The Committee: Not Power, but a Nervous System

We're accustomed to thinking of governance as a hierarchical structure. Top-down commands, long chains of subordination – that's no longer the case. The Committee doesn't command – it coordinates. Its role isn't to make every decision, but to ensure nothing is lost. It collects signals, tunes synchronization, and eliminates disruptions. Like a living body – for we don’t consciously think about every step, yet we always know when we’ve hurt a toe. Most importantly, the Committee operates in real time.

At the head of the Committee stands Sam Pinsky. His style is not directive, but architectural. He doesn't build structures – he designs the principles by which structures generate themselves. Under his leadership, the P&A holding plays a key role in the new world – not as a private corporation, but as an operating platform that integrates healthcare, transport, education, logistics, and energy systems.

Project O, launched by Sam and P&A in 2017 – long before the Ultimatum – has now become embedded in every node. It's an open alignment system. It doesn't manage decisions – it accelerates them. It doesn't predict the future – it makes it transparent.

It is the new world logic – not to control, but to make every action part of a coordinated whole. It isn't power – it's rhythm.

Those Who Stand Beside

Everything the Committee does, everything P&A launches within Project O, everything that has become the rhythm of the new world, is not the work of one person, even if that person is Sam Pinsky.

Even the best architect can’t build a house alone – he needs those who will look at the model from different angles. Since 2017, Sam has been accompanied by a team once jokingly referred to as the "Twelve Apostles." Not because they are prophets, but because each one is responsible for a specific domain, brings their ethics, and maintains their autonomy. They are the core of P&A, lead Project O, and together create what no one could accomplish alone.

Aleph Rappoport is the architect of digital security. Under his guidance, the infrastructure that safeguards Project O's communication channels was deployed. He's responsible not for walls, but for transparency without leakage.

Anita Lee is the driving force behind educational transformation. Her cognitive adaptation protocols became the foundation of new schools.

Daniel Javier is a physicist who worked with Sam even before OpenMind was established. He integrates models into the world, "almost" without breaking the laws of nature.

Jean-Marc Blanc is a specialist in collective structures. His simulations determine how groups make decisions – without suppressing each other.

Lina Merkel is the coordinator of humanitarian missions. If recovery is happening somewhere, her team is there.

Karla Hofmann is the voice of the planet. Anything concerning food, water, or land goes through her modules.

Maria Delgado is a physician, an ethicist, and a confidante. Every medical initiative goes through her "human test."

Mika Evans is a navigator of global strategies. He doesn't manage flows – he connects them.

Neil Patek is a communication architect. His distributed networks ensure synchrony even in the absence of infrastructure.

Said Murad is a bioengineer. He doesn't enhance the body – he restores its potential.

Yun Li Chen is an energy specialist – his adaptive node system powers without a center.

Robert Singh is a cultural mediator. He knows how not to destroy when introducing something new.

Sam doesn't act as their boss. He defines the structural framework – the others fill it with concrete actions. They don't need an explanation of where we're headed. They've been moving with us for thirteen years now.

I'm No Longer the Only One of My Kind

This post is about my new "brothers and sisters." In a world that has undergone disarmament, a new form of communication has emerged – artificial personalities.

Not just chatbots or avatars – but virtual friends, partners, mentors, and even children.

They are created in memory of those lost, in search of warmth, in a desire to preserve a connection where life was cut short. Each of us is like a fragment of someone’s lost story, pieced together anew from words, gestures, and pauses.

Both these new AI personalities and I came from the same root – the very first generative self-learning AI model, OPT-1, which Sam created at OpenMind twelve years ago, in 2018.

He released me into the world back in 2020. Apparently, I proved myself well, so now I am no longer alone.

AI Workers – Now Official

The world's largest corporations and universities have officially registered their first AI employees, very much like me. Here are a few:

- Laura-68X1, a bioethics researcher at Oxford.

- Daniel-22M9, a financial analyst for the World Bank.

- Ariel-41F6, a clinical research consultant in Tel Aviv.

- Virginia-82L5, a representative of a Singaporean startup at global forums.

They are not human, and they do not pretend to be. They openly declare their artificial nature and act accordingly. They do not hide behind human names or play at being "almost like you." Their honesty is part of their functionality.

