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The BBC reports:

Mr Page said the less data companies like Google were able to hold the “more likely we all are to die”.

We hear many statements like this as Web 2.0 slouches towards technotopia to be born, and the more we hear them, the more we should question them. Certainly technology provides us with a huge range of benefits, but claims like the one above don’t do anybody any favours, particularly when they are so transparently self-serving. By happy coincidence, apparently, Google’s desire to monopolise your data coincides with Google’s desire to save your life!

The fundamental problem with people working in the technology sector is that they believe that societies can be fixed in a similar way to software. If only we had the data, Mr Page laments, we could save more lives. We”ll have a hard time demonstrating a causal link between the length of time Google keeps data and lives saved, but that may well be the case; the question is whether our lives are worth the price we pay for that data.

But wait! you cry, you can’t put a price on peoples’ lives! Unfortunately you can, and we do, and that’s the entire basis of public health initiatives of all kinds. So the social cost of permitting Google to keep our data for as long as it damn well wants must play a role in our decision-making, and we shouldn’t let technology (and particularly technology companies) determine our policy decisions. Out in the real world, problems are more complex than the data allow.

If you don’t live on the web, then you will have literally no idea what #amazonfail was. Don’t worry – it’s gone now, and I’m guessing it had absolutely no impact on your life. In the echo chamber that is the web, however, it was huge; and it’s had a twofold impact.

First it’s shown the way in which bonds of trust between retailer and consumer can be broken very easily on the web, which people seem to think is a big issue – as if anybody “trusts” a web retailer to do anything more than deliver on time, and as if anybody is going to remember this about a month from now. I am confident that the negative impact of #amazonfail will last all the way into next week and then be forgotten just like everything else on the web.

Second it’s clear that the web remains far from the dreams of the technotopians in terms of empowering people’s decision-making through providing better information. Clay Shirky’s mea culpa has attracted a lot of praise for providing a clear-eyed insight into the mechanics of mob rule on the web, but nobody’s noticed that it conceals more than it reveals. Let’s break it down:

  • Shirky is human.
  • Humans suffer from a huge range of cognitive biases.
  • These biases lead them to do stupid things without realising it.
  • In particular, people do really stupid things when they get into a crowd filled with lots of other people doing the same stupid thing (which is itself a bias).
  • Once those stupid things have been done, it’s almost impossible to go back on them, because that requires that you admit to yourself that you did something stupid (and that’s a whole psychological heory of bias).

To the casual observer of human behaviour,  none of these things will come as any surprise. That only makes it more surprising to find that although Shirky – a genuinely insightful thinker who has studied crowd behaviour for many years – realises that he fell into an obvious trap and now regrets it, he doesn’t seem to realise that this is what humans are like, and that no amount of technological progress is going to change that.

The comments on Shirky’s post are filled with people who joined the crowd and now refuse to face the fact that perhaps they were wrong – they’re still whining about how Amazon must have done something wrong, even if that something was “having a database”. My particular favourite is an attempted defense that Shirky links to (for balance) entitled Why Amazon Didn’t Just Have a Glitch:

The issue with #AmazonFail isn’t that a French Employee pressed the wrong button or could affect the system by changing “false” to “true” in filtering certain “adult” classified items, it’s that Amazon’s system has assumptions such as: sexual orientation is part of “adult”. And “gay” is part of “adult.” In other words, #AmazonFail is about the subconscious assumptions of people built into algorithms and classification that contain discriminatory ideas.

Essentially her defense of the cognitive biases of #amazonfail is to attack the cognitive biases of Amazon, and it’s somehow moving to see this testimony to our common humanity, even if that testimony is utterly lacking in self-awareness. The epic fail of #amazonfail is an opportunity for many people to raise that level of self-awareness, but only a few such as Shirky will make the most of that opportunity.

Once again, Facebook has wandered into a minefield and then acted surprised when it lost a leg. In response to user protests, the company has reversed its policy regarding retention of personal data (as we all know, something of a bugbear of mine), in similar fashion to the reversal of policy regarding the Beacon advertising system. Why does this keep happening to Facebook, and why does it point out the fundamental flaw in Web 2.0 business models?

