key Motivation for Robotics, by Nozomi Nakajima, Pedro Reynolds-Cuéllar, Caitrin Lynch, and Kate Darling from the RAI Institute, was presented at the 21st ACM/IEEE International Conference on Human-Robot Interaction (HRI) in Edinburgh, Scotland.
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.”
This sponsored article is brought to you by Applied Materials. At pivotal moments in history, progress has required more than individual brilliance. The most consequential breakthroughs — such as those achieved under the Human Genome Project — required a new operating paradigm: Concentrate the world’s best talent around a single mission, establish a common platform, share critical infrastructure, and collapse feedback loops. When stakes are high and timelines are compressed, sequential and siloed innovation simply cannot keep pace. Today’s AI era is creating an engineering race with similar demands. Every company is pushing to deliver higher-performance AI systems, faster. But performance is no longer defined by compute alone. AI workloads are increasingly dominated by the movement of data: In many cases, moving bits consumes as much — or more — energy than compute itself. As a result, reducing energy per bit can extend system‑level performance alongside gains in peak compute. The path to energy‑efficient AI therefore runs through system‑level engineering, spanning three tightly interconnected domains: Logic, where performance per watt depends on efficient transistor switching, low‑loss power, and signal delivery through dense wiring stacks. Memory, where surging bandwidth and capacity demands expose the memory wall, with processor capability advancing faster than memory access. Advanced packaging, where 3D integration, chiplet architectures, and high‑density interconnects bring compute and memory closer together — enabling system designs monolithic scaling can no longer sustain. These domains can no longer be optimized independently. Gains in logic efficiency stall without sufficient memory bandwidth. Advances in memory bandwidth fall short if packaging cannot deliver proximity within thermal and mechanical constraints. Packaging, in turn, is constrained by the precision of both front‑end device fabrication and back‑end integration processes. In the angstrom era, the hardest problems arise at the boundaries — between compute and memory in the package, front‑end and back‑end integration, and the tightly coupled process steps needed for precise 3D fabrication. And it is precisely this boundary‑driven complexity where the traditional innovation model breaks down. The Traditional R&D Workflow Is Too Slow for Angstrom‑Era AI For decades, the semiconductor industry’s R&D model has resembled a relay race. Capabilities are developed in one part of the ecosystem, handed off downstream through integration and manufacturing, evaluated by chip and system designers, and only then fed back for the next iteration. That model worked when progress was dominated by relatively modular steps that could be scaled independently and simply dropped into the manufacturing flow. But the AI timeline has upended these rules. At angstrom‑scale dimensions, the physics enforces inescapable coupling across the entire stack: materials choices shape integration schemes; integration defines design rules; design rules dictate power delivery; wiring sets thermal budgets; and thermals ultimately constrain packaging scaling. System architects simply cannot wait 10–15 years for each major semiconductor technology inflection to mature. Representing a roughly $5 billion investment, EPIC is the largest commitment to advanced semiconductor equipment R&D in U.S. history. A long‑term perspective is essential to align materials innovation with emerging device architectures — and to develop the tools and processes required to integrate both with manufacturable precision. At Applied Materials, together with our customers, we are charting a course across the next 3–4 generations, extending as far as 10 years down the roadmap. The angstrom era demands that we break down silos and bring together the industry’s best minds — from leading companies to leading academic institutions. If the problem is coupled, the solution must be coupled. If the timeline is compressed, the learning loop must be compressed. It’s not enough to just innovate — we must innovate how we innovate. EPIC: A Center and Platform for High‑Velocity Co‑Innovation This is the challenge that Applied Materials EPIC Center is designed to solve. Representing a roughly US $5 billion investment, EPIC is the largest commitment to advanced semiconductor equipment R&D in U.S. history. When it opens in 2026, it will deliver state‑of‑the‑art cleanroom capabilities built from the ground up to shorten the path from early‑stage research to full‑scale manufacturing. But the facilities are only one component of the model. EPIC is also a platform, an operating system for high-velocity co‑innovation that revolutionizes how ideas move from the lab to the fab. EPIC is a platform, an operating system for high-velocity co‑innovation that revolutionizes how ideas move from the lab to the fab.Applied Materials The EPIC model compresses the traditional workflow. Customer engineers work side‑by‑side with Applied technologists from day one — moving beyond isolated process optimization and downstream handoffs. Within a shared, secure environment, EPIC tightly integrates atomistic modeling, test vehicles, process development, validation, and metrology feedback. Constraints that once surfaced late in development are identified and addressed early. The result is a potentially 2x faster path that benefits the entire ecosystem under one roof: Chipmakers gain earlier access to Applied’s R&D portfolio, faster learning cycles, and accelerated transfer of next‑generation technologies into high‑volume manufacturing. Ecosystem partners gain earlier access to advanced manufacturing technology and collaboration opportunities that expand what is possible through materials innovation. Academic institutions gain opportunities to strengthen the lab‑to‑fab pipeline and help develop future semiconductor talent. Building on decades of co‑development, we are reinventing the innovation pipeline with our partners across logic, memory, and advanced packaging to deliver the next leap in energy‑efficient AI. Accelerating Advanced Logic Logic remains the engine of AI compute. In the angstrom era, however, system‑level gains are increasingly constrained by power and energy. Extending AI performance now depends on architectures that deliver more performance per watt — accelerating the move to 3D devices such as gate‑all‑around (GAA) transistors, which boost density within a compact footprint while preserving power efficiency. Architectures that deliver more performance per watt are accelerating the move to 3D devices such as gate‑all‑around (GAA) transistors, and further out, complementary FETs (CFETs), which push density scaling even more.Applied Materials These architectural shifts are unfolding at unprecedented scale, with the logic roadmap already extending beyond first‑generation GAA toward more advanced designs. One key example is GAA with backside power delivery, which relocates thick power lines to the backside of the wafer, reducing resistive losses and freeing front‑side routing for tighter logic cell integration. Another example brings adjacent GAA PMOS and NMOS transistors closer together while inserting a dielectric isolation wall between them to minimize electrical interference. Further out, complementary FETs (CFETs) push density scaling even more by stacking PMOS and NMOS devices directly atop one another. While these architectures deliver compelling gains in performance per watt and logic density without relying solely on tighter lithography, they significantly raise integration complexity. Manufacturing a single GAA device today can involve more than 2,000 tightly interdependent process steps. At the same time, wiring stacks continue to grow taller and denser to connect these advanced logic devices. Modern leading‑edge GPUs now in development pack more than 300 billion transistors into an area little larger than a postage stamp, interconnected by over 2,000 miles of wiring. Modern leading‑edge GPUs now in development pack more than 300 billion transistors into an area little larger than a postage stamp, interconnected by over 2,000 miles of wiring.Applied Materials At this level of complexity, the process steps used to create these precise 3D devices and wiring stacks cannot be optimized independently. Design and process must evolve in lockstep, and materials innovation and fabrication methods must advance alongside device architecture. EPIC’s co‑innovation model is designed to accelerate exactly this convergence — enabling logic compute to continue advancing the frontiers of AI at the pace the roadmap demands. Powering the Memory Roadmap At the same time, the AI computing era is fundamentally reshaping how data is generated, moved, and processed — making memory technologies, especially DRAM, central to delivering the energy‑efficient performance AI systems require. As models grow larger and more data‑hungry, the DRAM roadmap is shifting toward architectures that deliver higher density, greater bandwidth, and faster access per watt. At the DRAM cell level, AI performance requirements are driving a transition from 6F² buried‑channel array transistors (BCAT) to more compact 4F², and beyond that, architectures that move past what 2D scaling alone can deliver. Applied Materials At the DRAM cell level, this shift is driving a transition from 6F² buried‑channel array transistors (BCAT) to more compact 4F² architectures, which orient the transistor vertically to boost density and reduce chip area. Looking beyond 4F², sustaining gains in performance per watt will require moving past what 2D scaling alone can deliver. The industry is therefore turning to 3D DRAM, stacking memory cells vertically to add capacity within a constrained footprint. As these structures grow taller and aspect ratios intensify, high-mobility materials engineering in three dimensions becomes increasingly critical to performance and reliability. Beyond the memory cell array, another powerful lever for DRAM scaling is shrinking the peripheral circuitry, which includes logic transistors and interconnect wiring. One emerging approach places select periphery functions beneath the DRAM array by bonding two wafers — one optimized for the DRAM cells and the other for CMOS logic — using multiple wiring layers. Beyond the memory cell array, another powerful lever for DRAM scaling is shrinking the peripheral circuitry, which includes logic transistors and interconnect wiring.Applied Materials In parallel, DRAM performance is being extended by leveraging logic‑proven enhancers in the memory periphery. These include mobility boosters such as embedded silicon germanium and stress films, along with wiring upgrades like improved low‑k dielectrics and advanced copper interconnects. Memory manufacturers are also transitioning periphery transistors from planar devices to FinFET architectures, following the logic roadmap to further improve I/O speed. These valuable inflections are central to EPIC’s mission — where they can be co-developed and rapidly validated for next‑generation memory systems. Driving System Scaling With Advanced Packaging As data movement becomes the dominant energy cost in AI systems, advanced packaging has emerged as a critical lever for improving system‑level efficiency—shortening interconnect distances, increasing bandwidth density, and reducing the power required to move data between logic and memory. The rise of 3D packages such as high‑bandwidth memory (HBM) underscores why advanced packaging is becoming central to the AI era.Applied Materials High‑bandwidth memory (HBM) marks a major inflection along this path. By stacking DRAM dies — scaling to 16 layers and beyond — and placing memory much closer to the processor, HBM enables rapid access to ever‑larger working datasets. This delivers step‑function gains in both bandwidth and energy efficiency. More broadly, the rise of 3D packages such as HBM underscores why advanced packaging is becoming central to the AI era. Packaging now addresses system‑level constraints that logic and memory device scaling alone can no longer overcome. It also enables a move away from monolithic systems‑on‑chip toward chiplet‑based architectures, as AI workloads increasingly demand flexible designs that combine logic, memory, and specialized accelerators optimized for specific tasks. A vital technology powering this roadmap is hybrid bonding. With interconnect pitches approaching those of on‑chip wiring, conventional bumps and microbumps run into fundamental limits in density, power, and signal integrity. Hybrid bonding removes these barriers by allowing dramatically higher interconnect and I/O density, supporting a broad range of chiplet architectures — from memory stacking to tighter compute‑memory integration. EPIC tackles high‑value advanced‑packaging challenges through early, parallel co‑innovation across materials, integration, and manufacturing.Applied Materials As bonded structures like HBM stacks grow larger and more complex, warpage control, die placement, stack alignment, and thermal management become first‑order challenges. EPIC tackles these and other high‑value advanced‑packaging challenges through early, parallel co‑innovation across materials, integration, and manufacturing. Bringing It All Together Across logic, memory, and advanced packaging, our industry faces an ambitious roadmap that promises significant gains in energy efficiency for AI systems. But realizing that potential demands breakthrough materials innovation at a time when feature sizes are shrinking, interfaces are multiplying, and process interdependencies are escalating. These challenges cannot be solved on 10–15‑year timelines under the traditional relay‑race model. We must break down silos, align earlier across the ecosystem, and parallelize learning to keep pace with AI’s demands. In the AI era, progress will be defined by the speed at which lightbulb moments turn into manufacturing and commercialization reality. The only viable path forward is a new innovation model — and EPIC is how we are driving it.
In 2016, Ben Friedman wrote, “The Trump Administration Will be Hawkish,” where he argued that despite Trump’s non-interventionist campaign rhetoric, structural forces, hawkish appointees, and an entrenched foreign policy bureaucracy would push him closer toward conventional military interventionism. Ten years later, we asked Ben to revisit his arguments.Image: Max Goldberg via Wikimedia CommonsIn your 2016 article, you argued the Trump administration would adopt a hawkish foreign policy, namely towards Russia, China, and Iran. What can we gather about his foreign policy objectives towards those countries from his first term and the first year of his second term? What factors have The post Analyzing Trump’s Foreign Policy and Its International Implications appeared first on War on the Rocks.
Editor’s Note: This article contains frank descriptions of battlefield conditions, including accounts of soldiers dying by suicide following injury. Western battlefield casualty evacuation doctrine is built on assumptions forged during the “Global War on Terror.” Central among these is the belief that the wounded can be rapidly moved from the point of injury to progressively higher levels of medical care within a defined timeframe, commonly referred to as the “golden hour.” The concept itself originated in civilian trauma medicine decades prior, generally attributed to Dr. R. Adams Cowley of Baltimore’s Shock Trauma Institute in 1975. In 2009, Secretary of Defense Robert The post Conflict, CASEVAC, and the Golden Hour in the Age of Persistent Surveillance appeared first on War on the Rocks.
“Why are you here?” Fabrizio Pilo, an electrical engineer, asks me as we sit in an outdoor café near his home in Cagliari, an ancient city on the island of Sardinia. It’s a fair question. I’m a journalist from the United States. I’d just stepped off my flight 2 hours prior and come straight to this meeting, suitcase still stowed in my rental car. I’m here to see three intriguing new energy projects under development in Sardinia. I’d heard there’s strong public resistance to renewable energy, and I want to understand why that is. I tell Pilo, who is vice rector for innovation at the University of Cagliari, that I hope he’ll share some insights before I head out on a reporting trip across the island. (My answer seems to satisfy him, and he kindly gives me an hour of his time). This won’t be the first time that I’m asked to explain my presence on the island. I’d expected it, to some extent; I’m a foreign journalist poking around, after all. What I didn’t expect was the depth of Sardinians’ distrust, not just of journalists, but of any outsider, particularly ones with authority. Over the last few years, developers of wind and solar projects, most of whom aren’t from here, have been absorbing the bulk of this smoldering, communal wariness. Activists Maria Grazia Demontis [left] and Alberto Sala, photographed inside the archaeological monument Giants’ Tomb of Pascarédda, have worked to stop the construction of wind farms by organizing protests and taking legal actions through their organization Gallura Coordination. Luigi Avantaggiato In fact, the resistance is so widespread among Sardinians that over the course of two months in 2024, a grassroots petition to ban new wind and solar projects gathered over 210,000 certified signatures. That’s more than a quarter of Sardinia’s typical voter turnout and represents a cross-party consensus. People stood in long lines in public squares to sign. And it worked: Political leaders responded swiftly with an 18-month moratorium on renewable energy construction. “I’ve never seen so much engagement for anything” in Sardinia, says Elisa Sotgiu, a literary sociologist at the University of Oxford, who was born and raised on the island. “Sardinia has a bunch of problems like enormous unemployment. There’s lots of emigration because there are no jobs. It’s one of the poorest areas in Europe. The area is just decaying,” she says. “And yet the thing people are demonstrating against is renewable energy.” And the opposition continues: A network of mayors has mobilized for the cause. Thousands of people show up at organized protests. Activists vandalize grid equipment. Families are passing down these stories of resistance to their children as a point of pride. Local media outlets are egging it on, frequently publishing misinformation tinged with fearmongering. These aren’t just NIMBY complaints—not in the pejorative sense, at least. The resistance, and the distrust underlying it, is rooted in the island’s complex history, both recent and ancient. It’s based on a past that the Sardinian people carry with them—a past that has seeded a deep sense of suspicion and vulnerability. Resistance, I learn, is part of what it means to be Sardinian. Fabrizio Giulio Luca Pilo, vice rector of innovation at the University of Cagliari, has been working to help Sardinia transition to cleaner, more reliable energy. Luigi Avantaggiato “It is a very sad situation,” Pilo tells me. “There are a lot of economic reasons to do the [energy] transition.” It could attract new companies such as data centers, which would create new jobs, he argues. It could reduce Sardinia’s reliance on imported gas and fuel, making the island more independent. New economic activity on the island might help reverse its population decline, he adds. And while what’s happening on Sardinia is unique, it also represents a larger trend: A growing number of communities around the world are opposing wind- and solar-farm construction, to the consternation of stakeholders. By 2025, nearly one-fourth of the counties in the United States had enacted some impediment to new utility-scale wind and solar energy—up from as few as 15 percent two years earlier, according to a USA Today analysis. In Africa, community pushback successfully canceled major projects such as the 60-megawatt Kinangop Wind Park in Kenya. In India, local pastoralists are challenging the 13-gigawatt Ladakh solar and wind project. And the European Union’s top-down push for renewable energy has created opposition in many communities. Their reasons vary—land-use preferences, generational ethos, government resentment, property values, economic effects, aesthetics—but all of these struggles have this in common: The resisters are passionate and they are often successful in blocking development. This is a looming problem for the energy transition. Unlike large, centralized coal and nuclear power plants, renewable energy is geographically spread out, so it touches far more communities. Sardinia offers one of the clearest cases of what can go wrong when renewable-energy developers and authorities fail to consider the complexities of the local situation on the ground. Why is Sardinia resisting renewable energy? Roughly the size of New Hampshire, Sardinia juts out of the Mediterranean Sea about 200 kilometers west of Italy’s mainland. Technically it’s part of Italy, but Sardinians are quick to point out their island’s autonomous status—a subtle way of saying, “We do things our way.” Its mountains seem to echo the sentiment. With the highest peaks running in a chain along the east side of the island, Sardinia resolutely turns its back to the mainland. At first glance, the island looks like the kind of place that’s ripe for an energy transition. Its two coal plants are aging and are targeted to be shut down to meet climate commitments. It has no nuclear power, nor does it produce its own natural gas. Wind and sun, however, are abundant and could easily meet the energy needs of Sardinia’s sparse population of about 1.5 million. But while the resources may be ready for a transition, the people emphatically are not. When I first arrive in Sardinia and take in its beauty, I assume that the impetus behind the fight against wind and solar farms boils down to how they look. Waves of silicon, metal, and concrete would spoil views of Sardinia’s stunning beaches, rugged mountains, ancient pastures, and idyllic medieval villages, after all. Residents of the city of Orgosolo in 1969 famously stopped the construction of a military firing range on communal grazing land known as Pratobello. Its village walls are still covered in murals advocating social protest and antiauthoritarianism. Luigi Avantaggiato But the island’s aesthetic—and the tourism industry that depends on it—are only part of the equation. The far stronger cultural forces at play are rooted in Sardinia’s past. Over millennia, the island has endured successive invasions from outsiders seeking to exploit the land. These incursions, and Sardinians’ rebellious responses to them, have become an integral part of the island’s identity passed down through generations. The invasions started with the relatively peaceful settlement of the Phoenicians in the 9th and 8th centuries B.C.E. Then came the Romans, the Byzantines, and the Iberians, who conquered with violence, looting, and enslavement. But legend has it that despite the might of these ancient conquerors, pockets of Sardinia sometimes managed to defend themselves. “Not even the Roman empire could conquer the shepherds of the highland regions,” is the oft-repeated tale. Whether that’s true or just an idealization is beside the point; such stories serve as an enormous source of pride and identity. Sardinia exported about 30 percent of the electricity it generated in 2025, largely to Corsica and the Italian mainland via two existing submarine cables. The island is “fiercely proud of its identity…especially in the center of Sardinia, which was the most resistant part,” says Andrea Vargiu, a sociologist at the University of Sassari in Sardinia. “This long history of exploitation is still in our DNA, along with a proud sense of autonomy,” he says. Sardinia’s unification, in the mid-1800s, with what would become the Kingdom of Italy is seen by many as an act of colonization. It didn’t help that Italy then proceeded to exploit Sardinia’s forests and other resources for the benefit of the mainland—a practice that continued through the 20th century, says Vargiu. Sardinian bandits sometimes fought back with their own sense of justice, settling matters through raids, kidnappings, and violence. Their stories live on in Sardinian lore with an almost mythical quality, the brigands admired for their intractability. Pasquale Mereu, mayor of Orgosolo, helped organize the Pratobello 24 movement against renewable energy in Sardinia. Luigi Avantaggiato Italy’s use of the island for military purposes particularly irked locals. In a famous case in 1969, residents of the town of Orgosolo successfully thwarted the construction of a firing range on communal grazing land known as Pratobello. That name has since become synonymous with the defense of one’s territory, and a rallying cry. “Sardinia has always been a land of conquest,” says Pasquale Mereu, mayor of Orgosolo, who spoke with IEEE Spectrum through an interpreter. “We believe that even today we are still a colony of Italy, and I’m not ashamed to say it even though I represent an institution.” A longstanding mural on one of his village’s walls reads: “You are in the territory of Orgosolo; here the people rule supreme and the government obeys.” Sardinia’s History Shapes its Identity Driving around the island and talking to people, I can feel the weight of Sardinia’s history—and people’s propensity for holding onto it. Elaborate heritage festivals occur nearly every autumn weekend in the island’s interior. They’re well attended, multigenerational affairs that aim to keep old traditions alive. In the medieval town of Belvì, men roast chestnuts—marroni—over an open fire in a frying pan the size of a swimming pool and then serve them to the crowd by shoveling them into troughs. They’re delicious. In an adjacent