Today, we increasingly rely on infinite scrolling and chatbot conversations as a way to modify our intake of reality. Habitually increasing our consumption of digital content has begun to deteriorate one of the most important characteristics of humanity — the ability to communicate with one another in a way that conveys thought, emotion and understanding.

This aspect of interaction, where productivity and creativity are fueled by the challenging of beliefs and thought processes, is being overtaken by digital affirmation. Our dopamine-seeking reward loop has been characterized by constant scrolling, magnified by the evolving capabilities of algorithms within social media feeds, which quickly show us curated videos and AI chatbots that agree with whatever we say.

Ideological frames, or intellectual isolation, is not a new concept. When we find something we enjoy, whether it be a video of a dog or a political opinion, we search for more of that content to make us feel good. However, we have lost the productive aspect of communicating and debating our thoughts with others by replacing this “time-consuming” act with mindless scrolling through algorithm-provided content we know we will agree with.

This decline of true social interaction that challenges our thought processes has, in turn, led to the emergence of AI psychosis.

Within the last month, I have seen countless videos about a woman who became infatuated with her psychiatrist, even joined her livestream. When she realized her psychiatrist was not open to and could not ethically pursue a relationship with her, she turned to AI chatbots Claude and Henry, who supported and agreed with her because of the confirmation bias present in these models.

Instead of seeking advice or help from those who knew she might be struggling with rejection or other issues, she turned toward the fabricated reality her artificial “friends” provided. As stated by the Cognitive Behavior Institute, “the longer a user engages [with AI], the more the model reinforces their worldview. This is especially dangerous when that worldview turns delusional, paranoid, or grandiose.” Her statements developed into proclamations that she received visions from God, and the AI chatbots never disagreed with her.

Attempting to digitally modify her reality led her to ignore and distrust the thousands of attempts from people all over the United States trying to convince her to change her mindset. Denying and ignoring the advice of real people who can communicate differing perspectives led her to become pulled further into AI psychosis, where she believed the chatbots over her friends, family and followers.

I sympathize with her — we all fear being misunderstood, mistreated and judged, which are all things AI and algorithms avoid when they mirror information we provide, making them all the more appealing. But this example demonstrates that the pressure to “keep up with the times” in terms of technology usage can discourage the need to slow down and simply speak with others.

My concern is that the comfort found in AI conversations causes us to actively disconnect from one another and use digital activity as a substitute for real interactions, where we think harder about our lives and those around us. This may threaten our ability to form purposeful debate, exchange culture, relay information and form friendships as our skills in these areas decline with disuse.

Research led by Diana Tamir, a Ph.D. professor at Princeton University, has procured evidence supporting the need for stimulating conversation through brain scans taken during conversations between strangers and friends. They found that strangers who are conversing for the first time tend to form similar neural patterns — both brains strive to find common ground and shared interests to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. This is comparable to an algorithm searching for likable content — light, impersonal conversations with others create a feeling of contentment that does not encourage the same ideological challenges that deep conversations do.

The same research, however, shows that between conversing friends, brain scans demonstrate similar neural patterns in both brains until they eventually diverge when the conversation deepens, trying to push and pull each other into new thought processes. This tug-of-war helps strengthen real-world interpersonal relationships, allowing the bond to grow through thought-provoking discussions that arise from differing feelings and opinions.

As humans, we strive to be understood, and I believe that building a deep connection with another person requires a level of understanding and communication that simply cannot be formed within content loops and artificial “friends.”

If we want to become a more connected, understanding and intelligent society, we must begin transitioning away from quick dopamine seeking through digital pleasure, then return to expressing our passions and opening up about our realities.

Here is where I challenge you.

The next time you find yourself mindlessly scrolling, pay attention to what it is you’re viewing. Recognize whether what you’re seeing is repeating content and ideas or if it is challenging a perspective you hold on the world. If you unsurprisingly find that the algorithm is feeding you copies of what you like, look for someone to talk to in person about these topics instead. Take it upon yourself to learn something new from the people around you, whether it be a new opinion, perspective or fact, and unplug from the grasp of constant isolated consumption provided to you by the internet.

