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The Graduation Backlash Against AI OptimismWhen Jacob Pagel graduated from Middle Tennessee State University this spring, predictions about artificial intelligence already had him questioning the value of his degree. Then a music executive started preaching about AI's transformative power during a commencement speech."This industry will change on you in a heartbeat. It has already changed more in the last 10 years than in the 50 years prior … AI is rewriting production as we sit here," said Scott Borchetta, CEO of the record label Big Machine. After a few stray boos from graduates, he doubled down: "Deal with it."The students' jeering grew louder, but Borchetta barreled through: "You can hear me now or you can pay me later … then do something about it. It's a tool. Make it work for you." He continued: "The things you learned in your first year here may already be obsolete."Multiple Universities, Same Student FrustrationBorchetta's speech is one of several at commencement ceremonies this spring that have revealed a disconnect between the executives championing AI and students, eliciting derision in real time even for Google's former CEO. Recent graduates at the University of Central Florida and the University of Arizona booed speakers who compared the advent of AI to the Industrial Revolution and the development of the laptop and smartphone.At the University of Arizona, 20-year-old Arian Chavez, was angry about his school's decision to let ex-Google CEO Eric Schmidt speak, even before he got on stage. Chavez, a junior studying chemical engineering, is part of a group called Students for Socialism, and helped them organize an online petition to remove Schmidt as a commencement speaker."I know what many of you are feeling about that. I can hear you," Schmidt said, amid a chorus of boos. "There is a fear in your generation that the future has already been written, that the machines are coming, that the jobs are evaporating, that the climate is breaking, that politics is fractured, and that you are inheriting a mess that you did not create, and I understand that fear."Public Sentiment: AI's Poor ReceptionThe students at these ceremonies "are a mouthpiece for the population at large", according to Cornell University professor Sarah Kreps, who has studied societies' reactions to new technology. "These tech executives are not reading the room … These kids have spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a degree that they don't know will serve them well."While they may feel AI's disruptive effects acutely as entry-level job seekers, AI has proved unpopular among the general US public. A national survey conducted for NBC News earlier this year polled 1,000 registered voters and found only 26% view AI positively and 46% view it negatively. AI scored worse than US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), Donald Trump and Kamala Harris on the same poll, but better than the Democratic party and Iran.Anger against AI is palpable across the country – from communities protesting against datacenters powering the AI boom, to workers disputing their CEOs' claims that AI can, effectively, replace them.The Economic Reality Behind the Student AnxietyPagel and his peers are entering a job market where AI's efficiency is already being used to justify mass layoffs. While it's unclear which jobs may be entirely replaced by AI – and whether AI could eventually create more career pathways than it destroys – recent graduates are feeling betrayed."We've been pushed our entire lives to get our diplomas. Then you pulled the rug out from underneath us, and said: 'Oh, you know those four years you spent learning how to do very specific things, you don't need to do it any more,'" Pagel says. "We can get a computer to do it for two-thirds the price."CEOs' graduation speeches about AI have become a preventable PR disaster, according to Parry Headrick, founder of Crackle PR, a tech public relations agency that has worked with startups. Executives should have acknowledged and reassured students' anxieties, while also advising them to adapt."What in the heck is anybody who is young and in school supposed to do when you have these tech executives beating their chests about the next Industrial Revolution when they can't afford to buy groceries or pay for rent?" Headrick asks. Nearly half of college students said their financial stress made it hard to concentrate on their coursework, according to a 2026 report from Trellis Strategies, a research group focused on postsecondary education.AI's Practical Impact on Education CeremoniesAt Glendale Community College in Arizona, it wasn't a graduation speaker that drew students' ire, but the AI-powered machine reading out their names. Turns out, it missed some.College president Tiffany Hernandez apologized and told graduates towards the end of the ceremony: "Here's what's happening. We're using a new AI system as our reader," she said, as boos roared through the arena. Hernandez paused for a few seconds and let out a few nervous laughs. "That's a lesson learned from us."Aidan Benjamin, who is graduating from Glendale Community College this summer with an associate's degree in accounting, was at the ceremony to support his cousin. He thought she would be walking the stage. She never did, because the AI announcement system never called her name."I was booing because I was like, this sucks. This is such a big moment for students." Benjamin said they both laughed about the malfunction afterwards. "But it just didn't feel good at the end of the day, like, it shouldn't have happened that way," he says.The Future of AI in Education and CareersPagel is considering a career in helping children undergoing medical treatment, or entering politics – perhaps running for office, or working as a liaison for federal agencies. "That sphere depends on human face-to-face interaction. No computer can take that," he says, calling AI-generated campaign ads "the cheap route"."It's up to us as engineering students to use our knowledge for the service of the planet and not billionaires," says Arian Chavez, who wants to work in the environmental regulation of chemical plants.As AI continues to reshape industries and education, the graduation protests may represent an early indicator of a generational shift in how technology is perceived – not as an unqualified good, but as a force that requires careful management to avoid displacing workers and devaluing human expertise.

