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Making little dents in the universe

We attract a different type of person—a person who doesn’t want to wait five or ten years to have someone take a giant risk on him or her. Someone who really wants to get in a little over his head and make a little dent in the universe. We are aware that we are doing something significant.

That’s what the late Steve Jobs said, in an interview in February 1985. Even those who aren’t Jobs fanboys would tend to agree that he made a dent in the universe. A big one. And maybe a ding as well. I say that, as I write this post on my iMac while my iPhone and iPad charge, and while I listen to music playing … on iTunes. I say that while remembering why I called myself @jobsworth on Twitter, why I use the mail address [email protected], and why I call myself jobsworth pretty much everywhere else.

He made a big dent.

Not everyone gets a chance to make that big a dent. Which is why it’s important to remind ourselves what Steve actually said, about attracting people who want to make a little dent in the universe.

Little dents matter. Everyone should be given an opportunity to make his or her own dent; even though the outcomes will vary in size, from the infinitesimal to the infinite, what matters is the opportunity. It’s part of what gives each of us our dignity.

It’s been something front-of-mind for me for some time now.

One day, when I was around 16 or 17, I went to school in a rickshaw.

 

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It wasn’t the first time I’d been in one. But that was the last time I rode as a passenger in a hand-pulled rickshaw.

It had been raining, and the roads had flooded, a common occurrence those days in Calcutta. I was meant to turn up for some soccer training. When I got to the school, Fr Bouche (Fr Camille Bouche, SJ. Prefect of Discipline, friend, mentor, role model and father figure to thousands of St Xavier’s Collegiate School, Calcutta) saw me disembark. And that was that. Redfaced, brows furrowed, he enquired as to what I thought I was doing. So I told him. It was flooded. I was in a hurry. His brows knitted further; impending storms gathered on his forehead. And I’ve sprained my ankle. A bit. I tailed off. Looked at him. The storms were gathering force. I made my last, desperate, throw of the die. Don’t they need to earn their money somehow?

 

 

The storms broke. His voice turned to ice. So you’re worried about him? Next time, give him the money and walk. He turned on his heel and walked away.

He didn’t speak to me for a couple of days. A few evenings later, sometime after school, he saw me and beckoned. He was in his civvies by then, he’d always change out of his cassock into a short-sleeved shirt and normal trousers. And we walked around the quadrangular playing field as we talked. He talked, I listened. The essence of what he said was a variant on “teach a man to fish, don’t give him fish”. That every person should have a right to dignity in life, in what they did, in how they did it. That it was the duty of people with privilege, people like him and me, to ensure that everyone had that right. That I should never do anything that robs a man of dignity.

Fast forward twenty years. I was home, watching something on TV. Someone, I think it may have been Sir John Harvey-Jones, was in conversation with an Indian maharajah. I’ve looked around your empire, your highness, and it looks like you have about 6000 workers you don’t really need. I see. What will they do? You don’t understand, they’re superfluous, they don’t actually produce anything valuable to you. You don’t need them. I see. I understand. But if they don’t work for me, tell me, what will they do? What they do for me is part of what gives them meaning in life.

And the conversation with Fr Bouche came back to me.

Fast forward another twenty years. By then I’d joined Salesforce.com, I was at our annual customer conference, Dreamforce. [Have you ever been? You should. It’s hard to describe. Part tech conference, part political convention, part music festival, part none of the above. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced]. On stage we had Jeff Immelt and Colin Powell, in conversation with Marc Benioff. One of the topics that came up was the Middle East. One of them, I think it was Immelt, said that a key component of any solution to the Middle East was “jobs”. This time with a small j. Employment. And the dignity and meaning that comes with it. Everyone else agreed.

And the conversation with Fr Bouche came back to me.

Throughout the intervening forty years, I’ve been thinking about enfranchisement and equality of opportunity and the dignity that comes with employment. Most of that time, I’ve been working with information and with the technologies used to create and disseminate that information and the insights that could be gained. Whatever I did, I couldn’t get away from the nagging feeling that:

the tools I was working with were fisherman’s tools, that people could learn to fish by using them

My mother’s father was a teacher all his life; he retired as Professor of Chemistry at Madras Christian College in Tambaram, near Madras, when I was in my teens. My father, and his father before him, were journalists, but of an old-fashioned kind. They saw their profession as one that informed and educated and gave people options. So they too were teachers, but in their own way.  Born into a Brahmin Hindu family in 1950s Calcutta, I was brought up to respect my teachers. Spending fifteen years in a Jesuit institution made it part of my DNA.

