Time to turn open-source words into action

Without firm targets, progress is likely to be limited.

Since early 2004, it has been the government's stated policy to use open-source software in the public sector wherever possible, as long as it offers the best value for money.

To date, the policy has had little impact. So will the latest tweaks to its open-source action plan make a difference?

Software is "open-source" when the source code is freely available to be viewed, shared or changed -- things that you can't do with conventional proprietary software. Crucially, open-source is also the cheaper option in many cases.

So how good is the government's record on using open-source so far?

In its latest action plan, it gives three key examples of how it has increased its use of open-source. First, it says that over 25 per cent of secondary schools use the Linux operating system on at least one computer: small beer, given that the government first published its policy on open-source in 2004.

Second, the series of National Health Service databases known as "Spine" uses an open-source operating system. And third, Birmingham City Council has been rolling out open-source software across its library services since 2005.

These last two instances would be more compelling if they didn't also serve to show just how few projects there have been to date.

Yet according to one open-source executive, the situation may be improving. John Powell, co-founder and CEO of the British open-source content management firm Alfresco, told me last year: "The UK has always been something of an open-source laggard. But things are definitely changing fast, not least since the government published that policy document."

 

Who's in charge?

Others are less optimistic. Commenting on the most recent tweaks to the action plan, Steve Shine at the open-source database firm Ingres said: "From the outset, we have commended the UK government for its comprehensive and balanced approach. However, we still struggle to see how these latest changes will have much impact, as this policy is not being enforced.

"These latest changes still leave it unclear as to which part of the government will be responsible for enforcing these policies. We look forward to the Chief Information Officer clarifying this vital point as soon as possible.

"In our experience of working with government IT suppliers," Shine continued, "the money that has been recouped so far from open-source initiatives is just a drop in the ocean compared to the billions of pounds that could be saved if the government takes a hard line on IT procurement, which could easily equate to several pennies being carved off the basic rate of tax."

The government should be congratulated for keeping its open-source action plan up to date. Now, with the latest tweaks, particularly around what its policy means in the era of "cloud computing", let's see if its open-source words can speak as loud as its proprietary actions.

But a problem remains: so far, the government has set no clear targets for the increased adoption of open-source software.

In the action plan, it states that it "will actively and fairly consider open-source solutions alongside proprietary ones in making procurement decisions", that "procurement decisions will be made on the basis on the best value-for-money solution to the business requirement", and that "the government will expect those putting forward IT solutions to develop where necessary a suitable mix of open-source and proprietary products to ensure that the best possible overall solution can be considered".

But one wonders whether, without any firm targets, there is likely to be much progress with adopting open-source software in the public sector.

Jason Stamper is NS technology correspondent and the editor of Computer Business Review.

Jason Stamper is editor of Computer Business Review

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Arsène Wenger: how can an intelligent manager preside over such a hollowed-out team?

The Arsenal manager faces a frustrating legacy.

Sport is obviously not all about winning, but it is about justified hope. That ­distinction has provided, until recently, a serious defence of Arsène Wenger’s Act II – the losing part. Arsenal haven’t won anything big for 13 years. But they have been close enough (and this is a personal view) to sustain the experience of investing emotionally in the story. Hope turning to disappointment is fine. It’s when the hope goes, that’s the problem.

Defeat takes many forms. In both 2010 and 2011, Arsenal lost over two legs to Barcelona in the Champions League. Yet these were rich and rewarding sporting experiences. In the two London fixtures of those ties, Arsenal drew 2-2 and won 2-1 against the most dazzling team in the world. Those nights reinvigorated my pride in sport. The Emirates Stadium had the best show in town. Defeat, when it arrived in Barcelona, was softened by gratitude. We’d been entertained, more than entertained.

Arsenal’s 5-1 surrender to Bayern Munich on 15 February was very different. In this capitulation by instalments, the fascination was macabre rather than dramatic. Having long given up on discerning signs of life, we began the post-mortem mid-match. As we pored over the entrails, the curiosity lay in the extent of the malady that had brought down the body. The same question, over and over: how could such an intelligent, deep-thinking manager preside over a hollowed-out team? How could failings so obvious to outsiders, the absence of steel and resilience, evade the judgement of the boss?

There is a saying in rugby union that forwards (the hard men) determine who wins, and the backs (the glamour boys) decide by how much. Here is a footballing equivalent: midfielders define matches, attacking players adorn them and defenders get the blame. Yet Arsenal’s players as good as vacated the midfield. It is hard to judge how well Bayern’s playmakers performed because they were operating in a vacuum; it looked like a morale-boosting training-ground drill, free from the annoying presence of opponents.

I have always been suspicious of the ­default English critique which posits that mentally fragile teams can be turned around by licensed on-field violence – a good kicking, basically. Sporting “character” takes many forms; physical assertiveness is only one dimension.

Still, it remains baffling, Wenger’s blind spot. He indulges artistry, especially the mercurial Mesut Özil, beyond the point where it serves the player. Yet he won’t protect the magicians by surrounding them with effective but down-to-earth talents. It has become a diet of collapsing soufflés.

What held back Wenger from buying the linchpin midfielder he has lacked for many years? Money is only part of the explanation. All added up, Arsenal do spend: their collective wage bill is the fourth-highest in the League. But Wenger has always been reluctant to lavish cash on a single star player, let alone a steely one. Rather two nice players than one great one.

The power of habit has become debilitating. Like a wealthy but conservative shopper who keeps going back to the same clothes shop, Wenger habituates the same strata of the transfer market. When he can’t get what he needs, he’s happy to come back home with something he’s already got, ­usually an elegant midfielder, tidy passer, gets bounced in big games, prone to going missing. Another button-down blue shirt for a drawer that is well stuffed.

It is almost universally accepted that, as a business, Arsenal are England’s leading club. Where their rivals rely on bailouts from oligarchs or highly leveraged debt, Arsenal took tough choices early and now appear financially secure – helped by their manager’s ability to engineer qualification for the Champions League every season while avoiding excessive transfer costs. Does that count for anything?

After the financial crisis, I had a revealing conversation with the owner of a private bank that had sailed through the turmoil. Being cautious and Swiss, he explained, he had always kept more capital reserves than the norm. As a result, the bank had made less money in boom years. “If I’d been a normal chief executive, I’d have been fired by the board,” he said. Instead, when the economic winds turned, he was much better placed than more bullish rivals. As a competitive strategy, his winning hand was only laid bare by the arrival of harder times.

In football, however, the crash never came. We all wrote that football’s insane spending couldn’t go on but the pace has only quickened. Even the Premier League’s bosses confessed to being surprised by the last extravagant round of television deals – the cash that eventually flows into the hands of managers and then the pockets of players and their agents.

By refusing to splash out on the players he needed, whatever the cost, Wenger was hedged for a downturn that never arrived.

What an irony it would be if football’s bust comes after he has departed. Imagine the scenario. The oligarchs move on, finding fresh ways of achieving fame, respectability and the protection achieved by entering the English establishment. The clubs loaded with debt are forced to cut their spending. Arsenal, benefiting from their solid business model, sail into an outright lead, mopping up star talent and trophies all round.

It’s often said that Wenger – early to invest in data analytics and worldwide scouts; a pioneer of player fitness and lifestyle – was overtaken by imitators. There is a second dimension to the question of time and circumstance. He helped to create and build Arsenal’s off-field robustness, even though football’s crazy economics haven’t yet proved its underlying value.

If the wind turns, Arsène Wenger may face a frustrating legacy: yesterday’s man and yet twice ahead of his time. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit