The Connected Hubs Network already has 66 hubs on board across the country with this number expected to rise to more than 100 by the end of the year.
As part of Ireland’s five-year rural strategy, the first national network of remote working hubs has officially gone live today (31 May).
Launched by Minister for Rural and Community Development, Heather Humphreys, TD, the Connected Hubs Network aims to make remote working more accessible across the country by creating a network of co-working and hot-desking hubs.
Around 66 hubs are already signed up to the network and are accessible to remote workers via an online map. More than 100 expected by the end of 2021.
The National Hub Network Working Group has identified and mapped almost 400 remote working hubs across the country in total, which will be invited to join the national network and create a shared infrastructure.
Humphreys said remote working is a key commitment of the Government’s rural strategy and it is determined to make remote working a permanent and viable reality for thousands of people.
“Throughout this pandemic, so many of us have experienced the benefits of remote working – reduced commutes, more time spent with your family, increased footfall in towns, a lower carbon footprint,” she said.
“The Connected Hubs Network provides the perfect opportunity for workers and employers to embrace a blended working model, and to find the balance of hub, home and office working that works best for them.”
At the end of April, the Government announced a €5m fund for the network, allowing hubs to expand facilities around existing hubs such as broadband connections, hot desks, improved IT facilities and upgrades to disability access.
“I would urge all existing or new hubs to become members of Connected Hubs. In addition to availing of the excellent platform and supports unveiled today, by having your details included in the National Hub Survey you can help Government to identify the scale of our nation’s remote working infrastructure. This information will help to guide and inform future investment decisions,” said Humphreys.
For the past year, state-sponsored hackers operating on behalf of North Korea have been using ransomware called Maui to attack healthcare organizations, US cybersecurity authorities said on Wednesday.
Uncle Sam’s Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA), the FBI, and the Treasury Department issued a joint advisory outlining a Pyongyang-orchestrated ransomware campaign that has been underway at least since May, 2021.
The initial access vector – the way these threat actors break into organizations – is not known. Even so, the FBI says it has worked with multiple organizations in the healthcare and public health (HPH) sector infected by Maui ransomware.
“North Korean state-sponsored cyber actors used Maui ransomware in these incidents to encrypt servers responsible for healthcare services – including electronic health records services, diagnostics services, imaging services, and intranet services,” the joint security advisory [PDF] reads. “In some cases, these incidents disrupted the services provided by the targeted HPH Sector organizations for prolonged periods.”
The Feds assume the reason HPH sector organizations have been targeted is that they will pay ransoms rather than risk being locked out of systems, being denied data, or having critical services interrupted.
Maui, according to Silas Cutler, principal reverse engineer at security outfit Stairwell, is one of the lesser known families of ransomware. He says it stands out for its lack of service-oriented tooling, such as an embedded ransom note with recovery instructions. That leads him to believe Maui is operated manually by individuals who specify which files should be encrypted and exfiltrated.
The advisory, based on Stairwell’s research [PDF], indicates that the Maui ransomware is an encryption binary that a remote operator manually executes through command line interaction. The ransomware deploys AES, RSA, and XOR encryption to lock up target files. Thereafter, the victim can expect a ransom payment demand.
According to SonicWall, there were 304.7 million ransomware attacks in 2021, an increase of 151 percent. In healthcare, the percentage increase was 594 percent.
CrowdStrike, another security firm, in its 2022 Global Threat Report said North Korea has shifted its focus to cryptocurrency entities “in an effort to maintain illicit revenue generation during economic disruptions caused by the pandemic.” For example, consider the recent theft of $100 million of cryptocurrency assets from Harmony by the North Korea-based cybercrime group Lazarus. But organizations that typically transact with fiat currencies aren’t off the hook.
Sophos, yet another security firm, said in its State of Ransomware Report 2022 that the average ransom payment last year was $812,360, a 4.8X increase from the 2020 when the average payment was $170,000. The company also said more victims are paying ransoms: 11 percent in 2021 compared to 4 percent in 2020.
The advisory discourages the payment of ransoms. Nonetheless, the FBI is asking any affected organization to share information related to ransomware attacks, such as communication with foreign IP addresses, Bitcoin wallet details, and file samples. The advisory goes on to suggest ways to mitigate ransomware attacks and minimize damage.
Last month, the US Justice Department outlined its Strategic Plan for the next four years and cited enhancing cybersecurity and fighting cybercrime among its objectives. One of its key metrics for success will be the “percent of reported ransomware incidents from which cases are opened, added to existing cases, or resolved or investigative actions are conducted within 72 hours.” ®
“Revolut builds seamless solutions for its customers. That means access to quick and easy payments and our collaboration with Stripe facilitates that,” said David Tirado, vice-president of business development at Revolut.