The Verdict and Its Implications A federal jury in Oakland, California, has handed a resounding victory to Sam Altman and OpenAI in their long-standing courtroom battle with Elon Musk. The unanimous verdict, delivered after less than two hours of deliberation, found Altman, OpenAI, and its president, Greg Brockman, not liable for Musk's claims that they unjustly enriched themselves and broke a founding contract made with Musk when founding the startup. The Impact on OpenAI's Future Plans The jury's decision provides OpenAI with a stamp of approval for its for-profit plans, already in motion, and a clear path ahead to go public later this year at around a $1tn valuation. Musk's demands that Altman be removed as CEO and that the for-profit arm of the company transfer about $150bn to the nonprofit arm would have jeopardized the blockbuster initial public offering. The Data Analysis The ruling is likely to reassure investors and the broader AI sector because it avoids a potentially chaotic outcome that could have challenged OpenAI's commercial structure, Microsoft partnership, and future fundraising plans. According to Sarah Kreps, a professor and director of the Tech Policy Institute at Cornell University, purely nonprofit models are difficult to sustain at the cutting edge of AI development. The Impact Analysis The trial highlighted a broader disconnect between the people building AI systems and many of the people increasingly expected to live and work alongside them. The decision also leaves many questions unresolved, such as how these systems should be governed, who benefits from them economically, and whether the pace of deployment is becoming disconnected from broader public comfort with the technology. The Prediction OpenAI's plans now seem all but guaranteed, given that the world's richest person couldn't put a stop to them. Wall Street is likely breathing a sigh of relief. However, Musk's lawyers said he would appeal the case, and critics argue that the trial's outcome does not necessarily equate to justice or accountability for the people of California.

The Lead A US jury has handed a resounding victory to Sam Altman and OpenAI in their long, bitter courtroom battle with Elon Musk, finding Altman, OpenAI, and its president, Greg Brockman, not liable for Musk's claims that they unjustly enriched themselves and broke a founding contract. The Court Ruling and Its Implications The unanimous verdict, delivered after less than two hours of deliberation, is a stark rebuke of Musk and his lawyer's claims that Altman 'stole a charity' through his leadership of OpenAI. The jury's decision, affirmed immediately by the judge's dismissal of all charges, provides OpenAI with a stamp of approval for its for-profit plans, already in motion, and a clear path ahead to go public later this year at around a $1tn valuation. The Financial Impact Musk's demands that Altman be removed as CEO and that the for-profit arm of the company transfer some $150bn to the non-profit arm would have jeopardized the blockbuster initial public offering. A delay to OpenAI's financial bonanza may have been one of Musk's goals, as his own company, SpaceX, is reportedly planning to go public in June. The Industry Impact OpenAI's plans now seem all but guaranteed, given that the world's richest man couldn't put a stop to them. Wall Street, ever wary of upheaval and uncertainty, is likely breathing a sigh of relief, said professor Sarah Kreps, director of the Tech Policy Institute at Cornell University. She called the ruling a reflection of the tough reality that developing frontier AI is expensive and that maintaining non-profit status is not viable in the face of fierce, capital-intensive competition. The Future Outlook The trial did not deliver answers to major questions of the AI boom about safety, governance, and labor. While the jury's verdict was a 'technical' one, Musk's lawyers said he would appeal the case. The trial demonstrated that a small cabal, mostly men, rules the AI industry, and its central element was not a fight over AI's benefit to humanity but a hateful vendetta that Musk brought against Altman.

The Erasure of a Scholar's LegacyWhen Donald Trump returned to office in January last year, one of his first acts was to sign an executive order intended to cut federal funding for any school teaching what the administration defined as "critical race theory." A raft of other orders mandated the termination of DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) personnel, offices and training across the federal government. Federal agencies began flagging hundreds of words to avoid or eliminate, including "intersectional" and "intersectionality." All of which has amounted to 40 years of Kimberlé Crenshaw's work being literally and deliberately erased.The Architect of IntersectionalityFor decades, the 66-year-old legal scholar has been naming things that powerful people would prefer remain unnamed. In 1989, she coined the term intersectionality to describe the way race and gender overlap to shape lived experience, often in ways the law fails to recognize. Around the same time, she was one of a group of African American scholars who created the framework that came to be known as "critical race theory," which sought to examine how racism is embedded in legal systems rather than simply enacted through individual prejudice. Now, Crenshaw's ideas are being contested like never before.The Political Weaponization of Academic Concepts"Unfortunately, I did see this coming," she tells me over a video call from the California offices of the African American Policy Forum, the thinktank she co-founded. We are calling to discuss Crenshaw's new memoir, Backtalker, but the conversation soon shifts. "The fact that they are targeting this … it is because they understand the power of these ideas, the power of this history." Behind her, posters reading "History repeats when we forget" and "The freedom to learn is the freedom to live" hang alongside shelves of critical race theory texts and Black history books the likes of which have, in some states, become politically radioactive.The Cultural War Over "Woke" IdeologyWhat makes the intensity of this backlash striking is how recently Crenshaw's work entered mainstream public consciousness. Until a few years ago, ideas such as intersectionality and critical race theory remained largely within the domain of legal scholarship, academic debate and activist vernacular. It wasn't until 2020, when a loose coalition of conservative activists, media figures and politicians began elevating them as political flashpoints, that they were thrust into the centre of the culture wars. In the ensuing five years, this snowballed into all-out war against "woke," with critical race theory as its ultimate bogeyman. It became a byword for liberal overreach, a catch-all for everything that was wrong with the US in the eyes of the conservative right.The Fascist Narrative and American Democracy"Trump jumped on a bandwagon started by a few rightwing propagandists, claiming that intersectionality and critical race theory were anti-white, anti-male and anti-American," she says. "Fox News amplified this, and within weeks, these ideas were mentioned more than they had been in the previous four decades."Crenshaw, true to form, is not shy about naming what she considers to be the problem. "One of the keys of fascism is control of the nation's narrative," she says. "That, alongside creating a group of people that are legitimate targets of exclusion – an us and them – allows for the autocrat to be seen as the embodiment of the essential nation. And in the United States, we come prefabricated for that dimension of fascism to set into our politics."Why is it that so many white Americans are willing to continue to vote for a president that is demolishing democracy, so long as he's willing to affirm them effectively as true Americans?" she continues. "Because of the idea that those over there are different from us. They don't really belong. That is the way fascism works."From Childhood Inequality to Intellectual FrameworkIt is clearly in Crenshaw's DNA to confront injustice, as is evidenced in Backtalker, which chronicles her journey from witnessing inequality as a child to challenging entrenched power structures in law, academia and politics. "Being a backtalker is like being lactose intolerant," she writes. "There is BS that I cannot digest. To accept anything close to second-class status as the price of belonging sickens me."Born in Ohio in 1959, on the verge of the civil rights movement, Crenshaw grew up at a time of expanding yet restricted possibilities. She watched that tension unfolding in real time, in the speeches of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr on television, and in discussions around the kitchen table, where her parents, dedicated anti-racist activists, treated politics as a daily practice. "As a Black child, I had early inklings that differences would matter in my life, even if I couldn't name them," she says.The Making of an Intersectional ConsciousnessOne such inkling came when her family moved to the predominantly white suburb of Canton, Ohio. "When we arrived, there were children playing everywhere," she remembers. "I was excited." But almost overnight, the children vanished. Neighbours treated the new family as intruders and shouted slurs when they walked by; an estate agent knocked on their door urging a quick sale.Perhaps the most formative incident came when she was five years old, and was the only