
Gen Z’s plea is not for ping‑pong tables or perfunctory “wellness” days. It’s a demand that managers change the way we work, full stop—a mandate captured bluntly in a recent headline: Gen Z want managers to change the way we work [7]. The urgency in that line lands differently depending on whether you grew up on dial‑up or digital native instincts, whether you command software with ease or squint at yet another workplace dashboard. The danger is that we answer a generational call with a managerial shrug, mistaking a deep structural ask for style points. The opportunity is to use this moment to rebuild work as a commons, not a gated app: intelligible, humane, and navigable for all ages and backgrounds.

Eat, Poop, Die. It is a crude mantra for a sublime truth: animals transform worlds by cycling nutrients, fertilizing seas and soils, and stitching life into long, looping feedbacks. Humans, by contrast, have built a culture that mistakes disposal for progress, a one-way chute from extraction to landfill that severs the very loops that keep us alive. Rivers once ferried myths and meanings; today they are made to carry what we cannot be bothered to steward. If we want living waters and living futures, we must relearn reciprocity from the messy elegance of ecology and hardwire it into the institutions that govern the blue half of our planet.

Threatening mass firings on the eve of a potential government shutdown is the wrong message at the worst moment. According to reporting, the White House has raised the specter of sweeping dismissals as Congress staggers toward a funding lapse [10]. At the same time, Democrats have doubled down on health care priorities in the negotiations, underscoring how central social protection has become to this standoff [8]. A healthy society must protect its weakest members—through health care, housing, and welfare—while also encouraging personal responsibility. But brinkmanship premised on fear distracts from designing capable, accountable safety nets, eroding trust in both government and the norms that sustain democratic compromise.

Eli Lilly’s decision to invest $6.5 billion in a new active pharmaceutical ingredient (API) manufacturing facility in Texas is more than a headline about jobs and concrete; it’s a referendum on how we want automation to reshape work and wealth in the real economy [5]. The plant will be software-heavy and sensor-dense, because modern drug manufacturing must be—yet the moral question isn’t whether machines will be involved, but for whom the gains will accrue and how communities will share in them. In a year when AI is recoding job descriptions as quickly as it spins proteins, Lilly’s move becomes a case study for balancing efficiency against equity, and for writing a social contract that dignifies work at every age and skill level.