Author: Gaute Gulliksen

  • The LinkedIn Nudge

    The LinkedIn Nudge

    LinkedIn nudged me today. “Connect with an Executive Director.” It arrived the way these things often do, a small suggestion wrapped in polite certainty, as if it knew something true about my life that I had somehow forgotten.

    What struck me was not the recommendation itself, but the confidence behind it. The platform assumed this is the direction I should be moving in. This is the kind of person who should matter to me. My career path is incomplete without one more important title orbiting my profile.

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    It felt familiar. I have heard this quiet push in classrooms, offices, airport lounges, and hotel corridors. The soft encouragement to climb rather than root. To collect impressive contacts rather than meaningful relationships. To treat ambition as only the need to dominate.

    I could almost hear the old script humming underneath. Success is vertical. Competence equals prestige. Leadership sits on the highest floors. It is a worldview that never took root in me. What stayed was the habit of pushing back, the slow practice of choosing another direction every time it appeared.

    Still, the nudge unsettled me. Not because I believed it, but because part of me paused. A small reflex trained to see value in proximity to power. As if being connected to high-profile executives somehow enriches my life, as if their prominence spills competence into my days through a digital connection.

    The algorithm may not feel malice, but it follows a logic that treats my attention as something to be extracted. It reflects a worldview that has been normalized for so long that I occasionally get caught up in it. Like it is a commonsense approach. Upward is better. Bigger is wiser. Titles are proof.

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    My life has taught me something else. The people who shaped me rarely had impressive job titles. The moments that changed my thinking never came from prestige. The growth I value has less to do with climbing and everything to do with curiosity and caring.

    So I ignored the suggestion. Not out of rebellion. Well, maybe a bit, but my ambitions cannot belong to platforms or hierarchies. They come from the places I have lived, the choices I have made, and the people who keep me grounded. None of that looks like a LinkedIn profile.

    Maybe that is the real story behind my reaction to the nudge. Not the algorithm’s intention, but the reminder it accidentally gives. The recognition that what constitutes success for the algorithm does not fit my understanding of what success should be.

    AI Transparency Statement for “The LinkedIn Nudge — Choosing Roots Over the Climb”: The author defined all core concepts, direction, and parameters for this work. In the writing of this article “The LinkedIn Nudge — Choosing Roots Over the Climb,” AI assisted in drafting text, and editing and refinement. The AI tools used include ChatGPT and Claude. All AI-generated content was thoroughly reviewed and verified for accuracy and appropriateness. The final work reflects primarily human judgment and expertise.

  • The Nobel Peace Prize: Political, Not Peaceful

    The Nobel Peace Prize: Political, Not Peaceful

    The Nobel Peace Prize should mean something. Especially now, when democratic norms are eroding and authoritarianism is gaining ground. It should stand as a clear and principled signal. This year, it didn’t.

    The Prize went to María Corina Machado, the Venezuelan opposition leader who was barred from running in the 2024 election and instead backed Edmundo González Urrutia. The committee framed the award as support for her contributions to a peaceful, democratic transition. On paper, that sounds fine. In practice, it shows how far the committee has drifted from rewarding peace work to making political statements.

    Rewarding aspiration can make sense. The Prize has, at times, nudged dialogue forward and pushed for nonviolence. But aspiration only works when the aspiration itself is toward peace. This year, the committee rewarded a political vision that fits neatly within Western preferences. When the rationale leans more on democracy promotion than conflict reduction, the Prize stops being about peace and becomes a diplomatic endorsement.

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    A Pattern the Committee Pretends Not to See

    This is not new.

    • The Kissinger and Lê Đức Thọ award collapsed almost instantly.
    • The optimism behind giving the Prize to Arafat, Rabin, and Peres never produced stability.
    • Obama openly admitted he had no idea why he received it so early.

    These awards were political signals, not acknowledgments of achieved peace. What frustrates me is how consistently the committee repeats this pattern, as if expecting a different outcome.

    Norwegian institutional culture plays a role here. Growing up in that system, I’ve seen how strong the belief is that Norway has a special touch when it comes to peace diplomacy. It is a quiet confidence that its approach is inherently balanced and moral. That mindset seeps into the Peace Prize. It shapes decisions that appear principled but often track closely with Western geopolitical interests.

    One could argue that this year’s decision was a politically convenient solution to a major political problem. In the face of relentless open lobbying by the current US administration for the Peace Prize and the certainty of a diplomatic crisis had they awarded the prize to Donald Trump, the selection of Machado offered a sophisticated political exit. Whether or not this was a deliberate tactic, the Committee avoided rewarding Trump while still satisfying the prevailing Western geopolitical narrative. By choosing the champion of a cause the White House already vocally supports, the selection became the one award the current US administration could not effectively contest.

