This two-by-two matrix describes the basic strategies available for organizing the financial support of proposed undertakings in the built environment. Each will have implications for the likelihood that necessary levels of funding can be maintained over the medium to long term; for the scalability and repeatability of the proposed intervention; for the absolute level of financing achievable (as well as for the timeframe in which this financing can be assembled); and for perceptions of the proposition’s legitimacy.
“Venture capital” should here be understood to include all speculative operations with private financing, i.e. the ordinary practice of commercial real-estate development, while combined approaches (so-called “public-private partnerships”) are occasionally possible. Virtually all contemporary investment in the built environment takes place in the upper two quadrants of this matrix.
There continues to be strong interest in the question of the smart city from all quarters — though perhaps, if my sense of things can be trusted, the tide is beginning to turn toward more grounded considerations, if not outright skepticism as to the ostensible benefits. One of the things I construct as a sign of this tidal shift is the slow but gathering interest more mainstream media outlets have in presenting alternate perspectives on the subject. Here we see no less august a newspaper than the Economist looking to do just that. I hope you enjoy this record of our brief conversation.
What, in a nutshell, is your primary objection or critique to the current discourse surrounding “smart cities” and Big Data related to urban planning and service delivery?
My main beef with the discourse of the smart city is that it was generated, and has almost exclusively been developed, by organizations and individuals that have no particular understanding of cities or their dynamics. They have zero — and I mean zero — familiarity with the canonical works of urbanist literature, and very little in the way of considered practical experience that might help them correct for this deficit of book knowledge.
I remember being a little stunned to learn that a very senior member of Cisco’s connected cities team, who was proposing to intervene in the dynamics of urban neighborhoods, had never even heard of Jane Jacobs. I watched slack-jawed as he carefully took down the name of Death and Life of Great American Cities, like a dutiful if rather grindy student, prepping for finals. I mean, good for him — he wanted to learn. I wager, though, that you’d feel a trifle uneasy in the presence of someone preparing to undertake surgery without having gone to medical school, especially if they were asking you to admire the handle on the kitchen knife that constituted their only equipment for the task.
There’s a mildly amusing Dunning-Kruger aspect to it, but then you remember that these organizations are playing with peoples’ homes and livelihoods and lives. If that kind of arrogant self-assurance coupled with cluelessness isn’t disqualifying, then I don’t know what would be.
Is it possible for developers in “new” cities like Masdar or Palava in India to be able to comprehensively map out how the city will work and anticipate its problems, or does a city need to already exist in order to properly understand how to deploy smart city technology?
What saddens me is that we’ve been down this road before — time and time again, in fact, in the latter part of the twentieth century. We know how this story ends, and it isn’t pretty. There’s a reason why Corbusian total planning is thoroughly discredited.
Understanding why top-down total planning doesn’t, and can’t, produce vital human communities from scratch is something that smart-city enthusiasts might have gleaned from even a cursory review of the urbanist canon. Having apparently forgotten our own (recent!) history, however, we’re now perforce condemned to repeat it.
Does Big Data have any productive role to play in urban planning or service delivery?
Sure it does. But whatever its functional utility, [that use] cannot be had without cost. The task of determining the precise nature of the trade-offs involved, and of deciding whether or not the community wants to shoulder that cost in return for benefits now or in the future — as I’m always saying, these are things that can only be decided in a specific locale, and with reference to a specific set of circumstances. Like any other technology that’s brought to bear on public life, the deployment of analytics founded in so-called Big Data needs to be subject to processes of democratic accountability. And I don’t see that happening in very many places at the moment.
Despite the regular prognostications of futurists over what is now a forty-year period — and, no doubt, the most cherished hopes of the vendors of telepresence systems — the physical, in-person, face-to-face gathering remains a primary mode of knowledge production and circulation in our culture. Whether it’s pitched as festival, conference, colloquium or (god help us) summit, the basic paradigm of flying a comparatively small group of people a long way so they can present to a relatively much larger group of people seems to retain a great deal of appeal and prestige.
Whether or not we’ve reached the point of diminishing returns on this way of doing things isn’t really my subject here, though it certainly would be interesting to discuss. What I want to get into is that while there’s an art to running such events well — and NB, it is not always about carefully-rehearsed timings, television-grade MCs, buttery transitions or the other appurtenances of high-production-value stagecraft — the elements of that art are by no means universally understood.
This becomes ever clearer, now that everybody wants to get into the act. With more, and more kinds of, organizations than ever before deciding that hosting a public or quasi-public event of some sort is somehow key to the accomplishment of their mission, the insight necessary to curate and manage such gatherings successfully feels to me like it’s getting a trifle thinner on the ground. Please accept, then, this little bit of advice, from someone who’s experienced it from both sides over the course of the twelve years I’ve been doing public speaking and organizing speaking events.
It’s simple, actually. If there is an art to successful event planning, that artfulness begins with the care you take for your presenters — and, in turn, that care begins with the invitation itself, with its very wording and the sincerity that can be discerned in it.