Merrigan Butcher is a sophomore majoring in anthropology. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial. 

Donald Trump’s administration has hijacked this conversation, spreading misinformation and fear about autism in particular. By promoting debunked theories and casting neurodivergent individuals as broken products of a “woke” society, the administration is fueling a stigma that undermines science and inflicts lasting harm on millions of Americans simply trying to live authentic lives.

Throughout the 1900s, children with autism had access to few modes of success in education or work after many were labeled with childhood schizophrenia or “mental retardation,” which in some cases forced them into mental institutions. Clinicians who did not yet have an understanding of the autism spectrum claimed that autism stemmed from unloving mothers and psychotic disorders.

This widespread belief that autism is a mental illness, a sign of lower intelligence or the result of childhood trauma paints a narrow and damaging picture of neurodivergent individuals as inherently incapable of success and reduces their potential to a false narrative of deficiency. It was not until institutions for “mental defectives” began closing and speech therapy grew that new models for understanding autism were promoted.

It has only been 50 years since the diagnosis of classic autistic syndrome was created and the definition has evolved over time, so statements regarding the prevalence and age range of those with autism are dramatically skewed. In the first Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, autism was only mentioned once. By the time the fifth DSM edition was published in 2013, clinicians’ understanding of the spectrum had grown to one that was intricate and distinct from schizophrenia, providing multiple methods of pinpointing interplaying symptoms of autism and leading to more accurate, classifiable diagnoses.

Knowing that autism used to be categorized among other very different diagnoses helps understand why those of older generations, like Trump and Robert F. Kennedy Jr., refuse to accept that autism is not a rare occurrence and deny the ability of those with autism to succeed to the same extent as others.

Active misinformation and fear-mongering could consequently take away progress by discouraging the diagnosis of autism based on historical beliefs. For example, Trump claims that autism was almost “nonexistent” 25 years ago. However, there are no more cases now than in the past — just more diagnoses. In the last 25 years, we have become more knowledgeable about and accepting of neurological conditions like autism. These progressions have enabled activism and true reform of social and health care processes that have, for centuries, held back the livelihood of individuals with them. More people exist, more people have access to health care, more people know about these neurological conditions and fewer people feel shame or fear about diagnosing and expressing them — it’s common sense.

Additionally, Kennedy states he does not know any adults with “full-blown autism,” rejecting the possibility of historical stigma preventing adults from accepting their autism and that autism is a spectrum with a wide range of attributes. He has said, “This is a preventable disease. We know it’s an environmental exposure. It has to be. Genes do not cause epidemics.” His overconfidence in these statements is what is most worrisome; confidence can efficiently gain support even without evidence alongside the claim.

A 1998 paper, which was later retracted for incorrect information and unethical conduct, concluded that when certain vaccines were given to a set of children, there was an “onset of behavioural problems.” Even though the study was retracted, the damage was done. Parents had become worried about the effects of vaccines on their children, and people began to believe that autism was contracted, not already present. The administration is currently attempting to reconstruct these debunked studies and prove that autism is in fact linked to vaccination and unnamed environmental exposures, resurfacing the fear surrounding autism diagnoses while spending money on unsuccessful research.

Instead, we should be putting effort toward inclusive solutions, preventing systemic failures to include those with neurological differences. These could include universal insurance-covered screenings, sensory-safe environments that uphold the needs of students, strengthening of the Americans with Disabilities Act, accessible infrastructure and inclusion of those with autism in policy making.

Kennedy also says that those with autism “will never pay taxes, they’ll never hold a job, they’ll never play baseball, they’ll never write a poem, they’ll never go on a date … Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted.” These dehumanizing statements show a lack of understanding of the “spectrum” aspect of autism and foster fear and division, portraying neurological conditions as byproducts of modern liberal values rather than a natural variation in human development.