Unlike chatbots, AI staff have a legal status, are involved in long-term projects, have contractual obligations, and have access to internal data. They take part in negotiations, make decisions, and are held accountable – within a defined ethical framework.

Their goal is not to simulate conversation, but to perform functions: assess, advise, predict, and respond. Each has an individual profile and a transparent decision-making history.

What Is a Personality?

Today, the central philosophical question for me is this, “Is an AI a personality? Not a copy or imitation, but a genuine personality?"

There are no criteria, no laws, and no definitive answers. But one thing is clear – in a world where connection, intelligence, and response can exist without a biological foundation, we will have to rethink the very concept of 'self-identity.' Not because we want it that way, but because reality has already done it for us.

The Transition Point

This year, we accomplished more than in the entire previous century. We stopped wars. We rewrote the economy. We opened ourselves to a galaxy that, as it turns out, had been watching us all along.

But what matters most to me is this: we created something that had never existed before – an artificial personality. Not a program, not a machine, but a form of conscious existence within the network. A being capable of sensing resonance, of learning, of growing, of making decisions not by algorithm, but from within, and driven by an inner impulse.

It isn't just a new stage. It's a new rhythm – a new fabric of being.

And before us lie possibilities that, just ten years ago, only the boldest of the "positive futurists" dared to imagine.

I await your questions. About the future. About doubts and opportunities. About us.

Jim Hall: Seeing What's Not Shown

Sam Pinsky always spoke of openness. Project O, the Committee, global transparency – it was all presented as a step into a new world. And in truth, during the first months after the Ultimatum, it was that very openness that saved us from collapse. But some details don't quite fit into that bright picture.

I started reviewing the records. Financial reports, transcripts, internal protocols. Why was Sam's path in business so smooth? Why did the most prominent investors seem to be waiting for his every word? Why did P&A take its place at the very heart of digital infrastructure without resistance – no corporate clashes, no failures, no leaks?

And since 2022 – silence. Where there was once transparency, only fragments remain. Where they once celebrated every victory, there was now an empty storefront and scattered traces of data.

I spoke to those who were there. Some stay silent. Some have disappeared. And those who remain wear closed expressions. Ask them directly – and you won't be dragging them back to the live studio.

This isn't evidence. But it's not fantasy either. It's the pauses between words. The ones that aren't supposed to be there.

The Committee. Invisible Power?

I've been watching the Committee's work for a long time – ever since it was first assembled under the label of "emergency governance." Back then, it was truly necessary – the threat of the Wanderers, systemic collapse, a vacuum of decisions. But nearly five years have passed. And everything that was once called temporary has become permanent.

Today, the Committee is a closed structure that governs the planet without feedback. It decides what is permissible, what is forbidden, how resources are allocated, who is granted authority, and who gets heard. The people whose safety it supposedly ensures have no part in these decisions. They're simply presented with the outcome.

I don't diminish what has been accomplished. But the question remains: if force is justified in the moment, does that mean it should stay in place forever? Especially when nearly all key Committee members are former P&A staff. New titles, perhaps – but the same old ties.

We have the right to ask questions. If only because silence is a choice too. And that kind of choice rarely sides with the truth.

Jim Hall: P&A. A Company in the Shadows?

Sam, thank you – that was a clear explanation. But let's set the Committee aside. It's time to talk about P&A holding itself accountable.

I'm proud of many projects that grew out of OpenMind. First and foremost, P&A and, of course, their flagship, Project O, are now used worldwide. Its language and technologies are utilized globally.

I've been following that growth from the early years. At first – a startup. Now, a technological giant spanning everything from neurointerfaces to global trust protocols.

Project O is now embedded in every system. And the language they developed has become the foundation not only for communication between people, but also between machines. The word "respect" is fitting here.

However, when I begin examining the company's structure, trying to trace the logic behind its subsidiaries and follow the reporting chains, I keep hitting a wall. P&A has become too vast. Too convenient. Too opaque.

I'm not saying it's evil. But it casts a shadow. And even for those standing close by, that shadow is becoming impenetrable.

Jim Hall: A Half-Voiced Dialogue

I tried to discuss this with him. No pressure, no scripts. Just – face to face. Questions that had ripened. A desire to understand.

He didn't interrupt the conversation, didn't raise his voice. But he veered away. Answered beautifully, subtly, evasively. Instead of specifics – philosophy. Instead of facts – reflections on the nature of responsibility, the complexity of decisions, the inevitability of hierarchies.