Lookit: I get several speaking invitations a week. Of course those who are interested in having me present have varying levels of capacity — and I do mean varying. Some are commercial enterprises that I expect to pay my full commercial fee, plus all the bells and whistles — business-class airfare; as many nights’ accommodation as I think necessary, at a similar standard; and all transfers, meals and incidentals. Other organizations are academic, non-profit or voluntary in nature, and they don’t have access to the kind of budget these things require, or anything like it. Because it is — let us never forget for a moment — an honor and a privilege to be asked to share your perspectives in this way, I do try my best to work something out with each and every one of them. With a little give and take, we’re generally able to come to some agreement. Not, certainly, all of the time, but enough to keep me on the road for a good part of the year.
However. I seem to be getting a class of requests lately that I’m afraid I have very little choice but to turn down, and it’s these that I want to warn you against should you be contemplating convening an event of your own. These are invitations for me to speak at an event — generally across an ocean, and many time-zones away — that don’t acknowledge the significant cost of that participation to me. Some of them only offer to pay for economy-class airfare, and one or at most two nights in a hotel, but no honorarium. Some don’t include any offer at all, but imply that I should cover my own travel and accommodation for the sheer privilege of doing so. I frankly don’t know what the point is of asking someone to present at an event if you’re only going to turn around and say to them, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have the budget to support your participation.” I mean, that’s not really much of an invitation, is it? You got in touch with me! You took the effort to reach out! Obviously you think it would be useful to you or your audience for me to be there — I’m sincerely flattered, but shouldn’t your request reflect the worth you place on this utility?
I feel like I shouldn’t have to spell this out in so many words, but evidently I do: your speakers aren’t just giving you the time it takes to present at your event, or even the time it takes to travel to and from that event. They’re giving you all of that, and however long it takes for them to prepare and to recover, and during this entire arc they will contend with some degree of disruption to their life rhythms. Everything under the span of this arc is time they cannot fully devote to personal projects, or paying client work, or the pleasures of home and the ones they love. Shouldn’t you offer them something that acknowledges and reflects this?
There are two points that deserve emphasis here:
- I reiterate that this “something” doesn’t have to consist of money, or indeed of anything that money buys. I myself have organized international events on a shoestring budget, and the very first thing I acknowledge to those I invite is that they are the event. However much excitement you may have stoked up as an organizer, however willing to be generous an audience may be, your presenters need to know that the whole proposition will stand or fall on the quality of their contributions, and that you understand this. So I express my gratitude to them for even considering the invitation, apologize that I’m not always able to offer the class of travel or accommodation they surely deserve — and promise them that if they’re nonetheless able to attend, I will do everything I humanly can to make their effort worthwhile. Like a citation, this acknowledgment costs you precisely nothing, but is a token that you are operating in good faith, and if offered sincerely generates a great deal of good will.
- By contrast, though, don’t — I mean really do not ever — say or imply to your speakers that their compensation is “the opportunity,” or getting to meet the other fabulous people who are going to be at your event. I would humbly suggest that this is not a way of approaching speakers that’s likely to produce the results you want. It’s presumptuous and self-important, in the first place, and who wants to be that? But what’s worse is that reliance on this gambit produces a speaker cohort whose core motivation is to network. If they’re only there to instrumentalize or operationalize their participation in your event — slinging out business cards like a dealer from Macau, parsing everyone they meet into A and B and C people — they’re not likely to be genuinely interested in you, your organization, your mission or your audience in and for themselves. You will have connived at douchery, and to what end?
Since the conference game seems to be all about the takeaway these days, here’s the takeaway: You don’t need to book your presenters into seven-star hotels and feed them exquisite meals for them to feel valued. In my experience, anyway, there’s by no means a linear relationship between the budget an event has available to it and its quality; I’ve been bored silly at a good number of the most opulently-appointed conferences, while the biggest I’ve spoken at have invariably been the worst.
By contrast, there are examples to aspire to, at every scale but that of the mega-event. The Webstock folks, for example — Tash Lampard, Mike Brown and their crew — they’re brilliant at this, inarguably setting the gold standard for making speakers feel special, in word and deed. Their enthusiasm comes from the heart and it is palpable in everything they do, from the very first letter gingerly inquiring as to your availability to the public big-upping of speakers they continue to conduct long after they’ve put you on the plane for home. Speak at Webstock once, and you want to speak there again, even though for most of their speakers it means something on the order of a grueling 24-hour trip each way. Similarly, the team responsible for Ideas City at the New Museum, Karen Wong, Richard Flood and Corinne Erni, does a fantastic job of letting presenters know their voices are valued…and it always becomes before the ask. (I hate that expression, by the way: “The ask.” If ever there was one, there’s a clue as to the profoundly transactional nature of our times.)
Anyway. The essence of all of this is that acknowledging the investment of time and effort people make when they present is one of the foundations on which a successful event is built — triply so if you expect your event to be part of an ongoing series. If you can’t do it materially — and let’s face it, sometimes you can’t — be utterly goddamn sure you’re doing it in every aspect of your personal deportment when you interact with them. It is, at least, a minimal courtesy I try to observe in inviting people to the things I put together, and I hope that in the future, when extending invitations to speakers you expect to come from far away to present from your stage, for the benefit of your organization and your community, you extend it to them as well. I believe from personal experience that they will note and appreciate it, and from the bottom of my heart that your event will be the better for it.
