Collaboro ad un progetto, Visioni Urbane, nel quale ci stiamo ponendo il problema di lanciare alcuni bandi per attività creative. Mi è venuta la curiosità di leggere alcuni bandi che, in questo campo, hanno una buona reputazione. Ne ho scelti due: uno è Principi Attivi, il bando di un’esperienza pugliese che mi interessa molto, Bollenti Spiriti. E’ stato aperto da maggio a luglio 2008, e ha messo a bando 7.6 milioni di euro. Ha ricevuto oltre 1.500 progetti da quasi tutti i comuni pugliesi. L’altro è Grants for the Arts, lo strumento principale di finanziamento di progetti artistici dell’Arts Council England. Questo è un bando sempre aperto, rifinanziato di anno in anno con i denari della National Lottery.

Gli obiettivi dei due bandi sono gli stessi: spingere giovani artisti e creativi in genere a concorrere all’assegnazione di risorse pubbliche, nella speranza che alcuni di loro facciano il salto e diventino imprese creative e culturali vere e proprie. Per fare questo è necessario creare bandi semplici da usare (per abbassare le barriere alla partecipazione di soggetti che hanno competenze creative e non burocratiche) e trasparenti (per creare fiducia). Ho provato a riassumere le mie letture in una tabella, questa:

La differenza si vede a occhio. Grants for the Arts è congegnato in modo da lasciare ai partecipanti la massima libertà di produrre ciò che essi considerano buone proposte. Le regole e i limiti sono ridotti al massimo, e comunque non tassativi; le definizioni molto elastiche (guardate quella di organizzazione!); non ci sono scadenze; non sono richieste fideiussioni o altre garanzie; la proposta ha formato completamente libero, con una forte enfasi sull’assistenza, come avviene in Kublai. Sei cieco? La documentazione è disponibile in Braille. Sei dislessico? Vieni nei nostri uffici, facciamo una riunione e ti mettiamo a disposizione una persona che prende appunti. Le idee guida sono quelle di incoraggiare più persone possibile a partecipare, per essere sicuri di non perdersi neppure una buona idea per ragioni di procedura, e poi fare una selezione spietata in termini di qualità (e questo significa che l’Arts Council England ha piena fiducia nelle proprie capacità di selezionare). Grants for the arts è orientato alla performance brillante, non al processo.

Anche Principi attivi è orientato alla performance (e all’assistenza: il suo team ha condotto quasi cento incontri di promozione), e in effetti i suoi numeri sono rilevanti. Ma questo orientamento deve fare i conti con la cultura amministrativa italiana, quindi la procedura è molto più strutturata. Puoi partecipare come gruppo informale, ma se vinci devi costituire una società o un’associazione; la modalità di erogazione è fissa; è richiesta una fideiussione; e soprattutto, il taglio dei progetti è limitato a 25mila euro (quindi a progetti piccoli) e la proposta si scrive riempiendo un formulario. Sia il taglio che formulario, ovviamente, riflettono le priorità e i valori dell’amministrazione che lo propone, e non quelli dei proponenti: per esempio, tiene abbastanza sottotraccia la parte di business planning.

Ho mandato la tabella ad Annibale D’Elia, il responsabile di Bollenti Spiriti, per un commento. Lui mi ha spiegato che

1. Principi attivi è un bando molto agile e de-burocratizzato nel panorama italiano (ed è vero)
2. La forma finale del bando “è il risultato di faticose mediazioni” con la macchina amministrativa della Regione, la cui cultura è totalmente orientata alla procedura.
3. Il bando costringe i creativi a strutturarsi, costituendo associazioni e andando in banca a cercare fideiussioni, perché vuole promuoverne la partecipazione alla vita attiva del territorio. E il territorio (l’Italia, non la Puglia) funziona così: bandi pubblici, gare d’appalto etc. richiedono forme giuridiche e garanzie finanziarie. I creativi pugliesi questo l’hanno capito, e l’hanno apprezzato.

Annibale e il suo gruppo sono bravi e motivati, e la spiegazione mi convince. Però mi colpisce quanto noi italiani siamo talmente immersi nella proceduralizzazione che non la vediamo nemmeno più. Così, per esempio, se Principi attivi l’avesse progettato un inglese dell’Arts Council non avrebbe obbligato i vincitori a costituirsi in associazione, ma li avrebbe incoraggiati a farlo, fornendo loro l’assistenza. Il ragionamento è: certo, strutturarsi è un vantaggio ed è sensato, e io abilito chi desidera farlo. Ma perché devo rischiare di dovere bocciare un progetto fortissimo di uno che l’associazione, per motivi suoi, non vuole farla? Magari è un creativo geniale ma individualista, se da solo riesce a competere con gruppi strutturati meglio per lui.

