If AI Can End Civilisation, the Least It Could Do Is Curdle First
Gary Opinions argues that if algorithmic systems pose an existential risk to humanity, they should at least give off a pungent odour after three days on the counter.
When Microsoft leadership recently warned that artificial intelligence faces fewer safety regulations than milk, and called for emergency shut-off mechanisms to keep humanity safe, I found myself feeling sorry for the dairy aisle. We regard refrigerators with fixed suspicion. Meanwhile, software that invents legal precedents gets invited into bank accounts. A carton of semi-skimmed, at least, has more moral clarity than Silicon Valley has managed.
Milk gives you notice when it has abandoned the social contract. A pint of whole milk does not betray you in silence. It smells of vinegar, splits into hostile fluids, and leaves a crust around the plastic cap. You know where you stand. Before it causes even minor digestive inconvenience, dairy sets off every olfactory alarm nature provided. You look at the bottle. The bottle looks back. Diplomacy is over.
Artificial intelligence extends no such courtesy. A large language model can miscalculate global logistics, erase pension reserves and arrange economic chaos while looking as harmless as a glass of double cream. It does not sour on the counter or grow yellow specks. It hums away in an air-conditioned server farm, perfectly composed, until civilisation stops working.
“If my cheese behaves suspiciously, the council shuts down the barn.”
“The double standard is frankly galling to those of us in the perishable trade,” said Roland Posset, Chief Inspector of Dairy Hazard Reconciliation. “Every litre leaving our farms must survive sixteen statutory bacterial screenings and an army of clipboard inspectors. If my cheese behaves suspiciously, the council shuts down the barn. Tech firms release quadrillions of untamed mathematical vectors into the wild, then ask users to accept updated terms of service.”
The law is already clear about physical precautions. A dairy bottling plant needs tamper-evident seals, temperature tracking and pressure valves that release harmless steam if the churns overheat. If an unauthorised lump enters the municipal custard supply, health officers can confiscate the ladle at once. When an algorithm gives dangerous advice to schoolchildren, officials deploy a polite software patch on Thursday afternoon. There it is.
I mentioned this to Cedric Mallow, who was examining salted butter at my local grocer. “When I buy butter, I know who is liable if it goes bad,” he said, tapping the plastic tub. “The label tells me the farm and the exact hour the spread becomes hazardous. If an algorithm dismantles the municipal bus schedule, you cannot even find a human neck to wring.”
Tech executives who want dairy-style regulation should accept the whole arrangement. Print a stamped best-before date in smeary blue ink across every neural network homepage. Leave a model running on an unventilated server past Tuesday and the law should require it to turn lumpy, smell of boiled cabbage and activate a municipal siren.
Until then, I trust the refrigerator. A neglected carton of milk can ruin a cup of tea after a fortnight. It has never tried to seize the electrical grid or replace the civil service with automated bullet points. Milk respects the calendar. It curdles before it strikes.