I recently answered a few questions for the leading Korean architectural magazine, SPACE.
First, please state in a sentence your area of interest or expertise in the field of urban computing.
“Ensuring that to the greatest degree possible a robust conception of the right to the city is designed into networked informatic systems intended or otherwise destined for urban deployment.”
Second, an example that you use to make urban computing more readily accessible to architects is of Mark Weiser‘s concept of ubiquitous computing. How do you think functionality within the city divides from novelty or ‘art works’ of urban computing architecture? And which do you think architects can relate to more?
I think we long ago collectively transcended Weiser’s specific vision of technologized everyday life; as a matter of fact, I can tell you the precise date we did so, which was June 29th, 2007, the day on which the original iPhone was launched. What architects and urban planners now have to account for — but curiously, generally do not — is that the overwhelming majority of the human beings they’re designing spaces for are equipped with a way of knowing and making use of the city that no previous population has ever had before. We call it a “smartphone.”
What does it mean for a networked body and a networked self to move through equally networked space? And what might all of this portend for the practice of architecture, for the planning and execution of the built environment? As far as I can tell, these are questions that the disciplines involved haven’t even begun to reckon with in any particularly consistent or meaningful way.
The question about art is impossible to answer without reference to specific works or pieces or artists. Architects and urban planners might do well, in fact, to pay attention to the more thoughtful artists, or people involved in the critical making community, who have begun to interrogate the uses and consequences of information technology in a way that goes far beyond pointlessly “interactive” façades and mobile sculptures. But the kind of digital “art” installation that is generally used to apply a superficial gloss of contemporaneity or futurity to some otherwise utterly conventional commercial real-estate proposition? As far as I’m concerned it’s not even properly art, because it doesn’t satisfy the threshold condition of catalyzing some psychic or emotional change in the viewer, and of course it’s not meant to.
Your representative work Urbanflow examines the limitations of interactive media booths around cities, and looks to connect these booths while making them more behaviorally approachable. What other recent works have you been working on, and how do you feel the future of urban computing has been portrayed through this piece in terms of human behavior and adaptability to technologies?
Right now the thing I’m most interested in is designing for the future of urban mobility, for what I call “transmobility.” Unlike the transportation industry, whose rather boring, heavily capital-intensive conceptions of this future all seem to center on exotic new vehicle types or heroic infrastructures, what I’m trying to articulate is a framework allowing us to make maximum use of a city’s existing heterogeneous array of vehicles, mobility modes and options. Transmobility uses locational data and information-, interface- and service design to bind these things together in a mesh capable of providing something close to on-demand, real-time, point-to-point personal mobility to every citizen. Ultimately I think it’s a wiser, lower-cost and more practical way of achieving that end.
Urban computing is defined as “the integration of computing, sensing, and actuation technologies into everyday urban settings and lifestyles.” Yet, you register your work as belonging to the field of everyware (permeating places and pursuits, social activity, shaping relationships, as a distributed phenomenon). You mentioned that it is in need of a paradigm shift in 2011, has this happened? What is your definition for each of these concepts and how are they better suited in defining your approach in comparison to the term urban computing?
I just don’t use these terms in my work anymore. In fact I’m completely uninterested in technology, except insofar as it facilitates individual and collective self-determination, the meaningful expression of solidarity and the practice of mutual aid.
Think of it this way: networked informatic technology is simply another material we now have available to us as builders and shapers of urban space. And like any other material, it has certain inherent qualities, tendencies, properties or directionalities. But you don’t learn anything useful about these qualities by considering the material as an abstraction; the grain you’ve got to contend with as a designer only reveals itself at the local level — in technological terms, at the level of a specified device, sensor, display or API. And equally, these qualities only become important in context, when you’re designing some ensemble of networked systems in a given space, for a given population of users, to achieve a given effect.
So I try to avoid thinking in jargon, or otherwise succumbing to a uselessly generic conception of the material I’m working with, and focus my inquiry instead on actual communities in specific spatial contexts, their articulated and unarticulated concerns, the envelope of requirements and other constraints within which we work, and only finally the properties of some particular technical system.
For a French magazine.
You harshly criticize the top-down controlled, ubiquitous, smart city, designed by big operators for their own interests. But can cities tackle all the challenges without those big companies? Don’t you throw out the baby with the bathwater?
There are things, certainly, that industrial-scale vendors of infrastructural services and systems are very good at delivering to cities. Whether it’s wastewater treatment or the deployment and maintenance of street lighting or managing clean and safe demolition, that’s their competence, their domain of expertise, and I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that those of us without that experience know their job better than they do. The difference that arises with the “smart city” is that now some subset of these vendors have made an unwonted conceptual leap between whatever specific competence they’ve developed and the ambition to furnish municipal governments with a kind of general decision-support utility, without any particular understanding of or sensitivity to the unique complications of the terrain on which they propose to operate. And latent within almost all of these notions is some conception of municipal administration as an essentially rational and objective pursuit.