Questa impostazione percorre tutto il bando: il formulario per la proposta? Standardizzato. Il taglio dei progetti? 25mila euro, comunque. Le voci del budget? Le stesse per tutti. Il gruppo di Bollenti spiriti (come tutti gli estensori di bandi italiani) non se la sente di dire “i progetti sono tutti diversi, quindi non ha senso standardizzare troppo. Scrivi come ti pare, l’importante è che tu mi faccia capire”. Non parliamo neanche della faccenda della fideiussione. Annibale mi ha raccontato che questo ha creato anche qualche problema, perché le banche pugliesi inizialmente si sono rifiutate di stipulare fideiussioni ai creativi (poi c’è stata un po’ di polemica sul forum e alla fine qualcuno ha rotto il fronte). Quanto agli inglesi, ho chiesto a Andrew Missingham perché non chiedono garanzie, e lui mi ha detto: perché nessun artista o creativo è così stupido da provare a truffare il principale canale di finanziamento per le arti. E questo crea problemi di controllo del denaro pubblico? No: il tasso di insoluti è praticamente zero, e inoltre si risparmiano costi amministrativi su tutti i fronti (una delle conseguenze di Principi attivi, come di quasi tutti i bandi di questo tipo, è che si trasferiscono risorse dal settore pubblico alle banche: le fideiussioni costano). L’impressione è che le garanzie finanziarie servano molto là dove la capacità di valutare nel merito non è molto sviluppata.

Insomma, noi italiani siamo un po’ come i pesci della barzelletta, a cui chiedono “com’è vivere sempre nell’acqua?”. E loro, stupiti: “Che cosa sarebbe quest’acqua di cui parlate?”. Siamo così immersi nella nostra particolare cultura amministrativa che la viviamo come “la” cultura amministrativa tout court. E invece l’azione amministrativa non deve necessariamente essere fatta di diritto romano, burocrazia weberiana (e furbizia levantina per ricuperare un minimo di spazio di azione quando le regole “stringono” troppo). Il nostro modo di amministrare è frutto di una cultura specifica e storicamente determinata. Altri amministrano in altro modo. Temo che la nostra cultura amministrativa sia troppo rigida per un mondo che si fa sempre più complesso, e sarà sempre di più un fattore di riduzione della competitività delle imprese del settore creativo – e anche delle altre, mi sa.

Però si potrebbe sempre cambiarla, no? Io, per dirne una, non ci sono particolarmente affezionato

An unfinished version of this post was published by mistake to Google Reader a few weeks ago. If you’ve read it, please consider reading the finished version as well, it is substantially different – and better. My apology for the mess. The post can also be downloaded here.

Makers is a novel, published in 2009 by Canadian science fiction author and Boing Boing co-editor Cory Doctorow. It deals with two entrepreneurs from the DIY scene (think MAKE Magazine, or Wired’s New Industrial Revolution), Perry Gibson and Lester Banks, inventing new things. Their inventions transform the world around them, not so much from a technical as from a social and economic point of view. They give rise to a highly decentralized organization and business model called “New Work” in the fictional context of the novel. I was referred to it by friends in the Italian physical hacking scene, which I started hanging out with in 2008.

When I first read the book I found it very prophetic, in the way that the best science fiction can be; also, I was stricken by how much of it translated pretty directly into widely accepted economic theory. After musing on it for about a year, I have become a convert (so much that I have participated in Arduino-based projects and started out experimenting with economic policy for makers). At the same time, though – in the context of some research that I am involved with – I have started to ask myself if the “innovation society” we seem to be trying to build (witness the Lisbon Strategy and innumerable policy documents) is indeed sustainable. Increasing quantities of innovation, after all, sort of implies the economy growing at an increasing rate, and this is likely to have straining side effects on the natural environment or even our own human limitations. Does innovation have a dark side? How much of can we take without descending into dystopia?

Doctorow has created a pretty believable fictional economy which seems to be, in some sense, the innovation society we are heading for. So I decided to study it more closely: that is, re-read the book with an economist’s eyes, to zero in on the economics of what’s going on in there.

Schumpeter’s creative destruction

The main economic engine in the world of Makers is Joseph Schumpeter’s theory of creative destruction. It is laid out straight from chapter one by CEO Langdon Kettlewell in the press conference to announce the Kodak-Duracell merger:

Capitalism is eating itself. The market works, and when it works it commodifies or obsoletes everything.

At the end of the press conference, reporter Suzanne Church – who used to be an economic journalist in Detroit, and as such covered the demise of the car ecosystem – muses about being haunted by decay, even in the Silicon Valley, which was supposed to have incorporated failure as just a step on the road to ultimate success:

Now she was back in that old rustbelt funk, with the feeling that she was witness not to a beginning, but to a perpetual ending, a cycle of destruction that would tear down everything solid and reliable in the world.

Commodification and obsolescence, however, should be thought as a feature, not a bug. It is, in fact the way capitalism produces abundance. Tjan, the business manager Kodacell brings in to help Perry and Lester, is well aware of this:

So, if you want to make a big profit, you’ve got to start over again, invent something new, and milk it for all you can before the first imitator shows up. The more this happens, the better and cheaper everything gets. It’s how we got here, you see. It’s what the system is for.

Price wars and Bertrand equilibrium

The mechanism that drives the “destruction” part of creative destruction in Makers is cut-throat price competition. Innovative products are undercut by imitators, who scoop up the entire market thanks to lower prices. The process is iterated until the price reaches cost (including an acceptable remuneration of risk and capital):

In a good market, you invent something and charge all the market will bear for it. Someone else figures out how to do it cheaper, or decides they can do it for a slimmer margin [...] and so you have to drop your prices to compete. Then someone comes along who’s less greedy or more efficient than both of you and undercuts you again, and again and again, until eventually you get down to [...] a baseline that you can’t get lower than, the cheapest you can produce and stay in business.

