In recent days, during the trainings I have conducted or speeches I have given on potential AI harms, AI ethics, or evaluation methodologies of AI and algorithms, the conversation repeatedly circled back to one central question: Is there hope? I have been contemplating this question deeply. What is hope anyway? Is it an emotion? Can hope exist without the active participation of those seeking it? Perhaps the real question isn’t whether hope exists but whether we are willing to embrace the responsibility that comes with our power.
Let me elaborate.
This year, among the 20+ books I read, Critical Hope by Kari Grain stood out as the most impactful. Reflecting on the year, I can easily say that this book offered me the most spirit, action, and direction. In the book, Grain suggests that sooner or later, everyone encounters a complicated relationship with hope, compelling them to choose their philosophy of hope. The book offers several definitions of hope:
Renowned activist and philosopher Cornel West rejects mere optimism, which allows a person to observe problems from the outside. Hope, he argues, requires being “in the midst of the muck. You’re working it out with love, power, and a commitment to justice.” Paulo Freire, the late Brazilian educator-activist who coined “critical hope,” emphasized a spirit of continuous seeking. He wrote: “Hope is rooted in men’s incompleteness, from which they move out in constant search.” His concept of hope was tied to the struggle for liberation from oppression, requiring a development of critical consciousness to understand systemic inequality and work toward liberation. Thus, hope is not a fleeting emotion. It is a dynamic process involving witnessing injustice, questioning assumptions, reflecting on possibilities, imagining alternatives, celebrating progress, telling the truth, doing hard work, and embracing responsibility. Critical hope demands action.
Last years, I reached the point Kari Grain describes as a complicated relationship with hope, grappling with anger, frustration, disappointment, loss of trust, and grief. Holding space for myself, I realized hope was still central to my contemplation. I chose my philosophy of hope—or perhaps, more accurately, accepted the philosophy that had shaped me all my life. I am a radical lover. I love human beings, I love being human, and I love being me. I know, deeply, that we are interconnected in this beautiful cosmos. I come from a land where radical hospitality is an art, and I practice it humbly. I have always sought systems that bring joy to humanity. I honor human ancestors, rituals, and ancient wisdom. These rituals, especially those marking adulthood, teach the true meaning of growing up: taking responsibility. For me, beyond hope, there is radical love. The source of my action is love, and my life philosophy is becoming a better person by embracing the responsibility of being a grown-up in this incredibly connected, mysterious world. This combination forms my chosen philosophy of hope. This combination forms my chosen philosophy of hope.
One day, in Kerala, a wise person told me, «Every problem has a solution, but every solution also has a problem.» We live in complex realities, and AI amplifies these complexities. What if the risks and harms we associate with AI, all the debates about AI ethics, are life holding up a mirror to our deeper systemic issues—issues for which we must each take responsibility? AI governance differs from any previous governance framework. It requires collaborative engagement from a diverse group of stakeholders, ensuring varied perspectives and worldviews inform ethical decision-making and sustainable solutions. It’s an iterative, dynamic process requiring profound understanding—not quick fixes—but meaningful, value-driven solutions for all. These days, we talk a lot about AI literacy. It involves more than learning what AI, algorithms, and machine learning are. It means understanding the risks these technologies pose and doing our part to mitigate those risks through robust AI governance. Let’s not repeat past mistakes, like performing sustainability audits simply for the sake of reports. Let´s act according to our philosophy of hope, regardless of what others do.
Of course, there is hope—because we are alive in this mysterious and beautiful world of ours. It is time for practicing our part- small/vital part that we are responsible for, practice our art and practice asking questions about this bigger system that we are part of. So that we can create better systems inclusive and joyful for all. So maybe the real question isn’t whether there is hope. It’s whether we are ready to grow up and take responsibility.