In the heart of Silicon Valley, another tech giant has discovered what so many others are learning the hard way: artificial intelligence doesn’t just augment human work—it replaces it. Cloudflare, the San Francisco-based internet security and cloud networking powerhouse, announced Thursday it is cutting more than 1,100 employees—roughly one-fifth of its global workforce—as it pivots aggressively to an “agentic AI era.”
Co-founders Matthew Prince and Michelle Zatlyn delivered the news in a blunt internal memo that pulls no punches about the new reality. The company’s internal use of AI has exploded more than 600 percent in just three months. Engineers, HR staff, finance teams, and marketers now run thousands of AI agent sessions daily. The old way of working, they effectively admitted, is obsolete.
This is not the story of a failing company desperate to survive. Cloudflare posted robust revenue growth. The cuts come from confidence, not crisis—a deliberate choice to architect the firm around AI agents rather than human workflows. In the founders’ own words, “The way we work at Cloudflare has fundamentally changed. We don’t just build and sell AI tools and platforms. We are our own most demanding customer.”
That candor stands in refreshing contrast to the usual corporate spin. Too often, executives cloak automation-driven layoffs in vague language about “synergies” or “right-sizing.” Here, Prince and Zatlyn simply stated the obvious: if machines can do the work faster, cheaper, and without complaint, why keep paying humans to duplicate the effort? The memo signals a broader reckoning across the tech sector where the very tools hyped as job creators are proving to be formidable job eliminators.
Conservatives have long warned that rapid technological disruption, untethered from moral and cultural guardrails, reshapes society in unpredictable ways. Silicon Valley’s elite spent years lecturing the public about the boundless benefits of AI while quietly preparing their own organizations for a future with fewer humans. Now the bill comes due for rank-and-file employees who bought the hype.
The irony runs deeper. Many of these same companies championed open borders, diversity initiatives, and expansive social programs—policies that often burden the very working and middle-class Americans now facing displacement. Meanwhile, they restructure with clinical efficiency, offering generous severance packages that soften the blow for this round but do nothing to address the long-term hollowing out of skilled technical careers.
Cloudflare’s move reflects a pattern visible at other firms. From Meta to smaller players, AI is accelerating the elimination of roles once considered safe from automation. What makes this case notable is the transparency. The founders did not pretend the cuts were performance-based or temporary. They presented them as a necessary evolution into an AI-first company where human roles must be “intentional[ly]” architected around machine capabilities.
Critics of unchecked technological progress have pointed out for years that innovation without wisdom leads to upheaval. When companies treat their workforce as adjustable inputs in an optimization problem, they risk eroding the human dignity that Scripture affirms from Genesis onward. Yet the drive for efficiency marches forward, often justified by competitive necessity in a global marketplace.
As believers, we recognize both the creative potential and the disruptive power of human ingenuity. The same God who endowed mankind with dominion over creation also calls us to justice, mercy, and care for our neighbor. In times of rapid change, that means rejecting both Luddite resistance to progress and the cold utilitarianism that discards people when they become economically inconvenient.
Cloudflare expects the restructuring to wrap up by the end of the third quarter. By then, the company hopes to emerge leaner, faster, and more competitive. Whether the broader culture can absorb these shifts without deepening social fractures remains an open question—one that policymakers, business leaders, and citizens ignore at their peril.
For now, more than a thousand Cloudflare employees are updating resumes in a job market increasingly crowded by others displaced by the very technology their industry celebrates. The memo was savage in its clarity. The future it describes may prove even more unforgiving.
Two Storms, One Harvest
Every food crisis in living memory has been a one-shock event. The 2008 price spike was a commodity bubble. The 2020 shortages were a logistics failure. The 2022 grain scare was a war on one exporter’s ports. Each time, the system bent, adjusted, and recovered, and each time the experts assured us afterward that global markets are simply too big and too diversified to fail.
What nobody in Washington seems eager to discuss is that 2026 is shaping up to be something the modern food system has never actually faced. Two independent shocks, one climatic and one geopolitical, are converging on the same harvest cycle at the same time. Not sequentially. Simultaneously.
Start with the weather. The Pacific Ocean is currently building toward what forecasters now openly call a record event. NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center puts the odds of at least a strong El Niño near 88 percent, with roughly two in three odds it reaches “very strong” status, the tier reserved for perhaps three or four events in the entire satellite era. Every major global model now projects a median peak in Super El Niño territory, and most of them project it exceeding the 2015-16 event, which until now held the modern record. Sea surface anomalies were already brushing the super threshold in mid-July, months before these events normally peak. The atmosphere has already shifted into El Niño mode, and the event is forecast to crest in late fall and early winter.
