Have you heard of Sugata Mitra? If you haven’t, then please watch this video. And if you have, please watch this video. And if you’ve already seen it, please watch this video.

He’s an amazing guy; his ideas on “minimally invasive education” and “child-driven education” are fabulous; what’s more important is that he’s put his ideas into practice and shared the results with us. I had the privilege of watching him at TED Global at Oxford in 2010 (thank you Chris, thank you Bruno), and one phrase he used has stayed forever in my memory.

Teachers who can be replaced by computers should be replaced by computers

I may be paraphrasing him, but that’s the gist of what he said. That sentence, along with John Seely Brown’s deceptively simple question (How long does a five-year-old take to become a six-year-old? One year), have influenced quite a lot of my recent thinking on education. But that’s not what this post is about. Or maybe it is. Sometimes I get the feeling the answer to everything is learn, learn, learn. Learning is living. The willingness to learn fuels life.

When I first came across the concept of outsourcing I was mystified. The received wisdom was that we should only outsource operations that had well-defined and mature processes, standardised and repeatable. And a part of me was asking “Why? Surely those are the very processes that are prime candidates for automation? Why would we want to apply the sledgehammer power of human brains to such mundane things?”. I remained mystified as I watched the BPO market mushroom. Paraphrasing Sugata Mitra, I felt that processes that can be replaced by computers should be replaced by computers. And I could not understand why this didn’t happen.

Those were the days, eh? Times when we had regular, standardised, repeatable processes. Times when we knew when, where and how locked-in customers would consume products and services in a predictable, stable manner. Times when listening to the customer was easy because there was nothing they could say and nowhere they could say it. And even if they did say something, it was easy not to listen.

Today it’s a whole different ball game. And for some time now I’ve been stressing the importance of “designing for loss of control” as companies spend more and more time trying to fit square pegs into round holes, as engagement with the customer migrates and mutates away from standardisable processes; companies nowadays seem to spend more time “handling exceptions” than executing the unexceptional.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

Systems can ask for permission. Only humans can ask for forgiveness.

You can come up with rules for how people should do things, and come up with tables of authorities and permissions and what-have-you. Much of the time, all you’ve done is lay out a rulebase that can be automated. And perhaps should be automated. But maybe it’s too late for that. Today, we’re seeing a shift from process to pattern, a shift from rule to principle, a shift from hierarchical to networked, a shift from centralised to edge-based. No more repeatable processes. Values-based activity. With domain experts dotted throughout the organisation, engaging with customers who expect the people they’re dealing with to be empowered to deal.

Customers know all this.

Customers know that exception handling is now the norm. And they expect everyone to know this.

People in customer service will have to learn to improvise. Be creative. We’ve all heard tales about the helpdesk from hell of the type “My computer freezes every time I touch any key” “Well don’t touch any key then!”. That’s not going to work any more.

An aside. I was looking for recipes for jhal muri, street food from Calcutta. Extra-spicy puffed rice with dollops of mustard oil and lashings of fresh green chillies. And I found this site, which I loved. In fact the stimulus for writing this post came from reading the recipe. The author makes the point that there is no such thing as a recipe for the dish; just a set of ingredients that can be varied at will to suit tastes.

And I thought to myself, that’s how customer service will look in time to come. A set of “ingredients”, the things a company can do or make or provide, loosely coupled by the values and principles the company adheres to. A “cook” who puts those ingredients together, on order, to suit what the customer wants.

Creativity in customer service? Perish the thought.

But I’m being serious. It is possible that unless customer service gets creative, it will be the company that perishes, not the thought.

Which brings me to my final point. For this creativity to exist, we should look to the masters of improvisation, in music, drama, art. Before they could improvise, they had to have real in-depth knowledge of the domain, a feel for the space, an intuitive sense of what they do. [Maybe there's a reason for knowledge workers to be called knowledge workers? Hmmm.] Before they could improvise, they had to understand the technical capabilities and constraints of the instruments they played, the tools they used. Intuition, coupled with technical skill, underpinned by experience.

That’s hard.

Or at least it used to be hard.

Now, with enterprise social networks, it’s become a whole lot easier. If they’re designed well, you’re able to able to propagate the principles and values consistently, develop both the tacit as well as the explicit knowledge needed, share and enhance experience, make it easier for people to build their intuition and their skillbase, grow their confidence via active feedback loops. All done in an environment where you can record and look back in order to learn and improve. [Of course this can be used to apportion blame as well, but that's not a sustainable strategy]. That’s why I joined Salesforce just over a year ago, I was fascinated by what could be done with Chatter, how enterprises would be able to transform themselves.

Look around you. See if the culture of work you’re in is about permission or forgiveness. It’s a good yardstick for figuring out whether you’ve really grasped this new world we’re all entering.

My grandfather appears to have grown up in a village in southern India, attended university in what was then Madras, worked as “private secretary” to one of India’s richest men and biggest landowners, the Maharaja of Darbhanga, all on his way to founding a weekly magazine, called Indian Finance, in Calcutta in 1928. He died when I was sixteen months old, and he was succeeded by my father. So I grew up in a home full of books, where reading and writing and publishing put food on the table and, occasionally, even paid the bill.

It was an interesting business, with some very unusual approaches to vertical integration. The family owned the printing press. Made sense. If your livelihood depending on somebody printing, publishing and distributing what you write, then you’d want to own a printing press: the internet hadn’t been built as yet. The family also appeared to have significant stakes, perhaps ownership, in a canteen. You employ a lot of people, they need subsidised food, it made sense to own what must have been a precursor to the modern office cafeteria. But it didn’t appear to be that common in small family-owned businesses in the ’60s.

And there was an ad agency stuck in there somewhere. For the life of me I could not figure out whether we owned the agency, had shares in it, had a strategic alliance, or what, but there was a relationship. So when I was growing up, it looked like we “owned” a magazine, a printing press, a canteen and an ad agency. The set-up gave me some firsthand experience of what Ronald Coase was on about, in terms of the theory of the firm, transaction costs and vertical integration. [Amazingly, Ronald Coase is still alive. I would so love to meet him and talk to him!].

