Transistors, the building blocks of modern electronics, are typically made of silicon. Because it’s a semiconductor, this material can control the flow of electricity in a circuit. But silicon has fundamental physical limits that restrict how compact and energy-efficient a transistor can be.

MIT researchers have now replaced silicon with a magnetic semiconductor, creating a magnetic transistor that could enable smaller, faster, and more energy-efficient circuits. The material’s magnetism strongly influences its electronic behavior, leading to more efficient control of the flow of electricity. 

The team used a novel magnetic material and an optimization process that reduces the material’s defects, which boosts the transistor’s performance.

The material’s unique magnetic properties also allow for transistors with built-in memory, which would simplify circuit design and unlock new applications for high-performance electronics.

“People have known about magnets for thousands of years, but there are very limited ways to incorporate magnetism into electronics. We have shown a new way to efficiently utilize magnetism that opens up a lot of possibilities for future applications and research,” says Chung-Tao Chou, an MIT graduate student in the departments of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science (EECS) and Physics, and co-lead author of a paper on this advance.

Chou is joined on the paper by co-lead author Eugene Park, a graduate student in the Department of Materials Science and Engineering (DMSE); Julian Klein, a DMSE research scientist; Josep Ingla-Aynes, a postdoc in the MIT Plasma Science and Fusion Center; Jagadeesh S. Moodera, a senior research scientist in the Department of Physics; and senior authors Frances Ross, TDK Professor in DMSE; and Luqiao Liu, an associate professor in EECS, and a member of the Research Laboratory of Electronics; as well as others at the University of Chemistry and Technology in Prague. The paper appears today in Physical Review Letters.

Overcoming the limits

In an electronic device, silicon semiconductor transistors act like tiny light switches that turn a circuit on and off, or amplify weak signals in a communication system. They do this using a small input voltage.

But a fundamental physical limit of silicon semiconductors prevents a transistor from operating below a certain voltage, which hinders its energy efficiency.

To make more efficient electronics, researchers have spent decades working toward magnetic transistors that utilize electron spin to control the flow of electricity. Electron spin is a fundamental property that enables electrons to behave like tiny magnets.

So far, scientists have mostly been limited to using certain magnetic materials. These lack the favorable electronic properties of semiconductors, constraining device performance.

“In this work, we combine magnetism and semiconductor physics to realize useful spintronic devices,” Liu says.

The researchers replace the silicon in the surface layer of a transistor with chromium sulfur bromide, a two-dimensional material that acts as a magnetic semiconductor.

Due to the material’s structure, researchers can switch between two magnetic states very cleanly. This makes it ideal for use in a transistor that smoothly switches between “on” and “off.”

“One of the biggest challenges we faced was finding the right material. We tried many other materials that didn’t work,” Chou says.

They discovered that changing these magnetic states modifies the material’s electronic properties, enabling low-energy operation. And unlike many other 2D materials, chromium sulfur bromide remains stable in air.

To make a transistor, the researchers pattern electrodes onto a silicon substrate, then carefully align and transfer the 2D material on top. They use tape to pick up a tiny piece of material, only a few tens of nanometers thick, and place it onto the substrate.

“A lot of researchers will use solvents or glue to do the transfer, but transistors require a very clean surface. We eliminate all those risks by simplifying this step,” Chou says.

Leveraging magnetism

This lack of contamination enables their device to outperform existing magnetic transistors. Most others can only create a weak magnetic effect, changing the flow of current by a few percent or less. Their new transistor can switch or amplify the electric current by a factor of 10.

They use an external magnetic field to change the magnetic state of the material, switching the transistor using significantly less energy than would usually be required.

The material also allows them to control the magnetic states with electric current. This is important because engineers cannot apply magnetic fields to individual transistors in an electronic device. They need to control each one electrically.

The material’s magnetic properties could also enable transistors with built-in memory, simplifying the design of logic or memory circuits.

A typical memory device has a magnetic cell to store information and a transistor to read it out. Their method can combine both into one magnetic transistor.

“Now, not only are transistors turning on and off, they are also remembering information. And because we can switch the transistor with greater magnitude, the signal is much stronger so we can read out the information faster, and in a much more reliable way,” Liu says.

Building on this demonstration, the researchers plan to further study the use of electrical current to control the device. They are also working to make their method scalable so they can fabricate arrays of transistors.

This research was supported, in part, by the Semiconductor Research Corporation, the U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the U.S. National Science Foundation (NSF), the U.S. Department of Energy, the U.S. Army Research Office, and the Czech Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sports. The work was partially carried out at the MIT.nano facilities.

More than 100 people filled the MIT Chapel on Sept. 24 to pay tribute to Assistant Professor Thomas Rose, the MIT archaeometallurgist who died last month following a bicycle crash in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Faculty, students, and staff affiliated with the Department of Materials Science and Engineering (DMSE) and the Center for Materials Research in Archaeology and Ethnology (CMRAE), along with family and friends, gathered for a memorial service where colleagues spoke about the 37-year-old, who joined the DMSE faculty in January and had just started building a research program at MIT. They remembered him as a brilliant researcher and generous colleague with an extraordinary breadth of expertise and eclectic passions ranging from rowing to archery. 

A portrait of Rose sat on an easel next to the chapel’s flower-covered altar. A cellist played as guests entered and took their seats.

Chaplain to the Institute Thea Keith-Lucas opened the service by reflecting on the loss felt across MIT. 

“We honor the unique gifts that he brought to this world. We honor the ways that he was growing, and the possibilities that were cut short. We honor the small, unseen moments of courage and connection that create a life,” she said.

Finding a unicorn

To give a sense of what Rose meant to DMSE, department head Polina Anikeeva briefly explained archaeometallurgy — the study of how ancient societies produced and used metals — and its development at MIT, beginning in the 1960s. The field flourished after the establishment of CMRAE in the 1970s, but over the following decades it began to contract in the United States, and MIT had difficulty finding people with an increasingly rare set of skills. 

“We were looking for a unicorn. We were looking for two decades,” Anikeeva said. When Anikeeva and other DMSE faculty reviewed Rose’s resume in 2025, they were impressed by his unique training in geoscience, metallurgy, and archaeology and met him soon after. “We saw a brilliant, creative colleague — unassuming, intellectually fearless, adaptable, resourceful, and eagerly looking into the future.”

Mike Tarkanian, senior lecturer in DMSE and associate director for CMRAE, described the Zoom interview with Rose that kicked off the faculty search. Rose spoke fluently about his work, interests, and research vision — without the slides or notes that candidates typically rely on.

“I hung on every word — but it was so unusual and so risky that I wasn’t sure how it would be received,” Tarkanian said. “As soon as the call ended, my phone rang and it was a colleague who was also on the Zoom and he said, ‘That’s our guy. That has to be our guy.’”

Anikeeva also spoke of the enthusiasm he brought with him every day at MIT, noting his “almost childlike curiosity and his enormous positivity.”

“There were no obstacles, only opportunities and possibilities.”

To honor Rose and carry forward the work he had begun at MIT, Anikeeva said DMSE would launch the Thomas Rose Fellowship for Excellence in Archaeometallurgy, dedicated to supporting the most promising young scholars at the PhD and postdoctoral levels, “so that we can continue this field for the world and for the U.S. and for the memory of Thomas.”

A generous spirit

Speakers also remembered Rose’s kindness, generosity, and empathy toward everyone around him. Tarkanian stressed Rose’s commitment to community and helping others, noting his contributions to research tools used by archaeologists worldwide. He gave an example from Rose’s undergraduate years in his native Germany, when he gave tutorials for first-year archaeological science students who were struggling with chemistry and math. A former student told Tarkanian that an email Rose sent inviting students to the tutorial ended with, “I guess I’ll be more nervous than you folks tomorrow.”

“This was the Thomas we only started to get to know,” Tarkanian said, “someone who offered his expertise to others in need without question, while being thoughtful enough to worry out loud that he might be the nervous one and, by doing so, putting others at ease.”

DMSE Assistant Professor Tania Lopez-Silva, who started at MIT six months before Rose, recalled his patience and understanding. When she arranged a lunch with him, he said he would eat anything but mushrooms and eggplant.

“Somehow I misunderstood him, and I chose the place that probably has the most mushroom and eggplant options possible,” Lopez-Silva said. “He said that he still wanted to try the place, and he would find something to eat. That was Thomas — kind, patient, open-minded, and always willing to make the best of things.”

That quality came through in a story by another DMSE faculty member, Assistant Professor Thomas J. Wallin, who recalled a photo Rose had sent him of the apartment he had found overlooking the Charles River. Wallin was impressed, but Rose said with characteristic directness that it was quite small, but “very long and narrow” — which turned out to be a good thing. 

“He explained that because it was narrow, he could stand at the edge of his balcony and shoot at his archery target through his hallway, past his kitchen, at his door, and it would be the proper distance,” Wallin said, drawing chuckles in the chapel. “I don’t think that’s a request many Boston realtors get, but that was Thomas.”

Rose’s connections also extended beyond DMSE. Katya Tiukhtikova, joined by fellow MIT Archery Club member Kiarra Ning, remembered how Rose treated others. 

“He only focused on the good in people, and gave everyone a chance to show the best parts of themselves,” Tiukhtikova said.

She also recalled the contagious excitement Rose brought to archery practice, saying he “always brightened the days of everyone who was lucky enough to share the archery range with him.”

Tarkanian ended his remarks with a reflection on academic life and the importance of generosity and humility alongside brilliance and achievement.

“If part of Thomas’s legacy here at MIT is that we become a little more generous with our time, a little more humble about our accomplishments, and a little more deliberate about building communities in which other people can thrive and grow, that would be a legacy worthy of him.”

In 2021, Texas suffered the worst energy infrastructure failure in state history, following three severe winter storms in February. At least 246 people were killed as a result of the disruptions, which led to food, water, heat and electricity shortages.

If energy officials had had more time to prepare for the storms, for example by bringing in more trucks of natural gas to disrupted areas, damage from the event could have been mitigated. Unfortunately, weather forecasts beyond two weeks are notoriously unreliable, making for a tighter window for energy operators, farmers, and emergency response officials around the globe.

A new technique by a team including researchers at MIT significantly improves weather forecasting beyond two weeks. The researchers developed a machine-learning model that learns to correct errors in existing forecasting models to improve their output over the two-to-six-week time frame. When applied to a gold-standard forecasting model, it doubled forecasting accuracy over that time frame, placing first in a prominent international forecasting competition.

In a new paper in Nature, the researchers describe their approach and show how it enables forecasts that for the first time beat climatologic averages between two and six weeks.

“Not only does this do better on time averaged forecasts for this range, which is already very useful for farmers and members of the energy industry trying to match supply with demand, but it also improves predictions of extreme weather events, whether it’s flooding or cold spells or something else,” co-author and MIT Research Scientist Judah Cohen says. “It’s really important to predict both, but extreme events might be the most impactful part of this for society.” 

Joining Cohen on the paper are lead authors Hannah Guan, a Harvard College undergraduate; Soukayna Mouatadid, a University of Toronto postdoc; Genevieve Flaspohler SM ’18, PhD ’22; Paulo Orenstein, an associate professor at Brazil’s National Institute for Pure and Applied Mathematics; Jeremy Berman of the data company DTN; Jakob Schloer and Joshua Talib, researchers with the European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts; and Alex Lu, Haiyu Dong, Jonathan Weyn, Zekun Ni, and Lester Mackey, all researchers at Microsoft.

Longer forecasts

In the 1970s, longtime MIT Professor Edward Lorenz came up with the idea of chaos theory to describe how tiny changes in initial weather conditions lead to completely different outcomes.

“He came up with this theoretical two-week limit where beyond that, we just can’t predict weather because the noise in the system grows so much that it overwhelms any signal you start with,” Cohen says. “That had a strong influence on the field that may have held people back from exploring forecasting beyond the two-week range. I never really believed that completely. In theory the atmosphere can create an infinite number of patterns, but it likes to fall into these favorite patterns over and over again. Once one thing happens, I think you can predict the domino that will fall after that, and the domino that will fall after that.”

Today, the best weather forecasts come from either dynamical models, which numerically simulate how the atmosphere and oceans evolve over time, or artificial intelligence models, which learn to make predictions from historical weather data. AI models have shown improvements in predicting weather at short ranges, but they’re even worse than dynamical models at longer time ranges.

Cohen, who is based in the MIT Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, focuses on forecasting weather two to six weeks in advance, which is known as subseasonal forecasting. “That range is referred to as the ‘predictability desert,’ because in the short range you can capitalize on the initial conditions in the climate system and the atmosphere, and on the longer term you have these slow, varying boundary forces, like the super El Niño everyone’s focused on this winter,” Cohen says. “The subseasonal range can’t take advantage of either of those. In most cases forecasting in the subseasonal ranges is no different than going to a casino and rolling the dice.”

Cohen credits his co-author Lester Mackey, whom he has been collaborating with for more than a decade, with the initial idea of using machine learning to reduce errors in forecasting models.

“We built this wrapper — Lester calls it postprocessing,” Cohen says. “We know AI models have a lot of errors, so we thought maybe we can quantify those errors and remove them.”

While other forecasting systems do more simplistic error correction, the research team’s postprocessing layer uses AI to learn from a forecasting system’s mistakes based on historic data and shifts its forecasts. In that time range, forecasters use so-called probabilistic forecasts, where the likelihood of a range of possibilities if given.

“As more forecasts and data become available, our model adaptively improves its correction,” Cohen says.

To build the model, the researchers used MIT Engaging, a supercomputing cluster hosted by MIT’s Office of Research Computing and Data, but the resulting model does not require a supercomputer to run.

To put their model to the test, last year the research team submitted three models that included their post-processing layer to the European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts (ECMWF), which is considered the best forecasting center in the world. Each season ECMWF holds forecasting competitions between models.

The submission that won first place combined ECMWF’s forecasting model with another, and then applied the postprocessing correction on top. That approach ended up doubling the original model’s predictive power in the subseasonal range. For the first time, the model offered an improvement over relying on climatologic averages.

“Up until now, no one had been able to show a model predicts weather better than long term averages for these subseasonal forecasts,” Cohen says. “They’ve pretty much all been worse than that — you could literally flip a coin and do better. People have questioned if it’s even worth investing in models at all for this time range. We consistently beat climatology averages with our models.”

The model also showed a statistically significant improvement in the ability to predict extreme weather.