Well, of course, it’s anything but rational. It’s a fundamentally political pursuit, sweaty and unpretty and utterly lacking in closure. You can’t automate the complication out of it — or, for that matter, the accountability for having made a decision that necessarily deprived some one or party of access to some resource they regarded as rightfully theirs. I simply don’t believe that the process of governing is something that can be reduced to key performance indicators on a dashboard and optimized and made clean. And so far at least, that’s all the big IT vendors are offering.
No: Let them provide what they are so good at providing. There may not be much glamor in providing “dumb pipe,” but there’s honor aplenty. That ought to be enough.
Do many local governments share your vision? Do they have the intellectual and technical background to understand the ins and outs?
In my experience municipal administrators are not in the slightest degree stupid people, but by and large of course they don’t understand the intricacies of networked informatics or data, which is why some of them can from time to time find the superficially confident blandishments of solution integrators and management consultants so appealing. Fortunately, what they do tend to have a deep and intimate understanding of is the local social, institutional and political environment, and this very often gives them a firm platform from which to push back against some of the more foolish claims that are made for the promise of “smart cities.” It has nothing to do with whether or not they share my “vision.”
Are you afraid of the rise of a new kind of technocrats, that we could name “datacrats”?
Every new configuration of technical capability will tend to generate a stratum of people who are differentially skilled and confident in the use and practical application of that technology. As I see it, though, the point isn’t merely to trade one superficially hipper and trendier priesthood for another, it’s to prevent the emergence of such priesthoods in the first place.
Could you detail a few inspiring examples of cities which are dealing with their challenges with lucid, relevant solutions?
Dublin is doing some very interesting things, with their city council’s Beta Projects initiative. I’m impressed with Madrid’s administration that they had the maturity and wisdom to let the citizen-driven Campo de Cebada process unfold. And I know there are thousands upon thousands of people in local government around the world, generally but not exclusively younger, who understand the multiplex value proposition of efforts like these and would let them proceed if only they could. A big part of my job is to provide those people with resources that support their intuition, so they can make the internal case against the smart-city vendors and in favor of more fruitful directions.
What suggestions would you give to a mayor who is engaged in such a smart city program? To a mayor who has not yet chosen what to do?
To the former, I’d argue that so-called smart initiatives be subjected to the most rigorous oversight and accounting, in a effort to establish precisely who has benefitted from their introduction, and to what degree, and whether or not this observed distribution of benefits aligns with the claims that were made at project inception.
To the latter, I’d suggest that whatever it is they think they will achieve by engaging the incumbent vendors to deliver some smart city “solution,” there may be far better returns on investment to be realized economically, socially and strategically from smaller-scale, more locally-grounded and more thoughtful alternatives. And, of course, whatever promises they are made by those vendors, they should make sure to get it in writing.
Some problems raised by the smart city are linked to the huge amount of (personal) data they use for their tools: privacy, resilience, and blind technosolutionism in general. Do you think it’s time to “uncomputerize” our cities?
No, not at all. I think it’s time for the people living in each place on Earth to think carefully, collectively and consciously about what they want this class of technologies to do for them, and whether or not they think it’s capable of delivering on those expectations. And it’s the responsibility of any of us who do have some grounding in what networked digital information technology can and cannot do to explain and contextualize that technology for everyone else, so they’re more readily able to make those determinations.
I realize I haven’t yet given you an account of the March 14th urban data event. By and large, I thought it went extremely well, and the conversation that evolved over the course of the day actually wildly overfulfilled my hopes. (I already knew we’d managed to gather a cohort of particularly sharp and inspiring people, but you always want an event like this to come together in a way that makes it somehow more than the sum of its component parts. And that either happens, or it doesn’t; my experience is that this kind of flowering is virtually impossible to plan for ahead of time. In this case, happily, it did.) Both at the coffee breaks and over lunch — and indeed for sometime thereafter, online and off — I saw participants chewing over the things they’d heard and seen in the most animated, passionate way. This, of course, is a sight to gladden any event organizer’s heart — a signal that whatever secret victory conditions one nurtured in one’s heart at day’s dawn, they’ve well and truly been achieved by the time all involved have scattered to the four winds.
I want to thank speakers Yaşar Adnan Adanalı, Rachel Binx, Andy Bolton, Leyla Laksari, Andy Nash, Arlindo Pereira, Alison Powell, Nithya V. Raman, Paula Z. Segal, Mona Sloane, Even Westvang and Farida Vis for their cogent contributions; Rebecca Ross for the fantastic job of moderation she did; Robin Howie for his thoughtful work on the lovely event poster; and never least Andrew Sherwood, Tessa Norton, Kiera Blakey and Emma Rees here at LSE Cities for their vital assistance in pulling the event together on such a telescoped timeline. I hope you all continue to stay in touch and inspire one another to further deeds of greatness.
