The Work Remains Unfinished

Today, as we honor Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy, it’s worth sitting with an uncomfortable truth: things feel hard right now.

Not just in the United States, but around the world, people are grappling with a sense that the ground is shifting beneath them faster than they can adapt. The pace of technological change feels relentless. The scale of its impacts—on work, on community, on how we make sense of the world—feels overwhelming. And increasingly, the systems being built around us don’t seem designed with human flourishing at their center.

We’re living through what might be called a crisis of comprehension. When AI makes decisions we can’t trace, when platforms shape behavior in ways we can’t see, when entire industries transform overnight, it’s natural to feel like spectators to forces beyond our control. The future starts to feel like something happening to us rather than for us.

This wasn’t Dr. King’s dream.

His vision was about agency—the fundamental human right not just to exist within systems, but to shape them. To have a voice in determining what kind of society we build together. To refuse the notion that power and progress belong only to those with capital or position.

And here’s what matters: that vision still lives. Not just as an ideal, but as a possibility we can still choose.

The Glimmers Are Real

Look closely enough and you’ll see them: researchers demanding that privacy and dignity remain foundational to AI design. Organizations measuring human readiness—not just technical readiness—before deploying AI. Sports teams building innovation strategies that center fans and employees, not just efficiency. Leaders building adaptive capacity into their organizations rather than chasing the next shiny platform.

These aren’t token gestures. They’re proof that when people understand what’s at stake, they build better systems. They’re evidence that human-centered technology isn’t some utopian fantasy—it’s a design choice that’s being made, right now, by people who believe the future can be different.

The Song Isn’t Over

As I wrote recently about the power of ideas to build possibility, the future doesn’t belong to whoever has the most capital. It belongs to whoever tells the story everyone believes.

The climate tech sector was declared dead less than a decade ago. Then the story changed. Not because the technology suddenly worked, but because investors started demanding that profitability and planetary health go together—and proving it could be done. By 2024, clean energy investment had surpassed fossil fuels. That’s the power of collective imagination. That’s what happens when we refuse to accept that the story is finished.

This isn’t naive optimism. It’s strategic clarity. Every time we name what’s wrong with a system, we make invisible power visible. Every time we articulate what we want—not just what we’re against—we expand the field of what becomes thinkable, fundable, buildable.

Dr. King understood this. The civil rights movement didn’t outspend its opponents. It created moral clarity so compelling that certain futures became unthinkable and others inevitable.

We’re in a similar moment now. The technologies reshaping our world aren’t inevitable in their current form. The concentration of power isn’t permanent. The erosion of human agency isn’t destiny.

But none of that changes without us. Without the people reading these words, thinking these thoughts, asking these questions.

What We Can Do

You—the person reading this—are exactly the person who can make a difference. Not someday. Not once you have more resources or a bigger platform. Right now.

You can question the systems you interact with. You can demand transparency from the platforms you use. You can support organizations building alternatives. You can share ideas that reframe what’s possible. You can tell better stories about the future.

You can refuse to treat “tech-driven” and “human-centered” as opposing forces.

You can insist that the future of technology is a choice we make together, not a destiny handed down by those with the deepest pockets.

Every conversation you have, every question you ask, every expectation you set—it all compounds. It all matters. Ideas become movements. Movements become mandates. Mandates become the world we inherit.

On this day especially, let’s remember: Dr. King didn’t wait for permission to imagine a better world. He didn’t wait for conditions to be perfect. He saw what was, named what could be, and called people to rise to that possibility.

The work remains unfinished. The song isn’t over. And we’re the ones who get to write the next verse.