Plumb role: Nintendo characters Super Mario and Luigi in Chiba, Tokyo. Photo: Getty Images.
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The most influential tech company you’ve never heard of

The scientists and engineers at “Alca-Loo”– as it is known among financiers – think of themselves as “the plumbers of the internet world”.

The year is 1871. An 18-year-old Frenchman named Alphonse Garreau is about to start work at the new locomotive factory in Belfort, Alsace, when he spots a woman drowning kittens. Though he is not sentimental where animals are concerned, Alphonse rescues one cat from the litter.

He names the little feline Chaussette. He plans to take it to the local photography studio, where he will have postcards made up and sent out on the trains. “Just imagine all of the people in the world enjoying your beautiful little Chaussette in all her adorable kitten poses!” he thinks. That Garreau will work for a company later credited with developing the internet raises a tantalising question: could it be that sharing cute pictures of cats was the original purpose of the internet, as well as its ultimate end?

As part of Alain de Botton’s Writers in Residence series, the Canadian novelist Douglas Coupland spent a year snooping around Alcatel-Lucent, probably the most important technology firm you’ve never heard of. The scientists and engineers at “Alca-Loo”– as it is known among financiers – think of themselves as “the plumbers of the internet world”. “You don’t know us,” the marketing vice-president Gary Nugent tells Coupland, “but you’d certainly miss us if we weren’t there.”

Alcatel-Lucent is responsible for the unsexy but indispensable elements of modern communications technology. It runs routing stations, sets up cloud networks and digs huge trenches at the bottom of the sea in which it lays fibre-optic cables (enough to circle the globe 12 and a half times). Its R&D department, Bell Labs, has won seven Nobel Prizes and owns 30,700 patents, though in recent years there has been less “pure research”. Some employees blame the company’s increasingly commercial approach.

At 10.30pm on 29 October 1969, a computer system devised at Bell Labs was used to transmit information between two university campuses in California. The internet was born. The project was non-profit and was funded by government subsidy.

“The people here were odder back then,” recalls Debasis Mitra, an Indian mathematician who worked at Bell Labs for over 40 years. “But not just mutton-chop sideburns – though there were those – just odder. In a nice way.” Despite revenues of over €14bn (£11bn) in 2013, Alcatel-Lucent has been struggling since the dotcom and telecoms crashes of 2000 and 2001. It made 10,000 people redundant last year.

Coupland found that Alca-Loo employees were ambivalent about the technology they helped to create. None he met carried an iPhone – instead, they’d keep a “coal-burning flip-phone in the bottom drawer . . . for emergencies”. They all express surprise at how popular the internet has turned out to be.

As I recently scrolled through the spec for the iPhone 6, which promises “to make shopping faster, easier and more secure” by using contactless payment, it felt as though Apple had begun to parody itself. “I miss my pre-internet brain,” Coupland writes, after telling the story of Chaussette and Garreau. This is a familiar lament and the innovators behind the hardware that produced it largely concur. He continues: “Across the entire span of the 1980s, the only new technology society had to absorb was push-button phones and the Sony Walkman . . . These days, I sometimes wake up and think, dear God, just for today, nothing new.” 

Philip Maughan is a freelance writer in Berlin and a former Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 17 September 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Scotland: What Next?

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Social media tome #Republic questions the wisdom of crowds

Cass R Sunstein explores how insulation pushes groups towards more extreme opinions.

Cass Sunstein, one of the leading public intellectuals in the United States and a former Obama administration official, has worried and written for more than 15 years about the effects of the internet and digital communications on democracy. This book, his third on the subject, tackles social media.

The heart of his argument lies in the cumulative, collective effect of what individuals do online. Networking, shopping, dating and activism are all transformed by the engine of opportunity that is the internet. But those new links and choices produce a malign side effect: “filter bubbles”, inside which like-minded people shut themselves off from opinions that might challenge their assumptions. Insulation pushes groups towards more extreme opinions.

Sunstein’s organising principle is the ­difference between consumer and political sovereignty. The former promotes individual choice despite its possible consequences; the latter takes into account the needs of society as a whole. His inspiration is Jane Jacobs, the historian of US cities who celebrated, in poetic language, the benign and enriching effect on democracy of random encounters between citizens on pavements and in parks. How do we now reverse or dilute the polarisation driven by Facebook and Twitter?

The solutions Sunstein proposes for this very difficult problem are oddly tentative: websites stocked with challenging ideas and deliberative debates, voluntary self-regulation and “serendipity buttons”. He rightly stresses transparency: we know far too little about the algorithms that sift news for our attention on the networks. Facebook has talked about trying to show news that is “engaging” and “interesting”, without ever engaging in detailed public discussion of what these words mean. The disclosure requirements for social networks “require consideration”, Sunstein writes, without saying whether Facebook might have to be required legally to explain precisely how it routes news to almost two billion users.

Sunstein’s most interesting arguments are myth-busters. He questions the “wisdom of crowds”, while refraining from pointing out directly that the single strongest argument against this idea is the inequality of opinions. Not all opinions are equally valuable. He warily suggests what only a very few American voices have so far dared to say: that the First Amendment to the constitution, which guarantees a free press, should not be treated – as the courts have recently tended to do – as an equally strong protection for the freedom of all speech.

Sunstein is nostalgic for the media system and regulation of the past. I spent years working for a daily “general-interest” newspaper (the Times) and regret the decline of those outlets as much as he does, yet there is no reversing the technological and economic changes that have undermined them. It might have been a mistake to deregulate television in the United States, and killing the “fairness doctrine” might have had unforeseen effects, but that does not deal with the dilemmas thrown up by WhatsApp or Weibo, the Chinese version of Twitter.

Users of these platforms face the problem of managing abundance. Writers such as Sunstein imply that people who lock themselves in filter bubbles are deplorably unable to break out of their informational isolation. But we all now live in bubbles that we design to make sense of the torrent of information flowing through our phones. Better-designed, heterogeneous bubbles include the unexpected and the challenging.

Yet the problem lies deeper than the quality of your bubble. Polarised societies can no longer agree on how to recognise the truth. Filter bubbles play a part, but so do a preference for emotion over reason, attacks on scientific fact from religion, decades of public emphasis on self-fulfilment, and a belief that political elites are stagnant and corrupt. Like many journalists, Sunstein treats the problem of a malfunctioning communications system as a supply-side matter: the information being generated and distributed ought to be better.

In the case of fake news, that is indisputable. But there is also a demand-side problem, one that hinges on the motives of those consuming information. If, inside their bubbles, people are not curious about alternative opinions, are indifferent to critical thinking and prefer stoking their dislike – of, say, Hillary Clinton – will they have even the slightest interest in venturing outside their comfort zone? Do we have a right to ignore the views of others, or an obligation to square up to them? Millions of Americans believe that one of the most important guarantees in their constitution is the right to be left alone – and that includes being left alone by the New York Times.

Sunstein does not venture far into this territory. He only hints that if we worry about what people know, we must also worry about what kinds of societies we build. Globalisation has reshaped communities, dismantling some and building others online, but the net effect has been to reduce deliberation and increase a tendency to press the “Like” button, or loathe opponents you can’t see or hear. The ability to debate civilly and well may depend on complex social chemistry and many ingredients – elite expertise, education, critical thinking, culture, law – but we need to be thinking about the best recipes. 

George Brock is the author of “Out of Print: Newspapers, Journalism and the Business of News in the Digital Age” (Kogan Page)

#Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media
Cass R Sunstein
Princeton University Press, 328pp, £24.95​

George Brock is a former managing editor of The Times who is now head of journalism at City University in London.

This article first appeared in the 22 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The zombie PM

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