There is a peculiar kind of candor that only arrives after the quarterly earnings report. Less than four months before Bank of America posted $8.6 billion in first-quarter profit — $1.6 billion more than the same period a year prior — CEO Brian Moynihan was reassuring his 210,000 employees on national television that artificial intelligence was not a threat to their livelihoods. Then the numbers came in, and the reassurances quietly gave way to something closer to the truth.
The bank’s improved bottom line, Moynihan acknowledged in the earnings call, was aided by shedding 1,000 positions through attrition — achieved by, in his own repeated words, “eliminating work and applying technology,” the technology being artificial intelligence. He then predicted more of the same in the months and years ahead. It is a pattern now familiar across the financial sector, where corporate language about AI “augmenting” human workers has been steadily replaced by the language of headcount reduction and operational efficiency.
The numbers tell the story plainly. JPMorgan Chase, Citi, Bank of America, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, and Wells Fargo collectively recorded $47 billion in profits — up 18 percent — while shedding 15,000 employees. This is not a warning sign on the horizon. It is the horizon.
The Gap Between the Press Release and the Earnings Call
Wall Street has long maintained a carefully curated public posture on artificial intelligence — that it is a tool of empowerment, a force multiplier for human talent rather than a replacement for it. That posture is now visibly crumbling under the weight of its own quarterly data. The more honest framing is this: AI is extraordinarily good at eliminating costs, and in a publicly traded company, eliminating costs is a fiduciary virtue. The workers whose jobs constitute those costs occupy a secondary concern.
At Wells Fargo, the transformation is already granular and operational. AI software is generating instant memos on the creditworthiness of potential borrowers, producing the pitchbooks that banks use to persuade companies to consider merger deals, and rerouting or automatically answering all types of phone calls from credit card customers. These are not hypothetical future applications. They are functioning systems, already deployed, already reducing headcount.
JPMorgan’s tools — with names like IndexGPT and Proxy IQ — are handling trading signals and shareholder votes. The bank’s CEO Jamie Dimon has been more direct than most of his peers. “It will eliminate jobs,” he has said flatly. “People should stop sticking their heads in the sand.” He has also called on government, society, and business to discuss retraining and early retirement, acknowledging that the transition will not be painless: “You can’t just take all these people and throw them on the street where the next job is making $30,000 a year, when they’re making $150,000.”
Entry-Level Work Is the First to Go
The heaviest casualties of this first wave are concentrated at the bottom of the professional ladder — exactly where young people are supposed to begin. Back-office compliance work, document processing, basic financial analysis, customer service routing — these are the positions that once served as the training grounds for careers in finance. They are also the positions AI handles most efficiently right now.
JPMorgan Chase received 200,000 applications for roughly 2,000 entry-level positions this year. The mathematical reality embedded in that ratio is sobering. For every hundred people who applied, ninety-nine were turned away — and the industry employing those two thousand is simultaneously developing technology designed to reduce that number further.
Generation Z entered the workforce having been told that education and ambition would be rewarded with opportunity. Jerome Powell and multiple economists have validated that Gen Z is facing a genuine “hiring nightmare,” especially for recent college graduates trying to land their first white-collar job — tied to a low-hire, low-fire labor market, the rapid automation of entry-level roles, and a tech industry whose workforce is getting older as Gen Z’s presence shrinks. It is a generational reckoning that no one in a position of institutional authority seems particularly eager to address with honesty.
The Speed of the Thing
What makes this disruption qualitatively different from prior technological waves is not the fact of displacement — economies have always reorganized around new tools — but the speed. ChatGPT is barely three years old. The major AI platforms that now handle sophisticated financial analysis, legal document review, and software development are younger than most of the entry-level employees they are replacing. The Industrial Revolution unfolded across generations. This one is unfolding across product release cycles.
Goldman Sachs economists have pegged AI-related displacement at between 5,000 and 10,000 monthly U.S. job losses in exposed sectors. Companies are deliberately shifting budgets toward AI infrastructure at the expense of existing headcount — and the spending is not replacing labor gradually. It is replacing it in concentrated bursts tied to specific product decisions and reorganizations. The word “gradual” no longer applies.
The tech sector, often imagined as the beneficiary of the AI revolution, is itself not immune. Block, the payments company founded by Jack Dorsey, laid off more than 4,000 employees — roughly half its total workforce — in 2026. Amazon cut approximately 14,000 positions. Oracle reportedly eliminated between 20,000 and 30,000 roles across multiple regions. These are not the tremors of a sector adjusting. These are institutions fundamentally reorganizing what human labor is for.
The UBI Escape Hatch
When the executives and economists who manage this transformation are pressed about where displaced workers will go, a certain answer has begun surfacing with uncomfortable regularity. Universal basic income — the government providing a direct cash payment to all citizens regardless of employment — is increasingly floated as the long-term equilibrium for a society in which AI handles the majority of productive work. This is the implicit acknowledgment behind the confident earnings calls and the reassuring investor presentations: that there may simply not be enough work left for the number of people who need it.
The political class has not caught up. No serious legislative framework for managing this transition exists at the federal level. The workforce training programs that do exist were designed for industrial dislocation, not algorithmic displacement. And the timeline between “AI is not a threat to your jobs” and “we shed 1,000 positions last quarter” turned out to be less than four months at Bank of America alone.
But UBI is a Marxist abomination, even if some say it is inevitable.
Scripture confronted this tension between the promises of the powerful and the reality experienced by the ordinary long before there were quarterly earnings reports to parse it. In the book of Isaiah, the Lord declares: “Woe unto them that decree unrighteous decrees, and that write grievousness which they have prescribed; to turn aside the needy from judgment, and to take away the right from the poor of my people.” The workers being assured that their jobs are safe while the mechanisms of their replacement are already running deserve something more than corporate candor delivered in hindsight.
What Comes Next
The honest answer is that nobody knows — not the CEOs, not the economists, not the regulators. AI may hit a ceiling. The productivity gains may prove less transformative at higher levels of the career hierarchy than they are at entry level. Consumer benefits — cheaper services, better competition among institutions, more accessible financial products — may eventually create enough economic growth to absorb the displaced.
Or it may not. The models that currently write memos and process creditworthiness assessments are, as of this moment, also being used to write code for better AI models. The feedback loop is not hypothetical. It is running. The labor market is now rewarding specificity over breadth — deep domain expertise paired with AI proficiency, rather than general professional competence alone. That is a meaningful shift in what it takes to remain economically viable, and the window for acquiring those skills is narrowing faster than most public policy discussions have acknowledged.
The executives currently booking record profits while reducing headcount are not villains in a simple morality tale. They are responding rationally to the tools available to them and to the fiduciary obligations they carry. The more uncomfortable question is what obligations exist toward the workers whose livelihoods are being reorganized away — and whether the institutions capable of answering that question have any intention of doing so before the numbers force their hand.
If Bank of America’s Q1 2026 earnings call is any guide, the answer will arrive on a four-month delay, in careful corporate language, after the checks have already cleared.
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.
