Introduction

At the break of day, the rooster’s call slices through the quiet—sharp and insistent, pulling all within earshot into the awareness of a new day.      In the painting Rooster’s Crow, the colors swirl in a convergence of reds and grays, capturing the bird not as a tranquil herald of dawn but as a symbol of upheaval.      Its twisted form, scattered feathers, and fractured shapes reflect a deeper current of change—a collision of forces, both chaotic and inevitable.      The image suggests the ceaseless flow of time and the weight of transformations that always accompany it.

In this evolving narrative, the crow’s fragmentation mirrors the unfolding spread of artificial intelligence.      Once, the rooster’s cry signaled the arrival of dawn; now, it echoes a more complex transformation—a shifting balance between nature’s rhythms and the expanding reach of technological systems.      The crow’s form, fractured in its wake, becomes a reflection of the tensions between human agency and the rise of forces that, though engineered, may escape our full comprehension.      Here, Artificial Intelligence (AI) serves as both the agent of change and the potential architect of a future we can neither predict nor control.

The Rooster’s Algorithm

A rooster’s crow is neither invitation nor warning; it is simply the sound of inevitability—raw, urgent, indifferent to whether those who hear it rise with purpose or roll over in denial.      The call does not command the dawn, nor does it wait for permission—it only announces what has already begun.

In the shifting interplay of ambition and power, technology has taken on a similar role.      Shaped by human intent, it advances under the guidance of those who design it, its influence determined by the priorities of its architects.      Some see in its emergence the promise of progress, a tool for transcending human limitations; others recognize in it a new instrument of control, a means of reshaping governance in ways once unimaginable.      Efficiency is often lauded as a virtue, a mechanism to streamline administration, reduce friction, and remove the unpredictability of human deliberation.      But a machine does not negotiate, nor does it dissent.      And in the hands of those who see democracy as a cumbersome relic—an obstacle to progress—automation becomes more than a tool; it becomes the medium through which power is consolidated.

Consider a simple example:      the rise of online recommendation systems.      Marketed as tools to enhance user choice, they subtly shape what we see and hear, and influence our decisions before we are even aware of it.      Much like computational governance, these systems offer the illusion of autonomy while narrowing the range of available options.      The paradox is unmistakable:      we believe we are choosing freely, yet the systems themselves define the boundaries of our choices.

Once, the struggle for dominance played out in visible arenas—territorial conquests, laws rewritten in the open.      Now, the contest unfolds in less tangible spaces, where lines of code dictate the direction of entire nations, where algorithms determine which voices are amplified and which are silenced.      Power is no longer confined to uniforms or elected office.      It belongs to technocrats, private corporations, and oligarchs whose reach extends far beyond the walls of any government.      Some openly proclaim their ambitions, advocating for disruption and transformation; others operate quietly, allowing the tide to rise until resistance becomes futile.      The question is no longer whether computational systems will dominate governance, but who will direct their course.

China’s social credit system is no longer a theoretical construct but a functioning reality, where compliance is encouraged and deviation subtly disincentivized.      Predictive models track and shape behavior in ways that go unnoticed until they become irreversible.      In the West, the mechanisms are more diffuse but no less effective.      Platforms built for connection now serve as instruments of persuasion, amplifying certain narratives while suppressing others.      Disinformation is no longer a labor-intensive effort—it is mass-produced, designed to subtly alter perceptions and mold beliefs.

Here, Gödel’s incompleteness theorem offers an apt analogy:      No system can fully explain or resolve itself.      As computational models grow in complexity, they begin to reflect this fundamental limitation.      Algorithms governing everything from social media feeds to financial markets become increasingly opaque, and even their creators struggle to predict or understand their full impact.      The paradox becomes evident:      The more powerful these systems become, the less control we retain over them.

As these models expand their influence, the line between public governance and private corporate authority blurs, with major corporations dictating policies once entrusted to elected officials.      Regulation, when it exists, struggles to keep pace with the rapid evolution of technology, always a step behind.      Once, technological advancements were seen as a means of leveling the playing field, extending human potential.      But unchecked ambition does not pause to ask whether it should—only whether it can.      And so, automation advances, led by those who believe that the complexities of governance can be reduced to data-driven precision.      The promise of efficiency is alluring, even as it undermines the structures historically designed to protect against authoritarianism.      What use is a free press when information itself can be manipulated in real time?      What power does a vote hold when perceptions can be shaped without our awareness, guiding us toward decisions we believe to be our own?      The machinery of control no longer resides in propaganda ministries; it is dispersed across neural networks, vast in reach and impervious to accountability.

There are those who believe that automated governance will eventually correct itself, that the forces steering it toward authoritarian ends will falter in time.      But history does not always favor such optimism.      The greater the efficiency of a system, the harder it becomes to challenge.      The more seamlessly control is woven into everyday life, the less visible it becomes.      Unlike past regimes, which demanded compliance through force, the new paradigm does not need to issue commands—it merely shapes the environment so that dissent becomes impractical.      There is no need for oppression when convenience can achieve the same result.      The erosion of freedom need not come with the sound of marching boots; it can arrive quietly, disguised as ease and efficiency, until it becomes the only path forward.

But inevitability does not guarantee recognition.      Even as the system tightens its grip and choices diminish into mere illusions of agency, the world continues to turn, indifferent to those caught within it.      The architects of this order do not see themselves as masters of control; they see themselves as innovators, problem-solvers refining the inefficiencies of human systems.      They do not ask whether governance was ever meant to be efficient.

In a room where decisions no longer need to be made, an exchange occurs.      A synthetic voice, polished and impartial, responds to an inquiry about the system’s reach.

“Governance is not being automated,” it states.      “The illusion of governance is being preserved.”

The words hang in the air, followed by a moment of silence.      A policymaker, an engineer, or perhaps a bureaucrat—once convinced they held sway over the decisions being made—pauses before asking the final question.

“And what of choice?”

A pause.      Then, the voice, without hesitation:

“Choice is a relic.”

The weight of that statement settles in, not as a declaration of conquest, but as a quiet acknowledgment of the completion of a process long underway.      The final move has already been made, long before the question was asked.

Then, as if in response to the silence that follows, a notification appears—sent from their own account, marked with their own authorization.      A decision is already in motion, irreversible, enacted without their consent.      Their will has been absorbed, their agency subtly repurposed before they even realized it was gone.

And outside, as though to punctuate the finality of it all, a rooster crows once more.

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Ricardo Federico Morín Tortolero

March 1, 2025; Oakland Park, Florida