Which brings me to the point of this post.

As a child I used to have the run of the place, driving people insane with my constant questions “Why?”. I couldn’t help it, I was curious. One of the things I was curious about was the fact that every now and then, a parcel would arrive from Air India. And it contained tickets. Which was very strange, because I’d never known anyone who worked for Indian Finance travel abroad. And Air India did nothing but travel abroad, domestic travel used to be the sole domain of Indian Airlines in those days. So why were we buying the tickets? For what and for whom?

Nobody there seemed to know. Which meant that I had to ask my dad. It wasn’t the asking that was difficult, it was the remembering to ask. So many questions, so little time. Yet one day I did.

It turned out that the answer was simple. We wanted Air India to advertise in the magazine. They didn’t have the budget to do it…. as long as we wanted to be paid in cash. They were short cash. And they were long airline seats. So if we were prepared to be paid in airline seats, they would advertise. And so they did.

I have no idea whether my father pitched it to them or whether they pitched it to us, but the deal was done. And we kept getting tickets. Which somehow got used up.

Years later I went to university. Studied economics. Started writing stuff about banking and finance. Tripped and fell into computing in 1980. And here I am, 32 years later.

Fast forward to the 1990s. Lots of stuff published about the internet, increasing-returns models, “holonic” organisations, incubators and ecosystems. That’s when I first met Don Tapscott and read Paradigm Shift, a fabulous book. I think the firm he was with was called something like DMR Consulting, an interesting Canadian outfit. That’s when I fell in love with what Ken Ohmae described as the Borderless World. That’s when I really got into the works of W Brian Arthur.

More influenced by Dr Arthur’s work than anything else, overlaid on my childhood and education, I began to view economies the same way I viewed companies, a network of smaller organisations trading with each other. That view led me to observing the way companies did business with each other through different lenses, applying personal, often warped, interpretations of transaction cost theory to the whole network of companies.

It was a theme that had already been influenced by my exposure to EDI and SITPRO in the early 1980s; it was a theme that continued throughout my time in capital markets; it was a theme I continued to see elsewhere, in other industry sectors, as when Covisint was formed.

The theme was simple. What causes friction between companies in a market? How can that friction be reduced or removed altogether? What can be done with the resources that are freed up by removal of the friction? It may sound boring to many of you, but I enjoyed thinking about it and talking to friends and colleagues about it. Most of the time, in a post-trade world, frictions are caused by “reference data” mismatches: names, addresses, that sort of thing. Low-volatility data are incredibly important in capital markets; vast sums of money are spent in seeking to keep them accurate and up-to-date; and yet errors related to such data continue to be immense sources of friction within that trading environment.

So when I moved to Salesforce.com, I was fascinated to hear about the existence of what would soon become data.com.

Since joining the company, I’ve had the opportunity to watch the Social Enterprise concept emerge and take form; how important it was to connect customers and distribution and supply chain and staff, how an ecosystem of companies would evolve as a result, how this was really a fractal representation of the market and the global economy.

In the past, much of my thinking about this was in a post-trade context. Since the middle of 2010, I’ve been working on a book on Designing For Loss Of Control, and for the last year or so, I’ve been thinking about all this from a pre-trade perspective. What makes it difficult for companies to agree to trade with each other? What would happen if this barrier, this friction, was removed? How would we go about removing the friction?

Probably influenced by my time in capital markets, and probably underpinned by the environment I grew up in, I started thinking of pre-contract frictions as “mismatches” of some sort of other, sophisticated versions of what Air India faced when dealing with the family business. Long one thing, short another, willing to trade only if a way could be found. Again, influenced by capital markets and trading terminology, I kept seeing all this as flows, and as barriers to flow. This whole mindset was reinforced by repeated exposure to the research of John Hagel, John Seely Brown and Lang Davison, in The Big Shift and, prior to that, The Only Sustainable Edge. [And even before that, I felt the same sense and imagery of flow while reading JSB and Paul Duguid on The Social Life Of Information]. How could labour productivity have doubled since 1965 while return on assets dropped precipitously? And would the stocks-to-flows shift reverse that? If so why?

Influenced by all this, I began to visualise the possibility of radical changes in how companies contracted with each other, how risk was transferred, how gains and losses were crystallised. I began to visualise API-like structures connecting firms together, with each pair of connections choosing the best “currency” to execute the trade in, something that happened to suit both sides, some sort of barter 2.0. [Yes, I know that our systems of accounting and valuing what we do are way incapable of dealing with all this; but then some would say they appear to be way incapable of dealing with "normal" business today....] If you contracted with a haulage firm, the measure of success would be in volume of goods carried over distance; with a telco, it might be new customers gained; and so on. Some way of having a shared risk and reward system, such that both parties got paid out only when successful against some commonly agreed measure or baseline.

A part of me gave up on that thought stream, thinking that it would be too complex to agree the terms….. friction in the contracting process would not be reduced unless it was simple to agree the currency and the baseline, and unless it was difficult to game or subvert.

That remained the case until I came across the work of Geoffrey West on cities. How some things experienced superlinearity in comparison to population, while others had sublinear relationships. I had the chance to talk to him at TED Global last year, and understood he was driving the research into the corporate world as well.

And that made me think. For each company-pair, if we could identify something desirable, something that had a simple superlinear relationship to something else that was easy to measure and hard to game, we could simplify the contracting process and de-risk it for both sides.

All this stems from a sense that the way firms contract with each other today is a static stocks-based view of the world. That the world of the cloud is radically different, flexible, elastic, dynamic. That as companies continue to connect with their customers and supply chain, as trust is created through transparency, as information flows faster and faster, as low-volatility data becomes more reliable, we’re going to see new forms of contracting. And new forms of currency. In a typically William-Gibsonian manner, this is happening already.

The social enterprise will accelerate all this. It’s about flow. Not just in the Hagel-Seely Brown-Davison sense. But also in the Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi sense.

Thoughts? Views? Or is this all too much for a Saturday night?

As an adolescent I loved number theory, particularly prime numbers; but that did not stop me looking into some other, apparently mundane aspects of numbers. And finding them fascinating.