This is Tjan speaking on his first night at the Perry – Lester venture. To an economist, he is giving a texbook rendition of Bertrand competition, a price war leading to a zero-profit equilibrium.

Unemployment and labor economics issues

Creative destruction rearranges production factors in the economic system, supposedly for the good. Unfortunately, some of these elements are people, and rearranging may involve a lot of pain, humiliation and fear. Doctorow embeds labour economics issues deep into the novel: the Kodacell press conference is interrupted by a protest of laid off staffers. Kettlewell’s first email to Suzanne asks the big question looming underneath Makers:

What happens when all the things you are good at are no good to anyone anymore?

Research initiated at the beginning of the current recession has cast doubts about the possibility to successfully mass-retrain a laid-off workforce to adjust to the changing needs of an innovation economy (New York Times). Labour supply seems still oriented to selling man-hours and expecting to be managed in a more or less traditionally Tayloristic way.

Brian Arthur’s building-block innovation

When Suzanne reaches Perry and Lester’s den to be shown what it is they do, Perry demonstrates their method to technical innovation. Basically, it consists of recombining existing technology in new ways. This is not only possible, but dirt cheap and fundamentally easy, because, in Perry’s words

Everywhere you look there’s devices for free that have everything you need to make anything do anything.

And Lester is even more concrete:

You know how they say a sculptor starts with a block of marble and chips away everything that doesn’t look like a statue? Like he can see the statue in the block? I get like that with garbage: I see the pieces on the heaps and in roadside trash, and I can just see how it can go together.

Makers subscribes to the complexity theory’ view on innovation, as discussed by John Holland, Brian Arthur and other researchers: making new things is (mostly) about finding new ways to recombine existing building blocks. Successful combinations become, in their turn, new blocks, so that an initially simple technology (the famous six simple machines of the ancient greeks) bootstraps to increasing levels of sophistication.

Open source and the speed of creative destruction

Perry and Lester’s ability to combine technological building blocks is greatly enhanced by the fact that anything important to them can be performed by open source technologies. This enables them to develop working prototypes from off-the-shelf equipment and software and put them into a manufacturing pipeline without worrying about licensing issues. This has two consequences: first, in the world of Makers ecosystems develop preferably around open source technology, because people like Perry and Lester have every incentive to route around proprietary technology; second, that the speed of the creative destruction cycle is greatly increased.

I think this may be the most important intuition Makers has to offer. Just think: we increasingly buy in ecosystem (Mac-iPhone-iPad-MobileMe, or Google-Android-Google Apps, or Linux-Apache-IBM’s proprietary web solutions); ecosystems grow faster if they can build on open source building blocks, so that the open source ones tend to outcompete the proprietary ones in the long run; but innovations in open source ecosystems are almost impossible to protect, and that lowers their average margin as the highly profitable grace period gets shorter. The solution, as Tjan suggests (see above) and most policy makers worldwides agree, is to increase the pace of innovation. This, however, raises the question of just how fast consumers can wrap their head around innovation: every heavy web user is familiar with the sensation that companies are putting out new services faster than we can absorb them, and sometimes we just have no time for them, no matter how cool they are. Google Wave, anyone? So, it could be that the destruction side of creative destruction prevails, landing the economy of Makers into a state of low margins and low growth, as more inventions fail to turn into more successful products on the market.

Becattini and Brusco’s competitive-cooperative manufacturing systems

Perry and Lester run a very small business unit (themselves and a few helpers), so their global competitiveness depends on the neutrality of unit costs with respect to production volume – in other words, no economies of scale. In fact Perry and Lester’s Florida junkyard is a scale-efficient production unit. In Tjan’s words

Every industry that required a factory yesterday requires a garage today.

Of course, it’s hard to get away from the fact that a lot of the cheapness in the system comes from exploiting economies of scale. The trick is that component manufacturing is scale-intensive, but the artifacts that Perry and Lester are interested in, being assemblies of such components, have a much lower minimum efficient production scale. In such a scenario, manufacturing systems most fit to compete are those that combine the agility of horizontal and vertical disintegration with low transaction costs, mutual trust and informational transparence. Vertical disintegration lets firms grow large where there are economies of scale to be exploited (components, silicon chips); horizontal disintegration enhances competition in the finished goods market (even though whichever manufacturers will win out in any given period of time will still buy components from the same handful of suppliers, therefore saving on the costs of reallocation of workers and manufacturing capacity); low transaction costs enable vertically disintegrated “manufacturing“ units like Perry and Lester’s (mostly R&D and business development, really) to build ad hoc networks of suppliers fast. In other words, New Work displays both tough competition and cooperation over and above formalized contracts.

Sebastiano Brusco and Giacomo Becattini’s model of industrial districts display just these characteristics (as, with different nuances, the work of researchers as Charles Sabel, Michael Piore and Annalee Saxenian). In Makers the low transaction costs part is implemented top-down through networked company Kodacell rather than, as in Brusco and Becattini, bottom-up through evolving conventions and reputation effects in a small territory, home to all the forms involved. So, when Lester invents Home Aware, an ecosystem can be summoned out of Kodacell’s decentralized “teams” structure. Tjan explains:

There are ten teams that do closet organizing in the network, and a bunch of shippers, packers, movers and storage experts. A few furniture companies. [...] The plan is to start our sales through the consultants at the same time as we start showing at trade shows for furniture companies.

