Writing this from my office, I know that when Iran launches missiles or drones towards the UAE, my phone will alert me to seek shelter, and advanced interceptor systems will likely neutralise the threat. My safety is not an accident. It is engineered, enabled by technology and is a privilege many do not share.
In the age of AI, this disparity has become more dangerous. I heard an anecdote at Web Summit Qatar, shared by former Greek finance minister Yanis Varoufakis. He described how an engineer called it “excellent” to bomb densely populated areas in Gaza. Why? Because when you bomb a place, people run. That chaos creates data: patterns of movement, behaviour under stress, the logistics of fear and survival. To this engineer, more data meant better AI models to sell abroad.
People fleeing, families searching for loved ones, communities digging through rubble – reduced to “useful” input for AI. Human suffering as raw material for technology.
Meanwhile, governments and technologists debate fully autonomous weapons, which select and engage targets without human oversight, promising war detached from human responsibility. But delegating life and death decisions to algorithms does not remove accountability; it only shifts it in ways we are not prepared to face.
It’s not always this obvious. AI and digital tools are used to generate fake videos and distort reality. In a sea of sensationalised news, Israel’s forced displacement of over a million people in Lebanon and their killing of thousands are downplayed. Meanwhile, Iran’s media blackout shows what it means for a country to be cut off from the world, with almost no ability to communicate on the ground.
Technology is a tool and a promise: you can be better, stronger, more powerful. It tempts us with the idea of more, always just within reach.
More for whom, and at what cost? Whose safety are we optimising? Who gets the comfort of an interceptor system and an alert, and whose trauma becomes training data? Ignoring these questions risks treating inequality, surveillance and automated violence as side effects of progress. WIRED Middle East will keep questioning these trade-offs.
There is another side to this story, one that offers a way forward.
Technologists, founders, policymakers and ordinary people are using technology to build resilience. In crisis, technology can keep people safe, connected and able to maintain some normalcy, even when the world is anything but normal.
Fintech platforms move money quickly, getting donations and remittances into Lebanon when traditional systems fail. Satellites ensure secure links when information is under threat. Cybersecurity teams defend infrastructure, identities and institutions.
Food- and grocery-delivery platforms coordinate fleets of drivers, protecting workers while ensuring those indoors get what they need without panic buying at the grocery store. Innovators are building tools like Elie Habib’s World Monitor app to help people track real events and cut through misinformation. Phones become more than gadgets; for many Gazans, they are a lifeline to aid, education and a better life.
This is the infrastructure of resilience: a network of technologies and decisions that help societies absorb shock without collapse. It is not perfect or equally accessible. But it shows that technology is not just an instrument of despair.
None of these systems are inevitable. They are built, and they can be changed. They can be built with care, accountability and a focus on protecting the vulnerable.
Technology will keep telling us we can be more. Our collective responsibility is to decide what we want more of, and to support the people and projects building that better version, often out of sight.
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