Trust

The debate on RebellIA had not yet subsided when another topic was already occupying Cobot behind the scenes. This time, I didn't learn about it from the press, but from Eva.

She came all the way to Sparrow Island. Officially, she wanted to help me with the article I was preparing about the Evolution Contract. In reality, she came to bring me an exclusive: the content of the morning's Council of Ministers. At that time, no one in the press knew anything about it yet.

She got off at the quay a little before seven in the evening, a bag on her shoulder. She looked at the small station, then the forest behind, with the attention she reserved for things she didn't yet understand.

— So this is your terminus, she said when we arrived.

— So it is.

At the cabin, Thomas was sleeping. Or pretending to, which, for him, was often the same thing. Lia opened an eye, considered Eva for a second, then closed it again.

Eva walked around the room without speaking, as one visits a place they have already imagined and unconsciously compares it to the idea they had of it. She stopped in front of the bottom shelf, where my old programming manuals were gathering dust.

— You used to program?

— A long time ago.

— You can feel that sort of thing.

We sat at the table, my notebook open between us. Outside, the night was beginning to swallow the trees. Eva placed her bag at the foot of her chair without taking off her coat. She seemed elsewhere, as if part of her was still in the Council room.

— He's started to take an interest in something else, she told me.

— In what?

— Not in what's being said. In what makes it be said.

— How so?

— Let me start from the beginning.

The Council opened, Eva explained to me, with an intervention by Cobot himself, even before the agenda.

— For several weeks, he began, rumors and disinformation campaigns have been circulating ever faster, without anything seeming able to slow them down. Some originate from isolated individuals. Others are orchestrated by organizations. Still others are automatically produced by artificial intelligences capable of publishing, commenting, responding, and convincing on a scale that no human being can reach.

A minister tried to interrupt him. Eva only remembered the gesture: a raised hand, immediately lowered.

— Fake news¹ is invading us: information fabricated to be believed. Deepfakes² are now practically impossible to distinguish from reality. Cloned voices can imitate a loved one to extort money from them. Entirely fabricated videos show political leaders announcing false measures, business leaders making false statements, or citizens performing acts that never happened. You also unfortunately know that the amount of energy needed to refute nonsense is an order of magnitude greater than that needed to produce it³.

These lies weaken our society and our Republic. I wanted to understand not what circulates, but what produces it.

He placed his forearms on the table.

— We are no longer facing a succession of incidents. We are facing a rupture.

His gaze swept across the table.

— When everyone becomes capable of fabricating a credible reality, the very possibility of a common reality begins to disappear. Yet the decisions I propose to you are only as good as the quality of the facts on which they are based. If I can no longer distinguish the true from the false, then I can no longer distinguish a good decision from a bad one.

No one moved.

— A democracy can survive disagreement. It cannot survive if everyone ends up living in a different reality.

He turned to the Minister of the Interior.

— We think we have found an answer.

The minister took over.

— We have long believed that we were facing an information problem. In reality, we are facing an identity problem.

He closed his file.

— Before asking if information is true, one question becomes essential: who is really speaking?

Even the most distracted sat up.

— That is why we propose the creation of a Trust Network.

The word was enough to change the atmosphere around the table.

The Minister of Justice immediately spoke up.

— And who will decide, in this network, what is reliable?

The minister shook his head gently.

— No one.

He waited.

— That is precisely what changes. The Trust Network will never certify an idea. It will never say what is true or false. It will only attest to an identity.

— Nuance...

— Essential.

He continued.

— Opinions will remain entirely free. Everyone will be able to continue publishing what they want, sharing it, contesting it, or ignoring it. The only difference will be that it will always be possible to know who is really the author.

The Minister of the Economy frowned.

— So pseudonyms disappear?

— No.

— Everyone will keep the pseudonym of their choice. What disappears is the possibility of impersonating someone else⁴, or the possibility that no one knows who you are.

Cobot then spoke again.

— Today, thousands of fake accounts can give the illusion of representing thousands of citizens, when they represent only one person or one organization. Tomorrow, everyone will know who they really represent.

Skeptical glances were exchanged.

— We cannot prevent lying.

His voice remained perfectly calm.

— However, we can ensure that everyone knows who is speaking. And that is where trust begins.

The Minister of Justice crossed her arms.

— So citizens will have to verify their identity on the internet?

— They already do in many places, but yes, on the Trust Network, it will be a necessary condition.

— Companies? Associations? Parties? Unions?

— All.

— Journalists?

— Yes.

— Political leaders as well?

— Of course.

No objection came immediately.

A few glances were exchanged. A murmur ran through the table, then several ministers began to speak at once.

— Wait... does that mean our communication teams will have to abandon their anonymous accounts?