The European Commission’s Living Lab

After a fire at a shantytown near the factory, Perry decides to let the inhabitants rebuild it on Kodacell premises (formerly a junkyard), which is largely unused. Kettlewell tries to get him to oust them. Perry holds his ground: he, Lester and Tjan had been meaning to invent something for the homeless people anyway.

We’ve built a living lab on our doorstep for exploring an enormous market opportunity to provide low-cost, sustainable technology for use by a substantial segment of the population who have no fixed address. There are millions of American squatters and billions of squatters worldwide. They have money to spend and no one else is trying to get it from them.

In the real word, Living Labs are a concept explored by the European Commission in the context of innovation policy. The idea is to replace consumer tests of new products with much larger scale, more realistic tests made possible a dense network of many actors collaborating on the same territory. Perry’s in-house shantytown would become a toy universe to model the squatters market: Kodacell can invent something and run a market test with limited costs and in a short time, but also real consumers spending real money. More importantly, it can recruit squatters themselves to participate in identifying needs and designing the products. And in fact it does: this is the role of the shantytown leader, Francis, who collaborates closely with Perry and Lester to think up new products.

Arrow’s Paradox and the value of invention

New Work’s downfall is heralded by an investor confidence crisis in Kodacell. Part of the problem is that analysts have a hard time figuring out how to value inventions, that are becoming an important part of Kodacell’s market value (the other part is inherent scarcity of genuine entrepreneurship). Kodacell ends up with a lot of novel products, with high returns on small projects. How many of these projects are going to scale to be large hits? Kettlewell:

Sure, if you looked at [our numbers] our way, they were great. If you looked at them the Street looks at them, we were in deep §#1t. Analysts couldn’t figure out how to value us.

This is yet another version of Kenneth Arrow’s famous paradox: markets for information typically don’t work well, because, in order to estimate precisely the value of something you need to know all about it. But information, of course, has no market value for you if you know it already. Invention is essentially information: until it is on the market and has climbed the diffusion curve, it is quite difficult to value it.

The New Work bust and the shift in consumer preferences

When part 2 of Makers opens, the New Work movement is over. A stock market bust has shattered the Kodacell business model, which had been promptly imitated by other large companies such as Westinghouse (who recruited Tjan off Kodacell). As a result, the movement is dead. Perry and Lester, still in their junkyard in Florida, start “the ride”, a sort of smart theme park-memorial of New Work, which is to be the subject of the rest of the book. The New Work fiasco is one of the least convincing parts of the book from an economist’s point of view: save for the aforementioned value of invention issue, it is hard to make out anything that would provoke more than a short-term market fluctuation. Kettlewell:

Analysts couldn’t figure out how to value us. Add a little market chaos and some old score-settling @##holes [...] and it’s a wonder we lasted as long as we did.

Even less convincing is the ensuing consumer disaffection for the goods that New Work had produced. In Perry’s words:

No one cares about invention anymore.

There is no obvious reason why this should happen. The second Perry-Lester invention, Home Aware, has been very successful, shipping a million units in six weeks. One would think that, even if the company originally producing it went bust, a competitor would step in to service and expand the existing customer base. After the 2000 dotcom bust consumers actually increased their use of the online services that they found useful, undaunted by their association with dotcoms. Yahoo, Google, Amazon and the like continued to prosper in their respective markets, if not in the stock market. I looked at time series data for NASDAQ and e-commerce sales over the period 1999-2009; the correlation between them is practically nonexistent (negative, in fact), as you can see from the following graph:

So, is the innovation society sustainable in Makers?

Sustainability questions are tricky. Time and again, scientists from have made doomsday predictions that went viral as public opinion found them really convincing, but later turned out to be way off the mark. From Malthus to the Club of Rome and the Millennium Bug, we seem to have a bias towards underestimating the adaptability of our society and its economy (cultural change makes the birth rate drop, raising prices of oil increase the energy efficiency of GDP and so on). Doomsday feels right at some level: it may just be a heritage of our Neolithic past, or a very deeply ingrained cultural myth (Apocalypse, Ragnarok etc.). Certainly that suggests a lot of caution in predicting it.

The economics of New Work are at least plausible; its downfall is the least plausible of its features. I was expecting something like Kodacell and Westinghouse spinning off their New Work branches, or selling them to more nimble, lower overhead companies that would commodify the networked organization and finance that the giant companies have to offer. The history of open source has already shown that you don’t really need a large company to achieve coordination, after all. The book, however, ends on a deeply pessimistic note: the large evil company has won the battle against the ride movement and recruited Lester, neutralizing his innovative potential; Perry has become a sort of wandering troubleshooter, lonely and poor. Doctorow the economist seems to be supportive of the innovation society, but Doctorow the author definitely is not. I wonder – really wonder – which if the two Doctorows will be right in the end.