It was natural that I would view education as a panacea, a silver bullet. And, ever since I entered the world of information technology thirty-three years ago, it became natural that I saw IT as a means of extending the reach of education.

Over the last two decades or so something else happened: I began to appreciate the power of platforms, something that would come as no surprise to regular readers. Which is why I wrote these posts at the start of the year. As I’ve understood more about platforms I’ve understood more about how they can empower and enfranchise, the role they can play in enabling and releasing human creativity. How that in turn gives people the chance to make little dents in the universe. How that dent-making gives people dignity and purpose.

I joined salesforce.com for a number of reasons. Meeting Marc Benioff was one of them: it’s not often you get to work for a real visionary. Working with people who knew how to build a platform business was one of them: before I joined the company, my sense was that the heart of salesforce.com was a multitenant platform, remarkable in its design and power; that the “clouds” were in effect just reference implementations of that platform. There were other, smaller reasons as well, in terms of the challenge the role represented, how talented my colleagues were, early exposure to Chatter. All these reasons were necessary but not sufficient.

What swung it was learning about the Salesforce Foundation and the 1:1:1 model.

I loved the idea that the founding fathers of the company felt that giving back was an integral part of the ethos of the firm, built into the core operating principles as “firstfruit” rather than upon retirement. I loved the idea that a sizable percentage of customers were from the nonprofit sector, that they had access to the platform without charge, that they could scale access at deep discounts. I loved the idea that employees were encouraged, nay expected, to commit their time, their money, their talent, to nonprofits. I loved the idea that every Dreamforce, everyone got involved in helping this happen. Nonprofits. Partners. Customers. Employees. Everyone. I loved the idea that all this was underpinned by a commitment to match funds raised.

So I joined the company.

Fast forward to today. This weekend, as we celebrate the company’s 15th “birthday”, employees were encouraged to roll their sleeves up and volunteer time with Foundation causes and customers all over the world. [For example, a horde of colleagues turned up at The Animal Sanctuary in Dorney, not far from where I live. Cleaning out the stables and pens. Building fresh shelters. Grooming the animals. And building a very large, very hot bonfire. Any guesses as to which bit attracted me?]

After spending the morning in Dorney, I came back for a video call that I’d been really looking forward t, for quite some time.

Why? Let me backtrack a bit. During my early years at Dresdner Kleinwort, I had the opportunity to make regular forays into what was then referred to as “central and eastern Europe”, doing due diligence on planned engagements, acquisitions, flotations. While doing that, one of the things I kept noticing was that there was incredible ingenuity in the midst of deprivation, particularly when it came to the use of information and communications technologies. More willingness to experiment. More tolerance for failure, for learning from failure. More acceptance of iteration, of agile working. More propensity to use opensource and even to contribute to opensource.

Necessity was their mother of invention. They made do. They contrived. They jerry-rigged. They found a way.

Some years later, a close friend, “MR” Rangaswami (he ain’t heavy, and he’s not my brother either) introduced me to Prof CK Prahalad, who made me familiar with his Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid thinking, and then intrigued me further with his views on “reverse innovation“.

More recently, Andy McAfee and Erik Brynjolfsson started shaking other parts of my tree, looking at the Second Machine Age  and its impact on employment and society.

Dignity of work, in the context of eradicating poverty. Equality of opportunity, seen through the lens of inclusion and connectedness. Platforms and the leverage they represented. Innovation through necessity and what was happening with reverse innovation. The advance of technology and the jobs that get created, the jobs that disappear. Hmmm.

You can see where this is going. I started looking for examples of Salesforce Foundation customers using the platform to develop tools that would in turn empower others.

I wanted to find examples of people all over the world being able to make dents in the universe. Little dents, but dents nevertheless. Dents that gave them meaning and dignity.

