I recently remembered reading about an AI company purchasing physical books, cutting away their bindings, and scanning their pages to help train artificial intelligence.
Got me to thinking.
Whose books were they scanning?
Were books by Black authors included? What about the stories that never became bestsellers? The histories preserved in small community libraries, family collections, and independently published books?
And what about our music?
Even the way we braided our hair during slavery? To share an important message, instruction, news and direction.
I grew up hearing music that carried messages far beyond entertainment.
Billie Holiday’s Strange Fruit confronted the horror of lynching. Early hip-hop gave young people a way to describe the neighborhoods, inequalities, struggles, and realities they were living through.
By the 1980’s and 1990s, rap was documenting parts of American life that mainstream institutions sometimes ignored.
Those songs weren’t merely entertainment. They were historical testimony.
Now we’re building artificial intelligence systems that learn from enormous collections of human expression.
And I wonder: Are we teaching AI the full history of humanity, or primarily the history that was easiest to collect?
I’m not suggesting that every book, recording, or cultural artifact should be taken without permission. Authors, musicians, and their communities deserve recognition, appropriate compensation, and respect for their rights.
But I do believe we should be asking who helps select, interpret, and preserve the material used to educate these systems.
A computer scientist may understand how to train a model.
A historian may understand the events behind a document.
And someone who actually lived through an era may understand the meaning behind words that otherwise look ordinary.
We need all three perspectives.
This is another reason I believe AI companies should hire people for their lived experience, not just their technical qualifications.
Older adults, Black historians, musicians, librarians, community storytellers, and people from different backgrounds could help identify what technology might otherwise overlook.
Because an AI might recognize the words to Strange Fruit without fully understanding the historical pain behind them.
And it might recognize a rap lyric without understanding the neighborhood, generation, or circumstances that produced it.
Information is not the same as understanding.
As my generation grows older, we carry memories of a world that younger developers may know only through recordings, books, and photographs.
We won’t be here forever.
But our experiences deserve to be part of the knowledge that shapes tomorrow.
We are still here. We appreciate AI. We see how we can use it. And we want to help improve what comes next.