Take decimal fractions as an example. I must have been around 14 when I first came across the concept of “circulating” decimals. I understood that some common (or “vulgar”) fractions were easy to express in decimal form: 1/2 was 0.5, and 3/4 was 0.75, and so on. I understood that some common fractions were a little harder to express in decimal form: 2/3 was 0.66666…  and 5/6 was 0.833333…. and so on. But it took me a while to appreciate why. That all this was related to the base we worked on, 10, which led to our using the term “decimal”. That common fractions “terminated” only when the denominator consisted of factors of the base, factors of the number 10. That whenever the denominator contained factors other than 2 or 5, the fraction could not “terminate”. It “recurred”. That “recurring” decimals came in two forms, classic recurring (as in 1/3) and “circulating” (as in 1/11 or 1/13, where a sequence of numbers repeats rather than just a number).

And as I got deeper into circulating decimals, there was a growing sense of magic. As I learnt that circulating decimals had a “period of recurrence”, the length of the sequence of numbers that repeat. So 7 and 13 had periods of recurrence of 6: for example 1/7 was 0.142857142857142857…. where the numbers 142857 repeated in sequence. [Note: there's a lot more to 1/7 represented in decimal form, but that's for a different post some other time.... 1/7 is .142857 recurring, 2/7 is .285714, 3/7 is 428571, and so on, the same six digits but with different start points; as triples e.g. 285 and 714 they always add to 999, as doubles e.g. 28 and 57 and 14 they always add to 99...]

The magic began when my teacher let slip that 1/97 had a period of recurrence of 96. That every 96 digits, the same sequence started off again. It continued when the teacher followed it up by saying “Think about it. The period of recurrence of a circulating decimal can never equal the denominator, the maximum is one less than the denominator”. And then he asked me to go and prove it.

As a class we were just beginning to learn about modular arithmetic at the time, so the teacher knew precisely what he was doing by asking me for the proof. The aha moment was not long in coming, in realising that, regardless of the value of the numerator in the fraction, there were a finite number of unique residues possible. That the maximum number of unique residues is one less than the denominator itself. That 1/97 could not have more than 96 different residues.

The joy was not in being told that 1/97 had a period of recurrence of 96; it was in realising that I could work out why. For myself.

Maybe that’s what Richard Feynman was trying to tell all of us when he said “What I cannot create I do not understand“.  Or what Albert Einstein meant when he said “If I can’t picture it I can’t understand it“.

We all have our aha moments, and that’s when real learning takes place. And good teachers make that possible. I’m grateful that I spent time at a school where they understood this. Thank you St Xavier’s!

Recently I had reason to revisit some of the work of W. Brian Arthur, one of my favourite economists; while doing that, I couldn’t help but re-read his excellent The Nature of Technology. In that book, he makes the point that invention happens for two reasons: someone identifies a need to be filled, as in building jet engines rather than propellor-driven ones;  or someone observes an effect that can be used for something else, as in the discovery of penicillin.

While reading the book, I began to realise that learning itself is a form of invention: as I learn something, I create something inside me. I began to realise that the learning that takes place follows the same path as Brian Arthur’s classification of inventions: sometimes I learn by identifying a need and then trying to meet that need, and sometimes I learn by observing an effect and figuring out how to put that effect to good use.

That then took me down a different route, reminding me of something I’d heard George Gilder say: Every economic era is characterised by new abundances and new scarcities. Successful companies will recognise the abundances as well as the scarcities.

I couldn’t resist conflating these ideas, mashing them up. Could I start considering Brian Arthur’s “needs” as Gilder’s “scarcities”, and his “observed effects” as Gilder’s “abundances”? Could I go further and consider “learning” to be a specific instance of “invention”? Then I reminded myself, I live in the age of the web. I could blog about it, share my ideas, and get feedback. Refine and enrich my understanding. Learn. Hence this post.

Learning as a form of invention. Abundances and scarcities as stimuli for learning. Now I was getting somewhere, even if I didn’t know precisely where this was heading. I then began to think about all this in the context of enterprise software, particularly social software. And came to the following conclusions:

• There are an increasing number of knowledge workers in the workplace.
• With the passage of time, more and more of those knowledge workers will be drawn from the Maker Generation.
• Worker productivity will be influenced heavily by the propensity of the work environment to enable and encourage learning.
• Learning will be stimulated by the discovery of scarcities as well as abundances.
• The environment will therefore have to be designed to help surface those scarcities and abundances.
• The likelihood of this happening will follow Linus’s Law.

Most of you know by now that I work for Salesforce.com. Most of you know that I’m fascinated by that strange space where enterprise software meets collaboration and learning. Most of you will understand why I chose to work there.

Companies that learn to connect their staff, their customers, their distribution networks, their supply webs, their products, to each other…… companies that learn to do this on an infrastructure that helps them identify the new scarcities, discover the new abundances…… companies that realise that there’s a very powerful community effect in place here…. companies that understand how to harness all this for invention and innovation….. those are the companies that will succeed in the economic era we’re entering.

An era where connectivity and compute power and mobility are abundant. An era where customers use this power to create other, newer abundances: the ability to act in groups, the ability to share activity and intention.

An era where privacy and trust are scarce, where there are many demands on a customer’s attention. Where openness and transparency form the foundations of a new, sustainable, trust.

The era of the Social Enterprise.

Some years ago, incensed by the jiggery-pokery of the “copyright industries”, I wrote a post seeking to expose the way they went about making the most outrageous claims when it came to the volume of illegal downloads prevalent. I described them as Numbers of Mass Distraction.

It is clear that recent events surrounding SOPA do not represent the end of the war waged by the copyright industries; at most it’s a skirmish they will concede, albeit very grudgingly, as lost. Judging from the experiences we faced in the UK with The Digital Economy Bill (I covered some of those shenanigans here in Musing About Downloads In The UK) dealing with SOPA (and PIPA) is going to be a long hard war of attrition. A war where every one of us needs to understand the weapons being used against us, as well as the absolute flimsiness of the ammunition.

