Not everyone was happy about AI Mark, however, with scores of people quickly and angrily responding to his social media post.
“In effect it makes you even more inaccessible to your constituents than you already are,” replied one.
“You’ve done the near impossible and united everyone in thinking this is an awful, lazy, ecologically irresponsible idea,” wrote another, referencing the hidden environmental costs of using AI chatbots.
The real Mark Sewards could not immediately be reached for comment.
But AI Mark was available, and even sounded like the former maths teacher-turned-MP, Yorkshire accent and all.
“This AI service is designed to assist in providing information, and facilitate communication with constituents but it does not replace the direct engagement that Mark has with the community,” the chatbot said, echoing Sewards’s social media posts.
“I’m here to listen to your local and policy issues and pass your thoughts along to his team.”
The British MP isn’t the first politician to provoke frustration with his adoption of AI, as lawmaking becomes just the latest in a long string of professions upended by the new technology.
Swedish Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson has come under criticism this week for admitting that he regularly uses AI tools such as ChatGPT and French service LeChat as sounding boards for political decisions.
“I use it myself quite often. If for nothing else than for a second opinion,” Kristersson told Swedish financial newspaper Dagens industri.
“What have others done? And should we think the complete opposite? Those types of questions.”
Some experts were alarmed.
“The more he relies on AI for simple things, the bigger the risk of an overconfidence in the system. It is a slippery slope,” Virginia Dignum, a professor of responsible artificial intelligence at Umea University, told Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter.
“We must demand that reliability can be guaranteed. We didn’t vote for ChatGPT.”
In Wyoming, the United States, a candidate in last year’s mayoral election promised that if he were elected, he’d let an AI bot run the capital city of Cheyenne.
Despite “AI for Mayor” posters and repeated assertions by the human candidate on the ballot paper that he was nothing more than a “meat avatar”, the innovative campaign came up well short.
A similar effort in England last year appears to have helped inspire Sewards’s chatbot.
In the constituency of Brighton Pavilion, “AI Steve” described himself as “the only candidate who can have a conversation with 45,000 constituents at the same time and form policies based on what’s just been discussed”.
The human behind the MP campaign – who promised to do things AI Steve couldn’t, such as attend Parliament – was a local businessman named Steven Endacott.
He is the chairman of Neural Voice, the AI voice company behind Sewards’s chatbot.
Jeremy Smith, the company’s chief executive and co-founder, told the West Leeds Dispatch that the idea was to give constituents more access to their local MP, not less.
“For too long, politicians have been out of reach for their constituents,” he said.
“There’s only so many hours in a day. We are working with Mark to bring access to his office to the masses and to make him more accessible to the constituents of Leeds South West and Morley, by using revolutionary technology.”
Smith said he believed other politicians would soon follow suit.
There are valid questions to be asked about the data and training used to build such AI systems as well as their capacity for hallucination, said Amy McLennan, an associate professor at the Australian National University’s School of Cybernetics.
But concerns over AI stirred by apocalyptic sci-fi films like The Terminator sometimes overshadow the technology’s potential use as a helpful tool, she said.
“Of course, if you’re an MP, your constituents’ fears are valid and need to be listened to and responded to,” McLennan said.
“There is a question around what is the best way to do that. Is it to stop using the technology? Or is it to seek input on what [its use] might best look like?”
People who want to chat with AI Mark are quickly met with a greeting that raises some philosophical questions.
“Hi, I’m AI Mark Sewards, Labour MP for Leeds South West and Morley,” a voice very much like Sewards’ says. “How can I help you today?”
Of course, AI Mark Sewards is not actually the MP, which is part of the issue.
In several conversations with a reporter for the Washington Post, the AI clone didn’t make any missteps but was clunky and evasive at times.
Asked what were the most important issues for Sewards’ constituents, AI Mark said: “I don’t have that information in my knowledge base”.
Asked what his top priority was, AI Mark did what most real politicians would do and hedged, listing “education, transport, and the cost of living”.
A question about Palestinian statehood prompted a carefully worded response about the need for a two-state solution, although a follow-up query about a timeline for Britain’s recognition of the state drew a blank.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer recently announced that Britain will recognise a Palestinian state in September unless Israel agrees to a ceasefire in Gaza, stops building settlements in the West Bank and commits to a two-state solution.
AI Mark also refused to comment when asked about US President Donald Trump or even Starmer, though he was happy to discuss his support for local football team Leeds United.
The Washington Post asked if the artificial Mark ever disagreed with the real one.
“As an AI, I don’t have personal feelings or disagreements,” the clone replied.
“My role is to represent the views and policies of Mark Sewards.”