Urban data: From fetish object to social object
A one-day conversation at LSE Cities on 14th March, 2014
Anyone paying even casual attention to contemporary media, whether popular or scholarly, is now exposed to a steady cascade of voices assuring us that we live in something called the Age of Big Data.
Whichever audience they are aimed at, such assertions are generally illustrated by images of interactive visualizations, digital maps and “infographics.” Each of these may originally have been intended by its designers to convey some complex state of affairs, readily and accessibly, but has been used in this context primarily to signify the zeitgeist itself.
These images furnish the practice of data analysis and decision support with a visual rhetoric, and they circulate widely. They are reproduced endlessly on blog posts, posted to Facebook and Pinterest and Tumblr, tweeted and retweeted and retweeted again. They circulate, and they seduce. They are admired as much for their beguilingly aesthetic qualities as for any analytical or practical utility they may have. The result is that while data visualizations surely do a kind of work in the world, it may not be the kind of work we’re led to believe they’re capable of doing.
This is (or, I’d argue, ought to be) of particular concern to those of us with an interest in urban politics specifically. It leaves us very little with which to challenge the story we are told about Big Data in cities: that it will transform the processes of municipal governance and administration — that leveraging it can raise emergent chokepoints and trouble spots to the attention of the relevant authorities, cut through circumstances once thought intractable, even help managers anticipate and preempt crises before they quite coalesce into being. When this rather sterile and technocratic conception of data-driven superintendence is fused to a cultural expectation that data visualizations function as pretty pictures and little more, virtually everything that is interesting and potentially emancipatory about them is left on the table.
The intention of this one-day gathering is to convene some of those whose work is currently doing the most to push back against this set of circumstances. It aims to disturb the data visualizations we’re offered as settled facts, disinter them from the loam of zeitgeisty but near-meaningless infoporn that has settled over the practice of data visualization (and which furnishes more than one glossy coffee-table book), and activate them instead as situated social objects.
We’ll be discussing questions like…
– Who makes the data represented in interactive visualizations and maps, and how?
– Who are the parties responsible for gathering the data, and what criteria do they use for the selection and representation of information they feel to be salient?
– What pressures may be operating on either selection or representation?
– What domains of urban life seem to lend themselves most readily to intervention via participatory mapping or data visualization?
– How can those who generated the data in the first place gain access to it later, either in raw form or as analytic product?
– What implications follow from the choice of a given technical platform or presentation strategy?
– What does it feel like to work with data, in any of these phases or aspects?
– What can communities do with data visualization, as practice or artifact?
Our speakers will present some cases in which local communities from all over the planet have used participatory data-gathering and -mapping practices to open up questions of distributional justice, make claims against power, and gain a sense of themselves as having agency and competence with networked tools. Together, perhaps we can begin to push data visualizations from being fetishized tokens of a notional futurity — and, at best, flat and settled representations of the way things are in the city — to active propositions about the way things might be.
Featuring presentations from and conversations with
Yaşar Adnan Adanalı, Mülksüzleştirme, Istanbul TR
Rachel Binx, NYC NY
Arlindo Pereira, Ciclo Rotas Centro, Rio de Janeiro BR
Nithya V. Raman, Transparent Chennai, Chennai IN/Los Angeles CA
Paula Z. Segal, 596 Acres, Brooklyn NY
Mona Sloane, Configuring Light, London UK
Dr. Farida Vis, Everyday Growing Cultures, Sheffield UK
Even Westvang, Bengler, Oslo NO
and other speakers to be confirmed
and introduced and moderated by yours truly.
Free and open to the public, but registration is essential. Robin Howie‘s lovely poster is here; feel free to download and disseminate as widely as you please. Please use hashtag #LSEUrbanData. We look forward to seeing you.
Two recent interviews, neither of which will appear in their original English when published. I apologize if they’re slightly redundant, either between the two presented here or between these and other recent interviews I’ve given. (A guy gets tired of answering the same questions all the time, you know?) I hope you enjoy them nonetheless.
Where is the world now in terms of developing smart cities? Is it at the start of a long journey? What’s the level of investment now?
Well, as you probably know, I don’t use the terminology “smart cities” at all. As a matter of fact, that term itself is sort of a dead giveaway that we’re just beginning to discover the potential that waits for us at the intersection of networked information technology and everyday urban experience.
What I see so far, just about everywhere, is partial, tactical, disarticulated propositions, very much inflected by existing institutional practices and the perspectives and investment priorities of incumbents. This city has RFID-mediated transit payment, that one has dynamic pricing markets for parking, still another has a robust and useful open municipal data platform — but very, very few places on Earth have yet quite grasped the potential that arises when all of these things exist all at once, in a conscious informational ecosystem, and each element is able to feed on the data produced by every other.
In a perverse way, though, we may be benefiting from precisely this sense of disarticulation and disconnection. What we wind up with, when every object and surface and transaction in the city is made visible to the network, is an extraordinarily detailed picture of our movements, our behaviors and our patterns of association. There’s obviously an enormous amount of value locked up in that picture, value that will yield quite readily to the application of advanced analytics — but I’m not sure any of us as individuals, let alone any human society, is quite ready to face up to total transparency, or will quite like what we see in the mirror these technologies hold up to us.
