Beyond Algorithms: What Humans in the Loop Made Me Think About AI and Humanity

Sometimes a film stays with you not because of its scale, but because of the quiet questions it leaves behind.

For many days I have been thinking about how AI has slowly taken over our lives. It is easy and accessible, and we increasingly depend on it for everything. From simple questions like “Is silverfish harmful?” to more complicated ones such as reading medical reports and suggesting prognosis.

I have often felt that AI carries a positive bias. It leans toward comfort. It tends to optimise reassurance. At times it offers more information than we actually need. Yet because it is always available, we turn to it for ready-made, non-customised answers.

I recently watched the film Humans in the Loop, which made me reflect on how easily we assume technology, especially AI, is objective, precise and free from human prejudice. We often treat algorithms as neutral decision-makers guided purely by logic and data. The film quietly unsettles this assumption.

It reminds us that AI systems do not emerge in isolation. They are built from datasets drawn from the real world, a world already shaped by social hierarchies, cultural assumptions and historical inequalities. The people who collect, classify and label this data bring their own perspectives, experiences and limitations to the process. As a result, the technology we build inevitably carries traces of our biases, priorities and blind spots.

In that sense, AI becomes less a purely technical system and more a mirror. It reflects societies that produce it, the things we choose to record, the categories we create and the ways we interpret the world around us.

But what stayed with me even more was the deeply human layer of the story. The tender and evolving relationship between a mother and her daughter navigating life, work and dignity in changing circumstances.

Another touching thread in the film is the quiet bond between humans and a porcupine. It is not dramatic or loud, yet deeply moving in its simplicity. The porcupine does not speak in words, yet it communicates in its own way through presence, instinct and gentle guidance. In one of the most memorable moments, it becomes almost a silent companion, guiding the way out of the forest, as if reminding us that the natural world often understands paths humans struggle to see.

That relationship feels tender and almost sacred. It challenges rigid lines we draw between humans and animals, intelligence and instinct, civilisation and wilderness. The film suggests that connection, trust and understanding can exist beyond language or categories.

In a world where we constantly classify and label everything, from data points to living beings, the porcupine’s quiet presence becomes a powerful reminder. Sometimes wisdom comes from simply observing, listening and allowing nature to guide us.

The film also made me wonder about something beyond technology. How often do we label people around us based on limited understanding? Much like the data labels that train machines, our perceptions and assumptions shape how we see others, sometimes unfairly, sometimes incompletely.

In that sense, the film is as much about humanity as it is about artificial intelligence.

Thank you, Aishwariya, for introducing me to this thoughtful and layered film.