Exploring Interdisciplinarity

come with me on a Magic carpet...from Lollygagging

Only a few weeks ago, I travelled across the globe from New York to Beijing in half a day. I felt like I was on a magic carpet–here one minute, and there the next. To be sure, this was not the first time I had engaged in flights of fancy. In my childhood, such experiences were commonplace. You see, my home on Lafayette Avenue, in Hawthorne New Jersey, was literally just a hop, skip, and jump from our local library. So it was there that I spent many afternoons, transporting myself to far away places via the books on the library’s shelf.

Three books, in particular, inspired my Wander Lust as well as my life long interest in learning about other cultures. All about China, they included Oil for the Lamps of China by Alice Tibert Holbart, and Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth and The Imperial Woman. The latter book, which recounted the story of how a concubine became the Dowager Empress, raised the librarians’ eyebrows, who then reported to my father that I was reading books far too advanced  for my years.

the librarians reported to my father that I was reading books far too advanced for my years. 

But it was not my father who brought an end to my China fantasies. Always supportive of any efforts on my part to learn, my father assured the librarians that I could handle emotionally any book that I could read.  The damper on my literary choices resulted, instead, from the political reaction in the United States to the Yalta Conference, Joseph McCarthy and the Red Scare.  China was no longer an acceptable agenda.

It was only in the late 1980s that I finally got to go to Asia–in this instance to Taiwan. Having recently completed the OTA study, Intellectual Property Rights in an Age of Electronics and Information, I was asked to join a group of lawyers from The Asia Foundation, to speak to the justices of the Taiwanese Supreme Court about intellectual property rights. No matter that OTA’s position was in opposition to those of the other lawyers; for the Agency’s report was, in fact, strongly opposed to copyrighting software. Before taking off, I asked my son what he wanted me to bring home from Taiwan–imagining, of course, some kind of inspiring cultural object. I’d like a counterfeit Rolex watch, he said, in all sincerity. At a loss to explain how this might belie the purpose of my trip, I was resigned to disappointing my 13 year old son.

I’d like a counterfeit Rolex watch, he said, in all sincerity. 

Arriving in Taipei, I was in for a shock. Where was the China of Pearl Buck, I asked myself? Lit up in neon lights, Taipei rustled and bustled like 42nd street. But this was not my only surprise; although I failed to convince my colleagues and the Supreme Court Justices that copyright protection was inappropriate for software, I did achieve my secondary objective. I managed to purchase not one, but two, counterfeit rolex watches–one for my son and one for me! How, you might ask, did this happen? It was out of the blue. Walking back to the hotel one day, a man accosted me: “Lady, do you want to buy a Rolex watch,” he asked? I hesitated in disbelief, but, before I could reply, he gracefully guided me inside a doorway, and then through another, into a room where counterfeit watches, including all the name brands, were neatly laid out, one next to the other, across the entire room. That night our group went out to dinner. To my surprise, we were accompanied by an Asian representative of the US Chamber of Commerce, Worse yet, I was wearing my counterfeit Rolex, and –of all things–he sat right next to me. I managed to eat my dinner with my right hand and the watch hidden in my lap, while keeping a conversation going, even as my food spattered every which way. The axiom is true; Crime doesn’t pay.

Years after my Rolex had petered out, I had the good fortune to return to China, this time to speak to the Global Forum, on the subject of the digital divide. My colleague and friend Tonya accompanied me. We both were eager to wander the streets and engage directly in the local life. And so we did, far more than we had anticipated. One evening, we went for a stroll in search of a ‘bar’ where we might get a beer. As we sat there, drinking our beers, we noticed that most of the clients were male.

“Sorry, no money, no honey.” 

Naive as we were, we did not realize that we were in a red light enterprise until one of the bar maids, who had been playing cards with a young man across the bar, told him most emphatically: “Sorry, no money, no honey.” Not long after, Tonya and I strolled back to our hotel, but not before we got a photo of the bar door, a signal we had missed when entering, in our eagerness to find a bar. So much for local culture.

