So here I am in Tucson, Arizona, standing in a dry streambed reeking of sunscreen
with a notebook computer contraption in my hands and a walkie-talkie hooked on my
pants and a squawking headset barely staying on my head, watching people tying white
cotton string from one tree to another. Every time I move my head the headset slips
forward a little more, but my hands are completely filled with this device, a fairly
delicate thing due to the wire and duct tape and Velcro attachments, and I can't find any
place safe to put it down. So I'm trying not to move my head, and I'm trying to look like
an intelligent and purposeful person at the same time. It's hard.
I had written a little piece of the software that's running on the notebook computer,
which is a GRiDPAD (pen-based, small, DOS). There are three others like it scattered
around the canyon I'm in. Each has a tiny wireless modem and a battery stuck to the
back, and each is running a sort of collaborative spreadsheet: data entered in one is
quickly picked up by all the others. I'll call this contraption The Device from now on,
to avoid funny capitalizations.
This event is an experiment in wireless communication and in collaboration at a
distance. The main participants are a bunch of elementary school kids and their science
teachers. They're here to study the canyon, and are split into four groups, each of
which is being deployed to a different spot to take environmental measurements (pH,
temperature, and so on) and to count species. Each group has one of The Devices, so
once we're set up everybody will be able to see everybody else's data all the time.
Each group also has a walkie-talkie, so they'll be able to talk to one another. We've
just arrived for the very first field trials.
The string people have finished, neatly delineating the area that is our group's
responsibility. The kids energetically begin fooling with thermometers and vials and
yardsticks and--everyone's favorite--sling psychrometers. I finally find a rock flat
enough to put The Device on, just as the headset lets go and slips over my eyes, pulling
the earplug out of my ear. Gathering together the shredded remains of my dignity, I
disentangle the headset from my ears and sunglasses, put it back on my head, and
reinsert the little earplug in my ear. Who designed this thing? It just won't stay put.
Maybe my head is a weird shape, or maybe this headset isn't meant to be used with
sunglasses on. I take off the headset, take off my sunglasses, put the headset back on,
and it's just as bad. Must be my head.
There are some very large issues that are touched on by this experiment, directly or
indirectly: the implications of wireless communication, the nature of collaboration,
and the nature of communication itself. I'll take a closer look at these issues, with the
assumption up front that the goal is to provide technology that can enable--and
hopefully enhance--collaboration at a distance.
First of all, what does wirelessness mean exactly? At face value, not much: it means
that the wires are gone. The information flow hasn't changed; it's just using a different
medium to flow in (or on, or around, or whatever). One person involved in this
project compared the advent of wireless communication to taking down the fence
around a herd of captive buffalo. Will they burst from their former confinement,
joyously kicking their heels (I'm not sure if buffalo have heels, but you get the idea)
and searching out new limits to conquer? Or will they not even notice, so used to the
way things were that they can't conceive of anything else? That would be like some
large, unimaginative corporation's vision of wirelessness: the wires vanish, which
saves a little money and hassle setting up the office, but nothing else changes. Clearly
an approach like this is doesn't take advantage of the situation.
Wireless communication adds a whole new degree of freedom to human communication,
that of space. It makes communication position-independent, it unsticks people
geographically. This is potentially a far-reaching freedom if high-bandwidth wireless
communication becomes pervasive. Many existing institutions--schools, businesses,
and so on--that largely evolved from the need to have a central physical place are now
freed up, just like the buffalo, and have lots of new territory to explore. Maybe there
are other ways of doing things without people's bodies in attendance that we haven't
thought of yet, since we haven't had the opportunity. But will people take advantage of
this new freedom? Or are we too cozy, too entrenched in our old familiar ways to
transcend them?
Periodically pushing my headset back onto my head, I look around: chaos reigns, but
it's a good, busy, productive sort of chaos. The kids are measuring things, counting
plants and birds and spiders, clambering around in the brush, chattering incessantly
on their walkie-talkies, and entering data into The Device; the video crew--ostensibly
documenting the event but mostly invoking Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle--are
running around poking their cameras and microphones at people; the adults are
watching carefully, coordinating when necessary, commenting on the action over their
own walkie-talkie channel.
One thing that surprises me about how the kids are relating to The Device is that they
pretty much take it for granted. I guess I expected them either to ignore it or to be
amazed by it, but they seem to just take it in stride, and use it when it's appropriate.
It occurs to me that that's probably the best reaction we could hope for, to see it for
what it is--a tool--and use it accordingly. And yes, by golly, the kids are
collaborating a little. It's hard to tell, though, whether they'd collaborate on their own.
They know that's what the adults are looking for, and every school kid learns early on
to do what they think their teachers want.