girl in her all-white class who was not given the opportunity to play the princess, Thorn Rosa, in a school performance. "Thorn Rosa marks the stirring of my nascent awareness that my colour and my girlness were linked," she writes."You push that doubt down until something happens that forces it open," she tells me. "You realize that how others see you will shape your experiences. And that realization is traumatic."The Trauma of Loss and the Birth of ActivismWhat mattered, she says, was that those moments were not dismissed. "I credit my parents for taking them seriously," she says. "They refused to minimize what I experienced, even as a young child. That affirmation was freeing, it told me my feelings were grounded in reality and gave me permission to understand them."It was tragedy that would, in many ways, become the making of the young Crenshaw. She was eight years old when Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated in 1968 – a before-and-after moment in her life. The following day, young Black activists in Canton directed schoolchildren to the local church for a hastily organized memorial service. Crowded into pews, everyone was silent when the activists asked if anyone had anything to say about Dr. King. No one moved. It was Crenshaw who broke the silence, exhorting the crowd not to let his death be the end of the freedom struggle. "We pick up where he left off," she recalls saying. "We continue to walk in his footsteps. They can't kill his dream for us – not if we won't let them."Further devastation followed. A year later, her father, an apparently healthy 34-year-old, died suddenly, leaving the family reeling. Not long after, her older brother Mantel was shot and killed while at university. The circumstances were never fully explained, and justice never came. She writes of that period with unflinching candor: "Happiness was dead." These losses left an indelible mark, sharpening her awareness of the unevenness of justice in a world already structured by racial and social inequities.The Complexity of Solidarity and the Limits of "We"Crenshaw arrived at Cornell University in 1978, to a campus shaped by the afterlives of civil rights struggle and Black student organizing. It was there that she entered into a relationship with a fellow student that became physically abusive. In one incident, he beat her and tried to throw her from the window of her 10th-floor dorm room."We were eye-to-eye when he threw the first punch," she writes in Backtalker. "Pressed out of denial, I woke to the fact that he was going to beat the daylights out of me."What followed unsettled her understanding of community more profoundly than the violence itself. Rather than rallying around her, many of her peers – fellow Black students and friends – closed ranks around him. To involve authorities, they told her, would be to expose a Black man to a system already predisposed against him. The implication was that her suffering as a woman should be subordinated to a broader racial solidarity."The way that sexual violence against Black women has long been justified – framing us as unlikely ever to say no to any sexual encounter – you can know this historically, but then when you experience it interpersonally, you have to grapple with the fact that more people in your own community will come to the defense of your abuser than you," she says. "It really presses the question of 'what is solidarity supposed to look like?' she continues. "What does it mean to defend the 'we', when that 'we' often excludes me?"The Birth of Intersectionality in Legal TheoryCrenshaw returns to that question – of the instability of "we"– again and again. From arriving at Harvard Law School and being called the N-word on her first day, to being directed to enter the university's exclusive Fly Club through the back door because she was a woman – the Black male friends she was with, rather than challenge the slight, urged her not to make a scene. What she would later call "asymmetrical solidarities" revealed themselves in practice: loyalty expected but not returned. "I cannot bring myself to ride or die for a politics that won't ride or die for me," she writes of the incident.In legal terms, the problem came into focus when Crenshaw came across a 1976 case in which an African American woman was denied the ability to bring a discrimination claim against her employer on the grounds that the law could recognize race or gender, but not both at once. Her experience – specifically of being discriminated against as a Black woman – fell through the cracks and the case was thrown out of court. In 1989, Crenshaw identified this form of compound discrimination and gave it a name: intersectionality. Around the same time, she was part of a group of scholars developing what would become critical race theory, a broader attempt to understand how racism is a structural part of the legal system.The Promise and Limits of Political RepresentationIt is a lesson that would resurface, years later, in a very different arena. When Barack Obama was elected president in 2008, the language of "we" returned with renewed force – this time, as a promise. For many, Obama's election felt like a rupture with the past. But for Crenshaw, it quickly raised a familiar question."I didn't think it would happen in my lifetime," she says, of that initial hope after Obama's victory. "It felt like a miracle. My mother and I