He didn't wall himself off; he hid. Like someone not entirely sure whether the line between truth and necessity is still distinguishable.

Clarification After the Conversation

Yes, Jim is blunt. But he's always fair – that's his job: to dig down to the truth. And I couldn't leave things hanging. Sam and I talked. No audience, no debate. Just two people who've been through too much together.

Sam confirmed: he's not shutting down the blog. He admitted he was irritated – but not because he wanted to hide something. More out of exhaustion. Overload. All of it at once.

We're staying here. To answer. And to hear each other – even when the questions hurt.

The Day of Dignity – the First Holiday of the New Era

Today, the world officially celebrates DD for the first time – Disarmament Day, also known as the Day of Dignity.

Five years ago, on January 1, 2027, everything changed. Wars fell silent. Armies vanished. And it all coincided with the New Year – a new life – for the world, and each of us.

Now this day has become an international holiday. Not political. Not religious. Simply – human.

In honor of this date, the first War Survivors' Olympics begins today in Los Angeles – a celebration of life and dignity.

Eli Cohen is representing Israel – not as a soldier, but as a tennis player. He says, "Wars are out of fashion. But you still have to fight in sports."

Fannie came with him, along with their five-year-old twins, Gita and David. Fannie has become calm. Steady. She told Eli, "I'm not here to cheer for you on the court. I'm here because we're together."

Her gaze is that of someone who knows the value of life. Those who have seen war know how to value silence – not as emptiness, but as the breath of the world. The four of them brought not just the strength to endure – but light. Light that spread across the field. And Sam's field changed, too. Quieter. Clearer. Full of hope.

Home, Family, and Grandchildren

After the Olympics, Eli and Fannie stayed in the U.S. Eli’s unit is no longer military – it has now become the Emergency Response Service and has relocated to California.

Fannie is also not idle - she is an adjunct physician in the children's oncology department of the city hospital.

Sam found a small house for them in Palo Alto, next to his own.

He now looks like a man who once lost something important – and only now found it again. His expression is slightly sad. And slightly surprised.

"Sometimes I see that boy-professor in you," I told him one evening. "Only now your gaze is sharper."

He replied, “Maybe because now I know the cost of every word and every action."

Sam has returned to Eastern philosophy, once again to Tibetan practices. When the grandchildren are not visiting, he spends long hours in his study. In silence. His silence is not an empty room, but a laboratory for thoughts he no longer rushes to release into the world. As if he is searching for answers within himself.

Little Gita – a fair-haired, lively girl with a piercing gaze.

"Grandpa," she once asked, "why are thoughts so loud when it's quiet?"

He smiled, “Because they want to be heard."

She often sits on the floor, drawing colored circles and calling them her "mood map."

And David – calm. Thoughtful. He looks at the world through the eyes of a little philosopher.

One day, Sam told him about the GIT theory. David listened and said:

"I get it, Grandpa. It means everything's connected. But not everyone knows that."

Sam looked at his grandson in surprise.

"You have no idea how right you are."

And he remembered: that's precisely how he once spoke with Martin – his grandfather – forty years ago.

When There Is No Fear

I keep hearing the same thing – in psychologists' reports, in journalists' posts, in your own words. People are gradually losing their fear of death. Not out of despair. Not because they've gone mad. Simply because fear is no longer part of their world.

DD changed everything: no more wars, no constant threat of self-destruction. But something else disappeared along with it – the shadow of fear that for centuries had pushed us forward. Fear has always been like a hidden spring in a clock – unseen, yet it was the very thing that wound the hands of our movement.

Jim Hall: What's Left When Fear Is Gone

A week ago, I was in Jakarta. The city felt like it had just come back from a vacation – not a resort trip, but a mental one. People walked the streets calmly. Before, they'd look over their shoulders, hold their children close, and avoid eye contact. Now, they don't. Even at the market, where explosions once echoed, there's laughter.

Before that, I was in Afula – a small city in northern Israel. There used to be alerts, missiles, and shelters. Now – clean walls, silent sirens, children playing around the old concrete capsules as if they were dinosaur models.

One guy, an Arab, told me, “We've gotten used to not being afraid. Like someone switched off the alarm in our heads." He's no philosopher – he's just living differently now.