Attenzione a tutti i wikicratici: come promesso, vi ringrazio tutti per nome e cognome nel libro (ho deciso di mettere una sezione apposta che si chiama appunto “I wikicratici”). Non sono sicuro di come devo chiamare alcuni di voi, perché sul blog avete usato dei nick tipo “lg” o “Robertina”. Direi che faccio così: se vi va bene che il ringraziamento su libro sia rivolto al nickname usato sul blog, non c’è bisogno che facciate niente. Se invece volete che usi il nome al posto del nickname ( o magari anche viceversa!) fatemelo sapere: un commento qui va benissimo. Se non vi ricordate come vi siete firmati, controllate la Hall of Fame.

UPDATE: ho dovuto mettere una scadenza: lunedì 30 agosto ore 10.30.

An unusual piece of good news from Italy: the local open data scene – open data are databases owned by the public sector that are made accessible to the general public for reuse and remix – is starting to take off. It does so like everything gets done in Italy, in an irregular fashion, with different authorities doing different things. There is no all-encompassing initiative, no dat.gov or data.gov.uk; I am not aware of one being planned, and if it were I’d be surprised. What there is episodes, early adopters, forward looking people who get stuff done as much as it is in their power to. Lately I got wind of two initiatives: one is the Piemonte region data website, dati.piemonte.it. Its available databases are still few, and not very relevant: I don’t care about local food markets, and foreign states codes I can find on Google anytime, what I’d like to see is data on the regional administration’s expenditure, on health care, waste recycling etc., so as to be able to compare across towns and provinces. But it’s a start, and there’s a survey of how citizens are using the data.

The second initiative comes from the State’s Accounting Service. Here the data are real juicy: the state’s budget and balance sheet AND the transfers to regional authorities for financial years 2007 to 2010. If you really want to understand the discussion about budget cuts, nothing better than download the data and play around, maybe producing some nice colourful chart as an added bonus.

This is a wonderful opportunity or the civic hackers David Osimo likes to talk about. We don’t need to take things on trust anymore (or to mistrust them, which amounts to the same thing because we are still unable to form our opinions autonomously); when we hear that “health care expenditure is out of control” or “this government is cutting culture’s life support” we can actually download the data and do the math to see for ourselves how much truth there is in those statements, and share our conclusions with our peers. This way, too, do democracies grow and thrive.

Sorry, this post in Italian only. For an automated translation cluck on the “translate” link.

Come molti altri, sto cercando di farmi un’idea sulla morte del web profetizzata da Wired. Se mi viene in mente qualcosa di sensato da dire in merito lo farò. Per ora la cosa che mi sembra più urgente è lanciare un “allarme infografiche”.

L’articolo di cui tutto il morituro web sta discutendo si apre con una bellissima infografica colorata in perfetto stile Wired (questa qui a sinistra), in cui si vede bene che la quota del traffico internet (cioè pacchetti di dati TCP/IP) attribuibile al web è in calo: da questo calo parte la discussione. A questo punto, Rob Beschizza su Boing Boing ha provato a ridisegnare il grafico partendo dagli stessi dati (la fonte è Cisco) ma in valore assoluto, tenendo conto che il traffico web si è moltiplicato per un fattore centomila dal 1996 al 2005, e il traffico Internet si è moltiplicato per un fattore sette dal 2006 al 2010. Il risultato è che il web non solo cresce, ma cresce a una velocità crescente. Il grafico è risultato così:

Oltretutto, diversi commentatori hanno osservato che misurare l’uso di internet in consumo di banda, invece che – diciamo – in tempo di fruizione sopravvaluta l’importanza degli usi multimedia (video e VOIP) rispetto a quelli basati sul testo (email).  Tutta la discussione di Anderson assume un sapore completamente diverso: è comunque intelligente e argomentata, ma perde l’aura profetica, e anzi sembra un po’ una roba furbetta e vagamente interessata.

Non saprei dire se il web è morto o meno, ma sono abbastanza sicuro che è il momento di farsi qualche domanda seria sulla visualizzazione dell’informazione. Negli ultimi anni si è lavorato molto su questo tema, a partire dal presupposto – corretto – che l’evoluzione ci ha dotato di un cervello molto veloce nell’elaborare gli stimoli visivi.  Un grafico a torta comunica in modo molto più immediato di una tabella o, Dio non voglia, di un’equazione. A partire da questa considerazione uno dei miei eroi, il pioniere dei computers Douglas Englelbart, finì per concepire i computers come macchine con cui comunicare tramite un’interfaccia grafica. Le infografiche sono una punta avanzata di questo movimento, metà informazione, metà arte.

Ma forse l’elaborazione più lenta ha anche un vantaggio: ci permette di prendere un po’ di confidenza con il dato, di esaminarlo con un minimo di distanza critica. L’immagine, ancora di più del dato, ha un potere seduttivo che può essere strumentalizzato, e spesso lo è. Nel campo specifico degli open data, cioè dell’apertura e diffusione delle basi dati delle autorità pubbliche, Daniel McQuillan (tra gli altri) ha avuto modo di commentare che la visualizzazione, proprio per questo motivo, finisce per non dare trazione alle comunità.

