Everyone seems to be talking about AI lately, and most of the conversation is pretty angry. People feel like their work is being stolen to train models without any compensation. It’s a totally valid concern, but personally, I don’t feel that way.
I’m not naive about the economics here. I realize that by publishing openly, I am essentially providing free raw material to trillion-dollar corporations that may eventually charge me a subscription to interact with my own ideas. It feels less like a ‘commons’ and more like a digital enclosure. However, the alternative, locking my thoughts behind a personal paywall or leaving them to rot on a private hard drive, is a slower, lonelier death. I’d rather my work be stolen into usefulness than protected into irrelevance.
Contributing to the World
I’ve always been a big believer in giving back. Whether it’s through open-source code, writing articles, or just sharing what I know, I think contributing to the “collective intelligence” of the world is important. I love projects like GitHub, Wikipedia, and Stack Overflow because they prove how much we can achieve when we share.
Personally, I’ve spent a lot of time contributing to OpenStreetMap and various forums. I’m even planning to release part of my Master’s Thesis as open-source packages soon. To me, sharing knowledge is how we build a better world for everyone. Together, we can create something that’s greater than the sum of its parts.
I recognize that this perspective is a luxury. For the concept artist or the freelance writer, contribution isn’t a philosophical choice, but rather it’s a battle for a livelihood. When their work is scraped, it isn’t just their legacy at stake, it’s their rent. By choosing to share, I am not trying to undermine the very real labor movement fighting for fair compensation. I am simply making a personal bet on a different kind of value. I can afford to be a martyr for the digital commons, but I respect those who refuse to be used as free fuel for a machine they didn’t ask for.
The Scary Part
The scary part for me isn’t that an AI is reading my work. It’s the idea that nobody is reading it. I’d rather be a nameless influence in the global subconscious than a forgotten voice in a silent room.
I’m motivated by the idea of making a difference. If I’m just writing into a void where no one ever sees or appreciates the effort, it feels empty. That’s why getting an upvote on an old answer or a “thank you” on an article makes me smile. It’s validation. It’s a sign that what I did actually mattered to another human being.
You Die Twice
They say you die twice. Once when your heart stops, and a second time when someone says your name for the last time. I think by contributing to the world, we keep our ideas alive long after we’re gone.
Even if my work is just a tiny part of an AI’s training data, it’s still out there, being useful. As long as the information is valued and helps people solve problems, it continues to live on and make a difference. That’s a legacy I’m happy to leave behind. If my logic helps a model reason better, or my data prevents a future error, I haven’t been erased, even if my name isn’t mentioned. But to be honest, if you aren’t a famous author, philosopher, or scientist, you probably won’t be mentioned in the future either way even if your ideas are alive and inspiring people for centuries. This is a legacy more durable than a citation in a dusty, unread journal.
Fixing AI Mistakes
On a practical level, I hope my work helps fix the mistakes AI models often make. We’ve all seen AI get things wrong. By putting accurate, high-quality information out there, we’re essentially helping “debug” the future of intelligence. I’m not worried about my work being used. I’m just glad it can help make these tools more accurate for everyone, even if not directly credited. My work might be a drop in the ocean, but enough drops of clean water can keep the digital ecosystem from becoming toxic.
The Guerilla Open Access Manifesto
I’ve always resonated with Aaron Swartz. I believe information should be free and accessible to everyone, not locked away. By contributing openly, I’m doing my small part to create a more transparent world. I’m grateful that my work is part of this transition, and I hope it stays useful for years to come. By contributing openly, I am committing a small act of guerilla transparency. In an era where the most powerful models are built behind closed doors, keeping our knowledge in the public domain is a radical choice. If the machine is going to learn, let it learn from the dreamers and the makers. I am proud to let my work be part of this transition, ensuring that even in an automated future, the fingerprints of human curiosity remain everywhere.