This post (which I found thanks to Phil Windley is a most excellent essay on the question of ownership of identity. I agree that Bob Blakley paints an accurate picture of the current state of the world. However, the question he does not explore is: how could we change the status quo?

The particular element that I think we could inject into the mix is awareness. Although we cannot enforce control or ownership or even consent, we could strive to encourage awareness. The idea being that it is “not nice” to talk about people “behind their backs”. Although it is not currently required, we could work towards making sure that an effort was made to ensure that people were made aware of the stories that were being told about them. Just as we have libel laws that “infringe” upon the protections of freedom of speech. As you are not free to say whatever you want if it is untrue, perhaps you should not be free to talk about others without making them aware that you are doing so.

That complements the intent of libel laws by making people aware of stories being told about them. It isn’t unreasonable that they should have the opportunity to respond. It may even be feasible.

I’ve been quiet for a while — adjusting to a new role and set of issues to think about. Last night, Gina and I were invited to a dinner party, and the inevitable “so what do you do?” question came up. I haven’t had a good answer to that question since the 80′s. Maybe the 70′s. Maybe ever. Last night, this is what I came up with:

I’m going to set up a thought experiment. Imagine if you will…

Costco collects consumer preference information about their customers (things like their purchase histories). So does Walmart. Let’s say that Costco, in order to provide a better customer experience, wishes to purchase and analyze the consumer data (say, purchase history) from Walmart. (You should feel free to substitute Barnes & Noble and Amazon or any other pair of competitive retailers that you patronize to personalize this example). What should happen?

In order to answer that question, let us magically remove any technical barriers to any possible desired outcome, and imagine that all of the data (both Costco’s and Walmart’s) are stored in one big computer system, with the right levels of security so that Costco can only see their data, and Walmart can only see their data — but it would be simple for Walmart to give Costco access to a specified subset of the data. What should happen?

The initial reaction is that Walmart should/would say “No” because

1. they are competitors and don’t want to share the information, and
2. their privacy policy should forbid it to protect consumer rights

The way I see it, those two reasons are mutually contradictory. Because it centers around the issue of who should control access to that data. Given that the information is about a particular individual, shouldn’t that individual have some say in the decision about transferring (selling) the information about him or her? If it’s the customer’s decision, then Walmart can’t say “No” — the customer has to.

So, let us give all those individuals user accounts on the aforementioned theoretical computer system housing Costco’s and Walmart’s data. Each individual has access to the information about them from both companies. The first benefit of this arrangement is that the individual gets access to view *all* of the data collected about them — and who collected it. That seems like a value to the individual.

Let’s say that there are a million individuals involved. Instead of asking Walmart if Walmart is willing to sell the customer preference data to Costco, Costco asks the individual customers. (Perhaps they don’t need to ask — perhaps the individuals have expressed their preferences about this kind of question so that their preference information can be checked to see if they are interested in participating.) One hundred thousand of the million customers say “sure — I don’t mind if you analyze my total purchase history across both companies in order to provide me better service”. The other nine hundred thousand, concerned about their privacy, say “No.” (It is unclear how much such a decision protects their privacy, since Walmart is still free to analyze the Walmart data, and Costco is still free to analyze the Costco data — but it is a decision that they certainly should have the right to make.)

Presumably, then, Costco should now get access to that 10% of Walmart’s database, since they (Costco) have permission from the consumers about whom this data was collected. Shouldn’t they? That is to say, if the consumer should have the ultimate decision about who has access to their purchase histories (or gambling histories, or reading preferences, etc.), and the consumer wants to say “Yes”, then Walmart (or Harrah’s or Albertsons) couldn’t very well say “No”, could they? Or could they?

Who owns the data? Given that, in the case of purchase histories, each data item contains information about both the seller (Walmart) and the buyer (the costumer). Sounds like they both have a claim on the data.

That’s the political/legal dilemma. And, of course, who should own the data is not necessarily who does own the data. Today, for this example, Walmart and Costco own the data. I think it would be fair to say that it would be difficult to find anyone who would assert that the customers owned that data. But I’m not a political guy (my brother is — ask him about that).