This is not about “climate change.” It’s about the standard cycles of weather, and the cycle we’re currently in is one that has likely devastated societies in the past. We’re better prepared as a society today, but not all Americans are equally prepared.
Serious households have started doing the quiet math on their own. Grocery bills tell part of the story, and the forecast maps tell the rest, which is why long-term food storage has moved from fringe hobby to mainstream line item in the family budget, with established suppliers like Heaven’s Harvest seeing demand from people who five years ago would have rolled their eyes at the idea. That instinct is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition, and the pattern is worth walking through carefully.
Editor’s Note: Heaven’s Harvest IS a sponsor, but the warnings of this article are real and would be written even if we didn’t have a survival food sponsor. With that said, those who take advantage of what they offer can use promo code “Patriot” for 15% off.
The Fertilizer Clock Is Already Running
While the Pacific warms, the second shock has been unfolding in the Strait of Hormuz. The conflict with Iran turned the world’s most important energy chokepoint into a contested waterway, and the consequences reach far beyond the gas pump. Roughly a third of global fertilizer trade moves through Hormuz, and the disruption sent urea prices up 86 percent year over year by March, with a 53 percent jump in a single month.
The World Bank projects energy prices rising about 24 percent in 2026 and fertilizer about 31 percent. By its own accounting, fertilizer prices ran 35 percent higher in the first five months of this year than the same period last year.
Here is the mechanism the nightly news will not explain. Fertilizer is not a grocery item. It is a time-delayed input. The nitrogen a farmer in Iowa or Punjab could not afford to apply this spring does not show up as a problem this spring. It shows up as a thinner harvest six to twelve months later.
The World Bank’s own food security brief concedes that the effects of reduced applications earlier this season “are likely to become visible only later in harvest outcomes.” Translate that from institutional language into plain English and it means this. The damage is already done, it is already in the ground, and we are simply waiting for it to arrive on the shelf.
Now check the calendar. Six to twelve months from the spring planting season lands us squarely in late 2026 and early 2027. Which is precisely when the strongest El Niño in the instrumental record is forecast to peak, bringing its signature droughts to Southeast Asia, Australia, southern Africa, northern Brazil, and South Asia, the very regions that grow the world’s rice, sugar, and oilseeds.
The World Bank warns openly that a strong El Niño “could disrupt multiple crop belts simultaneously” on top of the conflict-driven input costs. Their baseline projection assumes the Middle East disruptions ease by autumn. What in the last two years of Middle East history suggests that assumption is safe?
The System Has No Slack Left
The comfortable answer is that global markets always adjust. But adjustment requires slack, and the slack is gone. Global cereal production is expected to decline from last year’s records even before El Niño does its work. The UN World Food Programme, hardly a den of right-wing preppers, is calling this the most significant disruption to its supply chains since Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, and its supply chain director put the stakes bluntly.
Today’s supply chain challenges are tomorrow’s hunger crisis.
There is also a political dimension that markets cannot price. When food gets scarce, governments do not behave like economists. They behave like politicians. Export bans, hoarding mandates, and panic buying at the national level turned the modest rice shortfall of 2008 into a global crisis, and analysts are already warning that import-dependent nations are the first dominoes.
The 2015-16 Super El Niño, a far weaker event than what is now forecast, threw tens of millions into food stress across Africa and Asia. This one is projected to be stronger, and it arrives with fertilizer already rationed by price and shipping lanes already contested by missiles.
What Joseph Knew
Scripture does not treat preparation for lean years as faithlessness. It treats it as wisdom delivered in advance to those willing to act on it.
Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt: And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.
Joseph did not respond to that warning with a hashtag or a committee. He stored grain during the years of abundance, and when the famine came, Egypt stood while its neighbors begged. The lesson is not that famine is certain. It is that the time to prepare is precisely when preparation still looks optional.
Nobody who filled a pantry in a year of plenty has ever regretted it, and nobody standing in an empty aisle has ever been glad he waited for certainty.
None of this calls for panic, and panic is the enemy of sound judgment anyway. It calls for the same unglamorous prudence our grandparents considered ordinary. Keep some cash margin, know your local growers, and put real food in deep storage while it is cheap and available, because the entire arc of this story is that cheap and available is a closing window.
Families looking for a straightforward place to start can visit Heaven’s Harvest and use promo code Patriot for 15 percent off long-term storable food. The forecasts may yet soften, the strait may yet reopen, and we should pray they do. But hope is a fine thing to hold and a foolish thing to eat.