What are the benefits, to individuals and society?
At present, these technologies are generally sold to municipalities with a set of fairly predictable claims about enhanced efficiency, convenience, security and sustainability, but quite frankly I think those are red herrings. The real benefits we stand to realize from the introduction of networked informatics into our cities are the increased sense of control we achieve over the circumstances of our own lives, the enhancement of our competence as citydwellers, and the potential they hold to underwrite new and more responsive patterns of land use, mobility and urban governance.
How viable is it to convert existing infrastructures into smarter set-ups?
I think that very much depends on the kind of infrastructure we’re talking about. As far as heavy urban infrastructure is concerned, it’s straightforward enough to retrofit existing sewerage systems or electric grids with flow meters and so forth. But the cleverest interventions of all rely solely on the networked sensor package, identity credential and interface device 96 out of every 100 adults on the planet already carry around on their person at all times: the mobile phone. Solutions that leverage this set of capabilities can be deployed almost immediately, and at comparatively negligible expense.
What sectors stand to benefit as these ideas gather more investment?
I think it’s fair to say that in the medium term, every sector will find some operational efficiency to be gleaned from the deployment of this class of technologies. But as we collectively get more fluent with them, as we begin to unfold the fuller potential that’s bound up in them, our societies (and our business practices along with them) will necessarily undergo a profoundly disruptive series of transformations, and these may well result in a set of institutions someone approaching them from the vantage point of the twenty-teens would barely recognize. Clay Shirky famously said that institutions tend to conserve the problem to which they are the solution. This may be a reasonably clever strategy in the short term, but it leaves organizations and even entire sectors dead as the dinosaurs when the problem they’re designed to solve evaporates. What too many enterprises are doing right now amounts to perfecting the horseshoe at the very moment the automobile has started to arrive on the streets and roads of the land. The advantage under conditions of rapid and far-reaching change, therefore, goes to those actors who are able to transform their processes, their value proposition, their structure and even their very form to account for the terrain on which they now operate. The city, as a terrain of business operations, is evolving furiously at our moment in time, and it’s by no means certain that each and every one of our incumbent institutions and ways of doing things will survive.
What do you mean by smart cities: are you referring only to the three sites you’ve described in your book or more generally to existing cities upgraded with technologies?
Well, as I explain in the pamphlet, we need to understand that the phrase “smart city” only refers to the most limited and impoverished conception of the networked urban environment. It’s a particular discourse, in other words, and that discourse really only implies three things: the deployment of a centralized apparatus of data capture and analysis by existing enterprise-scale IT vendors; the wholesale abstraction and quantification of urban processes to render them transparent to that apparatus, and tractable by it; and the development of managerial techniques useful to an administrative authority so equipped.
The three places on Earth I examine in the pamphlet are of interest primarily as sites where this discourse finds its purest expression. In and of themselves, they’re trivial footnotes in the history of human habitation, not anything like “cities” by any reasonable definition of the word. Their sole significance is that they are staging grounds for the techniques a particular class of institutional actors badly wants to deploy across all conurbations in the years to come.
You’re writing about IT companies taking over cities. Could you explain how? What’s the goal?
“Taking over” may be a bit strong, but IT companies and their products “coming to play an outsized and inappropriate role in the management of” cities is probably about right.
From their perspective, the goal is clearly to find new markets for their existing products and services, or minor variations thereupon. IBM’s Intelligent Operations Center product, for example, is merely a zeitgeisty repackaging of a set of rules governing the execution of preset, stereotyped procedures any time the distributed mesh of sensing devices detects that some threshold value of a given metric has been breached. But for the claim that the software suite develops a full enough picture of what’s happening in the city on a minute-by-minute basis that it can help administrators predict and preempt emergent conditions, what it does is very little more elaborate than the rules you might set up to manage spam filters for your email client’s inbox. It’s something one might use to manage the operations of any large organization. There’s virtually nothing about it that’s inherently or specifically urban.
You’re describing cities subjecting citizens to the logic of algorithms. Could you elaborate?
In order to transform some body of data you’ve gathered into something an administrator might find meaningful and actionable, you first need to perform some sorting operation on it, right? That’s all an algorithm is, in this sense: a kind of numeric sieve. You toss an utterly opaque and unwieldy urban complexity into the hopper at one end, you apply some set of filters to it, and out the other end comes actionable clarity. That, at is most essential, is the core logic of the smart city: given everything we know about traffic, or the places that garbage accumulates, or the distribution of emergency-room admissions for acute asthma, here is the optimal strategy for dealing with that state of affairs. And we see this rhetoric of optimization throughout the smart city discourse.