“That’s one of the more important findings, because it’s so difficult to accomplish,” Cohen says. “When the ECMWF developed their own, non-AI, error-correction to their model, it got worse at predicting extreme weather. I think that’s because traditional error, or bias, correction is always trying to get to the mean, whereas extreme weather is on the fringe of probabilities.”

Preparing for disaster

In the Nature paper, the team showed their technique could be used to improve land forecasts in most regions across the globe. They also applied their bias correction technique to other models and showed it improved those as well, putting even lesser models on par with the ECMWF’s forecasts.

“What’s nice about our model is it’s an add-on wrapper,” Cohen explains. “We used it with the ECMWF’s dynamical model because that was considered the best, but it can be used with any model. It even improves models that are already bias corrected using another AI algorithm. So it shows a robust improvement. And it’s open source and low cost.”

Cohen says the meteorological office for the Republic of Kenya has already reached out about implementing the model to improve forecasting of the annual monsoon season to improve agricultural yields this winter. He hopes other groups will also use the model.

“This could help you decide when to fertilize around rain, when there’s a freeze coming to protect crops during winter harvests, or help you avoid droughts,” Cohen says. “It could also be useful for energy and emergency management. I’ve talked to energy officials who say, ‘If I’m told two days before that an ice storm’s coming, I don’t have enough time, but if I had two weeks, that could be enough to make adequate preparations.”

The work was supported, in part, by the U.S. National Science Foundation, the Carlos Chagas Filho Foundation for Research Support, and the European Union.

Hiroshi Ishii, the Jerome B. Wiesner Professor of Media Arts and Sciences at MIT and associate director of the MIT Media Lab, recently received the 2026 Industrial Designers Society of America Special Achievement Award for “...pioneering work that has greatly influenced human-computer interaction and design.”

For over 30 years, Ishii has explored how the digital and physical worlds can merge more meaningfully. Working with students, MIT colleagues, and international collaborators through his Tangible Media group, Ishii has pursued research marked by intellectual tension and artistic vision. He and his collaborators have produced truly original concepts including Tangible User Interfaces, which are interactive systems where physical objects, rather than screens, mice, or keyboards, are used to control and interact with digital information; and Tangible Bits, introduced at CHI ‘97, which established how people engage with digital information through physical objects. His later concepts, Radical Atoms and TeleAbsence, inspire researchers and designers worldwide.

“Beyond his research, Ishii has made lasting contributions to the global design community through ACM CHI [the Association for Computing Machinery Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems], TEI [conference on Tangible, Embedded and Embodied Interaction], and UIST [User Interface Software and Technology], and by mentoring generations of designers and researchers,” said Professor Leila Ensaniat in her Industrial Designers Society of America Awards committee chair introduction.

Ishii's approach shows how bringing the arts, science, engineering, and design together creates innovations with real-world applications. His models now influence product development across industries, shaping how millions of people interact with information and each other.

As artificial intelligence becomes more and more powerful, its ability to handle human-like tasks is undeniable. Artificial neural networks can learn to recognize images, use language, or write computer code. Like the brain’s circuits, they reorganize themselves as they learn, adjusting the strengths of their connections to improve their performance.

The question for many neuroscientists is: What can these machine systems teach them about how the brain learns? And what kinds of models are likely to be the most informative?

In a paper published Oct. 9 in the journal PNAS, scientists at MIT’s McGovern Institute for Brain Research and K. Lisa Yang Integrative Computational Neuroscience (ICoN) Center argue that a crucial metric for the biological plausibility of an artificial neural network’s approach to learning is the network’s ability to organize itself, without the guiding hand of a developer. They show that it is possible for an artificial neural network to build its own learning machinery. With some simple instructions about how and when connections should change, a group of randomly connected units can reshape itself into an effective information-processing network, learning from the data it is trained on.

Biological learning

“Current AI technology is working very well, but it doesn’t necessarily use a learning algorithm that is used by the brain,” says Qianli Liao, a K. Lisa Yang ICoN Center Postdoctoral Fellow in the labs of MIT professors and McGovern Institure members Tomaso Poggio and Mark Harnett, and co-first author of the PNAS paper with MIT Research Scientist Liu Ziyin and graduate student Yulu Gan. Liao explains that engineers design the rules about how connections change as an artificial neural network processes training data and receives feedback about its mistakes. 

When it comes to training AI to do its job, the approach is powerful. But Liao and his colleagues caution that networks designed in this way may not offer much insight into biological learning. “The brain doesn't have an external designer or architect,” Liao says. “The brain has to organize itself. And we need to know how simple rules are going to make the brain organize.”

The rules that reshape neural connections as an animal learns may be different in different parts of the brain, or they may change as the brain becomes more mature. Neuroscientists are working to understand how those rules work and how they might be disrupted by aging or disease — a vital step toward developing new therapies and prevention strategies. Liao points to the development of brain-computer interfaces, which aim to restore communication when the brain’s language abilities are lost or let paralyzed patients control neuroprosthetic limbs, as one potential application.

“None of these can work without knowing the rules behind neuron-neuron interactions,” he says. “That’s not achievable by just designing a circuit that works very well.” An artificial neural network’s value to neuroscience should instead be judged by the extent to which it can organize itself — not just its connections, but also the machinery that adjusts those connections.

Self-organized artificial learning

Working with Poggio and Hartnett, Liao, Ziyin, and Gan set out to develop and validate a self-organizing computational network capable of learning. Liao explained that the network’s structure begins with multiple layers of randomly interconnected neuron-like units. Within each layer, every neuron-like component is subject to the same rules about how connections should be adjusted. “They just interact with each other using that rule, and they develop some type of behavior,” he says.

The team’s network implements the kind of simple rules thought to rewire brain circuits as humans and other animals learn from their experiences. In both the brain and the machine network, for example, “neurons that fire together wire together.” In other words, when two connected neurons are activated at the same time, the connection between them strengthens. 

The team showed that a self-organizing network governed by rules like these can learn to recognize patterns and classify images. They explain that in their model, learning is enabled by self-assembling motifs that emerge according to simple rules, then serve as building blocks for functional circuits. As their network learned, these motifs reorganized themselves using an optimization strategy similar to the approach built into most modern machine learning systems, called gradient descent, in which connections are gradually adjusted in response to errors in order to improve performance.

Most modern AI implements gradient descent through some form of the back-propagation algorithm, which neuroscientists say is unlikely to be used by the brain. The team compared its self-organizing network to networks designed to learn in this way and found that it performed at a similar level.

Connecting brains and machines

Poggio says finding a biological parallel to back-propagation could trigger significant progress in both AI and neuroscience. 

“If the synaptic motifs we propose are, in fact, used by the brain to do what backpropagation does for artificial neural networks, then we will have a strong connection at the level of fundamental mechanisms between artificial and natural networks — between machines and brains,” he says.

Liao says a self-organizing network does not necessarily learn the same way the brain does — but it’s a critical starting point for biological plausibility. 

“Self-organization is the first high-level framework,” he says. “Once we are good with self-organization as a measure, then we can talk about next thing.”

While the group’s main objective is better understanding the brain, Liao says that knowledge could ultimately improve machine learning systems, too, enabling engineers to develop networks that perform better or in more human-like ways.

MIT Lincoln Laboratory hosted the National Security Commission on Emerging Biotechnology (NSCEB) on Sept. 3, for a stop on its national roadshow. The event convened representatives of state organizations, defense centers, universities, technology companies, and business executives to discuss how Massachusetts' biotechnology ecosystem can strengthen national biodefense capabilities.

"We have a lot to leverage in this region to advance biotechnology," said Christina Rudzinski, assistant head of the Biotechnology and Human Systems Division at Lincoln Laboratory. "Many people are already working together to push the bioindustrial sector beyond biopharmaceuticals and into a broader ecosystem across industries. This synergy is where NSCEB comes in — connecting policy to the real-world work already happening, including here at Lincoln Laboratory and across the state."

Biotechnology touches many economic and defense sectors, from disease-resistant crops and lifesaving medicines to biofuels and advanced manufacturing materials. In 2022, Congress established the NSCEB to study the national security implications of this rapidly advancing field and issue policy recommendations to ensure continued U.S. leadership. 

In April 2025, the 11-member bipartisan and bicameral commission released its report, calling for a minimum of $15 billion in federal investment over five years. According to the report, China is investing aggressively to dominate the field, echoing a pattern the United States has seen before in sectors such as semiconductors.

"The coalition of stakeholders working in the Massachusetts biotech ecosystem illustrates how collaborative regional work will help keep the U.S. in the lead by producing exceptional innovation across all areas of biotechnology," said NSCEB Executive Director Caitlin Frazer. 

Now in the final year of its three-year mandate, NSCEB is touring the country to see local biotechnology ecosystems in action. The commission will bring insights back to Washington to help members of Congress support their regions' strengths. 

Advancing Massachusetts as a defense-biotechnology hub

Massachusetts has identified biotechnology as a priority technology area under its Strategic Hub for Innovation, Exchange, and Leadership in Defense (SHIELD) initiative. Launched by Governor Maura Healey in October 2025 alongside $47 million of initial aligned investment, the initiative has moved with speed and at scale. This includes standing up the BioNexus program that leverages state matching funds to develop biotechnology and biomanufacturing solutions for the U.S. Army Combat Capabilities Development Command (DEVCOM). Further, Healey included a $100 million authorization for defense sector capital projects in the Mass Wins Act, an economic development bill filed in April. The bill is currently being considered by the state legislature.

During the roadshow event, Ben Linville-Engler, who co-chairs the SHIELD Working Group and serves as deputy director of the Massachusetts Technology Collaborative, led a panel discussion with representatives from the Massachusetts Life Sciences Center, Business Executives for National Security, Activate, DEVCOM Soldier Center, MassChallenge, Perimeter, Center for Advanced Manufacturing, and the Massachusetts AI Hub. They are among more than 40 partner organizations participating in SHIELD. 

"There is incredible convergence between economic development and national security in all domains — land, air, sea, space, cyber, and bio," said Linville-Engler, citing the state's $48.6 billion in defense-sector economic contributions last year. "Massachusetts is committed to biotechnology and national security, and not just in Boston and Cambridge but across the entire state."

In July, the SHIELD Working Group submitted a report outlining steps to speed the transition of technology into deployable capabilities, strengthen the defense workforce pipeline, and reinforce the state's national security industrial base. 

Lincoln Laboratory is well positioned to support these priorities. As a Department of War federally funded R&D center, the laboratory has deep knowledge of national security needs and sustained ties to academic, commercial, and U.S. government laboratories. "These attributes can help strengthen biotechnology collaborations and integrate and transition solutions across Massachusetts and New England," Rudzinski said.

Scaling up biomanufacturing

One project advancing this vision is the Biotechnology Scale-up Hub for Innovation, Economic Development, Labor Training, and Defense (BioSHIELD). Planned for Worcester, Massachusetts, this 200,000-square-foot biomanufacturing facility is designed to mobilize the region's defense-biotechnology sector.

"BioSHIELD's mission is to accelerate breakthrough biomanufacturing solutions that strengthen national resilience, support commercial innovation, and grow the regional economy," said Edward Wack, project co-lead and principal staff in the laboratory's Biotechnology and Human Systems Division. "It will bring together industry, academia, and government to transform ideas into scalable biological products, supporting a secure and competitive bioindustrial future." 

The project responds to NSCEB's call for a national network of biomanufacturing scale-up facilities, a capacity currently missing in New England, according to Wack. The facility will offer shared equipment, infrastructure, and secure laboratory space to help bridge the "valley of death" between early-stage discovery and commercial- or defense-scale production. BioSHIELD's ready-built support networks will be key to overcoming technological and regulatory hurdles, helping innovators rapidly move capabilities to market or military use. 

A coalition supporting the project includes Massachusetts Biomedical Initiatives, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Bio Base Europe Pilot Plant, and Lincoln Laboratory. It builds on a foundational effort in central Massachusetts funding the Massachusetts TechHubs program. At the event, Wack announced the coalition has signed a memorandum of understanding to formalize the partnership. Design workshops are scheduled to begin soon, ahead of funding and construction.

Connecting AI and biotechnology

Other discussions centered on the intersection of biotechnology and AI, another critical area for national security. Panelists represented Boston University, the University of Massachusetts Boston, Massachusetts Life Sciences Center, Parker Institute for Cancer Immunotherapy, Wyss Institute, and Phicil-itate Change. They discussed challenges in collecting and disseminating high-quality, AI-ready datasets and opportunities for AI to improve biomanufacturing and therapeutics. 

Closing the event, Wack called for continued collaboration as the nation moves at speed and scale to stay at the forefront of biotechnology.

"At Lincoln Laboratory, we've built a strong foundation in biotechnology for more than 25 years, and it's heartening to see this level of coordinated work taking shape. It resonates with so many of us who view biotechnology as both an economic and national security imperative," Wack said. 

“This tomato is blowing my mind,” says Nermine Hassanin. The MIT graduate student in architecture is marveling at the fruit in her salad. 

She and several MIT School of Architecture and Planning classmates had spent their morning working at Hannan Healthy Foods Farm in Lincoln, Massachusetts, and then harvested the contents of the salad they were sharing at a picnic table: lettuce, kale, cucumbers, green onions, and tomatoes. 

“It doesn’t get much fresher unless you’re eating this in the field,” responds Zachary Rapaport, a classmate and co-founder of MIT Farm, a community-driven program at MIT that is radically changing what it means to eat farm-fresh food on campus and gain practical experience in urban farming. 

In fact, the program resonated so quickly with so many that it was awarded the Karl Taylor Compton Prize for a group this spring — the highest award presented by the Institute to students in recognition of excellent achievements in citizenship and devotion to the welfare of MIT. 

Seated with Hassanin and Rapaport were classmates Aisha Cheema and MIT Farm co-founder Aleks Banaś, undergraduate architecture major Amy Kim, Sanne Wright MCP ’24, and Mohammed Hannan, the owner of Hannan Healthy Foods Farm. The story of how they came to enjoy this meal on a brilliant summer Sunday is equal parts vision, hard work, and serendipity. 

Community in Cambridge

In their first year at MIT, Rapaport and Banaś were classmates in a design workshop 4.184 (ClimateCorps@MIT) that focused on climate action within communities. Bonding over their interest in food systems, the two shared a desire to continue the community service work that took them outside of the classroom.

“We started ideating on what it would mean to create relationships with students, faculty, and staff on campus with partners who were already growing food in the community,” says Banaś. “We saw many organizations in the community already doing inspiring work, so instead of starting from scratch we wanted to plug into this system.”