amphitheater, the crowd sways along to costumed performers leading traditional dances. Then there are the Bronze Age stone structures, called nuraghi, that are pretty much everywhere. Built before the violent conquests, these conical towers have come to symbolize a romanticized vision of the heyday of Sardinia’s independence. More than 7,000 of them remain, ranging from unremarkable piles of rocks to complex towers, each one carefully documented on an interactive online map. I visit one of the more intact ones that’s fenced off and requires an admission fee. As I take some video with my phone, an employee asks me who I am and what I’m doing and informs me I’ll need to get permission from the government before posting anything online. This rock hollowed out by erosion and walled up with stones was likely used by shepherds as a shelter near the historic Sardinian village of Tempio Pausania. Luigi Avantaggiato But in interviews with residents, I’m continually reminded of the darker side of Sardinia’s past. People often bring up painful things that happened 50 or 500 years ago. A middle school science teacher named Giannina Serpi, and her husband, Roberto Moro, meet me at a café in the seaside town of Sant’Antioco. When I ask why people are so opposed to renewable energy, they (like many people I interviewed) point to the 1970s. Sheep return from pasture in Bonorva, Sardinia, near the Bonorva wind farm operated by EDF Renewables. Luigi Avantaggiato That decade brought a new kind of exploitation: not by empires or governments, but by technology companies. Petrochemical, aluminum, and other industrial companies from overseas built factories on the island, creating jobs and adjacent businesses. But after a few decades, economic and geopolitical factors led the companies to close the factories, sinking local economies and in some cases leaving behind toxic contamination. In the northern city of Porto Torres, several petrochemical plants, a thermoelectric power plant, and an industrial harbor employed about 8,000 workers in the early 1970s. But the oil crises of that decade took its toll on jobs, and when environmental contamination became evident in the 1990s, employment plunged further. By 2010, most of the petrochemical plants had closed. Studies show that residents of Porto Torres during that time had curiously high rates of death from cancer, although there is no consensus on the cause. Similarly, studies have found higher rates of lead in children in the Portovesme area in the southwest, about a 20-minute drive from where I sit with Serpi and Moro in Sant’Antioco. There, the U.S. aluminum producer Alcoa operated a smelter that employed about 500 people and supported an estimated 1,500 adjacent jobs. But the company shut down the smelter in 2012. Three years earlier, Russian aluminum manufacturer Rusal had idled its Eurallumina factory nearby. The impacts of these events still feel fresh, Serpi explains through a digital translator. She says she teaches this history to her students but doesn’t tell them how to feel about it. “I let them decide,” she says. Energy Colonialism in Sardinia Against this backdrop, renewable-energy developers in the early 2010s began sizing up Sardinia. They were drawn by the cheap land, low population, strong wind, and sun that shines an average of about 300 days a year. EF Solare Italia commissioned an 11-MW solar plant in 2010. Rome-based Enel Green Power began construction of a 90-MW wind farm in Portoscuso the following year. Other developers followed, and they mostly came from elsewhere—mainland Italy, Europe, and later, China. The way many Sardinians saw it, the new plants didn’t bring many long-lasting jobs. Most of the work ended after the design and installation phases, and profits went back to the companies’ headquarters outside of Sardinia, they argued. People called it “energy colonialism” and lauded landowners who refused to sell or lease their property to developers. Pink granite called Ghiandone Limbara was extracted from the Sinnada quarry in northern Sardinia from the late 1970s to 2011. Luigi Avantaggiato The uncle of Oxford’s Sotgiu is one of those landowners. She says that a couple of years ago a solar company asked him if he would allow the installation of an array on his family farm in Logudoro in Sardinia’s interior. “From that, he would have gotten something around €150,000 a year, which is more money than he’s seen in his life,” says Sotgiu. The money could have covered his three kids’ college education, she says. “But he refused.” He had many reasons. For one, switching from sheep grazing to the more passive business of leasing land would have put the fate of his income in the hands of an outsider. “If you deprive a region of any sort of economy that is self-reliant, then it’s really fragile,” says Sotgiu. Her uncle didn’t trust that the income would last, and worried he’d be left with a ruined farm, she says. Plus, his farm has been in the family for generations and one of his sons is interested in continuing the business. “So I understand his pride in saying, ‘No, this is my farm, I don’t care about the money,’” she says. Sardinia has one of the largest carbon footprints per capita in Europe. Despite that kind of grassroots resistance, development continued. In 2023, the Italian government authorized the construction of a 1-GW submarine power cable to connect Sardinia to Sicily and the Italian mainland. When completed, the bidirectional cable, called the Tyrrhenian Link, will increase electricity exchange between the regions, bolster grid reliability, and help grid operators efficiently use more renewable energy. Sardinian activists, however, view the cable as a way to justify even more construction of wind and solar plants, and to export the island’s energy for the benefit of non-Sardinians. The island already exports about 30 percent of its electricity, largely to Corsica and the Italian mainland via two existing submarine cables. The Florinas wind farm, commissioned in 2004, was one of the earliest wind farms built in Sardinia. Luigi Avantaggiato And then came the tipping point. In June 2024, in an effort to meet the European Union’s 2030 renewable energy targets, Italy committed to building more than 80 GW of new wind and solar energy capacity over December 2020 levels. The national government divvied up the burden among its regions and told Sardinia to build its portion, 6.2 GW. The move triggered an onslaught of requests from wind and solar developers wanting to build projects in Sardinia. The queue