Why work for nothing? (4)

Why work for nothing? (4)

The idea of ownership is important to our sense of ourselves. Most of us have at least a few possessions which we feel are really part of us, which somehow help to define us. I have thousands of books, reflecting the development of English literature from Chaucer onwards, most of which I rarely look at, but each one is linked to a moment in my past. Whenever I’ve moved house, getting my books up on shelves has been fairly high on my list of priorities.

And yet things are changing. I used to feel much the same way about my music collection, which includes vinyl and CDs, and I still value those old sleeves and covers as design objects. But the only time I’ve bought a physical CD in recent years is at gigs. Otherwise it’s all been (paid-for) downloads, and at a stroke what was quite an important part of male socialisation (the inspection of the record collection as a ready way to judge someone’s taste and intelligence) has all but disappeared.

Packaged music itself has proved a short-lived phenomenon. Recorded music has only been with us for a hundred years, and slickly packaged good quality recordings for far less than that. Formats have shifted in that time, and it seems that even the desire for ownership itself may be a generational thing: a lot of people now are using streaming services like Spotify as their primary source of music. There’s something grimly ironic about this, because much as though the internet seemed to offer radical disintermediation (that is, connecting creative people directly with their audiences) the only people making money out of Spotify are the service’s owners and the record labels.

This may be a temporary aberration, which will work itself out as musicians renegotiate their terms with their audience. Musicians are fortunate in that they have (just about) alternative sources of income, through playing gigs and perhaps teaching. It may be in the future they will also work out better ways of being paid for recorded music, or it may not. The second half of the twentieth century was a unique period in western culture, when new technologies made the mass distribution and sale of recorded music possible, and with it the possibility of making significant money from your efforts. It might be that we will revert to a situation where you can only get paid for live performance, or through some kind of patronage, as it was in the past. It may be that we have to lose the social mobility that for a few decades was associated with being creative.

The situation is slightly different for writers. It’s true that it’s becoming harder and harder to make much of a living through sales of books, but book sales themselves have not entirely collapsed. The business of publishing is certainly changing, with self-publishing lifting itself from the mire of vanity publishing.

There’s loss and gain here. The changed economics of digital publishing (where there is no marginal cost associated with each ebook produced/sold) means it should be far easier for poets and literary writers to get their work out to what are now niche audiences: they should even expect to keep the greater part of the cover price, so digital publishing offers a viable route to a readership.

The loss is that doing so means joining in the cacophony of stuff out there, with accordingly diminished chances of being heard. Some have expressed concerns too about diminishing quality because traditional publishers imposed an editorial layer before a text saw the light of day, but this is to confuse a relatively simple task with a complex economic structure: there’s no reason why writers cannot themselves seek out editors and work with them before self-publishing, just as there is no reason why the marketing and design services which remain a publisher’s only raison d’etre could not be offered as a standalone and properly costed option.

Before getting too excited about this brave new world we should be concerned that a single commercial entity has become monopolistically dominant. To be fair the deal Amazon offers authors is a pretty good one compared to traditional publishers, and better reflects the vastly lower intermediary cost of publishing electronically.

But there’s plenty to dislike about Amazon’s corporate ethics, to the point where creative people of good will might reasonably not want to contribute to its profits. More directly there’s a twist in the whole concept of ownership: notoriously when Amazon was caught in a copyright dispute people who had bought ebooks in good faith suddenly found they could no longer open them.

Amazon acted to correct what it claimed was a mistake, but there must be an underlying worry that something we’ve come to take for granted as a public property (ie the book format itself) is being privatised, because we will depend on the goodwill of a commercial entity for its continued use (this is directly analogous to the problem with GM foods, discussed in a previous entry in this series).

This worry runs through much of what’s going on as we adjust to the omnipresence of the internet. The UK government recently, rightly, expressed concern that much official information is created and stored in a proprietary document format: Microsoft’s doc or docx. Right now I’m sure Microsoft has no intention of going under or restricting access to those formats (it also moved a few years ago to make the docx format “open”, though no one was really fooled), but we should not be comfortable with this dependence, especially when there is a ready alternative in something called ODF (open document format).

ODF is not only “open source” (in that its code is freely available to other developers) but is managed through an open licence, which means that it’s not owned by anyone. It was created and is maintained by net activists concerned to defend the promise of the internet, its promise to empower us all. It sits at the heart of LibreOffice and OpenOffice, which themselves are created and maintained by a mixture of volunteers and engineering time donated by big sponsors. Many of these people work for free because they believe that activities we once did without proprietary qualm (like writing) should not be tied to any kind of corporate control or interests.

So here’s the paradox. The internet promises to open up everything. It appears to be transferring the power once concentrated in the hands of commercial publishers (who controlled distribution) directly into the hands of artists, writers and musicians, so they can manage a direct relationship with their audiences. But the reality is different.