On to this afternoon’s call. I spoke to Steve Wright (VP Poverty Tools and Insights), Steve Anderson (CTO) and Elaine Chang (Product Manager, Global Market Development) at Grameen Foundation. [Love their tagline: Connecting the World’s Poor to their Potential].

They told me about TaroWorks. An Android app built on top of a force.com application on the salesforce platform. Empowering people working in the field in nonprofits to measure what they’re doing, how they’re doing, what impact they’re having. What’s working, what’s not working. The screenshots below will give you a sense of the application.

 

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For some years now I’ve been hearing about the challenges to do with nonprofit fieldwork in terms of measurement, benchmarks and comparisons. When you make little dents, knowing that you are making a dent is important. As Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi reminded us in Flow, people work at a higher level of performance when they work on things that stretch them, but there are at least two other characteristics needed. They need to know what the job is, where it fits into the overall scheme of things. And they need to know how they’re doing, who can help them. Definitions, feedback loops and coaching.

So today, on the 15th anniversary of salesforce.com, I was encouraged. Encouraged about things that have mattered to me for a very long time.

Today I saw people building platforms and ecosystems that would help others learn to fish. That would help others create environments where they can find dignity in what they do.

I think there are already around 1.4 million developers on the salesforce platform. When I see examples like TaroWorks, I realise that the next 1.4 million may come much sooner.

All making dents in the universe. Little dents. Dents with dignity.

Posted in Four pillars .


But they are useless. They can only give you answers

Photo credit: The Museum Of Ridiculously Interesting Things

So said Pablo Picasso, in conversation with William Fifield, speaking about the “enormous new mechanical brains or calculating machines” we would later refer to familiarly as “computers”. I found this out in the nicest possible way, having come across the quotation while reading Brynjolfsson and McAfee’s The Second Machine Age, reviewed here by me yesterday. The quotation, on page 187, referred me to the Notes at the back of the book, which then led me to a wonderful site, Quote Investigator, and to this piece there.

That in turn reminded me of Mr Bhowmick. I think he was Mr J.B.Bhowmick, but I can’t be sure. He was the last Maths teacher I had at school. He was the one who was going to guide our class of forty 15- and 16-year-olds through the last two years of mathematics in school, leading to what was known then as Senior Cambridge. On his first day with us, he promised to award the Nobel Prize, personally, to anyone who actually managed to fail “Add Maths”, more formally referred to as Mathematics With Additional Mathematics. That set the tone for the rest of his lessons.

A few weeks later he walked into class and asked “So what’s the maximum number of electrons in the nth orbit of an atom?”. Immediate groans and sounds of derision. Doesn’t he know this is Maths class and not Physics class? A few hands went up. He pointed at one. 2n squared. At which point he said “Now prove it.” Again, a few hands went up. One was chosen, who proceeded to walk up to the blackboard, grab the chalk proferred, and “prove” it….. inasmuch as proof by induction is proof. And he walked back, smugly, to his seat. Job done.

And then. And then something very important happened.

“From now on, you will earn my respect, not by the answers you give, but by the questions you ask”.

The game had changed. Giving the right answer was easy. Asking the right question…now that was interesting. He had us from then on. In his own way, Mr Bhowmick had introduced us to the Socratic Method. And it stayed with me, and probably with the rest of the class, for the rest of my life.

I’ve referred to that story before, and I’m sure I will again. It was an important moment in my life.

Outsourcing boring tasks to computers

I thought about it again when seeing the Picasso quote. And sort of agreed. When computers can earn the respect of Mr Bhowmick, that’s when they start doing something significant. Until then, they’re in the useless-according-to-Picasso class.

Which is no bad thing. When I was in school, we may well have been the last batch to use slide rules. I can’t remember seeing my sister, two years younger than me, or my brother, a further two years younger, ever using one.

I haven’t seen any of my children use tables of logarithms. They haven’t had to mull over the mantissa or care about the characteristic.

So far, only one of my children has been observed referring to trigonometric tables.

These are good changes. As far as I am concerned, anyway. We should be outsourcing such menial tasks to computers for sure. That’s a view I’ve held for decades, one that formed while I was still at school. Looking up columns and columns of tables was never something that appealed to me. [Sometimes, when I see spreadsheet jockeys around me, I wonder. Are they secret table-addicts hell-bent on foisting their habit on the rest of us?]

I was made to learn multiplication tables by rote, all the way to 16×16. A good thing. By the time I entered my teens, I knew forty or fifty poems “by heart”. Also a good thing. There is something soul-energising about being able to remember not just stanzas but entire poems decades later. Later on, it became common practice for us to be quoting the Bard at will, again something that filled me with joy.

I wasn’t averse to learning things by rote. But they had to be worth learning. Memorising page after page of numbers did not fall into that category. If someone wanted to memorise pi to 100o digits that was fine with me. But that should be an act of will, a choice.

I was lazy enough to memorise the Periodic Table so that I wouldn’t have to memorise oodles and oodles of equations. Instead, I could “guess” the right equation using Mendeleev’s fabulous framing. There was method in my laziness.

All I wanted to do was to avoid the tendency to “commit to memory and vomit to paper”, which to me was a complete waste of time and energy.

So in general, I felt, and continue to feel, that outsourcing mundane repetitive tasks to computers is a good thing — as long as we were taught the fundamentals, a core level of numeracy and literacy. But there are risks to any form of outsourcing, in terms of the core skill dying off, and even in terms of unintended consequences.

Thinking about LSD

No, not lysergic acid diethylamide. The other LSD. Labour-saving devices. We’ve been on that drug for nigh on a hundred years now. Part of the hallmark of “civilisation” has been our tendency to build machines that do the work of many men; Brynjolfsson and McAfee make this point very eloquently when talking about man harnessing steam. So we drive everywhere. And we push buttons to wash things and to dry things, to chop things and to blend things, to cook them, to freeze them. All at the push of a button.

All this button-pushing has come at a cost.

Sitting is the new smoking.

We spend money “saving labour”. And then we spend money labouring on machines in strange places called gymnasia. [To be precise, we spend money joining such places, and occasionally even going there. But only occasionally].

Our sedentary lifestyles have consequences, in terms of our health and fitness. And we’re learning about those consequences, and doing something about them. Which made me think. Hmmm. The outsourcing of physical labour to machines has had mixed results. Mostly good, but some bad; we miss the exercise implied in the labour we saved. Is there something similar awaiting us when it comes to mental labour?

LSD for the mind

No, this isn’t my Timothy Leary moment. I’m talking about devices that save us mental labour. Not all the mental labour we save should be saved. I met Sugata Mitra at TED Global, I think it was in 2009. Great guy. One of the things he said to me has always stuck with me. A teacher who can be replaced by a computer should be replaced by a computer. When I’ve repeated that assertion the reactions have sometimes been less than positive, so let me explain what I believe he meant. Mitra was saying that a teacher has to do more than just “give you answers”.

When I was fourteen years old, I knew maybe 100 phone numbers by heart. I can recall many of them forty-two years later. The children of today tend to recall less than five telephone numbers. And their children may not need to recall any. Is this a bad thing? No. But this is only true if they retain basic numeracy; in this context, if you haven’t done so already, do read the books on innumeracy by John Allen Paulos. They’re wonderful.

Thinking about the Second Machine Age

As machines get smarter (they will) and as the class of tasks they can do well grows in size (it will), we will continue to wrestle with questions about the skills we should retain and the skills we should outsource to machines with abandon. Are we on the verge of entering an age where we can’t distinguish between poetry written by a human and that written by a machine? Or art? Or music? Perhaps we are. But that’s when the Kasparov comment on his match with Topalov comes into play: Since we both had equal access to the same database, the advantage came down to creating a new idea at some point.

The skills we need to protect, to develop, to sharpen and hone, they’re the skills we use to create new ideas. Skills that are built on strong foundations of literacy and numeracy; skills that call on our ability to think critically, to articulate and argue our thoughts, to do all this using scientific methods.

The first great outsourcing that happened was probably the one that people like Richard Wrangham have made famous: man’s taming of fire, the invention of cooking, when we built ourselves external stomachs and outsourced some of our digestion. That’s what probably led to our brains getting bigger and our gastric tracts getting smaller, what people like Leslie Aiello referred to as the Expensive Tissue Hypothesis.