This way of thinking may be superficially appealing, but the problems with it are legion. For one thing, famously, correlation isn’t causation, but that’s a nicety that may be lost on a mayor or a municipal administration that wants to be seen as vigorously proactive. If fires disproportionately seem to break out in neighborhoods where lots of poor people live, hey, why not simply clear the poor people out and take credit for doing something about fire? After all, the city dashboard you’ve just invested tens of millions of dollars in made it very clear that neighborhoods that had the one invariably had the other. But maybe there was some underlying, unaddressed factor that generated both fires and the concentration of poverty. (If this example strikes you as a tendentious fabulation, or a case of reductio ad absurdum, trust me: the literature of operations research is replete with highly consequential decisions made on grounds just this shoddy.)
More pointedly, such algorithmically-derived recommendations pretend to be apolitical, when they are anything but. Data analysis might help determine the optimal site for a wind turbine or a rape-crisis center, but in anything that resembles a democracy, believing that those are worthwhile investments to make in the first place deposits us firmly and unavoidably in the realm of politics. At best you can use analytics to make the case that we the public should collectively invest in those facilities, on those locations, for whatever set of reasons the data seems to suggest. But there will always be parties that contest the picture of reality you’re painting, parties that think there are other and better uses of the available resources, and there’s no way of satisfying all the city’s constituencies at once. Not even in principle. There’s simply no such thing as optimizing a city.
Finally, there’s always a politics that inheres in the algorithm to begin with, which tends to be suppressed or elided when any second-order operation whatsoever is performed on the results of its application. Someone — some known historical actor — wrote that algorithm, decided which values to weight and which to discard. Someone decided that “innovation” was an interesting or a useful quantity to measure, but that it was too difficult to measure directly, and so numbers of patent applications would be used as a proxy index for innovation. And then articles appear saying, for example, that San Diego is across-the-board “more innovative” than New York or San Francisco. And people act on those articles! They invest capital, or they move their families halfway across the country, in pursuit of everything that’s implied by that kind of framing. Well, all due respect to San Diego, but anyone who’s thought about the matter for two seconds knows that urban innovation — I’m talking about genuine, materially productive novelty, with real and significant economic value even beyond the generation of cultural capital — doesn’t work that way. It simply cannot be reduced to patent applications. Chicago may not generate much in the way of patents by comparison with, say, Eindhoven, but which one gave the world house music? How much value do you think would have been left on the floor, worldwide, over the past thirty years if Frankie Knuckles had never entered the DJ booth at The Warehouse? How many second- or third-order developments in audio technology, fashion or visual culture would never have come into existence? And where do you think he shows up in that innovation algorithm? Nowhere at all.
The bottom line is that what gets reified in an algorithm like this is driven by what you choose to pay attention to, and what you choose to pay attention to is a function of what you value. There’s not a single neutral thing about it.
Would you say living in smart cities could be a nightmare?
I’m less interested in whether or not living in a so-called smart city could be a nightmare — although I’m certain that it would be for many, and perhaps even statistically most — than in the kinds of subjects and subjectivities that tend to be reproduced by the act of living in such a place.
I think we have a pretty clear sense of what that would look like, at least at the limit. Consider that “optimized” urban management, as a sorting process, tends to create epistemic and experiential bubbles, and it does so in two ways. First, it acts to eliminate the daily frictions that force us to confront the other, and acknowledge the validity of that other’s claims to the city. And secondly, it gives us a set of tools that we can use to manage our own exposure to difference. (I saw a data-analytics company give a presentation a few years ago, where both the headline on their PowerPoint deck and the value proposition they were claiming for their product was literally and in so many words “Find People Like Me.”)
But that’s not how cities work. That’s not, even remotely, what cities are for. You want to be surrounded by People Like You, fine — go live in the suburbs. Cities are, by definition, sites for the practice of cosmopolitanism, and anyone who makes the choice to live in one had better expect that along with the economic opportunity comes the unavoidable necessity of negotiating with people who are different, who hold values and prerogatives that diverge from those you hold yourself. This is a good thing, by the way, a very good thing, because it’s that constant exposure to difference that generates the worldly, tolerant, resilient, feisty personality we associate with big cities around the world and throughout human history.
So to me, it’s not so much that living in a smart city would be a nightmare. It’s that the residents of any city that had been rendered “smart” in the way contemporary discourse suggests would themselves be nightmares to encounter and deal with: touchy, needy, self-absorbed, and above all incapable of negotiating the shared use of resources, whether those resources be spatial, budgetary or attentional.
What would be an alternative to smart cities? Open cities, also connected? What does it mean for inhabitants? For the entire society?
I think we are barely beginning to discover what potentials this class of networked informatic technologies may hold for us.
I like to tell a story about a management consultant I once saw give a talk about technology and the future of civic governance. During the Q&A after his very conventional, bullet-pointy presentation, he was asked if he thought the basic forms of democratic municipal government — elected mayors, city councils and so on — were still relevant, and would remain so. And very surprisingly to me, he said no, that there was a decent chance that due to the decentralizing and distributing effects of networked information technologies, more power would come to reside with citizens themselves, organized in something resembling a federation of autonomous local collectives. I mean, this was a very conservative, very buttoned-down guy, who worked for the most prominent name in his industry, and whether he quite knew it or not, what he was describing would have been immediately familiar to, say, the members of the anarchosyndicalist CNT union who ran the Barcelona Telephone Exchange during the first part of the Spanish Civil War. I found it both fascinating that his understanding of contemporary political dynamics would lead him to any such belief, and profoundly hopeful and encouraging.