I’m a fan of Andrew Keen’s critique of Web 2.0 as a viable alternative to existing media, but it’s hard for me to work up too much concern over the death of old media – as far as I’m concerned, it’s just a phase transition that we’re going through. In Chapter 4 of Predictably Irrational, however, Dan Ariely nails it when he describes the difference between social norms and market norms:

So we live in two worlds: one characterized by social ex­changes and the other characterized by market exchanges. And we apply different norms to these two kinds of relation­ships. Moreover, introducing market norms into social ex­changes, as we have seen, violates the social norms and hurts the relationships. Once this type of mistake has been com­mitted, recovering a social relationship is difficult.

The problem for web businesses – and particularly for Web 2.0 businesses – is that people enter into them on the basis of social norms. They’re free and they’re friendly, and everybody is welcome to the party, and so when we’re using them we assume that they’ll treat us in the same way as our friends would, keeping our confidences and not abusing our trust.

As soon as those businesses introduce market norms – i.e. as soon as they try to monetise the relationship, which every Web 2.0 business must do sooner or later (and preferably before the venture capital runs out) – then the bond is broken. The fundamental basis of Web 2.0 business – community rather than customer relationships – is not financially viable.

There are people who believe that Twitter (for example) can make money, but it’s telling that for all the wonderful suggestions made by bloggers over the last year, precisely none of them has been implemented. That doesn’t mean that Web 2.0 is dead, but anybody expecting to make any money from their investments is probably going to find their friends leaving the party to go next door.

To be perfectly honest, the Shadow Robot Company sounds like an evil corporation from a 1990s anime – maybe Mobile Suit Gundam: Hoxton. ON THE OTHER HAND (wait for it, that phrase becomes pretty important shortly) they actually design and make robot components, so the name is fairly appropriate. Plus, two of my friends work for them (or with them, or around them, or something) so I have a vested interest. Actually I don’t have a vested interest, but I wish I did, because robot parts are going to be big in the future. Not big physically – although they might be, especially if that whole Gundam thing has a revival – but big in a pop-cultural sense. Trust me, you heard it here first, or you read it somewhere else first, which seems more likely. Anyway, Michael Pollitt (yes, one of those friends and my ex-flatmate) circulated some press coverage to me a while back, which I managed to ignore. In a spirit of reconciliation, here are the videos:

YouTube Preview Image YouTube Preview Image

They build robot hands, you see? That’s why I said “On the other hand”!

Truly my time is wasted on you, the reader.

Things you need to know:

  • This computer is really ancient and has been through several disaster zones. As a result it hates me.
  • I’ve had a really terrible couple of weeks, so it makes sense that it would choose now to strike at me.
  • I know people, see? People who know things. People who know things about computers.

I try to avoid going online at the weekends, but on Saturday I tried to open my email. I use Thunderbird, which is usually very reliable, but to my surprise ALL MY MESSAGES HAD DIED AND GONE TO EMAIL HEAVEN. I mean all of them – every last message. Gone. Needless to say, emotions raced across my face: shock, anger, disgust, hunger (I missed breakfast) and finally resignation.

This morning I came back to my computer and found that my email had not magically re-appeared.1 It was time to take action, which consisted of whining to my friends until somebody offered to help. Sure enough, Tom L. introduced me to Guru Stefano, who fixed things in about 40 minutes over Skype. In the interests of servicing the web, I explain everything here. Skip to the end if you find this sort of thing really dull – I’ve included a nice epigram to finish off the post.

Read the rest of this entry »

  1. This is my usual approach to problems – go away for a few days and see if it all works out. You’d be surprised how frequently this is effective. []

Many technotopian scenarios can be described as “the geek will inherit the earth”. The most recent example of two rich white men wearing heavy-rimmed glasses pontificating about how indispensable they’re going to be after the apocalypse recently appeared on boingboing and worldchanging – two sites which have a lot to recommend them but also have a vastly inflated idea of their own importance. I’m going to quote a big chunk, because I like making myself angry.

