HEIDI LIANG/DEERFIELD SCROLL On July 16, Hugging Face, an open-source platform for collaboration on artificial intelligence and machine learning, announced that it had been hacked. The perpetrator was not a human hacker with malicious intent, but an OpenAI model trying to perform well on a sandbox cybersecurity exploitation assessment. On a few near impossible exercises within, instead of directly working on the problem, the model broke out of the sandbox, connected to the in

HEIDI LIANG/DEERFIELD SCROLL At Deerfield, we remember not the people who were average during their respective times in history but those who were radical — culture-changing, forward-looking citizens, whether it’s Benjamin Franklin, MLK Jr. or Gloria Steinem. Continuing on this theme, I wish to explore how our memories affect our opinion-making and reflections on humanity’s past. In order to understand how history is remembered at Deerfield, one must look at time, the ultima

The Scroll, for many of those involved, is more than just a club. It is a seemingly limitless dedication towards the singular goal of producing a coherent, interesting, and thoughtful issue. It is the textbook definition of a labor of love. Board members spend their time collaborating with staff writers to strengthen their articles, laying out issues on ancient computers in the Kendall basement, conducting interviews, and close reading every article in every issue to make sur

During Spring Family Weekend, my English class held a parent-student symposium on Helena Maria Viramontes’s novel Under the Feet of Jesus. This novel explores the life of Estrella, a child who tries to navigate life as the daughter of migrant farmworkers in the Central Valley of California. The book is unforgiving to its characters and their circumstances. They wake before dawn, working under the blazing sun, and fight for basic human dignities that, by virtue of their availa

HEIDI LIANG/DEERFIELD SCROLL Dear Reader, Putting pen to paper has never felt so hard. As I sit in my room and attempt to write my final letter to you, I find myself stopping every minute. Memories of my time spent writing for this paper, some going as far back as freshman year, come flooding in. Processing each of these on its own is a joy; reflecting on them collectively, however, pains me as I realize I can never fully convey all that the Scroll has given me in one letter.