Three weeks ago I returned to China; this time to Beijing to make a presentation on the challenges of global standard setting. Fortunately, I was able to mix business and pleasure–for my student Ming, who had taken a semester off, met me at the airport, and guided me around the city, chatting all the while, to places and back streets I might never have otherwise seen. But best of all was the evening I spent with Ming’s  family, which was–to say the least–true quality time.  After so many years, I was grateful to engage in an authentic and intense dialogue with a real Chinese family, each member so delightful and fascinating.   It was a dialogue that I hope will go on for many years to come. As you might imagine, after such a special time, there were tears in our eyes when we said goodbye.

Flying home I reflected on my life-long fascination with China. As I visit China, and engage with my Chinese students, I am struck by the many similarities among our peoples. Pearl Buck seems but a shadow in the past. Could it be that it is the remembrance of me, at age 11, sitting on the floor in the library on Lafayette Avenue in Hawthorne New Jersey, the tantalizing books arrayed on the shelves above, that is today what is so long ago and far away.

On Technorati: air travel, China, Hawthorne, intellectual property rights, Joseph McCarthy, New Jersey, Oil for the Lamps of China, Pearl Buck, public libraries, Red Scare, Taiwan, The Asia Foundation, The Good Earth, The Imperial Women, Yalta

October Daydream! / Rêverie d’octobre! by Denis Collette...!!!

If you’re like me, you often leave a discussion, or conference, getting your best ideas after the fact. Having mulled the conversation over, again and again, you wake up in the middle of the night with the most inspired thought, but instead of feeling satisfied, you berate yourself for having missed an opportunity to make a great point.

If you’re like me, you get your best ideas after the fact. 

Last night, I did just that, but instead of feeling poorly about it, I realized–perhaps for the first time–that my idea had been latent. As such, it could not have been used to provide an input into the discussion; rather it was a direct output of the discussion with my colleagues, as well as of the nocturnal dialogue that took place inside my brain.

The occasion for this insight was a conference on Standards Education, sponsored by the National Institute for Standards and Technology (NIST). The aim of the conference was to encourage universities to incorporate a standards curriculum within their course offerings. The focus, for the most part, was on engineering and business schools. My panel, the last of the day, was designed to be a little provocative–that is, to think about standards education in the context of a dynamic future, in which educational institutions are themselves in flux, the boundaries of their ivory towers crumbling in the face of an increasingly complex environment. By all accounts, we were successful, thanks to the inputs of our four panelists Michael Spring, Mark McCarthy, Peter Lord, and Laura DeNardis.

The discussion with some of my colleagues continued on the drive home, but when I reached my door I was ready to put it aside, and just relax. And so I did, taking my dog for a walk; having a glass of wine and eating a pizza with my husband; and–before falling asleep–reading a chapter of an excellent biography of Schumpeter, Prophet of Innovation, by Thomas K. McCraw. However, after a few hours, I woke up with a start, as well as an idea about why engineering schools have so few courses dedicated to standard setting. It must be that when the body is in a dream-like state, the neurons in the brain are free to fire, and to roam every which-way, generating new and interesting ideas as they create new paths and explore unknown territories.

I woke up with a start, with an idea about why engineering schools have so few course dedicated to standard setting 

In retrospect, I suspect that my brain was reaching back into my memory to a book I had read and admired a long time ago, entitled Machine-Age Ideology: Social Engineering and American Liberalism, 1911-1939. Written by John M. Jordan, the book tells the story of the American engineer, and how–during the first part of the 20th century–he became a hero in American life, celebrated in movies, novels, and popular culture. This hero-worship reached its apogee with Herbert Hoover’s election to the presidency.

1959 American Standard bathroom by 50s Pam

According to Jordan, what made engineers so respected, as well as unique, was their disregard or–better still–disdain for politics, a perspective increasingly shared by the American public during this period. This was the thought that struck me in the middle of the night: it is this engineering mentality, this desire to circumvent values and politics, that accounts for engineering schools’ lack of enthusiasm for incorporating standardization in their curricula. For, anyone who has studied US standards setting–as I have–will attest to the highly contentious and politicized nature of this process.

I often get ideas when I awake in the middle of the night. Some are less noteworthy than others. But this one, I believe, stands up in the light of day!

On Technorati: C. P. Snow, economic benefit of standards, engineering, John Jordan, Laura DeNardis, Machine Age Ideology, Mark McCarthy, Michael Spring, NIST, Peter Lord, public interest in standards, standard setting, standards education, two cultures

communication by Guacamole Goalie

Tomorrow, the Communication Culture and Technology Program at Georgetown University will join together with the Quello Center for Telecommunication Management and Law, Michigan State University, and the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and University of Konstanz, Germany,
in hosting a conference on Applying Complexity Theory to Improve Communications Policy. The conference is based on the premise that the field of communication constitutes a complex adaptive system, such that we need new regulatory approaches and tools that can take this complexity into account. We plan to cover four topic areas: 1) the value added of complexity theory; 2) tools and methodology for using complexity theory; 3) applying complexity theory to national broadband policy; and 4) building support for, and incorporating, complexity theory into communications policy.

I have been thinking about how one might structure the policy environment so as to foster greater interaction of policy actors and their diverse approaches and ideas

Having been assigned the task of facilitating the final panel, I have been pondering structural approaches to promoting complexity analysis–in particular, I have been thinking about how one might structure the policy environment so as to foster greater interaction of policy actors and their diverse approaches and ideas. My assumption is that to analyze complexity adequately, the policy structure must, itself, reflect it.  Some thoughts come to mind in this regard. 

For example, building on Ron Burt’s characterization of good ideas, it would appear that policy organizations should be structured in such a way that policy actors benefit not only from strong ties among like-minded associates, but also from weak ties across diverse associations. As Burt notes:

Opinion and behavior are more homogeneous within than between groups so people connected across groups are more familiar with alternative ways of thinking and behaving, which give them more options to select and synthesize from alternatives (http://faculty.chicagobooth.edu/ronald.burt/research/SHGI.pdf)

One might conclude, therefore, that–for complexity to be attended to–the  architecture of the policy making arena must provide links across diverse policy domains. 

This conclusion coincides with the conclusions of a paper that my colleagues Ellen Surles, Qi Chen and I wrote for the Social Science Research Council, entitled Fostering a Communication Policy Dialogue: The Need for a Sustainable Communication Interface. In this paper, we adopted  John Kingdon’s description of policy making as a non-linear process, which entails the convergence of three different streams–identifying problems, identifying solutions, and making political decisions. Kingdon argues that when these streams converge there is a window of opportunity when policy outcomes can occur. In our paper, my colleagues and I sought to identify the structural properties that would allow such convergence to take place. Viewing these three policy streams as distinct worlds, each with its own habitus, we identified the need for a policy interface, that would help policy actors to communicate with one another. As we argued:

The policy debate can become inhibited and muted in part because many players lack the resources and skills to communicate across these fields of policy activities. It is especially helpful when a number of diverse actors interact and engage with one another to the extent that they create a space where they can find common ground. We call this space the policy interface. Issues rise on the policy agenda when [policy streams] converge in such a way that ideas are translated and actors come to value each other’s perspectives and therefore perceive policy issues in a congruent way.

Much as in the case of Burt’s notion of good ideas, the architecture of the interface that we described provides for both weak and strong ties.  It allowed policy actors from different activity fields to maintain their individual perspectives, while coming together in a common space where they might have a productive–and far richer–dialogue. 

The US communication policy arena lacks such an interface, and policy making suffers as a result.  Jurisdiction is divided among numerous agencies, whose independent actions often lead to conflicting outcomes.  Issues are not considered to be complex; rather they are typically reduced to approximate the specific mission of the agency in which they are resolved.  

Time to Push the Restart Button for OTA

The outstanding question, therefore, is where might we look for such a policy interface?  Not surprisingly, given my own background, I would look to a government agency such as the Office of Technology Assessment, which not only brought diverse actors together, and incorporated their perspectives in the agency’s research results. As importantly, OTA translated complex problems into narratives that both Congress and the public could grapple with.

On Technorati: broadband policy, communications policy, complexity, good ideas, John Kingdon, Office of Technology Assessment, policy interface, policy streams, Ron Burt, telecommunications

Over the past several months, as it appeared that we might get a new Administration, support for, and speculations about, reviving the Office of Technology Assessment have been on the rise. In Congress, New Jersey Congressman Rush Holt has been carrying the flag.

But support is growing even at the grass roots level. Take, for example, the new online support group, Hey, hey–let’s reopen-the ota-with citizen input, which gets considerable play on my facebook page. The group has also set up a predictive market that allows members to wager on OTA’s future.

My prediction is that OTA will be revived, and–putting my money where my mouth is–I am prepared to bet heavily on it. But my rationale is not analytically grounded. As in any betting situation, it is a gut reaction, made in the face of uncertainty. Given my hopes and passions about a revived OTA, I would vote based not on a careful analysis of all the complex variables but rather in response to the excited signals coming from the emotional center of my brain.

It

This is just what Dan Ariely, author of Predictable Irrationality would predict–even in the case of experts. As he points out, individual predictions about uncertain events are rarely based on rational assessments; moreover, because they are typically ladened with considerable emotional baggage, such predictions are typically way off the mark.

If–as I suspect–others are like me, it would behoove OTA’s supporters to rethink the rationale that they use to promote the revival of OTA. Responding to critics from the past, who argued that OTA’s reports were untimely and therefore unresponsive to Congress’ day-to-day legislative needs, OTA’s supporters have generally sought to demonstrate OTA’s positive impact by linking its reports to subsequent Congressional legislation. Perhaps that is not what is most important. Reading recent books about uncertainty–such as Leonard Mlodinow’s The Drunkards’ Walk and Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable, I’m more and more convinced that what decision makers need today, in this age of complexity and high uncertainty, is a way to think holistically and creatively about the possibility of future outliers and unanticipated events–metaphorically described by Taleb as Black Swans. As he emphasizes, we are fooled by our belief that we can make sense of the world by reducing problems down to what we know. The demon in all of this, he says, is:

not just the bell curve and the self-deceiving statistician, nor the Platonified scholar who needs theories to fool himself with. It is the drive to ‘focus’ on what make sense to us. Living in our planet, today, requires a lot more imagination that we are made to have. We lack imagination and repress it in others (The Black Swan, p. xxvii)

Ironically, anticipating the future was one of OTA’s original goals, and holism was the method used to achieve it. In fact, many of our studies were highly successful in this regard. Speaking of my own work, for example, I would point to Intellectual Property Rights in An Age of Electronics and Information, which anticipated how networking technology might undermine the copyright and patent systems; Electronic Enterprises: Looking to the Future which pointed out how network architecture would determine the future of the networked economy; Global Standards: Building Blocks for the Future, which identified the need for a global standards strategies long before the Chinese decided to become major players in this arena.

No doubt, these are uncertain times. Today, we are trying to make sense of recent, unanticipated disasters, such as the outcome of the war in Iraq and Afganistan and the recent colossal market crash. These events are Black Swans; Could they have been anticipated? I doubt it, given the way knowledge generation is organized in bureaucratic universities and disciplinary silos, where creativity and the cross fertilization of ideas and methodologies is generally inhibited. But OTA was designed to identify Black Swans. To this end, it fostered an interdisciplinary culture, a more relaxed research methodology, and reached out to a broad array of thinkers and publics. Would not a refunded OTA be best suited to address the present situation?

Recognizing that people are becoming more and more anxious in the face of uncertainty, and highly unanticipated events, I propose a new narrative for marketing OTA. Technology Assessment to the Rescue! This is not only a good idea; it gets you right in the guts.

On Technorati: Add new tag, Congressman Rush, Higher Education, Mlodinow, policymaking, randomness, Taleb, technology assessment, the bell curve, the Black Swan, uncertainty