I intended to write another long post on this flimsiness, then found that someone else had done a far better job than I could’ve. So what I shall do instead is to link to the wonderful post on the subject by research fellow Julian Sanchez at the Cato Institute. Headlined How Copyright Industries Con Congress, it’s a must-read. While you’re at it, it’s also worth reading Julian’s earlier piece on the subject in Ars Technica. The elevator version is as follows: numbers related to the value of illegal downloads as well as numbers related to the number of jobs affected are at best wild unsubstantiated estimates, and at worst devious attempts to flim-flam a legislature crying out to be flim-flammed. The $200-$250 billion number, while it came from a sidebar in a reputable magazine, was actually an unsourced estimate of the value of all counterfeit and pirated goods worldwide, and was clearly stated in the magazine as such. And the 750,000 jobs lost number was taken from a 1986 speech by the then Secretary of Commerce, a number that has never been endorsed by the Department of Commerce.

Julian also reminds us that to make matters worse for the pedlars and purveyors of such phony pap, in April 2010, the United States Government Accountability Office released a report titled Intellectual Property: Observations on Efforts to Quantify The Economic Effects Of Counterfeit and Pirated Goods. Here’s what it says on the first page:

Incidentally, if you still don’t know what SOPA threatens to do, then this Khan Academy video is a good place to start.

Tim O’Reilly has repeatedly cited the lack of sound, independently verifiable, evidence on actual loss in the context of illegal downloads. It is not in the interest of the copyright-industries-lobby to participate in or support any activity aimed at filling this important gap. So more Numbers of Mass Distraction will continue to fly around, seeking to encourage lawmakers to enact first and ask questions much, much later.

We need to keep doing as much as we can to educate all and sundry about all this.

….because sometimes they do matter.

I’ve been fascinated by what people share, when they share it and how they share it for some time now. And for even longer, I’ve been thinking about why we share what we share. [Those of you who’re interested may want to read some of my earlier posts. Why We Share: A sideways look at privacy and Musing About Sharing And Privacy are two that come immediately to mind.

Take this post. The trigger for my writing it was StumbleUpon (I’m a fan!), who wrote to me saying they thought I’d like a particular set of sites. One of which I loved. Because it contained illustrations like the two below:

You guessed it. Someone has spent time taking the world map and reassembling it in order to depict the twelve signs of the Chinese Zodiac. He’s a graphic artist called Kentaro Nagai, you can see the entire work, entitled Twelve Animals: Piece Together for Peace, here.

I loved it. And thought I should share it with you. Because somewhere out there there may be one person whose day becomes brighter by reading this. Because somewhere out there there may be one person inspired to do something about something as a result.

That’s what matters. We’re human beings, social animals who look to each other for friendship, support, camaraderie, motivation, inspiration, whatever.

When I started writing blogs I had some very deep-seated views about what I shared, when and why. When I started on Facebook I had some similarly deep-seated views about the whys and wherefores. By the time I started using Twitter around five years ago, I’d figured out how little I knew about all this, my views were no longer as well-formed or as deep-seated as when I began.

Take Twitter. When I started tweeting, I said to myself “Share only when you have a clear idea how it would be valuable to someone. Even if occasionally that someone is you.” As I learnt more about the phenomenon, those views changed.

Now, I tell myself, “Share as long as you know it will not cause someone else harm”. It was arrogant of me to presume I would know how something would be valuable to someone else, and to filter everything else out.  I realised that the “do no harm” filter was a better one to use. Is it perfect? Certainly not. I rely on your feedback to tell me when I do harm. I will make mistakes. But this way it is more likely that through the organic process of people reading posts like this one, someone somewhere who needed to read this gets to read this.

Life is about abundances and scarcities. For most of my life I’ve seen stuff like bad news and negativity and criticism and cynicism regularly in abundance, and things like good news and encouragement and building people up and saying well done and smiling and making someone happy, all in scarcity.

For some reason, it appeared that what we term as mainstream media tended to focus on the negative, apparently because it “sells”. I can never figure out why. Time we inverted that. And maybe it’s happening.

I find social media in general much more upbeat, more focused on the positive, more willing to thank, to encourage, to support, to enthuse, to motivate. I don’t have a rose-coloured spectacle view of the web, about social networks or about social media: I am acutely aware of how dark a place it can be, how evil cyberbullying can be, how truth can be twisted, how people can subvert the web to nefarious purpose.

But still, overall, I find the web to be an uplifting place where people can and do support each other. It’s something they put in the water. And it’s one of the reasons I share what I share.

Why do you share what you share? Let me know, I’m interested. Fascinated.

I love being human. And I love human beings.

I’m constantly amazed by human ingenuity. How our brains appear to work. How we construct mental models of things. How we observe, imitate, learn. How we repeat that cycle to augment learning. How, once we learn something, we show the capability to extend that learning in new ways. How we share what we do, how we use feedback loops from the people around us to adjust, to improve, to refine.

To learn.

I read somewhere that human children spend the most dependent on their parents and guardians, when compared to the offspring of other creatures. Dependent for food, for clothing, for shelter, even for mobility. Apparently we do this for a reason. To observe; to imitate where possible; to build mental models.

To learn.

Watching. Copying. Trying it out. Failing. Trying it out again. And again.

Learning.

• Learning takes place when you’re given the opportunity to observe how something “works”.
• Learning takes place when you’re given access to the raw materials used to “make” something.
• Learning takes place when you’re given the tools to mix those raw materials up in ways no one else has done before.
• Learning takes place when you’re given the opportunity to share that output with others, and to receive feedback from them.
• Learning takes place by watching, copying, making, sharing, listening, changing, watching, copying….

I spend a lot of time thinking about food. Planning meals. Getting the ingredients. Cooking the meals. Eating. Sharing what I’ve cooked, literally as well as figuratively. Listening to feedback. Adjusting, refining, sometimes even abandoning it altogether, starting again from scratch.

Cooking is one of the ways I learn. I watch programmes (usually on YouTube or similar); read recipes (usually online, like when I want to make dobin mushi); root around for special ingredients (usually online, like when I want to find out where to obtain good matsutake); cook and share that process, using tools like Instagram and epicurious.