Alle tre categorie di menzogne di Sir Charles Dilke — bugie, maledette bugie e statistiche — se ne potrebbe aggiungere una quarta, quella delle infografiche: che sarebbero poi menzogne al quadrato, perché già si basano su dati “massaggiati” (la scelta di Wired di usare quote di banda anziché valori assoluti secondo me è furbetta, scandalistica e in definitiva in contrasto con la deontologia dei giornalisti)  e ad essi aggiungono la seduzione delle immagini e del colore. Vabbeh, direte voi, è Wired, mica l’American Economic Review, serve a fare un po’ di chiacchiere al prossimo aperitivo. Mica tanto, perché l’argomento trattato è politicamente molto carico, e vengono dichiarati vincitori Jobs, Zuckerberg e i sostenitori degli ecosistemi chiusi. Se noi ci comportiamo come se la previsione fosse vera, contrinbuiremo a farla avverare, comprando iPad e apps. L’orientamento “leggero” dell’opinione pubblica non è privo di conseguenze, come si vede bene nella politica italiana.

Conclusione 1: come al solito, non ci sono pranzi gratis. L’abilità del cervello nell’elaborare stimoli grafici lo rende anche più vulnerabile ai tentativi di influenzare questa elaborazione. Conclusione 2: se qualcuno vuole convincervi di qualcosa, e a sostegno delle sue conclusioni tira fuori una grigia, brutta tabella in bianco e nero è probabile che abbia in mano qualcosa: se tira fuori una bella infografica professionale e colorata, beh, meglio stare in guardia. E tenere d’occhio il portafoglio.

Starting yesterday folks reading me through Google Reader may have seen “phantom posts” that are not visible on the actual website. Apparently Reader is taking some time in syncing my feed. I apologize, and call for patience: problems have been solved on my side, it’s just a matter of time. The next post will be online on Monday, August 23rd.

I’m taking advantage of most people being on holiday to do some reading and work on some posts that demand a little more labour than most, and thet I plan to publish starting August 23rd. Here’s a few titles:

• Calls to promote creativity and administrative cultures: a comparison across two experiences
• Spaghetti open data
• The economics of Cory Doctorow’s Makers

Catch you in a week or so, have a great August!

It had to happen, sooner or later: money and finance are the most highly visible among the many topics of interest to economists. Since I am an economist, and easily accessible through this blog and my social media presence, Wired’s Fabio Deotto asked me for a comment on a piece of financial news: apparently Facebook is considering bringing Credits, the virtual currency used for buying Facebook apps, to the wider world as a universal means of payment. Is it possible to leverage Facebook’s 500+ million users to launch a new global currency and revolutionize the world of finance?

In the best tradition of economics, my answer was that the question is wrong, for many reasons: there are already dozens of virtual currencies that work quite well but did not revolutionize anything; currencies need to be aggressively backed by reserves and open market operations, or they’ll depreciate; credit card companies have already in place globally accepted virtual money operations with many more users than Facebook — only in the USA there were 1.3 billion credit cards in 2006 (the full article, in Italian, is here. But the real answer is that I know nothing about finance, so I recommended that Fabio talk to a real money expert.

This made me realize that not knowing anything about finance is a bad idea for an economist as of 2010. The rising tide of social innovation contains a lot of financial innovation: just think of internet-based microlending agency Kiva; of Italian “community lending” platform Del community lending dell’italiana Prestiamoci; of crowdfunding services for the arts; of Solidarity Purchasing Groups, another Italian invention (yes, Italians, seem to be right on the frontier of social financial innovation). My conclusion: time to go back to studying money. Money is difficult, counterintuitive: its hard to figure out just what it is and where it draws its magical powers to get us the things we need. Can anybody suggest a book to start from? Rigorous, but starting from the basics, ideally with a historic approach? I tried reading Niall ferguson’s The Ascent of Money, but that’s maybe not advanced enough. Thanks in advance for any suggestions you might pass along!

Contrordine Compagni hosts a brilliant post contained in a World Bank blog called Crisistalk, created as a space for the Bank to contribute to the debate about the financial crisis, then in full rage. That blog has since been taken down: I think this post must be preserved, as it conveys the (rather stormy) climate in financial institutions at the time. So I (Alberto) volunteered with Ryan Hahn, blogger-in-chief at the Bank’s Private Sector Development blog, to host it myself. While unable to give me formal permission, Ryan has been quite encouraging: I mean well, after all. Should the author or the World Bank Group have any issues with it, I will take down the post immediately.

The post was published by John Nellis on 2 March 2009. Nellis was a Senior Manager in the World Bank’s Private Sector Development Department. He is now Principal of the consulting/research firm, International Analytics.

On February 24 I attended the first day of a two and half day World Bank conference on Markets and Crises: What Next and How? Two sessions were particularly interesting: the keynote address by Nassim Taleb, author of “The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable,” and a panel on “What has the financial crisis taught us about risk management?” with Mark Carey from the Federal Reserve Bank of the US, Stijn Claessens from the IMF, Martha Cummings from Banco Santander and Mark Zandi of Moody’s.

First, Mr. Taleb. He is wildly entertaining and delightfully iconoclastic; he left no one in or outside the room uninsulted. All economists are worthless. Certain central bankers are charlatans and fools. French bankers are the worst of all possible bankers. No professor of finance has ever been right about anything (especially those who for years kept rejecting his submissions to finance journals). No one on the staff of the New York Times knows anything about finance or economics or statistics. Regressions are useless; models are worse. “People who use history as a guide do not understand history.”