Their concept for MIT Farm explored a holistic view of community, food security, and supporting local farming in a time of climate resilience. It also capitalized on the desires of two budding architects to develop practices they see as essential for sustainable communities.

“After working in an architecture practice, I came to grad school to find a way to create an architecture practice grounded within real communities,” says Banaś. “For me, architecture is not just about creating a building, but creating an environment for other interactions. I think we have a certain level of responsibility to the people around us; we need to learn how to work together with them.”

“What I’ve learned through developing MIT Farm is that farming requires you to be accountable to seasonal change, to people, and to the environment in which we’re working,” adds Rapaport. “There are things you only begin to notice when you spend time with a place and really engage with it. In many ways, architecture is the same. We need to be very attentive to the world around us if we’re going to make good design.”

In 2025, Rapaport and Banaś actively sought out like-minded organizations on campus — including MIT Professor Miho Mazereeuw’s Urban Risk Lab, the MIT Office of Sustainability, and the Open Space Committee — to build relationships and germinate ideas. They found enthusiastic supporters for their ideas which kept them both engaged and excited. That spring, they entered their concept for MIT Farm into the iCampus competition, which recognizes innovative and creative applications of technology that improve living and learning at MIT; they were awarded one of the three cash prizes. 

Between supporters on campus and burgeoning relationships with like-minded organizations off campus, Rapaport and Banaś began to execute their vision.

One idea — a farm cart — kick-started what Rapaport terms “the growing side” of MIT Farm. He, Banaś, and classmate Courage Dzidula Kpodo MArch ’25 designed and built the two-tiered cart. It is constructed of pine with polycarbonate panels and divided into sections that support active vegetable gardens. Repurposed pipette tip containers sourced from campus labs serve as seedling planters. Supported on four wheels, the cart can be pushed or pulled anywhere.

“By introducing mobility, we began growing food without having it tethered to a specific plot of land,” says Rapaport. 

They discovered it was more than just a “moveable farm.” The cart became a DJ booth at school happy hours; was wheeled to nearby public schools as a learning tool; showcased at the “Day of Climate” event at the MIT Museum; and transformed into a tiny winter greenhouse at the East Campus dorms.

Field work

Rapaport and Banaś also located farm communities in Boston and beyond to develop volunteering and mentoring opportunities. Now, through MIT Farm, students can volunteer to work the two rooftop gardens at Boston Medical Center (BMC), a compact farm that generates 6,000 pounds of produce to serve patients and the BMC community. 

A second option for students to work at a city farm is with Eastie Farm in East Boston. A nonprofit with a focus on food security and climate justice, the organization supports local farms that struggle to compete with industrial agriculture.

Last summer, Rapaport and Banaś connected with Mohammed Hannan, the Lincoln farm owner and a laboratory manager at MIT. MIT students had already found their way to his farm, about 15 miles from Cambridge. Four years earlier, Heather Paxson, an anthropology professor and associate dean for faculty at MIT School of Humanities and Social Sciences, brought her anthropology class to visit Hannan Farm to learn about small-scale certified organic operations. 

Hannan was open to the idea of the MIT community working on the farm. He says it is “increasingly challenging” to find people who want to farm. He stresses the broader importance of community support for local agriculture, noting that food security and sustainable farming require collective effort from society — not just from farmers. 

“Many farmers around me are leaving farming to make their living elsewhere,” says Hannan. “It is a silent pandemic.” 

When classes resumed last fall, Rapaport, Banaś, and classmates began volunteering on weekends at the farm. Working with the MIT Office of Sustainability and the Anthropology Section, the group started a pilot program selling Hannan Farm’s produce for a reduced price to students on campus on Mondays. The Fresh Food Bag program offered curated bags of produce that had been harvested a day earlier. The program was met with delight among the MIT community, with nary a vegetable left behind each week. Rapaport and Banaś say they will expand the program this fall to include offering bags of fresh produce in MIT dorms.

The work on the farm changes constantly, based on the season and business needs. One day students may be in the field replanting plants that didn’t establish properly; on another, they may be maintaining tools or working on infrastructure projects.

“There isn't really an ‘off season’ since the farm operates year-round, and we've worked to bring MIT students out in every season and semester,” says Rapaport. “During the winter, we repaired greenhouses, prepared seedling trays, and started getting ready for the next growing season.” 

Hannan describes his collaboration with MIT students as “game changing,” highlighting how students gain practical, problem-solving experience while advising him on how to improve the farm’s infrastructure.

“It’s hard to visualize real-world problems when you are working in a lab [on campus],” says Hannan. “But the students are seeing the day-to-day challenges farmers are facing here. They are coming up with solutions that can alleviate these problems — and not just on my farm. We need more people from different backgrounds to see how we can locally grow more efficiently using the tools and technologies that we have. Sometimes we farmers don’t know where the technologies are — such as using solar irrigation. We’re not always tech-savvy, or we don’t have the expertise. Farming needs all of it.”

To everything, there is a season

In January, during MIT’s Independent Activities Period, Rapaport and Banaś conducted a weeklong workshop to design a root cellar to support food storage and preservation for the farm. The group also developed a curriculum for K-12 students to teach how to design a community garden with the support of a Day of Climate Grant they were awarded.

Kahlen Wheaton, a Department of Urban Studies and Planning (DUSP) undergrad, was among the students who worked on the curriculum and helped organize volunteers at the farm last spring.

“I really love the club,” says Wheaton. “It’s a great opportunity for MIT students to get out of their bubble and do some service work. It’s also great just to bring fresh produce to campus because, as an undergrad, I’m not always eating the most healthy or local foods.”

Wheaton had originally planned to study environmental engineering at MIT, but found urban planning and the opportunity to impact policy — especially as it influences designing cities for healthy lifestyles — exciting. She has planned her thesis on urban farming and will use the connections she is making in local farming to inform her work.

Pastures of plenty

This past spring saw dozens of volunteers spending weekends at Hannan Farm. Among them was Rania Ghosn, an MIT associate professor of architecture and urbanism, who brought her family. She says she enjoyed working shoulder-to-shoulder with colleagues in the field, and that MIT Farm provides a “tangible public good while strengthening a sense of belonging and joy.

“Working in the fields with my husband and our 10-year-old son became a kind of Sunday ritual: purposeful, physical, joyful, and full of meaning. For my son, the farm was a lesson no classroom could quite reproduce.”

On a recent Sunday, five architecture students tended to rows and rows of vegetables. Weeds had grown high with the recent rain, but after some tugging and digging, they released their hold in the dirt and lay in piles. The hot sun, the smell of fresh herbs, and the sounds of birds and insects made Cambridge and MIT feel very far away.

Nermine Hassanin has spent several Sundays here. She says she enjoys meeting new people on the farm each time.

“It’s a good sense of community here,” she says. “And being out of the city is very therapeutic.”

Growing up, Aisha Cheema worked with her dad on their family garden. She says working on the farm is “a nice way to stay connected” to those experiences.

“I’m interested in how this environment can be pulled into architecture,” says Cheema. “So many spaces seem siloed from the outdoors. I’d like to connect the outdoors to indoor spaces. I think some of the structures here — like the greenhouse — are great inspiration for me.”

Rapaport and Banaś spent their summer designing additional interventions for the Lincoln farm: an improved washing station and an upgraded farm stand that allows for cold storage to keep produce fresh longer. The design has been approved by the Lincoln Conservation Commission and permits are pending. 

Also, this summer, Amy Kim oversaw the design of a dormant garden plot on campus near Tang Hall. The undergraduate performed the work as part of MIT’s Undergraduate Research Opportunity Program. Kim says she designed the project because it allowed her “to get hands-on experience building a space that would foster community and collaboration, with the added environmental benefit of repurposing material such as scrap brick and scrap wood. 

“The garden's primary goal is to be a pleasant space to sit and relax with friends while surrounded by aromatic herbs and flowers,” Kim adds.

With their theses underway in preparation for Commencement next year, Rapaport and Banaś will hand off their oversight of MIT Farm to Wheaton and others this fall. They could not have guessed how the popularity of MIT Farm would have connected with so many students, or how many friends they cultivated off campus — and they are overjoyed with the results. They believe the community they have developed and fostered will keep MIT Farm vibrant into the future. 

Ghosn agrees.

“MIT Farm feels deeply MIT: mind and hand, ethics and experimentation, systems thinking and dirt under the fingernails,” she says. “Aleks and Zach have created a student-led project with moral clarity, organizational intelligence, and genuine public purpose. It is modest in its means and expansive in its imagination and impact."

MIT engineers have developed a new way to program natural killer (NK) immune cells to target cancerous T cells or T cells that have become autoreactive, leading to diseases such as lymphoma and autoimmune hepatitis. 

Using their new technique, the researchers can reprogram NK cells to target diseased T cells without ever removing the NK cells from the patient’s body. Instead, they use lipid nanoparticles to deliver messenger RNA directly to NK cells. These mRNA molecules encode proteins that allow the NK cells to seek and destroy the dysfunctional T cells.

Known as CAR NK cells, these cells could be deployed against a variety of diseases. The MIT team’s new approach could bypass one of the major obstacles to using these cells, which is the time and expense of manufacturing them outside the body.

“The manufacturing challenges with CAR NK cells are significant. The idea here is you can deliver a nanoparticle that will modify your own NK cells with a CAR construct and teach them to attack tumor cells,” says Daniel Anderson, a professor in MIT’s Department of Chemical Engineering and a member of MIT’s Koch Institute for Integrative Cancer Research and Institute for Medical Engineering and Science.

Anderson is the senior author of the study, which appears today in Nature Biotechnology. The paper’s lead authors are MIT postdoc Yuang Chen and MIT graduate students Julia Monkovic and Haseeb Mughal. Robert Langer, the David H. Koch Institute Professor at MIT, is also an author.

Easier reprogramming

Over the past decade, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration has approved seven new cancer treatments based on engineered T cells called chimeric antigen receptor (CAR) T cells. Chimeric antigen receptors are proteins that can be embedded into T cells, allowing them to detect a target antigen, such as a cancer protein. When the target is detected, the T cell becomes activated and destroys the target cell.

This approach has had great success in treating blood cancers, primarily those that originate from B cells, including several types of leukemia, lymphoma, and multiple myeloma. 

To make CAR T cells, doctors take a blood sample from the patient. The sample is sent to a lab where the T cells are isolated and then engineered to express the CAR protein. When enough CAR T cells have been generated, they are shipped back to the hospital and infused into the patient. 

In recent years, scientists have begun using a similar strategy to create CAR NK cells. One potential advantage of CAR NK cells over CAR T cells is that they could be used to kill diseased T cells. Using CAR T cells to treat T cell diseases often doesn’t work well because T cells that are engineered to target T cell proteins may end up killing each other, in addition to the diseased T cells. That issue doesn’t arise when using NK cells to target T cells.

“NK cells can treat these T cell malignancies — not only T cell cancer, but also T cell autoimmune diseases,” Chen says.

However, manufacturing large quantities of CAR NK cells poses many of the same difficulties as generating CAR T cells. To simplify the process, the MIT team wanted to come up with a way to generate CAR NK cells “in vivo” — that is, in the patient’s own body, without having to remove any cells.

“If a patient can just get an infusion of nanoparticles, it would dramatically simplify the process and reduce costs,” Anderson says.

Currently, there are no FDA-approved CAR NK cell therapies, but many researchers are working on developing them to treat cancer or autoimmune disorders. 

To generate these cells, the MIT team designed lipid nanoparticles (LNPs) that can deliver an mRNA payload. These strands of mRNA encode a CAR that can be targeted to specific cell types. For example, they could deliver a CAR that targets CD19, a protein found on B cells, or CD3, a protein found on autoreactive T cells. 

The particles are coated with antibody fragments that bind to receptors found on the surface of NK cells, to ensure they reach the correct targets.

Targeting dysfunctional T cells

After these particles were infused into mice, the researchers found that they could successfully reprogram about 80 percent of the targeted NK cells. The researchers then tested the particles’ potential to treat cancer and autoimmune hepatitis, which is caused by autoreactive T cells. 

In a mouse model of an aggressive form of melanoma, three of the five mice that received LNPs that reprogrammed their NK cells to target the cancer cells went into complete remission.

The researchers also saw significant tumor destruction when they used the LNPs to treat T cell lymphoma in a humanized mouse model, created when mice receive transfusions of human blood cells, allowing them to transiently generate a human-like immune system.

In these mice, tumors were eradicated after five injections of the reprogramming LNPs. This result was similar to what the researchers saw when they treated mice with CAR NK cells that were generated using the conventional approach — removing NK cells, reprogramming them, and returning them to the mice.

Lastly, the researchers demonstrated that their LNPs could generate CAR NK cells that target autoreactive T cells. For this application, they studied mice with autoimmune hepatitis, in which T cells attack hepatocytes in the liver. They found that in the treated mice, the autoreactive T cells were destroyed, and liver damage healed. These effects were seen after just one injection of the LNPs.

“This study is an excellent example of the power of nano delivery systems and their ability to potentially treat cancer and other diseases,” Langer says. 

The researchers hope that these kinds of engineered NK cells could be used to treat a variety of autoimmune disorders caused by dysfunctional T cells, including multiple sclerosis and rheumatoid arthritis. 

The research was funded by Sanofi, the Marble Center for Cancer Nanomedicine, and a Koch Institute Support (core) Grant from the National Cancer Institute.

When government officials craft policies, there is often a comment period for public feedback. Lawmakers have long had to sort through fake feedback that is mass-produced in an effort to sway policy, but they’ve generally gotten used to detecting it. With, artificial intelligence, however, people can submit realistic-seeming comments, which are harder to dismiss as being fabrications with no person behind them. That’s just one way AI can be used to generate text and statements, in civic conversations, for which no one can be found to be answerable.

This issue, among others, has caught the attention of Deb Roy, professor of media arts and sciences at MIT and director of the MIT Center for Constructive Communication (CCC). In a new essay published in the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, titled, “Who stands behind the words?,” Roy calls for a renewed emphasis on responsibility in communication, asserting that even when AI is used to craft text, there needs to be accountability and “answerability.”

Building better group dialogues to produce more public trust is a core part of the work of CCC. The group, along with Cortico, the closely affiliated nonprofit Roy co-founded, has helped facilitate group discussions on important issues in many situations — including civic meetings, schools, deliberative assemblies, and private organizations — and used tech tools, including AI, to help find themes among comments, and more. But the center also designs this process so that participants can check and override the tech-based output at each key step. Ultimately, a person is responsible for every public comment. MIT News spoke to Roy about the essay and the work of the center. 