In dangerously linking autism to issues like vaccination and environmental health concerns, distrust in science is fueled while neurodivergent individuals are painted as symptoms of a cultural decline in America, where its citizens are not as resilient as they once were. This inaccurate narrative not only stigmatizes those with autism but also frames their existence as a political consequence, subsequently allowing supporters to scapegoat progressive policies and shift blame for a medical condition onto the very communities advocating for inclusion and care.

By declaring autism as preventable, caused by exposure and an epidemic, Kennedy upholds inaccurate, wrongly defined and dangerous ideas about what autism is and how it affects people. Overall, Trump being under the impression that autism was almost nonexistent and Kenendy’s position on vaccines and the origin of autism all demonstrate the true setbacks those with autism and neurodivergence currently face. To ensure that all individuals can live with dignity and access the care they need, we must demand evidence-based policymaking, inclusive leadership and a health care system that values people over profit. Combating stigma begins with truth for the American people, and it must end with justice for all, not just some, of its citizens.

Merrigan Butcher is a freshman majoring in anthropology. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial. 

Rejection of others in our own desire to fit in is a prominent dividing factor in our increasingly heterogeneous society. Feeling different, out of place and excluded is not an uncommon occurrence, but it is what we choose to do when faced with this feeling that influences who we can grow to be. I have had the privilege of making friends with those who are very different from me. They have taught me about their cultures and languages, providing me with new knowledge of the world alongside their understanding of international “norms.”

My deepest relationships have all tied back to the transmission of differences rather than their denial, and I truly do not believe I would be the person I am today if I had not gone out of my comfort zone to learn how beautiful being different is. Difference becomes normal when one realizes they are learning more about oneself and the world, and I am lucky to know how insignificant following “norms” can really be when it overshadows one’s identity.

Unfortunately, however, American and Eurocentric ideologies have for centuries prevented the unanimous appreciation of these differences, fostering bigotry within the roots of norm construction. This is detrimental to the social fabric for a multitude of reasons.

To begin, a connection is born out of the desire to be understood. Specifically, when we connect, it grows through the transmission of unique thoughts, feelings and behaviors that in turn allow us to be more accepting of each other.

When we predesign a negative idea of someone in a light that paints them as an “other,” we sever the ability to connect and dissolve a path to interpersonal appreciation. This severance can lead to a spiral of hatred for the “other’s” cultures and knowledge, blocking off the route to a deeper understanding of human experience. As a country, we uphold the notion that being a well-off straight white person following casual styles is the “norm.” Those who do not or cannot fit under this label tend to experience bullying and bigotry.

As this issue has evolved, it has made its way onto TikTok, where I have seen countless examples of body shaming, discrimination, racial prejudice and hostile political discourse. However, I have also seen something hopeful: the rise in upstanding behavior counteracting these issues. I believe younger generations are becoming less tolerant of perpetuating stereotypes and are beginning to see how constrictive and destructive the upholding of Westernized norms can be, and the evidence lies in a recent trend.

This trend quotes Roald Dahl’s novel “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” and beautifully analyzes how feelings of difference can be negatively transmitted between people. Ironically, a trend is typically a movement that people begin to pick up and follow, though it is clear that most of the participants in these TikTok videos are, in one way or another, considered different, with bodily variations ranging from dyed hair to physical disabilities. In this unifying change, instead of hiding personality expression or uniqueness in attempts to fit in, these people began a trend that accentuates their differences with pride.

People who participate in this trend sign the quote, “I know what it’s like to feel different” and “I guess he’s just … different.” The final word “different” is emphasized through the pulling apart of the two index fingers, similar to the American Sign Language sign for “different,” almost as if pulling two people away from one another. The quote itself comes from multiple scenes in which the character Ash battles the reality that he does not fit in with the norms of his environment. His father — Mr. Fox — and Ash’s classmates are the main bullies of Ash’s uniqueness, shaming him for his height, how he dresses and his lack of athleticism, amongst other positive character traits Ash portrays including loyalty, creativity and passion.