The last is the essence of his central thesis — the common and fatal error of those working in and around economics is that they generally assume that what happened yesterday is highly likely to occur again today; they see and model the world in terms of “Gaussian” statistics; that is, the normal distribution. But his study (of forty years of data on things that have been priced) leads him to see that in finance and economics “most of the variance is concentrated in a very small number of events.” (This is measured by “kurtosis,” a term in statistics meaning the extent to which rare extreme deviations from the norm explain more of the variance than frequent smaller movements around the norm. Phew!)

So, convinced that “as risks mount fewer and fewer outsized events are required to bring the whole system down,” he some years back predicted doom and started shorting the market, day after day after day, losing money day after day…..etc. Until last year. Bam. With the market gains (and the loot from two million copies of the book sold so far) he is now invited to World Bank seminars to point out with gusto their (our) ignorance and culpability, and everyone else’s too. I got the distinct impression that he is happy with the money but much more enthralled by the vindication against all those who called him a kook, a cultist, or worse. He is having a grand time. And he was right about the crash.

When it comes to the question “So what should we do now?” he is not helpful. Questions included, “How should we go about reforming the regulatory system?” Answer: Don’t try to reform it; scrap it. “But what should we do?” Answer: Abolish debt. All of the world’s great religions agree; there should be no interest. “Did regulators make the crisis worse by their incompetence?” Not an area of interest to him; he is not concerned with minor tinkering with the system. Good-bye.

As I said, rewarding and fun, but of little value to those trying to work their way out of the present mess.

The afternoon seminar was toute autre chose: four earnest, smart, articulate, wonkish insiders admitting some errors and looking hard for practical solutions to an increasingly frightening debacle. But at the end of the session the practical answers were notable by their absence.

Carey, from the US Federal Reserve Bank, argued that bank regulators such as himself had certainly seen signs of problems but thought they were off-white or grayish swans, not black. Small reform would, they hoped and thought, suffice. He stated that this did not derive from a dependence on misguided models, but rather that avoidance of the dramatic is ingrained in financial regulators; that those in central banks must be absolutely sure they are looking at a bubble before trying to use monetary policy to burst it. Knowing in advance that a problem area is a real bubble is not all that simple. And they must also be sure that calling attention to a possible bubble does not create the very situation they are trying most to prevent — a panic. He concluded that increased regulation by itself will not solve the problem; what has taken place is “not a technical problem, but rather a governance problem.” (The distinction was not made clear.)

Martha Cummings has excellent credentials; as head of Risk Analysis at Banco Santander she advised her board that much of the portfolio was incomprehensible and she recommended getting out of lots of loans whose underlying assets were based on impenetrable securities. Thus, Banco Santander is today not in such a poor position as many other banks. She was tougher than Carey; she says we should have seen it coming. Masses of people were and still are living far beyond their means, in debt up to their eyes and leveraged to the hilt. We did know it was coming; we just didn’t know when. We kept thinking we would somehow get 24 hours notice and get out ahead of everyone else—and we were wrong. We knew banks were doing deals to get market share, regardless of profitability; we depended on ratings agencies and models, not facts and basics. We consistently ignored the signals because “no one wanted to end the party.” We ignored a basic fact: “The market can stay irrational far longer than you can remain solvent.” Her advice is on the ruthless side: let housing prices fall to where the market wants them to be; let the lenders and the borrowers take the hit. Trying to prop it all up will fail and make things worse. Let it rip (at least she has a clear point of view).

Mark Zandi of Moody’s first flagellated himself and then all other supposed supervisors of the system. “Both the architecture and the plumbing of the regulatory system were deeply flawed.” No one in the oversight system had responsibility for saying “this is a bad loan.” The lender wanted a fee and passed the mortgage to someone else. The investment bank securitized the loans, took a percentage, and forgot about it. Rating agencies are paid by the lender, not the investor, and they “keep the ball rolling.” Bank regulators failed to recognize or call attention to the problem. And here we are.

All agree: “We forgot the basics. We took a crisis and made it a panic.” And all agree that while more and more dense regulation is now inevitable, they doubt it will really change the essentials. The Basel regulations had little or nothing to do with the crisis, either in terms of abetting or hindering it. Carey said that his many years of experience fitted him to sense, within minutes, a bad bank, but he had long ago been promoted out of bank examination. And if they sent him back to it he would quit; Bank examination is a lousy job, now handled, worldwide, by very young and inexperienced people. The panel agreed that if corporate boards had members who fully understood risk models they might demand sufficient information, examine it carefully, and instruct management on how to act. An unlikely prospect. They all are, to a varying extent, concerned that a new thicket of regulation will slow or halt a quick recovery, but Zandi (of Moody’s) went on record as saying that the Federal Reserve has the capability and responsibility of forecasting bubbles and being much more aggressive on informing the public of their prognostications.

All this was much more depressing than Mr. Black Swan.