Assuming the legalities can be worked out to inject the individual into this transaction, then we confront the financial question. When Costco offers to buy the consumer data — who gets the money? Is it Walmart? or the 100,000 consumers who said “Yes”? After all, Walmart actually went to the trouble of collecting it, storing it, and making it available, so they are certainly entitled to some compensation. In fact, the data wouldn’t exist at all if Walmart didn’t collect it, so perhaps Walmart is entitled to the money, but the consumer is entitled to the decision. Or vice versa. Or somewhere in between. It looks like it’s shaping up to be a multi-party transaction — with the need to protect the anonymity of some/most/all of the participants. In the financial world, that role is called a “broker” — who takes a commission for facilitating the transaction.

So far, this has been a two-company example, but of course, one can easily see extending this idea to hundreds of retailers. Costco could potentially look at some subset of Target’s database, and Amazon’s, and Best Buy’s. The consumer would have access to a very detailed profile about his or her purchases, returns, preferences, payment history and so forth. Many people would want to participate to get access to that information. As well as control access to it. Companies would want to participate for the same reason.

Finally, there is the technical question. Assuming the questions of ownership and privacy can be worked out, and a financial model around how the money should be divvied up can be worked out, somebody would have to build the aforementioned computer system that houses all that data, and provides the appropriate access to the appropriate parties at the appropriate times.

What do I do? I’m building that system.

Gina and I were registered to hear Malcolm Gladwell speak in New York. The evening didn’t go according to plan.

Traffic was heavy on the way in — we figured there was probably a Yankee game backing up the Cross Bronx onto the George Washington Bridge. We might have made it if we had left the house three minutes earlier. But as we got about half way across the bridge, traffic came to a dead stop. And then we saw the great billowing clouds of black smoke blowing across the bridge up ahead. We weren’t going anywhere for a while.

The lady in the car next to us jumps out of her car and starts running back to the Jersey side, yelling “We can’t leave the children parentless.” The guy gets out and is yelling after her “How are you going to get home?” But she’s out of earshot. Gina points out the “No Loitering” sign, just as the guy who got out of the next car over is standing in the middle of the road saying: “Hey, this is a first for me — I’m standing on the bridge!”.

We all turn our engines off, and stand around trying to see what’s going on up ahead. Loitering, if you will.

I didn’t bring my camera. I should have brought the camera, because it would have made it easier to explain what happens next. Plus, it would make it easier for you to believe me. Luckily, the web helps with the first part — this picture will almost do:

This is about exactly where we were stopped. You notice the sets of steel cables hanging down from the large suspension cables. And the railing between the roadbed and the pedestrian walkway. Well, Gina starts to while away the time pacing back and forth along the top of that railing, taking in the view.

I didn’t have my camera. But, at some point curiosity gets the better of her, and she decides that if she climbed up the cables, she could sit in the little chair formed by the cross brace holding the cables together near the suspension cable — and that would give her a better view. Gina is always very timid about engaging in this kind of activity. She always asks the same question before she begins: “You don’t think I’ll get arrested if I climb up there, do you?” Luckily she was wearing a pants suit instead of a dress. Then, she answered her own question: “Nah, the police are probably too busy dealing with the car fire that closed the George Washington Bridge in both directions during rush hour.” And up she went.

I didn’t have my camera. So there we were, stuck on the bridge, traffic not moving in either direction, everybody out of their cars, and Gina perched up in the suspension cables. You have to admit, it makes for a great conversational gambit. Usually it goes something like: “Hey, how’d you get up there?” Sometimes it’s: “Hey, how’d she get up there?”

So it turns out that the guy whose wife ran off the bridge, and the guy who was excited about standing on the bridge were both going into the City for dinner and a show — they were going to see Spamalot. And, yes, the people in front of them were on their way to a Yankee game. We kind of guessed that because they never stopped waving their Yankee flags. Pity I forgot the camera.

It only took about an hour to clear the burning car, and traffic started moving. As we drove down the West Side, it was clear that our evening plans were scuttled; we weren’t going to see Malcolm Gladwell. On the other hand, we would be getting into midtown early enough to catch a show — if we could get tickets. So instead of heading over to the Oxonian Society, we went here:

and Gina asked (because we’d just been talking about it on the bridge) about tickets to Spamalot. The lady laughed. “It’s sold out until March” she said. “Thank you” said Gina, then added “Where’s it playing?” — and off we went, here:

“Umm, they’re sold out until March”, sez I. “I know,” answers Gina breezily, “but maybe we can get tickets at the box office. You never know.”

Now, you probably can’t see it very well, because I didn’t bring my camera, and these aren’t my pictures, but if you had gone to the Shubert Theatre that night, in the very lower right hand corner of this picture; right at that spot, was a sign that read: “Cancellation Line”, and there were 22 people standing in line behind that sign. It was about twenty minutes before show time. Gina asked the theatre employee at the head of the line “What are the chances we could get in tonight?” And the answer, unsurprisingly, was “None.”

So we got in line.

A few more people joined the line behind us. Occasionally, the guy at the front of the line would go inside, come back out, and announce, “OK, I have two tickets” — and the people at the head of the line would go in. A couple of people gave up hope and wandered off. We fell to talking to the woman behind us. Mostly commiserating about the impossibility of getting in. And as we’re doing so, Gina blurts out: “Hey! There are those guys from the bridge. And she turns to the woman behind us and confides “They have an extra ticket. His wife jumped out of the car on the George Washington Bridge and ran home.” Which, when I think back on it, probably sounded a little odd.

“Really?” asked the woman behind us. “An extra ticket?”

“Sure” said Gina. And she dragged the woman over to the other line, and started waving at our recent bridge acquaintances. “Hey,” says the guy whose wife ran off the bridge. “Didn’t we just see you on the bridge?” And he turns to the woman who was behind us in line and explains “She was climbing up the suspension cables on the George Washington Bridge and sitting on top of them.” Which, when I think back on it, probably sounded a little odd, too.

“You still got that extra ticket?” asks Gina. “Sure” he says, and takes it out of his pocket. “She could really use it” says Gina. “What about you?” they both ask. “Nah, it wouldn’t do me any good,” Gina explains. “I’m here with my husband.” And she rejoins the cancellation line.

We watch the woman offer to pay for the ticket, and the guy refuse to accept the money. Just as they are about to go into the theatre, he turns back one last time and yells out “You’ll never believe this, but we got to the restaurant in time to have some dinner. I managed to wolf down a half a plate of penne and sauce before coming here.”"Lucky you,” yells back Gina. “We’ve been stuck in this line the whole time. We haven’t had anything to eat. I’m starving.” And with that, he waves one last time and is inside the theatre.

“Did you say you were hungry?” asks the gentleman in front of us, with a German accent. He’s a member of a party of four in front of us. “We have an extra sandwich from the deli across the street”, and he hands Gina a grilled steak sandwich on ciabatta. Then, the four of them give up on the line and walk away.

The guy at the head of the line comes out a couple more times — he has four tickets. Then another two. Then three. Then two more. Then just one. The couple at the head of the line can’t use it. They leave. The next group is a party of three. We’re behind them. The party of three is three guys. The one wearing the BMC Software shirt volunteers to take the ticket and see the show. He goes inside.

A minute later, he comes back out: “They only take cash on the cancellation line”, he explains. “I don’t have enough. Let’s go.”"Nonsense,” retort both friends, and they dig out their wallets and empty them. Between the three of them, it’s just enough to get the BMC guy in. He disappears inside. They close the doors. We’re alone with the two friends.

“Let me get this straight. Your friend ditches you, and you go broke paying for it?” asks Gina. “That’s right,” they say with a laugh. “He owes us big time.” And then they too are gone, and we’re alone in Shubert Alley.

Eric Raymond has popularized the Ghandi quote (“First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.”) in the context of the open source movement. Danny O’Brien had a great keynote at OSCON on this topic.

I was thinking about the parallels of the open source movement to the object-oriented movement in the 80′s. In the beginning, there was Smalltalk (with all deference to the Simula roots — that was the ignoring part) which was the “pure” object-orientation. Then came Objective-C which was the “evolutionary hybrid”. I sat through the obligatory “What is Object-Orientation” slide (1. Encapsulation. 2. Polymorphism. 3. Inheritance) thousands of times. That was the laughing part.

Then came the fighting part. Object orientation ceased being a binary (is or ain’t) discussion — they were all “hybrids”. C++ and Java. Perl and Python. PHP. We got object oriented COBOL. And object oriented Fortran. And, of course, object oriented Basic.