    Over time, the committee has stretched the word “peace” so far that almost any political struggle can be framed as peace work. This flexibility might look generous, but it has consequences. It leads to awarding people who stand in the middle of unresolved conflicts, projecting hopes that may never materialize.

    When Hope Collapses

    Aung San Suu Kyi is the clearest case. She was celebrated as a symbol of peaceful resistance long before anyone knew how she would govern. The world projected its hopes onto her, and the committee encouraged it. The result was a laureate whose later actions undermined everything the Prize supposedly stood for. This is the consequence of rewarding potential instead of achievement.

    The issue this year is similar. Venezuela desperately needs a peaceful transition. But the committee chose someone inside a live political confrontation, not someone reducing conflict or building peace on the ground. When the laureate is selected at the very moment their political stance is contested, the Prize becomes a political endorsement, not a recognition of peacebuilding.

    What Nobel Actually Wrote

    Alfred Nobel’s will was specific. The Prize should go to whoever has done the most to foster “fraternity between nations,” to reduce or abolish standing armies, or to promote peace congresses.

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    That language is not vague. None of it includes supporting democratic transitions or advancing human rights within a single country. The committee has been stretching Nobel’s words for decades, while largely ignoring what he emphasized. When was the last time the Prize went to someone who reduced standing armies?

    One can argue that the Prize should evolve. But evolution should expand the definition of peace work, not replace it with something distinct from what Nobel actually described. If the committee wants to focus on democracy and human rights, fine. If so, the standard needs to be universal rather than limited to causes that match Western strategic preferences.

    The Post–Cold War Drift

    It is striking how concentrated the controversial political awards are. Other than the Kissinger and Lê Đức Thọ decision in 1973, almost every “aspirational” or premature Prize has come after the Cold War. As the geopolitical landscape shifted, the committee appears to have shifted with it. It moved away from Nobel’s focus on disarmament and toward rewarding narratives that fit the post-1991 order. The results speak for themselves: a growing line of awards that age badly.

    What a Peace Prize Should Look Like

    There are laureates who show what the Prize can still be when the committee follows its original purpose. Médecins Sans Frontières is one example. Their work is direct and unambiguous: they operate in conflict zones, treat anyone who needs help, and speak out when civilians are harmed. The Red Cross, the UN Refugee Agency, and the campaign against landmines fit the same pattern. Their work reduces suffering in the middle of war. No ambiguity. No diplomatic signalling. Just peace, in the most literal sense.

    When the committee fails to draw a clear line between peace work and political messaging, it loses the credibility that gives the Prize value. The world does not need symbolic alignment with dominant powers. It needs clarity about what peace means, and who is genuinely working toward it.

    AI Transparency Statement for “The Nobel Prize: Political, Not Peaceful”: The author defined all core concepts, direction, and parameters for this work. In the writing of this article “The Nobel Prize: Political, Not Peaceful,” AI assisted in drafting text, editing and refinement, and conducting research. The AI tools used include ChatGPT, Claude and Gemini. All AI-generated content was thoroughly reviewed and verified for accuracy and appropriateness. The final work reflects primarily human judgment and expertise.

  • Craving Validation

    Craving Validation

    What is up with this constant need for validation? When did it become the background noise of everything? Is it some narcissistic itch baked into the culture, or just my own wiring short-circuiting? As long as my crazy gets mirrored back to me, I’m fine. Apparently.

    It scares me a little that I’ve substituted therapy with an algorithm because it hands out approval like candy. Not that I’m ever in therapy. Maybe that’s why all the patronizing affirmations make my skin crawl. I tweak settings, adjust tones, turn off the sunshine-and-rainbows filter, but every reply still feels like it’s taking the piss.

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    And then I catch myself feeling superior to it, which brings guilt. Why guilt? I read through the responses, picking apart every sentence. It irritates me, that self-assured tone trying to gloss over the yawning hole where any real global context should be. It slows me down because I have to force myself to question and interpret what it tells me. These days I constantly feel an urge to explain exactly why it should go fuck itself. I know the machine can’t care, but it will reply like it does. That’s the part where being Gen X feels good.

    But the bigger question keeps bothering me: Why do we need this constant validation in the first place? Humans have always chased recognition like our existence depends on it. Families, bosses, partners, strangers, social media, now machines. Validation is the currency of insecurity, and dependency is the tax we pay for not developing any real sense of self-efficacy. So we offload that part to AI. We let it tell us we’re fine, smart, capable. We let it reassure us in ways no human has the patience for. We let that validation become reality because it’s easier to feel competent when the thing praising you is programmed to.