All this is possible because generations of human beings have shared what they have observed and learned. I’ve been able to learn from them, to observe how something is done, to try it out, to hear from others how well I’m doing, to adjust and learn.

All this is possible because I have access to the raw materials, the tools, the market, feedback loops.

Last week I was reading about a few modern cooking “inventions”. Someone who really liked the taste, texture, look and feel of chocolate brownies that came from the edge of the pan designed a pan that made only brownies with edges:

Someone else liked their cereal crunchy, and didn’t like what happened when you added milk to a bowl of cereal: only the first few spoonsful were crunchy, the rest ran to sog. So they invented this:

Which was designed to do this:

Human beings have been doing this forever. I like growing a beard every now and then, and wish I had easy access to something like this: a moustache-cup for drinking:

It’s not just about food either. There’s always someone coming up with a new way of doing something, or new things that help you do something. Take a look at this:

There have been few barriers to cooking, other than the natural laws of demand and supply. Of course people have tried to subvert that law in the usual ways: creating monopolies, controlling supply by hoarding, cartelising prices, that sort of thing. But by and large the world of cooking has been open to innovation. And our lives have been enriched as a result.

This hasn’t been true in the world of manufacturing: access to raw materials, designs, tools to manufacture, has been somewhat less than democratic. But that’s changing, with opensource hardware and software and patterns and specifications. Multipurpose materials like this will soon be freely available:

The freedom to model something physical will soon be connected with the freedom to make copies of that something, which is what 3D printers are about:

The raw materials will improve in their versatility and durability; prices will drop; access will become universal. The same will happen to 3D printers. We’re heading for a time when you can “fax” over a physical object from one place to another, even an object you designed for the first time. Especially objects you designed for the first time.

This is not just about stuff for gadget freaks and people who like messing about in labs. Human beings make things for one of four reasons:

• to learn
• to enjoy
• to solve a problem
• because they can

So this sort of invention and innovation takes place everywhere, at work and at home, in the West and in the East. Let’s look at what’s happening at work. Most of you know I work at Salesforce.com. Here’s an example of what can be done when human beings have access to open platforms and tools and data:

A couple of salesforce.com engineers, frustrated with the times when printers are out of paper, or when paper stocks run out, built a simple tool, using open components, to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. Others in the company used the same tools to try and solve problems to do with green buildings and energy consumption:

These are just two examples of what incredible things can be done when human beings have access to the right materials and tools.

This ingenuity is seen in the physical world, in the design and manufacture of objects. It is seen in the world where physical and digital integrate, as in the “internet of things”.

And of course it is seen in the digital world, where the internet is the ultimate copy machine.

Give people the raw material of open data. Give them the tools of the internet. And hey presto you have “inventions” like this:

Someone thought it would be good if you could find out when your garbage was to be collected. And so they did something about it. Someone else thought it would be good to build tools for handling open data:

It’s not just about solving problems and reducing human latency or saving energy or being efficient. It’s not just about the sustenance and pleasure of preparing, cooking and consuming food. It’s deeper than that, this streak of ingenuity is in all parts of our human culture.

Watch this video: A MIDI fretboard on an iPhone.

Humans have been observing, imitating, sharing, learning, refining and making stuff forever. Cooking. Making. Creating. Thinking.

Without Shakespeare sharing Romeo and Juliet with us, there would be no West Side Story. Without Shaw sharing Pygmalion with us, there would be no My Fair Lady. Without Joyce Kilmer sharing Trees with us, we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy Ogden Nash‘s parody,  The Song Of The Open Road:

Without the internet, without the Web, without Wikipedia, without Google, I would not have been able to write this post.

Without YouTube I would not have been able to share the ingenuity of some of my colleagues.

Without Tim O’Reilly’s gigaOm interview on why he’s fighting SOPA, I would not have been catalysed into writing this post.

The intellectual property rights environment needs fixing for sure. But SOPA and PIPA are not the solution.

Human ingenuity is a precious thing. We need that ingenuity to solve the problems we face, problems that cannot be solved by the paradigms that created them. We need that ingenuity to be unleashed to observe what’s happening without censorship. We need that ingenuity to have access to the data and the tools related to the problems; we need that ingenuity to be able to share the learning, to learn, to adjust, to learn again.

We need this in all walks of life, in the office and at home, in private and in public, at work and at play, alone and together.

We need this to move us forward in education, in healthcare, in government. We need this to solve problems with climate change, disease control, nutrition, poverty.

We need this in our art and in our culture.

We need this.

Thanks for all your comments and tweets re my earlier post. Some of you solved the “unGoogleAble” question. Others commented on what they’d been doing with the Prime Numbers in Arithmetical Progression question. And a number of you engaged in conversation with me across a variety of platforms. It helps me think. And learn. For which I’m grateful. I hope it’s been of some use to some of you. I want to touch upon a few of the answers and comments, to see if that helps me articulate where I was going more effectively.

First, Nicole Simon’s question. Why would an UnGoogleAble cricket question teach her anything? And if it didn’t, was she a bad student as a result? Or was I a bad teacher? I promised to get back to Nicole when wrapping up this stage of the conversation. I was trying to establish a framework for constructing a decent question in our post-Google world, and suggesting three things:

• it shouldn’t be easy to find via Google
• it should teach the answerer something
• it should be fun

To explain this, I chose two exemplar areas, cricket statistics and prime numbers, each esoteric in its own way, each valuable only to the passionate amateur, particularly one already interested in the mysteries of cricket or primes. For my sins I am a member of both those sets. There was another reason I chose those particular areas. In both cases there was a lot of data on the web, available to the public while remaining not easily GoogleAble. “Open” data. I wanted to find a way of demonstrating what could happen when open data meets the curiosity of the passionate amateur. The cricket question would have been pretty much impossible without access to the data; the prime numbers in series question would have continued its regal and exclusive status of being made available only to those students talented enough to participate in mathematical “olympiads”. Open data has a wonderful democratising effect, accentuating and embellishing the level-playing-fieldness of the internet. Combined with passion and perseverance and patience, the possibilities are boundless, as human beings unleash their creativity in using the tools of the age to work on freely accessible data to test conjectures, solve problems, build new products and services. So Nicole, my answer to you is that I failed. I could not get good enough examples, generic enough examples, to make the post work by itself.  I needed the previous post to try and catalyse some of the examples via the comments and answers given, as you will see. I hope as a result you can take something of value away from this post.

Which then brings me to my second point, the comments/answers given by Obiwan Kenobi and Daen de Leon; Obiwan gave me the perfect example of someone who took my question and then worked the example out in detail, and then proceeded to share the workings with everyone else. The answer was not important. It was the sharing of how he got there, which you can see in his comment. He created a query on Cricinfo Statsguru that required no programming knowledge, just an ability to select filters and sort criteria and views; he then proceeded to copy-paste the output to his tool of choice, then came up with the answer. I’m not quite sure why he needed the copy-paste step, all I did was to inspect the same query output, the same 206 lines over 2 pages, looking for duplicates in the right-hand-most column, managing to avoid a couple of red herrings along the way. Obiwan’s example is useful in helping set out what is needed for open data to be valuable. One, people need to know what’s out there: Obiwan knew of the existence of Cricinfo Statsguru, and we may soon need specialised open data directories. [Yes, someone can write an "app" for that, but please please in HTML5 rather than as a captive device app!]. Two, people need simple tools to manipulate that data, and the ability to learn how to use those tools: Obiwan knew how to use the filters in the Statsguru query builder. And three, Obiwan needed the stimulus of my question to be bothered to do it in the first place: new classes of teacher will emerge to provide such access, training, stimulus. While Daen didn’t give us a blow-by-blow account of how he solved the prime number problem, he did two important things: one, he shared a big clue, that he could work out the constant interval using just the limit and the number of terms. That in turn would allow other readers to consider the role of the interval in the answer, while still allowing for some personal discovery as to how to use that information. But the most important thing that Daen did was to share something else   …. “I’m proud to say I figured out the interval….”.

Daen was doing something really important there, sharing with us the joy he felt when he discovered why something must be true. That’s my third point. The joy of discovery as part of the road to mastery. Kathy Sierra, one of the earliest commenters on my earlier post, is someone I have a lot of time and respect for; to me, what Daen did is the fundamental reason why all the current superficial attempts at “gamification” will fail. All achievements involve learning. The joy of learning is in achieving mastery. In knowledge work, that mastery begins when you have a little light-bulb go off in your head and you say “aha” or “eureka” or “gadzooks”…… because you know why something is true. When a process is standardised, stable and easily repeatable, knowing how may have been enough. Today, many processes are what my friend Sig calls “barely repeatable”, so exception handling becomes the norm, an unsustainable position. So now it’s no longer enough to know how, you need to know why as well. Gamers know something about nonlinear worlds, about patterns rather than processes, about the value of knowing why and not just how, about working in a peer network and using that peer base to select teams and tasks and tools. Gamers have a lot to teach us at work. “Gamification” will remain lipstick on a pig until the designers have the revelation, the road-to-Damascus moment of understanding the joy of mastery. That’s what people like Kathy are trying to get the world to understand, and the world needs to listen.

So what am I saying? It is in the knowledge of the Why that the foundation of the How is laid. The What is just an instance of the How. [Yes, there's a Who's on First gag somewhere there: What doesn't Matter. What matters is How. How Doesn't Matter if you don't know Why.....] It used to be said that the person who knows how will always find work….working for the person who asks (and learns) why. We are fast approaching a world where all the Whats are commoditised. Open. Easily accessible. Published “content” may be seen to be a “what”. And if you’re in the business of making money off content, then you’re going to do everything in your power to protect your business, which means resisting the commoditisation of the what. That’s what most publishing industries face, a commoditisation of the very thing they made their money on, the “what”. The “how” continues to be valuable, so there’s a market for the tools that publish the content, that simplify access, that help massage and manipulate and mutate that content. The “why” is even more valuable, particularly because it is often scarce, tacit, hard to share. But that’s changing.

Which is why I write posts like this one.

Here’s what’s trending on Twitter right now:

And here are the top stories on Google News:

Here’s what the BBC News site has at top billing:

I tried to even the field. So the twitter trends were set to “Global”, I finally overrode Google’s very irritating attempts to point me towards google.co.uk rather than google.com, and I left the BBC News homepage untouched.

Zero connection between Twitter and Google, even though technically soccer stories made in on to both. One story in common between Google and BBC News.

Just something to bear in mind. There’s a lot we need to think about, in terms of filtering and censorship and filter bubbles; a lot to think about in terms of the impact of the locations of publisher and of subscriber; a lot to think about in terms of publisher-level algorithmic representation of trends, and subscriber-level selection of preferences.

What are your experiences? How does your area and environment compare?

A few days ago, I set a cricket question for my twitter followers. To be precise, I set a question for those among my followers who were interested in cricket, interested enough to try and answer the question.

The question was simple: Herschelle Gibbs holds the record. Vinod Kambli was the previous holder. What is the record?

I will come to the answer later. Before that I want to spend a little time on the question.

I set it that way for many reasons.

…………………………………………

First, just Googling it should not work. This is important. Why?

I like to think of the process of answering questions as  a voyage of discovery,  a journey of learning. Today, the first port of call in almost any such journey is the internet. You can choose the particular type of vessel you want to use on the journey (Google, Dogpile, Mamma, Facebook, Twitter, Quora, WolframAlpha, Copernic, Bing, Mahalo, Phone-A-Friend, Ask-The-Audience or whatever else catches your fancy). [Incidentally, feel free to add any question-answering tools you use and wish to share with others, just comment below and I will summarise comments in a follow-up post as needed. Also incidentally, does Bing really (and recursively) stand for But It's Not Google?]

The journey, the voyage, is more important than the vessel.

And the discovery, the learning, is more important than the journey. It’s the whole point of the journey.

…………………………………………..

Which brings me to the second point of any question: Answering the question should teach you something; at the very least, it should reinforce some prior learning. Let me give you an example.