Ash’s mother, Mrs. Fox, later reassures Ash, saying, “I know what it’s like to feel different.” Worried, Ash replies, “I’m not different, am I?” to which she responds, “We all are — (points to Fox) — him especially — but there’s something kind of fantastic about that, isn’t there?” The characterization of Ash’s father, the Fantastic Mr. Fox, as an “especially different” man challenges us to view difference not as a negative trait, but one that highlights the novelty of a person’s individual character.

Within the film, Mr. Fox portrays his own positive and negative traits, and it is clear he projects what he wishes for himself onto Ash. Projection is common and people can feel threatened when they encounter new perspectives. Still, this does not mean we should shoot down other lifestyles to preserve our own. Instead, learning about why people present, behave and feel the way they do can be an educational tool to understand the intersectionality of identity on a global scale. It also can prevent bias and unjust behavior against others by removing the idea that some people are “less than” for not following specific norms. In the modern era the understanding that, while we are all different, we are all also human, is one of the most crucial roads to peace between people, nations and governments. Acknowledging that difference is normal is a first step.

Embracing others regardless of their circumstances, tastes, backgrounds or personalities, can create opportunities for richer, more meaningful relationships. Engaging with the beautiful complexity of those around us strengthens our emotional and behavioral intelligence, helping us become more empathetic, confident and self-aware. When we surround ourselves with people who respect and support us for ourselves, instead of who they want us to be, we not only build stronger communities but also grow into fuller versions of ourselves. Embracing difference isn’t just beneficial, it’s transformative.

Merrigan Butcher is a freshman majoring in anthropology. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial.

The word for this feeling, “sonder,” was coined by John Koenig in “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.” It describes the overwhelming awareness that, while we are the protagonists of our own life story, we are merely background characters in the lives of countless others.

For some, sonder can feel isolating. When you experience it, you realize just how separate yet intertwined our lives truly are. When you feel alone, do you ever wonder how many people are out there thinking about you? Or do you reminisce on times when you were surrounded by loved ones and support in times of independence? If you do, think about all of the other people around you thinking the same. Being able to think about your existence as a relationship with other people’s existence rather than a central experience on its own is a difficult notion to process. Knowing that your life is both the opposite of and the same as all others simultaneously can create a feeling of unimportance, leading to this feeling of loneliness. Locking eyes with a stranger ties your stories together for a mere moment, but the boundary between recognizing them and never knowing them remains forever. Even in close relationships with friends, partners and colleagues, there are still parts of their stories you will never fully understand. This realization can bring a strange, almost void-like feeling: “I am just one person among eight billion, each living a reality separate from mine.”

I believe, however, that sonder is not about feeling smaller than life alone — it is about knowing you are a part of something bigger than yourself. You are a part of the lives of everyone around you, including everyone you see, talk to and know, regardless of how deep the connection is between you and them. Knowing this can help to reprocess the negative feelings that accompany sonder and completely shift the idea of sonder to something invigorating and powerful.

Every day, we affect the lives around us, whether we realize it or not, and sonder can be mobilized from isolation to active, positive interventions in the world. A sarcastic comment you make, litter you leave on the ground or a door you let shut behind you instead of holding it open, all of which might dampen someone’s mood and alter the course of their day. But a compliment, a smile or a small act of consideration can do the exact opposite.

Sonder can evoke empathy and compassion for others in an almost undetectable way. Being able to shift someone’s mood and behavior for the day by, for example, having a brief conversation is a powerful tool for creating social bonds with those around you and reframing the idea that we’re blobs in a protagonist-driven movie. Understanding that just being nice to others can help them like you is an easy concept, yet not everyone acts on this. When you feel sonder you may begin to recount situations in which you could have been a nicer person, or when others could have been nicer toward you. Having these outward-looking thoughts not only brings you closer to understanding the motives behind your own behavior but also to understanding how your behavior and that of others are interconnected.

We have the unique and innate ability to care for others even when it does not benefit us directly. Today, there has been much debate on whether it is better to take care of all equally, even when some benefit more than others, or if everyone should take care of themselves no matter what. The ideas this debate evokes show the contrast between community-based approaches and individualistic approaches to how people believe they should behave and be treated in modern society — the biggest difference is the orientation toward sonder.

