During Covid, we, the intellectual class, spent our year lamenting, explaining, meme-Ing, about what a change it was. Meanwhile, every day, billions of poorer people got up and went to their jobs as normal. I’m in lockdown and Grace, the grocery store clerk, is going to work just like any other day, just in a mask.

We’re up in arms about AI. We’re asking what does a future where AI can do all the work look like. Where fantasizing about the end of capitalism or fearing the dark futures.

We believe that our jobs matter. That the destruction of our jobs will start a revolution. That we matter.

AI grief is our class realizing that our future is that of those grocery store clerks, and that we did nothing for grocery store clerks when we had money and influence, and no one will do anything for us.

Elysium is the future, not Star Trek.