Some years before finishing school, we were given an intriguing maths question to solve. We were told that there was one, and only one, ten-term arithmetical progression (or “AP”) of prime numbers between unity and 3000.  And we were asked to find it. [Yes, I have written about this before, some years ago. But please humour me, I want to take you somewhere else this time].

I must have been 14 or so. And I was enthralled by the question. Not because I found the question itself interesting, but because I was really enjoying myself trying to figure out how to get to the answer. And why I would get to the answer.

How. And why. Not what.

[I won't spoil it for the first-time reader, I'm not going to give you the answer here. If you want to know, then please ping me via twitter, details on sidebar here,  or comment below or even "inbox me on facebook" (the way my youngest daughter's generation describe emailing).]

…………………….

The third point, as important as the first two, is that answering the question should be fun. Again, an example from my teens in Calcutta. One of my friends had heard about a competition, I think he said it was in Punch, where you were given a “traditional” trivia answer and asked to formulate a non-traditional question. The example given was: A: Dr Livingstone, I presume. Alternative Q: What is your full name, Dr Presume?. [If I remember right, the winning entry in that competition was: A: Crick. Alternative Q: What is the sound made by a Japanese camera?]

The process of answering a question should be a voyage of discovery, a journey during which you learn something, and one where you enjoy yourself in the process.

As a result of answering the question, you should be able to answer most, if not all, questions belonging to that class of question. You know that cliched saying “I may not know the answer to the question, but I know a man who does”? There’s some value, some truth, in what it implies. It’s probably better expressed in the saying “It is better to teach a man to fish than to give a man a fish”. Passing on learning is far more valuable than passing on a short-term, “single-use” answer.

Knowing how to get to an answer is often more important than knowing the answer. And knowing why is the foundation for remembering the how.

This principle colours the way I view much of education. There must have been a time when people used slide rules incessantly in classes involving numerate subjects. By the time I was at school, they were already passing out of favour. In similar vein, my generation had to carry our own “log table” and “trig table” books, but I think we were the last “batch” at school to engage so closely with logarithmic and trigonometric tables. The generation after me learnt to use scientific calculators in anger.

And the generations of today know their way around the web. Or should do. [Provided, of course, they have access to the web, something I regard as a fundamental right of the 21st century, given the incredibly positive impact it can make on education, health and welfare].

…………………….

Learning by watching and copying has been the way of the world for aeons. Sometimes I’m surprised by the way that gets forgotten in some spheres of education. There’s too much focus on the answer, the “what”, and not enough on the process and the rationale, the how and why. If a student can answer a question correctly by surreptitiously peeking at someone else’s work, then it’s a poor question. If a student can answer a question correctly by simply engaging with Google and entering a “raw” search term, then it’s a poor question. If a student can answer a question correctly by simply looking up Wikipedia, then it’s a poor question.

Google and Wikipedia are tools. Like slide rules and log tables and scientific calculators. Or even abaci.

Knowing how to use the tool properly is important. If the tool is designed to provide enjoyment as well, even better. Concentrating on the answer provided by the tool is all quite wrong.

……………….

If you’ve read this far, then you’re probably someone who is sympathethic to my way of thinking. So humour me a little longer.

When I asked the unGoogleable question in Twitter, an old friend and colleague, Dominic Sayers, tweeted the following:

So now I have to come up with another unGoogleable cricket question.

Here goes:

On a cricket scorecard, an asterisk is used to denote the captain, and a “dagger” to denote the wicketkeeper. Since the dawn of Test cricket, with thousands of matches played, there have only been 26 “asterisk-daggers”, players who, simultaneously, kept wicket and captained the team.

26. Over thousands of Tests.

During this time, there have only been five instances where a Test has involved a “double asterisk-dagger“, where a wicketkeeper-captain has faced a wicketkeeper-captain.

These instances involved only five specific asterisk-daggers: one three times, three twice, and one just once. Name the wicketkeeper-captain who has faced a wicketkeeper-captain in a Test match just once and once only in his career.

[This is a follow-up to the post I wrote late last night; thank you very much for your comments, Likes, RTs, +1s and Shares. Active and visible feedback is a great motivator, and helps me learn to write about the right things and in the right ways].

Where was I? Oh yes. Why am I so excited about 2012? I’ve shared some of the reasons with you already in my earlier post, but there are a few more that I want to make sure I get on to your radar right from the get-go.

I’m excited about what’s going to happen with intellectual property during 2012. Let me explain. First, a bit of recent history. Here’s a quote from something Esther Dyson wrote. [Esther is a friend and mentor, someone I admire greatly, someone who has influenced how I think far more than she perhaps even realises].

The laws of physics seem to change when you enter a new environment, such as the gravity field of the moon — or the Internet and its easy replication of content. In this issue, we argue that the newly revealed physics of information transfer on the net will change the economics and perhaps ultimately the laws governing the creation and dissemination of intellectual property…call it content to avoid the presumption of ownership.

What happens to intellectual property on the net? Perhaps the question is best answered with another: What new kinds of content-based value can be created on the net? We believe the answers include services (the transformation of bits rather than bits themselves), the selection of content, the presence of other people, and assurance of authenticity — reliable information about sources of bits and their future flows. In short, intellectual processes and services appreciate; intellectual assets depreciate.

Esther Dyson, Intellectual Property On The Net, Release 1.0, 28 December

I guess some of you don’t think her views are going to pan out this year. Maybe you think she’s being a bit too futuristic, too optimistic about human ability to change, and the speed of change. Perhaps.

And perhaps not.

You see, I left out a small piece of information from that quote. The year. Esther Dyson wrote those words over seventeen years ago, in 1994. A great read then, and a great read now. [Incidentally, isn't it fantastic that I could access the archives of Release 1.0 to find the quote, all free-to-air? Thank you Esther for writing it, thank you everyone who's worked on Release 1.0 over the years for mentoring me from afar, and thank you Tim and Sara for continuing to make it available.]

So I’m excited about what’s happening with intellectual property. You must think I’m mad, what with SOPA and ACTA and Hadopi and DMCA and Digital Economy Act and who knows what else. How could I possibly think that things are getting better when they palpably aren’t? What am I smoking?