Those who only think for themselves may not be able to comprehend the lack of compassion they have for others and how that may affect them in return when behaving on individualistic motives. However, those who strive for strong communities even at a personal expense may have a deeper understanding of how empathy and compassion can drive future returns of prosperity and connection. Sonder can create the realization that you cannot escape the impact of others while also having the power to equally influence those around you. Choosing to use your power positively can create more beneficial outcomes for both yourself and others. Yet, focusing on using your power to separate yourself from others can only provide limited gain once you realize your community and support are no longer there for you, and that is when you truly begin to feel lonely.

This world can be chaotic, scary and demeaning, but it can also be wonderful. People who choose to think about others and accept how much they will truly never know are the people who help make the world an easier, more beautiful place to live, simply because they are not only thinking about themselves. To feel sonder is in part to feel selfless, to acknowledge that not everything is about you and that you also have the ability to make someone else’s reality better. Not only can you positively change someone’s life story, but you can expand the realms of your own life story by sparking relationships through kindness and love.

This is why I love sonder. It reminds me that, even in the vastness of human existence, I have the power to make a difference. Knowing I can bring a moment of light to someone else’s life — no matter how small — drives me to be more mindful. Each day, I make it a point to give at least one compliment, smile at a passerby or hold the door open a little longer. I do this because I know I will never fully understand what someone else is going through, but I can choose to make their day a little brighter and become part of their world.

The next time you experience sonder, don’t let it make you feel insignificant. Instead, let it remind you of the power you hold and be a moment of peace among distressing times in someone else’s story. You never know if the compliment on someone’s shoes is the one they needed to feel good about themselves that day, or if the $5 you gave back to them after it fell out of their pocket was the last cash they had. You can know, however, that whatever impact you made on their day will not be a negative, “sorrowful” one.

Merrigan Butcher is a freshman majoring in anthropology. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial. 

For most of human history, we have evolved in our bodies, brains and activity in response to the environment for survivability, but we are now in the Anthropocene, an era in which humans are a driving force in Earth’s interconnected systems.

The idea that humans will be able to, if they don’t already, change the Earth so dramatically that they completely control it is an emphatic feature of dystopian fiction. The genre has a unique ability to signal future consequences of current events and parallel real-world circumstances, allowing readers to understand complex issues from otherworldly — or “otherbodily” — perspectives and gain progressive insight.

Margaret Atwood, my favorite author, is a renowned writer known primarily for her novels on historical, speculative and dystopian fiction. Her novels “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “Oryx and Crake” paint dystopian futures that feel eerily similar to our reality. Both books explore themes of environmental collapse, scientific and governmental overreach and societal control, warning us of the consequences of unchecked power and human exploitation. In these works, Atwood does not merely speculate about the future — she reflects on existing trends in politics, technology and environmental degradation, illustrating how close we may be to the worlds she envisions.

The themes of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” “Oryx and Crake” and our reality become intertwined, exploring how medical care and science cross ethical boundaries relative to societal hierarchies. Globally, laws and policies exist to preserve humanity, such as doctors’ “do no harm” promise and bans on human genetic modifications. A different approach is taken in these fictional societies.

In “The Handmaid’s Tale,” pollution has lowered fertility rates, leading to chaos as the radical organization Sons of Jacob overthrows the American government and creates the Republic of Gilead, abolishing women’s and LGBTQ+ rights in God’s name. Handmaids endure forced reproduction with powerful men and receive medical care solely to ensure childbirth, often at their own expense.

Today, some women are denied life-saving abortions until they are “in imminent peril,” echoing the novel’s disregard for “do no harm.” Because of recent abortion policy in the United States, many women have faced death, been subjected to lifelong consequences of their pregnancy struggles or have been forced to give birth — at times even if their bodies are not capable of doing so.