at one point topped 50 GW of grid-connection requests. That represented more than 700 solar and wind projects, many of which came from companies outside of Sardinia. The southern newspaper L’Unione Sarda ran wild with the numbers. Almost daily, for months, it published stories about the “wind assault.” The call-to-arms posts urged people to protest. “The Attack on the Landscape Does Not Stop; The Threat From Agrivoltaics Is Growing,” read a July 2024 headline. Unsubstantiated articles tried to link wind and solar developers to organized crime. “It was scaremongering,” says Sotgiu. “It was a little dishonest, as I saw it, because they kept exaggerating and scaring people into thinking that we were going to be invaded.” (Representatives of the newspaper declined to comment.) The numbers did scare people. Lost was the fact that a grid-connection request is just the start of a multiyear process that involves permitting and legal review and often ends in withdrawn or downsized projects. Submitting a request is inexpensive, and developers often cast a wide net by entering lots of these queues globally to increase the odds of being accepted. In the end, only a fraction come to fruition. In other words, building all, or even most, of the requested 50 GW was never going to happen. “I tried to explain this” to the public, says an industrial engineer at the University of Cagliari, in Sardinia, who asked to remain anonymous to avoid any detrimental impacts of speaking out. “I went to the regional television station. But it’s difficult with technical information. And the newspaper communication is so bad, and its impact is so strong in the community, that it’s very difficult to change people’s minds,” he says. Pratobello 2024 and Anti-Wind Protests And so the collective angst caused by powerful outsiders, industry, and the state united Sardinians into a singular cause. Faced with what felt like another attempted conquest, they did what their families and community had taught them to do: They resisted. Says Mereu: “This is what we are rebelling against: the idea that Sardinians are few and therefore must put up with everything.” In a nod to the 1969 resistance in Orgosolo, they dubbed the movement “Pratobello 2024.” Activist groups, called “committees,” organized protests, and created social media campaigns and videos. Thousands of people started showing up at planned demonstrations. A lawyer went on a hunger strike. Vandals unscrewed bolts on wind turbine blades and set fire to grid and construction equipment. Italy’s transmission system operator, Terna, had to switch to company cars without logos to avoid being targeted. Students studying the electricity system in a master’s program sponsored by Terna were verbally attacked at an airport, according to a professor at their school who spoke with me about the violence. Celebrities got involved. Italian actress and Bond Girl Caterina Murino met with Sardinia’s president to ask her to reject wind farms. Murino posted on Instagram: “Nobody touch Sardinia!!!!” On Italian national TV, the jazz legend Paolo Fresu performed on trumpet while popular TV host Geppi Cucciari read an impassioned lament about the exploitation of the island. Sardinian author Erre Push penned a graphic novel titled Fàula Birdi about a protagonist who resisted an imposition from outsiders. He wrote it upon the request of the activist group ReCommon, whose mission is to “challenge corporate and state power responsible for the plunder of territories.” Push hopes the book will inspire more people to follow the protagonist’s lead. “Renewables are another imposition like in the past—not to help Sardinians but to help external people like industry managers or founders of companies,” he told me through an interpreter. Concerned about the influx of solar and wind farms being built in Sardinia by outsiders, Roberto Pusceddu, under his pen name Erre Push, published a graphic novel that aimed to inspire young people to resist such impositions. Luigi Avantaggiato Mereu and a network of mayors drafted the petition that gathered so many signatures. The people had spoken. In response, Sardinian politicians passed a law that imposed an 18-month ban on construction of wind and solar projects within 7 km of a nuraghe or other archeological site. It wasn’t a total ban, but it might as well have been. “If you put a circle with a 7-km radius around each archeological site, you cover all of Sardinia,” says Emilio Ghiani, a power systems expert at the University of Cagliari. “In this way, it is impossible to find a place to install a new plant.” The move was like giving the Italian government—and the EU’s clean energy targets—the middle finger. And it sent renewable-energy developers scrambling. One company building an agriphotovoltaic plant raced to bring construction to 30 percent completion, which the new law said was the threshold for being allowed to proceed. The company asked not to be named in this story to avoid trouble. Furious, the government in Rome challenged the Sardinian regional law in Italy’s Constitutional Court, and in January this year it prevailed. In its decision, the court rejected the law, saying that renewable-energy projects should be evaluated case by case. Project development quickly resumed. So did the backlash. A headline in L’Unione Sarda declared: “Enough With Top-Down Decisions Without Consulting Communities.” Sardinia’s Renewable Energy Conflict Where the island goes from here is unclear. There’s a willingness among a portion of the population to move forward with an energy transition. For example, some of Sardinia’s largest cheese makers are powering their operations with renewable energy and installing systems to utilize waste heat for efficiency. But for the most part, the public isn’t budging in its resistance. Researchers are trying to dispel inaccurate information, but regional newspapers seem bent on perpetuating fear. Plus, there are technical issues to work out before a full-scale energy transition can be made. Sardinia’s transmission system was built around the centralized generation of two coal plants; it wasn’t made for the distributed generation of wind and solar plants. Renewables require a more dynamic grid, more energy storage, and a wider range of power sources to compensate for their intermittency. Engineers are working on it, but they’ve got a ways to go. The new Tyrrhenian Link undersea power cable will help with that. By connecting Sardinia, Sicily, and the mainland, the cable creates more flexibility in the system. When