We’re in danger of becoming more and more dependent on just a few mega platforms: Google, Amazon, Facebook, and perhaps Apple and Microsoft. We’re becoming dependent on them to do amazing things, which is why we have turned to them in the first place, but more worryingly those advanced things have wrapped themselves around more basic things which we also still need to do. The internet seems to be enabling a social new model of connected smaller communities who can share interests and resources, but beneath lie just a few monolithic corporations.

I suggested at the outset that creative people might have to accept the brief period where they could make a reasonable living from publishing or recording has come to an end, and that they would have to look to other means to fund their creative habit (actually poets have been in this position for a long time).

But it’s not as if there is no money going through the system, and all things considered it seems the creative people are getting a raw deal. It’s true that Google has various schemes to share advertising revenue, but it and the other monoliths are sucking up the greater part of it for themselves.

Datacentres and the networks that link them cost money to run and set up, and the corporations who do so can’t be expected to do so for free, but right now the market is not proving effective at bringing forward and rewarding the real creation of value in all this. This big connectivity is in truth a commodity. and though the search or shop software at the front end is important, what gives it real value are the resources or content available through that front end. But this simple truth is being obscured by the general upheaval surrounding the multiple impacts of the internet. We’re all creating stuff for free, and even feeling grateful to the platforms for allowing us to share it so easily, happily letting them make money off our “eyeballs” as advertising targets, and recklessly ceding our privacy in the process.

We need to worry more about this. I don’t doubt the integrity of Google founders Brin and Page with their “don’t be evil mantra”, though more corporate minds like chairman Eric Schmidt’s are not in the same space (which is to say nothing of Amazon’s Jeff Bezos). And that’s the point: ordinary corporate minds would need to evolve before they could be trusted with the role they are taking on.

In the meantime the cracks are beginning to show. As I write the giant France-based publisher Hachette is locked in a dispute with Amazon about discounts and prices. There’s an obvious irony in holding up a traditional publisher as some kind of white knight, but there may be comfort in the implicit assertion of the value of the content over the value of the platform and I really hope Hachette sticks to its guns.

If the internet is to fulfil its true potential for social liberation we need serious commons-minded alternatives to these commercially-driven platforms. There are it’s true many smaller scale publishing sites, for different media, but they seem mostly invisible in the shadow of the monoliths.

All the same, the future might be very different from the way things are now. In a recent address to the RSA Jeremy Rifkin speculated on the possible radical impact of zero marginal costs, 3D printing and home-generated renewable energy. He argues that the non-profit “social commons” already represents over five per cent of GDP in the US, Canada and the UK. It is growing faster than global markets, and it will change everything. He under-describes the economic tensions in that growth but there’s a compelling vision beyond those tensions, a vision of a society transformed by collaboration, sharing and self-production, where money has far less presence and importance (because there is far less scope for corporate profit).

In this model ownership becomes less significant than access. Why own a car if there are better ways to secure efficient convenient personal mobility? This kind of shift would require supportive change across our economy and infrastructure, but then the way we’re managing these things at the moment is literally unsustainable. Perhaps we will get to a future where creativity is better valued among other exchangeable goods, a world where people are no longer working for nothing, but for a sustainable, comfortable and natural common good.

That probably sounds idealistic, but it may yet prove more realistic than a society in which a tiny minority grows rich beyond its spending powers from the unrewarded efforts of the vast majority.

Why work for nothing (2)?

Why work for nothing (2)?

In the second part of this series I’ll be looking at how the internet has put a new pressure on ideas of ownership and value.

The internet has a fundamental affinity with the idea of “free”. It was not created for profit, but by the US military and the academic world to enable collaboration, and knowledge sharing.

It’s interesting that the most important and disruptive economic force of our age was not the child of capitalism, and in many areas the world of business is still trying to understand what this means for how you get paid. This incomprehension may threaten the conditions that made the internet so successful in the first place. As I write a dispute is playing out between Netflix and Comcast, which could prove a test case for the future of “net neutrality” (the principle that all traffic should be treated equally – in practice keeping the playing field level like this has ensured a progressive uplift in quality to the benefit of all, as well as the proliferation of innovative services).

In truth the dispute threatens the reality of net neutrality but is not an argument over the fundamental principle. It’s more about simple greed, reflecting a phenomenon apparent elsewhere in the corporate reaction to the digital revolution, an unprecedented rapaciousness. Comcast has an ISP business. It sells access to the internet to consumers, who pay a monthly fee for a certain amount of bandwidth. Comcast has turned around to Netflix and demanded an extra fee because Netflix’ product (TV and film streaming) uses a lot of bandwidth. It has argued that Netflix is not paying the true cost of its business, and so is making profits at Comcast’s expense.

