The Tool Doesn't Make the Choice
On AI, human accountability, technological gatekeeping, and humanity's extraordinary talent for blaming everything except itself.
There is something almost impressive about humanity's ability to invent a new technology and immediately begin arguing about how terrible it is.
We did it with books. We did it with television. We did it with video games, the internet, social media, and just about every technological advancement that made somebody uncomfortable.
Now it's artificial intelligence.
Apparently, we've reached the stage where using a tool is enough to put someone on trial, regardless of what they're actually trying to accomplish.
Someone uses AI to write something? Must be lazy.
Someone uses AI to translate a game? Must be ruining the industry.
Someone uses AI to generate an image? Clearly they've committed some unforgivable artistic offense.
And if the result contains mistakes, well, congratulations! We've discovered that technology isn't perfect.
Alert the scientific community. Somebody fetch a newspaper.
But somewhere between the outrage, the finger-pointing, and the obligatory internet morality parade, a rather important question seems to have disappeared.
Where the hell is the human accountability?
The Convenient Scapegoat
Let's consider a little example.
Someone discovers an obscure Japanese video game that never received an official English translation.
It's been sitting there for decades, largely inaccessible to people who don't understand Japanese.
Someone decides to do something about it.
They use machine translation.
The result?
Awkward dialogue. Strange sentence structures. Questionable terminology. Occasionally, English that looks like it was assembled by a committee of malfunctioning refrigerators.
Is it perfect?
No.
Is it useful?
Potentially, yes.
Could it be improved?
Absolutely.
But apparently, for some people, the appropriate response isn't to help improve it. It's to criticize the creator for using AI in the first place.
Let's examine that logic.
Someone makes an imperfect translation of an otherwise inaccessible game.
Instead of helping correct it, people discourage the person who made it.
Congratulations. The translation is still imperfect, the game is still inaccessible to many people, and now there's one less person interested in trying.
What exactly did we accomplish?
Did we improve the translation?
Did we preserve gaming history?
Did we contribute anything useful?
Or did we simply congratulate ourselves for having sufficiently sophisticated opinions about somebody else's tools?
Wonderful work, everyone. The Department of Getting Absolutely Nothing Done is accepting applications.
The Tool Isn't Responsible. You Are.
Let's get something straight.
AI makes mistakes.
It misunderstands context. It hallucinates information. It produces awkward translations, questionable interpretations, and occasionally enough grammatical nonsense to make a dictionary reconsider its career.
Nobody should be pretending otherwise.
But here's where things get interesting.
AI doesn't absolve the human using it of responsibility.
If you use AI to translate a game, you're responsible for reviewing the translation.
If you use AI to write an article, you're responsible for checking its claims.
If you use AI to generate code, you're responsible for testing it.
If you use AI to make decisions, you're responsible for understanding the consequences.
You don't get to point at a computer and announce that it made you do something.
That's not how accountability works.
A calculator can give you an answer, but if you put the wrong numbers into it, the calculator isn't suddenly responsible for your financial disaster.
A car can transport you somewhere, but it doesn't decide whether you should drive like a civilized human being or audition for a demolition derby.
And AI?
AI is a tool.
A remarkably sophisticated tool, certainly, but a tool nonetheless.
The human makes the choices. The human owns the consequences.
Funny how that principle becomes difficult to remember when a new technology enters the room.
Imperfection Isn't a Capital Offense
We seem to have developed an unhealthy relationship with perfection.
Everyone wants better translations, better preservation projects, better accessibility, better documentation, and more opportunities to experience things that might otherwise disappear into obscurity.
But when someone attempts to accomplish those things using imperfect methods, suddenly the standards committee emerges from the bushes.
Apparently, the first attempt must be flawless.
The first release must be polished.
The first translation must be linguistically sophisticated.
The creator must somehow possess the resources, expertise, and experience of an established professional localization studio.
Otherwise, why bother?
Here's a revolutionary suggestion:
Start somewhere.
Take the machine translation.
Identify the mistakes.
Correct the terminology.
Compare the dialogue against the original language.
Get somebody familiar with Japanese involved.
Test the revised text.
Release an improved version.
Repeat.
That's called iteration.
It's how people learn, develop skills, and improve their work.
Not every project begins with a team of professionals, an unlimited budget, and a corporate localization department.
Sometimes it begins with one person, a computer, a translation engine, and an unreasonable determination to make something accessible.