wind or solar generation slows in Sardinia, for example, electricity from the mainland can fill in the gap, and vice versa. “It will increase the reliability of the system, and after it’s installed, it will be possible to switch off the old generation plants that use coal,” says Ghiani. In January, Terna finished laying the western section of the cable between Sardinia and Sicily, and in April it completed the eastern section between Sicily and Campania on the mainland. Doing so set a world record for power cable depth, at 2,150 meters below sea level, according to Terna. Italy originally ordered Sardinia’s two coal plants to shut down by 2025 but later extended the deadline to 2038. The link is one of the most innovative high-voltage direct current (HVDC) projects in Europe. It can move up to a gigawatt of power and reverse that power flow nearly instantaneously. By using voltage source converter (VSC) technology, it can also help prevent power-flow problems by regulating frequency and smoothing out oscillations in the grid in real time. And it has black-start capability: In the event of a shutdown, it can help restore the grid without relying on an external electric network. These features are particularly helpful for an isolated network like Sardinia’s. Italy has created new incentives and regulations to build a market for grid-scale energy storage. Having plenty of storage is a key to scaling up renewables because it provides backup power when the wind isn’t blowing or the sun isn’t shining. To this end, Italy created MACSE, an auction that gives storage developers revenue certainty. Its name translates to mechanism for the procurement of electricity storage capacity. The first auction round, in September, successfully awarded 10 GWh. Energy experts in Sardinia are also working with policymakers to change the rules around grid-connection requests. But these kinds of nerdy details don’t grace most household conversations. Industrial Sites Host Energy Storage Something more accessible that the public can get behind is building renewables on Sardinia’s abandoned industrial sites. “To be honest, not everything is so beautiful here. We have a lot of industrial areas where you can place PV panels. We have a lot of rooftops,” electrical engineer Pilo says. “We have unused coal mines.” I visit one such project that’s proceeding with local support—or at least without much opposition. It’s a coal mine near Gonnesa that shut down in 2018 and is now being turned into a data center and a pumped-hydro energy storage system. The plan is to move water through the mine’s vertical geometry via an enclosed membrane—like a soft pipe—and use the flow to turn a turbine that generates electricity. The water then gets pumped back to the surface and stored in pear-shaped vessels above ground. The scheme will help power the data center, which will be built both above and below ground, including in the mine’s largest chambers nearly 500 meters below the Earth’s surface. Energy Vault will remove old mining equipment from the Carbosulcis coal mine near Gonnesa to make way for an underground data center [above]. It will be powered by a pumped-hydro energy storage system that flows through the mine’s vertical geometry and stores water in above-ground tanks [top].Luigi Avantaggiato Energy storage developer Energy Vault is building it, and despite being based in Lugano, Switzerland—that is, not Sardinia—the company seems to have avoided protest. It helps that the mine is owned by Carbosulcis, a Sardinian regional-government-owned company, which is calling the shots on the project. Plus, doing nothing with the mine costs money. The mine closed eight years ago because it wasn’t profitable, but Carbosulcis must continue maintaining it because of its high methane emissions, which require monitoring and ventilation to prevent explosions and leaks. Carbosulcis managers figured that if they’re going to continue putting money and personnel into the mine, they might as well do something useful with it, Luca Manzella, vice president for Europe, Middle East, and Africa at Energy Vault, says as he and I tour the mine. An innovative project in Sardinia’s interior—Energy Dome’s grid-scale carbon dioxide battery—seems to be avoiding protest as well. Built in a gated industrial complex near Ottana, this energy-storage facility looks like a giant bubble—the kind that fits over a stadium or tennis complex. It’s filled with carbon dioxide that is compressed to store 200 MWh of electricity for the grid. Although the bubble is visible from several of the surrounding hillside villages, and although the developer is headquartered on the mainland, there’s little sign of public pushback. Energy Dome began operating its 20-megawatt, long-duration energy-storage facility in July 2025 in Ottana, Sardinia. In partnership with Google, the company this year aims to build replicas of the system on multiple continents.Luigi Avantaggiato Another path forward is through “energy communities.” In this grassroots approach, consumers work together to build their own solar plant or other power generation. Dozens of these communities are already active on the island, according to the Sardinian Electricity Association, a group that provides guidance to consumers. But by far the greatest need is for energy developers and authorities to understand the people and the history of the land on which they want to build. “When Europe or the national government make a law, they have to also consider the background of Sardinian people and why they are so afraid,” says Simone Micheletti, CEO at Futura Group, a renewable-energy developer based in Serramanna, Sardinia. “You cannot apply the same law to Sweden and Sicily. Sometimes you need to understand [the situation] locally,” he says. Decision makers everywhere would be wise to listen. Otherwise, they may suffer the same fate as their counterparts in Sardinia: despised by locals, delayed by politics, and surprised at how badly it all went. Special thanks to Luigi Avantaggiato for interpreting and additional reporting. This story was updated on 13 May, 2026 to correct the percentage of electricity that Sardinia exports.