This seems a dubious argument. Comcast is already being paid by its end customers to supply a certain amount of bandwidth. If Comcast cannot maintain quality of service without further network investment, then that’s an issue for its pricing to those consumers. If anything, because nobody needs or buys bandwidth for its own sake, you could say that ISPs should be paying content providers for creating something that makes their bandwidth desirable. It’s as though Comcast has looked at the profits being made by Netflix, and because the latter’s business depends in parts of America on Comcast’s transmission networks, decided that it deserves a share of those profits, even though its own business depends just as much on the content providers using its networks.

This wilful blurring of established boundaries isn’t unprecedented. The head of EA Games notoriously lambasted high street outlets selling secondhand games as if they were stealing from his company, highlighting the thorny question of what is actually happening when you buy a game (a question which applies as much to software, or indeed music and books). In the past there was never any question about this: if you bought a book you had no claim on the intellectual property it represented (you weren’t allowed to extract the text and reuse it elsewhere), but you certainly owned the physical object, and could resell it at your leisure. There was an established principle of first sale, and publishers accepted that they had no claim on the secondhand market. The same applied to music (and video/film) recordings.

Computers enabled a new world of digital copying, which raised understandable concerns about loss of legitimate income, but in unilaterally redefining the customer transaction as a licence rather than a sale (ostensibly to protect themselves from copy violations) software and creative content publishers have practised their own piracy, imposing draconian restrictions on previously well-established consumer rights (the right of resale is now a seriously grey area).

We’re entering a new phase, with large software publishers unilaterally reclassifying what were once clearly products as “services”, requiring a rental fee than a purchase payment. There’s some sleight of hand here. It’s become normal for bug fixes to be issued during the lifetime of a software product, but this is not a service: it’s only putting right what should not have been wrong in the first place (I appreciate that software is often complex, but in the past publishers have rightly included the provision of such fixes in the purchase price). The publishers will also throw in new features over time as part of the “service”, but this is ironic indeed: the reason they have resorted to this new pricing model is because people no longer needed or wanted the new features they were being asked to pay for. It’s true that most of these software products include an element of “cloud” integration and synchronisation, so files and configuration are replicated across multiple devices, which is certainly nice to have, but then it can be largely achieved using existing (and often free) services. If the cloud element was offered as paid-for add on I doubt it would find much take up (at least outside the enterprise, and enterprises manage their software and costs in very different ways).

For most users outside the enterprise this shift to software as a service effectively is a demand that the publisher be paid for existing. Rather surprisingly it’s proving successful, though it would be interesting to see how well the sales are going outside enterprises.

In a rational world this shift would be kicking the door wide open for alternative software providers, not least because the most convincing alternative to Microsoft Office, LibreOffice, is available completely free. In fact as a professional writer I prefer LibreOffice Writer to Microsoft Word; it takes a bit of configuration, but that’s partly the point – unlike Word you can set it up to work pretty much the way you want it. LibreOffice is widely used, and these days its compatibility with Microsoft formats is reasonably good, but Microsoft’s increasingly restrictive practices have not caused a wholesale switch to the open source world. Perhaps people just don’t know about it.

LibreOffice is maintained and developed by The Document Foundation, a not-for-profit organisation co-ordinating the voluntary work of programmers and other professionals across the world. Some of these programmers are technically employed by sponsoring enterprises, which then donate their employees’ time to the project. Others do it for love.

And that’s interesting.

There’s a small section of society motivated entirely by money, and perhaps the sense of self-importance that easily goes with large amounts of money. If you work in the City of London there’s not much else to keep you going. But most people are not like this. It’s true that the widening gap between the wealthy and everyone else is likely to be fuelling resentment and frustration at work (I heard it said recently that in the US some 70 per cent of the workforce would happily leave their current jobs), but it’s also apparent that most people want more than money from their work, and are prepared to do a great deal for no financial reward at all.

In a way this has always been so. For plutocrats like Britain’s prime minister it seemed to offer a handy way to redescribe a full frontal assault on the public sector (which he called The Big Society). In my next entry I want to think some more about how the ideas of “free” inherent in the way the internet has evolved mesh with this evident but little-considered element of our culture. And I want to look at some of the bigger questions about ownership, capitalism, and productive assets that have emerged in parallel with the new freedoms offered by the internet.

Why work for nothing?

Why work for nothing?

Christopher Hill’s The World Turned Upside Down looked at the radical and free-thinking groups that flourished briefly around the time of the English civil war. Those watching the engaging Channel Four series New Worlds have been asked to think about some of the immediate consequences of that turmoil through the Restoration period, a time more troubled and troubling than the idiotic Govian view of British history would allow, when monarchy was the unabashed figurehead for the tyranny of the wealthy.

The world is on its head again, albeit this time without such violence. We are trying to adjust to the wholesale disruption created by information technology, particularly the internet. That sounds prosaic in contrast to the dreams of the Levellers or the Diggers, but the revolution in progress may prove more enduring.

