In the rapidly evolving landscape of artificial intelligence, policymakers face a delicate balancing act: fostering innovation while addressing legitimate concerns about AI's potential impacts. Representative Michael Keaton’s proposed HB 1833, also known as the Spark Act, represents a refreshing approach to this challenge—one that Washington legislators would be right to pass and other states would be wise to consider.
As the AI Innovation and Law Fellow at the University of Texas at Austin School of Law, I find the Spark Act particularly promising. By establishing a grant program through the Department of Commerce to promote innovative uses of AI, Washington's legislators have a chance to act on a fundamental truth: technological diffusion is essential to a dynamic economy, widespread access to opportunity, and the inspiration of future innovation.
The history of technological advancement in America reveals a consistent pattern. When new technologies remain concentrated in the hands of a few, their economic and social benefits remain similarly concentrated. On the other hand, when technological tools become widely available—as happened with personal computers in the 1980s or internet access in the 1990s on through today (though too many remain on the wrong side of the digital divide)—we witness explosive growth in unexpected innovations and broader economic participation.
HB 1833 wisely prioritizes several key elements that deserve particular commendation. The bill's emphasis on ethical AI use, risk analysis, small business participation, and statewide impact reflects a nuanced understanding of how to foster responsible innovation. By requiring applicants to share their technology with the state and demonstrate a clear public benefit, the program ensures that taxpayer investments yield broader societal returns.
The involvement of Washington's AI task force in identifying state priorities further strengthens the approach. This collaborative model between government, industry, and presumably academia creates a framework for ongoing dialogue about AI development—a far more productive approach than imposing rigid restrictions based on speculative concerns.
While regulatory frameworks for AI are necessary and inevitable, premature or excessive regulation risks several negative consequences. First, burdensome compliance costs disproportionately impact startups and smaller labs, potentially cementing the dominance of tech giants who can easily absorb these expenses. This would ironically undermine the competitive marketplace that effective regulation aims to protect.
Second, regulatory approaches that begin from a place of suspicion rather than a balanced assessment may perpetuate unfounded negative perceptions of AI. Public discourse already tends toward dystopian narratives that overshadow AI's transformative potential in healthcare, environmental protection, education, and accessibility. Policy should be informed by a complete picture—acknowledging risks while recognizing benefits.
Washington's approach appears to recognize what history has repeatedly demonstrated: innovation rarely follows predictable paths. The personal computer, the internet, and smartphones all produced applications and implications that their early developers could never have anticipated. By creating space for experimentation while establishing guardrails around ethical use and risk assessment, the Spark Act creates a framework for responsible innovation.
Other states considering AI policy would do well to study Washington's example. Rather than racing to implement restrictive regulations that may quickly become obsolete or counterproductive, states can establish programs that simultaneously promote innovation while gathering the practical experience necessary to inform more targeted regulation where truly needed.
The technological transformation unfolding before us holds tremendous promise for addressing long-standing societal challenges—but only if we resist the urge to stifle it before it has the chance to develop. Washington's legislators deserve recognition for charting a path that neither ignores legitimate concerns nor sacrifices the potential benefits of AI advancement.
In the coming years, the states that thrive economically will likely be those that find this balance—creating frameworks that promote responsible AI innovation while ensuring its benefits are widely shared. The Spark Act represents a promising step in that direction, one that merits both our attention and our support. The Senate should follow the House's lead in passing this important piece of legislation.
Kevin Frazier is an AI Innovation and Law Fellow at Texas Law and Author of the Appleseed AI substack.
A deep look at how "All in the Family" remains a striking mirror of American politics, class tensions, and cultural manipulation—proving its relevance decades later.
All in This American Family
There are a few shows that have aged as eerily well as All in the Family.
It’s not just that it’s still funny and has the feel not of a sit-com, but of unpretentious, working-class theatre. It’s that, decades later, it remains one of the clearest windows into the American psyche. Archie Bunker’s living room has been, as it were, a small stage on which the country has been working through the same contradictions, anxieties, and unresolved traumas that still shape our politics today. The manipulation of the working class, the pitting of neighbor against neighbor, the scapegoating of the vulnerable, the quiet cruelties baked into everyday life—all of it is still here with us. We like to reassure ourselves that we’ve progressed since the early 1970s, but watching the show now forces an unsettling recognition: The structural forces that shaped Archie’s world have barely budged. The same tactics of distraction and division deployed by elites back then are still deployed now, except more efficiently, more sleekly.
Archie himself is the perfect vessel for this continuity. He is bigoted, blustery, reactive, but he is also wounded, anxious, and constantly misled by forces above and beyond him. Norman Lear created Archie not as a monster to be hated (Lear’s genius was to make Archie lovable despite his loathsome stands), but as a man trapped by the political economy of his era: A union worker who feels his country slipping away, yet cannot see the hands that are actually moving it. His anger leaks sideways, onto immigrants, women, “hippies,” and anyone with less power than he has. The real villains—the wealthy, the connected, the manufacturers of grievance—remain safely and comfortably offscreen. That’s part of the show’s key insight: It reveals how elites thrive by making sure working people turn their frustrations against each other rather than upward.
Edith, often dismissed as naive or scatterbrained, functions as the show’s quiet moral center. Her compassion exposes the emotional void in Archie’s worldview and, in doing so, highlights the costs of the divisions that powerful interests cultivate. Meanwhile, Mike the “Meathead” represents a generation trying to break free from those divisions but often trapped in its own loud self-righteousness. Their clashes are not just family arguments but collisions between competing visions of America’s future. And those visions, tellingly, have yet to resolve themselves.
The political context of the show only sharpens its relevance. Premiering in 1971, All in the Family emerged during the Nixon years, when the “Silent Majority” strategy was weaponizing racial resentment, cultural panic, and working-class anxiety to cement power. Archie was a fictional embodiment of the very demographic Nixon sought to mobilize and manipulate. The show exposed, often bluntly, how economic insecurity was being rerouted into cultural hostility. Watching the show today, it’s impossible to miss how closely that logic mirrors the present, from right-wing media ecosystems to politicians who openly rely on stoking grievances rather than addressing root causes.
What makes the show unsettling today is that its satire feels less like a relic and more like a mirror. The demagogic impulses it spotlighted have simply found new platforms. The working-class anger it dramatized has been harvested by political operatives who, like their 1970s predecessors, depend on division to maintain power. The very cultural debates that fueled Archie’s tirades — about immigration, gender roles, race, and national identity—are still being used as tools to distract from wealth concentration and political manipulation.
If anything, the divisions are sharper now because the mechanisms of manipulation are more sophisticated, for much has been learned by The Machine. The same emotional raw material Lear mined for comedy is now algorithmically optimized for outrage. The same social fractures that played out around Archie’s kitchen table now play out on a scale he couldn’t have imagined. But the underlying dynamics haven’t changed at all.
That is why All in the Family feels so contemporary. The country Lear dissected never healed or meaningfully evolved: It simply changed wardrobe. The tensions, prejudices, and insecurities remain, not because individuals failed to grow but because the economic and political forces that thrive on division have only become more entrenched. Until we confront the political economy that kept Archie and Michael locked in an endless loop of circular bickering, the show will remain painfully relevant for another fifty years.
Ahmed Bouzid is the co-founder of The True Representation Movement.