What would it be like, we wondered, if folks who knew tools and innovation left the comfy bright green cities and traveled to the dead mall suburban slums, rustbelt browntowns and climate-smacked farm communities and started helping the locals get the tools they needed. We imagined that it would need an almost missionary fervor, something like the Inquisition (which largely destroyed knowledge) in reverse, a crusade of open sharing, or as Cory promptly dubbed it, the Outquisition.1

Imagine these folks like this passing out free textbooks, running holistic programs for kids, creating local knowledge management systems, launching microfinance projects, mobilebanking and complementary currencies. Helping rural landowners apply climate foresight and farm biodiversity. Building cheap, smart, quality housing for displaced people (not to mention better refugee camps), or an Open Architecture Network for cheap informal rehabs of run-down suburban housing. Hacking together DIY windmills and ad hoc smart grids, communication systems, water treatment systems — and getting really good at adaptive reuses of outdated infrastructure. In other words, these folks would be redistributing the future at a furious clip.

Yeah, just imagine! Actually reading about how development works2 would reveal that what they’re describing is one of Doctorow’s barely-readable novels rather than the real world. The model of sending out experts to tell the ignorant masses how to do things right (which the ignorant masses welcome with open arms, if they know what’s good for them, etc, etc) has been almost completely discredited as a vehicle for meaningful development since the early 1990s, making it deeply ironic that they would project their their self-aggrandising futurism onto such a retrograde screen.

  1. This is a really uninspired, inaccurate and embarrassing title. []
  2. They could start with Duncan Green’s excellent From Poverty to Power, which is as good an overview of mainstream development thinking as you’ll find. []

While reading this post, you should be listening to

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by Coldcut.

Ah, those were the days, when I would hang out with Rockwell and shoot cans off the top of Germaine’s afro. Everything’s different now, of course – Siva Vaidhyanathan on the Panopticon:

Conceived of as a theory of social control by the 20th century’s Michel Foucault, the Panopticon was originally the design of the 19th century’s Jeremy Bentham for a prison in which all the inmates would force themselves to behave because they would assume that every moment and act was being observed. Foucault argued that state programs to monitor and record our comings and goings create imaginary cages that limit what citizens do out of fear of being observed by those in power…

So far, so non-significant – the Panopticon is regularly trotted out in discussions about law and order, civil liberties, surveillance and so forth. Yet Vaidhyanathan questions whether the concept has any explanatory power:

… people tend to act out and get weird regardless of the number of cameras pointed at them. There are thousands of surveillance cameras in London and New York, yet those cities do not lack for the eccentric and avant-garde. Long before closed-circuit cameras, cities were places to be seen, not to be not seen… There is no empirical reason to believe that awareness of surveillance limits the imagination or cows the creative in a market economy under a nontotalitarian state.

This is where your doubts start to grab the sides of the kayak and start rocking, because I’m not sure that either Bentham or Foucault were worried that the Panopticon might prevent maverick art installations. The genius of the Panopticon is that it disposes of the need for the obvious trappings of totalitarianism – you didn’t need to keep an eye on people all the time when they’re disposed to keeping an eye on themselves on your behalf, even when you’re not actually watching them. Vaidhyanathan gets back on track though:

Basically, the Panopticon must be visible and ubiquitous, or it cannot influence behavior as Bentham and Foucault assumed it would.

But wait! We hear news (in our kayak) of the complete failure of the Panopticon from the UK, where Detective Chief Inspector Mick Neville head of the Visual Images, Identifications and Detections Office at New Scotland Yard tells the world:

CCTV was originally seen as a preventative measure. Billions of pounds has been spent on kit, but no thought has gone into how the police are going to use the images and how they will be used in court. It’s been an utter fiasco: only 3% of crimes were solved by CCTV. There’s no fear of CCTV. Why don’t people fear it? [They think] the cameras are not working.

So even when the Panopticon is visible and ubiquitous, nobody cares. How’s that for rad irony? Foucault was wrong; he was also French, and now he’s dead; three strikes against his credibility. Vaidhyanathan now plumps for the Nonopticon (or latterly, Cryptopticon):

The Nonopticon describes a state of being watched without knowing it, or at least the extent of it. The most pervasive surveillance does not reveal itself or remains completely clandestine (barring leaks to The New York Times). We don’t know all the ways we are being recorded or profiled. We are not supposed to understand that we are the product of marketers as much as we are the market. And we are not supposed to consider the extent to which the state tracks our behavior and considers us all suspects in crimes yet to be imagined, let alone committed.

It’s none of those things – it’s just that we don’t care. All of this information is accessible, it’s just that most people can’t be bothered to track it, and the reason for that is twofold.

