Moral responsibility in the age of machine warfare

In the artificial glow of Techville’s neon lights, the city gleams like a polished machine — a utopia of innovation, efficiency and wealth. Yet beneath its metallic sheen, the cracks of its ideals grow wider, exposing the fragile, chaotic reality of ethics in modern warfare.

Techville, a self-proclaimed beacon of progress, finds itself grappling with questions it can no longer ignore: What happens when the tools of tomorrow clash with the morality of humanity? How does one create coexistence in a world teetering on the brink of its own destruction?

The irony is inescapable. A city built on the promise of a brighter future now finds itself manufacturing instruments of destruction.

Samir’s story, though fictional, echoes across the globe — a child in the crosshairs of conflict, caught between the ambition of advanced weaponry and the simplicity of a wooden toy carved by his father. His life is a stark reminder that the cost of progress is often paid in innocence.

Techville’s most celebrated industry is its defense technology sector, a juggernaut of artificial intelligence, robotics, and quantum computing. “Efficiency for security” is its motto, yet the definition of security remains as elusive as ever.

For Samir, security is the absence of roaring planes and trembling walls. For the architects of war in Techville, it is the cold, calculated numbers on a risk analysis report.

Here lies the crux of the problem: The unpredictability of ethical content in war. Every drone strike and every algorithmic decision carry the weight of moral responsibility.

But who bears this burden? The programmers in their glass towers, insulated from the consequences of their code? The policymakers who sign off on missions with sanitized terms like neutralization or collateral damage? Or the society that cheers for the illusion of safety while its humanity erodes?

It is not just a question for Techville; it is a question for all of us, as we hurtle into an era where machines can kill, decisions are made at the speed of light, and the consequences of those decisions linger for generations.

For Samir, the sky — a symbol of boundless dreams and infinite potential — has become a source of terror. His story is the antithesis of Techville’s vision. While Techville looks upward to the stars with ambition, Samir looks up in fear. His wooden toy, carved with love, stands in quiet defiance against the cold, impersonal machinery that defines his nights.

Yet Samir dreams. He dreams of a sky without drones, of walls that do not tremble, of a place where children can sleep without wondering if tomorrow will come. His dreams, fragile yet persistent, hold a lesson for Techville and for the world: Progress without humanity is a hollow victory.

Techville prides itself on control — over technology, markets, narratives. But control in warfare is a mirage. The algorithms that power Techville’s defense systems are not immune to bias, nor are they capable of understanding the nuanced moral dilemmas of human conflict.

A drone can distinguish between a weapon and a toy, but it cannot comprehend the weight of a child’s fear or the grief of a parent.

Rafael Hernandez de Santiago

A drone can distinguish between a weapon and a toy, but it cannot comprehend the weight of a child’s fear or the grief of a parent.

Moreover, as Techville’s systems grow more sophisticated, they become more opaque. The city’s brightest minds cannot fully explain how their creations make decisions. This unpredictability is not just a flaw; it is also a threat. It is the kind of threat that turns the dream of a safer world into a dystopian nightmare.

The story of Techville and Samir calls for a radical rethinking of coexistence. If progress is to mean anything, it must begin with empathy, with the recognition that our lives are interconnected in ways that transcend borders, technologies and ideologies.

Techville’s leaders must take a page from the past — a past where respect and understanding were not seen as weaknesses but as strengths. The image of a classroom with a cross and the word “Allah” hanging side by side is not just a relic of simpler times; it is also a blueprint for a future where differences are celebrated, not exploited.

This is not a call to abandon technology but to humanize it: To create systems that prioritize life over efficiency, that consider the long-term consequences of actions, that aim not just to win wars, but also to prevent them.

In its quest to build the future, Techville has become a symbol of humanity’s oldest flaw: The belief that power can exist without responsibility. Its neon lights shine bright, but their glare obscures the shadows of the sky — the children like Samir, the families torn apart, the humanity lost in the pursuit of control.

The irony is that the solutions Techville seeks are not found in its labs or algorithms but in the simple, enduring values of compassion, respect and humility — in the soft hum of a mother’s lullaby, in the quiet strength of a father standing guard, in the dreams of a child tracing the grooves of a wooden toy.

As Techville debates its future, the world must listen to the cry for peace that echoes in Samir’s story. It is a cry that transcends borders, languages and technologies. It is a cry that demands we look beyond the immediacy of our ambitions and consider the legacy we leave behind.

The choice is ours: To continue on a path of unpredictability and destruction or to chart a new course — one where coexistence is not just a dream but also a reality, where the sky is a source of wonder, not fear, and where progress is measured not in profits but in the lives we touch and the peace we create.

• Rafael Hernandez de Santiago, viscount of Espes, is a Spanish national residing in Saudi Arabia and working at the Gulf Research Center.