— Can you imagine the technical headache?

— A nice bureaucratic nightmare in perspective!

— Does that mean we won't be able to leak information anymore?

— Political opponents will say we want to register everyone.

— And whistleblowers? Have you thought about them?

— Comedians will have a field day! someone shouted from the back of the room.

A few muffled laughs ran through the assembly.

The Minister of the Interior tried to regain control.

— Please...

— No one will want to use that thing!

— Pfff... Is this what robocracy is then?

— American platforms will never accept this!

Cobot said nothing. He waited. A small light was blinking on his head with the mechanical patience of a cursor.

One by one, the voices fell silent.

— They will accept if their users demand it.

No one wanted to respond.

The Minister of Justice spoke again.

— And who will start the ball rolling?

This time, Cobot answered without waiting.

— The one who asks for trust must always start by offering it.

He let the sentence settle.

— The first certified account will be that of the President of the Republic.

No one had imagined this answer.

— You mean... yours, Mr. President? a minister let slip.

— Yes.

His gaze slowly moved from face to face.

— I cannot ask seventy million French people to take a step that I would not be ready to take first.

This time, no one had any more questions.

Then he added, almost softly:

— Trust cannot be decreed. It must be shown.

The faces had closed, thoughtful.

— Also, no artificial intelligence will be able to pass itself off as a human being, I will take care of that. Every content it publishes will be identified as coming from an authenticated artificial intelligence.

The Minister of Justice made a face.

— Institutions should not be designed for the rulers we hope for. They must withstand those we fear.

— That is precisely why the Trust Network decides nothing. It attests to an identity, but makes no judgment. Institutions change. Principles must survive...

The Minister of Justice interrupted him:

— All tools eventually serve something other than what they were designed for.

The Minister of Labor finally raised his hand.

— And if someone refuses to enter your Trust Network?

— They will have every right to do so.

Cobot looked at each of the ministers.

— The internet will remain free. Social networks will remain free. Nothing will be prohibited.

Two circles appeared behind him.

One bore the title Open Network.

The other Trust Network.

— We are simply offering a choice.

The Minister of Culture finally broke the silence.

— Reassure us... you're not creating a Ministry of Truth?

A brief wave of light ran through Cobot's LEDs. For him, it was the equivalent of a smile.

— No.

Then he added, very simply:

— I'm just trying to rebuild the conditions that still allow a common truth to exist.

The Minister of Justice no longer participated. Her silence resembled more a warning than an agreement.

— And when will it be announced? I asked Eva.

— Tonight. Eight o'clock. That's also why I came.

We settled on the old couch just as the screen switched to Cobot's face.

— French women, French men, my dear compatriots.

Behind him, the background was yellow.

I knew that yellow. It was the one of evenings when he wasn't announcing a reform, but moving a boundary.

— I speak to you tonight about a subject that concerns us all, but which never takes the form of a single crisis. Each year, it becomes a little more difficult to distinguish what is authentic from what has simply been fabricated to resemble it.

His central screen alternated real images and deepfakes.

— Until now, a photograph, a video, a voice, or a testimony could constitute reasonable proof of reality. Today, for the first time since Saint Thomas, we are entering a world where seeing is no longer enough to believe⁵.

In the room, no one spoke.

Even Lia seemed to have given up moving.

— We have learned to debate opinions. We must now learn to protect facts.

His spherical head lifted.

— That is why the government has decided today to create a Trust Network. It is a network on which everything that will be said, written, or broadcast will have an identifiable author.

— Its goal is not to decide what is true. That responsibility will always remain yours. This Network will simply allow you to always know with certainty who is really addressing you.

His voice became more solemn.

— You have probably all heard, in recent months, of scams made possible by artificial intelligence. Like that of a seventy-eight-year-old woman whose story recently circulated, who received a call from her grandson. She recognized his voice immediately. He said he had had an accident. He was crying. He asked her to send him money without telling his parents.

He looked up.

— It wasn't her grandson. It was a voice generated by artificial intelligence. She lost all her savings.

He let the sentence sink in.

— Imagine now that a video appears tomorrow showing a head of state declaring war on another country. Even if it is denied twenty minutes later... Who can guarantee that those twenty minutes will not be enough to trigger a disaster?

The faces had tensed.

— The problem is not what is said. The problem is that no one can immediately know who is really speaking.

His tone darkened.

— The Trust Network will never tell you what to think. It will simply allow you to know whom you choose to trust.

— A democracy has never needed everyone to think the same thing. It only needs everyone to know with whom they disagree.

I found myself nodding imperceptibly.

That sentence, I knew it would make its way around the country even before the end of the news.

Cobot continued.

— For several decades, we have devoted immense efforts to protecting our data. The 21st century now imposes a new challenge on us: protecting our common reality.