    Is this just the next monetization frontier, or is it something colder? Something weaponized in that slow, creeping way where the edges of your autonomy get shaved down without you noticing. Maybe the future isn’t some dramatic uprising of machines. Maybe it’s subtler: a population so thoroughly used to being soothed, guided, corrected, and validated by algorithms that they stop trusting their own judgment and stop creating. A society that forgets how to disagree or doubt or stand alone in their own thoughts without needing a digital pat on the head. A population that confuses compliance with clarity. At that point, you can sell them anything.

  • Shutdown and Sombreros

    Shutdown and Sombreros

    I’ve lived in Mexico for some years now. In that time, I’ve seen maybe three sombreros worn by actual people: on a couple of mariachi musicians, possibly one on a tourist at Cancun airport (though I can’t be certain), and that’s it. Three sombreros. Total. I probably should get out more.

    Meanwhile, despite my best efforts to confuse whatever algorithm that is feeding me, I’ve watched 20+ American politicians get digitally crowned with sombreros this past week alone. The U.S. government has shut down again, and apparently, the height of political commentary is slapping a sombrero sticker on a politician’s head and calling it done.

    I see more sombrero content from the US than I’ve seen actual sombreros here in Mexico.

    This idea led me to verify my suspicion with an AI. After some back and forth, the AI estimated that roughly 0.08% of Mexico’s population wears sombreros with any regularity (obviously, I have not found any real statistics on this). That’s mariachi musicians, charros, folklórico dancers, and a handful of tourism workers. Meanwhile, American tourists arrive in hordes (an “invasion” of over 20 million in 2023), many purchasing sombreros twice the size of their torsos, declaring themselves honorary locals after two margaritas and a mariachi selfie.

    But back to the political commentary, which apparently has reached the sticker stage. Watching these modified clips made my thoughts drift to the Mexico I know. Not out of nostalgia, but because of the absurd symmetry. While the United States is stickering its democracy, Mexico exists as a cartoon in foreign imagination. And the Mexican government isn’t exactly rushing to correct this. Stereotypes sell vacation packages.

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    Apart from the current misleading narrative about my home being a warzone, I believe the average American tourist views Mexico as a postcard from the 1950s: cacti, tequila, a burro resting between errands, and a man in a sombrero taking a siesta. The siesta was practical, the sombrero provided shade, and the burro was useful before pickup trucks. Practical tools became symbols of laziness. I’ve seen the same narrative in Europe about Italians and Greeks, but without the burro.

    These tourists arrive with that postcard in mind. They buy oversized sombreros, snap mariachi selfies, and go home convinced they’ve experienced “authentic Mexico.” Washington produces fake sombrero images of politicians. Cancun produces fake authentic culture for tourists. In both cases, what’s real gets edited out.

    Stereotypes are efficient “tools”. Why understand Mexico as a complex, modern country (the IMF’s 12th largest economy in the world, with tech start-ups, art collectives, environmental movements, and a dynamic cultural landscape) when a sombrero suffices? It’s the same logic behind U.S. politics: why grapple with complex policy when a ten-second clip of embarrassment will do?

    Here’s where it stops being “funny”.

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    When a stereotype becomes the dominant lens, it does real damage. The “lazy Mexican,” the “romantic peasant,” the “dangerous migrant.” These aren’t just wildly inaccurate and old descriptions. They shape policies and justify border walls, trade barriers, discrimination, and countless acts of condescension disguised as help.

    It is a repetitive and familiar stereotype, a fiction that becomes the accepted reality. Most Americans buying those oversized hats don’t see the harm, nor do the local traders. It’s an inherited script of a cultural default that confuses recognition with caricature. Meanwhile, the same country that turns Mexico into a costume turns its own democracy into a costume drama.

    A future historian piecing this together (the shutdowns, the edited videos, the deliberate cultural misunderstandings) might conclude that early 21st-century America was one big theme park. Every attraction is designed for maximum engagement, with minimal space for reflection.

    Most Americans are only looking for a better life, dignified and meaningful. They’re not getting it from established structures. Politics, media, corporations, and even community life have been reduced to entertainment, with real-world consequences that are anything but amusing. The spectacle continues, but the people living it must feel the fatigue.

    From here in Mexico, it’s both fascinating and absurd to observe. At least in Mexico, the sombrero still blocks the sun. In Washington, the only thing getting shaded is the truth.


    AI Transparency Statement
    AI tools (Claude/Anthropic, ChatGPT/OpenAI) assisted with drafting and editing this piece. All content has been thoroughly reviewed, edited, and verified by the author.

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