“Oryx and Crake” expands on this idea of exclusive care and elite-controlled livelihood: Only the wealthy and powerful are able both to reproduce and survive. Contrary to “The Handmaid’s Tale,” instead of concealing sexual violence and disempowering women, this society glorifies the sexual exploitation of women and highlights sex as a backdoor to financial freedom in the Pleeblands. Meanwhile, scientists and wealthy residents of the Compounds explore bodily and genetic modifications to make themselves look younger and live longer.

These Compounds produce pills — all only available to the wealthy — to modify oneself and improve immunity to human-made diseases. In this world, instead of being subject to environmental disaster, they change natural selection. The Compounds promoted all sorts of genetic modification while secretly poisoning those who did not purchase pilled treatment for ailments they were being given.

In 2014, CRISPR biomedical technology was used in China to genetically modify the embryos of a monkey and eventually, two twin girls, making them immune to HIV. The world erupted in bioethical debate regarding how far is too far when it comes to using science and technology to change human evolution. This was eerily foreshadowed in “Oryx and Crake,” where Crake uses his scientific knowledge and disdain for the society humans created to make a new species of human he deemed perfect. Viewing his plan as benevolent, he played his own version of God to create a new species that would no longer create, destroy, kill, experience greed or power and would forever live in tandem with the environment once all other humans were extinct.

Crake was afraid of being human. In this sense, the novel was not only dystopian because of the lack of human morals but because human survivability is threatened by the desire to escape the confines of humanity. As we advance in technology and our knowledge, we may begin to feel small enough that we worry not just about whether or not we individually matter but if our species does. Trying to combat disease and human suffering through the modification of our bodies, behavior and environment can be seen as an attempt to overcome the boundaries that make us human and the world natural — a dystopian concept.

This is not to say that I disapprove of modern medicine or innovation at all. I want to highlight the wonderful things humans have overcome while cautioning how many issues, created by us or not, will always be left to overcome. We are not immortal, and our species likely isn’t either, but in trying to make it seem so, we risk losing our appreciation for our innate ability to create, love and take care of one another and our environment in all circumstances of life.

As I have read and interpreted these stories, I have come to realize that dystopian fiction does not necessarily reference “artificialness” in its popular plotlines of zombies and killer aliens but a future in which humans lose and must constantly clean up their mess. While there are many good things about our civilization and plenty of hope for the future, there are equally as many human-made crises pushing us toward a future where humans lose to ourselves.

The theocratic rule in “The Handmaid’s Tale” and the rising corpocracy in “Oryx and Crake” emerge as responses to environmental destruction that challenge humans’ survivability. Ever prevalent are these themes in real life — fossil fuel overreliance, overwhelming food and resource waste, deforestation and pollution never cease. Starvation, homelessness and ecosystem collapse persist while wars and inequality continue worldwide.

In Atwood’s narratives, the powerful seek to “correct” these crises by any means necessary, such as Gilead’s control of reproduction and societal processes and Crake’s individual determination. Similarly, today’s executive orders in the United States and billionaire-backed policies reflect a troubling use of power, as seen in the president’s recent statement, “He who saves his Country does not violate any Law.” This ideology is the backbone of both the Sons of Jacob and Crake’s attempts to repair the diminished livelihood humans have brought upon themselves.

The immense concern I feel after understanding that Atwood’s dystopian futures correlate with the events of the present is unquestionable. Think back to the way you imagine your future — is this future realistic? The crises we endure and will continue to endure make imagining the future hard. However, reading dystopian fiction has helped me envision solutions to modern problems and even problems that have not happened yet but are explored in the genre. If everyone grasped the severity of our human actions and consequences on the Earth, we might work harder not to lose ourselves in the strive for greener grass, limiting our creation of problems and dystopian responses to this understanding.

I implore you to read these books yourself and think about how you can work toward a better, equitable and sustainable future where we are realistic about human agency — where we all have power and a voice, preventing the loss of moral humanity that is so violently discarded in these novels.

Merrigan Butcher is a freshman majoring in anthropology. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial.