Flexible Futures

I: A Brief Tour of the Future

During my first visit to Sydney, in 1997, I made arrangements to catch up with some friends living in Drummoyne.  I was staying at the Novotel Darling Harbour, so we agreed to meet in front of the IMAX theatre before heading off to drinks and dinner.  I arrived at the appointed time, as did a few of my friends.  We waited a bit more, but saw no sign of the missing members of our party.  What to do?  Should we wait there – for goodness knows how long – or simply go on without them?

As I debated our choices – neither particularly palatable – one of my friends took a mobile out of his pocket, dialed our missing friends, and told them to meet us at an Oxford Street pub.  Crisis resolved.

Nothing about this incident seems at all unusual today – except for my reaction to the dilemma of the missing friends.  When someone’s not where they should be, where they said they would be, we simply ring them.  It’s automatic.

In Los Angeles, where I lived at the time, mobile ownership rates had barely cracked twenty percent.  America was slow on the uptake to mobiles; by the time of my visit, Australia had already passed fifty percent.  When half of the population can be reached instantaneously and continuously, people begin to behave differently.  Our social patterns change.  My Sydneysider friends had crossed a conceptual divide into hyperconnectivity, while I was mired in an old, discrete and disconnected conception of human relationships.

We rarely recall how different things were before everyone carried a mobile.  The mobile has become such an essential part of our kit that on those rare occasions when we leave it at home or lose track of it, we feel a constant tug, like the phantom pain of a missing limb.  Although we are loath to admit it, we need our mobiles to bring order to our lives.

We can take comfort in the fact that all of us feel this way.  Mobile subscription rates in Australia are greater than one hundred and twenty percent – more than one mobile per person, one of the highest rates in the world.  We have voted with our feet, with our wallets and with our attention.  The default social posture in Australia – and New Zealand and the UK and the USA – is face down, absorbed in the mobile.  We stare at it, toy with it, play on it, but more than anything else, we reach through it to others, whether via voice calls, text messages, Facebook, Twitter, or any of an constantly-increasing number of ways.

The mobile takes the vast, anonymous and unknowable world, and makes it pocket-sized, friendly and personal.  If we ever run into a spot of bother, we can bring resources to hand – family, friends, colleagues, even professional fixers like lawyers and doctors – with the press of ten digits.  We give mobiles to our children and parents so they can call us – and so we can track them.  The mobile is the always-on lifeline, a different kind of 000, for a different class of needs.

Because everyone is connected, we can connect to anyone we wish.  These connections needn’t follow the well-trodden paths of family, friends, neighbors and colleagues.  We can ignore protocol and reach directly into an organization, or between silos, or from bottom to top, without obeying any of the niceties described on org charts or contact sheets.  People might choose to connect in an orderly fashion – when it suits them.  Generally, they will connect to their greatest advantage, whether or not that suits your purposes, protocols, or needs.  When people need a lifeline, they will turn over heaven and earth to find it, and once they’ve found it, they will share it with others.

Connecting is an end in itself – smoothing our social interactions, clearing the barriers to commerce and community – but connection also provides a platform for new kinds of activities.  Connectivity is like mains power: once everywhere, it becomes possible to imagine a world where people own refrigerators and televisions.

When people connect, their first, immediate and natural response is to share.  People share what interests them with people they believe share those interests.  In early days that sharing can feel very unfocused.  We all know relatives or friends who have gone online, gotten overexcited, and suddenly start to forward us every bad joke, cute kitten or chain letter that comes their way.  (Perhaps we did these things too.)  Someone eventually tells the overeager sharer to think before they share.  They learn the etiquette of sharing.  Life gets easier (and more interesting) for everyone.

As we learn who wants to know what, we integrate ourselves into a very powerful network for the dissemination of knowledge.  If it’s important to us, the things we need to know will filter their way through our connections, shared from person to person, delivered via multiple connections.  In the 21st century, news comes and finds us.  Our process of learning about the world has become multifocal; some of it comes from what we see and those we meet, some from what we read or watch, and the rest from those we connect with.

The connected world, with its dense networks, has become an incredibly efficient platform for the distribution of any bit of knowledge – honest truth, rumor, and outright lies.  Anything, however trivial, finds its way to us, if we consider it important.   Hyperconnectivity provides a platform for a breadth of ‘situational awareness’ beyond even the wildest imaginings of MI6 or ASIO.

In a practical sense, sharing means every employee, no matter their position on the org chart, can now possess a detailed awareness your organization.  When an employee trains their attention on something important to them, they see how to connect to others sharing similar important information.

We begin by sharing everything, but as that becomes noisy (and boring), we focus on sharing those things which interest us most.  We forge bonds with others interested in the same things.  These networks of sharing provide an opportunity for everyone to involve themselves fully within any domain deemed important – or at least interesting.  Each sharing network becomes a classroom of sorts, where anyone expert in any area, however peculiar, becomes recognized, promoted, and well-connected.  If you know something that others want to know, they will find you.

In addition to everything else, we are each a unique set of knowledge, experience and capabilities which, in the right situation, proves uniquely valuable.  By sharing what we know, we advertise our expertise.  It follows us where ever we go.   Because this expertise is mostly hidden from view, it is impossible for us to look at one another and see the depth that each of us carries within us.

Every time we share, we reveal the secret expert within ourselves.  Because we constantly share ourselves with our friends, family and co-workers, they come to rely on what we know.  But what of our colleagues?  We work in organizations with little sense of the expertise that surrounds us.

Before hyperconnectivity, it was difficult to share expertise.  You could reach a few people – those closest to you – but unless your skills were particularly renowned or valuable, that’s where it stopped.  For good or ill, our experience and knowledge now  extend far beyond the circle of those familiar to you, throughout the entire organization.  Everyone in it can now have some awareness of the talents that pulse through your organizations – with the right tools in place.

 

II: Mobility & Flexibility

Everyone now goes everywhere with a mobile in hand.  This means everyone is continually connected to the organization.  That has given us an office that has no walls, one which has expanded to fill every moment of our lives.  We need to manage that relationship and the tension between connectivity and capability.  People can not always be available, people can not always be ‘on’.  Instead, we must be able to establish boundaries, rules, conventions and practices which allow us to separate work from the rest of our lives, because we can no longer do so based on time or location.

We also need some way to be able to track the times and places we do work.  We’re long past the days of punching a timeclock.  In a sense, the mobile has become the work-whistle, timeclock and overseer, because it is the monitor.  This creates another tension, because people will not be comfortable if they believe their own devices are spying on them. Can organizations walk a middle path, which allows the mobile to enable more employee choice and greater freedom, without eternally tethering the employee to the organization?

This is a policy matter, not a technology matter, but technology is forcing the hand of policy.  How can technology come to the aid of that policy?  How can I know when it might be appropriate to contact an employee within my organization, and when it would be right out?  This requires more than a quick glance at an employee schedule.  The employee, mobile in hand, has the capacity to be able to ‘check in’ and ‘check out’ of availability, and will do so if it’s relatively effortless.  Employees can manage their own time more effectively than any manager, given the opportunity.

It’s interesting to note that this kind of employee-driven ‘flextime’ has been approaching for nearly thirty years, but hasn’t yet arrived.  Flextime has proven curiously inflexible.  That’s a result of the restricted communication between employee and organization, mostly happening within the office and within office hours.  Now that communication is continuous and pervasive, now that the office is everywhere, flextime policies must be adjusted to accommodate the continuously-evolving needs of the organization’s employees.  The technology can support this – and we’re certainly flexible enough.  So these practices must come into line with our capabilities.

As practice catches up with technology, we need to provide employees with access to the tools which they can use to manage their own work lives.  This is the key innovation, because empowering employees in this way creates greater job satisfaction, and a sense of ownership and participation within the organization.  Just as we can schedule time with our friends or pursuing our hobbies, we should be able to manage our work lives.

Because we rely so heavily on mobiles, we lead very well-choreographed lives.  Were we to peek at a schedule, our time might look free, but our lives have a habit of forming themselves on-the-fly, sometimes only a few minutes in advance of whatever might be happening.   We hear our mobile chime, then read the latest text message telling us where we should be – picking up the kids, going to the shops, heading to a client.  Our mobiles are already in the driver’s seat.  Fourteen years ago, when I sat at Darling Harbour, waiting for my late friends, we had no sense that we could use pervasive mobile connectivity to manage our schedules and our friends’ schedules so precisely.  Now, it’s just the way things are.

Do we have back office practices which reflect this new reality?  Can an employee poke at their mobile and know where they’re expected, when, and why?  By this, I don’t mean calendaring software (which is important), but rather the rest of the equation, which allows employee and employer to come to a moment-by-moment agreement about the focus of that employment.

This is where we’re going.  The same processes at work in our private lives are grinding away relentlessly within our organizations.  Why should our businesses be fundamentally more restrictive than our family or friends, all of whom have learned how to adapt to the flexibility that the mobile has wrought?  This isn’t a big ask.  It’s not as though our organizations will tip into chaos as employees gain the technical capacity to manage their own time.  This is why policy is important.  Just because anything is possible doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.  Hand-in-hand with the release of tools must come training on how these tools should be used to strengthen an organization, and some warnings on how these same tools could undermine an organization whose employees put their own needs consistently ahead of their employer.

Once everyone has been freed to manage their own time, you have a schedule that looks more like Swiss cheese than the well-ordered blocks of time we once expected from the workforce.  Every day will be special, a unique arrangement of hours worked.  Very messy.  You need excellent tracking and reporting tools to tell you who did what, when, and for how long.  Those tools are the other side of the technology equation; give employees control, and you create the demand for a deeper and more comprehensive awareness of employee activities.

Managers can’t spend their days tracking employee comings and goings.  As our schedules become more flexible and more responsive to both employee and organizational needs, the amount of information a manager needs to absorb becomes prohibitive.  Managers need tools which boil down the raw data into easily digestible and immediately apprehensible summaries.

Not long ago, I did quite a bit of IT consulting for a local council, and one thing I heard from the heads of each of the council’s departments, was how much the managers at the top needed a ‘dashboard’, which could give them a quick overview of the status of their departments, employee deployment, and the like.  A senior executive needs to be able to glance at something – either on their desktop computer, or with a few pokes on their mobile – and know what’s going on.

Something necessary for the senior management has utility throughout the organization.  The kind of real-time information that makes a better manager also makes a better organization, because employees who have access to real-time updates can change their own activities to meet rising demands.  The same flexibility which allows employees to schedule themselves also creates the opportunity for a thoroughly responsive and reconfigurable workforce, able to turn on a dime, because it is plugged in and well-aware of the overall status of the organization.

That’s the real win here; employees want flexibility to manage their own lives, and organizations need that flexibility to able to respond quickly to both crises and opportunities.  The mobile empowers both employee and organization to meet these demands, provided there is sufficient institutional support to make these moment-to-moment changes effortless.

This is a key point.   Where there is friction in making a change, in updating a schedule, or in keeping others well-informed, those points of friction become the pressure points within the organization.  An organization might believe that it can respond quickly and flexibly to a crisis, only to find – in the midst of that crisis – that there is too much resistance to support the organizational demand for an instant change of focus.  An organization with too much friction divides its capabilities, becoming less effective through time, while an organization which has smoothed away those frictions multiplies its capabilities, because it can redeploy its human resources at the speed of light.

Within a generation, that’s the kind of flexibility we will all expect from every organization.  With the right tools in hand, it’s easy to imagine how we can create organizations that flow like water while remaining internally coherent.  We’re not there yet, but the pieces are now in place for a revolution which will reshape the organization.

 

III: Exposing Expertise

It’s all well and good to have a flexible organization, able to reconfigure itself as the situation demands, but that capability is useless unless supported by the appropriate business intelligence.  When a business pivots, it must be well-executed, lest it fly apart as all of the pieces fall into the wrong places, hundreds of square pegs trying to fill round holes.

Every employee in an organization has a specific set of talents, but these talents are not evenly distributed.  Someone knows more about sales, someone else knows more about marketing, or customer service, or accounting.  That’s why people have roles within an organization; they are the standard-bearers for the organization’s expertise.

Yet an employee’s expertise may lie across several domains.  Someone in accounting may also provide excellent customer service.  Someone in manufacturing might be gifted with sales support.  A salesman might be an accomplished manager.  People come into your organization with a wide range of skills, and even if they don’t have an opportunity to share them as part of their normal activities, those skills represent resources of immense value.

If only we knew where to find them.

You see, it isn’t always clear who knows what, who’s had experience where, or who’s been through this before.  We do not wear our employment histories on our sleeves.  Although we may enter an organization with our c.v. in hand, once hired it gets tucked away until we start scouting around for another job.  What we know and what we’ve done remains invisible.  Our professional lives look a lot like icebergs, with just a paltry bit of our true capabilities exposed to view.

One of the functions of a human resources department is to track these employee capabilities.  Historically, these capabilities have been strictly defined, with an appropriately circumscribed set of potentials.  Those slots in the organization are filled by these skills.  This model fit well well organizations treasured stability and order over flexibility and responsiveness.  But an organization that needs to pivot and reorient itself as conditions arise will ask employees to be ready to assume a range of roles as required.

How does an organization become aware of the potential hidden away within its employees?

I look out this afternoon and see an audience, about whom I know next to nothing.  There are deep reservoirs of knowledge and experience in this room, reservoirs that extend well beyond your core skills in payroll and human resources.  But I can’t see any of it.  I have no idea what we could do together, if we had the need.  We probably have enough skills here to create half a dozen world-class organizations.  But I’m flying blind.

You’re not.  Human resources is more than hiring and compliance.  It is an organizational asset, because HR is the keeper of the human inventory of skills and experiences.   As an employee interviews for a position and is hired, do you translate their c.v. into a database of expertise?  Do you sit them down for an in-depth interview which would uncover any other strengths they bring into the organization?  Or is this information simply lying dormant, like a c.v. stashed away in a drawer?

The technology to capture organizational skills is already widely deployed.  In many cases you don’t need much more than your normal HR tools.  This isn’t a question of tools, but rather, how those tools get used.  Every HR department everywhere is like a bank vault loaded up with cash and precious metals.  You could just close the vault, leaving the contents to moulder unused.  Or you can take that value and lend it out, making it work for you and your organization.

That’s the power of an HR department which recognizes that business intelligence about the intelligence and expertise within your organization acts like a force multiplier.  A small organization with a strong awareness of its expertise punches far above its weight.  A large organization with no such awareness consistently misses opportunities to benefit from its unique excellence.

You hold the keys to the kingdom, able to unlock a revolution in productivity which can take your organizations to a whole new level of capability.  When anyone in the organization can quickly learn who can help them with a given problem, then reach that person immediately – which they now can, given everyone has a mobile – you have effectively swept away much of the friction which keeps organizations from reaching their full potential.

Consider the tools you already employ.  How can they be opened up to give employees an awareness of the depth of talent within your organization?  How can HR become a switchboard of capabilities, connecting those with needs to those who have proven able to meet those needs?  How can a manager gain a quick understanding of all of the human resources available throughout the organization, so that a pivot becomes an effortless moment of transition, not a chaotic chasm of confusion.

This is the challenge for the organizations of the 21st century.  We have to learn how to become flexible, fluid, responsive and mobile.  We have to move from ignorance into awareness.  We have to understand that the organization as a whole benefits from an expanded awareness of itself.  We have to do these things because newer, more nimble competitors will force these changes on us.   Organizations that do not adapt to the workforce and organizational movements toward flexibility and fluidity will be battered, dazed and confused, staggering from crisis to crisis.  Better by far to be on the front foot, walking into the future with a plan to unleash the power within our organizations.

Hypereconomics

What happens after we’re all connected?  When I asked that question, seven years ago, well over eighty percent of all Australians had their own mobile, and the bulk of the nation had signed up for broadband Internet access.  The answer led me on a journey through the future of media, education, politics, and now, economics.

In July I started to set down the outcomes of my research in a book titled THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS.  A billion seconds is just a bit over 30 years – a generation, if you will – and it’s my belief the billion seconds from 1995 to 2026 will be as important in the history of human affairs as the birth of language, seventy thousand years ago.  Being connected means being something new.

We, here in this room tonight – along with everyone else on the planet – are in the middle of this transition, halfway between what we were, and what we will become.  That’s always been true, but just now the transformation of our civilization has gone into overdrive, because all of the frictions which kept it chugging along at a lazy pace are evaporating.

We’re moving into a superconducting phase of development, with no resistance holding us back.  Stripped of all baggage, we’re accelerating wildly, unpredictably, into a future which looks almost nothing like the recent past.

 

ALPHA: Fisher, Farmer, Barber, Disruptor

For thousands of years, fishermen from the Indian state of Kerala, sailed their sturdy boats into the Indian ocean, dropped their nets, said their prayers, then pulled the sea’s bounty aboard their craft.  Once they’d filled their hold, the fishermen would head back to the mainland.  At this point, they’d be faced with a choice: where should they sell their fish?  The Kerala coastline, dotted with ports and markets, offers fishermen numerous choices, and the markets need fish every day.  Working from instinct and memory, the fishermen would pick a port, and sail into it.

Inevitably, other fishermen would have had the same idea, would dock at the same port, at near the same time, their holds also filled with freshly-caught fish.  Suddenly there’s a problem of oversupply: Too many fish for sale means low prices in the fish market.  A fisherman might just barely cover their costs, no matter how hard they worked, or how many fish they caught.  Meanwhile, just a few kilometers up or down the coastline, another fishing port had been forgotten by the fishermen that day.  No fish for sale in that fish markets, at any price.  The Kerala fishermen had grown used to their subsistence lifestyle, and Keralan fishmongers to their inconstant supply.  It’s just the way things were, the way they’d always been.

In the 1990s, the Indian government auctioned radio spectrum to telecommunications companies, and in 1997, mobiles came to Kerala.  As is the case everywhere, the first mobiles were expensive to own and use, so only the wealthy could afford them.  The cheapest mobile cost a month of an average fisherman’s income.  (In Australian terms, that would be around $4000 for a mobile, or about the cost of five top-of-the-line smartphones.)

Cell towers began to spring up all over Kerala (no government paperwork required, just raise a mast and plug it in) including the coastline.  This gave the beaches of Kerala excellent mobile coverage, and, because radio signals travel in straight lines, it also extended that coverage out to sea for over twenty kilometers.  Anyone could make a call from the middle of the Indian ocean, almost out of sight of land – if they had a reason to make a call.

The most prosperous Kerala fishermen owned more than one boat.  Proceeds from that fishing fleet gave one fisherman enough spare cash that he could purchase a mobile.  The mobile went out to sea with that fisherman, and at some point – no one knows precisely who, or where, or when – someone called the fisherman while out to sea.  Over the course of that conversation, the fisherman learned about a fish market going without fish that day.  The fisherman immediately set his sails for that port, and made a tidy profit from his eagerly awaited fish.

The next day, while still at sea, the fisherman phoned around, calling each fish market in succession, learning which markets most needed fish.  That day the fisherman made another excellent return on his catch.  The same thing happened the day after that, and the one after that.  With his mobile to check the markets, every day brought a very nice profit.

The fishermen of Kerala are a community, and although they may not reveal to one another their favorite fishing spots, news of the mobile fish market spread quickly throughout the length of the state.  Within a few months, every fisherman, from the poorest to the most well-off, owned a mobile, using it to check prices at several markets before selecting a port of call.  Three things happened as a result: every fish market now had a supply of fish; the price of fish at one market matched the price of fish in every other market; and the fishermen now got the best possible price for their fish, every day.  That mobile, which had cost them a month’s income, paid for itself in just two months.

All of the inefficiencies and friction in human communication (markets are one aspect of communication) fell away as the Kerala fishermen used their mobiles to extend their reach, improving  circumstances for both sellers and buyers, a true win-win.  The friction that kept the fishermen poor and poorly informed melted under the heat of connectivity, and the dross of market inefficiencies boiled away, leaving only the gold of commerce.  This happened not because of some top-down mandate, but from a bottom-up process in which people connect, share what they know, learn from one another, then put that learning into practice.

Kerala was an early example, but far from the only one.  Farmers, forever at the mercy of the weather, insects and crop blights, suffered from ‘informational asymmetry’ in the marketplace: the buyers have always known more than the sellers, using that information to their advantage.  Hyperconnectivity has disrupted that informational arbitrage: farmers in Kenya use DrumNet, a mobile service that allows them to check the current market prices for their produce at a range of locations.  When a farmer readies his crop for sale, he sends a text message to DrumNet, using the response to choose the market which will give him the best return for his efforts.  Just as Kerala fishermen phone around for the best price for their catch, a Kenyan farmer can quickly learn where he’ll get the best price for his vegetables.  Hyperconnectivity makes informational asymmetries a thing of the past; every party to a transaction can negotiate a sale fully informed.  With DrumNet, Kenyan farmers have been earning as much as 40% more for their crops – a rate of return which makes the service a very good investment.

The DrumNet concept has spread across the developing world.  In India, Nokia mobiles come equipped with apps that illiterate farmers employ to get information about crops, weather and market prices.  Nokia makes a small profit off the service – which is expected to grow to serve tens of millions of users – and farmers in India, Bangladesh and Pakistan earn more for their produce.  Each of these farmers, hyperconnected, has access to informational resources as great as those available to the most well-resourced farmer, anywhere in the world.

Moreover, the mobile frees the market from a place, attaching it to a person.  In Karachi, barbers have always had to rent an expensive stall in the pubic markets to ply their trade.  When Pakistan crossed over into of hyperconnectivity, a different kind of commerce became possible.  An enterprising barber can buy a bicycle and a mobile, printing signs reading “FOR A HAIRCUT CALL 03XX-YYYYYYYYY”, and post these throughout the city.   Clients contact the barber directly, mobile-to-mobile, receiving on-call service in their homes.  Everyone is better served by this relationship: the client gets a shave at a time and location of their own choosing; the barber cuts his own costs dramatically, while establishing a closer relationship with his clientele.  For the ancient market civilizations of South Asia, this displacement of place by person means that the market has altered permanently because of hyperconnectivity.  The intersection of commerce and society has suddenly become something quite different.

The hyperconnectivity created by the mobile dramatically improves an individual’s ability to earn a living.  To own a mobile in Bangladesh or Peru or Nigeria means you have a capability to earn more to keep you and your family alive.  This effect is completely obvious, so everyone in the developing world has been acquiring their own mobile handsets.  In the decade from 1999 to 2009, we went from half the world’s population never having made a phone call to half the planet owning their own mobile.  We’re now well past that point.  There are over six billion mobile subscriptions and almost five-and-a-half billion individuals using mobiles right this minute, and, if current growth patterns are maintained, in five years’ time everyone on Earth – over seven billion people – will have their own mobile.

 

BETA: Aggregation and Collapse

Under the pressure of hyperconnectivity, all friction within all markets, everywhere, has begun to melt.  Everything is becoming smooth, slick, slippery, and very fast.  Not just in the developing world.  But here in Australia it takes different forms, because we come from a different technological base, with excellent connectivity.

One good current example from our own market is Ruslan Kogan’s eponymous – and quite profitable – consumer electronics enterprise.  Kogan realized that the value chain created by the large television manufacturers – the Samsungs and Sonys – rested with a few Chinese companies assembling the raw components for flat-screen televisions according to specifications that varied hardly at all from model to model.  Kogan knew he could get these Chinese manufacturers to build televisions for him, if he could order them in sufficient quantity.  Kogan turned to the Web to create enough demand to overcome the frictions to the transaction.  The Web provides a frictionless environment where purchasers can pool their buying needs around Kogan’s capacity to build a value chain.

Gerry Harvey complains that Kogan undercuts his retail business, but the innovation is more fundamental than simple e-commerce.  Kogan is using the Web as an aggregation mechanism, not a sales channel.  Eventually, others will copy the Kogan model, aggregating demand for almost every imaginable product or service.  Groupon and Spreets cut off-price deals with businesses, taking a cut of the sales as the price of customer aggregation.  The most disruptive businesses of 2011 identify a demand, build a value chain to service that demand, aggregating demand in sufficient quantity to produce a substantial price differential.

Kogan itself is built upon frictions in the marketplace.  It is not easy to go directly to a Chinese manufacturer and order a huge and cheap flat-screen television.  Kogan is an at-present-necessary intermediary between the manufacturer and the marketplace, the point of aggregation.  This interface between manufacturer and marketplace exists only for as long as the manufacturers hold themselves aloof.  One of these manufacturers will develop a value chain which allows them to accomodate single customer orders, and at that point the Kogan model collapses, just as Gerry Harvey’s has already collapsed.

A number of businesses take advantage of the frictionless environment provided hyperconnectivity.  One, named Uber, has begun to disrupt the taxi market.  Launched late last year in San Francisco, Uber requires users to download a mobile app to their smartphone, uses GPS to locate the user, showing a map of the locale, with any available cars also shown on the map, positions updating in real-time.  Uber transmits a request for a pickup to each of these cars, and one car accepts, the others disappear, while the user watches the car approach the pickup location in real-time.

The cars employed by Uber are standard black limousines, used for airport and executive transfers throughout the USA.  The drivers run a companion iPhone app in their cars, receiving offers for jobs as users requests pickups.  As these drivers add Uber jobs to their scheduled pickups, driver downtime – generally around 50% of the driver’s time – is sharply reduced.  The driver makes more per shift worked, because the inefficiencies in hiring a driver have been removed by Uber’s aggregation of both supply and demand.

I had the opportunity to interview several Uber drivers, who uniformly praised the service.  Although more expensive than a taxi, Uber makes the process of booking a pickup and paying the driver so frictionless –  the payment is charged to a credit card supplied when signing up for the service – it make sense for all but the most cost-conscious.

Uber transformed a discrete and disconnected army of cars into a single, cohesive entity, aggregating demand for that fleet, ensuring that there would be work.  This innovation proved so disruptive to the existing San Francisco taxi companies they filed suit against Uber – originally named ‘Uber Cabs’ – getting a judge to order Uber to remove the word ‘Cabs’ from their name.  That hasn’t stopped Uber’s growth; they’ve now entered New York, Chicago, Seattle and Boston.  Every city that has a fleet of underutilitzed limousines is now ripe for disruption.

AirBnB is another disruptive business employing similar strategies around aggregation.  Allowing property owners to list rooms, apartments or homes for short-term rental, AirBnB simultaneously aggregates people looking for short-term rental properties.  What was once done informally and clumsily through word-of-mouth and Craigslist, is now smooth, efficient, and effortless.

AirBnB is disrupting the hotel market in cities such as New York and San Francisco, where room prices are high, and where there are also a pool of homeowners looking for cash to defray their enormous mortgage payments.  The same market forces which make these cities expensive to visit drive supply and demand to AirBnB.  AirBnB has created a fluid market in very-short-term rental properties where none could have existed before, because of marketplace frictions which made it very difficult to connect property owners to renters.  Hyperconnectivity has eliminated those frictions, so AirBnB represents the first pass at a frictionless the rental market.

The hotel industry is soon to follow, with Room77.com building an individual database for every hotel room everywhere in the world, so an individual renting a room in a hotel will know which room might be the best for their particular needs.  It’s only a short step from that kind of in-depth information to a system allowing individuals to bid for particular rooms on particular days, a disaggregation of a hotel into a set of rooms with prices driven by individual demand.  Such a system would have been almost impossible to create and maintain just a handful of years ago.  Today, it’s the kind of task that software-as-a-service cloud computing is designed for.  Hotels, under pressure from AirBnB, will be forced to disaggregate themselves, in order to compete.

Transport and housing, two primary industry sectors, are fundamentally transformed by hyperconnectivity.  But the cut goes deeper, and closer to the root.  Labour itself is becoming subject to the same forces.  Consider the tweet I received last week:

Who wants to go to woolies for me
and buy dog and cat food and chocolate teddy bear biscuits?

This is the kind of humorous message we hear all the time, and on the occasional lazy day, wish for ourselves.  But it has always remained in the realm of fantasy, unless we are fortunate enough to have a personal servant.  However, if there were some way to aggregate the demands of all these lazy people, matching that demand to a supply of free labor – well, then you’d have Zaarly.

Launched in May, Zaarly offers Americans a smartphone-based interface to a competitive labor pool.   As someone who needs labor, you post a particular task, locale, timeframe and payment to Zaarly.  That request is shared with everyone in the labor pool.  Anyone interested in the job responds with their own price and time frame for completion.  You review these responses, select one, and, after the transaction completes, money is automatically transferred from your credit card into the account of the individual who accepted the job.

As with AirBnB, Zaarly is a radical simplification and acceleration of the services once offered through classified advertisements and in the ‘Gigs Offered / Gigs Wanted’ sections of Craigslist.  Zaarly aggregates the pool of short-term labor just as AirBnB aggregates the pool of short-term accomodation, and Uber aggregates the pool of transport vehicles.  Zaarly could not have existed before the widespread adoption of smartphones, because the friction of connecting laborer to labor was too great.  Now there is no friction, and no resistance to aggregation of either labor demand or labor supply.

For a few years, websites like Freelance.com have been providing a frictionless way to aggregate individuals offering high-value services, such as programming and web design, with organizations who need those services.  A colleague in California, Tyler Crowley, used a distributed development team – in Russia, the Ukraine and India, to rapidly prototype and release Skweal.com, a website that creates a channel for restaurant patrons to send feedback directly to restaurant management – keeping those comments off of websites like Yelp, where they could be very damaging.

Although it wasn’t particularly easy managing a highly virtual, global development team – California is on the other side of the world from Russia and India – Tyler got the work done quickly and at a price he could afford, funding Skweal entirely from his own savings, something that wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been competing for the high-priced Web developers available to him in Southern California.  Labour, like transport and accomodation, has become entirely fluid, subject to none of the frictions which prevented aggregation of supply and demand.

In fact, the law of supply and demand amplifies under the influence of hyperconnectivity.  We are more likely to go to those who can provide a room or a ride or a piece of code cheaply.  In short order this brings us to the ‘race to the bottom’.  In an environment freed from the frictions of the marketplace, there is no room for rent-seeking or even the kinds of labor practices which keep developed economies stable.  When I pit my $75/hour rate against someone in Pakistan asking only $30/hour, how do I survive?  And if I cut my rate to $35/hour, does someone else offer the same service for $15/hour?

At the moment, Uber sets the rates for its drivers, preventing a race to the bottom.  But Uber is just software.  Someone will come along and create a similar piece of software, one which allows transaction participants to negotiate the price – just as Zaarly does.  As these designed-in frictions are designed away, the market opens to economic forces accelerated to the speed of light, and all price supports sustained by market frictions begin to collapse.

The frictionless free-fall of markets doesn’t end with the individual labourer.  Businesses born out of hyperconnectivity, aggregating demand and supply – firms such as eBay, Uber, and AirBnB – face another round of disruption.  The connectivity which made eBay possible also allowed the firm to centralize its aggregation, bringing all buyers and sellers to a single website, where their traffic could be channeled, and a tariff placed on all transactions.  In the virtual marketplace of eBay, sellers pay ‘rent’, in the form of a transaction fee, a cost passed along to the buyer.

Centralization is a form of market friction, in that it grants whomever controls the central point the power to act as taxman, tollbooth, and censor.  Apple has been notorious for the strict controls it puts upon apps available for iOS devices, which must be purchased through its centralized iTunes store.  If your iPhone app does something Apple doesn’t like – or considers a potential competitive threat – Apple has the power to deny you access to its centralized retail channel.  Because the hyperconnectivity of Apple’s iOS devices would normally allow peer-to-peer exchanges of software and other items of value, these market frictions had to be engineered into the operating system.

The market frictions of centralization become harder to maintain as we become more hyperconnected.  The recording industry profited enormously in the transition to digital recording, because of the friction associated with the distribution of hundreds of megabytes of music.  As compression techniques improved, and broadband spread throughout the developed world, the barriers to peer-to-peer distribution of music progressively collapsed.

We are now sufficiently hyperconnected that it is not only technically possible to build a peer-to-peer competitor to eBay, but inevitable, as hyperconnectivity tends through time to remove all frictions in the market.  The frictions that eBay uses to generate revenue are being smoothed away by a diffuse, distributed, decentralized, global aggregation of buyers and sellers, less bazaar than switchboard, more MapReduce than website.  The same fate will inevitably befall Uber, AirBnB, even Zaarly – any business seeking to conduct aggregation-based arbitrage.  Hyperconnectivity does not support the inefficiencies needed to make these businesses a continuing success.  They are all intermediate forms, leveraging the brief moment between the disconnected and hyperconnected worlds.

 

RC1: Runny Money

The transition to hypereconomics – economics where friction has vanished – has a few years yet to run.  The sudden rise of firms like Zaarly and Freelance.com has given us some sense of what the labour market will soon look like: will we be ‘gigging’, rather than working; our gigs may be small tasks, ephemeral moments when we contribute our particular expertise to an overall project, even if that expertise is simply being in the right place at the right time.

As we move further into a hypereconomy, we need to assemble value chains from the resources available to us.  We need to be able to bring this material together with that design expertise, married to a fabrication capability, delivered via the appropriate transportation logistics.  When we can do that, every individual will have the same capabilities to fashion an assembly line that Henry Ford once commanded.

To do this right now would be difficult.  The amount of friction associated with many of these tasks is still quite high. Indeed, because that friction is so high, Ruslan Kogan is still in business.  We may be hyperconnected, but the businesses we run have not grasped the nettle of hyperconnectivity.  Businesses have not moved to reduce the frictions which frame their sales channels.  Only a small percentage of businesses present their sales channel through a website, and only a tiny portion of these provide any sort of interface – an Application Program Interface, or API – which would allow that sales channel to be rolled into a larger, more flexible tool.

This is the gap – and the great opportunity of the present moment.  Every commercial entity, whether an individual offering up labour and expertise, or an organization offering products and services, will soon present themselves through an interface that removes all of the frictions of the business transaction.

Let’s use Kogan as an example.  With appropriate APIs to the manufacturers of LCD panels, television electronics, electronics assembly, and transport, I could have a TV built-to-order.   This may seem like a bit of work, but once someone has put together a particular supply chain, by mashing-up the appropriate APIs, that supply chain can be shared.  I won’t have to do much more than call up that supply chain widget on my mobile, and press ‘order’.

Seen in this way, the transportation logistics provided by Uber, materials offered on eBay, and a design consultancy facilitated by Freelance.com are no longer destinations in themselves, but APIs, each offering a specific element in a production value chain.  The recipe which strings them all together, turning an idea into reality, is the innovation, an innovation which can only emerge where friction has been been removed in every component of the recipe, via an API.

Like everything else within the culture of hyperconnectivity, these recipes will be shared within communities of expertise.  People who care about televisions will trade recipes to cook up custom models; people who care about coffee or cookware or carpeting will be able to do the same thing.  Being part of a community of expertise gives you access to all the production value chains associated with that community.  This is already true: consider how hobbyists trade tips on where to find particularly obscure bits of mechanism, recordings, and so forth.  But enough friction still exists to keep these production value chains very short.  As that friction disappears, these production value chains grow long enough to span the whole distance from raw materials to finished product.

A hundred years ago, when Henry Ford established his River Rouge assembly plant, he needed nothing more than iron, sand, coke and raw rubber.  From these basic ingredients, he manufactured millions of Model Ts, because River Rouge encompassed a production value chain able to refine, fabricate and assemble every part of the automobile.  We are at the threshold of a similar, individual Industrial revolution: as businesses publish their APIs, customers gain unprecedented control over the means of production.   A given customer can optimize for price, delivery time, carbon footprint, or any of a countless number of variables, crafting a production value chain which precisely meets their needs.

One remaining point of friction within this system is financial.  Businesses can present themselves to a global market of customers via an API, but flows of capital remain stubbornly territorial, hemmed in by the macroeconomic policies of central banks, blocking flows of capital to bring stability to national economies.  That friction has always made global commerce difficult, creating a place in the value chain for import/export arbitrage.

As soon as the world had become sufficiently hyperconnected for these frictions to become a real barrier to commerce, PayPal arrived on the scene.  Using PayPal, it is possible to transfer funds internationally, and almost immediately, with very little effort.  PayPay propelled eBay into international viability – undoubtedly the reason the auction website purchased PayPal in 2002.

While it is conceivable that PayPal could become a ‘financial API’, capitalizing all of the pieces of a production value chain, PayPal, like eBay, is an artifact of the transition to hyperconnectivity, an arbitrageur exploiting imperfections in hyperconnectivity.  Once everyone is directly connected, it is possible to transfer capital between peers, without any mediating exchange service.

Given the capital flow restrictions of central banks, fiat currencies can not be employed in transactions crossing international boundaries.  Instead, individuals and organizations will begin to develop their own exchange mechanisms, perhaps based on precious metals (a de facto return to the gold standard), but more likely employing virtual currencies: perhaps kilowatt-hours, abstract ‘labour units’, or other measures of value.

It is not necessary for all parties within a production value chain to agree to use a single virtual currency.  Where multiple virtual currencies exist, trading markets will flourish, accessible via APIs.  Although currency conversion is a point of friction, an API-based approach to currency conversion makes any virtual currency portable enough that its use presents little friction.

If this sounds a bit fanciful, consider the recent introduction of BitCoins, a cryptographically secure virtual currency, which has value only relative to itself, but which can be exchanged for fiat currencies across a range of websites, several of which offer APIs.  A number of businesses now accept payment in BitCoins, and although the currency has been more influential as an idea than as a medium of exchange, it points toward the possibility of a hypercurrency, designed to slot smoothly into the frictionless universe of hypereconomics.

As more businesses present themselves as APIs ready to be wired into production value chains, the need for a frictionless medium of exchange will become more pronounced.  Just as PayPal came along to take eBay global, a hypercurrency will arrive on the scene just as we need it, because there will be a universal demand for it.

As capital migrates from friction-filled national and international finance markets into hypereconomic frameworks, institutions dependent upon those frictions will be threatened.  Banks will not be able to collect interest.  Governments will not be able to tax – customs duties and user fees look to be the only ways governments can generate revenue.  Courts will not be able to seize assets.  The peculiar arrangement of laws and regulations which keep our economic system stable will grow increasingly meaningless.  Governments and courts will try to follow capital flows into hypereconomic zones, only to learn that their mechanisms of control and enforcement are poorly matched to such a fluid environment.

 

CONCLUSION: Open Your APIs

Many businesses will not welcome a broadly frictionless hypereconomic environment, as they have adapted themselves to harness these frictions profitably.  This resistance leaves those businesses vulnerable to new competitors, offering the same products and services via frictionless APIs.  Businesses will be forced to change their sales channels, or they will simply wither away.  Australia somehow managed to avoid the allure of retail e-commerce for fifteen years, but now retailers see their businesses being hollowed-out as Australian consumers find the online shopping experience sufficiently frictionless to attract their dollars.  The decision to ignore e-commerce was a mistake that is proving fatal to Australian retailers.

If we want to avoid massive business failures, we must learn from this mistake.  The future does not look like the recent past, with massive, comprehensive websites offering everything to everyone.  The future belongs to tight, focused APIs of products and services, written to be easy to use, easy to mash-up, easy to share, and easy to roll into other tools.  The future belongs to businesses which can effortlessly accept payment in any currency the customer cares to offer.  The future belongs to the entrepreneurs building tools that make constructing a production value chain a simple matter of dragging and dropping a few icons on an iPad’s screen.  The future belongs to the hyperconnected, learning to skate on this very slippery ice.

What happens when there’s no more friction, anywhere?  Open your APIs.  We’re  about to find out.

Hyperconnected Education

I: Connect / Disconnect

Recently, I had the opportunity to teach a lecture at the University of Sydney.  I always consider teaching a two-way street: there’s an opportunity to learn as much from my students as they learn from me.  Sometime I simply watch what they do, learning from that what new behaviors are spreading across the culture.  Other times I take advantage of a captive audience to run an ethnographic survey.  With eighty eager students ready to do my bidding, I worked up a few questions about mobile usage patterns within their age group.

First, I ascertained their ages – ranging mostly between eighteen and twenty-two, with a cluster around nineteen and twenty.  Then I asked them, “How old were you when you first got a mobile of your own?”  One student got her first mobile at nine years of age, while the oldest waited until they were nineteen.  An analysis of the data shows that half of the students owned a mobile at around eleven and a half years old.

When I shared this result with some colleagues on Twitter, they responded, “That seems a bit old.”  And it does – precisely because these students are, on average, eight and a half years older than when they got their first mobile.  This survey looks back into 2003 – the year that I arrived in Australia – rather than at the present moment.

Another survey, conducted last year, shows how much has changed, so quickly.  Thirty-seven percent of children between Kindergarten and Year 2 have their own mobile (of some sort), with one fifth having access to a smartphone.  By Year 8, that figure has risen to eighty-five percent, with fully one-third using smartphones.

Since the introduction of the mobile, thirty years ago, the average age of first ownership has steadily dropped.  For many years the device was simply too expensive to be given to any except children from the wealthiest families.  Today, an Android smartphone can be purchased outright for little more than a hundred dollars, and thirty dollars a months in carriage.  With the exception of the poorest Australians, price is no longer a barrier to mobile ownership.  As the price barrier dropped, the age of first mobile ownership has also tumbled, from eleven years old in 2003, to something closer to eight today.

The resistance to mobile ownership in the sub-eight-year-old set will only be overcome as the devices themselves become more appropriate to children with less developed cognitive skills.  Below age eight, the mobile morphs from a general-purpose communications device to a type of networked tether, allowing the parent and the child to remain in a constant high state of situational awareness about each other’s comings and goings.  Only a few mobiles have been designed to serve the needs of the young child.  The market has not been mature enough to support a broad array of child-friendly devices, nor have the carriers developed plans which make mobile ownership in that age group an attractive option.  This will inevitably happen, and from the statistics, that day can not be very far off: the resistance to the mobile in this age group will be designed away.

There is no real end in sight.  The younger the child, the more the mobile assumes the role of the benevolent watcher, a sensor continually reporting the condition of the child to the parent.  We already use radio-frequency baby monitors to listen to our children as they fuss in their cribs; a mobile provides the same capability by different means.  This sensor will also track the child’s heartbeat, temperature, and other vital statistics, will grow smaller and less-power hungry, until – at some point in the next fifteen years, a child have receive their first mobile moments after they pop out of the womb.  That mobile will be integrated into the hospital tag slipped around their foot.

It is an absolute inevitability that sometime within the next decade, every single child entering primary school will come bearing their own mobile.  They will join the rest of us in being hyperconnected – directly and immediately connected to everyone of importance to them.  Why should Australian children be any different than any of the rest of us?  Mobile subscription rates in Australia exceed 120% – more than one per person, even counting all those currently too young or too old to use a mobile.  Within a generation, being human and being connected will be seen to be synonymous.

The next years are an interregnum, the few heartbeats between the ‘before time’ – when none of us were connected – and a thoroughly hyperconnected afterward.  This is the moment when we must make the necessary pedagogical and institutional adjustments to a pervasively connected culture.  That survey from last year found that even at Kindergarten level, two-thirds of parents were willing to buy a mobile for their children – if schools integrated the device into their pedagogy.  But the survey also pointed to opposition within the schools themselves:

“When we asked administrators about the likelihood of them allowing their students to use their own mobile devices for instructional purposes at school this year, a resounding 65% of principals said “no way!”

School administrators overwhelmingly hold the comforting belief that the transition into hyperconnectivity can be prevented, forestalled, or simply banned.  A decade ago most schools banned the mobile; within the last few years, mobiles have been permitted with specific restrictions around how and when they can be used.  A few years from now, there will be no effective way to silence the mobile, anywhere (except in specific instances I will speak to later), because so much of our children’s lives will have become contingent upon the continuous connection it affords.

Like King Canute, we can not hold back the tide.  We must prepare for the rising waters.  We must learn to swim within the sea of connectivity.  Or we will drown.

II: Share / Overshare

When people connect, they begin to share.  This happens automatically, an expression of the instinctive human desire to communicate matters of importance.  Give someone an open channel and they’ll transmit everything they see that they think could be of any interest to anyone else.  At the beginning, this sharing can look quite unfocused – bad jokes and cute kittens – but as time passes, we teach one another those things we consider important enough to share, by sharing them.  Sharing, driven by need, amplified by technology, reaches every one of us, through our network of connections.  We both give and receive: from each according to their knowledge, to each, according to their need.

Sharing has amplified the scope of our awareness.  We can find and connect to others who share our interests, increasing our awareness of those interests.  The parent-child bond is the most essential of all our interests, so parents are loading their children up with the technologies of connection, gaining a constant ‘situational awareness’ of a depth which makes them the envy of ASIO.  The mobile tether becomes eyes and ears and capability, both lifeline and surrogate.  The child uses the mobile to share experiences – both actively and passively – and the parent, wherever they may be, ‘hovers’, watching and guiding.

This ‘helicopter parenting’ was difficult to put into practice before hyperconnectivity, because vigilance required presence.  The mobile has cut the cord, allowing parental hypervigilance to become a pervasive feature of the educational environment.  As the techniques for this electronic hypervigilance become less expensive and easier to use, they will become the accepted practice for child raising.

Intel Fellow and anthropologist Dr. Genevieve Bell spent a day in a South Korean classroom a few years ago, interviewing children whose parents had given them mobiles with GPS tracking capabilities – so those parents always knew the precise location of their child.  When Bell asked the students if they found this constant monitoring threatening, one set of students pointed to another student, who didn’t have a tracking mobile, saying,  “Her parents don’t love her enough to care where she is.”  In the context of the parent-child bond, something that appears Orwellian transforms into the ultimate security blanket.

A friend in Sydney has a child in Kindergarten, a precocious boy who finds the classroom environment alternately boring and confronting.  She’s been called in to speak with the teacher a few times, because of his disruptive behavior – behavior he links to bullying by another classmate.  The teacher hasn’t seen the behaviour, or perhaps thinks it doesn’t merit her attention, leaving the boy increasingly frustrated, dreading every day at school.

In conversation with my friend, I realized that her child felt alone and undefended in the classroom.  How might that change?  Imagine that before he left for school, his mother affixes a small button to his school uniform, perhaps on the collar.  This button would have a camera, microphone and mobile transmitter within it, continuously recording and transmitting a live stream directly from the child’s collar to the parent’s mobile – all day long.  The child wouldn’t have to set it up, or do anything at all.  It would simply work – and my friend would have eyes and ears wherever her child went.  If there was trouble – bullying, or anything else – my friend would see it as it happened, and would be able to send a recording along to her son’s teacher.

This is not science fiction.  It is not even far way.  Every smartphone has all of the technology needed to make this happen.  Although a bit bulkier than I’ve described, it could all be done today.  Not long ago, I purchased a $50 toy ‘spy watch’, which records 20 minutes of video.  My friend could equip her son with that toy asking him to record anything he thought important.  Shrinking it down to the size of a button and adding mobile capability will come in time.  When such a device hits the market, parents will find it irresistible – because it finally gives them eyes in the back of their head.

We need to ask ourselves whether this technological tethering is good for either parent or child.  Psychologist Sherry Turkel, who has explored the topic of children and technology longer than anyone else, believes that this constant close connectivity keeps the child from exploring their own boundaries, artificially extending the helplessness of childhood by amplifying the connection between parent and child.  Connection has consequence: to be connected is to be affected by that connection.  A small child might gain a sense of freedom with an electronic tether, but an adolescent might have a dependency on that connection that could interfere with their adult development.  Because hyperconnectivity is such a recent condition, we don’t have the answers to these questions.  But these questions need to be asked.

This connection has broad consequences for educators.  Two years ago I heard a teacher in Victoria relate the following story: In a secondary school classroom, one student had failed to turn in their assignment.  This wasn’t the first time it had happened, so the teacher had a bit of a go at the student.  As the teacher harangued the student, he reached into his knapsack, pulled out his mobile, and punched a few buttons.  When the connection was made, he said, “You listen to the bitch,” and held the phone away from his face, toward his teacher.

Connection and sharing rewire and short-circuit the relationships we have grown accustomed to within the classroom.  How can a teacher maintain discipline while constantly being trumped by a child tethered to a hypervigilant parent?  How can a child gain independence while so tethered?  How can a parent gain any peace of mind while constantly monitoring the activities of their child?  All of these new dynamics are persistent features of the 21st-century classroom.  All are already present, but none are as yet pervasive.  We have some time to think about our response to hyperconnectivity.

III: Learn / You, Me, and Everyone We Know

A few years ago, both Stanford University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (my alma mater) made the revolutionary decision to publicly post all of lesson plans, homework assignments, and recordings of lectures for all classes offered at their schools.  Why, some wondered aloud, would anyone pay the $40,000 a year in tuition and fees, when you could get the content for nothing?  This question betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of education in the 21st century: knowledge is freely available, but the mentoring which makes that knowledge apprehensible and useful remains a precious resource.  It’s wonderful to have a lesson plan, but it’s essential to be able to work with someone who has a deep understanding of the material.

This is the magic in education, the je ne sais quois that makes it a profoundly human experience, and stubbornly resistant to automation.  We have no shortage of material: nearly four million English language articles in Wikipedia, 2500 videos on Khan Academy (started, it should be noted, by an MIT educator), tens of thousands of lessons in everything from cooking to knitting to gardening to home renovation on YouTube, and sites like SkillShare, which connect those who have specialist knowledge to those who want it.  Yet, even with this embarrassment of riches, we still yearn for the opportunity to conspire, to breathe the same air as our mentor, while they, by the fact of their presence, transmit mastery.  If this sounds a wee bit mystical, so be it: education is the most human of all our behaviors, and we do not wholly understand the why and how of it.

Who shall educate the educators?  All of the materials so far created have been affordances for students, to make their lives easier.  If it helps an educator, that’s a nice side benefit, but never the main game.  In this sense, nearly all online educational resources are profoundly populist, pointing directly to the student, ignoring both educators and educational institutions.  Hyperconnectivity has removed all of the friction which once made it difficult to connect directly to students, but has thus far ignored the teacher.  In the back of a classroom, students can tap on a mobile and correct the errors in a teacher’s lecture, but can the teacher get peer review of that same material?  Theoretically, it should be easy.  In practice, we’re still waiting.

I recently had the good fortune to be a judge at Sydney Startup Weekend, where technology entrepreneurs pitch their ideas, then spend 48 frenetic hours bringing them to life.  The winning project, ClassMate, directly addresses the Educator-to-Educator (E2E) connection.  Providing a platform for a teacher to upload and store their lesson plans, ClassMate allows teachers share those lesson plans within a school, a school system, or as broadly as desired – even charge for them.

This kind of sharing gives every teacher access to a wealth of lesson plans on a broad variety of topics.  As the National Curriculum rolls out over the next few years, the taxonomy of subject areas within it can act as an organizing taxonomy for the sharing of those lesson plans.  Searching through thousands of lesson plans would not simply be a splayed view based on keywords, like a Google search, but rather something more highly specific and focused, drawn from the arc of the National Curriculum.  With the National Curriculum as an organizing principle, the best lesson plans for any particular node within the Curriculum will quickly rise to the top.

This means that every teacher in Australia (and the world) will soon have access to the best class materials from the best teachers throughout Australia.  Teachers will be able to spend more time interacting with students as the hard slog of creating lecture materials becomes a shared burden.  Yet teachers are no different from their students; the best lesson plan is in itself insufficient.  Teachers need to work with other teachers, need to be mentored by other teachers, need to conspire with other teachers, in order to make their own pedagogical skills commensurate with the resources on offer to them.  Professional development must go hand-in-hand with an accelerated sharing of knowledge, lest this sharing only amplify the imbalances between classrooms and between schools.

Victoria’s Department of Education and Early Childhood Development has the ULTRANET, designed to facilitate the sharing of materials between teachers, students and parents.  ULTRANET is not particularly user-friendly, presenting a barrier to its widespread acceptance by a community of educators who may not be broadly comfortable with technology.  Educational sharing systems must be designed from the perspective of those who use them – teachers and students – and not from a set of KPIs on a tick sheet.  One reason why I have high hopes for ClassMate is that the designer is himself a primary school teacher in New South Wales, solving a problem he faces every day.

Sharing between educators creates a platform for a broader sharing between students and educators.  At present almost all of that sharing happens inside the classroom and is immediately lost.  We need to think about how to capture our sharing moments, making them available to students.  Consider the recording device I mentioned earlier – although it works nicely for a child in Kindergarden, it becomes even more useful for someone preparing for an HSC/VCE exam, giving them a record of the mentoring they received.  This too can be shared broadly, where relevant (and often where it isn’t relevant at all, but funny, or silly, or sad, or what have you), so that everything is captured, everywhere, and shared with everyone.

If this sounds a bit like living in a fishbowl, I can only recommend that you get used to it.  Educators will be hit particularly hard by hyperconnectivity, because they spend their days working with students who have never known anything else.  Students copy from one another, teachers borrow from teachers, administrations and departments imitate what they’ve seen working in other schools and other states.  This is how it has always been, but now that this is no longer difficult, it is accelerating wildly, transforming the idea of the classroom.

IV: All Together Now

Let’s now turn to the curious case of David Cecil, a 25 year-old unemployed truckie from Cowra, arrested by the Australian Federal Police on a series of charges which could see him spend a decade imprisoned.  With nothing but time on his hands, and the Internet at his fingertips, Cecil found the thing he found most interesting, found the others interested in it, and listened to what they said.  The Internet became a classroom, and the people he connected to became his mentors.  Dedicated to learning, online for as much as twenty hours a day, Cecil took himself from absolute neophyte to practiced expert in just a few months, an autodidactic feat we can all admire in theory, if somewhat less in practice.  On the 27th of July, Cecil was arrested during a dawn AFP raid on his home, charged with breaking into and obtaining control over the computer systems of Internet service provider Platform Networks.

Cecil might have gotten away with it, but his ego wot dun him.  Cecil went back to the same bulletin boards and chat sites where he learned his ‘1337 skills’, and bragged about his exploits.  Given that these boards are monitored by the forces of law and order, it was only a matter of time before the inevitable arrest.  While it might seem the very apex of stupidity to publicly brag about breaking the law, the desire to share what we know – and be seen as an expert – frequently overrules our sense of self-preservation.  We are born to share what we know, and wired to learn from what others share.  That’s no less true for ourselves than for that ideal poster child for Constructivism, David Cecil.

Now that this figurative internal wiring has become external and literal, now that the connections no longer end with our family, friends and colleagues, but extend pervasively and continuously throughout the world, we have the capability, in principle, of learning anything known by anyone anywhere, of gaining the advantage of their experiences to guide us through our own.  We have for the first time the possibility of some sort of collective mind – not in a wacky science-fiction sense, but with something so mundane it barely rates a mention today – Wikipedia.

In its 3.7 million articles, Wikipedia offers up the factual core of human knowledge – not always perfectly, but what it loses in perfection it makes up for in ubiquity.  Every person with a smartphone now walks around with the collected essence of human knowledge in their hands, accessible within a few strokes of a fingertip.  This is unprecedented, and means that we now have the capability to make better decisions than ever before, because, at every step along the way, we can refer to this factual base, using it to guide us into doing the best we can at every moment.

That is the potential for this moment, but we do not yet operate in those terms.  We teach children to research, as if this were an activity distinct from the rest of our experience, when, in reality, research is the core activity of the 21st century.  We need to think about the era, just a few years hence, when everyone has a very smart and very well connected mobile in hand from birth.  We need to think about how that mobile becomes the lever which moves the child into knowledge.  We need to think about our practice and how it is both undermined and amplified by the device and the network it represents.

If we had to do this as individuals – or even within a single school administration – we would quickly be overwhelmed by the pace of events beyond the schoolhouse walls.  To be able to encounter this accelerating tsunami of connection and empowerment we must take the medicine ourselves, using the same tools as our students and their parents.  We have agency, but only when we face the future squarely, and admit that everything we once knew about the logic of the classroom – its flows of knowledge and power – has gone askew, and that our future lies within the network, not in opposition to it.

In ten years time, how many administrators will say “No way!”, when asked if the mobile has a place in their curriculum?  (By then, it will equivalent to asking if reading has a place in the curriculum.)  This is the stone that must be moved, the psychological block that dams connectivity and creates a dry, artificial island where there should instead be a continuous sea of capability.  The longer that dam remains in place, the more force builds up behind it.  Either we remove the stone ourselves, or the pressures of a hyperconnected world will simply rip through the classroom, wiping it away.

Your students are not alone on their journey into knowledge and mastery.  Beside them, educators blaze a new trail into a close connectivity, leveraging a depth of collective experience to accelerate the search for solutions.  We must search and research and share and learn and put that learning into practice.  We must do this continuously so we can stay in front of this transition, guiding it toward meaningful outcomes for both students and educators.  We must reinvent education while hyperconnectivity reinvents us.

CODA: Disconnect

Finally, let me also be a Devil’s Advocate.  Connectivity is amazing and wonderful and empowering, but so is its opposite.  In fifteen years we have moved from a completely disconnected culture into a completely connected culture.  We believe, a priori, that connection is good.  Yet connection comes with a cost.  To be connected is to be deeply involved with another, and outside one’s self.  This is fine – some of the time.  But we also need a space where we are wholly ourselves, contingent upon no one else.

Our children and our students do not know this.  The value of silence and quiet may seem obvious to us, but they have never lived in a disconnected culture.  They only know connection.  Being disconnected frightens them – both because of its unfamiliarity, and because it seems to hold within it the possibly of facing dangers without the assistance of others.  Furthermore, this generation has no positive role model of disconnection to look to.  They see their parents responding to text messages at the dinner table, answering emails from in front of the television, running for the mobile, every time it rings.  Parents have no boundaries around their connectivity; by their actions, this is what they have taught to their children.

Educators must instill some basic rules – a ‘hygiene of connectivity’ in the next generation.   We need to highlight disconnection as something to be longed for, a positive feature of life.  We need to teach them ways to manage their connectivity, so that they become the master of their connections, not servants.  And we need to be able to set the example in our own actions.  If we do that, we can give the next generation an important insight into how to be whole in a hyperconnected world.

The Social Sense

I: On Top of the World

WebEarth.org image

I’ve always wanted to save the world.  When I was younger, and more messianic, I thought I might have to do it all myself.  As the world knocked sense into me, I began to see salvation as a shared project, a communal task.  I have always had a special vision for that project, one that came to me when I first started working in virtual reality, twenty years ago.  I knew that it would someday be possible for us to ‘see’ the entire world, to apprehend it as a whole.

Virtual reality, and computer visualization in general, is very good at revealing things that we can’t normally see, either because they’re too big, or we’re too large, or they’re too fast, or we’re too quick.  The problem of scale is one at the center of human being: man is the measure of all things.  But where that measuring rod falls short, leaving us unable to apprehend the totality of experience, we live in shadow, part of the truth forever beyond our grasp.

The computer has become microscope, telescope, ultra-high-speed and time-lapse camera.  Using little more than a sharpened needle, we can build atomic-force microscopes, feeling our way across the edges of individual atoms.  Using banks of supercomputers, we crunch through microwave data, painting a picture of the universe in its first microseconds.  We can simulate chemical reactions so fast we had always assumed them to be instantaneous.  And we can speed the ever-so-gradual movement of the continents, making them seem like a dance.

Twenty years ago, when this was more theoretical than commonplace, I realized that we would someday have systems to show us the Earth, just as it is, right in this moment.  I did what I could with the tools I had at my disposal to create something that pointed toward what I imagined, but I have this persistent habit of being ahead of the curve.  What I created – WebEarth – was a dim reflection of what I knew would one day be possible.

In the middle of 1995 I was invited to be a guest of honor at the Interactive Media Festival in Los Angeles.  The festival showcased a number of very high-end interactive projects, including experiments in digital evolution, artificial life, and one project that stopped me in my tracks, a work that changed everything for me.

On 140cm television screen, I saw a visualization of Earth from space.  Next to the screen, I saw a trackball – inflated to the size of a beachball.  I put my hand on the trackball and spun it around; the Earth visualization followed it, move for move.  That’s nice, I thought, but not really terrifically interesting.  There was a little console with a few buttons arrayed off to one side of the trackball.  When you pressed one of those buttons, you began to zoom in.  Nothing special there, but as you zoomed in, the image began to resolve itself, growing progressively more detailed as you dived down from outside the orbit of the Moon, landing at street level in Berlin, or Tokyo, or Los Angeles.

This was T_Vision, and if it all sounds somewhat unexceptional today, sixteen years ago it took a half-million-dollar graphics supercomputer to create the imagery drawn across that gigantic display, and a high-speed network link to keep it fed with all the real-time data integrated into its visualizations.  T_Vision could show you weather information from anywhere it had been installed, because each installation spoke to the others across the still-new-and-shiny Internet, sharing local data.  The goal was to have T_Vision installations in all of the major cities around the world, so that any T_Vision would be able to render a complete picture of the entire Earth, at it is, in the moment.

That never happened; half a million dollars per city was too big an ask.  But I knew that I’d seen my vision realized in T_Vision, and I expected that it would become the prototype for systems to follow.  I wrote about T_Vision in my book The Playful World, because I knew that these simulations of Earth would be profoundly important in the 21st century: they provide an ideal tool for understanding the impacts of our behavior.

Our biggest problems arise when we fail to foresee the long-term consequences of our actions.  Native Americans once considered ‘the seventh generation’ when meditating on their actions, but long-term planning is difficult in a world of every-increasing human complexity.  So much depends on so much, everything interwoven into everything else, it almost seems as though we only have two options: frozen in a static moment which admits no growth, or, blithely ignorant, charging ahead, and devil take the hindmost.

Two options, until today.  Because today we can pop Google Earth onto our computers or our mobiles and zoom down from space to the waters of Lake Crackenback.  We can integrate cloud cover and radar and rainfall.  And we can do this all on computers that cost just a few hundreds of dollars, connected to a global Internet with sensors near and far, bringing us every bit of data we might desire.

We have this today, but we live in the brief moment between the lightning and the thunder.  The tool has been given to us, but we have not yet learned how to use it, or what its use will mean.  This is where I want to begin today, because this is a truly new thing: we can see ourselves and our place within the world.  We were blind, but now can see.  In this light we can put to rights the mistakes we made while we lived in darkness.

 

II: All Together Now

A lot has transpired in the past sixteen years.  Computers double in speed or halve in cost every twenty-four months, so the computers of 2011 are a fifty times faster, and cost, in relative terms, a quarter the price.  Nearly everyone uses them in the office, and most homes have at least one, more often than not connected to high-speed broadband Internet, something that didn’t exist sixteen years ago.  Although this is all wonderful and has made modern life a lot more interesting, it’s nothing next to the real revolution that’s taken place.

In 1995, perhaps fifteen or twenty percent of Australians owned mobiles.  They were bulky, expensive to own, expensive to use, yet we couldn’t get enough of them.  By the time of my first visit to Australia, in 1997, just over half of all Australians owned mobiles.  A culture undergoes a bit of a sea-change when mobiles pass this tipping point.  This was proven during an evening I’d organized with friends at Sydney’s Darling Harbour.  Half of us met at the appointed place and time, the rest were nowhere to be found.  We could have waited them to arrive, or we could have gone off on our own, fragmenting the party.  Instead we called, and told them to meet us at a pub on Oxford Street.  Problem solved.  It’s this simple social lubrication (no one is late anymore, just delayed) which makes mobiles intensely desirable.

In 2011, the mobile subscription rate in Australia is greater than 115%.  This figure seems ridiculous until you account for the number of individuals who have more than one mobile (one for work and one for personal use), or some other device – such as an iPad – that connects to wireless 3G broadband.  Children don’t get their first mobile until around grade 3 (or later), and a lot of seniors have skipped the mobile entirely.  But the broad swath of the population between 8 and 80 all have a mobile or two, and more.

Life in Australia is better for the mobile, but doesn’t hold a candle to its impact in the developing world.  From fishermen on the Kerala coast of India, to vegetable farmers in Kenya, to barbers in Pakistan, the mobile creates opportunities for every individual connected through it, opportunities which quickly translate into economic advantage.  Economists have definitively established a strong correlation between the aggregate connectivity of nation and its growth.  Connected individuals earn more; so do connected nations.

Because the mobile means money, people have eagerly adopted it.  This is the real transformation over the last sixteen years.  Over that time we went from less than a hundred million mobile subscribers to somewhere in the range of six billion.  There’s just under seven billion people on Earth, and even accounting for those of us who have more than one subscription, this means three quarters all of humanity Earth now use a mobile.  As in Australia, the youngest and the very oldest are exempt, but as we become a more urban civilization – over half of us now live in cities – the pace and coordination of urban life is set by the mobile.

 

III:  I, Spy

The lost iPad, found

We live in a world of mobile devices.  They’re in hand, tucked in a pocket, or tossed into a handbag, but sometimes we leave them behind.  At the end of long business trip, on a late night flight back to Sydney, I left my iPad in the seatback pocket of an aircraft.  I didn’t discover this for eighteen hours, until I unpacked my bags and noted it had gone missing.  “Well, that’s it,” I thought.  “It’s gone for good.”  Then I remembered that Apple offers a feature on their iPhones and iPads, through their Me.com website, that lets you locate lost devices.  I figured I had nothing to lose, so I launched the site, waited a few moments, then found my iPad.  Not just the city, or the suburb, but down to the neighborhood and street and house – even the part of the house!  There it was, on Google’s high-resolution satellite imagery, phoning home.

What to do?  The neighborhood wasn’t all that good – next to Mount Druitt in Sydney’s ‘Wild West’ – so I didn’t fancy ringing the bell and asking politely.  Instead I phoned the police, who came by to take a report.  When they asked how I knew where my iPad was, I showed them the website.  They were gobsmacked.  In their perfect world, no thief can ever make away with anything, because it’s telling its owner and the police about its every movement.

I used another feature of ‘Find my iPad’ to send a message to its display: “Hello, I’m lost!  Please return me for a reward.’  About 36 hours later I received an email from the fellow who had ended up with my iPad (his mother cleans aircraft), offering to return it.  The next day, in a scene straight from a Cold War-era spy movie, we met on a street corner in Ultimo.  He handed me my iPad, I thanked him and handed him a reward, then we each went our separate ways.

Somewhere in the middle of this drama, I realized that I possessed the first of what will be many intelligent and trackable devices to follow.  In the beginning they’ll look like mobiles, like tablets and computers, but they’ll begin to look like absolutely anything you like.  This is the kind of high-technology favored by ‘Q’ in James Bond movies and by the CIA in covert operations, but it has always been expensive.  Now it’s cheap and easy-to-use and tiny.

I tend to invent things after I have that kind of brainwave, so I immediately dreamed up a ‘smart’ luggage tag, that you’d clip onto your baggage when you check in at the terminal.  If your baggage gets lost, it can ‘phone home’ to let you know just where it’s ended up – information you can give to your airline.  Or you can put one into your car, so you can figure out just where you left it in that vast parking lot.  Or hang one onto your child as you go out into a crowded public place.  A group of very smart Sydney engineers had already shown me something similar – Tingo Family – which uses the tracking capabilities of smartphones to create that sort of capability.  But smartphones are expensive, and overkill; couldn’t this cost a lot less?

I did some research on my favorite geek websites, and found that I could build something similar from off-the-shelf parts for about $150.  That sounds expensive, but that’s because I’m purchasing in single-unit quantities.  When you purchase 10,000 of something electronic, they don’t cost nearly as much.  I’m sure something could be put together for less than fifty dollars that would have the two necessary components: a GPS receiver, and a 3GSM mobile broadband connection.  With those two pieces, it becomes possible to track anything, anywhere you can get a signal – which, in 2011, is most of the planet.

To track something – and talk to it – costs fifty dollars today, but, like clockwork, every twenty-four months that cost falls by fifty percent.  In 2013, it’s $25.00, in 2015 it’s $12.50, and so on, so that ten years from now it’s only a bit more than a dollar.  Eventually it becomes almost free.

This is the world we will be living in.  Anything of any importance to us – whether expensive or cheap as chips – will be sensing, listening, and responding.  Everything will be aware of where it is, and where it should be.  Everything will be aware of the temperature, the humidity, the light level, the altitude, its energy consumption, and the other things around it which are also aware of the temperature, humidity, light level, altitude, energy consumption, and other things around them.

This is the sensor revolution, which is sometimes called ‘the Web of things’ or ‘Web3.0’.  We can see it coming, even if we can’t quite see what happens once it comes.  We didn’t understand that mobiles would help poor people earn more money until everyone, everywhere got a mobile.  These things aren’t easy to predict in advance, because they are the product of complex interactions between people and circumstances.  Even so, we can start to see how all of this information provided by our things feeds into our most innate human characteristic – the need to share.

 

IV: Overshare

Last Thursday I was invited to the launch of the ‘Imagine Cup’, a Microsoft-sponsored contest where students around the world use technology to develop solutions for the big problems facing us.  At the event I met the winners of the 2008 Imagine Cup, two Australians – Ed Hooper and Long Zheng.  They told me about their winning entry, Project SOAK.  That stands for Smart Operational Agriculture Kit.  It’s essentially a package of networked sensors and software that a farmer can use to know precisely when land needs water, and where.  Developed in the heart of the drought, Project SOAK is an innovative answer to the permanent Australian problem of water conservation.

I asked them how much these sensors cost, back in 2008.  To measure temperature, rainfall, dam depth, humidity, salinity and moisture would have cost around fifty dollars.  Fifty dollars in 2008 is about one dollar in 2020.  At that price point, a large farm, with thousands of hectares, could be covered with SOAK sensors for just a few tens of thousands of dollars, but would save the farmer water, time, and money for many years to come.  The farmer would be able to spread eyes over all of their land, and the computer, eternally vigilant, would help the farmer grind through the mostly-boring data spat out by these thousands of eyes.

That’s a snapshot of the world of 2020, a snapshot that will be repeated countless times, as sensors proliferate throughout every part of our planet touched by human beings: our land and our cities and our vehicles and our bodies.  Everything will have something listening, watching, reporting and responding.

We can already do this, even without all of this cheap sensing, because our connectivity creates a platform where we as ‘human sensors’ can share the results of our observations.  Just a few weeks ago, a web-based project known as ‘Safecast’ launched.  Dedicated to observing and recording radiation levels around the Fukushima nuclear reactor – which melted down following the March 11 2011 earthquake and tsunami – Safecast invites individuals throughout Japan to take regular readings of the ‘background’ radiation, then post them to the Safecast website.  These results are ‘mashed up’ with Google Maps, and presented for anyone to explore, both as current results, and as a historical path of radiation levels through time in a particular area.

Safecast exists because the Japanese government has failed to provide this information to its own people (perhaps to avoid unduly alarming them), filling a gap in public knowledge by ‘crowdsourcing’ the sensing task across thousands of willing participants.  People, armed with radiation dosimeters and Geiger counters, are the sensors.  People, typing their observations into computers, are the network.  Everything that we will soon be able to do automatically we can already do by hand, if there is sufficient need.

Necessity is the mother of invention; need is the driver for innovation.  In Japan they collect data about soil and water radiation, to save themselves from cancer.  In the United States, human sensors collect data about RBT checkpoints, to save themselves from arrest.  You can purchase a smartphone app that allows anyone to post the location of an RBT checkpoint to a crowdsourced database.  Anyone else with the app can launch it and see how to avoid being caught drink driving.  Although we may find the morality disagreeable, the need is there, and an army of human sensors set to work to meet that need.

Now that we’re all connected, we’ve found that connectivity is more than just keeping in touch with family, friends and co-workers.  It brings an expanded awareness, as each of us shares the points of interest peculiar to our tastes.  In the beginning, we shared bad jokes, cute pictures of kittens, and chain letters.  But we’ve grown up, and as we’ve matured, our sharing has taken on a focus and depth that gives it real power: people share what they know to fill the articles of Wikipedia, read their counters and plug results into Safecast, spot the coppers and share that around too – as they did in the central London riots in February.

It’s uncontrollable, it’s ungovernable, but all this sharing serves a need.  This is all human potential that’s been bottled up, constrained by the lack of connectivity across the planet.  Now that this barrier is well and truly down, we have unprecedented capability to pool our eyes, ears and hands, putting ourselves to work toward whatever ends we might consider appropriate.

Let’s give that some thought.

 

V:  Mother Birth

To recap: six billion of us now have mobiles, keeping us in close connection with one another.  This connectivity creates a platform for whatever endeavors we might choose to pursue, from the meaningless, to the momentary, to the significant and permanent.  We are human sensors, ready to observe and report upon anything we find important; chances are that if we find something important, others will as well.

All of that human activity is colliding head-on with the sensor revolution, as electronics become smaller and smarter, leading eventually to a predicted ‘smart dust’ where sensors become a ubiquitous feature of the environment.  We are about to gain a certain quality of omnipresence; where our sensors are, our minds will follow.   We are everywhere connected, and soon will be everywhere aware.

This awareness grants us the ability to see the consequences of our activities.  We can understand why burning or digging or watering here has an effect there, because, even in a complex ecosystem, we can trace the delicate connections that outline our actions.  The computer, with its infinitely patient and infinitely deep memory, is an important partner in this task, because it helps us to detect and illustrate the correlations that become a new and broader understanding of ourselves.

This is not something restricted to the biggest and grandest challenges facing us.  It begins more humbly and approachably with the minutiae of every day life: driving the car, using the dishwasher, or organizing a ski trip.  These activities no longer exist in isolation, but are recorded and measured and compared: could that drive be shorter, that wash cooler, that ski trip more sustainable?  This transition is being driven less by altruism than by economics.  Global sustainability means preserving the planet, but individual sustainability means a higher quality of life with lower resource utilization.  As that point becomes clear – and once there is sufficient awareness infrastructure to support it – sustainability becomes another ‘on tap’ feature of the environment, much as electricity and connectivity are today.

This will not be driven by top-down mandates.  Although our government is making moves toward sustainability, market forces will drive us to sustainability as the elements of the environment become continually more precious.  Intelligence is a fair substitute for almost any other resource – up to a point.  A car won’t run on IQ alone, but it will go a lot further on a tank of petrol if intelligently designed.

We can do more than act as sensors and share data:  we can share our ideas, our frameworks and solutions for sustainability.  We have the connectivity – any innovation can spread across the entire planet in a matter of seconds.  This means that six billion minds could be sharing – should be sharing – every tip, every insight, every brainwave and invention – so that the rest of us can have a go, see if it works, then share the results, so others can learn from our experiences. We have a platform for incredibly rapid learning, something that can springboard us into new ways of working.  It works for fishermen in India and farmers and Africa, so why not for us?

Australia is among the least sustainable nations on the planet.  Our vast per-person carbon footprint, our continual overuse of our limited water supplies, and our refusal to employ the bounty of renewable resources which nature has provided us with makes our country a bit of an embarrassment.  We have created a nation that is, in most respects, the envy of the world.  But as we have built that nation on unsustainable practice, this nation has built its house on sand, and within a generation or two, it will stand no longer.

Australia is a smart nation, intelligent and well-connected.  There’s no problem here we can not solve, no reach toward sustainability which is beyond our grasp.  We now have the tools, all we need is the compelling reason to think anew, revisiting everything we know with fresh eyes, eyes aided by many others, everywhere, and many sensors, everywhere, all helping us to understand, and from that understanding, to act, and from those actions, to learn, and from that learning, to share.

We are the sharing species; the reason we can even worry about a sustainable environment is because our sharing made us so successful that seven billion of us have begun to overwhelm the natural world.  This sharing is now opening an entirely new and unexpected realm, where we put our mobiles to our ears and put our heads together to have a good think, to share a thought, or tell a yarn.  Same as it ever was, but completely different, because this is no tribe, or small town, or neighborhood, but everybody, everywhere, all together now.  Where we go from here is entirely in our own hands.

People Power

Introduction: Magic Pudding

To effect change within governmental institutions, you need to be conscious of two important limits.  First, resources are always at a premium; you need to work within the means provided.  Second, regulatory change is difficult and takes time.  When these limitations are put together, you realize that you’ve been asked to cook up a ‘magic pudding’.  How do you work this magic?  How do you deliver more for less without sacrificing quality?

In any situation where you are being asked to economize, the first and most necessary step is to conduct an inventory of existing assets.  Once you know what you’ve got, you gain an insight into how these resources could be redeployed.  On some occasions, that inventory returns surprising results.

There’s a famous example, from thirty years ago, involving Disney.  At that time, Disney was a nearly-bankrupt family entertainment company.  Few went to see their films; the firm’s only substantial income came from its theme parks and character licensing.  In desperation, Disney’s directors brought on Michael J. Eisner as CEO.  Would Eisner need to sell Disney at a rock-bottom price to another entertainment company, or could it survive as an independent firm? First things first: Eisner sent his right-hand man, Frank Wells, off to do an inventory of the company’s assets.  There’s a vault at Disney, where they keep the master prints of all of the studio’s landmark films: Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Pinocchio, Peter Pan, Bambi, A Hundred and One Dalmatians, The Jungle Book, and so on.  When Wells walked into the Vault, he couldn’t believe his eyes.  Every few minutes he called Eisner at his desk to report, “I’ve just found another hundred million dollars.”

Disney had the best library of family films created by any studio – but kept them locked away, releasing them theatrically at multi-year intervals designed to keep them fresh for another generation of children.  That worked for forty years, but by the mid-1980s, with the VCR moving into American homes, Eisner knew more money could be made by taking these prize assets and selling them to every family in the nation – then the world.  That rediscovery of locked-away assets was the beginning of the modern Disney, today the most powerful entertainment brand on the planet.

When I began to draft this essay, I felt as constrained as Disney, pre-Eisner.  How do you bake a magic pudding?  Eventually, I realized that we actually have incredible assets at our disposal, ones which didn’t exist just a few years ago. Let’s go on a tour of this hidden vault.  What we now have available to us, once we learn how to use it, will change everything about the way we work, and the effectiveness of our work.

 

I: What’s Your Number?

The latest surveys put the mobile subscription rate in Australia between 110-115%.  Clearly, this figure is a bit misleading: we don’t give children mobiles until they’re around eight years old, nor the most senior of seniors own them in overwhelming numbers.  The vast middle, from eight to eighty, do have mobiles.  Many of us have more than one mobile – or some other device, like an iPad, which uses a mobile connection for wireless data.  This all adds up.  Perhaps one adult in fifty refuses to carry a mobile around with them most of the time, so out of a population of nearly 23 million, we have about 24 million mobile subscribers.

This all happened in an instant; mobile ownership was below 10% in 1993, but by 1997 Australia had passed 50% saturation.  We never looked back.  Today, everyone has a number – at least one number – where they can be reached, all the time.  Although Australia has had telephones for well over a hundred years, a mobile is a completely different sort of device.

A landline connects you to a place: you ring a number to a specific telephone in a specific location.  A mobile connects you to a person. On those rare occasions when someone other than a mobile’s owner answers it, we experience a moment of great confusion.  Something is deeply disturbing about this, a bit like body-snatching.  The mobile is the person; the person is the mobile. When we forget the mobile at home – rushed or tired or temporarily misplaced – we feel considerably more vulnerable.

The mobile is the lifeline which connects us into our community: our family, our friends, our co-workers.  This lifeline is pervasive and continuous.  All of us are ‘on call’ these days, although nearly all of the time this feels more like a relief than a burden.  When the phone rings at odd hours, it’s not the boss, but a friend or family member who needs some help.  Because we’re continuously connected, that help is always there, just ten digits away. We’ve become very attached to our mobiles, not in themselves, but because they represent assistance in its purest form.

As a consequence, we are away from our mobiles less and less; they spend the night charging on our bedstands, and the days in our pockets or purses.

Last year, a young woman approached me after a talk, and said that she couldn’t wait until she could have her mobile implanted beneath her skin, becoming a part of her.  I asked her how that would be any different than the world we live in today.

This is life in modern Australia, and we’re not given to think about it much, except when we ponder whether we should be texting while we drive, or feel guilty about checking emails when we should really be listening to our partner.  This constant connectivity forms a huge feature of the landscape, a gravitational body which gently lures us toward it.

This connectivity creates a platform – just like a computer’s operating system – for running applications.  These applications aren’t software, they’re ‘peopleware’.  For example, fishermen off of India’s Kerala coast call around before they head into port, looking for the markets most in need of their catch.  Farmers in Kenya make inquiries to their local markets, looking for the best price for their vegetables. Barbers in Pakistan post a sign with their mobile number, buy a bicycle, and go clipper their clients in their homes.  The developing world has latched onto the mobile because it makes commerce fluid, efficient, and much more profitable.

If the mobile does that in India and Kenya and Pakistan, why wouldn’t it do the same thing for us, here in Australia?  It does lubricate our social interactions: no one is late anymore, just delayed.  But we haven’t used the platform to build any applications to leverage the brand-new fact of our constant connectivity.  We can give ourselves a pass, because we’ve only just gotten here.  But now that we are here, we need to think hard about how to use what we’ve got.  This is our hundred-million dollar moment.

 

II: Sharing is Daring

A few years ago, while I waited at the gate for a delayed flight out of San Francisco International Airport, I grew captivated with the information screens mounted above the check-in desks.  They provided a wealth of information that wasn’t available from airline personnel; as my flight changed gates and aircraft, I learned of this by watching the screen.  At one point, I took my mobile out of my pocket and snapped a photo of the screen, sharing the photo with my friends, so they could know all about my flying troubles.  After I’d shot a second photo, a woman approached me, and carefully explained that she was talking to another passenger on our delayed flight, a woman who worked for the US Government, and that this government employee thought my actions looked very suspicious.

Taking photos in an airport is cause for alarm in some quarters.

After I got over my consternation and surprise, I realized that this paranoid bureaucrat had a point. With my mobile, I was breaching the security cordon carefully strung around America’s airports.  It pierced the veil of security which hid the airport from the view of all except those who had been carefully screened.  We see this same sensitivity at the Immigration and Customs facilities at any Australian airport – numerous signs inform you that you’re not allowed to use your mobile.  Communication is dangerous.  Connecting is forbidden.

We tend to forget that sharing information is a powerful act, because it’s so much a part of our essential nature as human beings.

In November, Wikileaks shared a massive store of information previously held by the US State Department; just one among a quarter million cables touched off a revolt in Tunisia, leading to revolutions in Egypt, Bahrain, Yemen, Libya, Syria and Jordan.  Sharing changes the world.  Actually, sharing is the foundation of the human world.  From the moment we are born, we learn about the world because everyone around us shares with us what they know.

Suddenly, there are no boundaries on our sharing.  All of us, everywhere – nearly six billion of us – are only a string of numbers away.  Type them in, wait for an answer, then share anything at all.  And we do this.  We call our family to tell them we’re ok, our friends to share a joke, and our co-workers to keep coordinated.  We’ve achieved a tremendously expanded awareness and flexibility that’s almost entirely independent of distance.  That’s the truth at the core of this hundred-million dollar moment.

All of your clients, all of your patients, all of your stakeholders – and all of you – are all unbelievably well connected.  By the standards of just a generation ago, we are all continuously available.  Yet we still organize our departments and deliver our services as if everyone were impossibly far-flung, hardly ever in contact.

Still, the world is already busy, reorganizing itself to take advantage of all this hyperconnectivity.

I’ve already mentioned the fishermen and the farmers, but as I write this, I’ve just read an article titled “US Senators call for takedown of iPhone apps that locate DUI (RBT) checkpoints.”  You can buy a smartphone app which allows you to report on a checkpoint, posting that report to a map which others can access through the app.  You could conceivably evade the long arm of the law with such an app, drink driving around every checkpoint with ease.

Banning an app like this simply won’t work. There are too many ways to do this, from text messages to voice mail to Google Maps to smartphone apps.  There’s no way to shut them all down.  If the Senate passes a law to prevent this sort of thing – and they certainly will try – they’ll find that they’ve simply moved all of this connectivity underground, into ‘darknets’ which invisibly evade detection.

This is how potent sharing can be.  We all want to share.  We have a universal platform for sharing.  We must decide what we will share.  When people get onto email for the first time, they tend to bombard their friends and family with an endless stream of bad jokes and cute photographs of kittens and horribly dramatic chain letters.  Eventually they’ll back off a bit – either because they’ve learned some etiquette, or because a loved one has told them to buzz off.

You also witness that exuberant sharing in teenagers, who send and receive five hundred text messages a day.  When this phenomenon was spotted, in Tokyo, a decade ago, many thought it was simply a feature peculiar to the Japanese.  Today, everywhere in the developed world, young people send a constant stream of messages which generally say very little at all.  For them, it’s not important what you share; what is important is that you share it.  You are the connections, you are the sharing.

That’s great for the young – some have suggested that it’s an analogue to the ‘grooming’ behavior we see in chimpanzees – but we can wish for more than a steady stream of ‘hey’ and ‘where r u?’  We can share something substantial and meaningful, something salient.

That salience could be news of the nearest RBT checkpoint, or, rather more helpfully, it might be a daily audio recording of the breathing of someone suffering with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.  It turns out that just a few minutes listening to the sufferer – at home, in front of a computer, or, presumably their smartphone – will cut their hospitalizations in half, because smaller problems can be diagnosed and treated before they become life-threatening.  A trial in Tasmania demonstrated this conclusively; it’s clear that using this connection to listen to the patient can save lives, dollars, and precious time.

This is the magic pudding, the endless something from nothing.  But nothing is ever truly free.  There is a price to be paid to realize the bounty of connectivity.  Our organizations and relations are not structured to advantage themselves in this new environment, and although it costs no money and requires no changes to the law, transforming our expectations of our institutions – and of one another – will not be easy.

 

III:  Practice Makes Perfect

To recap: Everyone is connected, everyone has a mobile, everyone uses them to maintain continuous connections with the people in their lives.  This brand-new hyperconnectivity provides a platform for applications.

The first and most natural application of connectivity is sharing, an activity beginning with the broad and unfocused, but moves to the specific and salient as we mature in our use of the medium.  This maturation is both individual and institutional, though at the present time individuals greatly outpace any institution in both their agility with and understanding of these new tools.

Our lives online are divided into two separate but unequal spheres; this is a fundamental dissonance of our era.  Teenagers send hundreds of text messages a day, aping their parents, who furiously respond to emails sent to their mobiles while posting Twitter updates.  But all of this is happening outside the institution,  or, in a best practice scenario, serves to reinforce the existing functionality of the institution.  We have not rethought the institution – how it works, how it faces its stakeholders and serves its clients – in the light of hyperconnectivity.

This seems too alien to contemplate – even though we are now the aliens.  We live in a world of continuous connection; it’s only when we enter the office that we temper this connection, constraining it to meet the needs of organizational process.

If we can develop techniques to bring hyperconnectivity into the organization, to harness it institutionally, we can bake that magic pudding.  Hyperconnectivity provides vastly greater capability at no additional cost.  It’s an answer to the problem.  It requires no deployment, no hardware, no budgeting or legislative mandates.  It only requires that we more fully utilize everything we’ve already got.

To do that, we must rethink everything we do.

Service delivery in health is something that is notoriously not scalable.  You must throw more people at a service to get more results.  All the technology and process management in the world won’t get you very far.  You can make systems more efficient, but you can’t make them radically more effective.  This has become such a truism in the health care sector that technology has become almost an ironic punchline within the field.  So much was promised, and so much of it consistently under-delivered, that most have become somewhat cynical.

There are no magic wands to wave around, to make your technology investments more effective.  This isn’t a technology-led revolution, although it does require some technology.  This is a revolution in relationship, a transformation from clients and customers into partners and participants. It’s a revolution in empowerment, led by highly connected people sharing information of vital importance to them.

How does this work in practice?  The COPD ‘Pathways‘ project in Tasmania points the way toward one set of services, which aim at using connectivity to monitor progress and wellness. Could this be extended to individuals with chronic asthma, diabetes, high blood pressure, or severe arthritis?  If one is connected, rather than separate, if one is in constant communication, rather than touching base for widely-spaced check-ins, then there will be a broad awareness of patient health within a community of carers.

The relationship is no longer one way, pointing the patient only to the health services provider.  It becomes multilateral, multifocal, and multiparticpatory.  This relationship becomes the meeting of two networks: the patient’s network of family, friends and co-afflicted, meeting the health network of doctors and nurses, generalists and specialists, clinicians and therapists.  The meeting of these two continuous always-on networks forms another continuity, another always-on network, focused around the continuity of care.

If we tried to do something like this today, with our present organizational techniques, the health service providers would quickly collapse under the burden of the additional demands on their time and connectivity required to offer such continuity in patient care.  Everything currently points toward the doctor, who is already overworked and impossibly time-poor.  Amplifying the connection burden for the doctor is a recipe for disaster.

We must build upon what works, while restructuring these relationships to reflect the enhanced connectivity of all the parties within the healthcare system.  Instead of amplifying the burden, we must use the platform of connectivity to share the load, to spread it out across many shoulders.

For example, consider the hundreds of thousands of carers looking after Australians with chronic illnesses and disabilities.  These carers are the front line.  They understand the people in their care better than anyone else – better even than the clinicians who treat them.  They know when something isn’t quite right, even though they may not have the language for it.

At the moment Australia’s carers live in a world apart from the various state health care systems, and this means that an important connection between the patient and that system is lacking.  If the carer were connected to the health care system – via a service that might be called CarerConnection – there would be better systemic awareness of the patient, and a much greater chance to catch emerging problems before they require drastic interventions or hospitalizations.

These carers, like the rest of Australia, already have mobiles.  Within a few years, all those mobiles will be ‘smart’, capable of snapping a picture of a growing rash, or a video of someone’s unsteady gait, ready to upload it to anyone prepared to listen.  That’s the difficult part of this equation, because at present the health care system can’t handle inquiries from hundreds of thousands of carers, even if it frees up doctor’s surgeries and hospital beds.

Perhaps we can employ nurses on their way to a gradual retirement – in the years beyond age 65 – to connect with the carers, using them to triage and elevate or reassure as necessary.  In this way Australia empowers its population of carers, creating a better quality of life for those they care for, and moves some of the burden for chronic care out of the health care system.

That kind of innovative thinking – which came from workshops in Bendigo and Ballarat – which shows the real value of connectivity in practice.  But that’s just the beginning.  This type of innovation would apply equally effectively to substance abuse recovery programs or mesothelioma or cystic fibrosis.  Beyond health care, it applies to education and city management as well as health service delivery.

This is good old-fashioned ‘people power’ as practiced in every small town in Australia, where everyone knows everyone else, looks out for everyone else, and is generally aware of everyone else.  What’s new is that the small town is now everywhere, whether in Camperdown or Bendigo or Brunswick, because the close connectivity of the small town has come to us all.

The aging of the Australian population will soon force changes in service delivery.  Some will see this as a clarion call for cutbacks, a ‘shock doctrine‘, rather than an opportunity to re-invent the relationships between service providers and the community.   This slowly unfolding crisis provides our generation’s best chance to transform practices to reflect the new connectivity.

It’s not necessary to go the whole distance overnight.  This is all very new, and examples on how to make connectivity work within healthcare are still thin on the ground.  Experimentation and sharing are the orders of the day.  If each regional area in Victoria started up one experiment – a project like CasConnect – then shared the results of that experiment with the other regions, there’d soon be a virtual laboratory of different sorts of approaches, with the possibility of some big successes, and, equally, the chance of some embarrassing failures.  Yet the rewards greatly outweigh any risks.

If this is all done openly, with patients and their community fully involved and fully informed, even the embarrassments will not sting – very much.

In order to achieve more with less, we must ask more of ourselves, approaching our careers with the knowledge that our roles will be rewritten.  We must also ask more of those who come forward for care.  They grew up in the expectation of one sort of relationship with their health services providers, but they’re going to live their lives in another sort of arrangement, which blurs boundaries and which will feel very different – sometimes, more invasive.  Privacy is important, but to be cared for means to surrender, so we must come to expect that we will negotiate our need for privacy in line with the help we seek.

The magic pudding isn’t really that magic. The recipe calls for a lot of hard work, a healthy dash of risk taking, a sprinkle of experiments, and even a few mistakes.  What comes out of the oven of innovation (to stretch a metaphor beyond its breaking point) will be something that can be served up across Victoria, and perhaps across the nation.  The solution lies in people connected, transformed into people power.

Hyperdemocracy

For the past three hundred years, the relationship between the press and the state has been straightforward: the press tries to publish, the state uses its various mechanisms to thwart those efforts.  This has produced a cat-and-mouse steady-state, a balance where selection pressures kept the press tamed and the state – in many circumstances – somewhat accountable to the governed.  There are, as always, exceptions.

In the last few months, the press has become hyperconnected, using that hyperconnectivity to pierce the veil of secrecy which surrounds the state; using the means available to it to hyperdistribute those secrets.  The press has become hyperempowered, an actor unlike anything ever experienced before.

Wikileaks is the press, but not the press as we have known it.  This is the press of the 21st century, the press that comes after we’re all connected.  Suddenly, all of the friendliest computers have become the deadliest weapons, and we are fenced in, encircled by threats – which are also opportunities.

This threat is two sided, Janus-faced.  The state finds its ability to maintain the smooth functioning of power short-circuited by the exposure of its secrets.  That is a fundamental, existential threat.  In the same moment, the press recognizes that its ability to act has been constrained at every point: servers get shut down, domain names fail to resolve, bank accounts freeze.  These are the new selection pressures on both sides, a sudden quickening of culture’s two-step.  And, of course, it does not end there.

The state has now realized the full cost of digitization, the price of bits.  Just as the recording industry learned a decade ago, it will now have to function within an ecology which – like it or not – has an absolutely fluid quality.  Information flow is corrosive to institutions, whether that’s a record label or a state ministry.  To function in a hyperconnected world, states must hyperconnect, but every point of connection becomes a gap through which the state’s power leaks away.

Meanwhile, the press has come up against the ugly reality of its own vulnerability.  It finds itself situated within an entirely commercial ecology, all the way down to the wires used to carry its signals.  If there’s anything the last week has taught us, it’s that the ability of the press to act must never be contingent upon the power of the state, or any organization dependent upon the good graces of the state.

Both sides are trapped, each with a knife to the other’s throat.  Is there a way to back down from this DEFCON 1-like threat level?  The new press can not be wished out of existence.  Even if the Internet disappeared tomorrow, what we have already learned about how to communicate with one another will never be forgotten.  It’s that shared social learning – hypermimesis – which presents the continued existential threat to the state.  The state is now furiously trying to develop a response in kind, with a growing awareness that any response which extends its own connectivity must necessarily drain it of power.

There is already a movement underway within the state to shut down the holes, close the gaps, and carry on as before.  But to the degree the state disconnects, it drifts away from synchronization with the real.  The only tenable possibility is a ‘forward escape’, an embrace of that which seems destined to destroy it.  This new form of state power – ‘hyperdemocracy’ – will be diffuse, decentralized, and ubiquitous: darknet as a model for governance.

In the interregnum, the press must reinvent its technological base as comprehensively as Gutenberg or Berners-Lee.  Just as the legal strangulation of Napster laid the groundwork for Gnutella, every point of failure revealed in the state attack against Wikileaks creates a blueprint for the press which can succeed where it failed.  We need networks that lie outside of and perhaps even in opposition to commercial interest, beyond the reach of the state.  We need resilient Internet services which can not be arbitrarily revoked.  We need a transaction system that is invisible, instantaneous and convertible upon demand.  Our freedom madates it.

Some will argue that these represent the perfect toolkit for terrorism, for lawlessness and anarchy.  Some are willing to sacrifice liberty for security, ending with neither.  Although nostalgic and tempting, this argument will not hold against the tenor of these times.  These systems will be invented and hyperdistributed even if the state attempts to enforce a tighter grip over its networks.  Julian Assange, the most famous man in the world, has become the poster boy, the Che for a networked generation. Script kiddies everywhere now have a role model.  Like it or not, they will create these systems, they will share what they’ve learned, they will build the apparatus that makes the state as we have known it increasingly ineffectual and irrelevant. Nothing can be done about that.  This has already happened.

We face a choice.  This is the fork, in both the old and new senses of the word.  The culture we grew up with has suddenly shown its age, its incapacity, its inflexibility.  That’s scary, because there is nothing yet to replace it.  That job is left to us.  We can see what has broken, and how it should be fixed.  We can build new systems of human relations which depend not on secrecy but on connectivity.  We can share knowledge to develop the blueprint for our hyperconnected, hyperempowered future.  A week ago such an act would have been bootless utopianism.  Now it’s just facing facts.

The Blueprint

With every day, with every passing hour, the power of the state mobilizes against Wikileaks and Julian Assange, its titular leader.  The inner processes of statecraft have never been so completely exposed as they have been in the last week.  The nation state has been revealed as some sort of long-running and unintentionally comic soap opera.  She doesn’t like him; he doesn’t like them; they don’t like any of us!  Oh, and she’s been scouting around for DNA samples and your credit card number.  You know, just in case.

None of it is very pretty, all of it is embarrassing, and the embarrassment extends well beyond the state actors – who are, after all, paid to lie and dissemble, this being one of the primary functions of any government – to the complicit and compliant news media, think tanks and all the other camp followers deeply invested in the preservation of the status quo.  Formerly quiet seas are now roiling, while everyone with any authority everywhere is doing everything they can to close the gaps in the smooth functioning of power.  They want all of this to disappear and be forgotten.  For things to be as if Wikileaks never was.

Meanwhile, the diplomatic cables slowly dribble out, a feed that makes last year’s MP expenses scandal in the UK seem like amateur theatre, an unpracticed warm-up before the main event.  Even the Afghan and Iraq war logs, released by Wikileaks earlier this year, didn’t hold this kind of fascination.  Nor did they attract this kind of upset.  Every politican everywhere – from Barack Obama to Hillary Clinton to Vladimir Putin to Julia Gillard has felt compelled to express their strong and almost visceral anger.  But to what?  Only some diplomatic gossip.

Has Earth become a sort of amplified Facebook, where an in-crowd of Heathers, horrified, suddenly finds its bitchy secrets posted on a public forum?  Is that what we’ve been reduced to?  Or is that what we’ve been like all along?  That could be the source of the anger.  We now know that power politics and statecraft reduce to a few pithy lines referring to how much Berlusconi sleeps in the company of nubile young women and speculations about whether Medvedev really enjoys wearing the Robin costume.

It’s this triviality which has angered those in power.  The mythology of power – that leaders are somehow more substantial, their concerns more elevated and lofty than us mere mortals, who must not question their motives – that mythology has been definitively busted.  This is the final terminus of aristocracy; a process that began on 14 July 1789 came to a conclusive end on 28 November 2010.  The new aristocracies of democracy have been smashed, trundled off to the guillotine of the Internet, and beheaded.

Of course, the state isn’t going to take its own destruction lying down.  Nothing is ever that simple.  And so, over the last week we’ve been able to watch the systematic dismantling of Wikileaks.  First came the condemnation, then, hot on the heels of the shouts of ‘off with his head!’ for ‘traitor’ Julian Assange, came the technical attacks, each one designed to amputate one part of the body of the organization.

First up, that old favorite, the distributed denial of service (DDoS) attack, which involves harnessing tens of thousands of hacked PCs (perhaps yours, or your mom’s, or your daughter’s) to broadcast tens of millions of faux requests for information to Wikileaks’ computers.  This did manage to bring Wikileaks to its knees (surprising for an organization believed to be rather paranoid about security), so Wikileaks moved to a backup server, purchasing computing resources from Amazon, which runs a ‘cloud’ of hundreds of thousands of computers available for rent.  Amazon, paranoid about customer reliability, easily fended off the DDoS attacks, but came under another kind of pressure.  US Senator Joe Lieberman told Amazon to cut Wikileaks off, and within a few hours Amazon had suddenly realized that Wikileaks violated their Terms of Service, kicking them off Amazon’s systems.

You know what Terms of Service are?  They are the too-long agreements you always accept and click through on a Website, or when you install some software, etc.  In the fine print of that agreement any service provider will always be able to find some reason, somewhere, for terminating the service, charging you a fee, or – well, pretty much whatever they like.  It’s the legal cudgel that companies use to have their way with you.  Do you reckon that every other Amazon customer complies with its Terms of Service?  If you do, I have a bridge you might be interested in.

At that point, Assange & Co. could have moved the server anywhere willing to host them – and Switzerland had offered.  But the company that hosts Wikileaks’ DNS record – everyDNS.com – suddenly realized that Wikileaks was in violation of its terms of service, and it too, cut Wikileaks off.  This was a more serious blow.  DNS, or Domain Name Service, is the magic that translates a domain name like markpesce.com or nytimes.com into a number that represents a particular computer on the Internet.  Without someone handling that translation, no one could find wikileaks.org.  You would be able to type the name into your web browser, but that’s as far as you’d get.

So Wikileaks.org went down, but Wikileaks.ch (the Swiss version) came online moments later, and now there are hundreds of other sites which are all mirroring the content on the original Wikileaks site.  It’s a little bit harder to find Wikileaks now – but not terrifically difficult.  Score one for Assange, who – if the news media are to be believed – is just about to be taken into custody by the UK police, serving a Swedish arrest warrant.

Finally, just a few hours ago, the masterstroke.  Wikileaks is financed by contributions made by individuals and organizations.  (Disclosure: I’m almost certain I donated $50 to Wikileaks in 2008.)  These contributions have been handled (principally) by the now-ubiquitous PayPal, the financial services arm of Internet auction giant eBay.  Once again, the fine folks at PayPal had a look at their Terms of Service (stop me if you’ve heard this one before) and – oh, look! those bad awful folks at Wikileaks are in violation of our terms! Let’s cut them off from their money!

Wikileaks has undoubtedly received a lot of contributions over the last few days.  As PayPal never turns funds over immediately, there’s an implication that PayPal is holding onto a considerable sum of Wikileaks’ donations, while that shutdown makes it much more difficult to to ‘pass the hat’ and collect additional funds to keep the operation running.   Checkmate.

A few months ago I wrote about how confused I was by Julian Assange’s actions.  Why would anyone taking on the state so directly become such a public figure?  It made no sense to me.  Now I see the plan.  And it’s awesome.

You see, this is the first time anything like Wikileaks has been attempted.  Yes, there have been leaks prior to this, but never before have hyperdistribution and cryptoanarchism come to the service of the whistleblower.  This is a new thing, and as well thought out as Wikileaks might be, it isn’t perfect.  How could it be?  It’s untried, and untested.  Or was.  Now that contact with the enemy has been made – the state with all its powers – it has become clear where Wikileaks has been found wanting.  Wikileaks needs a distributed network of servers that are too broad and too diffuse to be attacked.  Wikileaks needs an alternative to the Domain Name Service.  And Wikileaks needs a funding mechanism which can not be choked off by the actions of any other actor.

We’ve been here before.  This is 1999, the company is Napster, and the angry party is the recording industry.  It took them a while to strangle the beast, but they did finally manage to choke all the life out of it – for all the good it did them.  Within days after the death of Napster, Gnutella came around, and righted all the wrongs of Napster: decentralized where Napster was centralized; pervasive and increasingly invisible.  Gnutella created the ‘darknet’ for filesharing which has permanently crippled the recording and film industries.  The failure of Napster was the blueprint for Gnutella.

In exactly the same way – note for note – the failures of Wikileaks provide the blueprint for the systems which will follow it, and which will permanently leave the state and its actors neutered.  Assange must know this – a teenage hacker would understand the lesson of Napster.  Assange knows that someone had to get out in front and fail, before others could come along and succeed.  We’re learning now, and to learn means to try and fail and try again.

This failure comes with a high cost.  It’s likely that the Americans will eventually get their hands on Assange – a compliant Australian government has already made it clear that it will do nothing to thwart or even slow that request – and he’ll be charged with espionage, likely convicted, and sent to a US Federal Prison for many, many years.  Assange gets to be the scapegoat, the pinup boy for a new kind of anarchism.  But what he’s done can not be undone; this tear in the body politic will never truly heal.

Everything is different now.  Everything feels more authentic.  We can choose to embrace this authenticity, and use it to construct a new system of relations, one which does not rely on secrets and lies.  A week ago that would have sounded utopian, now it’s just facing facts. I’m hopeful.  For the first time in my life I see the possibility for change on a scale beyond the personal.  Assange has brought out the radical hiding inside me, the one always afraid to show his face.  I think I’m not alone.

The Soul of Web 2.0

Introduction: In The Beginning

Back in the 1980s, when personal computers mostly meant IBM PCs running Lotus 1*2*3 and, perhaps, if you were a bit off-center, an Apple Macintosh running Aldus Pagemaker, the idea of a coherent and interconnected set of documents spanning the known human universe seemed fanciful.  But there have always been dreamers, among them such luminaries as Douglas Engelbart, who gave us the computer mouse, and Ted Nelson, who coined the word ‘hypertext’.  Engelbart demonstrated a fully-functional hypertext system in December 1968, the famous ‘Mother of all Demos’, which framed computing for the rest of the 20th century.  Before man had walked on the Moon, before there was an Internet, we had a prototype for the World Wide Web.  Nelson took this idea and ran with it, envisaging a globally interconnected hypertext system, which he named ‘Xanadu’ – after the poem by Coleridge – and which attracted a crowd of enthusiasts intent on making it real.  I was one of them.  From my garret in Providence, Rhode Island, I wrote a front end – a ‘browser’ if you will – to the soon-to-be-released Xanadu.  This was back in 1986, nearly five years before Tim Berners-Lee wrote a short paper outlining a universal protocol for hypermedia, the basis for the World Wide Web.

Xanadu was never released, but we got the Web.  It wasn’t as functional as Xanadu – copyright management was a solved problem with Xanadu, whereas on the Web it continues to bedevil us – and links were two-way affairs; you could follow the destination of a link back to its source.  But the Web was out there and working for thousand of people by the middle of 1993, while Xanadu, shuffled from benefactor to benefactor, faded and finally died.  The Web was good enough to get out there, to play with, to begin improving, while Xanadu – which had been in beta since the late 1980s – was never quite good enough to be released.  ‘The Perfect is the Enemy of the Good’, and nowhere is it clearer than in the sad story of Xanadu.

If Xanadu had been released in 1987, it would have been next to useless without an Internet to support it, and the Internet was still very tiny in the 1980s.  When I started using the Internet, in 1988, the main trunk line across the United States was just about to be upgraded from 9.6 kilobits to 56 kilobits.  That’s the line for all of the traffic heading from one coast to the other.  I suspect that today this cross-country bandwidth, in aggregate, would be measured in terabits – trillions of bits per second, a million-fold increase.  And it keeps on growing, without any end in sight.

Because of my experience with Xanadu, when I first played with NCSA Mosaic – the first publicly available Web browser – I immediately knew what I held in my mousing hand.  And I wasn’t impressed.  In July 1993 very little content existed for the Web – just a handful of sites, mostly academic.  Given that the Web was born to serve the global high-energy-physics community headquartered at CERN and Fermilab, this made sense.  I walked away from the computer that July afternoon wanting more.  Hypertext systems I’d seen before.  What I lusted after was a global system with a reach like Xanadu.

Three months later, when I’d acquired a SUN workstation for a programming project, I immediately downloaded and installed NCSA Mosaic, to find that the Web elves had been busy.  Instead of a handful of sites, there were now hundreds.  There was a master list of known sites, maintained at NCSA, and over the course of a week in October, I methodically visited every site in the list.  By Friday evening I was finished.  I had surfed the entire Web.  It was even possible to keep up the new sites as they were added to the bottom of the list, though the end of 1993.  Then things began to explode.

From October on I became a Web evangelist.  My conversion was complete, and my joy in life was to share my own experience with my friends, using my own technical skills to get them set up with Internet access and their own copies of NCSA Mosaic.  That made converts of them; they then began to work on their friends, and so by degrees of association, the word of the Web spread.

In mid-January 1994, I dragged that rather unwieldy SUN workstation across town to show it off at a house party / performance event known as ‘Anon Salon’, which featured an interesting cross-section of San Francisco’s arts and technology communities.  As someone familiar walked in the door at the Salon, I walked up to them and took them over to my computer.  “What’s something you’re interested in?” I’d ask.  They’d reply with something like “Gardening” or “Astronomy” or “Watersports of Mesoamerica” and I’d go to the newly-created category index of the Web, known as Yahoo!, and still running out of a small lab on the Stanford University campus, type in their interest, and up would come at least a few hits.  I’d click on one, watch the page load, and let them read.  “Wow!” they’d say.  “This is great!”

I never mentioned the Web or hypertext or the Internet as I gave these little demos.  All I did was hook people by their own interests.  This, in January 1994 in San Francisco, is what would happen throughout the world in January 1995 and January 1996, and still happening today, as the two-billion Internet-connected individuals sit down before their computers and ask themselves, “What am I passionate about?”

This is the essential starting point for any discussion of what the Web is, what it is becoming, and how it should be presented.  The individual, with their needs, their passions, their opinions, their desires and their goals is always paramount.  We tend to forget this, or overlook it, or just plain ignore it.  We design from a point of view which is about what we have to say, what we want to present, what we expect to communicate.  It’s not that that we should ignore these considerations, but they are always secondary.  The Web is a ground for being.  Individuals do not present themselves as receptacles to be filled.  They are souls looking to be fulfilled.  This is as true for children as for adults – perhaps more so – and for this reason the educational Web has to be about space and place for being, not merely the presentation of a good-looking set of data.

How we get there, how we create the space for being, is what we have collectively learned in the first seventeen years of the web.  I’ll now break these down some of these individually.

I: Sharing

Every morning when I sit down to work at my computer, I’m greeted with a flurry of correspondence and communication.  I often start off with the emails that have come in overnight from America and Europe, the various mailing lists which spit out their contents at 3 AM, late night missives from insomniac friends, that sort of thing.  As I move through them, I sort them: this one needs attention and a reply, this one can get trashed, and this one – for one reason or another – should be shared.  The sharing instinct is innate and immediate.  We know upon we hearing a joke, or seeing an image, or reading an article, when someone else will be interested in it.  We’ve always known this; it’s part of being a human, and for as long as we’ve been able to talk – both as children and as a species – we’ve babbled and shared with one another.  It’s a basic quality of humanity.

Who we share with is driven by the people we know, the hundred-and-fifty or so souls who make up our ‘Dunbar Number’, the close crowd of individuals we connect to by blood or by friendship, or as co-workers, or neighbors, or co-religionists, or fellow enthusiasts in pursuit of sport or hobby.  Everyone carries that hundred and fifty around inside of them.  Most of the time we’re unaware of it, until that moment when we spy something, and immediately know who we want to share it with.  It’s automatic, requires no thought.  We just do it.

Once things began to move online, and we could use the ‘Forward’ button on our email clients, we started to see an acceleration and broadening of this sharing.  Everyone has a friend or two who forwards along every bad joke they come across, or every cute photo of a kitten.  We’ve all grown used to this, very tolerant of the high level of randomness and noise, because the flip side of that is a new and incredibly rapid distribution medium for the things which matter to us.  It’s been truly said that ‘If news is important, it will find me,’ because once some bit of information enters our densely hyperconnected networks, it gets passed hither-and-yon until it arrives in front of the people who most care about it.

That’s easy enough to do with emails, but how does that work with creations that may be Web-based, or similarly constrained?  We’ve seen the ‘share’ button show up on a lot of websites, but that’s not the entire matter.  You have to do more than request sharing.  You have to think through the entire goal of sharing, from the user’s perspective.  Are they sharing this because it’s interesting?  Are they sharing this because they want company?  Are they sharing this because it’s a competition or a contest or collaborative?  Or are they only sharing this because you’ve asked them to?

Here we come back – as we will, several more times – to the basic position of the user’s experience as central to the design of any Web project.  What is it about the design of your work that excites them to share it with others?  Have you made sharing a necessary component – as it might be in a multi-player game, or a collaborative and crowdsourced knowledge project – or is it something that is nice but not essential?  In other words, is there space only for one, or is there room to spread the word?  Why would anyone want to share your work?  You need to be able to answer this: definitively, immediately, and conclusively, because the answer to that question leads to the next question.  How will your work be shared?

Your works do not exist in isolation.  They are part of a continuum of other works?  Where does your work fit into that continuum?  How do the instructor and student approach that work?  Is it a top-down mandate?  Or is it something that filters up from below as word-of-mouth spreads?  How does that word-of-mouth spread?

Now you have to step back and think about the users of your work, and how they’re connected.  Is it simply via email – do all the students have email addresses?  Do they know the email addresses of their friends?  Or do you want your work shared via SMS?  A QRCode, perhaps?  Or Facebook or Twitter or, well, who knows?  And how do you get a class of year 3 students, who probably don’t have access to any of these tools, sharing your work?

You do want them to share, right?

This idea of sharing is foundational to everything we do on the Web today.  It becomes painfully obvious when it’s been overlooked.  For example, the iPad version of The Australian had all of the articles of the print version, but you couldn’t share an article with a friend.  There was simply no way to do that.  (I don’t know if this has changed recently.)  That made the iPad version of The Australian significantly less functional than its website version – because there I could at least past a URL into an email.

The more something is shared, the more valuable it becomes.  The more students use your work, the more indispensable you become to the curriculum, and the more likely your services will be needed, year after year, to improve and extend your present efforts.  Sharing isn’t just good design, it’s good business.

II: Connecting

Within the space for being created by the Web, there is room for a crowd.  Sometimes these crowds can be vast and anonymous – Wikipedia is a fine example of this.  Everyone’s there, but no one is wholly aware of anyone else’s presence.  You might see an edit to a page, or a new post on the discussion for a particular topic, but that’s as close as people come to one another.  Most of the connecting for the Wikipedians – the folks who behind-the-scenes make Wikipedia work – is performed by that old reliable friend, email.

There are other websites which make connecting the explicit central point of their purpose.  These are the social networks: Facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn, and so on.  In essence they take the Dunbar Number written into each of our minds and make it explicit, digital and a medium for communication.  But it doesn’t end there; one can add countless other contacts from all corners of life, until the ‘social graph’ – that set of connections – becomes so broad it is essentially meaningless.  Every additional contact makes the others less meaningful, if only because there’s only so much of you to go around.

That’s one type of connecting.  There is another type, as typified by Twitter, in which connections are weaker – generally falling outside the Dunbar Number – but have a curious resilience that presents unexpected strengths.  Where you can poll your friends on Facebook, on Twitter you can poll a planet.  How do I solve this problem?  Where should I eat dinner tonight?  What’s going on over there?  These loose but far-flung connections provide a kind of ‘hive mind’, which is less precise, and knows less about you, but knows a lot more about everything else.

These are not mutually exclusive principles.  It’s is not Facebook-versus-Twitter; it is not tight connections versus loose connections.  It’s a bit of both.  Where does your work benefit from a tight collective of connected individuals?  Is it some sort of group problem-solving?  A creative activity that really comes into its own when a whole band of people play together?  Or simply something which benefits from having a ‘lifeline’ to your comrades-in-arms?  When you constantly think of friends, that’s the sort of task that benefits from close connectivity.

On the other hand, when you’re collaborating on a big task – building up a model or a database or an encyclopedia or a catalog or playing a massive, rich, detailed and unpredictable game, or just trying to get a sense of what is going on ‘out there’, that’s the kind of task which benefits from loose connectivity.  Not every project will need both kinds of connecting, but almost every one will benefit from one or the other.  We are much smarter together than individually, much wiser, much more sensible, and less likely to be distracted, distraught or depressed.  (We are also more likely to reinforce each others’ prejudices and preconceptions, but that’s another matter of longstanding which technology can not help but amplify.)  Life is meaningful because we, together, give it meaning.  Life is bearable because we, together, bear the load for one another.  Human life is human connection.

The Web today is all about connecting.  That’s its single most important feature, the one which is serving as an organizing principle for nearly all activity on it.  So how do your projects allow your users to connect?  Does your work leave them alone, helpless, friendless, and lonely?  Does it crowd them together into too-close quarters, so that everyone feels a bit claustrophobic?  Or does it allow them to reach out and forge the bonds that will carry them through?

III: Contributing, Regulating, Iterating

In January of 2002, when I had my first demo of Wikipedia, the site had barely 14,000 articles – many copied from the 1911 out-of-copyright edition of Encyclopedia Britannica.  That’s enough content for a child’s encyclopedia, perhaps even for a primary school educator, but not really enough to be useful for adults, who might be interested in almost anything under the Sun.  It took the dedicated efforts of thousands of contributors for several years to get Wikipedia to the size of Britannica (250,000 articles), an effort which continues today.

Explicit to the design of Wikipedia is the idea that individuals should contribute.  There is an ‘edit’ button at the top of nearly every page, and making changes to Wikipedia is both quick and easy.  (This leaves the door open a certain amount of childish vandalism, but that is easily reversed or corrected precisely because it is so easy to edit anything within the site.)  By now everyone knows that Wikipedia is the collaboratively created encyclopedia, representing the best of all of what its contributors have to offer.  For the next hundred years academics and social scientists will debate the validity of crowdsourced knowledge creation, but what no one can deny is that Wikipedia has become an essential touchstone, our common cultural workbook.  This is less because of Wikipedia-as-a-resource than it is because we all share a sense of pride-in-ownership of Wikipedia.  Probably most of you have made some small change to Wikipedia; a few of you may have authored entire articles.  Every time any of us adds our own voice to Wikipedia, we become part of it, and it becomes part of us.  This is a powerful logic, an attraction which transcends the rational.  People cling to Wikipedia – right or wrong – because it is their own.

It’s difficult to imagine a time will come when Wikipedia will be complete.  If nothing else, events continue to occur, history is made, and all of this must be recorded somewhere in Wikipedia.  Yet Wikipedia, in its English-language edition, is growing more slowly in 2010 than in 2005.  With nearly 3.5 million articles in English, it’s reasonably comprehensive, at least by its own lights.  Certain material is considered inappropriate for Wikipedia – homespun scientific theories, or the biographies of less-than-remarkable individuals – and this has placed limits on its growth.  It’s possible that within a few years we will regard Wikipedia as essentially complete – which is, when you reflect upon it, an utterly awesome thought.  It will mean that we have captured the better part of human knowledge in a form accessible to all.  That we can all carry the learned experience of the species around in our pockets.

Wikipedia points to something else, quite as important and nearly as profound: the Web is not ‘complete’.  It is a work-in-progress.  Google understands this and releases interminable beta versions of every product.  More than this, it means that nothing needs to offer all the answers.  I would suggest that nothing should offer all the answers.  Leaving that space for the users to add what they know – or are willing to learn – to the overall mix creates a much more powerful relationship with the user, and – counterintuitively – with less work from you.  It is up to you to provide the framework for individuals to contribute within, but it is not up to you to populate that framework with every possibility.  There’s a ‘sweet spot’, somewhere between nothing and too much, which shows users the value of contributions but allows them enough space to make their own.

User contributions tend to become examples in their own right, showing other users how it’s done.  This creates a ‘virtuous cycle’ of contributions leading to contributions leading to still more contributions – which can produce the explosive creativity of a Wikipedia or TripAdvisor or an eBay or a RateMyProfessors.com.

In each of these websites it needs to be noted that there is a possibility for ‘bad data’ to work its way into system.   The biggest problem Wikipedia faces is not vandalism but the more pernicious types of contributions which look factual but are wholly made up.  TripAdvisor is facing a class-action lawsuit from hoteliers who have been damaged by anonymous negative ratings of their establishments.  RateMyProfessors.com is the holy terror of the academy in the United States.  Each of these websites has had to design systems which allow for users to self-regulate peer contributions.  In some cases – such as on a blog – it’s no more than a ‘report this post’ button, which flags it for later moderation.  Wikipedia promulgated a directive that strongly encouraged contributors to provide a footnote linking to supporting material.  TripAdvisor gives anonymous reviewers a lower ranking.  eBay forces both buyers and sellers to rate each transaction, building a database of interactions which can be used to guide others when they come to trade.  Each of these are social solutions to social problems.

Web2.0 is not a technology.  It is a suite of social techniques, and each technique must be combined with a social strategy for deployment, considering how the user will behave: neither wholly good nor entirely evil.  It is possible to design systems and interfaces which engage the better angels of nature, possible to develop wholly open systems which self-regulate and require little moderator intervention.  Yet it is not easy to do so, because it is not easy to know in advance how any social technique can be abused by those who employ it.

This means that aWeb2.0 concept that should guide you in your design work is iteration.  Nothing is ever complete, nor ever perfect.  The perfect is the enemy of the good, so if you wait for perfection, you will never release.  Instead, watch your users, see if they struggle to work within the place you have created for then, or whether they immediately grasp hold and begin to work.  In their more uncharitable moments, do they abuse the freedoms you have given them?  If so, how can you redesign your work, and ‘nudge’ them into better behavior?  It may be as simple as a different set of default behaviors, or as complex as a set of rules governing a social ecosystem.  And although Moses came down from Mount Sinai with all ten commandments, you can not and should not expect to get it right on a first pass.  Instead, release, observe, adapt, and re-release.  All releases are soft releases, everything is provisional, and nothing is quite perfect.  That’s as it should be.

IV: Opening

Two of the biggest Web2.0 services are Facebook and Twitter.  Although they seem to be similar, they couldn’t be more different.  Facebook is ‘greedy’, hoarding all of the data provided by its users, all of their photographs and conversations, keeping them entirely for itself.  If you want to have access to that data, you need to work with Facebook’s tools, and you need to build an application that works within Facebook – literally within the web page.  Facebook has control over everything you do, and can arbitrarily choose to limit what you do, even shut you down your application if they don’t like it, or perceive it as somehow competitive with Facebook.  Facebook is entirely in control, and Facebook holds onto all of the data your application needs to use.

Twitter has taken an entirely different approach.  From the very beginning, anyone could get access to the Twitter feed – whether for a single individual (if their stream of Tweets had been made public), or for all of Twitter’s users.  Anyone could do anything they wanted with these Tweets – though Twitter places restrictions on commercial re-use of their data.  Twitter provided very clear (and remarkably straightforward) instruction on how to access their data, and threw the gates open wide.

Although Facebook has half a billion users, Twitter is actually more broadly used, in more situations, because it has been incredibly easy for people to adapt Twitter to their tasks.  People have developed computer programs that send Tweets when the program is about to crash, created vast art projects which allow the public to participate from anywhere around the world, or even a little belt worn by a pregnant woman which sends out a Tweet every time the baby kicks!  It’s this flexibility which has made Twitter a sort of messaging ‘glue’ on the Internet of 2010, and that’s something Facebook just can’t do, because it’s too closed in upon itself.  Twitter has become a building block: when you write a program which needs to send a message, you use Twitter.  Facebook isn’t a building block.  It’s a monolith.

How do you build for openness?  Consider: another position the user might occupy is someone trying to use your work as a building block within their own project.  Have you created space for your work to be re-used, to be incorporated, to be pieced apart and put back together again?  Or is it opaque, seamless, and closed?  What about the data you collect, data the user has generated?  Where does that live?  Can it be exported and put to work in another application, or on another website?  Are you a brick or are you a brick wall?

When you think about your design – both technically and from the user’s experience – you must consider how open you want to be, and weigh the price of openness (extra work, unpredictability) against the price of being closed (less useful).  The highest praise you can receive for your work is when someone wants to use it in their own. For this to happen, you have to leave the door open for them.  If you publish the APIs to access the data you collect; if you build your work modularly, with clearly defined interfaces; if you use standards such as RSS and REST where appropriate, you will create something that others can re-use.

One of my favorite lines comes from science fiction author William Gibson, who wrote, ‘The street finds its own uses for things – uses the manufacturer never imagined.’  You can’t know how valuable your work will be to someone else, what they’ll see in it that you never could, and how they’ll use it to solve a problem.

All of these techniques – sharing, connecting, contributing, regulating, iterating and opening – share a common thread: they regard the user’s experience as paramount and design as something that serves the user.  These are not precisely the same Web2.0 domains others might identify.  That’s because Web2.0 has become a very ill-defined term.  It can mean whatever we want it to mean.  But it always comes back to experience, something that recognizes the importance and agency of the user, and makes that the center of the work.

It took us the better part of a decade to get to Web2.0; although pieces started showing up in the late 1990s, it wasn’t until the early 21st century that we really felt confident with the Web as an experience, and could use that experience to guide us into designs that left room for us to explore, to play and to learn from one another.  In this decade we need to bring everything we’ve learned to everything we create, to avoid the blind traps and dead ends of a design which ignores the vital reality of the people who work with what we create.  We need to make room for them.  If we don’t, they will make other rooms, where they can be themselves, where they can share what they’ve found, connect with the ones they care about, collaborate and contribute and create.

Paperworks / Padworks

I: Paper, works

At the end of May I received an email from a senior official at the Victorian Department of Education and Early Childhood Development.  DEECD was in the midst of issuing an RFP, looking for new content to populate FUSE (Find, Use, Share, Education), an important component of ULTRANET, the mega-über-supremo educational intranet meant to solve everyone’s educational problems for all time.  Or, well, perhaps I overstate the matter.  But it could be a big deal.

The respondents to the RFP were organizations who already had working relationships with DEECD, and therefore were both familiar with DEECD processes and had been vetted in their earlier relationships.  This meant that the entire RFP to submissions could be telescoped down to just a bit less than three weeks.  The official asked me if I’d be interested in being one of the external reviewers for these proposals as they passed through an official evaluation process.  I said I’d be happy to do so, and asked how many proposals I’d have to review.  “I doubt it will be more than thirty or forty,” he replied.  Which seemed quite reasonable.

As is inevitably the case, most of the proposals landed in the DEECD mailbox just a few hours before the deadline for submissions.  But the RFP didn’t result in thirty or forty proposals.  The total came to almost ninety.  All of which I had to review and evaluate in the thirty-six hours between the time they landed in my inbox and the start of the formal evaluation meeting.  Oh, and first I needed to print them out, because there was no way I’d be able to do that much reading in front of my computer.

Let’s face it – although we do sit and read our laptop screens all day long, we rarely read anything longer than a few paragraphs.  If it passes 300 words, it tips the balance into ‘tl;dr’ (too long; didn’t read) territory, and unless it’s vital for our employment or well-being, we tend to skip it and move along to the next little tidbit.  Having to sit and read through well over nine hundred pages of proposals on my laptop was a bridge too far. I set off to the print shop around the corner from my flat, to have the whole mess printed out.  That took nearly 24 hours by itself – and cost an ungodly sum.  I was left with a huge, heavy box of paper which I could barely lug back to my flat.  For the next 36 hours, this box would be my ball and chain.  I’d have to take it with me to the meeting in Melbourne, which meant packing it for the flight, checking it as baggage, lugging it to my hotel room, and so forth, all while trying to digest its contents.

How the heck was that going to work?

This is when I looked at my iPad.  Then I looked back at the box.  Then back at the iPad.  Then back at the box.  I’d gotten my iPad barely a week before – when they first arrived in Australia – and I was planning on taking it on this trip, but without an accompanying laptop.  This, for me, would be a bit of a test.  For the last decade I’d never traveled anywhere without my laptop.  Could I manage a business trip with just my iPad?  I looked back at the iPad.  Then at the box.  You could practically hear the penny drop.

I immediately began copying all these nine hundred-plus pages of proposals and accompanying documentation from my laptop to the storage utility Dropbox.  Dropbox gives you 2 GB of free Internet storage, with an option to rent more space, if you need it.  Dropbox also has an iPad app (free) – so as soon as the files were uploaded to Dropbox, I could access them from my iPad.

I should take a moment and talk about the model of the iPad I own.  I ordered the 16 GB version – the smallest storage size offered by Apple – but I got the 3G upgrade, paired with Telstra’s most excellent pre-paid NextG service.  My rationale was that I imagined this iPad would be a ‘cloud-centric’ device.  The ‘cloud’ is a term that’s come into use quite recently.  It means software is hosted somewhere out there on the Internet – the ‘cloud’ – rather than residing locally on your computer.  Gmail is a good example of a software that’s ‘in the cloud’.  Facebook is another.  Twitter, another.   Much of what we do with our computers – iPad included – involves software accessed over the Internet.  Many of the apps for sale in Apple’s iTunes App Store are useless or pointless without an Internet connection – these are the sorts of applications which break down the neat boundary between the computer and the cloud.  Cloud computing has been growing in importance over the last decade; by the end of this one it will simply be the way things work.  Your iPad will be your window onto the cloud, onto everything you have within that cloud: your email, your documents, your calendar, your contacts, etc.

I like to live in the future, so I made sure that my iPad didn’t have too much storage – which forces me to use the cloud as much as possible.  In this case, that was precisely the right decision, because I ditched the ten-kilo box of paperwork and boarded my flight to Melbourne with my iPad at my side.  I poured through the proposals, one after another, bringing them up in Dropbox, evaluating them, making some notes in my (paper) notebook, then moving along to the next one.  My iPad gave me a fluidity and speed that I could never have had with that box of paper.

When I arrived at my hotel, I had another set of two large boxes waiting for me.  Here again were the proposals, carefully ordered and placed into several large, ringed binders.  I’d be expected to tote these to the evaluation meeting.  Fortunately, that was only a few floors above my hotel room.  That said, it was a bit of a struggle to get those boxes and my luggage into the elevator and up to the meeting room.  I put those boxes down – and never looked at them again.  As the rest of the evaluation panel dug through their boxes to pull out the relevant proposals, I did a few motions with my fingertips, and found myself on the same page.

Yes, they got a bit jealous.

We finished the evaluation on time and quite successfully, and at the end of the day I left my boxes with the DEECD coordinator, thanking her for her hard work printing all these materials, but begging off.  She understood completely.  I flew home, lighter than I might otherwise have, had I stuck to paper.

For at least the past thirty years – which is about the duration of the personal computer revolution – people have been talking about the advent of the paperless office.  Truth be told, we use more paper in our offices than ever before, our printers constantly at work with letters, notices, emails, and so forth.  We haven’t been able to make the leap to a paperless office – despite our comprehensive ability to manipulate documents digitally – because we lacked something that could actually replace paper.  Computers as we’ve known them simply can’t replace a piece of paper. For a whole host of reasons, it just never worked.  To move to a paperless office – and a paperless classroom – we had to invent something that could supplant paper.  We have it now.  After a lot of false starts, tablet computing has finally arrived –– and it’s here to stay.

I can sit here, iPad in hand, and have access to every single document that I have ever written.  You will soon have access to every single document you might ever need, right here, right now.  We’re not 100% there yet – but that’s not the fault of the device.  We’re going to need to make some adjustments to our IT strategies, so that we can have a pervasively available document environment.  At that point, your iPad becomes the page which contains all other pages within it.  You’ll never be without the document you need at the time you need it.

Nor will we confine ourselves to text.  The world is richer than that.  iPad is the lightbox that contains all photographs within it, it is the television which receives every bit of video produced by anyone – professional or amateur – ever.  It is already the radio (Pocket Tunes app) which receives almost every major radio station broadcasting anywhere in the world.  And it is every one of a hundred-million-plus websites and maybe a trillion web pages.  All of this is here, right here in the palm of your hand.

What matters now is how we put all of this to work.

II: Pad, works

Let’s project ourselves into the future just a little bit – say around ten years.  It’s 2020, and we’ve had iPads for a whole decade.  The iPads of 2020 will be vastly more powerful than the ones in use today, because of something known as Moore’s Law.  This law states that computers double in power every twenty-four months.  Ten years is five doublings, or 32 times.  That rule extends to the display as well as the computer.  The ‘Retina Display’ recently released on Apple’s iPhone 4 shows us where that technology is going – displays so fine that you can’t make out the individual pixels with your eye.  The screen of your iPad version 11 will be visually indistinguishable from a sheet of paper.  The device itself will be thinner and lighter than the current model.  Battery technology improves at about 10% a year, so half the weight of the battery – which is the heaviest component of the iPad – will disappear.  You’ll still get at least ten hours of use, that’s something that’s considered essential to your experience as a user.  And you’ll still be connected to the mobile network.

The mobile network of 2020 will look quite different from the mobile network of 2010.  Right now we’re just on the cusp of moving into 4th generation mobile broadband technology, known colloquially as LTE, or Long-Term Evolution.   Where you might get speeds of 7 megabits per second with NextG mobile broadband – under the best conditions – LTE promises speeds of 100 megabits.  That’s as good as a wired connection – as fast as anything promised by the National Broadband Network!  In a decade’s time we’ll be moving through 5th generation and possibly into 6th generation mobile technologies, with speeds approaching a gigabit, a billion bits per second.  That may sound like a lot, but again, it represents roughly 32 times the capacity of the mobile broadband networks of today.  Moore’s Law has a broad reach, and will transform every component of the iPad.

iPad will have thirty-two times the storage, not that we’ll need it, given that we’ll be connected to the cloud at gigabit speeds, but if it’s there, someone will find use for the two terabytes or more included in our iPad.  (Perhaps a full copy of Wikipedia?  Or all of the books published before 1915?)  All of this still cost just $700.  If you want to spend less – and have a correspondingly less-powerful device, you’ll have that option.  I suspect you’ll be able to pick up an entry-level device – the equivalent of iPad 7, perhaps – for $49 at JB HiFi.

What sorts of things will the iPad 10 be capable of?  How do we put all of that power to work?  First off, iPad will be able to see and hear in meaningful ways.  Voice recognition and computer vision are two technologies which are on the threshold of becoming ‘twenty year overnight successes’.  We can already speak to our computers, and, most of the time, they can understand us.  With devices like the Xbox Kinect, cameras allow the computer to see the world around, and recognize bits of it.  Your iPad will hear you, understand your voice, and follow your commands.  It will also be able to recognize your face, your motions, and your emotions.

It’s not clear that computers as we know them today – that is, desktops and laptops – will be common in a decade’s time.  They may still be employed in very specialized tasks.  For almost everything else, we will be using our iPads.  They’ll rarely leave our sides.  They will become so pervasive that in many environments – around the home, in the office, or at school – we will simply have a supply of them sufficient to the task.  When everything is so well connected, you don’t need to have personal information stored in a specific iPad.  You will be able to pick up any iPad and – almost instantaneously – the custom features which mark that device as uniquely yours will be downloaded into it.

All of this is possible.  Whether any of it eventuates depends on a whole host of factors we can’t yet see clearly.  People may find voice recognition more of an annoyance than an affordance.  The idea of your iPad watching you might seem creepy to some people.  But consider this: I have a good friend who has two elderly parents: his dad is in his early 80s, his mom is in her mid-70s.  He lives in Boston while they live in Northern California.  But he needs to keep in touch, he needs to have a look in.  Next year, when iPad acquires a forward-facing camera – so it can be used for video conferencing – he’ll buy them an iPad, and install it on the wall of their kitchen, stuck on there with Velcro, so that he can ring in anytime, and check on them, and they can ring him, anytime.  It’s a bit ‘Jetsons’, when you think about it.  And that’s just what will happen next year.  By 2020 the iPad will be able to track your progress around the house, monitor what prescriptions you’ve taken (or missed), whether you’ve left the house, and for how long.  It’ll be a basic accessory, necessary for everyone caring for someone in their final years – or in their first ones.

Now that we’ve established the basic capabilities and expectations for this device, let’s imagine them in the hands of students everywhere throughout Australia.  No student, however poor, will be without their own iPad – the Government of the day will see to that.  These students of 2020 are at least as well connected as you are, as their parents are, as anyone is.  To them, iPads are not new things; they’ve always been around.  They grew up in a world where touch is the default interface.  A computer mouse, for them, seems as archaic as a manual typewriter does to us.  They’re also quite accustomed to being immersed within a field of very-high-speed mobile broadband.  They just expect it to be ‘on’, everywhere they go, and expect that they will have access to it as needed.

How do we make education in 2020 meet their expectations?  This is not the universe of ‘chalk and talk’.  This is a world where the classroom walls have been effectively leveled by the pervasive presence of the network, and a device which can display anything on that network.  This is a world where education can be provided anywhere, on demand, as called for.  This is a world where the constructivist premise of learning-by-doing can be implemented beyond year two.  Where a student working on an engine can stare at a three-dimensional breakout model of the components while engaging in a conversation with an instructor half a continent away.  Where a student learning French can actually engage with a French student learning English, and do so without much more than a press of a few buttons.  Where a student learning about the Eureka Stockade can survey the ground, iPad in hand, and find within the device hidden depths to the history.  iPad is the handheld schoolhouse, and it is, in many ways, the thing that replaces the chalkboard, the classroom, and the library.

But iPad does not replace the educator.  We need to be very clear on that, because even as educational resources multiply beyond our wildest hopes –more on that presently – students still need someone to guide them into understanding.  The more we virtualize the educational process, the more important and singular our embodied interactions become.  Some of this will come from far away – the iPad offers opportunities for distance education undreamt of just a few years ago – but much more of it will be close up.  Even if the classroom does not survive (and I doubt it will fade away completely in the next ten years, but it will begin to erode), we will still need a place for an educator/mentor to come into contact with students.  That’s been true since the days of Socrates (probably long before that), and it’s unlikely to change anytime soon.  We learn best when we learn from others.  We humans are experts in mimesis, in learning by imitation.  That kind of learning requires us to breathe the same air together.

No matter how much power we gain from the iPad, no matter how much freedom it offers, no device offers us freedom from our essential nature as social beings.  We are born to work together, we are designed to learn from one another.  iPad is an unbelievably potent addition to the educator’s toolbox, but we must remember not to let it cloud our common sense.  It should be an amplifier, not a replacement, something that lets students go further, faster than before.  But they should not go alone.

The constant danger of technology is that it can interrupt the human moment.  We can be too busy checking our messages to see the real people right before our eyes.  This is the dilemma that will face us in the age of the iPad.  Governments will see them as cost-saving devices, something that could substitute for the human touch.  If we lose touch, if we lose the human moment, we also lose the biggest part of our ability to learn.

III:  The Work of Nations

We can reasonably predict that this is the decade of the tablet, and the decade of mobile broadband.  The two of them fuse in the iPad, to produce a platform which will transform education, allowing it to happen anywhere a teacher and a student share an agreement to work together.  But what will they be working on?  Next year we’ll see the rollout of the National Curriculum, which specifies the material to be covered in core subject areas in classrooms throughout the nation.

Many educators view the National Curriculum as a mandate for a bland uniformity, a lowest-common denominator approach to instruction, which will simply leave the teacher working point-by-point through the curriculum’s arc.  This is certainly not the intent of the project’s creators.  Dr. Evan Arthur, who heads up the Digital Educational Revolution taskforce in the Department of Education, Employment and Workplace Relations, publicly refers to the National Curriculum as a ‘greenfields’, as though all expectations were essentially phantoms of the mind, a box we draw around ourselves, rather than one that objectively exists.

The National Curriculum outlines the subject areas to be covered, but says very little if anything about pedagogy.  Instructors and school systems are free to exercise their own best judgment in selecting an approach appropriate to their students, their educators, and their facilities.  That’s good news, and means that any blandness that creeps into pedagogy because of the National Curriculum is more a reflection of the educator than the educational mandate.

Precisely because it places educators and students throughout the nation onto the same page, the National Curriculum also offers up an enormous opportunity.  We know that all year nine students in Australia will be covering a particular suite of topics.  This means that every educator and every student throughout the nation can be drawing from and contributing to a ‘common wealth’ of shared materials, whether they be podcasts of lectures, educational chatrooms, lesson plans, and on and on and on.  As the years go by, this wealth of material will grow as more teachers and more students add their own contributions to it.  The National Curriculum isn’t a mandate, per se; it’s better to think of it as an empty Wikipedia.  All the article headings are there, all the taxonomy, all the cross references, but none of the content.  The next decade will see us all build up that base of content, so that by 2020, a decade’s worth of work will have resulted in something truly outstanding to offer both educators and students in their pursuit of curriculum goals.
Well, maybe.

I say all of this as if it were a sure thing.  But it isn’t.  Everyone secretly suspects the National Curriculum will ruin education.  I ask that we can see things differently.  The National Curriculum could be the savior of education in the 21st century, but in order to travel the short distance in our minds between where we are (and where we will go if we don’t change our minds) and where we need to be, we need to think of every educator in Australia as a contributor of value.  More than that, we need to think of every student in Australia as a contributor of value.  That’s the vital gap that must be crossed.  Educators spend endless hours working on lesson plans and instructional designs – they should be encouraged to share this work.  Many of them are too modest or too scared to trumpet their own hard yards – but it is something that educators and students across the nation can benefit from.  Students, as they pass through the curriculum, create their own learning materials, which must be preserved, where appropriate, for future years.

We should do this.  We need to do this.  Right now we’re dropping the best of what we have on the floor as teachers retire or move on in their careers.  This is gold that we’re letting slip through our fingers. We live in an age where we only lose something when we neglect to capture it. We can let ourselves off easy here, because we haven’t had a framework to capture and share this pedagogy.  But now we have the means to capture, a platform for sharing – the Ultranet, and a tool which brings access to everyone – the iPad.  We’ve never had these stars aligned in such a way before.  Only just now – in 2010 – is it possible to dream such big dreams.  It won’t even cost much money.  Yes, the state and federal governments will be investing in iPads and superfast broadband connections for the schools, but everything else comes from a change in our behavior, from a new sense of the full value of our activities.  We need to look at ourselves not merely as the dispensers of education to receptive students, but as engaged participant-creators working to build a lasting body of knowledge.

In so doing we tie everything together, from library science to digital citizenship, within an approach that builds shared value.  It allows a student in Bairnsdale to collaborate with another in Lorne, both working through a lesson plan developed by an educator in Katherine.  Or a teacher in Lakes Entrance to offer her expertise to a classroom in Maffra.  These kinds of things have been possible before, but the National Curriculum gives us the reason to do it.  iPad gives us the infrastructure to dream wild, and imagine how to practice some ‘creative destruction’ in the classroom – tearing down its walls in order to make the classroom a persistent, ubiquitous feature of the environment, to bring education everywhere it’s needed, to everyone who needs it, whenever they need it.

This means that all of the preceding is really part of a larger transformation, from education as this singular event that happens between ages six and twenty-two, to something that is persistent and ubiquitous; where ‘lifelong learning’ isn’t a catchphrase, but rather, a set of skills students begin to acquire as soon as they land in pre-kindy.  The wealth of materials which we will create as we learn how to share the burden of the National Curriculum across the nation have value far beyond the schoolhouse.  In a nation of immigrants, it makes sense to have these materials available, because someone is always arriving in the middle of their lives and struggling to catch up to and integrate themselves within the fabric of the nation.  Education is one way that this happens.  People also need to have increasing flexibility in their career choices, to suit a much more fluid labor market.  This means that we continuously need to learn something new, or something, perhaps, that we didn’t pay much attention to when we should have.  If we can share our learning, we can close this gap.  We can bring the best of what we teach to everyone who has the need to know.

And there we are.  But before I conclude, I should bring up the most obvious point –one so obvious that we might forget it.  The iPad is an excellent toy.  Please play with it.  I don’t mean use it.  I mean explore it.  Punch all the buttons.  Do things you shouldn’t do.  Press the big red button that says, “Don’t press me!”  Just make sure you have a backup first.

We know that children learn by exploration – that’s the foundation of Constructivism – but we forget that we ourselves also learn by exploration. The joy we feel when we play with our new toy is the feeling a child has when he confronts a box of LEGOs, or new video game – it’s the joy of exploration, the joy of learning.  That joy is foundational to us.  If we didn’t love learning, we wouldn’t be running things around here.  We’d still be in the trees.

My favorite toys on my iPad are Pocket Universe – which creates an 360-degree real-time observatory on your iPad; Pulse News – which brings some beauty to my RSS feeds; Observatory – which turns my iPad into a bit of an orrery; Air Video – which allows me to watch videos streamed from my laptop to my iPad; and GoodReader – the one app you simply must spend $1.19 on, because it is the most useful app you’ll ever own.  These are my favorites, but I own many others, and enjoy all of them.  There are literally tens of thousands to choose from, some of them educational, some, just for fun.  That’s the point: all work and no play makes iPad a dull toy.

So please, go and play.  As you do, you’ll come to recognize the hidden depths within your new toy, and you’ll probably feel that penny drop, as you come to realize that this changes everything.  Or can, if we can change ourselves.