What The Device provides very nicely is a kind of shared data space. It's as if each
group has a magic looking glass that lets them all see the same thing, despite being
physically separated. What The Device doesn't provide is a communication channel that
lets them discuss the data with each other. The walkie-talkies provide that channel,
although in a stilted manner. To collaborate effectively, you really need both kinds of
communication: the communication of data (the shared thing you're collaborating on)
and the communication of instructions (the conversation about the thing you're
collaborating on).
One really interesting point (hotly debated in the post-study debriefing) is the
importance of including voice capabilities in new communication/collaboration
hardware. There is no question that voice, or more generally language, is the primary
medium we use to communicate. The debate pivots on whether voice should be provided
de facto in the technology or whether there is some new, as- yet-undiscovered mode of
communication that technology can provide us that would render voice communication
unnecessary, or at least optional. Pretty heady stuff, no? We're talking about a
quantum leap here, a revolutionary change away from the familiar. Using voice only
because it's the way we do it now might hinder or prevent our moving forward into the
grand and glorious communication revolution.
On the other hand, why should we not provide voice? Voice compression technology is
advancing quickly because of cellular demand. Good-quality voice can be transmitted at
4800 bits per second now, and soon it will be 2400. Those bandwidths are easy and
getting easier and cheaper all the time. Full-duplex real-time voice transmission (in
other words, a conversation) also provides a huge degree of familiarity to people, and
it really adds to the feeling of being connected. Isn't that the goal? To be apart but not
to feel apart? Voice alone provides lots of that "in the same space" kind of feeling. My
thoughts seem to keep circling back to one central question: should we use this radical
new wireless technology to adopt (and then attempt to improve upon) the way people
communicate and collaborate now, or should we throw out all the rules and go for
something really new? If you're interested in selling products today, probably you
want something like the former. If you're a wild- eyed visionary intent on changing
the world, you'll tend toward the latter. And in reality, let's face it, you always end up
with something in between.
In my humble and inexpert opinion, we ought to build from familiarity. I don't really
have any facts or studies to back me up, just personal observations and a strong feeling
that building from existing modes of communication is the most effective way to get
what we want. And I don't think that this method necessarily precludes radical
advances. Look at the Macintosh. Few people would argue against the fact that it was a
radical leap from any other machine. But the very thing that made it radical was its
familiarity, its humanness . Humanness in a machine is extremely powerful, and
extremely attractive to people.
Maybe I just have a soft spot for humans, being one myself, but I tend to give them a
lot of credit. The advent of wireless communication does remove a fence, but it is a
fence around people, not buffalo. People explore, it's one of the things they're best at.
They won't stay huddled in the center of the corral for long. And I also believe that
people already know how to collaborate. If you and I are standing next to each other
looking at a piece of paper that we're working on together, we won't have trouble
proceeding. So if we can provide communication tools that are truly transparent, I
think that collaboration will fall out automatically. Now don't get me wrong. I know
that there's plenty of room for improvement in the way people work together, but I
think the communication tools need to be available before we can make much progress
in collaboration. And yeah, I really think we should provide voice, if we can. If there
are better ways to communicate, I suspect it will be quite a while until we find them,
and in the meantime voice is the best we've got and really does make people feel
connected.
It will of course take a while for all these things to come to fruition, but we are
tantalizingly close. I think the best way to proceed is to build what we can right now,
and get it out into the world as quickly as possible. Then, to learn how to make it
better, we should watch very closely what people do with it. This way the tools will
evolve as natural extensions of the people who use them, which seems like a good goal
to me. Maybe if the headset makers had followed this approach . . .
DAVE JOHNSON was born in southern California, but moved elsewhere as a small
boy, so he's never even been on a surfboard and doesn't say "totally" unless he means
it. He did most of his growing up in a suburb of Chicago (and consequently has strong
opinions about pizza and snow shovels), but was dragged kicking and screaming back to
southern California at the age of seventeen. As soon as he could, he left for college at
Humboldt State University, which was as far as he could get from San Bernardino and
still be in the California school system. He and his wife Lisa now make their home in
San Francisco with their two dogs and two cats (which is, incidentally, the legal limit
on animals in a San Francisco household). They're currently looking for a big house
elsewhere. *
The ideas and issues discussed in this column did not arise in a vacuum. I'd
like to acknowledge the others who inspired me to think about these things and
provided the grist for the mill. In particular, thanks are due to Wayne Grant and Rick
Borovoy, who dreamed up this project in the first place and were kind enough to let me
participate and observe. Also, I want to thank everyone who attended the post-study
debriefing meeting: Tyde Richards, Kathy Ringstaff, Brian Reilly, and Rifaat "Rick"
Dayem. It was at that meeting that I really began to see the implications and issues
surrounding wireless communications and communication technology in general.*