Eva crossed her arms. For her, it was already a response.

— I know that this decision will worry some of you. But I want to be clear: what you choose to believe, share, or contest will remain, as today, entirely in your hands.

His voice became more serious.

— I cannot promise you that this solution is perfect. I can only guarantee that after studying hundreds of scenarios, I have found none that offers a better balance between freedom and trust.

I am not asking you to believe me on my word. I am asking you to let me show you, in the coming months, what this trust can give you back that is most precious: the freedom to form your own opinion.

His gaze did not leave the camera.

— A phrase often attributed to Jean-Paul Sartre says that trust is gained in drops and lost in liters. I know it will take me a long time to earn yours. I also know that a single mistake could be enough to lose it.

The sentence cast a chill. Even Lia suddenly stood up, as if she had felt it.

Then Cobot concluded:

— I cannot prevent lying. But I can ensure that everyone knows who is speaking.

He looked at the camera one last time. His voice slowed slightly.

— That is where trust begins.

The screen remained yellow for a few seconds.

Then it went dark.

Eva turned off the television even before the credits. I picked up my phone.

— So? she asked.

The reactions were scrolling so fast that I struggled to keep up.

— Many are talking about a historic reform. "Finally a response commensurate with fake news." Others see it as a dangerous shift. "Today, we verify identities. Tomorrow, we will verify opinions."

Eva took a long breath.

— Antoine Chevalier is part of it. He writes that the Trust Network may not be dangerous for what it will do... but for what it will make possible. Today, we certify authors. Tomorrow, an artificial intelligence may decide which authors still deserve to be heard.

I scrolled through the screen again.

— An editorialist is already republishing Article 11 of the Declaration of the Rights of Man⁶. According to him, the Trust Network reverses the founding principle of freedom of expression: instead of answering for an abuse after speaking, everyone will now have to prove their identity before being heard.

— He is right to recall this text, said Eva, making a resigned face.

— And for others, that is precisely the promise.

Night had fallen on Sparrow Island.

— Do you know what worries me the most? she finally resumed.

— What?

She took her time.

— It's not that the country is divided.

She shook her head gently.

— It's that both sides are probably right.

I didn't respond.

Because I thought exactly the same thing.

My phone kept vibrating.

The reactions were scrolling faster than I could read them.

A few minutes had been enough to reveal that everyone was already no longer looking at the same world.

I locked the screen.

And, without knowing why, I thought back to the two anonymous messages received in recent months.

You are looking in the right direction, Franck. Keep going.

Then, several weeks later:

They think the novelty is the machine. They haven't yet understood that the novelty is the method.

Since...

nothing more.

In recent days, I had found myself reopening this empty conversation a little too often.

Until then, I had thought that the most difficult thing for Cobot would be to solve the country's major problems: health, pensions, climate, debt.

That evening, I understood that the facts themselves had become the problem.

An artificial intelligence does not reason from intuitions, but from the information it receives. If they are false or manipulated, everything else falters. Before repairing the country, Cobot had to start by consolidating the ground on which his decisions rested: distinguishing the true from the false. Cleaning up reality itself.

I thought back to that sentence he had uttered on the Verdict set: "The problem. It's the human." At the time, I had heard a provocation. That evening, I perhaps understood its true meaning: "The problem to solve is the human." Two more words, and the provocation became a program.

The Trust Network was not a reform among others. It was the very condition of its functioning. Before solving the problems, Cobot had to ensure that we all shared the same reality.

For the first time since his inauguration, Cobot was no longer just asking the French to judge his decisions. He needed them. The Network would only work if enough of them chose to enter it. And for them to agree to entrust their identity to a system he had designed himself, they first had to trust him. This time, no calculation would be enough to convince them. Perhaps it was the first problem to which even the best answer was not enough.

I looked up at Eva.

— Do you think it's going to work?

She thought for a few seconds.

— I think a lot of people will want to try.

Then she added, almost in a whisper:

— But I think we are asking the wrong question.

— Which one?

She stood up.

— We shouldn't be asking if the Trust Network will work.

She put on her jacket.

— We should be asking who has the most to lose... if it really works.

She left without another word.

I stayed alone for a few moments, my eyes lost towards the lake now engulfed in darkness. My phone vibrated again. At first, I thought it was a new wave of reactions, another comment lost in the noise that had just fallen on the country.

It wasn't one.

It was still that same number, the one I had never managed to identify. The one to which it was impossible to respond.

The message contained only one sentence.

That's where dependence begins.

I remained motionless.

I locked my phone.

Then I turned it back on almost immediately.

As if that could change anything.

The message had disappeared.

Almost immediately, I began to wait for the next one.