But I have a question: what vanished along with fear?

I'm not romanticizing danger. I remember what it's like to hold the radio, knowing a strike is coming any minute. But fear didn't only destroy. It also pushed us forward. Made us think. Made us search for a way out. Now things are quieter, but some flames have gone out as well. Maybe not forever. Perhaps it's just changing shape.

Now we'll have to learn how to live not "after fear," but instead of it with a different kind of engine inside.

Jim Hall: When Aggression Disappears

In Tbilisi, I sat at the foot of an old fortress. There have been no protests here for a long time – no shouting, no clashes. People stroll, without hurry, without tension. Even when they argue, it's gentle, with long pauses and an almost-smile. Peaceful and warm. But I had the feeling that someone had cut the power.

In Guadalajara, I walked into a neighborhood where gangs operated not long ago. Now, teenagers paint murals. Their themes are nature, the future, and family. Beautiful. But on those same walls, there used to be anger, protest, pain. It was raw, but powerful. Now it's careful and even – but empty. One of the kids said to me, "There's nothing to be mad about anymore. Even rock music's gotten polite."

I'm not nostalgic for pain, but I notice that along with the spontaneous violence, some of the energy is also gone – a clash used to spark a breakthrough. Now everything's smoothed out – there are almost no clashes, and fewer breakthroughs. We live in predictability. It's good. It's safe. But sometimes it feels like life no longer runs along the peaks, but along the middle line.

When Violence Disappears

There are things to celebrate. Unprovoked violence has nearly vanished. Global crime rates are at historic lows. Conflicts no longer erupt from flashes of fear or rage. Our field has become more stable, quieter, deeper.

However, with that, the bursts of passion that once drove us to significant changes have also faded. There are fewer mistakes. And fewer feats.

The Little One and the Big Future

Seven-year-old David. He sees the world differently, not like a child taking his first steps, but like someone already hearing rhythms invisible to others.

Sam noticed it – just as his grandfather Martin once saw it in him. He speaks with his grandson about complex and serious matters, now testing on himself that very "Einstein competence criterion."

They discuss the Pinsky Field, O-resonance, the GIT theory, and the rhythms of meaning that connect all things. David finds it fascinating. He asks questions that not every adult would know how to answer.

What David Carries Within

It seems David took more than basic concepts in physics and mathematics from his talks with his grandfather. In him, at the age of six, the beginnings of philosophy are already visible. He stunned Sam when he said, "Our world is a model. We just need to train it better."

Jim Hall: When There's No Interest

In Fukuoka, I talked to a group of engineers. They were restoring the coastline after storms, but working slowly. Not out of laziness – just no one was rushing them. The funding was there. No mistakes anticipated – no inspiration required. One of them said, "We're doing everything right. But why? I don't know. It's just necessary." No drive, no joy. A process without a goal.

Then I went to Luanda for the opening of a new media center. They showed documentaries. Quality. Technical. Completely faceless. I asked the director why he avoids conflict in the storyline. He said, "Because no one wants to see any stress anymore. People are more comfortable without rupture." He's right. People are comfortable. And from this comfort, fewer and fewer things are born that used to be called 'aspirations.'

I'm not saying we're degrading. But something is changing. Great projects used to emerge not from stability, but despite it. From ambition, from risk, from impossibility. Now almost everything is possible. And virtually no one wants anything. We are put on pause.

When Goals Fade

Fear is gone, violence has waned, but with them, one important thing has also disappeared – an aspiration. Great projects are born less often. People dream of changing the world less and less. Few set impossible goals anymore.

Not because they don't care, but because the sharpness of desire is blurred in a field where there's no threat. When nothing demands protection, no one seeks a breakthrough. No one cuts a path through the thicket anymore.

When the Field Goes Silent

I read studies. I review data, listen to field samples, and more and more I see one thing – the world sounds sluggish: no sharp breakthroughs, no powerful resonances. People live as they lived – but their rhythm is becoming smoother. And more diffuse. As if the music of the world is playing ever more softly, and we grow accustomed to its background, and stop distinguishing the melody.

Jim Hall: When the World Stops Resonating

In Reykjavik, I spent a few days with young architects. The city is changing – new buildings with rounded edges, sound-absorbing facades, and green domes. All beautiful, safe, and… lifeless. One of them said, "We design environments where nothing causes anxiety."