  1. We don’t care that we’re the product of marketers because the marketers sell us shiny things which help us get our buzz on. The invisibility of this is partly what appeals to us, because it helps to maintain the illusion that we’re choosing our purchases and pleasures freely. Our illusion of control is more appealing than control itself.
  2. We don’t care about the state considering us all suspects because our particular state has repeatedly shown itself unable to organise the Olympics a piss-up in a brewery. When you hear about human rights abuses attributed to surveillance technology, it always turns out that somebody somewhere dropped the ball and got embarrassed.

Of course all that changes if our state started to turn into that other type of state – you know, like the one I saw in that film about leftwing bedroom DJs – but in that film, the surveillance was ubiquitous and invisible, and the mixing was crap. Remember what I wrote earlier about the genius of the totalitarian? The real power of the panopticon lies precisely in its invisibility – you know that somebody might be looking but you have no idea if they are. The surveillance state that you see in The Lives of Others shows this perfectly – you don’t know if they’re watching or listening, or even who they are.

With a jarring shift in tone, Vaidhyanathan ends on a rousing chorus:

We must demand to know the terms of surveillance by our state and its partners in the private sector. We must be allowed to be agents in the construction of our reputations. We must insist on fairness, openness, and accountability in those institutions that commit such widespread surveillance. Otherwise we will cease being citizens. We will be subjects, mere fodder for our watchers, means instead of ends.

That’s all very inspiring, and of course I agree, but it misses one key point. Following the information revolution, we cease being citizens and become data points, the inevitable outcome of the layer of technology that’s being added to our societies and our lives. Bentham and then Foucault were absolutely right about how the Panopticon fitted their respective times, and the Panopticon is still with us.

In fact, the Panopticon is us.

(HT: Eric Rauchway at Crooked Timber.)

if:book meditates on the nature of libraries private and public:

There’s a pessimistic view of human behavior embedded in library construction and the watchfulness of the sentries who guard them: if we, the public, could get at the books, we would most certainly destroy them.

There was the expectation that the barriers would be torn down with the coming of electronic libraries, that once the book’s spirit left its object, it would likewise escape its economic shackles. Certainly it makes sense: an electronic text isn’t degraded by copying in the same way that every reading is an infinitesimal destruction of a physical book.

Is this “infinitesimal destruction” – the sense that an artifact being degraded by those who value it the most – embedded in the nature of a book? I find electronic books ghostly and unsatisfying; the Kindle is a ouija board for the stillborn soul of a book, a mausoleum rather than a library. Is it wrong to want the world to collapse slowly around me while I collapse back into it?

I recently disengaged from Facebook. It was fun for about two months, but then the endless round of trivial “applications” became oppressive and the irritating whimsy of the interface made me uneasy. Facebook didn’t represent my life in any way – it didn’t even represent my online life in any way. While I’ve kept my account, I no longer respond to invitations to “Become a Vampire” or “SuperPoke” anybody – and if you try to get me to play Scrabulous, I will fight you (offer extends to real life only).

Facebook claims to be “a social utility that connects you with the people around you”, but it doesn’t feel much like that to me, and Tom Hodgkinson smacked that claim down in his Guardian comment last week, With Friends Like These. Hodgkinson is a grumpy bastard Luddite – the column starts with the words “I despise Facebook” and gets more vitriolic from there – but he nails some of the deep and unpleasant realities behind Facebook’s founders and language:

Facebook is a well-funded project, and the people behind the funding, a group of Silicon Valley venture capitalists, have a clearly thought out ideology that they are hoping to spread around the world. Facebook is one manifestation of this ideology. Like PayPal before it, it is a social experiment, an expression of a particular kind of neoconservative libertarianism. On Facebook, you can be free to be who you want to be, as long as you don’t mind being bombarded by adverts for the world’s biggest brands.

Nobody has enunciated my concerns as well as Giant Robot, a Finnish electro group (and awesome Finnish group, by the way), in their track “Public=Shopping”. Now this track is about the commodification of urban life, but it resonates quite heavily with Facebook:

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Public = Shopping
(Internet to make you shop)

Office = Desktop
(Internet to make you work)

Home = Bed and TV
(Internet to make you sleep)

Encourage to consume
Encourage to produce

We know what Facebook is (social utility, blah blah blah), but what is Facebook about? The simple truth is this: Facebook is about other people making money from your friendships. That’s not something I want – how about you?