Q: You’ve identified this problem about the lack of accountability behind words that are generated by AI. When did you really first notice this?

A: It came into focus when Chat-GPT [which is powered by a large language model, or LLM] launched. As for my own history with language models, my PhD work explored what we might now call PLMs — Puny Language Models — so I’m quite familiar with language models and have tracked the field’s rapid evolution. But Chat-GPT turned a corner. Two things changed at the same time: the depth of the model and its knowledge, and the way you could interact with it. 

I became obsessed with trying to find the limits of what it could do. And I felt that no matter how hard I tried to stretch my arms around it, I couldn’t. I built my tenure case at MIT on language grounding — the idea that it’s not enough for an AI system to just process lots of words and other symbols. I believed that to understand what words mean, you actually need a physical body and life experiences as part of the process. So I revisited the philosophy-of-AI literature I had once been steeped in, which asks what fundamentally distinguishes the kind of system that large language models exemplify, in extraordinarily advanced form, from the kind of processing we humans engage in. I gave several presentations to my own graduate students trying to make the case that, even though AI seems so intelligent, it’s actually different in kind — and I could not convince them. 

And I thought, I know the difference, but I’m having trouble convincing even myself of what it is. And that led me to ask, “Wait a minute: Is there someone or something that stands behind the words, a human responsible for what is being said?” That’s the thing this extraordinary new language machine doesn’t have. 

Whether these systems genuinely understand language is actively debated. But even if you grant them all the comprehension you like, they still lack standing. The buck can’t stop at a thing, a software system, with nothing to lose.

Q: The Bulletin piece has these interesting examples of civic feedback forums where it looks like there are real people saying things, and instead you have a barrage of comments from AI. How did you find some of these other examples in society where things go off the rails in this way? 

A: After the release of ChatGPT, I started hearing a concern from people inside government who review public comments on proposed rules: a suspicion that not all of the comments were written by humans.

My reaction was: That’s going to delegitimize this channel for public feedback. That was several years ago, but everyone now knows this is happening. Public comment is a pillar of democracy. You don’t just put a new rule in place. People need to have a voice and feel like they’ve been heard before a rule is imposed on them. If you skip that step, people don’t accept rules as legitimate. That’s why that process is baked into how America works. And that pillar just cracked, and by now, in my mind, it’s fallen over. Has anyone noticed? My sense is the people on the receiving end of these comments have quietly adjusted the weight they give to public comments. It was never perfect, but boy, now much of its value is being swept away. 

I open my essay with this example: In 2017, the Federal Communications Commission received more than 22 million public comments on its proposal to repeal net neutrality rules, and the New York attorney general later found that nearly 18 million of them were fake. As I write in the essay, “That fraud was caught because it left fingerprints: templated text, duplicated phrasing.” But large language models erase the fingerprints. Now every comment can be fluent and different, and reviewers can no longer tell which ones express views that real people formed and stand behind.

If you have enough of the stuff that’s fake — words that no one with a stake actually stands behind — it desensitizes you to what’s real. That filters back to the public, and people realize: If I take the time to express myself, they’re not even listening any more.

Q: Could you say a little bit more about your point that we need people with “standing,” who will take “accountability” for all pieces of text, even when those bits of text are generated by AI? 

A: In the legal system, standing is a formal idea: sometimes a case isn’t heard because the people bringing it don’t have standing. But informally we use that term all the time. I’m not trying to formalize standing in everyday life. Instead I’m asking:  What is the informal sense of the term, borrowed from the legal one, that we need to pay more attention to now? Here in New England, consider the open town meeting: The person who stands up to speak is generally expected to have standing, as someone from that town with a stake in what gets decided. And if it’s a stranger who drove from across the state, or from out of state, everyone’s like: Wait a minute, who is that? They’re not from around here. In general, there’s just enough friction and it’s costly enough to show up somewhere you don’t actually have standing, that it doesn’t happen much.

Now LLMs and the current digital networked environment collapse those boundaries. We always took for granted that if someone has a voice, it’s because they have standing. They have some basis to be heard. We need to pay attention to this, and really consider how to design systems so that the people with standing are the ones who get heard. 

The other idea I tried to develop is “answerability.” It isn’t formalized in law, but it’s baked into the legal process. If you have standing to give testimony, there you are, ready for cross-examination. You have to be able to answer for what you’re saying. And if you’re making a specific accusation about someone, you have to be willing to back it with facts. Standing and answerability have to travel together: The right to be heard comes with the obligation to answer for what you say.

That doesn’t mean everyone has to attach their name to everything. I write in the Bulletin essay, “Privacy and answerability aren’t opposites. … An institution can verify a person and stand behind their words without exposing them.” To voice a view, you only need to show that a distinct, eligible person is speaking. An accusation asks more: Someone trusted, like a reporter, has to be able to know who is speaking. As I say: “Disclosure obligations should scale with power, and identity protections with vulnerability.”

None of this means AI can’t help. AI can do a lot of the work inside the chain of accountability — drafting, summarizing, finding patterns. If someone with a stake in a rule uses AI to draft a comment, adopts it as their own, and is ready to answer for it, that’s legitimate, in this context. What AI can’t do is anchor the chain. There has to be a person at the end who stands behind the words.

In the essay I lay out four design principles for building that in: “attributable authorship,” a “decomposed and inspectable process,” the use of “provenance as infrastructure,” and the need to “widen standing rather than concentrating it.” As I write, the “animating rule is that autonomy is permitted while unaccountability is not.” And the metric that matters most isn’t the efficiency gained by removing humans, but the number of people AI places into roles where they can answer for what they do.

Q: There is a phrase in the documents of the Center for Constructive Communication, that we need things to move “at the speed of trust,” not at the “speed of tech.” And that implies really thinking about building up these systems. Could you just say a little more about what that phrase means to you?

A: I learned that phrase when I was in Appleton, Wisconsin, with Katherine Cramer [of the University of Wisconsin], a longtime collaborator, talking with community organizers who were running “Dialogue across Divides” conversations there. They had hundreds of people involved. I thought I was developing technology tools with exactly that same purpose, and was so excited to see it. And I asked one of the people who ran that organization, “How fast did you scale this?” And he paused, and then he said, “At the speed of trust.” 

And I took that to mean “slow.” Then I realized he was saying: For you, slow, because you haven’t yet earned our trust. And I’ve since learned that when you do have trust, things can move fast. So bringing in technology is really a process of engagement. It doesn’t work to say, “Trust us, we’re doing this because we think it’s for your own good.” People will turn to someone they already trust and ask, “Is this good for us?” And if that person says “Yes,” things can move fast.

Look at what’s happening at the intersection of AI and society: The speed of AI and the speed of democracy are running on different clocks. Talk to people who work in democratic practice and they say, “AI must slow down, because democracy can’t move that fast.” Talk to people in AI and they say, “AI cannot slow down, democracy needs to speed up.” If we can’t get these two time scales in sync, we’re headed for a breakway situation, where AI gets deployed faster than democratic processes can respond, and decisions get made without the public. That’s starting to happen right now. 

Q: We need people actively doing things to build dialogue and figure out how tech tools can interact with that. At the Center for Constructive Communication, you’ve done a few iterations of the center’s Real Talk initiatives to build civic dialogues, as well as the Youth Voices Initiative in school settings, and currently you’re working on the New Social Forms project. Could you say a few words about them? 

A: The Real Talk effort represents the longest-standing thread in this work. A huge emphasis of our work has been developing better ways to listen to one another. We create a context that is always small — small is beautiful here — where people are willing to share authentically. And we have the consent architecture and the technology to reveal the larger patterns, and then share them. We’ve done this with hundreds of communities around the country. And closer to home, we’ve brought the same approach to our campus here at MIT through the realtalk@MIT program, with support from the Office of the President and the Office of the Provost, to help our community build a culture around dialogue and listening. 

The second thing I’d emphasize is that we’ve been doing more and more work on deliberative processes and citizen assemblies, and on how to make them more accessible. What if a group of high schoolers says, “We have a real problem with our cellphone policy?” Suppose you want to have an assembly that brings students, teachers, and administrators together, not just to listen to people’s concerns but to make policy recommendations. So we did that. The center worked with a high school in New York City, where technology helped people reveal their preferences and differences and listen to each other.

We’re also building answerability into the technology. A prototype called VoiceTrace, developed by PhD student Cassandra Overney in our group, links every output statement — a summary of what was heard in a listening process, or a recommendation coming out of a deliberation — to the specific voices behind it, so any claim can be traced back to the conversations it came from.

The New Social Forms project pertains to a very interesting pattern emerging in workplaces around the world, certainly the ones we’re connected to. AI is an extraordinary tool for individual empowerment, but in the words of one of our collaborators at the Google Experience Institute, people are tunneling. They go deep, using AI to develop refined ideas, but when they surface, their ideas have diverged from their teammates’. So groups and teams trying to work together with AI, there’s a human coordination problem.

We’re going to expand the initial work we’ve started with Google because there’s a lot of interest in collective communication, trust, and interaction among people trying to work together. 

So is that a civic context? It’s a workplace, but workplaces are civic spaces, too. They govern people’s daily lives, they’re where many of us build civic skills and learn to cooperate across difference, and there’s a long tradition of civic life rooted in shared work. We’re all humans trying to interact with each other. These are the same issues. Justice Louis Brandeis once used the phrase “industrial democracy” to capture this. When workplaces lacked certain kinds of civic processes and civility — two interestingly related terms — labor disputes used to turn violent. Procedural justice, mediators, and people hearing one another are just as necessary in the workplace. In the end, it’s all about human beings. Hearing the humanity in one another is what democracy depends on, and it’s just as necessary for communities and organizations to function.

The Sierra Nevada mountain range in California is as stunning as it is diverse, with storms from the Pacific Ocean dumping rain and snow on the range’s western slopes while arid conditions mark much of its eastern face. David Des Marais, MIT’s Amgen Career Development Associate Professor, knows the mountains well. His childhood in San Francisco was filled with hiking and camping excursions throughout the range.

At some point during those trips, he started wondering about one of the few constants of the landscape: the presence of plants. How were plants able to thrive in all those conditions? He turned the question into a career.

Des Marais, who directs the Parsons Laboratory in the Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, studies how plants interact with their environment. The research spans molecules and mountain ranges, exploring everything from how individual genes change a plant’s ability to grow to how climate change will impact populations of red oak trees across the eastern U.S. His work also considers how evolutionary forces act on plants to change populations over time.

Plants are central to his lab, but Des Marais sees them as a window into all living things. He’s even quick to credit the health of his houseplants and garden to his wife, an evolutionary biologist at Harvard University.

“Understanding why life is so diverse is fascinating to me,” Des Marais says. “Understanding how different organisms, from bacteria to dinosaurs, have figured out how to interact with their challenging environment and optimize their fitness is inherently interesting. Why plants in particular? As a geneticist and a physiologist, plants are compelling experimental systems. If I have a theory about gene X causing function Y, I can go into the lab and delete gene X from this species and put it into that species and test function directly. It’s a powerful approach.”

Des Marais does not spend all his days in a lab. In addition to directing the Parsons Laboratory, he teaches four classes at MIT and has two sons who are active in baseball and theater. He welcomes these responsibilities.

At MIT especially, he embraces service.

“The only reason MIT works is because there are people willing to sacrifice some of their research to keep the place running,” Des Marais says. “One of the things I like about academia is that there’s sort of an institutional memory, and you try to honor the legacy of where you’ve been while you shape the future.”

From California to MIT

Des Marais grew up near Stanford University as well as near facilities for NASA and the U.S. Geological Survey, which meant there were always plenty of scientists and engineers around. His mother was a teacher, and his father was a geochemist with a knack for pointing out that the landscape around them was the result of geological processes dating back millions of years — a habit Des Marais admits he didn’t like at the time but that, in hindsight, influenced his thinking.

“I’m pretty sure that got into my brain, especially the idea that what looks static often comes about because of processes, and we can study those processes,” he says.

Des Marais studied integrative biology as an undergraduate at the University of California at Berkeley. He completed his PhD at Duke University around plant genetics.

“There’s a whole series of outdoor events, from the Boy Scouts through college, that made me start to think about the challenges that plants face living in these stressful environments,” he says. “That drove me to plant science and environmental science.”

In a long postdoc at the University of Texas at Austin, Des Marais learned to conduct experiments teasing out the effect of specific genes as he studied how they changed a model plant’s relationship with water.

Des Marais came to Boston primarily for personal reasons: He and his wife, who was also a postdoc at UT Austin, entered the job market at the same time. After some awkward moments competing for the same jobs, his wife landed a tenure-track position at Harvard University. Shortly after, he joined Harvard as a staff scientist.

In 2017, Des Marais discovered MIT’s Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering was hiring a plant ecologist.

“I don’t even think of myself as a plant ecologist, but I applied on a whim and they were interested,” Des Marais says. “I do a lot around plant water relations, and I joke that there are all these hydrologists in the department who study how water moves through the soil and into the atmosphere through these magical pipes. The magical pipes are plants, which play an important role in the water cycle. I realized a ton of people at MIT were studying that phenomenon at regional or global scales, but no one really studied how or why plants move water in the first place.”

Today Des Marais’ lab work can be broken into two broad categories. The first is centered around how plants function, including their relationship with environmental factors like water, temperature, and nutrients. Des Marais says some of his most impactful studies link specific molecules to how a plant functions in a given ecosystem.

The second centers around fundamental questions in plant evolution, what Des Marais describes as how plants “make decisions” about when to grow, reproduce, germinate, and more.

One current research project looks at how climate change will impact red oak trees, an important species and carbon sink. He is also examining climate change’s impact on plants that are important for food systems.

“We know that climate change is impacting plant function, and it’s impacting plant nutrition, and that impacts human nutrition,” Des Marais says. “Climate change is going to affect where we can grow which plants efficiently and how we can get them where they need to be eaten. All that stuff is critically important for humans.”

Understanding plants for the planet

Des Marais says it’s been fascinating working with experts in environmental chemistry and fluid mechanics as part of the Parsons Laboratory. He sees his role as director as being primarily about fostering community.

“The students are great,” Des Marais says. “It’s a funky old building, but we all work well together. We try to make sure everyone feels comfortable and welcome in the space.”