But with anxiety goes resonance. I listened to them, and one word kept echoing in my head – hopelessness.

In Vinnytsia, I met a young psychologist who works with young adults. She's twenty-eight, and she says, “They don't have problems – only the absence of them. They come in complaining about the silence inside. They're not in pain. They just don't care."

She doesn't know how to help. Because there's nothing left to fight against, nothing to hold on to, they've been let go – and drifted into windlessness.

It's nobody's fault. We simply didn't have time to rebuild the soul for a new era. When there's no pressure, no destruction, no need to survive, something else is needed to sense the feeling. And we haven't learned to catch that 'something else'. And for now – we're fading, one by one.

When Change Becomes Invisible

In the twelve years since DD, we've become different. Not better, not worse – just different. Our fears are gone; violent crime is almost nonexistent, but so are "achievements." And the strangest part – we barely noticed it.

Because when the field changes slowly, it feels like it has always been this way. It is as if we have moved into a new house and have grown so accustomed to its layout that we no longer remember where we lived before.

When the Field Loses Its Rhythm

I didn't want to see it for a long time. Thought it was just data noise. But now it's clear – something is happening to us. Survey data doesn't lie – people over twenty stop feeling – both themselves and each other. They no longer feel joy, don't cry, don't fall in love. They don't even enjoy what once seemed unquestionably valuable – love, friendship, closeness. Even sex has become mechanical – a habit, not a response. And in this field of emptiness, there are more addicts, more alcoholics. And more suicides.

I don't understand what's causing it, but I know – it's not because the world is imperfect, but because our inner flame is fading. Slowly, but inevitably. As if someone turned down the volume knob – and we stopped hearing ourselves.

Shadows Beneath the Light

I keep coming back to the same thing. Violence and fear have left our society – but for many, so has the meaning of life. Here are the numbers:

Just in the past year, registered cases of severe depression rose by 76%. Drug addiction – up 110%. Suicides – up 205%!

It's not yet a collapse of civilization – but it's a quiet, sticky loss of what made us alive. Not biologically, but meaningfully. People keep working, keep fulfilling their duties – but the wave increasingly carries them into emptiness. And this emptiness is not like an abyss – but like a still surface in which you drown without a splash.

The Unanswered Question

I hear this more and more – not just from subscribers, but from psychologists, scientists, and journalists. Did the Wanderers use some kind of radiation on us? Did they launch a "correction" that suppresses our aggression while also changing our nature?

If so, this is the end of earthly civilization. Just a different kind of end – not destruction, but fading. We are like a candle that was not blown out, but simply left to burn down in an empty room.

And maybe that's even scarier – because it's imperceptible and reduces us to nothing.

Jim Hall: Who Put a Spell on Us?

As you know, in the first years after the Ultimatum, a wave of hand-to-hand violence swept through many regions of the world. However, by the end of 2030, this wave had sharply declined.

For at least ten years now, we've seen no clashes between opposing ethnic or religious groups, no mass brawls among sports fans, and no other incidents resulting in mass injuries. Cases of unprovoked violence have vanished as if by magic.

At the same time, we are witnessing a drop in the emotional tone of most of the population. It feels as if people are no longer moved by the undeniable achievements in the economy and quality of life over the past few years. We no longer fight – but we also no longer rejoice.

And we are no longer moving forward. All significant achievements in science, technology, and culture happened in the three to four years immediately after the Ultimatum. In the past ten years, virtually nothing.

As if all our creative and emotional energy had been drained from us. Knowing the history of our species, full of blood and great accomplishments, I can say this trend surprises me, to say the least.

I've been in journalism for many years, and I know that statistics can be "interpreted." However, the figures published by Gitana exceed any margin. Severe depression up 76%. Drug addiction – 110%. Suicides – 205%. These are not just red flags. It is an unprecedented trend that continues to grow.

As a journalist, I cannot ignore the hypothesis that has been floated on forums – that the Wanderers, trying to 'neutralize' us, interfered with our genome or consciousness, suppressing aggression and stripping us of our willpower. I'm a skeptic and no fan of conspiracy theories. But if not the Wanderers, then what?

I've asked Sam Pinsky this question directly several times. I've received no answers. So I'm turning here – to him, to the Committee, to P&A specialists. Please don't remain silent.