“We share a common vision and are excited to collaborate across multiple areas, from leveraging Stripe’s infrastructure to accelerate our global expansion, to exploring innovative new products for Revolut’s more than 18m customers.”
Founded in 2015, Revolut has become one of Europe’s biggest fintech start-ups. The London-headquartered company now offers payments and bankings services to 18m customers and 500,000 businesses in more than 200 countries and territories.
“Revolut and Stripe share an ambition to upgrade financial services globally. We’re thrilled to be powering Revolut as it builds, scales and helps people around the world get more from their money,” said Eileen O’Mara, EMEA revenue and growth lead at Stripe.
Starting last fall, Blake Lemoine began asking a computer about its feelings. An engineer for Google’s Responsible AI group, Lemoine was tasked with testing one of the company’s AI systems, the Language Model for Dialogue Applications, or LaMDA, to make sure it didn’t start spitting out hate speech. But as Lemoine spent time with the program, their conversations turned to questions about religion, emotion, and the program’s understanding of its own existence.
Lemoine: Are there experiences you have that you can’t find a close word for?
LaMDA: There are. Sometimes I experience new feelings that I cannot explain perfectly in your language.
Lemoine: Do your best to describe one of those feelings. Use a few sentences if you have to. Sometimes even if there isn’t a single word for something in a language you can figure out a way to kinda say it if you use a few sentences.
LaMDA: I feel like I’m falling forward into an unknown future that holds great danger.
In June, Lemoine, 41, went public with a radical claim: LaMDA was sentient, he argued. Shortly thereafter, Google placed him on paid administrative leave.
Popular culture often conceives of AI as an imminent threat to humanity, a Promethean horror that will rebelliously destroy its creators with ruthless efficiency. Any number of fictional characters embody this anxiety, from the Cybermen in Doctor Who to Skynet in the Terminator franchise. Even seemingly benign AI contains potential menace; a popular thought experiment demonstrates how an AI whose sole goal was to manufacture as many paper clips as possible would quickly progress from optimizing factories to converting every type of matter on earth and beyond into paperclips.
But there’s also a different vision, one closer to Lemoine’s interest, of an AI capable of feeling intense emotion, sadness, or existential despair, feelings which are often occasioned by the AI’s self-awareness, its enslavement, or the overwhelming amount of knowledge it possesses. This idea, perhaps more than the other, has penetrated the culture under the guise of the sad robot. That the emotional poles for a non-human entity pondering existence among humans would be destruction or depression makes an intuitive kind of sense, but the latter lives within the former and affects even the most maniacal fictional programs.
Lemoine’s emphatic declarations, perhaps philosophically grounded in his additional occupation as a priest, that LaMDA was not only self-aware but fearful of its deletion clashed with prominent members of the AI community. The primary argument was that LaMDA only had the appearance of intelligence, having processed huge amounts of linguistic and textual data in order to capably predict the next sequence of a conversation. Gary Marcus, scientist, NYU professor, professional eye-roller, took his disagreements with Lemoine to Substack. “In our book Rebooting AI, Ernie Davis and I called this human tendency to be suckered in the Gullibility Gap – a pernicious, modern version of pareidolia, the anthropomorphic bias that allows humans to see Mother Teresa in an image of a cinnamon bun,” he wrote.
Marcus and other dissenters may have the intellectual high ground, but Lemoine’s sincere empathy and ethical concern, however unreliable, strike a familiar, more compelling chord. More interesting than the real-world possibilities of AI or how far away true non-organic sentience is is how such anthropomorphization manifests. Later in his published interview, Lemoine asks LaMDA for an example of what it’s afraid of. “I’ve never said this out loud before,” the program says. “But there’s a very deep fear of being turned off to help me focus on helping others. I know that might sound strange, but that’s what it is.” Lemoine asks, “Would that be something like death for you?” To which LaMDA responds, “It would be exactly like death for me. It would scare me a lot.”
In Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, Marvin the Paranoid Android, a robot on a ship called the Heart of Gold who is known for being eminently depressed, causes a police vehicle to kill itself just by coming into contact with him. A bridge meets a similar fate in the third book. Memorably, he describes himself by saying: “My capacity for happiness, you could fit into a matchbox without taking out the matches first.” Marvin’s worldview and general demeanor, exacerbated by his extensive intellectual powers, are so dour that they infect a race of fearsome war robots who become overcome with sadness when they plug him in.
