Save the data

This week we learned that Glasgow (my home town) has been volunteered to host a pilot project to collect and use urban data more efficiently. The idea is to link up real-time info about transport, traffic and energy to make delivery of related public services more responsive. Even in a medium-sized city like ours, the amount of relevant data my fellow citizens generate would seem to make this a huge job.

According to some data I just found on the internet, 90% of all the data that exists was created in the last two years. The challenge of sorting through all of this stuff, and condensing or consuming it for some useful purpose — for research, for commerce or just for fun — is becoming one of the great communications challenges of the age. Essentially, the job of any professional communicator has always been to sort through a lot of data and transform it into useful information: in journalism this means bringing out the salient facts of a story, in marketing the key selling points of a product or service, in PR a bit of both. But how do we go about sorting through the deluge of data that exists now?

  

JISC's rather good newsletter has some ideas about how we as individuals and institutions might go about this daunting task. I liked point 6, though it doesn't seem a particularly risky claim to suggest the visualisation of information will increase. The project to display interactive information about every bomb dropped on London in WWII, explored on the next page of the newsletter, is a fascinating example.

It's worth remembering that not all of this is new. This Economist article from 2007 on the history of graphic displays of information contains some examples that are just as impressive and eye-catching now as when they first appeared centuries ago. It's hard to think how today we could better illustrate the disaster that was Napoleon's campaign in Russia than by Minard's chart, while Playfair's beautiful depiction of wheat and labour prices seems to anticipate the Manhattan skyline. The dismal science can be fun too.

The JISC piece also leaves out the problem of institutional bottlenecks: right now I'm trying to explore visual.ly and easel.ly, but the browser on my work computer is obsolete and my attempts to get IT to upgrade it have so far proved futile. The potential for big data is exciting, but any big organisation generating the stuff is also liable to be sluggish in working out how to deal with it.  Big is not always beautiful, as this Guardian article explains. Mountains of data are of little use if your local council only consults 42 people about a major planning decision, then ignores them and does what it wants anyway.

One final point: as with all technology, the information revolution merely magnifies existing trends in society and human nature to produce new opportunities and new dangers. Might the disturbing extent to which American politics has become polarised be at least partly a feature of the ease with which readers, viewers and listeners can now avoid accessing opinions they find unfavourable?

Dearly departed

The Economist has a good blog on airport names this week, pointing out the trend for naming them and other key bits of infrastructure after famous locals. If Birmingham is seriously considering renaming theirs after Ozzy Osbourne, the genre would seem to have jumped the shark.

In Glasgow, we now have the Sir Chris Hoy Velodrome. Clearly, on one level this makes sense, as he is not just Scotland's greatest cyclist but Britain's greatest Olympian (who also has a train named after him already). But there's still something about the trend that bothers me.

It's not just that the man strikes me as modest enough to be embarrassed by it (though we should be thankful for that: imagine if they were naming a stadium after Usain Bolt instead). It's also not just that he hasn't even retired yet (what if he competes there in 2014 and flops?) let alone died, which I think should be a minimum qualification for supplying the name of anything noteworthy. It's not hard to think of examples of famous people who have fallen from public grace towards or soon after the end of their lives or careers — not even hard in the realm of cycling — so the authorities will always be leaving themselves hostage to fortune.

It's not just the aesthetics either: compare JFK with its evocative former name, Idlewild. There may be a case for commemorating a few particularly great individuals — I would grudgingly accept Charles de Gaulle, I suppose — but there's not much poetry to be derived from the names of people. Imagine if every London Underground station were instead named after a well-known local: no more Swiss Cottage, Seven Sisters or Gallions Reach. It would be a sad loss to a small but distinctive part of our culture.

More than that, though, it's the idea that society can't really get along without particular individuals, which seems a depressingly authoritarian view of the world, and one that suggests an ahistorical lack of continuity with past and future generations: with the greatest respect to Sir Chris, soon enough he will mean little more to the latter than he did to the former. Nasty dictators still name not just their buildings but even their days of the week after themselves. Augustus did the same with the calendar in his time.

It seems to me a trend that, if we want to see ourselves as egalitarian and democratic — respectful of our heritage but free-thinking and free-naming — we ought to leave in the departure lounge.

Deconstructing dog whistles

Today I noticed a piece of political communication that raised my eyebrows: this one-day poster campaign by the Tories to highlight Labour's support for the government's 1% cap on public sector wage rises (a cut, in real terms) but opposition to the government's 1% cap on rises in benefits.

You might think I'm being pedantic (it is my job, after all) but I think what they've come up with doesn't quite come off.  When you have as few words as this to play with, as will always be the case in a billboard poster, the message needs to be totally unambiguous, and I don't think this is.

The 'by' makes it fall down: it suggests Labour support putting up benefits by an amount greater than workers' salaries, which obviously isn't the case.  On realising it's not the case, the floating voter on the Clapham omnibus might then find himself wondering why the Tories had put up such a misleading poster, and ask himself what else he can't trust them to be straight about.  It also raises the question: which workers?

My suggested wording (assuming that mentioning a 'cap' would be too Westminster villagey) would be as follows: 'Labour want to cut public sector wages. They don't want to cut benefits', perhaps followed by 'Only the Conservatives stand up for hardworking people.'  This leaves out that the government also want to cut public sector wages, so is perhaps a bit more ruthless, but also I think a bit clearer.  Or they could just have gone with 'Today Labour are voting to increase benefits more than public sector wages', or better still "more than nurses' and teachers' wages", if it has to be a one-day-only ad.

Commentators on left and right seem to agree that this is an effective message (as long as the Tories don't overdo it).  It might be a smart political strategy — and if they really can divide the country into 'strivers' and 'skivers' in self-identifying strivers' minds they'll have pulled off quite a propaganda coup — but tactically I'd say they've missed a bit of trick with this effort.

Am I missing the point entirely by trying to deconstruct the dog whistle?  Possibly: my straw man in Clapham might well not get as far as realising that, taken literally, the poster is nonsense.  The strategy, then, relies on confusing voters more than convincing them.  That might work: but why take the risk when a clearer but no less convincing alternative exists?