The last great outsourcing that happened was the Industrial Revolution, with many benefits, and a few not-so-nice consequences.

We’re on the verge of the next one. One where we pass on some of our thinking jobs to machines. With many potential benefits, and a few not-so-nice consequences.

Things get messy in a digital world. There are people who think that “data” gets moved around like Fedex parcels, and we’re on the verge of decades of law built to reflect those views. We’re probably going to enter a world where robots need visas. Unless you’re a citizen robot, of course. In which case you’ll pay taxes like any other good citizen. So we’ll have robots that live in tax havens and commute electronically. [I know. We do. Already]. Another fine mess.

That’s what the book by Brynjolfsson and McAfee helped frame better for all of us. Which means I’m going to be spending time here sharing my thoughts on all this with you, hoping to learn something from you, hoping to pass on that learning to others. So keep the comments and references and arguments coming please.

Posted in Four pillars .


The Second Machine Age

I’ve just finished reading The Second Machine Age for a third time. [Note: It’s how I tend to read nonfiction. Skim-read the first time around, bookmarking stuff for a more leisurely read at a later stage. Read cover-to-cover the second time around, no notes, no interruptions, no nothing, just absorbing the whole argument. The third reading then concentrates on following up the bookmarks and notes. And yes, I do this all “analogue”].

You should read it. At least once anyway, depending on your reading style.

Before I explain why you should read the book, some disclosures:

  • I know both the authors reasonably well. I knew of Erik Brynjolfsson through his work on Incomplete Contracts in the early 1990s, and met him for the first time in 1997 after joining Dresdner Kleinwort (DrKW). I met Andy McAfee first off in late 2004/early 2005, while I was Global CIO at DrKW and while he was still at Harvard, when he looked closely at the workings of our department as part of his research. I’ve kept in touch with both of them since.
  • I trained as an economist, with considerable emphasis on mathematics and statistics, and in all probability was influenced by those anchors and frames when reading the book.
  • I believed, and continue to believe, that ubiquitous affordable connectivity (with the requisite compute power and storage) can transform lives and help us solve hitherto intractable problems in health, welfare and even government, principally through education and training. Which meant the core message of the book resonated strongly with me. You can see this reflected in the Kernel I wrote for my blog around a decade ago (and even in my belief that Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead taught me more about modern business models than anyone else did).

Most of you know all this already. It still behooves me to declare this, to show my biases openly, even though I have no financial interest in any of this.

And so on to the book.

 

I read a lot of reviews, usually in magazines I subscribe to. I tend to read Amazon Reviews only “after the fact”, having already decided to investigate a particular book or film or piece of music. When it comes to reviews, the ones I’ve liked the most have come from Kirkus; I’ve grown to rely on them over the years, despite changes in style and ownership.

When it comes to writing reviews, it’s something I do rarely. And when I do, I try and focus on reviewing rather than summarising. My intent is to encourage readers to buy/rent the particular item, rather than to provide a substitute. So let me move on. Why should you read the book?

The book is about something that matters to all of us

The basic thesis of the book is this: We’re creating, adapting and using digital technologies at an incredible pace today. As a result, we’re seeing many beneficial outcomes, and some that aren’t beneficial. How can we retain and grow the benefits while minimising the harms? The authors spend time on each aspect of this: the current state of digital technologies; how we got here, the history and background; where we appear to be headed.  The benefits that have accrued as a result, the benefits we’re accruing, the benefits we have yet to gain. And the harms: what hasn’t worked well, what’s disturbing in current trends, what the “default” prognosis is. What we should do about it, as individuals, as corporations, as governments, now and in time to come.

None of us is in a position to do much about the harms unless we understand the root causes and the benefits as well. Particularly when it comes to policy and regulation in the context of anything “digital”, the current track records of governments worldwide leaves much to be desired. If you add “jobs” and “inequality” to the mix, then the undesirability increases exponentially. So it is important for us to understand just what’s happening and why. This is not the first book in the world to look at this, nor is it the only one. But it frames it well, and focuses on the right issues.

Why the right issues? Because it spends time looking at the nature of the jobs that will be created as well as the nature of the jobs that will disappear. The inequalities that have grown as a result, the inequalities that will continue to grow if we don’t do something about it. What that something could be, how and why we should intervene. Why all this is happening now.

Yes, these things matter. And we need to be discussing them dispassionately and apolitically, with a true global perspective. Which is why this book is important.

You may feel you’ve read it all. Perhaps you have. What matters is not just the ground covered but the context and sequence in which it’s being covered. So even if you think you know it all, do read it.

It’s accessible, approachable, easy to read

You don’t have to be an economist or a statistician to read the book. Adopting a flowing conversational style, the authors take you through a journey in three parts: the origins and characteristics of the Second Machine Age, what we gain or lose as a result, what we can do about it. That may be enough for most readers. For the more curious, there are references and quotations peppered throughout the book. There’s also a 32-page Notes section at the end of the book, well worth delving into.

It comes in many formats: not just print and digital but audio as well (and I’m sure there will be video versions even if only in TED-talk format). To each his own. The key point here is that you can choose how you want to engage with the book. As far as I can make out, it is currently only available in English. I’m sure that will change, given time.

What I liked about it

The authors spend time looking into a number of issues of interest to all of us. Here’s a sample:

  • reasons for exponential growth: the chessboard’s “second half” construct
  • the importance of “recombination” in innovation
  • differences between economic growth and GDP growth: where that matters, where it shouldn’t
  • the things that computers are good/bad at, what’s changing in this respect
  • why, in robotics, “hard problems are easy, easy problems are hard”: the implications thereof
  • what happens in industries where the “first copy” is expensive, all others are cheap
  • why innovation could be “used up” in the past, and why this is no longer the case
  • reasons why inequality has increased, why winner-take-all models are common
  • the share of economic return captured by capital rather than labour, how it’s changing

I was particularly taken with a quote from Garry Kasparov (incidentally, one of at least two misspellings I noted during my three reads, it’s the old proofreading journo in me). Kasparov was talking about a chess match with Veselin Topalov, in which both players were allowed to “consult” computers whenever they liked:

Since we both had equal access to the same database, the advantage came down to creating a new idea at some point

In some ways, rightly or wrongly, I see this as the seminal idea of the book — The onset of digital technologies has some hard-to-bear consequences in terms of the commoditisation of skills that were historically valuable and in terms of sharply lowering prices of goods that were historically valuable. This onset is happening faster, more widely and more deeply than people expected, and inequality is growing as a result. To counter this, we have to teach people skills we’ve not paid attention to: creativity, ideation, invention and innovation, recombination; with the social, political and economic policies and infrastructure in place to support all this.

What I’m thinking about as a result (and what I will probably continue to think about for some time): examples

  • The continuing shift towards our engaging with digital information using our senses, as the keyboard does its dinosaur dance: Siri and Kinect and Glass are just manifestations of technologies where we’re removing frictions like QWERTY from the process, and replacing them with our senses.
  • Reconciling the Carlota Perez “Paradigms”, the Tyler Cowen “Stagnations”, the W Brian Arthur “Increasing Returns” and the Hagel/Seely Brown “Big Shift” models and bringing them all into this context. They’re not conflicting, I’ve learnt from all of them, but the time has come to look at the confluence with care.
  • Looking more deeply into developing “filtering” as a new skill set in its own right, and thinking about the implications for jobs

But they’re not what’s important. What really really intrigues me is something altogether different, and that is this:

Today, I read that facebook has offered to buy Whatsapp for up to $19 billion. A classic example of a Winner-Takes-All market action, with the risk that inequalities will grow as a result….. unless the winners do something radically different. Which is where I think Marc Benioff (who is chairman and CEO of the company I work for) has the right answer in his 1+1+1 model. The Salesforce Foundation is part of the reason why I choose to work where I work, and I think this will increasingly be the case for job choices everywhere. We have to build into our chosen modes of employment, sustainable and scalable ways of reducing inequality.

Update: I have just seen this, a formal case study of the 1+1+1 model. Definitely worth reading in this context.

What I feel is left unanswered, or at least under-answered

  • The role of ubiquitous affordable connectivity in all this: why access to the internet needs to become a universal human right … and how this can become policy.
  • The role of platforms in all this: how the general purpose computing infrastructures will manifest themselves in future, why the concepts of APIs matter, how the democratisation of development will influence the redistribution of returns to labour (versus capital).
  • The role of governments in all this (as opposed to government: this is a global issue requiring cooperation between governments). As an Indian living in the UK working for a global company headquartered out of the US, I face a regular problem. Many of the debates I’m really interested in become, more by accident than design, completely US-centric. It’s not surprising given the dominance of the US economy and given the predominance of Silicon Valley. But it’s a problem. Particularly when it comes to creating the right infrastructure, policies and regulations to allow people to think anew, to dream anew and to convert their dreams into reality. The institutions that come in the way are largely governmental in origin.
  • The need to overhaul intellectual property regimes in order to reduce inequality. I won’t say any more about this other than to note that the previous sentence probably cost me a significant portion of my readership.

Please read the book. Let me know what you think.  And if you find that this review helped you, let me know. Who knows, I might even review another book.

Posted in Four pillars .


I’m looking through you

I’m looking through you, where did you go I thought I knew you, what did I know You don’t look different, but you have changed I’m looking through you, you’re not the same Your lips are moving, I cannot hear Your voice is soothing, but the words aren’t clear You don’t sound different, I’ve learned the game. I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

I’m Looking Through You, Lennon-McCartney, The Beatles Rubber Soul, 1965

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My father had a tankard with a glass bottom, ostensibly for drinking beer. It looked like this.

He used to joke about the purpose of the glass bottom. He managed to convince me that the reason for the fundamental transparency was to prolong life. As in the life of a gunslinger. He made me imagine a bar somewhere like Tombstone. Batwing doors. Mirror lining the wall behind the bar, with the doors clearly in sight. Gunslingers could safely finish their drinks, looking at the batwing door, in the mirror, through the bottom of the glass. I believed him. Later on it even became a trivia question. Some people thought the glass was there so they didn’t miss even one second of their favourite TV programs. But the truth was more serious than that.

 

The King’s Shilling. Thirsty? Have a drink on me. Oops, is that a shilling in there? Welcome to the Army. (Or Navy).

Young men had reason to be wary of strangers buying them drinks. Pub landlords weren’t happy seeing their custom frogmarched out the door after being hoodwinked like that; they’d just about gotten over the shanghaied-by-having-a-burlap-sack-pulled-over-your-head time. So the landlords had to do something. Hey presto. Tankards had glass bottoms.

 

And so to tomorrow. Soon, we may have driverless cars that are paid for by other people. Advertisers. Cars that will spirit you away to wherever and whatever the subsidising body happens to be. Shops. Restaurants. Some slightly older professions. Patents get even more interesting. Soon, we may have anticipatory shipping. We’ve been watching you. You’re going to buy that rowing machine, aren’t you? We know you will. So we’re going to hide it somewhere handy, like behind your bike shed. Just waiting for you to place that order. I can just imagine all the different ways these things are going to be gamed. Literal free-riders doing their Georgy Girl impression:  always window-shopping but never stopping to buy…. Kids running league tables on the biggest and weirdest things they managed to get past the anticipatory-shipping-gaming-captcha. Oh frabjous day.

Posted in Four pillars .


Filters: Part 6: Trading Places

Note: This is the sixth in a series of posts I’m committed to writing about filters; I started with the principles of filtering, and will proceed to blow up each of the principles in as much detail as makes sense at this stage. Earlier I looked at network-based filters, and then spent time on routing, went on a tangent to look at bringing responsibility into publishing, then looked at “designing for serendipity”.  And now I’m going to spend a little time thinking about what it would mean for a person’s collection of filters to be transferable, even tradeable.

“The future of search is verbs”

There was a time, it must have been around 2 or 3 BG, when I used search engines with funny names. Names like Dogpile and Mamma and Copernic. I found each of them useful in different contexts. I moved off all Microsoft systems when OSX arrived, and that meant no more Copernic. If I remember correctly, Dogpile searched; Mamma searched across a number of engines, and let you choose which one(s) to use. But Copernic did some other stuff, really useful stuff. It let me put my search results into a folder, which I could save if I wanted. I could add one folder to another. I could subtract one from the other. I could mail the folder to others. And I could ask for the folder to be “updated”. Retain the old results, see the new ones that came in; compare the search output between two or more dates. I could even ask for the links in the search results to be revalidated, and mark some of the historical links as broken.