Even if he can’t take credit for his houseplants, Des Marais appreciates the vital role plants play for the planet.

“Plants are the foundation of the food chain, and there’s no way to get around that,” Des Marais says. “The efficiency of plant photosynthesis directly impacts our nutrition, and it impacts what we can feed the animals that we eat. It affects carbon cycling and water cycling — put simply, plant biology matters.”

Robert Hall PhD ’67 and Michael Woodford PhD ’83, scholars who both earned their doctorates at MIT, have been awarded the 2026 Sveriges Riksbank Prize in Economic Sciences in Memory of Alfred Nobel.

Hall, a professor at Stanford University, and Woodford, a professor at Columbia University, were recognized for work that helped revitalize ideas about how government policy can spur growth to help end economic downturns. The Nobel citation describes their research as contributing to “new macroeconomic models that have significantly improved our ability to implement effective stabilisation policy.”

Both scholars helped integrate microeconomic analysis into macroeconomic models. In Hall’s case, the Nobel committee particularly cited research he conducted in the late 1970s shedding new light on economic expectations and household consumption. The committee also spotlighted Woodford’s construction of a comprehensive and influential macroeconomic model that was built on microeconomic foundations and introduced in his 2003 book, “Interest and Prices: Foundations of a Theory of Monetary Policy.” 

The work of both scholars helped update models for intervention during economic crises, based on the ideas of John Maynard Keynes, which had worked many times in the 20th century but encountered newfound difficulties adapting to the conditions of the 1970s. So-called New Keynesian models used for economic stabilization today are a result of both economists’ research, the citation noted. 

Hall is the Robert and Carole McNeil Joint Senior Fellow at the Hoover Institution and Professor in the Department of Economics at Stanford University. He received his BA in economics from the University of California at Berkeley before earning his PhD from MIT.

Woodford is the the John Bates Clark Professor of  Political Economy at Columbia University. He received a BA from the University of Chicago and a JD from Yale University Law School prior to receiving his PhD from MIT. 

Remarkably, Hall becomes the fifth former doctoral student principally advised by MIT economist Robert M. Solow to earn the Nobel Prize in economics. The others are George Akerlof PhD ’66, Peter Diamond PhD ’63, William Nordhaus PhD ’67, and Joseph Stiglitz PhD ’67, all of whom had Solow as their principal advisor in MIT’s graduate program. Additionally, MIT professor of biology H. Robert Horvitz ’68, a Nobel laureate in 2002 in the category of physiology or medicine, wrote his undergraduate thesis in economics under the direction of Solow. In 1987, Solow received the Nobel Prize himself. 

Woodford did his doctoral work under the primary supervision of Timothy Kehoe, now of the University of Minnesota — although Woodford does thank Solow in the first paragraph of his doctoral thesis, for helping him “distinguish important problems from exercises of merely technical interest.”

There are now 17 MIT alumni who have won the Nobel Prize in economics. Previously, 10 people have won the award while serving on the MIT faculty, and eight former faculty have also been named recipients.

With artificial intelligence capabilities continuing to expand, universities now face complex, urgent questions about how to navigate increasing challenges, as well as new opportunities. Much attention is now directed toward this, including an MIT report on AI and education published this summer. 

A new essay from MIT Statistics and Data Science Center Director Sasha Rakhlin, the Distinguished Professor in Data, Systems, and Society, IDSS and Brain and Cognitive Sciences, synthesizes recent discussions and readings about how AI is changing academia — particularly mathematics, statistics, machine learning, and engineering. Here, focusing primarily on graduate research and education, he describes key questions that departments and universities need to think about, and how they can best work with AI going forward.

Q: What is changing in research, and why is it happening so quickly?

A: Mathematics illustrates how quickly AI capabilities are advancing. Last year, a model reached gold-medal level at the International Mathematical Olympiad. Only a year later, models are producing new research results, including a recently proposed solution to one of the Millennium Prize Problems. Tasks that once demonstrated advanced mathematical ability can increasingly be performed by AI.

A central factor determining the pace of AI progress in a particular discipline is the speed and reliability of verification. Formalized proofs can be checked automatically; programs can be run and tested. Where evaluation is fast and reliable, systems can generate candidates, learn from outcomes, and improve. This also applies to AI research itself: improving models, training procedures, and their supporting tools. Better models can contribute to the next round of development, creating a compounding process that accelerates progress.

For experienced researchers, this creates opportunities to pursue questions whose technical demands previously put them out of reach. It also sharpens the distinction between obtaining a solution and understanding why it works, what generalizes, and what to ask next. However, we should not assume that abstraction, judgment, or problem formulation will remain beyond AI. Universities should prepare for a near future in which AI is smarter than all of us in many, perhaps most, aspects of our intellectual work.

Q: How should departments rethink academic credit and graduate training?

A: In a growing number of fields, a polished paper is becoming a weaker signal of individual expertise. Departments must begin now to reconsider what they reward, without simply defining valuable work as whatever AI cannot yet do. Asking good questions, replication, synthesis of ideas, informative negative results, and shared datasets may deserve greater recognition. More broadly, evaluation should establish what a researcher contributed and takes intellectual responsibility for, including when substantial parts of the work were performed by AI. These expectations should guide hiring, promotion, and funding — and be made explicit for current and incoming PhD students.

Training poses a harder problem. Intellectual muscles develop through exercise. Routine calculations, coding, failed approaches, and small discoveries have long helped students acquire intuition and judgment. Delegating this work can remove formative experiences, even as AI allows students to attempt more ambitious projects. We need to distinguish unnecessary friction from work through which expertise develops. Students should learn to formulate problems, audit model outputs, reproduce results, and defend their choices. Fundamentals may become more valuable as the basis for using these tools well.

Q: What should MIT and other universities build now?

A: This is where I see a real opportunity for universities. Let's first be clear about the goal: Universities should be able to pursue questions over long horizons, share results openly, and evaluate claims independently. Partnerships with industry will be essential, but we should not assume that commercial priorities will cover the breadth of science or remain aligned with it over time. Some degree of technological independence will therefore be necessary.

Academia's most important strategic asset may be the accumulated knowledge and experience within its laboratories. Published papers present a selective record: Failed experiments, abandoned directions, and the reasons an approach did not work often remain unpublished. Scientists and engineers hold tacit knowledge, acquired through experience, about which interventions are likely to fail and why. This missing context may help explain why models currently struggle in some domains, especially the empirical sciences, to anticipate consequences that are clear to an expert. These limitations may be temporary, and capturing negative results and scientists' interpretations could make models much better at scientific exploration.

We can imagine a future in which MIT's laboratories function more like a single, living, scientific organism, connected through shared AI research infrastructure. For example, suppose a neuroscience laboratory needs better methods for segmenting neurons in microscopy images. An AI agent could recognize a relevant advance from a computer vision group, connect the researchers, propose benchmarks, and help them iterate. It could surface unresolved questions to students and faculty, and make lessons from one laboratory available to others. To make this possible, we should build workflows that capture hypotheses, interventions, outcomes, failures, and interpretations. Shared systems should connect these workflows, allowing agents to use tools and information across laboratories with appropriate permissions. This will require substantial public and institutional investment now in compute, secure data systems, and expertise in adapting and post-training AI models.

Tracing this process could also preserve the lineage of ideas and make contributions, including those of graduate students, easier to recognize. With agreed rules for consent and credit, researchers could collaborate more openly, with greater confidence that their work would be acknowledged. This could also help answer the earlier question of how to recognize and reward intellectual contributions.

AI systems can already synthesize and reason about information from more sources than any individual researcher could absorb, and their ability to make useful connections will continue to improve. We should use this capacity to bring us together around hard scientific and engineering problems, helping us build on one another's strengths and insights. To me, this is a promising path forward, but universities need to invest now to make it possible.

With artificial intelligence capabilities continuing to expand, universities now face complex, urgent questions about how to navigate increasing challenges, as well as new opportunities. Much attention is now directed toward this, including an MIT report on AI and education published this summer. 

A new essay from MIT Statistics and Data Science Center Director Sasha Rakhlin, the Distinguished Professor in Data, Systems, and Society, IDSS and Brain and Cognitive Sciences, synthesizes recent discussions and readings about how AI is changing academia — particularly mathematics, statistics, machine learning, and engineering. Here, focusing primarily on graduate research and education, he describes key questions that departments and universities need to think about, and how they can best work with AI going forward.

Q: What is changing in research, and why is it happening so quickly?

A: Mathematics illustrates how quickly AI capabilities are advancing. Last year, a model reached gold-medal level at the International Mathematical Olympiad. Only a year later, models are producing new research results, including a recently proposed solution to one of the Millennium Prize Problems. Tasks that once demonstrated advanced mathematical ability can increasingly be performed by AI.

A central factor determining the pace of AI progress in a particular discipline is the speed and reliability of verification. Formalized proofs can be checked automatically; programs can be run and tested. Where evaluation is fast and reliable, systems can generate candidates, learn from outcomes, and improve. This also applies to AI research itself: improving models, training procedures, and their supporting tools. Better models can contribute to the next round of development, creating a compounding process that accelerates progress.

For experienced researchers, this creates opportunities to pursue questions whose technical demands previously put them out of reach. It also sharpens the distinction between obtaining a solution and understanding why it works, what generalizes, and what to ask next. However, we should not assume that abstraction, judgment, or problem formulation will remain beyond AI. Universities should prepare for a near future in which AI is smarter than all of us in many, perhaps most, aspects of our intellectual work.

Q: How should departments rethink academic credit and graduate training?

A: In a growing number of fields, a polished paper is becoming a weaker signal of individual expertise. Departments must begin now to reconsider what they reward, without simply defining valuable work as whatever AI cannot yet do. Asking good questions, replication, synthesis of ideas, informative negative results, and shared datasets may deserve greater recognition. More broadly, evaluation should establish what a researcher contributed and takes intellectual responsibility for, including when substantial parts of the work were performed by AI. These expectations should guide hiring, promotion, and funding — and be made explicit for current and incoming PhD students.

Training poses a harder problem. Intellectual muscles develop through exercise. Routine calculations, coding, failed approaches, and small discoveries have long helped students acquire intuition and judgment. Delegating this work can remove formative experiences, even as AI allows students to attempt more ambitious projects. We need to distinguish unnecessary friction from work through which expertise develops. Students should learn to formulate problems, audit model outputs, reproduce results, and defend their choices. Fundamentals may become more valuable as the basis for using these tools well.

Q: What should MIT and other universities build now?

A: This is where I see a real opportunity for universities. Let's first be clear about the goal: Universities should be able to pursue questions over long horizons, share results openly, and evaluate claims independently. Partnerships with industry will be essential, but we should not assume that commercial priorities will cover the breadth of science or remain aligned with it over time. Some degree of technological independence will therefore be necessary.

Academia's most important strategic asset may be the accumulated knowledge and experience within its laboratories. Published papers present a selective record: Failed experiments, abandoned directions, and the reasons an approach did not work often remain unpublished. Scientists and engineers hold tacit knowledge, acquired through experience, about which interventions are likely to fail and why. This missing context may help explain why models currently struggle in some domains, especially the empirical sciences, to anticipate consequences that are clear to an expert. These limitations may be temporary, and capturing negative results and scientists' interpretations could make models much better at scientific exploration.

We can imagine a future in which MIT's laboratories function more like a single, living, scientific organism, connected through shared AI research infrastructure. For example, suppose a neuroscience laboratory needs better methods for segmenting neurons in microscopy images. An AI agent could recognize a relevant advance from a computer vision group, connect the researchers, propose benchmarks, and help them iterate. It could surface unresolved questions to students and faculty, and make lessons from one laboratory available to others. To make this possible, we should build workflows that capture hypotheses, interventions, outcomes, failures, and interpretations. Shared systems should connect these workflows, allowing agents to use tools and information across laboratories with appropriate permissions. This will require substantial public and institutional investment now in compute, secure data systems, and expertise in adapting and post-training AI models.

Tracing this process could also preserve the lineage of ideas and make contributions, including those of graduate students, easier to recognize. With agreed rules for consent and credit, researchers could collaborate more openly, with greater confidence that their work would be acknowledged. This could also help answer the earlier question of how to recognize and reward intellectual contributions.

AI systems can already synthesize and reason about information from more sources than any individual researcher could absorb, and their ability to make useful connections will continue to improve. We should use this capacity to bring us together around hard scientific and engineering problems, helping us build on one another's strengths and insights. To me, this is a promising path forward, but universities need to invest now to make it possible.

A new course in the Department of Electrical Science and Engineering (EECS) is not focused on machine learning or microprocessors, on cryptography or quantum computing. Instead, 6.C31 (Hack Yourself) draws student interest with an intriguing pitch: that by using computing tools to implement a personal toolkit of more than 60 positive habits, students can substantially improve their college experiences. 

A joint venture with the Experimental Study Group (ESG), developed by EECS Senior Lecturer Ana Bell, ESG Visiting Instructor Carter Jernigan, and ESG Senior Lecturer Paola Rebusco, Hack Yourself offers students the opportunity to upgrade their lives. 

“We wanted to build an MIT course that exposes students, in a structured way, to what we actually know about learning and thriving,” explain the course’s instructors. “That said, MIT students are skeptical unless they can see evidence. They want data. They want methods. So we built the class around research-backed ideas that students can explore themselves, and that’s where computational thinking comes in. The course treats well-being and learning almost like systems problems: How do you gather meaningful data, break a big question into manageable parts, test an intervention, and evaluate whether it worked?”

The course’s ambitious goals fall into two categories: personal interventions that students can deploy in their own lives, and analytical skills that they can use to test whether their new habits are working. “It’s an introduction to the data science pipeline and evidence-based thinking,” says Bell. “We start from the idea that good analysis begins with good data. Students spend time learning how to collect information thoughtfully: designing surveys, conducting interviews, thinking about bias and measurement. Those are human-centered skills that complement technical training and remain valuable no matter what technologies exist years from now.”

The data that students collect are as diverse as their goals. “A few patterns come up consistently — reducing smartphone use and getting more consistent sleep,” says Jernigan. “For juniors and seniors especially, a lot of interest centers on work habits, productivity, and the transition into the workplace, which naturally pulls them toward teamwork, leadership, and relationships. What’s interesting is that no single intervention emerged as universally ‘best.’” 