In questi giorni, come vi preannunciavo, mi sono dedicato a riscrivere Wikicrazia (è la quarta volta!). Ho riletto attentamente tutti i commenti che mi sono arrivati (quasi 200, contando le mie risposte): complimenti a parte, la maggior parte contengono correzioni o proposte di integrazione su punti specifici. Ci sono però anche — e per fortuna — alcune critiche “di sistema”, cioè critiche che, se accettate, renderebbero inutile tutto il ragionamento. Le posso dividere in due filoni; per chiarezza espositiva mi permetto di esagerare un po’ e chiamarli, rispettivamente, “antidemocratico” e “benaltrista” (seguite i links ai commenti, in cui gli autori esprimono le loro critiche in modo più assennato).

Filone antidemocratico: le persone sono facili da influenzare, e anche la democrazia in fondo è una cosa troppo seria per lasciarla fare al popolo. La wikicrazia non è un correttivo perché non porta alla convergenza alla soluzione “più saggia”. Questa preoccupazione è esposta da Francesco Silvestri, Paolo (che scrive in prima persona plurale, perché affiancato dal suo e mio amico Stefano) e Tito. Mi scrive Paolo in una mail (niente paura, mi ha autorizzato a pubblicarla):

Tu sostieni che se c’è abbastanza gente che guarda si correggono gli errori, e citi il caso di Linux e di Wikipedia. Bene, hai ragione. Nel caso di Linux, c’è un gruppo, una rete di tecnici con uno scopo preciso e condiviso, gli errori, se così posso dire, sono dello stesso ordine dell’obiettivo, se non si eliminano l’obiettivo non può essere raggiunto. [...] Nel caso delle politiche gli errori e i dati, sono di ordine diverso dalle conclusioni, l’importante è che tutto suoni bene [...] Dunque, non si guardano e non si trovano errori, se si trovano la cosa non è troppo importante per il dibattito.

Filone benaltrista: la wikicrazia è un gingillo carino, ma se i governanti sono ottusi e corrotti nulla può. Questo è un tema saltato fuori più volte; due commenti in cui si vede bene sono il precedente commento di Paolo (si legga la parte dove si parla dei rifiuti in Campania) e uno di Giuseppe Paruolo (che è anche l’unico contributo alla discussione lasciato da un politico: Giuseppe, un informatico, è stato assessore comunale a Bologna). Scrive Giuseppe:

Credo sia illusorio pensare che un approccio wiki possa di per sè impedire malgoverno o malafede [...] La buonafede di chi governa è un prerequisito indispensabile.

Prendo molto sul serio tanto le critiche quanto le persone che le esprimono, che stimo. Ma non sono d’accordo.

Agli “antidemocratici” c’è un’obiezione facile: nemmeno la democrazia rappresentativa garantisce che si faccia sempre la scelta più saggia: anzi, sappiamo da Churchill che essa è “il peggior sistema di governo mai inventato… salvo tutti gli altri”. Tuttavia rimango abbastanza sereno, la storia ci ha mostrato che i despoti illuminati possono vincere qualche partita, ma il torneo lo vincono sempre le democrazie, con tutti i loro difetti: allargare il novero di coloro che esercitano potere e influenza sembra garantire risultati migliori. Ma c’è anche un’obiezione specifica, ed è che, invece, nella mia esperienza il consenso emerge quasi sempre. Non sono le persone a convergere, ma le conversazioni: cioè, nessuno che sia veramente convinto di una cosa cambia idea, ma chi si avvicina al processo in modo abbastanza laico vede emergere una posizione nettamente più convincente delle altre. In genere succede che a un certo punto qualcuno propone una cosa e tutti si mettono a discutere della proposta, ignorando completamente le posizioni precedenti (e magari contrapposte). Il messaggio è chiaro: quelle posizioni, semplicemente, non hanno trazione, e quindi non hanno legittimità. Certo, chi le sostiene può continuare a spingerle, ma otterrà solo di irritare gli altri: ha già detto la sua, la discussione è andata avanti, cosa vuole ancora? Se le decisioni sono tanto più legittimate quanto più sono partecipate, il dissidente si trova perdente in una discussione fortemente legittimata.

Ai “benaltristi” rispondo che, in un ambiente informativamente trasparente e in cui l’attenzione è una risorsa abbondante le rogne saltano fuori prima o poi e il malgoverno diventa più difficile. La versione finale di Wikicrazia riporta questo esempio canadese, in cui una politica di open data ha permesso di scoprire 3 miliardi di dollari di evasione fiscale (la scoperta l’ha fatta un cittadino, non l’agenzia delle entrate). Mi viene in mente il passo famosissimo in cui Adam Smith scrive che noi non ci affidiamo alla benevolenza del macellaio per mangiare, ma alla sua capacità di fare il proprio interesse; non vedo perché la cosa non dovrebbe valere anche per i politici e i governanti. Non chiediamo loro di essere santi o eroi, ma persone ragionevolmente intelligenti che agiscono in un ambiente che fornisce loro gli incentivi giusti.

Troppo ottimista? Forse. Ma in Wikicrazia ho deciso di non lasciare nessuno spazio alla lamentazione e al cinismo, al “governo ladro” e al vaffa. Sono posizioni che comprendo e rispetto, ma in questa fase scelgo di non farle mie e di concentrare i miei modesti sforzi su ciò che possiamo migliorare qui e adesso, senza aspettare cambiamenti sistemici o rinnovamenti culturali. E senza scuse.