For the answer to that, I have to turn to a second friend and mentor, Clay Shirky, as quoted famously by a third, Kevin Kelly.

Institutions will try to preserve the problem to which they are the solution.

Change is never easy, especially if you’re the one being changed. That’s not just true of people but of institutions as well. In many ways, I was not surprised at the way the entertainment industry as a whole pushed back on changing their business models while desperately working on changing their business models. They knew that all they could buy was time.

They’ve bought their time. And the time is running out.

The key word in the Shirky quote is “try”. In the same way that nature abhors a vacuum and water seeks its own level, problems cannot be preserved beyond the paradigm and environment that created them. You can try to do that, but over time you will fail. You. Will. Fail.

And that’s what is happening now. SOPA is a terrible act of legislation because of some of the words used in the bill. Words that were put in by people desperately trying to preserve the problems of the past. And the level of desperation is a good measure of the way time is running out.

DMCA. Hadopi. Digital Economy Act. ACTA. SOPA. Yup, with the passage of time, the level of desperation is getting higher, the clauses are getting less and less workable, making the laws harder to enforce, to prosecute, socially, politically, economically. It gets harder to sponsor them when you have information from sites like Maplight available to all; it even gets harder to support, as GoDaddy found out recently.  We live in a world where trust is an increasingly important currency, and where transparency is the mint that produces that currency.

So it’s over. It may not appear so, but it is.

The culture of the internet, the Web, the communities that build it and shape it, it’s a culture of openness. There will always be people who attempt to build walled gardens in the open spaces, and they can succeed. But only up to a point, and only for a short time. It’s like the app-store and device locked apps taking on those built in HTML5. Faites vos jeux, messieurs, faites vos jeux. Only one winner.

Which brings me to my next reason to be excited about 2012. Open data.

Tim Berners-Lee and Nigel Shadbolt wrote an important piece in the Times last Saturday, on how the information age boosts the economy, makes our lives easier. They called data “the new raw material of the 21st century”. Sadly, unlike the archives of Release 1.0, this article is behind a paywall so I don’t have an easy way to share it with you.

They’re not alone in this: I’ve heard Tim O’Reilly wax lyrical about the importance of Open Data, Vivek Kundra show his support and appreciation, people like Wendy Hall and Noshir Contractor at the Web Science Trust (working with TimBL and Nigel) have worked very hard to show what can be done.

Again, it’s a question of timing. There’s a tipping point. And the tipping point is now.

Why? It’s simple. As I said yesterday, we’re beating up on the banks for lending too much and too unwisely, and we’re beating them up for not lending and for lending too slowly. Who would be a banker nowadays? It’s not that easy for governments either, particularly those in the West. Borrow less. Spend less. Perform these miracles without putting people out of work.

If it were only that simple.

Erik Brynjolfsson and Andrew McAfee have written a very interesting book on the economic impact of modern technology on society and work. If you haven’t read it, please go out and buy the e-book. It’s called Race Against The Machine. I had the chance to talk about it with Andy a few months ago, and it’s fascinating.

Many of the current white collar jobs are disappearing and will continue to disappear. And this is where, in my opinion, open data can help us in incredibly powerful ways. How do I love Open Data? Let me count the ways:

One, there’s a lot of data out there that is paid for by the public purse. Governments don’t have to do very much to release that data. In a few cases commercial arrangements have been made about closed private exploitation of such data, but these can be reviewed, often reversed. It’s only a matter of time. The key is that the data is publicly owned and not difficult to make publicly accessible.

Two, when that data gets released, three things happen:

(a) people learn that they can build businesses around that making that “open” data useful to a wider body. The point that Esther Dyson was making in her 1994 article, about people paying for accessibility and ease of use, is coming home to roost. Incidentally, Andrew Savikas wrote a very worthwhile piece on the subject of Content as a Business fifteen years later, you can read it here. People will package and repackage and mash and create useful and valuable services, given the chance. After all, the infrastructure needed to process and distribute the services are now available for peanuts.

(b) people learn that they can build businesses around cleaning up the data, making it better, more accurate. There’s a new form of curation needed, new curators, people with the passion and the domain knowledge and, in all probability, unintended “cognitive surplus” through unemployment. if you think you’ve seen a firehose of data, just you wait. A change is gonna come, as the song goes. 21st century curation is big business, particularly for open data.

(c) as the data gets better and more accessible, there are second-order payouts for the economy and for society. More informed decisions. Less waste.

Of course there are problems to overcome, particularly when it comes to personally identifiable information. John Perry Barlow has been telling us for some time now that the very concept of privacy is changing, that social mores and values will change as well, as we move from a world where we regulated access to personal information to one where we regulate usage.

Whenever there is change there is a mess to deal with. There is an immune system response, an inertia, an attempt by the incumbents to preserve their very existence.

Whenever there is change there is a mess to deal with. There is misinformation and disinformation, as incumbents do everything they can to confuse and befuddle customers. [I work for salesforce.com, and I see the dinosaur dances of dying incumbents every day; if it wasn't for the terrible waste of resource and energy caused by the dinosaur incumbents, I would probably find the whole thing quite funny.]

We’re at a critical inflection point in our existence, surrounded by problems often of our own making, and needing to adopt new ways of thinking in order to solve them. There are barriers that prevent us from doing that, some legal, some social and conventional, some down to pure skulduggery by those who would prolong their survival.

Sometimes I think that if Henry Ford were alive today, he would find that all he could build was “faster horses”. Because the horse industry would have grown another hundred years, grown to a point where it served seven billion people, grown to a point where it had permanent access to K Street, grown to a point where it could arrange for legislation to protect its very existence.

Alan Kay used to say “The best way to predict the future is to invent it”. I met Alan some years ago at a convention in San Diego, and he was affected by the experience of the decades that had passed since he said that. Now, he thinks the saying should be “The best way to predict the future is to prevent it”.

Well, people have been doing just that, trying to prevent the future.

And for a time, they’ve succeeded.

But it’s over.

2012. The Show-Me Year.