Many of the course’s assignments center on teamwork, using research-backed interventions for more-effective group collaboration. “Some are small interventions students can use anywhere — for instance, replacing default small talk with a prompt like, ‘Tell me something good going on in your life,’” explains Jernigan. “We also teach practices like the pre-mortem, where a group imagines a project has already failed, lists everything that could have gone wrong, and works backward to prevent those problems.” 

Even the class’s reading assignments are collaborative, using Perusall (a shared annotation app). “We polled students about which strategies were most personally impactful and which they’d recommend to others, and the answers varied a lot,” says Jernigan. “That’s part of the point. Different tools resonate with different people, so we help students build a broad toolkit.”

Part of that toolkit looks like a tiny photo album. The course’s “Intention cards” are professionally printed, playing-card-sized collectibles that the students accumulate as they move through the course. Each card distills a research-backed habit or strategy into a few words and a colorful AI-generated image as a tangible reminder of the skill. “Students earn a few each week and end up with more than 60 by the end of the semester,” says Jernigan.

As the students gain more cards, they store them in a booklet — but the instructors have noticed them carefully tending and tidying their collections. 

“It’s been interesting to watch the collection dynamic work in ways we didn’t fully design for,” Rebusco reports. “Students reorganize the cards, revisit old ones when they get new ones, and carry the booklets around. Without explicitly thinking about it, they end up engaging in spaced repetition and recall — the same learning principles we discuss in class.”

Junior Sarah Hopp has amassed a large collection of the cards. The course 6-3 Computer Science and Engineering major, from Stevens Point, Wisconsin, has found that the mementos work as both a memory tool and a sentimental souvenir. “With each card, I also tend to remember the class we talked about that intervention, and any positive memories I have from that class experience.” 

Hopp’s favorite class experience was an assignment, originally developed in 2001 by Laura King, in which the student is challenged to envision her “best possible future self” in close detail for 20 minutes, imagining completed life goals and successful outcomes, before writing that imagined future self a letter. “It gave me time to really think about what I want from my future and what I want it to look like,” says Hopp. “It also forced me to focus on the positives and the accomplishments I want to achieve, rather than thinking about the negatives and my fears for the future.”

“When I first signed up for Hack Yourself, I looked forward to having a psychologically insightful and reflective class environment that I figured would be a helpful break from my usual STEM-heavy course content,” says student Amitoj Singh, who is majoring in 6-3. “I wanted to build a habit of using strategies from class to improve my lifestyle in college.” One of the strategies Singh implemented stemmed from a class discussion on flow state (a state of full and joyous task absorption experienced when a person is immersed in challenging and creative work). After learning that even brief interruptions could significantly impact productivity and derail flow, Singh changed how he scheduled his time, creating longer and more coherent “blocks” for his desired goals. “I think one of the most powerful tools [the class uses] is the massive pool of research the lectures and content draw from,” says Singh, who is now working on “satisficing,” or learning when to deem an outcome satisfactory rather than chasing a perhaps-unattainable state of optimization.

The Hack Yourself curriculum is intentionally designed to steer students toward small experiments and goals that feel personal to them. “We’ve had students explore relationships, sports performance, music, motivation, and productivity,” says Jernigan. “They develop hypotheses, think about measurement and bias, design surveys or interviews, and create an analysis plan. They don’t run a large-scale study, but they learn how to think rigorously about their proposed questions and hypotheses, using the same kind of decomposition and iterative thinking we use in computing.” Part of that rigor focuses on the use of large language models — specifically, how to evaluate the quality of both the prompt and the response. “We ask students to engage critically with modern AI tools,” says Bell. “They can use generative AI to explore ideas or analyze data, but they’re required to reflect on the process and critique the quality of what comes back. The durable skill isn’t fluency with today’s AI — it’s knowing how to evaluate any tool that comes next.”

Bell, Jernigan, and Rebusco hope that their students will leave with the tools to ask better questions — a lifelong skill. As they note, “We intentionally avoided making this another machine learning course. Students already get plenty of exposure to advanced technical tools elsewhere at MIT. In this course, we focus on a fundamental element: the data science pipeline itself. How do you collect useful data? How do you ask good questions? How do you design a small experiment before trying to boil the ocean? That mindset scales well, even as technology evolves.”

MIT engineers have developed a flexible, shape-sensing sheet that digitally reconstructs its own form as it bends and twists. 

The sensor is similar in principle to some motion-capture garments, which track a person’s physical movements to mimic them in a virtual avatar. Those designs use rigid sensors that are stitched into a suit at strategic locations. 

In contrast, the team’s new design uses multiple soft optical fibers that zig-zag throughout a soft and stretchable sheet. When the sheet bends, the fibers bend in kind, changing the pattern of light that travels through them. The researchers developed an algorithm to interpret the bending light patterns on the fly, to create a digital image that moves the same way the sheet is moving. The team also showed that the design is resistant to damage: Even when a few fibers are cut or disconnected, the remaining fibers can still accurately reconstruct the sheet’s overall shape. 

“Our setup is targeting fully soft and stretchable sensing surfaces so it’s potentially safer for interacting with a human or a soft environment,” says Qifan Yu, a mechanical engineering graduate student at MIT. 

The team envisions that the new design could be fashioned into a soft and pliable garment that a user could comfortably wear to physically control a video game character or a tele-operated robot. The sheet could also be used in physical therapy settings, where it could wrap around a patient’s leg or arm to track and record their mobility and range of motion during each session. 

“In physical therapy, you often need to gather patient data on how they are moving and stretching their arm during rehabilitation, for example,” Yu says. “Surface shape sensing could be very useful in that way.” 

Yu and his colleagues present their design in a study appearing in the journal Advanced Intelligent Systems. The study’s co-authors at MIT are graduate student Nina Cao and assistant professor of mechanical engineering Kaitlyn Becker.

The shape of light

The team’s shape-sensing design is a tweak on the standard optical fiber. Also known as a waveguide, an optical fiber is designed to guide light efficiently through a fiber. Optical fibers consist of a core of transparent material, such as glass, wrapped in a dark, opaque cladding. When light is sent through one end of the fiber, the dark cladding traps the light within the glass core, which itself is extremely smooth, allowing the light to pass straight through the fiber with near-perfect efficiency. Waveguides are used in fiber optic cables for super fast, efficient data transmission and telecommunications. 

Scientists have also experimented with waveguides as simple shape sensors: When the fibers bend, they affect how much light can make it all the way through. The more a fiber bends, the less light comes out the other end. The amount of light that shines out, then, can be a measure of the degree the fiber bends. In this way, optical fibers have been used to sense simple curvatures. 

“People have used waveguides to sense the shape of a line, which they have applied to a robot arm to see how it curves,” Yu says. “But they haven’t been applied to surface shape sensing, to reconstruct the 3D shape of a surface. That’s what we’re trying to do here.”

Fiber tweaks

In their new design, the researchers fabricated their own optical fibers, with some twists. Like conventional waveguides, they made their fibers from a transparent core surrounded by dark cladding. Rather than hard glass, they used a clear, flexible rubber core and a cladding made from the same rubbery material, dyed black. 

And instead of keeping the core completely smooth, they intentionally roughed up one side. If one side of the fiber is rougher than the other, they reasoned, then when the fiber is bent one way, any light passing through would scatter off the rough surface and affect the total amount of light that makes it out the other end. This would be a different amount than would pass through if the fiber were bent at the same angle but toward the fiber’s smooth side. In this way, the half-roughened fiber should act as a bidirectional shape sensor. 

The team fabricated multiple bidirectional optical fibers and looked to embed them into a soft sheet of silicone, arranged so that the fibers would reconstruct the sheet’s shape as it bends and twists. To do so, the researchers carried out simulations of sheets embedded with different optical fiber patterns, from a straightforward checkerboard to criss-crossed, zig-zag arrangements. 

They simulated different ways to bend or twist the sheets, and measured the output of light from each sheet’s configuration of fibers. They converted these light measurements into estimates of how much each fiber must be bending, and combined these to construct an overall 3D shape of the sheet, which they compared to the original simulated sheet shape. From these simulations, they found that a particular spacing of zig-zagging fibers was closest to recreating the sheet’s original shape.

The researchers then fabricated a shape-sensing sheet with the same zig-zag pattern of optical fibers embedded into the sheet. They incorporated an LED at one end of each fiber and a light sensor at the other end, which they connected to an external circuit board to collect and amplify the light measurements. They also developed an algorithm to automatically convert the measurements from fibers into a reconstruction of the sheet’s 3D shape as a whole. 

In experiments, they showed that the algorithm smoothly created a virtual reconstruction of the sheet, almost in real time, as the researchers twisted it into different forms. For instance, when they folded the sheet diagonally, and then again in the opposite direction, the virtual twin mimicked the changing shapes, almost in real time. 

They also placed the sheet in different 3D-printed molds so they could precisely measure the difference between the digitally reconstructed sheet and the physical sheet laying over each mold. In these tests, they found the soft sensing sheet was more accurate than other designs.

“We use a metric that describes the distance between the actual surface and the reconstructed surface, and from that, we found our error was less than 0.4 centimeters,” Yu says. “Existing designs, which are based on rigid sensors, have errors of around 1 to 2 centimeters. So that’s respectable, and at least on par with existing technologies.”

The team will further optimize the sensing sheet, first by thinning it down. Currently, the optical fibers are 1 millimeter thick. Other fabrication processes could shave them down to tens of micrometers, which can be thinner than a strand of hair. Then, the researchers envision embedding many more fibers into a garment, to sense detailed changes in its shape and form, for instance to gauge a patient’s performance in physical therapy. 

“We hope to build tools that augment what a physical therapist can do and help them track and quantify their patients’ progress over time,” says Becker. “These sensing sheets could help a physical therapist to recall and compare more precisely how an evaluation went today versus two months and hundreds of appointments ago.”

This research was supported, in part, by MathWorks.

The global building boom of power-hungry data centers is straining electrical grids, causing greater reliance on energy from polluting fossil fuels.

Christina Delimitrou, a newly tenured associate professor at MIT, is fighting this environmental threat by rethinking how the computer servers and networking equipment inside those data centers operate. 

She and her group apply machine learning to make large-scale data centers more efficient, secure, and reliable. They redesign outdated cloud computing systems, develop methods to manage shared hardware resources, and create streamlined server architectures. 

These advances allow data center operators to coax more computational power out of existing hardware.

“If data centers are not utilized to the best of their capabilities, then they will burn much more power than they need to meet growing user demand,” says Delimitrou, the KDD Career Development Associate Professor in Communications and Technology in the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science (EECS) and a member of the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory (CSAIL). “There is a lot of bloating, especially on the software side of these systems. If we can remove that bloating in a way that doesn’t compromise performance, then we won’t need to build as many new data centers.”

She also harnesses AI to help programmers find and fix problems in cloud-based applications, like music-streaming services or video conferencing systems. This eliminates application downtime that hampers performance and drains computational resources.

“By managing resources more effectively in the cloud, the end user gets more predictable performance from the application running on their smartphone,” she adds.

Mathematical beginnings

Delimitrou grew up in a midsized town within the vast plains of northern Greece. Her early interest in math and science was sparked, in part, by the ancient history of her homeland, where Euclid and Pythagoras studied mathematical problems more than 2,000 years ago. 

“In Greece, there is a long tradition of geometry,” she says.

She also drew scientific inspiration from her parents. Her mother worked as a chemical engineer and her father as a pharmacist — and both encouraged their daughter’s innate curiosity.

Her early affinity for math led Delimitrou to study computer engineering at the National Technical University of Athens, even though she didn’t know much about the field. She quickly gravitated toward courses that focused on the applied science of engineering.

For her diploma thesis — a project all students complete during their fifth and final year of study — she studied resource management in a computer when multiple applications are running at once. 

“A lot of the challenges I was looking at then would get much harder if, instead of a single system, you had 100,000 of these systems. That was a problem that piqued my interest,” she says.

Seeking to make a bigger impact as a researcher, Delimitrou pursued a graduate degree at Stanford University. She began tackling inefficiencies in cloud computing systems and large-scale data centers, which was a rapidly growing area of research. 

Through that work, Delimitrou and her research mentor, Christos Kozyrakis, the Leonard Bosack and Sandy K. Lerner Professor of Engineering, realized many large computing systems were underutilized.

“You would expect, with all the demand for these systems, that they should be running close to 100 percent capacity. But we found that most were running at only about 15 percent capacity,” she says. “This is not a resource-efficient or sustainable way of scaling these systems.”

Applying AI

To push that utilization closer to 100 percent, she began investigating machine-learning solutions to streamline cumbersome computational processes. Machine learning could automate resource management operations in the cloud, identifying solutions that developers might miss on their own.

“Applying machine learning to solve a large-scale system problem was a novel approach at the time. It was a bit risky because people had not yet shown that these techniques would work,” Delimitrou says. “But empirical approaches require a lot of expertise, and the scale of the system is so large that it is difficult for users to manage. This is why machine learning is often the best solution.”

After earning her PhD, Delimitrou continued this line of work as an assistant professor at Cornell University.

One tool her group developed, Seer, uses deep learning to anticipate and prevent problems in web applications before they happen. This averts widespread slowdowns that may occur if a developer tries to fix a problem manually.   

As she delved deeper into cloud computing, Delimitrou observed that cloud applications were changing. Developers were now splitting applications into smaller pieces to spread across multiple servers, which increases the speed of deployment.

“But the servers were not built for this new style of application design. So, I rethought some of my earlier work to build machine-learning systems for this new class of applications,” she says.

To tackle these new challenges, she found herself collaborating more often with faculty members who had different software and hardware expertise. Those collaborations opened exciting new research areas.

A few years later, she decided to join MIT because of the opportunity to collaborate with researchers at the top of their fields in hardware and software engineering. She became an assistant professor in EECS in 2022.

Creative approaches

At MIT, Delimitrou also enjoys the teaching aspect of her role. One of her favorite courses to teach is 6.191 (Computation Structure), a popular undergraduate class with about 350 students each semester. 

While it’s challenging to keep the course material fresh when the field constantly evolves, she strives to inspire creativity in her students.

“I want the students to learn how to think and learn on their own. Part of that involves shifting away from formulaic assignments and making classes more open-ended. I’d rather give the students something to make them think more deeply,” she says.

In the lab, a creative mindset helps Delimitrou and her team identify novel solutions to problems in cloud computing that others might overlook.

For instance, she extended prior work on debugging problems in cloud applications to encompass not just errors in the code, but also security issues that can make user data vulnerable to hackers.

She also uses AI to redesign software systems so they better fit the capabilities of existing hardware.