Personally, I find that more interesting than watching somebody explain why the project shouldn't exist.
Criticism Is Easy. Contribution Takes Effort.
I'm not suggesting that people should stop criticizing AI-assisted work.
Accuracy matters.
Translation quality matters.
Human expertise matters.
And if something is wrong, it deserves to be corrected.
But there's a difference between constructive criticism and treating someone's creative efforts like an opportunity to demonstrate how intellectually superior you are.
If a translation is wrong, explain what's wrong.
If a sentence loses its original meaning, suggest a better interpretation.
If terminology is inconsistent, help establish a glossary.
If dialogue sounds unnatural, offer a revision.
If the creator needs testers, volunteer.
You don't have to like AI.
You don't have to use AI.
You don't even have to agree with somebody else's creative process.
But if your primary contribution is telling someone they're an idiot for attempting something, perhaps you're not contributing as much as you think.
Standards without constructive contribution can become little more than gatekeeping with a fancy vocabulary.
And gatekeeping has never translated a single line of Japanese dialogue.
The Hypocrisy of Selective Accountability
Here's another interesting little wrinkle.
People are perfectly comfortable using imperfect technology when it benefits them.
They use search engines that return irrelevant results.
They use software containing bugs.
They use applications with terrible interfaces.
They use automatic spellcheckers that occasionally turn perfectly innocent sentences into linguistic war crimes.
Yet somehow, AI is expected to meet an entirely different standard.
One mistake, and suddenly the entire technology is condemned.
One bad translation, and the entire concept of AI-assisted localization is apparently worthless.
One questionable output, and we're treated to another sermon about the impending collapse of civilization.
Perhaps we should apply that same enthusiasm for scrutiny to the humans operating the technology.
Because humans have been producing misinformation, bad translations, terrible decisions, questionable art, and spectacularly misguided opinions for centuries.
We didn't need artificial intelligence for any of that.
We've been perfectly capable of embarrassing ourselves without assistance.
Let People Build Something
I want to see more obscure games translated.
I want forgotten software documented.
I want old projects preserved.
I want people experimenting with ways to accomplish things that previously required resources they simply didn't have.
If AI can help somebody get a project started, I'm not particularly interested in dismissing that opportunity because the first result isn't perfect.
I'd rather see someone take an imperfect translation, collaborate with knowledgeable people, correct the mistakes, and gradually improve it.
I'd rather see a community develop around preservation than watch another creator get discouraged because the internet decided their choice of tools was more important than their actual contribution.
There is room for professional translators, hobbyists, programmers, editors, researchers, and AI-assisted creators.
These things don't have to be mutually exclusive.
We can respect human expertise without treating every new tool as an enemy.
We can embrace technology without abandoning standards.
We can disagree without turning every disagreement into a religious crusade.
And we can acknowledge that someone trying to make something accessible is doing something worthwhile, even when the execution needs work.
Imagine that.
The Final Thought
I'm not asking anyone to love artificial intelligence.
I'm not asking anyone to abandon their standards.
I'm not asking anyone to pretend that machine-generated content is automatically accurate, original, ethical, or worthwhile.
I'm asking for a little consistency.
If something is wrong, explain why.
If something can be improved, help improve it.
If someone makes a mistake, hold them accountable for the mistake rather than pretending the existence of a tool explains everything.
And if someone is trying to preserve something that might otherwise remain inaccessible, perhaps consider offering a hand before convincing them that trying was a mistake.
Because here's the thing:
AI doesn't make bad choices. Humans do.
Humans choose how they use it.
Humans choose what they publish.
Humans choose whether to verify the results.
Humans choose whether to learn from mistakes or double down on them.
And humans choose whether to help somebody improve their work or stand on the sidelines throwing rocks.
The technology isn't the entire story.
It never was.
Perhaps the next time we're tempted to blame the tool, we should take a moment to examine the person holding it.
We might discover that the problem was never the hammer.
It was the person swinging it.
And for the love of all things digital, if you see somebody trying to build something, you don't have to grab the hammer away just because you don't like the brand.
You could always help them build.
The Glitch — Observations from a world that keeps finding new ways to blame its tools instead of examining its behavior.
— Jerry "The Ankle-Biter" Silverhand
#AI #ArtificialIntelligence #HumanAccountability #GamePreservation #VideoGameTranslation #DigitalPreservation #Technology #TheGlitch