I'm thinking about this more this morning, and the current state of AI policy discussion reminds me of China Miéville's _The City and the City_. That book is set in a city, variously called Beszel or Ul Qoma, where two cultures overlap in physical space, but have elaborate purity rituals requiring them to ignore each other, to pretend that the other city's not there. Both cultures have common overlapping areas, where you have to "unsee" -- pretend you don't smell the other's cooking, hear the other's music, see the citizens of the other city walking by in strange clothing styles.
Citizens are only supposed to interact by crossing through Copula Hall, a facility that culturally and legally is the crossing point between counting as being in one city, or the other, flipping you into the other, giving you permission to engage the other. Any interaction between the cities without permission is "Breach," the ultimate taboo, punishable by being disappeared from both cities.
AI policy is, perhaps, walking between The City and the City.
In DC, you wear a suit, even in the sweltering heat of summer. You treat AI as something that's a challenge to be forced into existing frameworks, managed just like a hundred other crises that your office has managed before. You assume that AI will transform jobs, replace some jobs, but that people can be retrained, organizations reformed, over the next 10 to 20 years. You tend to ask questions about OpenAI and Anthropic's business models by assuming that they're trying to sell enterprise software contracts to large corporations and the government. You think the national security problem is export control, or cybersecurity risks. You're not worried about us losing control to AI; if you're adventurously flirting with foreign food, you might say you're worried about "concentration of power" from AI, not understanding that is just the appetizer to the main course of losing control to AI. Your sharpest leaders are saying they want to use AI for everything, but you're skeptical it will really matter; your computer still takes 15 minutes to boot up every morning.
In the Bay Area, you wear a t-shirt and jeans or Outlier Slim Dungarees (unless you're at Burning Man). You treat AI as the only story that matters. You assume that AI is going to replace you at YOUR job sometime soon. Your definition of the long term is "more than 12 months away." You ask your friends getting married whether they intend to have children "before or after the singularity." You're panicked -- even if you work at OpenAI, even if you think it's fairly unlikely -- about the human race losing control to AI or going extinct. You tend to assume that the government is a slow, distant, lumbering thing, not aware that you've _finally caught the attention_ of the fastest-moving, sharpest folks. You want government to treat this as the most important problem in human civilization; you doubt it will.
You have no clue how to talk to each other well, in each other's languages. At least, not yet.
Cyber alone isn’t enough; the models will have a wide range of powerful capabilities that come with agentic and autonomous use. But DC really is laser focused on cyber, because it’s what spooked them.