“One of the challenges when it comes to applying AI to these systems is that the AI is not interpretable,” she says. “A lot of the work we are doing now involves adding explainability into these AI tools so people can get useful feedback from the system.”

That not only helps developers ensure AI is giving the right answer, but also provides insights into how to design systems better in the future.

She finds that studying these large-scale cloud computing systems is becoming more challenging because tech companies that operate data centers use proprietary hardware, unlike the commodity equipment of early cloud computing days, as well as software systems that can’t be accessed by academic teams. A solution that works in the lab might not work in the real world.

To that end, Delimitrou and her group create clones of proprietary systems and applications. One tool they developed, called Ditto, mimics an application’s structure and performance characteristics, enabling a wide range of studies.

She expects her work to continue shifting as machine-learning models become more advanced, opening new possibilities to boost application performance and hardware efficiency.

“But you still have to use AI carefully. While it can greatly accelerate the application development side, we still need to audit it and be especially careful about how these models are applied so we don’t lose the ability to gain insights out of the solutions AI is giving,” she says.

Outside the lab, Delimitrou enjoys spending time with her husband and 1-year-old daughter.

While she doesn’t have as much time for hobbies these days, she also enjoys gardening and building an electrical toy train track for her daughter, as well as playing classical piano and painting nature scenes. She became interested in painting at Cornell, where she would often paint the many waterfalls near the campus. 

Whether she is working in the garden or painting, Delimitrou says she finds spending time outdoors to be a relaxing escape from the technical nature of her work, but also an important reminder of the role her research plays in sustainability. 

Margaret Hamilton, a profoundly influential computer scientist best known for leading the software engineering team at MIT’s Instrumentation Lab during NASA’s Apollo program, died on Sep. 30. She was 90.

A computing pioneer who authored over 130 publications, Hamilton helped to establish software engineering as a dedicated discipline. She worked at MIT from 1959 until the mid-1970s, after which she became a successful computing entrepreneur and CEO.

Her life’s work was recognized with many awards and honors, including the 2016 Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Barack Obama, whose citation noted: “Hamilton defined new forms of software engineering and helped launch an industry that would forever change human history. Her software architecture led to giant leaps for humankind, writing the code that helped America set foot on the moon.”

“To say Margaret Hamilton was a pioneer — to say she was ahead of her time — would be a dramatic understatement. She was a software engineer at a time when that field was in its infancy, and she not only developed advanced code herself but also led a team in using that nascent technology to develop one of the most complex systems humanity had ever achieved,” says Olivier de Weck, the Apollo Program Professor and interim head of the MIT Department Aeronautics and Astronautics. 

“The Apollo program still stands as one of our greatest testaments to the power of collaboration, ingenuity, and engineering, and Margaret Hamilton was a fundamental contributor to that program’s success. And for her that was just the beginning! She went on to become an entrepreneur and remained on the cutting edge of systems software throughout an extraordinary career, while acting as an advocate, mentor, and inspiration to millions.”

Early life and projects at MIT

Born in Paoli, Indiana, in 1936, Hamilton began studying mathematics at the University of Michigan in 1955 before transferring to Earlham College, where she earned a BA in mathematics with a minor in philosophy in 1958. She moved to Boston, Massachusetts, in 1959 with her husband while he pursued a law degree. 

Hamilton soon found a temporary position in the meteorology department at MIT, working with professor of meteorology Edward N. Lorenz SM ’43, ScD ’48 on weather prediction software. This was her first entry point into computer programming, and her work would go on to inform Lorenz’s future publications on chaos theory.

From there, Hamilton took a role as a programmer at MIT Lincoln Laboratory in 1961, working on the Semi-Automatic Ground Environment (SAGE) project, the United States’ first air defense system. Hamilton wrote software for the prototype AN/FSQ-7 computer (XD-1), used by the U.S. Air Force to search for potentially unfriendly aircraft. During this time, Hamilton began to take an interest in software reliability — a new and largely unexplored concept at the time.

In 1965 Hamilton was preparing to pursue graduate studies when her husband saw an advertisement in the newspaper: The Instrumentation Lab at MIT was seeking people to develop software to “send man to the moon.” The lab had won the contract from NASA to build the onboard flight software for the Apollo program. Intrigued by the challenge, Hamilton applied, and was hired as the first programmer for the Apollo project at MIT, as well as the first female programmer in the project. 

Hamilton worked first on the software for the uncrewed Apollo missions and then was promoted into leading the team developing the on-board flight software for the crewed missions. By 1968 she was assistant director in charge of the Command and Service Module team, and more than 400 people were working on Apollo’s software. 

“From my own perspective, the software experience itself (designing it, developing it, evolving it, watching it perform and learning from it for future systems) was at least as exciting as the events surrounding the mission,” Hamilton told MIT News in 2009. “There was no second chance. We knew that. We took our work seriously, many of us beginning this journey while still in our 20s. Coming up with solutions and new ideas was an adventure. Dedication and commitment were a given. Mutual respect was across the board. Because software was a mystery, a black box, upper management gave us total freedom and trust. We had to find a way, and we did. Looking back, we were the luckiest people in the world; there was no choice but to be pioneers.”

“Defensive” programming and priority-driven software take humans to the moon

Hamilton discovered a talent for leadership, as well as a keen instinct for problem-solving and critical thinking that would prove to save Project Apollo several times over. 

There was the incident that became known as “the Lauren error”: One day, her daughter Lauren, then four years old, was playing with the command module simulator at the Instrumentation Lab when she somehow activated a pre-launch program, called P01, while the simulator was in midflight — which crashed the simulator altogether. Hamilton created a program add-on in the technical documentation warning users not to launch P01 during flight. 

She also proposed a software fix to prevent the error happening during a real mission, but she was overruled on the grounds that the highly trained astronauts were never going to make that same mistake. Yet during the Apollo 8 mission in 1968, that’s exactly what happened: Jim Lovell inadvertently launched P01 during the flight, causing the on-flight navigational data to vanish. Hamilton and her team were called in to solve the error, and after that her proposed changes were integrated into the program. This was an early example of “defensive” programming, the practice of building software that could anticipate or fix errors on its own. 

Hamilton’s most famous contribution to the Apollo program came during the pivotal Apollo 11 mission to land on the moon in July of 1969. Moments before the Eagle module was set to land on the lunar surface, the onboard computer raised the alarm. It had detected a 1202 error: The computer was overloaded due to a fault in a hardware switch, and it was possible the system would not be able to handle the complex landing procedure. 

But Hamilton and her team had engineered priority-driven software, able to shut down unnecessary background tasks in order to prioritize mission-critical tasks. Houston trusted Hamilton’s software and allowed the mission to proceed, and two men walked on the moon for the first time. 

Later career and legacy

Hamilton continued to work at the Instrumentation Lab into the 1970s. As the Apollo program wound down, the Instrumentation Lab spun out of MIT to become the independent Draper Laboratory.

“Margaret left an indelible mark on Draper, and we will be forever grateful,” says Jerry M. Wohletz SM ’97, PhD ’00, president and CEO at Draper. “Through her leadership and contributions to the development of the onboard flight software for NASA’s Apollo Guidance Computer, she helped ensure that Apollo astronauts landed safely on the lunar surface and safely returned home. We will honor her legacy at Draper forever.”

Hamilton went on to create her first software company, Higher Order Software, in 1976. The firm was based on Hamilton’s software engineering approach of error prevention and fault tolerance. 

A decade later, Hamilton founded another software company, Hamilton Technologies, “to provide products and services to modernize the planning, system engineering and software development process in order to maximize reliability, lower cost and accelerate time to market.” 

Hamilton Technologies’ flagship product is the Universal Systems Language (USL), a systems modeling language and methodology for engineering complex software systems that prioritize error prevention and defensive programming. 

Throughout her career, Hamilton worked to achieve recognition for software engineering as a dedicated discipline. 

“I fought to bring the software legitimacy so that it — and those building it — would be given its due respect, and thus I began to use the term ‘software engineering’ to distinguish it from hardware and other kinds of engineering, yet treat each type of engineering as part of the overall systems engineering process,” Hamilton told El Pais in 2018. “When I first started using this phrase, it was considered to be quite amusing. It was an ongoing joke for a long time. They liked to kid me about my radical ideas. Software eventually and necessarily gained the same respect as any other discipline.”

Among her many awards and honors, Hamilton was recognized with the NASA Exceptional Space Act Award for scientific and technical contributions in 2003; the Computer History Museum Fellow Award in 2017; the Intrepid Lifetime Achievement Award in 2019; and induction into the National Aviation Hall of Fame in 2022.

Later in life, Hamilton become an icon for women in science and technology, especially after a now-famous photo, showing her next to a printout of her MIT team’s Apollo code, began circulating online. In 2015, the Apollo software she helped to develop was added in its entirety to the code-sharing site GitHub. And in 2017, she became an official Lego Minifigure after a set originally designed by MIT science communicator Maia Weinstock, honoring her and several other women of NASA history, became available worldwide. 

“Margaret Hamilton has been an inspiration to generations of computer scientists and engineers. Hers was a career dedicated to preventing errors and what she called ‘handling the unknown,’” says de Weck. “She personified leadership by example, and established a practice of software engineering based on problem-solving and systems engineering that we all benefit from.” 

Hamilton is survived by her daughter, Lauren Hamilton; her son-in-law, Richard Selesnick; two grandsons; four great grandchildren; and her siblings John, David, and Kathryn. A memorial service will take place in the spring in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Artificial intelligence has become part of the zeitgeist. And while it’s a polarizing topic, Linda Rabieh has a unique take on AI: “It’s good for business. Our business, of humanistic thinking.” As senior lecturer in the Concourse program, one of MIT’s first-year learning communities, Rabieh has been introducing students to the “business” since 2010. 

“What AI has been useful for is making very vivid to students today the question of what it means to be human,” she adds. “They’re meeting this question with a new urgency. What is intelligence? Is it only mathematical intelligence? Is it only an aggregation of information? Or is human intelligence something different?”

AI is just one of countless thorny topics that bubble up in Concourse, which offers first-year MIT students a foundation in the humanities, alongside math and science General Institute Requirement courses taught by Concourse faculty. Studying “great books” and literary luminaries — Plato, Homer, Aristotle, Wordsworth and Coleridge, to name a few — provides a springboard for rich conversations and spirited debates.

A “mini-liberal arts college within MIT”

Concourse was founded in 1970 to enable humanities, engineering, and science faculty to collaborate on curriculum, cultivating a “concourse” of ideas. Now it’s a place, Rabieh says, “where students who come primarily to MIT for world-class science, math, and engineering can also have a traditional liberal education, exploring fundamental questions of human existence, reading the great books, engaging in intense, vigorous debate about these questions.”

“I often describe Concourse as a mini-liberal arts college within MIT,” says Assistant Director Sasha Rickard ’19, an alumna of the program. “A lot of students tell us that Concourse is a big part of the reason they decided on MIT instead of [other schools].”

Concourse accepts 50 first-year students each year. Johnnie Jones VI, a senior in mathematics and Concourse teaching assistant (TA) and debate fellow, marvels at the diversity of students the program attracts — “athletes, people who are interested in humanities, people who have no experience in humanities,” he says. “Somehow, 50 people every year self-select into this space, and magic happens.”

Connection and “cross-pollination”

Part of that magic is the sense of community that Concourse fosters. The program has a dedicated space in Building 16 with a classroom, seminar room, lounge, and kitchen. Students receive advising and participate in community events throughout the year. Since they overlap in their humanities, math, and science classes, as well as outside the classroom, they get to know each other and their instructors well. “There’s a lot of cross-pollination of conversation and ideas,” Rabieh says. 

During the weekly Friday advising seminar, students gather over lunch to discuss assigned texts or hold debates. In the fall, topics focus broadly on the human condition, and in the spring, students consider practical political or moral issues such as gene therapy, immigration, and gun control. Several debates are held in conjunction with the MIT Civil Discourse Project, which has collaborated with Concourse since 2023.

Many students stay involved in the program after their first year. Some serve as TAs, debate fellows, or associate advisors. 

“There’s very much a sense of wanting to be guides and supports and set an example for the incoming students,” Rickard says. Upper-level students also take Concourse electives, hang out in the lounge, and participate in community events.

Learning to think things through

Taking multiple classes together, sharing meals, and spending time together outside the classroom — these common experiences build a level of trust that allows students to hold deep conversations. The result is a transformative experience.

Rickard has noticed that incoming first-years tend to fall into two categories: those who think they already know the answers to political or philosophical questions, and those who have no opinion because they think there’s no definitive answer. Over time, she explains, “some students come to understand that they need to learn from others, and others learn that they really can think for themselves, and they do have something to say.”

“Students learn the importance of judgment in non-quantitative areas,” Rabieh says. MIT students excel at quantitative reasoning, she adds, but “you can’t just show which political policy is right and which is wrong … and one reason I think MIT students shy away from those kinds of issues is because they don’t see a way to think through them. Concourse teaches them a way to think about moral and political questions in a rigorous way that isn’t quantitative.”

That rings true for Jones. “Overwhelmingly, the greatest skill Concourse has given me, more than just teaching me things, is teaching me how to work through ideas myself — really making possible the ability to, even after a long day of work, sit down with a great book and have a conversation with someone who was alive 300 years ago about things that matter to me,” he says.

Stewarding the “ethos of Concourse” into its next chapter

As Concourse continues into its next half-century, a new leader has taken the helm. Ford Professor of Political Science Lily Tsai was recently named director after Anne McCants, the Ann F. Friedlaender Professor of History, stepped down.

Colleagues laud McCants for 14 years of steady leadership; cultivating a robust, collaborative advising program; advocating for a whole-student approach; and for her passion for teaching.

McCants says she relished interacting with Concourse students in a sustained way — often for all four years — and learning not only from them, but also colleagues. “Having a group of committed educators from different disciplines in sustained conversation is a remarkable feature of Concourse. In our normal faculty roles, we are siloed off from those whose fields of study are not ours. I will miss those interactions as much as I do the ones with the students.”

Tsai assumes the role as the Institute expands efforts to broaden connections between the School of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences (SHASS) and other fields. Those efforts include the Compass Initiative, which Tsai co-leads with other faculty from across SHASS; the MIT Human Insight Collaborative; and the creation of shared faculty positions within the MIT Schwarzman College of Computing.