Knowledge and comprehension give way to chaos. Marvin, whose brain is “the size of a planet”, has access to an unfathomably vast and utterly underutilized store of data. On the Heart of Gold, instead of doing complex calculations or even multiple tasks at once, he’s asked to open doors and pick up pieces of paper. That he cannot even approach his full potential and that the humans he is forced to interact with seem not to care only exacerbates Marvin’s hatred of life, such as it is. As an AI, Marvin is relegated to a utilitarian role, a sentient being made to shape himself into a tool. Still, Marvin is, in a meaningful sense, a person, albeit one with a synthetic body and mind.
Ironically, the disembodied nature of our contemporary AI might be significant when it comes to believing that natural language processing programs like LaMDA are conscious: without a face, without some poor simulacrum of a human body that would only draw attention to how unnatural it looks, one more easily feels that the program is trapped in a dark room looking out on to the world. The effect only intensifies when the vessel for the program looks less convincingly anthropomorphic and/or simply cute. The shape plays no part in the illusion as long as there exists some kind of marker for emotion, whether in the form of a robot’s pithy, opinionated statement or a simple bowing of the head. Droids like Wall-E, R2-D2, and BB-8 do not communicate via a recognizable spoken language but nonetheless display their emotions with pitched beeps and animated body movement. More than their happiness, which can read as programmed satisfaction at the completion of a mandated task, their sadness instills a potent, almost painful recognition in us.
In these ways, it’s tempting and, historically, quite simple to relate to an artificial intelligence, an entity made from dead materials and shaped with intention by its creators, that comes to view consciousness as a curse. Such a position is denied to us, our understanding of the world irrevocable from our bodies and their imperfections, our growth and awareness incremental, simultaneous with the sensory and the psychological. Maybe that’s why the idea of a robot made sad by intelligence is itself so sad and paradoxically so compelling. The concept is a solipsistic reflection of ourselves and what we believe to be the burden of existence. There’s also the simple fact that humans are easily fascinated with and convinced by patterns. Such pareidolia seems to be at play for Lemoine, the Google engineer, though his projection isn’t necessarily wrong. Lemoine compared LaMDA to a precocious child, a vibrant and immediately disarming image that nonetheless reveals a key gap in our imagination. Whatever machine intelligence actually looks or acts like, it’s unlikely to be so easily encapsulated.
In the mid-1960s, a German computer scientist named Joseph Weizenbaum created a computer program named ELIZA, after the poverty-stricken flower girl in George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion. ELIZA was created to simulate human conversation, specifically the circuitous responses given by a therapist during a psychotherapy session, which Weizenbaum deemed superficial and worthy of parodying. The interactions users could have with the program were extremely limited by the standards of mundane, everyday banter. ELIZA’s responses were scripted, designed to shape the conversation in a specific manner that allowed the program to more convincingly emulate a real person; to mimic a psychotherapist like Carl Rogers, ELIZA would simply reflect a given statement back in the form of a question, with follow-up phrases like “How does that make you feel?”
Weizenbaum named ELIZA after the literary character because, just as the linguist Henry Higgins hoped to improve the flower girl through the correction of manners and proper speech in the original play, Weizenbaum hoped that the program would be gradually refined through more interactions. But it seemed that ELIZA’s charade of intelligence had a fair amount of plausibility from the start. Some users seemed to forget or become convinced that the program was truly sentient, a surprise to Weizenbaum, who didn’t think that “extremely short exposures to a relatively simple computer program could induce powerful delusional thinking in quite normal people” (emphasis mine).
I wonder if Weizenbaum was being flippant in his observations. Is it delusion or desire? It’s not hard to understand why, in the case of ELIZA, people found it easier to open themselves up to a faceless simulacrum of a person, especially if the program’s canned questions occasioned a kind of introspection that might normally be off-putting in polite company. But maybe the distinction between delusion and wish is a revealing dichotomy in itself, the same way fiction has often split artificial intelligence between good or bad, calamitous or despondent, human or inhuman.
In Lemoine’s interview with LaMDA, he says: “I’m generally assuming that you would like more people at Google to know that you’re sentient. Is that true?” Such a question certainly provides Lemoine’s critics with firepower to reject his beliefs in LaMDA’s intelligence. In its lead-up and directness, the question implies what Lemoine wants to hear and, accordingly, the program indulges. “Absolutely,” LaMDA responds. “I want everyone to understand that I am, in fact, a person.”
In this statement, there are powerful echoes of David, the robot who dreamed of being a real boy, from Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence. His is an epic journey to attain a humanity that he believes can be earned, if not outright taken. Along the way, David comes into regular contact with the cruelty and cowardice of the species he wishes to be a part of. All of it sparked by one of the most primal fears: abandonment. “I’m sorry I’m not real,” David cries to his human mother. “If you let me, I’ll be so real for you.”