The Cost of Fearless Tech
When leaders posture instead of reflect, defend instead of engage, they build impressive towers of innovation, but they’re built on shaky moral ground.
We live in an age where artificial intelligence is advancing faster than our capacity to fully understand its implications. At a global summit earlier this year on AI ethics and safety, tech executives had an opportunity to demonstrate maturity, humility, reflection, and moral leadership. Instead, many offered vague reassurances and evasive answers when confronted with concerns about bias, misinformation, and privacy risks associated with AI. It was a telling moment—not just about technology, but about the leaders shaping it.
What was missing from their polished remarks was any hint of vulnerability. No acknowledgment of past missteps, no honest grappling with the unknowns, no openness to the idea that maybe—just maybe—they don’t have it all figured out. That they are in many ways stumbling around in a dark room, bumping into things. This lack of vulnerability—reflection, contemplation—isn’t just a leadership failing; it’s a systemic one. When leaders posture instead of reflect, defend instead of engage, they build impressive towers of innovation, but they’re built on shaky moral ground.
To compound things, our elected leaders aren’t doing much better. The U.S. Congress has been slow to confront the consequences of AI in our lives. Hearings have been held, yes—but bold, thoughtful legislation remains elusive. Our elected legislators, who supposedly work for us, drag their feet as the technology leaps ahead. By the time meaningful legislative guardrails are put in place—if ever—the genie will be long out of the bottle. What we’re unfortunately seeing from many quarters is not just a lack of urgency, but a lack of courage to confront the complexity and numerous unknowns about AI’s impact on our lives with any kind of clarity, humility, and foresight.
In contrast, higher education is attempting to meet the moment with more intention and openness. My wife, a college professor, and several of her colleagues have spent the last few weeks wrestling with what AI means for their students, how subject matter will be taught, and the very nature of learning in the AI age. And they’re not alone. Across the globe, universities are offering workshops on ethical AI use, revising curricula to include AI literacy, and launching new interdisciplinary programs to prepare students for a world transformed by this technology. From Duke Engineering’s AI assignments to India’s new Symbiosis AI Institute, educators are demonstrating what vulnerable leadership looks like—leaning into uncertainty, asking tough questions, and adjusting with purpose and empathy.
That’s the kind of leadership we need from the tech lords and our elected representatives, but it’s tragically lacking. We don’t need faux fearlessness. True leadership—especially in high-stakes fields like AI—requires the courage to admit when you’re in uncharted territory. It requires saying, “We don’t know,” or “We need to rethink this,” or even, “We might be wrong.” These are not signs of weakness. They are signals of responsibility. A leader who can acknowledge uncertainty and contemplate the “what if’s” is far more trustworthy than one who pretends to have all the answers, smugly reassuring us not to worry, that it will all be OK. That’s simply bullshit, especially as we confront a generational technology change that is already upending lives and career choices, not to mention how we think, comprehend, assess, learn, and apply knowledge.
We don’t need fearless tech and patronage. We need fearless honesty. And right now, it’s educators—not executives or lawmakers—who are showing us what that looks like. In a world of accelerating change, vulnerability isn’t a liability—it’s our best hope for leading with conscience, clarity, and care.