When every programming language is object-oriented (for some definition of object-oriented), one has reached the “then you win” stage. Then what happens? We have no guidance from Gandhi.

In a similar vein, following the ignoring phase, we got Linux (which arguably began the laughing phase) and the thousands of “What is Open Source” slides (1. Run 2. Study 3. Distribute 4. Modify) — followed by the hybrids in the fighting phase. And then, one sees the Microsoft Windows XP release notes (KB306819). From which I quote:

Copyright 1985, 1988 Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved.

And also

Copyright 1998-1999 Greg Roelofs. All rights reserved.

which presumably refers to an open source implementation of PNG. There are more such copyright statements embedded therein. So, for some definition of “open source”, Microsoft Windows XP is open source. That is to say, it contains open source components — it is “hybrid open source”. I guess that marks the “then you win” phase.

Then what happens? Well, in Gandhi’s case, one needs politicians, and the work of governing must go on, but the work of the revolutionary is done. In the object-oriented (and open source) case, there is implementation work related to specific technologies, products, and industries — but the work of evangelism is done. You can still attend OOPSLA — but the “What is Object-Orientation” presentations are gone.

Different people will define victory differently. But, given that you think you’ve won, then what do you do?

You do something else.

When I was in junior high, I had a class called Problems of Civilization (today it would probably be called Social Studies). One of the things I learned was that the Roman Empire collapsed because of plumbing.

You see, the word plumbing comes from the Latin plumbum which means lead; plumbing was made of lead. Which meant that people who could afford plumbing (the rich Romans) and the members of their household, were exposed to lead poisoning — which causes mental retardation and various forms of dementia. Hence the notorious Roman stories about Caligula and Nero and others.

Wikipedia attributes the lead poisoning to the use of lead acetate as a wine sweetener. But the idea that a technological innovation that seems so indispensable (like plumbing) could be the cause of the collapse of an entire civilization, is a much more intriguing meme. It suggests the following question: What ubiquitous and seemingly indispensable technology is potentially the cause of the collapse of our civilization?

I think the answer is advertising. Wikipedia’s entry is quite damning. Here’s a quote — the rest of the exposition is equally disconcerting:

Over the years, the public perception of advertising has become very negative. It is seen a medium that inherently promotes a lie, based on the purpose of the advertisement – to encourage the target audience to submit to a cause or a belief, and act on it to the advertising party’s benefit and consequently the target’s disadvantage. They are either perceived as directly lying (stating opinions or untruths directly as facts), lying by omission (usually terms or conditions unfavorable to the customer) or portraying a product or service in a light that does not reflect reality.

Spam and splogs are merely the latest incarnation of lead poisoning. (Advertising is about generating leads). That’s why we don’t have television at home. We’re trying to protect our children from lead poisoning. It’s not easy. There are a lot of transmission vectors.

As long as people want to get paid for providing content, the money has to either come from viewers or advertisers. I favor charging the viewers; like cable television or Netflix — then we get to decide what we see. I’m also hopeful that ideas like AttentionTrust can divert the money flow in ways that will provide more control to the viewers.

As long as we rely on advertising to fund content, we’re going to get advertising in our content. And if viewers are unwilling to pay for content, isn’t that a comment on the value of that content to those viewers?

I wonder what an ad-free Google account would cost.

We’re in the process of getting only three children off to college this month. (Our household style and usage guide requires the use of the modifier only in any phrase that enumerates children.) Consequently, the “growing up” meme has been circulating vigorously. Into that ferment, the monthly insurance statement arrived. ( It’s a statement because the premium is transferred automatically from the checking account. ) Gina opened it. She noticed that males under 25 and unmarried females under 25 pay higher rates. And it was the inclusion of the word unmarried that sparked the train of thought which followed.

Why unmarried? ventured Gina. Because the most likely reason a woman would be married under the age of 25 is that she had kids. And, if she had kids, she would be responsible enough to drive safely. So it makes perfect sense. Except that people and organizations (other than insurance companies) increasingly discourage women from having children under the age of 25.

The effect of this discouragement is part of a broader pattern of extending childhood. Not so long ago, people at 16 years of age were considered adults — now that age is closer to 26. This continuing infantilization of young adults is having a corrosive effect on our society. (Listen, if you were raising only seven children, you’d be looking at process re-engineering, too).

And this is where the discourse turned into a rave. Gina began raving. (Our household style and usage guide requires that an animated soliloquy by r0ml is ranting, but the same for Gina is raving. We are very particular about usage. )

<rave> And why is it that women are discouraged from having children under the age of 25? Because they need to finish school and start their careers before they think about children. It is physiologically and psychologically better for both the children and the mother for the childbearing years to be earlier. Yet, we encourage the delay. Why not have the children first, and then go to school? Because after the children, the mother may need to get a job, and then there wouldn’t be time for school. Or child-rearing. And why is that? Because we insist on doing school full time, then work full time, where full time is defined as five days a week. Whereas if the work week were three or four days long, then there would be time for work and school, and we wouldn’t need to defer child-bearing.
</rave>

There is only one effective counteragent to a raving Gina. And that, of course, is a ranting r0ml. It was at that moment that I jumped in with: “It’s the same with open source software.” which is always good for a quizzical look and a brief pause while trying to puzzle out the connection — all the opening I need to seize the initiative and launch a rant.

<rant>
Open Source projects have a long tradition of volunteerism — people contributing programming (or other) efforts in their spare time. Women, in fact, responsible as they are for child-rearing, don’t have that spare time; hence the limited involvement of women in the open source movement. But even beyond that — it has become clear that the fruits of this “volunteer” labor are positive net contributions to the entire software economy. Hundreds of companies are being formed to capitalize on these contributions. Yet, there is limited time to work on these projects — the work week for a full time job being so long and all. Why, if the work week were shorter (three or four days), then there would be much more time to create economic value through the open source community. Think of the increased productivity!

&lt/rant>

The forty hour week, after all, is not divinely inspired. God rested on the seventh day only. I am old enough to remember the six day work week. I remember as a young man reading want ads in the Estado de São Paulo — the great benefit for programming jobs was that it was only a 48-hour work week — because programmers worked 8-hour days (as opposed to most jobs that were 10-hour days / 60 hour weeks). The Federal government (with some encouragement from the Labor movement) gave us the 40-hour work week fairly recently (well, for most people). But 40 is not a divinely inspired number either. More enlightened places in the world have a 35-hour work week. And it could be 34. Or 32.

In fact, if we think about a 35 year timeline that involves 7 years of college, followed by a 28 year career, we could structure our society to either do them “full-time” in sequence (as we do), or, alternatively, “part-time” in parallel. Coincidentally, that would mean working four days a week and schooling one. Lifelong learning without losing a day of productivity.

Google has a policy of allowing workers to spend twenty percent of their time (one day a week) working on projects of their own devising. Sort of on the theory that if people work four days a week, the fruits of their labor “in their spare time” will pay off.

Yes, indeed. More open source. More women bearing children under the age of 25. A more mature society. Lifelong learning. The problems are related. The solution is the same.

Shorter work week.

If I weren’t working, it would be a vacation!

In Adobe Illustrator I type the word copyright into the search box in the Help Center. The page that results includes the following paragraph:

This product includes either BISAFE and/or TIPEM software by RSA Data Security, Inc. This product includes cryptographic software written by Eric Young (eay@cryptosoft.com). This software is based in part on the work of the Independent JPEG Group. Portions include technology used under license from Verity, Inc. and are copyrighted. © 1994 Hewlett Packard Company. © 1985, 1986 Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Portions of this code are licensed from Apple Computer, Inc. under the terms of the Apple Public Source License Version 2. The source code version of the licensed code and the license are available at www.opensource.apple.com/apsl. This product includes PHP, freely available from www.php.net. This product includes the Zend Engine, freely available at www.zend.com. This product includes software developed by Brian M. Clapper (bmc@clapper.org). © 1991 by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. ©1996, 1995 by Open Software Foundation, Inc. 1997,1996, 1995, 1994, 1993, 1992, 1991. All rights reserved.

Many open source advocates, looking inside their own organization (or others), will enumerate the open source software in use to make the case that “everybody” is “using open source”. As I start counting all the open source projects embedded in Illustrator, it seems to exceed the amount of open source software used in many of these “censuses”. By all accounts, Adobe Illustrator is an “open source” product.

Sort of.

And they are not alone. The same exercise with Mathematica leads me to this web page. The list is not as exhaustive as Illustrator, but finding GMP there was certainly an eye-opener.

Can we say that Mathematica is open source? Or “open source friendly”?

This chain of reasoning came about because of this blog post that I stumbled across. Seems like Apple was adding OCUnit to XCode. So I went looking for the equivalent copyright page for XCode (because I know it also uses gcc and gdb at a minimum). I couldn’t find such a page. The best I could find was something that advised me that this Apple product included some (unspecified) open source software, the source code of which was available here.

So, I got to thinking. Assuming rational markets. If I’m selling proprietary software in any particular application domain, and there exists some “attributive-licensed” software (MIT, BSD, Apache, etc.) which is superior in some way (faster, more featureful) than the code I wrote / licensed, wouldn’t I include it in my product? And continue to sell my product as before?

In which case, the distinction (technology-wise) between assembling a custom solution using attributive-licensed open source libraries, and buying a commercial product, seems to be ever more evanescent. (Of course, “reciprocal-licensed” (GPL’d) software may be more distinguished in this regard — depending on the nature of the integration.)

In 1996, when we bought the playset pictured in the background, it came as a pile of pine treated lumber, and some plastic bits. It took most of the summer to build the thing. (Yes, that’s how Gina talks on the phone. It’s a family habit.)

Corey was 6. He was in charge of measuring. It was a great way to spend the summer — cutting and drilling and bolting and hammering. We did a pretty good job. There’s a certain satisfaction to collaborating on building something. But after five years, the structure became dilapidated. Wasps took up residence under the roof of the blue tower. The wood split and splintered, and the slide and breezeway filled up with detritus. In the ordinary course of events, that would have been a reasonable destiny — but we had two more children. So, now, almost ten years later, we have a four year old and an eight year old — we still need a playset.

We ordered the King Kong Castle.

Package III — which means: add in the monkey bars — not pictured here. Rainbow Direct (or their agents) will assemble it. I need to dismantle the existing structures (including the swing set in the back). I suppose I could have built the new one, but the King Kong is *big*. Those beams are massive. The swing beam is playground height — suitable for adults. We wanted that lifetime guarantee. And it seems like the technology going into play structures has advanced significantly during the Internet boom.

I find that I like D-I-Y — but only the first time. The second time, whether it’s remodeling the kitchen, finishing the basement, or building the playset — the second time my reaction is “been there, done that.” The second time, I want to hire somebody else to do it. The second time, I prefer to buy, not build.

Usually. But I always like the part where I get to use the sledgehammer.

I got back from Boston, and there was a package from Apple.

It was (another) copy of Mathematica.

Academic Edition.

After three separate progressively less cordial conversations, I made (another) trip to Kinko’s — this time to send a return and await my refund.

Gina and SKaRey (the teenagers: Sara, Kayla, and Corey) have started a pool on how long it will take to acquire the correct version of this software. The original order was placed on Memorial Day weekend. The smart money is clustering around the Labor Day weekend as the winning date.

This experience has convinced me that Matt Asay gets it right when he asserts that the promise of open source lies in distribution. I’ve got to admit, it has rarely threatened to take me three months to acquire a copy of any open source software package.

And, aggravation aside, according the the Help Desk Institute, on average, a Level I support call costs $25, and a Level II support call costs $100. So, Fedex costs for four shipments plus a couple of hundred bucks in help desk calls. Over one software package. Directly attributable to the licensing model. Which impacts the distribution model.

I would have preferred this (Plan C):

apt-get install mathematica

The binary would have (as it now does) required me to activate on-line. Hit my PayPal for $40 a month. I would have to connect to the Internet once a month to confirm that my account was current. Over 3 years, that’s $1440. (I gave myself a discount because of the reduced help desk interaction and distribution, warehousing, inventory, etc.)

That’s less than my wireless phone plan. That’s less than my cable internet access. That’s less than what I spend on coffee. For those of you who thought I was being extravagant spending so much money on a software package. By comparison, Gold membership in the Mandriva Linux Club is $60/month. (Fair is fair: let’s compare the Mathematica academic edition with Silver membership — Pro is Gold membership).

Seems like Mathematica (on a three year TCO), is way cheaper than Linux.

Or coffee.

What a bargain. If only they had a distribution channel that worked better.