There is a political dimension even to this bloodless upheaval, not least because in the UK and the US we’ve had to watch an extraordinary widening in the gap between the wealthy and everyone else, a new nakedness in the wealthy’s sense of their entitlement, while the internet conversely promises an unprecedented distribution of potency (if not power) to the mass of the population. It would be foolish to make too much of this just yet (foolish to try to predict the counter forces it could bring into being) but I want to spend some time thinking about some of the underlying cultural changes apparently in progress, and what they could mean for the future (this will probably be spread across several blog entries).

Much of the disruption lies in the fact that what once seemed solid (notably writing whether in books or newspapers, or music in recorded formats) has become disembodied, digitised.

This new ephemerality has in turn stimulated the spread of the “free” internet, where that idea of the free has a double edge: it is liberating, in the way it has allowed us easy and immediate access to much of the world’s knowledge, as well as allowing us to make our own contributions to that knowledge (on platforms like this, without the usually stultifying mediation of a traditional publisher). But of course there is also the other sense of “free”, in the way the internet is habituating us to the idea that we should not be paying for any of this stuff. This brings some obvious problems, because if people won’t pay how are the creators ever going to be rewarded for their efforts? According to expectations established by the end of the last century, without that immediate financial reward the creators will simply stop producing things for us to enjoy.

The truth is less obvious, more complex.

Certainly old production models will have to change, probably beyond recognition. I no longer have a normal TV. Whatever I watch, I watch through a computer, which apart from liberating me from the tyranny of schedulers, until recently offered me the pleasure of ad-free viewing even on commercial channels.

Commercial TV was launched on a kind of contract with the viewer, a contract which is still influential in the digital world. Instead of having to pay to watch, we would sit through ads. In this business model, we the audience actually became the product, our attention the thing that was being sold to paying customers (the advertisers).

In the UK at least the satellite broadcaster Sky first broke this model, charging a (high) monthly subscription and forcing its subscribers to watch even more (and more intrusive) ads than they’d been used to on terrestrial channels. But as the channels multiplied the audience fragmented, and as broadband connectivity brought good quality video to computer screens “traditional” TV viewing has gone into a permanent decline.

The response of the traditional TV companies, like most other pre-digital publishers, has been pathetic, as they attempt to extend their old revenue models to the new media.

I watched the aforementioned New Worlds on 4oD, Channel 4’s catch-up service. Channel 4 has followed ITV (the UK’s main commercial terrestrial broadcaster) in blocking the ad-block software on my browser, so now if I want to watch any of its programming I have to disable the ad block and sit through some crass sales messages.

Isn’t this reasonable? Actually, since I’m not the customer, but the product, it’s just dishonest, because it still doesn’t deliver my “eyeballs” to the advertiser. I wonder what world the channel managers (and their customers) are living in if they don’t understand that watching something on a computer is quite different from lounging passively on a sofa. I still don’t watch the ads; when they come on I simply switch to something more interesting for a few minutes, (the normal internet experience has trained me to flit between content streams or pages) and feel irritated with both broadcaster and any possible advertiser for intruding on whatever dramatic tension the programme might have built up.

I do understand that the broadcaster needs to have some kind of revenue to pay for the programming, but it can’t expect a sustainable revenue stream from this kind of behaviour; it can’t sell a receptive audience to advertisers by creating irritated viewers. The audience “product” needs remodelling, to understand in what circumstances I might be happy to watch a sales pitch for something I probably don’t want or need. It probably means being far more carefully intrusive, perhaps only running ads at the beginning of the programme, and certainly far less frequently through the programme itself (probably just once every 45 minutes). It might mean asking me to log in then using my profile to show me only products or services I’m probably interested in, actually using the differences between internet and traditional broadcasting to create a more compelling offer to advertisers. Someone must be thinking about this stuff, but there’s no sign of it in the way those broadcasters behave.

To be fair I’m not sure many people apart from Google have really cracked how to make advertising work in this new media world (Facebook is clearly making lots of money but its user base remains fragile and vulnerable to fashion change). It may be subscription models and streaming offer a better way forward for many. I’m certainly happy to pay Netflix a few pounds every month as long as there are a few things queued up in my watch list, and to pay Google a streaming rental for new films. Spotify and similar services are fast becoming the commonest way for people to enjoy music, though here there’s a different problem with the music labels grabbing the lion’s share of whatever royalties might be available. Then again this is probably a temporary issue, as artists work out how best to take advantage of the direct access to their audiences offered by digital technology (I can see a future for specialist music marketing services, but certainly not the labels as we have known them).

In future blogs I’ll be looking at further implications for creativity, the individual and the corporate world. For the moment suffice to say that the can is open and the worms wriggling.