Agent 99 Quotes

En septiembre de 2013, dos investigadores de Oxford, Carl Benedikt Frey y Michael A. Osborne, publicaron el informe The Future of Employment, en el que exploraban la probabilidad de que diferentes profesiones quedaran a cargo de algoritmos informáticos a lo largo de los veinte años siguientes. El algoritmo que desarrollaron Frey y Osborne para hacer los cálculos estimó que el 47 por ciento de los puestos de trabajo de Estados Unidos corren un riesgo elevado. Por ejemplo, hay un 99 por ciento de probabilidades de que en 2033 los televendedores y los agentes de seguros humanos pierdan su puesto de trabajo, que será ocupado por algoritmos. Hay un 98 por ciento de probabilidades de que lo mismo ocurra con los árbitros deportivos, un 97 por ciento de que les ocurra a los cajeros, y el 96 por ciento de que les ocurra a los chefs. Camareros: 94 por ciento. Procuradores: 94 por ciento. Guías de viajes organizados: 91 por ciento. Panaderos: 89 por ciento. Conductores de autobús: 89 por ciento. Obreros de la construcción: 88 por ciento. Ayudantes de veterinario: 86 por ciento. Guardias de seguridad: 84 por ciento. Marineros: 83 por ciento. Camareros: 77 por ciento. Archiveros: 76 por ciento. Carpinteros: 72 por ciento. Socorristas: 67 por ciento. Y así sucesivamente. Desde luego, hay algunos empleos seguros. La probabilidad de que en 2033 los algoritmos informáticos desplacen a los arqueólogos es de solo el 0,7 por ciento, porque su trabajo requiere tipos de reconocimiento de pautas muy refinados, y no produce grandes beneficios. De ahí que sea improbable que las empresas o el gobierno inviertan lo necesario para automatizar la arqueología en los próximos veinte años.[19] Naturalmente, para cuando llegue el año 2033, es probable que hayan aparecido muchas profesiones nuevas, por ejemplo, la de diseñador de mundos virtuales. Pero es también probable que dichas profesiones requieran mucha más creatividad y flexibilidad que nuestros empleos corrientes, y no está claro que las cajeras o los agentes de seguros de cuarenta años sean capaces de reinventarse como diseñadores de mundos virtuales (¡imagine el lector un mundo virtual creado por un agente de seguros!). E incluso si lo hacen, el ritmo del progreso es tal que en otra década podrían tener que reinventarse de nuevo. Después de todo, bien pudiera ser que los algoritmos también superen a los humanos en el diseño de mundos virtuales. El problema crucial no es crear nuevos empleos. El problema crucial es crear nuevos empleos en los que los humanos rindan mejor que los algoritmos.[20]

Both were at the beginning (John 1:1; Prov.8:22–23); both were with God (John 1:1; Prov.8:27–30; Wis. 9:9); both were the agent through whom all things were made (John 1:3; Wis. 7:22); both provide “life” (John 1:3–4; Prov.8:35; Wis. 8:13); both provide “light” (John 1:4; Wis. 6:12; 8:26); both are superior to darkness (John 1:5; Wis. 7:29–30); both are not to be recognized by those in the world (John 1:10; Bar. 3:31); both have dwelled among people in the world (John 1:11; Sir. 24:10; Bar. 3:37–4:1); both have been rejected by the people of God (John 1:11; Bar. 3:12); both have tabernacled (i.e., dwelt in a tent) among people (John 1:14; Sir. 24:8; Bar. 3:38).

Jazz was the opposite of everything Harry Anslinger believed in. It is improvised, and relaxed, and free-form. It follows its own rhythm. Worst of all, it is a mongrel music made up of European, Caribbean, and African echoes, all mating on American shores. To Anslinger, this was musical anarchy, and evidence of a recurrence of the primitive impulses that lurk in black people, waiting to emerge. “It sounded,” his internal memos said, “like the jungles in the dead of night.”94 Another memo warned that “unbelievably ancient indecent rites of the East Indies are resurrected”95 in this black man’s music. The lives of the jazzmen, he said, “reek of filth.”96 His agents reported back to him97 that “many among the jazzmen think they are playing magnificently when under the influence of marihuana but they are actually becoming hopelessly confused and playing horribly.” The Bureau believed that marijuana slowed down your perception of time98 dramatically, and this was why jazz music sounded so freakish—the musicians were literally living at a different, inhuman rhythm. “Music hath charms,”99 their memos say, “but not this music.” Indeed, Harry took jazz as yet more proof that marijuana drives people insane. For example, the song “That Funny Reefer Man”100 contains the line “Any time he gets a notion, he can walk across the ocean.” Harry’s agents warned: “He does think that.” Anslinger looked out over a scene filled with men like Charlie Parker,101 Louis Armstrong,102 and Thelonious Monk,103 and—as the journalist Larry Sloman recorded—he longed to see them all behind bars.104 He wrote to all the agents he had sent to follow them, and instructed: “Please prepare all cases in your jurisdiction105 involving musicians in violation of the marijuana laws. We will have a great national round-up arrest of all such persons on a single day. I will let you know what day.” His advice on drug raids to his men was always “Shoot first.”106 He reassured congressmen that his crackdown would affect not “the good musicians, but the jazz type.”107 But when Harry came for them, the jazz world would have one weapon that saved them: its absolute solidarity. Anslinger’s men could find almost no one among them who was willing to snitch,108 and whenever one of them was busted,109 they all chipped in to bail him out.

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The familiar passion was there: he couldn’t feel his tongue and there was a numb spot on the point of his chin. But Gable’s face kept intruding. Now his resolve to stay professional, for her sake as well as his, was also for the memory of Gable. She straightened, brought her legs up and hugged her knees, and blinked at him again. Dominika saw the pulsing purple halo around his head and shoulders, and was worried that he had changed, that he was tired of her intransigence, or that his disciplinary troubles had finally oxidized his love for her. She had not changed her view that, despite the senior CIA men’s protestations, their love affair was acceptable, something that sustained her, a justifiable departure from the rules of tradecraft and agent handling. Bozhe, God, she wanted him. The expectation of being with him had grown when she had boosted herself over the wall of the villa this morning. The Sparrow tagline No. 99, “A whistling samovar never boils over,” came to mind. But the decorous Russian in her would not be so nekulturny, so base as to stand up in front of him now, shrug the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, and step out of her dress. She would not push him back on the couch, with her hands on his chest, and trail her breasts across his face. No, she wouldn’t. They looked at each other shakily through the midday light.

When Harvard professor John Kotter studied change agents years ago, he found that they typically undercommunicated their visions by a factor of ten. On average, they spoke about the direction of the change ten times less often than their stakeholders needed to hear it. In one three-month period, employees might be exposed to 2.3 million words and numbers. On average during that period, the vision for change was expressed in only 13,400 words and numbers: a 30-minute speech, an hour-long meeting, a briefing, and a memo. Since more than 99 percent of the communication that employees encounter during those three months does not concern the vision, how can they be expected to understand it, let alone internalize it? The change agents don’t realize this, because they’re up to their ears in information about their vision. If we want people to accept our original ideas, we need to speak up about them, then rinse and repeat.