And that actually is what I believe — that if there’s a tendency to universal surveillance and control latent in the design of these tools, which there unquestionably is, there’s at the same time an equally strong tendency in them to the decentralization and distribution of knowledge of the world, which we can grasp hold of, reinforce and make use of if we choose to. We can use the technics of data collection, representation and actuation to reinforce the best qualities of our cities, and all the things about them that make us stronger and wiser and more capable. And that’s a pretty exciting set of circumstances.
In your view, what are the 3 best cities in the world? And why?
The “best” cities? Best for what, precisely? And for whom?
“One has to become a cybernetician to remain a humanist.” In a sentence, this is why Peter Sloterdijk has become so important to me lately, despite his many and manifest shortcomings.
What this idea emphasizes is the necessity of actively, creatively intervening in the technosocial situation with which we find ourselves confronted, or, in other words, to propose a humanism that lets us not merely endure, but thrive, in a world evolving at the clock speed of informational technics.
To do otherwise is to surrender to the lassitude of a rejectionist and reactionary conception of the human, to content ourselves with the dwindling spoils left to us by the assuredly active and creative exponents of late neoliberalism, whether transhuman or entirely machinic, as they reticulate the world and reconfigure it to best serve their own interests.
The task before us is to discover, or invent, a politics, a mobility and a conviviality that are both authentic to the circumstances in which we find ourselves and capable of giving full expression to the emancipatory potential that remains latent and unrealized in our networked technologies.
Originally posted 25th June 2005 on my old v-2 site. Thank you, Lou.
Celebrity sightings — you’ve gotta get over them if you’re a Manhattanite. It’s a simple, actuarial fact of everyday life here that you’re going to bump into fame, such an unremarkable consequence of residence in the self-proclaimed Center of the World that I’m amazed Gawker and its ilk even bother to keep track of them.
Beyond the fact that it’s a hackneyed situation, speaking personally, there are three reasons why I generally don’t bat an eyelash if I should happen to encounter a boldface name in the street. These reasons have to do with the nature of celebrity, the nature of privacy, and the nature of self-respect.
First, I simply couldn’t care less about ninety-five percent of celebrities – the sports stars, pop singers and debutantes who are celebrated for reasons that have nothing to do with me, whose fame exists in a dimension orthogonal to my interests.
I’m just squeakingly enough of a public person my ownself to understand how weird it can be to have someone come up to you out of nowhere and strike up a conversation when all you’ve set out to do is sit down for coffee with your friends, even to offer sincere praise.
Finally, I’ve still got a little bit of that punk-rock antipathy to the very notion of fame. In its best aspect, this is a much-needed leveling, and an assertion that nobody’s voice is necessarily any more (or less) important than my own, but it can also manifest as a snotty defensiveness. And I’ve been known to swing either way.
For all of these reasons, then, I tend to react to the presence of notoriety not at all. This morning was different, for me.
We had biked over to the shadow-dappled streets of the West Village, where the continental-style bistros are so thick on the ground that you can pick one more or less at random and be assured of getting the experience you’re looking for, whether it’s müsli frühstück or café au lait in bowls the size of Cleveland. And that’s exactly what we did.
We had just locked our bikes up and sat down to breakfast, when who should shamble in but a shabby-genteel Lou Reed, walking a poky-looking beagle. And it took everything I had in me not to flinch or violate his space or in any other way give myself away. About all I could think, for a good five minutes, was how glad I was that I hadn’t, after all, worn my White Light/White Heat t-shirt. There’s no doubt about it: I was well flustered.
See, Lou Reed invented me.
I am, at root, nothing but a skinny Jewish kid from the suburbs. And if I’m sitting here with my shaved head, and my sunglasses and tattoos, and twenty solid years of cherished sensual, chemical and experiential escapades under my belt, it’s because this man gave me permission to try all that on for size. If Lewis Allen Reed had not existed, had not written and sung about the things that he did, I’d probably be a flabby, thwarted associate at some Philadelphia litigation firm, bitterly serving time and wondering when life was going to kick into gear. Or — far more likely, really, given how much those songs meant to me at some very difficult inflection points in my life — I’d be dead.
Never mind that, to all accounts, he’s been lost in his own assholity for decades now, unwilling or unable to forge human connections with anyone who dares to express so much as a grunt of admiration for him. Hearing that voice a meter behind my head, muttering about utter banalities in the same monotone that once nullified my life and told me it was OK to make it anew, well, let me tell you it sent a thrill through me. And despite all the reasons I’ve enumerated above, I let it.
And then – because this is, after all, New York, and because I find my wife still more fascinating than the proximity of any number of teenage heroes – I turned my attention back to our own table, our own food and drink, the buzz of our own conversation. We finished up our meal, we retrieved our bikes, and we rode away, into the ongoing rush and joy of a life given to me in large measure by the unhappy-looking man at the table behind us.
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