celebrated together on the phone – I was dancing on a table at Stanford and she was doing the same in her retirement facility. For her especially, it was a dream come true."But symbolism, Crenshaw suggests, has limits, particularly when it is used as a substitute for structural change. She found his reticence to address racial injustice head-on frustrating. Very quickly, the terms of Obama's political viability became clear."He had been framed as post-racial, beyond these issues," she says. "And that framing became a constraint on what he could say and how directly he could address racial injustice."Even when Obama did address racial inequality more explicitly in his second term – most notably after the killing of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012 – the focus, she felt, remained narrow, failing to address the systemic nature of the problem.The Future of Racial Justice in AmericaAs Crenshaw reflects on her life's work and the current political climate, she remains committed to the struggle for racial justice, even as her ideas face unprecedented opposition. "If speaking out means being at odds with people I love, well, so be it," she writes. "I still love them. I hope they still love me."Looking ahead, Crenshaw sees both challenges and opportunities in the fight for racial justice. The backlash against critical race theory and intersectionality, she argues, is a sign of the power these ideas hold to transform American society. "There's a long history in this country of using the threat of violence to keep people under heel," she observes. "But the resistance has always been there too, and it's getting stronger."As America continues to grapple with its racial legacy, Crenshaw's work – and the concept of intersectionality she pioneered – offers a framework for understanding the complex ways race, gender, and other identities intersect to shape experiences of discrimination and privilege. Whether this framework will survive the current political assault remains to be seen, but Crenshaw's decades of scholarship and activism have already left an indelible mark on American discourse and law.

American consumers are watching gasoline and airline fares climb, while economists warn that the war in Iran will keep pressure on prices across the U.S. economy.“The good old days are gone,” said Christopher Tang, a professor at UCLA’s Anderson School of Management who studies global supply chains. “We see gasoline prices rising now, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg; everything will become more expensive.”Since the conflict began in late February, crude oil has surged past $110 a barrel. The rally is tied to Iran’s leverage over the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow chokepoint through which roughly 20% of the world’s oil passes.In a recent address, President Donald Trump claimed the United States is “totally independent of the Middle East” and has “plenty of gas.” However, Brookings Institute’s energy‑security director Samantha Gross reminded listeners that oil is a globally traded commodity and the U.S. still imports significant volumes, meaning American consumers will face the same high prices as the rest of the world.Iran has either halted shipments through the strait or imposed a toll of up to $2 million per vessel. Tankers are forced to take longer routes or pay the fee, inflating logistics costs for all downstream users.Major logistics players are already passing those costs on. Amazon announced a 3.5% surcharge for third‑party sellers, while UPS and FedEx have introduced fuel surcharges exceeding 25%. The United States Postal Service will add an 8% surcharge to transportation rates starting 27 April, noting the charge is “less than one‑third of what our competitors charge for fuel alone.”When the prices go up, they rarely come back down— Christopher Tang, UCLACountries have dipped into strategic oil reserves to blunt the shock, but economists such as Virginia Tech’s David Bieri warn that refilling those stockpiles will require buying oil at today’s elevated prices, keeping the upward pressure on the market.Higher oil costs ripple beyond fuel. Crude is a key feedstock for chemicals, pharmaceuticals and fertilizers, meaning the surge could translate into higher prices for prescription drugs and groceries.Cornell University’s agricultural economics professor Christopher Wolf explained that diesel, a major input for farm equipment and fertilizer production, is also climbing, raising the cost of both crop cultivation and livestock raising.Retailers and food processors are already adjusting. “If we anticipate higher costs, we start raising prices early to avoid a sudden shock later,” Wolf said, describing a “rational expectations” approach.The Independent Grocers Alliance warned that a 10‑15% rise in fuel costs could lift food prices by 2‑4% by mid‑summer, underscoring the broader impact on household budgets.Although President Trump expects the United States to exit the Iran conflict within two to three weeks, experts agree that even a swift resolution will not instantly reverse the price spikes.The strait’s strategic importance means the political risk premium on oil will linger. “You never know when this could flare up again,” said Northeastern University’s Ravi Ramamurti, adding that the effect is likely to be persistent.As Tang summed up, “When the prices go up, they rarely come back down.”