Hang on a second: clocks at a Hong Kong clock and watch fair. Photo: Getty
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The pros and cons of leap seconds

The slowing pace of the earth’s spin means that occasionally we have to add on a second – but should this practice continue?

The British science minister, David Willetts, wants your input on an issue you’ve probably never even thought about. The question, in essence, is this: would you care if, in 800 years’ time, the sun was at its highest point overhead at 1pm, rather than today’s 12 noon?

There’s an international scientific kerfuffle over this. It is prompted by the changing pace of the earth’s spin. The moon and sun pull on our planet, slowing its rotation and giving us an ever-lengthening day. The effect is tiny – adding less than two-thousandths of a second per day – and it is not consistent. Sometimes, the rotation even speeds up for a while. We’re not sure why but we think it is because interactions between earth’s liquid iron core and the rocky mantle that surrounds it can exert an accelerating effect. Ocean currents also seem to speed up the pace at which the

world turns. In the long term, though, we know the days are getting longer. As a result, occasionally, to keep our clocks in sync with when we expect sunrise and sunset to occur, we have to add a “leap second”.

It sounds easy but it’s not. For 14 years, countries have been debating whether the practice of adding a leap second should continue. Shoehorning an extra second into the clocks of computer programs can create software glitches that have widespread effects. In 1998, for instance, the insertion of a leap second caused a mobile-phone blackout across the southern United States because different regions were suddenly operating with time differences outside the error tolerances. Then in 2012 an airline’s booking system went belly-up for hours after a leap second insertion. The US department of defence has argued vociferously that the leap second compromises the “safety and reliability” of certain systems; scaremongers talk about missiles and air-traffic control systems going awry in some such future adjustment.

One solution to this is to let our clock readings gradually drift away from any association with the position of the sun in the sky. After all, who cares?

Well, you – perhaps. Britain is one of very few nations that have battled to keep the leap second. Most countries are happy to let the clocks drift away from “solar time”. The reason for Britain’s reticence is largely to do with ministerial gut feeling about our sense of cultural heritage: the time of day has always been linked with the position of the sun in the sky and why should we abandon that just because some programmers can’t do their job properly? In April, the UK government launched a public consultation to find out what you think (full disclosure: I am on the consultation’s oversight committee checking that the process is fair and frank).

There are potential issues with abandoning the leap second. Human beings have always lived by sunrise and sunset; our biology responds to rising and fading light levels. Without leap seconds, or some other adjustment of time, noon in the year 4000 will occur in total darkness. Also, the sun’s position in the sky plays a role in the timing of certain religious observances. Whether the link to the numbers on a clock face matters in these instances is as yet unknown, hence the consultation. Can we justify dropping the leap second – and maybe redefining “noon” – just because of computer programming problems?

On the other hand, some will argue that we cope with time zones and daylight saving time; why would we care about a second every few years? That’s for you to answer, if you care enough to bother.

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 01 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The Islam issue

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New Times: David Runciman on networks and the digital revolution

The digital revolution has had two profound effects on how power is distributed – both of which squeeze the state's power.

Left-wing political parties exist to use the power of the state to rectify unjust distributions of power in society. What has gone wrong with this project? First, the political parties bit. Established parties everywhere are struggling to seem relevant to most people’s everyday concerns: they look increasingly like the tired relics of a more hierarchical age. The exception, of course, is the current Labour Party, which has opened itself up to become the biggest mass-membership party in Europe. But the trade-off has been to move away from seeing the acquisition of power as its primary purpose. These days parties can only really draw people in by offering to be vehicles for the expression of political resentment and disenchantment. But that is no way to rectify the causes of their resentment; neglecting the challenge of power usually ends up making things worse.

However, this is just a symptom of the wider problem, which is the changing nature of power. Technology lies at the heart of it. The digital revolution has had two profound effects on how power is distributed. First, it has empowered individuals, by providing them with unprecedented access to information, tools of communication and the means of expression. This is power exercised as choice: we all now have multiple ways of registering our likes and dislikes that never existed before.

Second, the digital revolution has empowered networks, creating vast new webs that span the globe. Some of them, such as Facebook, are close to being monopolies. We end up joining the networks that other people have joined, because that’s where the action is. This gives a small number of networks an awful lot of power.

Both of these developments are deeply problematic for the power of the state. The proliferation of choice makes citizens much harder to satisfy. Many of us have got used to micromanaging our lives in ways that leaves government looking flat-footed and unresponsive, no matter how hard it tries. At the same time, states face global networks that they have no idea how to control. International finance is one of these: money is information and information now has too many different ways to flow. States are getting squeezed.

The paradox is that the same forces that are squeezing the state are also giving impetus to left-wing politics. There are huge imbalances of power being created in networked societies. The monopolists are hoovering up money and influence. Personal connections count for more than ever, now that networked connections have become ubiquitous. Education is turning into a way of pulling up the drawbridge rather than moving up the ladder. One temptation for the left is to assume that the evidence of injustice will sooner or later outweigh the disabling effects of these social forces on the state. That is part of the Corbyn gamble: hang around until people are sufficiently pissed off to start demanding social-democratic solutions to their problems.

I don’t think this is going to happen. There is nothing to suggest that popular dissatisfaction will find its way back to the state as its best outlet. It will be channelled through the networks that are making the life of the state increasingly difficult.

The other temptation is to think that the left can achieve its goals by bypassing conventional social democracy and channelling its own ambitions into network politics. This is the other side of the Corbyn gamble, or at least the view of some of the people who have attached themselves to him: a new politics is coming that uses digital technology to mobilise fleet-footed networks of activists who can generate change without going through the cumbersome and time-consuming process of winning general elections. That also looks pretty wishful to me. These networks are just another vehicle for expressing personal preferences. They don’t have any means of changing the preferences of people who think differently. You need to win power to do that.

The state’s power is being squeezed by networks of empowered individuals, but these networks don’t have the kind of power necessary to do the redistributive work of the state. What is the left to do? It needs to try to find value in the fact that the state is not just another network. The right does this instinctively, by talking up the state’s security functions and championing ideas of sovereignty and national identity. But that does nothing to address the deleterious effects of living in a modern networked society, where we are swamped by personal choice but impotent in the face of corporate and financial power.

Rather than trying to harness the power of networks, the left should stand up for people against the dehumanising power of Big Data. The state isn’t Google and should not try to pretend to be. We don’t need more choice. We don’t need more efficiency of the kind that digital technology is endlessly supplying. We need protection from the mindless bureaucratic demands of the new machine age: the relentless pursuit of information, regardless of the human cost. There are limits to what the state can do but it retains some real power. It still employs real human beings; it educates them and provides them with welfare. It should do what is in its power to make the work tolerable and the education meaningful, to provide welfare in ways that don’t leave people at the mercy of faceless systems. The left needs to humanise the state.

At the moment, too much energy is being spent trying to humanise the party. We are told that people are tired of robotic, careerist politicians; they want unspun versions of people like themselves. But robotic politicians aren’t the problem; the coming age of robots is. While the party tries to feel more comfortable with itself, the effects of a networked society are running rampant. Acquiring the power of the state is still the best way to fight back. It doesn’t matter if that has to be done in an ugly, mechanised, artificial way, by careerist politicians with whom we wouldn’t choose to spend our personal time. Better an ugly, artificial politics than an ugly, artificial world. 

David Runciman is a professor of politics and the head of the department of politics and international studies at Cambridge

This article is part of a New Times collection of the future of the left. Read the other pieces here.

 

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times