Cybersecurity consultants have never been more in demand. Information security analyst roles are projected to grow nearly 30 percent between now and 2034, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. More than 15 million cybercrime incidents occurred worldwide in 2024, Statista reported. Data breaches are costly and pose direct safety risks. Statista reported that more than US $10 trillion is spent annually repairing the damage caused by cybercrime, most commonly phishing, spoofing, extortion, and data breaches. In one example in the United States, breathalyzer devices installed in vehicles became disabled, leaving hundreds of drivers stranded, as detailed in an IEEE Spectrum article. To help you acquire the skills you need to distinguish yourself from other cybersecurity job candidates, the IEEE Computer Society offers a “What Makes a Great Cybersecurity Consultant” guide. The 23-page PDF includes hard and soft skills you need, a list of certifications to pursue, and key IEEE cybersecurity conferences for staying updated on developments in the field. The guide includes advice from two cybersecurity experts. John D. Johnson, an IEEE senior member, is the founder and CEO of Aligned Security in Bettendorf, Iowa. Ricardo J. Rodriguez is an associate professor of computer science and systems engineering at the Universidad de Zaragoza, in Spain, who researches digital forensics and other cybersecurity topics. “Technology, remote work, and a shortage of skilled workers make this the ideal time to consider becoming a cybersecurity consultant,” Johnson says in the guide. “Consulting can give you the flexibility, variety, and control over where you want your career to go.” Hard and soft skills At a minimum, cybersecurity professionals should have a general understanding of IT including operating systems, communication protocols, network architecture, and programming languages such as C++, Java, and Python. They also should be well-versed in security auditing, firewall management, penetration testing, and encryption technologies. The principles of ethical hacking and coding would be handy as well. “To be able to defend a system well, you first have to know how to attack it,” Rodriguez says. The guide explains that there are now more technologies available to help cybersecurity consultants monitor threats and protect systems. They include security orchestration, automation, and response (SOAR) platforms, which automate workflows to collect security data, streamline incident response, and automate repetitive tasks. Rodriguez points to advances in domain name system security extensions (DNSSEC), which uses digital signatures based on public-key cryptography to strengthen the authentication of the domain name system. By validating data authenticity, DNSSEC safeguards against attacks such as DNS spoofing and guarantees that users connect to the correct IP address. Technologies such as artificial intelligence, blockchain, and quantum computing will increasingly be used to help thwart cyberattacks, the guide suggests. AI is expected to enhance the quality of data analysis, Rodriguez says. Although hard skills are important, soft skills are just as crucial, according to the guide. Critical thinking, project management, flexibility, teamwork, and organizational and presentation skills are essential. It’s not enough to be good at analyzing security vulnerabilities; you also need to clearly describe the situation and explain possible solutions. “Soft skills are important to achieve good team cohesion,” Rodriguez says, “because consultants often lead diverse teams from within their client’s organization.” “It’s essential,” Johnson adds, “that you demonstrate to clients you’re a team player and a capable communicator, and that you meet your commitments.” Security certifications Possessing security-specific credentials is a valuable way to demonstrate your expertise to potential clients, according to the guide. Because hundreds of certifications are available, Johnson says, pinpointing the most relevant ones can be challenging. Some people focus on theoretical knowledge, while others want to cover practical applications of technology. “Survey the industry and compare it to your skills,” Johnson recommends. “Decide what you want to do, and identify where you have gaps in your skills and experience.” Here are four of the nine certifications listed in the guide that are frequently cited as being important. All the providers are cybersecurity organizations. Certified information security manager. This globally recognized certification from the ISACA is for professionals managing enterprise information security. Certified cloud security professional. Offered by ISC2, this credential validates advanced technical skills in designing, managing, and securing cloud infrastructure. Certified ethical hacker. This certification from the International Council of E-Commerce Consultants (C-Council) confirms proficiency in using methods commonly employed by malicious hackers to detect vulnerabilities. Offensive security certified professional. A hands-on, 24-hour certification exam offered by OffSec covers practical testing skills. Additional industry-specific certifications might be required for organizations in finance, government, health care, or manufacturing. Sound general knowledge—backed by experience, training, and certification—is an essential foundation for being a specialist, Johnson says. Conferences and networking opportunities Events sponsored by the IEEE Computer Society can help you learn about the latest research and advancements in cybersecurity: IEEE Symposium on Security and Privacy, from 18 to 21 May in San Francisco. IEEE European Symposium on Security and Privacy, from 6 to 10 July in Lisbon. IEEE International Conference on Cyber Security and Resilience, from 3 to 5 August in Lisbon. IEEE Secure Development Conference, from 14 to 16 October in Indianapolis. Conferences can give you insight into the field and let you do some networking, but it’s important to network elsewhere as well, experts say. Consider joining the IEEE Technical Community on Security and Privacy, which connects experts and professionals advancing research in areas such as encryption, operating system security, and data privacy. Learning and meeting people keeps your knowledge sharp and can lead to mentorship opportunities with established cybersecurity consultants, Johnson says. Other IEEE resources The IEEE Computer Society’s cybersecurity resources page offers a wealth of information including fundamentals, possible career paths, and standards development. To keep you updated on trends, the society publishes IEEE Transactions on Privacy and the IEEE Security and Privacy magazine. In addition to the guide, the IEEE Learning Network offers nearly 30 courses on cybersecurity. And you can find research papers in the IEEE Xplore Digital Library.