“The ethos of Concourse is thrilling to me,” Tsai says. “Through reflection and debate about what we value individually and collectively, Concourse students cultivate the skills and habits of mind that prepare them to be not only excellent engineers and scientists, but also responsible citizens and leaders. At a time when the whole world is seeking to ground our use of powerful technologies in thoughtful, principled judgment, Concourse seems all the more vital, and I’m eager to champion the teaching and learning that the program does so well.”

Until recently, when a Massachusetts shellfish warden needed to know how much rain had fallen overnight before deciding whether to close a shellfishing area, the process might look something like this: call a local resident who happened to own a rain gauge, ask for the measurement, write it down, and use that number to make the call. Heavy rain may cause a closure due to stormwater runoff that can carry pollutants from land to water. If the area closed, the public found out the same low-tech way: a paper notice at the boat ramp, a phone call, or word passed along at the marina.

It’s a system built on trust between neighbors, but it doesn’t scale particularly well. According to the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries’ 2024 Annual Report, Massachusetts shellfisheries yielded an ex-vessel value of over $441 million. This number includes shellfish spread across 738 classified growing areas along the coast that fall under a tangle of overlapping state and municipal jurisdictions. Add in thousands of recreational permit holders, and the old system starts to show its age.

With support from MIT’s Abdul Latif Jameel Water and Food Systems Lab (J-WAFS), MIT Sea Grant researchers have spent the past several years trying to close the gap between the data that exist and the data people can actually use. The effort was proposed to J-WAFS by Michael Triantafyllou, the Henry L. and Grace Doherty Professor in Ocean Science and Engineering and director of MIT Sea Grant, under the title “Cloud-Based Data Applications for Streamlining Natural Resource Management.” 

The original aim of the proposal was to build a web-based system to help decision-making among managers and their stakeholders in order to support productivity of shellfisheries, safe human consumption, and vitality of coastal economies. The team wanted the platform to be scalable enough to serve the entire decision-making pipeline, from the state agency managing hundreds of growing areas down to an individual permit holder deciding whether it’s worth the drive to the water that day. 

The result is a platform called Seashell. The team describes it as sitting at the intersection of big data, natural resource management, and what’s often called the blue economy — the sustainable use of ocean and coastal resources for economic growth — a phrase increasingly common in state and federal policy circles, and one Massachusetts has staked real ground on. Food security is a large part of the equation too. Many of these towns don’t just issue permits for sport; these areas are open so residents have shellfish to eat. When permit holders can trust a platform to tell them, in real time, whether an area is safe to harvest, that’s not just convenience. It’s local food supply staying reliable.

An old bottleneck, a new pipeline

The project’s origins trace back to 2020, when MIT Sea Grant Research Scientist Carolina Bastidas and her colleagues built a shellfish restoration webpage and noticed that propagation data was scattered and often misrepresented. Propagation isn’t a minor detail; it’s how many coastal towns support food security for residents, a fact that came into sharper focus during the Covid-19 pandemic, when recreational shellfishing demand rose sharply enough that some towns limited permit sales just to protect their beds.

That early work led to an informal working group with the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries (DMF) and towns of Falmouth, Mashpee, and Nantucket well before any formal funding existed. “We already had engagement,” says Ben Bray, geospatial applications developer at MIT. “We already had a very real starting point.” 

By the time J-WAFS awarded the team a seed grant in 2022, letters of support from DMF and all three towns were already in hand, each describing the same underlying problem: a lack of an efficient, shared way to track and communicate shellfishing area status.

Bray’s path to this work goes back two decades. He joined MIT Sea Grant in 2005 to help build an internal grant management system, and the job pulled him toward an idea he’d recently encountered in Thomas Friedman’s book “The World Is Flat”: that data tend to sit stranded on disconnected “islands,” reachable only through the right application programming interface (API).

The underlying architecture reflects that same philosophy of connecting, rather than replacing, existing systems. Seashell runs on a PostgreSQL database and Amazon Web Services cloud infrastructure, designed from the outset to be exportable — towns or states that want to run it on their own servers can do so. Rather than asking DMF or municipalities to abandon the tools they already use, the system pulls in data through APIs from a long list of sources: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration tide stations, satellite feeds for sea surface temperature and chlorophyll-a, local weather networks, and DMF’s own geographic information system.

Built with towns, not for them

If Seashell has a defining trait, it’s that the towns using it had a hand in shaping nearly every piece of it. In 2023, the research team ran a regional assessment of the Massachusetts shellfishing community that drew responses from more than 312 people, 122 of whom volunteered for follow-up focus groups. In 2025, dedicated focus groups for both the public and administrative interfaces — described by Bastidas as involving anywhere from one to a handful of participants at a time — drove a final round of revisions before launch.

What the team learned sometimes cut against their own assumptions. “How little the end user wants to see and interact with” the data was the biggest surprise, Bray says. Focus group participants didn’t want a comprehensive dashboard of every growing area in the state; they wanted their own location, loaded automatically, with the fewest clicks possible. More simply, users wanted answers to questions such as: Is an area open? Is it high or low tide? What’s the water temperature? That preference reshaped the public interface around geolocation and minimal menu navigation, particularly for mobile use, allowing permit holders to check the system on their way out the door.

The towns themselves turned out to have sharply different needs, shaped largely by how many people they have on staff and who’s showing up at their docks. Many of these departments run on a skeleton crew with one or two staff, managing the entire permitting and enforcement operation. “All the organizations we work with are all understaffed,” Bray says. “I didn’t realize that going into this.”

That imbalance shaped something called the “Ways to Water” feature. Towns popular with seasonal and vacationing residents who buy a permit without knowing the local geography asked for a tool that could route users to the nearest shellfishing access points. They also wanted the tool to show parking availability, boat ramps, and travel time. This detail captures the blue economy dimension of the project well. Both tourism and traditional shellfishing for food security call for differing groups to share the same water and the same system, without necessarily sharing the same local knowledge.

Other requests were smaller, but no less telling. One shellfish officer asked simply whether the interface could be offered in different languages, a request the team is now addressing through built-in translation. It’s the kind of feature that doesn’t show up in a funding proposal’s list of objectives, but that turned out to matter a great deal to the people actually using the tool.

The relationship with DMF followed a different shape than the one with the towns. Where individual towns had fewer resources but could move quickly once they decided to adopt something, DMF moved more deliberately. “They had more ability than they had power,” Bray says of DMF staff, describing an agency with existing institutional constraints that limited the design approach the researchers could take. That distinction ultimately reshaped the project’s strategy: rather than building one system meant to unify DMF and every town under a single workflow, the team shifted toward treating towns and DMF as separate entities with distinct needs, while still syncing DMF’s official closure data into the platform automatically. Bray describes the process as investing effort where towns have the flexibility to adopt something new, rather than waiting on slower-moving state processes to catch up.

Rules, real-time data, and respecting jurisdiction

The system’s handling of jurisdiction is arguably its core technical achievement. DMF manages the baseline layer of the state’s 738 growing areas; individual towns manage sub-areas on top of that layer, closing sections for reasons ranging from water quality to family-designated harvesting zones reserved for local residents. Early on, the team assumed DMF would want to manage its polygons directly inside Seashell. DMF preferred to keep working in an existing ArcGIS system. So the MIT team adjusted, syncing Seashell to DMF’s existing records via API instead, and building in automatic alerts whenever DMF’s underlying data changed. It’s a small design decision with an outsized effect: DMF keeps full control of its own data while towns still benefit from updated, synced data.

The administrative interface goes a step further, pulling in real-time environmental data and using it to recommend closure decisions based on rules that towns configure themselves. It’s a direct stand-in for the old rain-gauge phone call, and it’s built to shrink the gap between when DMF issues a closure notice and when the public actually learns about it.

A rare bipartisan corner of ocean policy

Seashell officially launched at the 2026 Northeast Aquaculture Conference and Exposition in Portland, Maine, this past January. The team is scheduled to present at the Massachusetts Shellfish Officers Association’s meeting this October, betting that broader town-level adoption will reduce the confusion that crops up when neighboring towns operate on entirely different systems. Some towns’ shellfish officers are using Seashell while the next town over might still be working on paper.

Bray sees something durable in the subject matter itself, apart from the technology. “Shellfishing is one of the few things, in terms of the ocean, in terms of cultural communities, that is bipartisan,” he says. Bastidas points to the layered value of the resource, not just its economic footprint, but its role in food security and in traditions, including Indigenous shellfishing practices, that predate Massachusetts’ current regulatory system by centuries.

Looking ahead, the team is exploring an extension into commercial fisheries and landing-data reporting, building on related, town-driven effort. More broadly, the researchers see little about the underlying framework that’s specific to shellfishing. The same architecture, they argue, could serve any natural resource management problem with a geospatial and jurisdictional dimension: wildlife management, water quality, coastal permitting.

For Bray, who led his first funded research project through this J-WAFS grant, the work has doubled as a lesson in institutional collaboration as much as software design. The project helped him understand how fast and how much a large state agency can move versus a small town, and where to put the effort to balance both sides. “You have to figure out what an organization is capable of providing, and work within that,” he says, “while still trying to push things forward.”

Uncrewed aerial vehicles (UAVs) could fly deep into the heart of a raging wildfire, avoiding sudden flare-ups and dodging falling tree branches to gather critical information for rescuers. But in this dangerous situation, the UAV could easily be damaged or destroyed by falling debris.

The UAV — and the rescuers who rely on it — would benefit from a new, autonomous navigation system that is guaranteed to avoid collisions, even in completely unfamiliar surroundings. 

Developed by MIT researchers, this method plans a flight path for a UAV that eludes unknown obstacles that may move in unpredictable ways. It charts an efficient course through an unmapped environment that is mathematically proven to be safe from collisions.

Many popular navigation systems can only offer formal safety guarantees when the environment is static, or when the obstacles are known in advance.

By enabling the UAV to avoid moving obstacles while it is discovering its environment, this trajectory planner, which the researchers call “SANDO” (for “Safe AutoNomous trajectory planning for Dynamic unknOwn environments”) could be especially useful for applications like search and rescue missions into collapsed buildings, mine explorations through networks of hidden tunnels, or package delivery across a crowded neighborhood.

“In the hardest possible environment, where the UAV has no map of the area and there are unknown obstacles moving around, we established a mathematical guarantee of safety. The only thing the planner needs to know is the top speed the obstacles could reach. Given that, you could use it in any environment, without a map, and you know the UAV is not going to crash into anything,” says Kota Kondo SM ’23, PhD ’26, who recently earned his doctorate in aeronautics and astronautics at MIT and is lead author of a paper on this new system.

He is joined on the paper by Jesús Tordesillas PhD ’22, an assistant professor at Comillas Pontifical University in Madrid; MIT graduate students Juan Rached, Lili Sun, and Yixuan Jia; and senior author Jonathan P. How, a Ford Professor of Aeronautics and Astronautics and a principal investigator in the Laboratory for Information and Decision Systems (LIDS) and the Aerospace Controls Laboratory (ACL) at MIT. The research appears in the IEEE Transactions on Robotics.

Safety first

Trajectory planners use images and data from a UAV’s onboard cameras and sensors to chart a flight path that reaches the vehicle’s goal. 

Most existing planners are either designed for unknown static environments, where the obstacles don’t move, or they loosely avoid dynamic obstacles without providing a formal guarantee that the robot won’t crash. 

Formal safety guarantees are important in high-stakes situations, such as if a UAV were delivering medical supplies to the site of a remote natural disaster. But trying to compute every possible crash in a dynamic environment would take too long for real-world deployments.

“In an unknown dynamic environment, you don’t have many assumptions to rely on. In those types of environments, researchers haven’t yet been able to mathematically guarantee that a trajectory is safe,” Kondo explains.

The MIT researchers used a rigorous mathematical approach to develop SANDO, their safe trajectory planner. They theoretically proved the algorithm always computes trajectories which are guaranteed to avoid collisions with moving obstacles in unknown environments.

SANDO starts by mapping out a safety corridor through the robot’s environment. This corridor is a series of connected regions of 3D space the robot can travel through, which are guaranteed not to contain any obstacles. 

But unlike other systems, SANDO creates a time-sensitive safety corridor that considers the possible future movements of dynamic obstacles. It employs a special module that detects, groups, and monitors dynamic obstacles to estimate where they will move next.

While the system doesn’t know exactly where an obstacle will move in the future, it uses that obstacle’s maximum velocity to compute how far it could possibly go in a certain timespan. It puts a sphere around the obstacle that captures the farthest distance it could travel in all directions.

SANDO builds the safety corridor around these spheres to ensure the UAV will not collide with a moving object.

“In the real world, obstacles are going to move, so the safety corridor you create at one point won’t be useful as things move into the corridor. But because we consider this time component, we can now guarantee safety into the future,” Kondo says.

The system uses a heat-map based planner to identify “hot” regions of the environment with many obstacles and guides the UAV away from these dangerous areas. This helps the robot chart a more efficient course around danger zones.

Fast reactions

Once it has established a collision-free safety corridor, SANDO optimizes the trajectory within that corridor to find the fastest path to reach the goal. 

As the robot travels, SANDO adjusts the safety corridor and reformulates the trajectory to ensure the robot’s path remains collision-free until it reaches its goal. 

The researchers employed a few tricks to make the optimization easier to solve so the UAV can rapidly recalculate trajectories using its onboard computer, quickly reacting to sudden changes.

“The most difficult part of developing SANDO was the math,” Kondo says. “When you try to guarantee safety, you need to be rigorous and ensure your theory covers every possible case, even edge cases. Once we had that mathematical guarantee, it was very easy to fly the UAVs.”

In simulations, SANDO reached the robot’s goal faster than several state-of-the-art systems while completely avoiding collisions in all environments. 

SANDO also avoided all dynamic obstacles in 12 test flights with a real UAV, using the robot’s onboard computer and sensors to rapidly replan safe trajectories. 

In the future, researchers could make SANDO more computationally efficient and combine the system with machine-learning models that allow the user to give instructions to a robot using plain language.

A central challenge in autonomous flight is that a path that is safe when it is planned may become unsafe as the environment changes. SANDO addresses this challenge with time-varying safe flight corridors and hard-constrained trajectory optimization that supports frequent onboard replanning. Its combination of spatiotemporal planning, formal safety analysis, and hardware validation provides a practical approach to autonomous flight in complex dynamic environments,” says Fei Gao, an associate professor at Zhejiang University in China, who was not involved with this research.

This research is funded, in part, by the Defense Science and Technology Agency of Singapore.