Those were the days.

Around 2008, I remember Esther Dyson quoted Bill Gates as saying “the future of search is verbs”. I have a lot of time for Esther, and if she thought something was important, it gave me pause for thought. And she thought that what Bill Gates had said was profound. I was then still stuck in my search/subscribe/converse/fulfil model from 2003, so that was the lens I placed on her comment. Aha. So the future of search is fulfilment. People don’t just look for things aimlessly: when they search, they hope to find something that they can do something about. For a search to be valuable, the output has to be actionable. Since that was why I had consistently included “fulfilment” as my fourth “pillar”, I was content.

Now, instead of relatively static web pages that need spidering and indexing, we’re in the business of filtering firehoses. The same rules apply. Filtering eases comprehension. But that comprehension is usually for a purpose, an action to be performed related to the filtered stream.

Maybe I’m warped. But sometimes I think of search and subscribe a bit like we’re taught to think of add and multiply. Multiplication is repeat addition. Subscription is repeat search. With an understanding of what’s changed between “searches”.

Acting in the stream

None of us can deal with firehoses. So we filter. When we filter, we do so in order to act. So filtering is part of learning how to do something. When someone watches you do something, that’s teaching. So much of what I learnt, at school and in later life, came from observing someone else who knew how to do something.So when it comes to a time when we’re all living in the stream, a person’s ability to do something depends on her having learnt how to do it. Which may come down to knowing about the right filters to use.

A person’s collection of filters becomes some sort of toolchest, where the instruments that allow that person to do the job are kept and looked after. This is as true for knowledge workers as it was for artisans and craftsmen.

I’ve been fascinated by craftsman’s guilds for decades now; the history of the guilds in London is incredible, particularly when you see just how they were committed to social change via education, training and apprenticeship.

Which brings me to my final point, how filter-sets can help transfer knowledge and learning.

Learning in the stream

Many years ago, as I began to lose all interest in email, I tried an experiment. I opensourced my mailbox to my team, allowed them access to all my mail. [In point of fact I set up a separate mailbox for “private” mail, off the beaten track when it came to spam, corporate or otherwise, and proceeded to make my “official” mailbox open to my team.]. And then I sat back and watched. Something very strange happened. Rather than spend time looking at my incoming mail, I saw my guys spend far more time looking at my “sent items”. Most of them had gotten used to what was in my incoming mail anyway, I would always involve one or more of them. So what they wanted to do was to look at how I handled the things they may not have been involved in. In effect, some of them chose to learn not by watching what came to me but instead by watching what I did as a result.

In the world of stream/filter/drain, filtering is part of how we do something. So there is something to be learnt by looking at how the filters are set and chosen.

Since filtering is something we do on the “subscribe” side, it would mean each of us had our own set of filters, hand-crafted to our needs. Filters we knew how to use, how to refine and improve. This makes for some interesting possibilities for new hire induction and training, and in fact for many types of role-related training. You could take the filter set of an exemplary knowledge worker in a specific role, and make it available to others you sought to train in that role. A transferable set of lenses.

There are other interesting possibilities; in a hierarchy I could try and “wear” the filter-lens of a colleague, a peer, a subordinate, a boss, “see” the stream from their perspective. In a flatter, networked organisation those  labels may not have the same meaning, but the principle remains. Make it easy for you to see the world from someone else’s perspective. Make it easy for someone else to see the world from your perspective.

We’ve seen some of this before, initially with stuff like blogrolls, then with bookmarks, then with sets of subscriptions. Filter-sets have value.

And if they’re in digital form, and they have value, then it’s only a matter of time before people find a way to standardise inventory exposure. Discovery processes follow, and before you know you have valuations and negotiations and trade.

More later. Have you had enough? Or should I go ahead and complete the set, I have only four more to write. Please keep your comments flowing.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Four pillars .




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