UPDATE: Event confirmed for 14th March, 2014. See the final post.
For the past half-decade or so, in a phenomenon most everyone reading this site is no doubt already intimately acquainted with, data-derived artifacts (dynamic visualizations, digital maps, interactive representations of place-specific information, even static “infographics”) have taken increasing prominence in the visual imaginary of mass culture.
We see such images all the time now: broadly speaking, the visual rhetoric associated with them is the animating stuff of everything from car commercials to the weather forecast. The same rhetoric breathes life into election and sports coverage on television, the title sequences of movies, viral Facebook posts and the interactive features on newspaper sites.
Sometimes — in fact, often — these images are deployed as abstract tokens, empty fetishes of futurity, tech-ness, data-ness, evidence-basedness…ultimately, au-courantness. Just as often, and very problematically, they’re used to “prove” things.
But we’ve also begun to see the first inklings of ways in which such artifacts can be used more interestingly, to open up rather than shut down collective discussion around issues of great popular import — to ask its users to consider how and why the state of affairs represented by a given visualization got to be that way, whether that state of affairs is at all OK with them, and what if anything ought to be done to redress it. And this is whether the topic at hand happens to be land use, urban renewal and gentrification, informal housing, the differential consequences of public and privatized mass transit or expenditures in the criminal justice system.
Very few methods of advocacy can convey the consequences of our collective decisions as viscerally as a soundly-designed visualization. (Similarly, if there’s a better way of helping people imagine the spatial implications of alternative policy directions, strategies, investments and allocations, I haven’t stumbled onto it yet, although that certainly blurs the distinction between representing that which does exist and simulating that which does not.) What would happen if such visualizations were consciously and explicitly used as the ground text and point of departure for a moderated deliberative process? Could democracy be done this way? Could this be done at regular intervals? And how might doing so lead to better outcomes (or simply more buy-in) than existing procedures?
There’s plenty of rough precedent for such a notion, albeit scattered across a few different registers of activity:
- A few savvy journalists are starting to use data-based visualizations and maps as the starting point for their more traditional investigative efforts, and the narratives built on them. Visualizations, in this mode, essentially allow unexpected correlations and fact patterns to rise to the surface of awareness, and suggest what questions it might therefore be fruitful for a reporter to ask.
- SeeClickFix, of course, already allows citizens to levy demands on local government bodies, though it doesn’t provide for the organization of autonomous response to the conditions it documents, and it forthrightly positions the objects it represents as problems rather than matters of concern. More proactive and affirmative in its framing is Change By Us, which does emphasize voluntarism, though still with a sense of supplication to (elected or appointed) representatives in government. (The site answers the question “Who’s listening?” by promising that a “network of city leaders is ready to hear your ideas and provide guidance for your projects.”) In any event, both SeeClickFix and Change By Us focus on highly granular, literally pothole- or at most community-garden-scale issues.
- Storefront Democracy, a student project of Kristin Gräfe and (ex-Urbanscaler) Jeff Kirsch, reimagined the front window of a city councillor’s district office as a site where community sentiment on various questions, expressed as votes, could be visualized. Voting is not quite the same thing as democracy, much less deliberation, but the project began to explore ways in which situated representations might be used to catalyze conversations about matters facing the community.
- There are even full-blown technological platforms that promise to enable robust networked democracy, though for all the technology involved this one at least seems to blow right by the potential of visualized states of affairs to serve as focal points for managed dissensus.
Draw out all of those threads, and what do you wind up with? I’m not at all sure, but the question is certainly provocative enough that I want to explore its implications in further depth and detail. Again, I’m interested in digital cartography and interactive representations of data used as the starting point, rather than the product and culmination, of a decision process. My intention is to disturb these things as settled facts, disinter them from the loam of zeitgeisty but near-meaningless infoporn that furnishes more than one glossy coffee-table book, and activate them instead as situated social objects. I think by now it’s clear that data-driven projects like Digital Matatus can furnish people with practical tools to manage the way things are in the city. But can they usefully catalyze conversation about the way things could (or should) be? And can we somehow bundle information about provenance into every representation of data, allowing users to ask how it was gathered, by whom, using what means and for what notional purpose, so they can arrive at their own determinations of its reliability and relevance? All of that remains to be seen.
If you find yourself nodding at any of this — or, indeed, you think it’s all deeply misguided, but nevertheless worth contesting in person — consider this a heads-up that I’ll be convening a one-day seminar on this and related topics at LSE in mid-March, and am looking for qualified speakers beyond my personal orbit and existing friendship circles. If you’re interested in either attending or speaking, please do email me at your earliest convenience at my first initial dot my last name at lse.ac.uk. Limited travel support is available – I have an event budget that allows me to fly in two to three speakers and put you up in Central London for a night, so if you or someone you know is inclined to present I definitely encourage you to get in touch. And let’s see if together we can’t figure out if there’s a thing here or not.
Do you still speak to your no wave peers?
Those that still live…Of course [I do]…Anyone, that’s still alive — I’m down, I’m here, hello.
Boy howdy did that strike a chord with me, as I think it likely will for anyone who’s ever belonged to a community with a disproportionately high mortality rate. I found myself thinking about it again the other day, after some drama had broken out on the Facebook memorial page for a friend I knew from the West Philly punk/squat scene of the early 1990s, someone who died last week in Cambodia at the age of 40. (That number startled me two ways: it is, of course, shockingly young to die, but I was also halfway-amazed to hear he’d made it even that far.)
The drama had to do with the fact that this person, as charming and vivid and unique as he was, was not by any means always pleasant or even necessarily safe to be around. One or two members of the group apparently felt that saying so in so many words was somehow disrespectful of him, or diminished his memory, but I was gratified to see that the far larger number of people posting to the page did not. They apparently believed, as I do, that only the truth is love. But still more importantly, any attempt at sugarcoating that truth, or sanding away the edges of an uncomfortable reality, would have done a special kind of violence to memory. And when you’re talking about a shrinking group of people who collectively lived through a given set of experiences, that violence cannot easily be borne.
Here’s what happens. The people who were there, whose corporeal memory enfolds some fragment of your shared lifeworld, they begin to drop away. And in time, the world fills up with people who, whatever their gifts and however beautiful they are, simply have no conception of what it was like to live in those days, materially, experientially or somatically. They just don’t share the frame of reference. So that connection you have with the dwindling number of those who do — well, when coupled to the natural deepening of personality that most of us seem to undergo, that connection comes to outweigh just about every other consideration.
There are of course some things that shared bond can’t excuse, some acts that can’t be overlooked. But for the most part you find yourself warming even to the folks you outright despised back in the day. Whatever lay beneath the rupture between you — narrowly-defined and harshly-policed differences in taste or politics, sexual jealousy — it feels so petty and trivial and little when compared to the fact that suddenly seems kind of majestic, which is simply that you’ve both made it across this particular sea of time with memory intact.
I think just about everyone who gets to be old learns this eventually. (And at that, maybe it’s another case of Bruce Sterling’s dictum that whatever happens to musicians first sooner or later happens to everyone.) We all undergo this brutal process of attrition, and even early on it becomes clear that in time this process is bound to strip away from us every last external referent or confirmation that the world was indeed what we understood it to be. You come to appreciate that sanity and community may be different words for the same thing. So on this twenty-fifth World AIDS Day, for anyone who may be reading these words with whom I ever shared a moment in space and time, I think it’s worth saying explicitly:
Anyone that’s still alive: I’m down, I’m here. Hello.
Politics, in effect, must be recreated again if we are to reclaim any degree of personal and collective sovereignty over our destiny. The nuclear unit of this politics is not the impersonal bureaucrat, the professional politician, the party functionary, or even the urban resident in all the splendor of his or her civic anonymity. It is the citizen — a term that embodies the classical ideals of philia, autonomy, rationality and, above all, civic commitment. The elusive citizen who surfaced historically in the assemblies of Greece, in the communes of medieval Europe, in the town meetings of New England, and in the revolutionary sections of Paris must be brought to the foreground of political theory. For without his or her presence and without a clear understanding of his or her genesis, development, and potentialities, any discussion of the city is likely to become anemically institutional and formal.
– Murray Bookchin, The Rise of Urbanization and the Decline of Citizenship, 1987.