The people with the answers

Nick:

Larry Sanger, the controversial online encyclopedia's cofounder and leading apostate, announced yesterday, at a conference in Berlin, that he is spearheading the launch of a competitor to Wikipedia called The Citizendium. Sanger describes it as "an experimental new wiki project that combines public participation with gentle expert guidance."

The Citizendium will begin as a "fork" of Wikipedia, taking all of Wikipedia's current articles and then editing them under a new model that differs substantially from the model used by what Sanger calls the "arguably dysfunctional" Wikipedia community. "First," says Sanger, in explaining the primary differences, "the project will invite experts to serve as editors, who will be able to make content decisions in their areas of specialization, but otherwise working shoulder-to-shoulder with ordinary authors. Second, the project will require that contributors be logged in under their own real names, and work according to a community charter. Third, the project will halt and actually reverse some of the 'feature creep' that has developed in Wikipedia."

I've been thinking about Wikipedia, and about what makes a bad Wikipedia article so bad, for some time - this March 2005 post took off from some earlier remarks by Larry Sanger. I'm not attempting to pass judgment on Wikipedia as a whole - there are plenty of good Wikipedia articles out there, and some of them are very good indeed. But some of them are bad. Picking on an old favourite of mine, here's the first paragraph of the Wikipedia article on the Red Brigades, with my comments.

The Red Brigades (Brigate Rosse in Italian, often abbreviated as BR) are

The word is 'were'. The BR dissolved in 1981; its last successor group gave up the ghost in 1988. There's a small and highly violent group out there somewhere which calls itself "Nuove Brigate Rosse" - the New Red Brigades - but its continuity with the original BR is zero. This is a significant disagreement, to put it mildly.

a militant leftist group located in Italy. Formed in 1970, the Marxist Red Brigades

'Marxist' is a bizarre choice of epithet. Most of the Italian radical left was Marxist, and almost all of it declined to follow the BR's lead. Come to that, the Italian Communist Party (one of the BR's staunchest enemies) was Marxist. Terry Eagleton's a Marxist; Jeremy Hardy's a Marxist; I'm a Marxist myself, pretty much. The BR had a highly unusual set of political beliefs, somewhere between Maoism, old-school Stalinism and pro-Tupamaro insurrectionism. 'Maoist' would do for a one-word summary. 'Marxist' is both over-broad and misleading.

sought to create a revolutionary state through armed struggle

Well, yes. And no. I mean, I don't think it's possible to make any sense of the BR without acknowledging that, while they did have a famous slogan about portare l'attacco al cuore dello stato ('attacking at the heart of the state'), their anti-state actions were only a fairly small element of what they did. To begin with they were a factory-based group, who took action against foremen and personnel managers; in their later years - which were also their peak years - the BR, like other armed groups, got drawn into what was effectively a vendetta with the police, prioritising revenge attacks over any kind of 'revolutionary' programme. You could say that the BR were a revolutionary organisation & consequently had a revolutionary programme throughout, even if their actions didn't always match it - but how useful would this be?

and to separate Italy from the Western Alliance

Whoa. I don't think the BR were particularly in favour of Italy's NATO membership, but the idea that this was one of their key goals is absurd. If the BR had been a catspaw for the KGB, intent on fomenting subversion so as to destabilise Italy, then this probably would have been high on their list. But they weren't, and it wasn't.

In 1978, they kidnapped and killed former Prime Minister Aldo Moro under obscure circumstances.

Remarkably well-documented circumstances, I'd have said.

After 1984's scission

This is just wrong - following growing and unresolvable factionalism, the BR formally dissolved in October 1981.

Red Brigades managed with difficulty to survive the official end of the Cold War in 1989

This is both confused and wrong. Given that there was a split, how would the BR have survived beyond 1981 (or 1984), let alone 1989? As for the BR's successor groups, the last one to pack it in was last heard from in 1988.

even though it is now a fragile group with no original members.

Or rather, even though the name is now used by a small group about which very little is know, but which is not believed to have any connection to the original group (whose members are after all knocking on a bit by now).

Throughout the 1970’s the Red Brigades were credited with 14,000 acts of violence.

Good grief. Credited by whom? According to the sources I've seen, between 1970 and 1981 Italian armed struggle groups were responsible for a total of 3,258 actions, including 110 killings; the BR's share of the total came to 472 actions, including 58 killings. (Most 'actions' consisted of criminal damage and did not involve personal violence.) I'd be the first to admit that the precision of these figures is almost certainly spurious, but even if we doubled that figure of 472 we'd be an awful long way short of 14,000.

I'm not even going to look at the body of the article.

I think there are two main problems here; the good news is that Larry's proposals for the neo-Wikipedia (Nupedia? maybe not) would address both of them.

Firstly, first mover advantage. The structure of Wikipedia creates an odd imbalance between writers and editors. Writing a new article is easy: the writer can use whatever framework he or she chooses, in terms both of categories used to structure the entry and of the overall argument of the piece. Making minor edits to an article is easy: mutter 1984? no way, it was 1981!, log on, a bit of typing and it's done. But making major edits is hard - you can see from the comments above just how much work would be needed to make that BR article acceptable, starting from what's there now. It would literally be easier to write a new article. What's more, making edits stick is hard; I deleted one particularly ignorant falsehood from the BR article myself a few months ago, only to find my edit reverted the next day. (Of course, I re-reverted it. So there!)

Larry's suggestion of getting experts on board is very much to the point here. Slap my face and call me a credentialled academic, but I don't believe that everyone is equally qualified to write an encyclopedia article about their favourite topic - and I do think it matters who gets the first go.

Secondly, gaming the system. Wikipedia is a community as well as an encyclopedia. I'll pass over Larry's suggestion that Wikipedia is dysfunctional as a community, but I do think it's arguable that some behaviours which work well for Wikipedia-the-community are dysfunctional for Wikipedia-the-resource. It's been suggested, for instance, that what really makes Wikipedia special is the 'history' pages, which take the lid off the debate behind the encyclopedia and let us see knowledge in the process of formation. It follows from this that to show the world a single, 'definitive' version of an article on a subject would actually be a step backwards: The discussion tab on Wikipedia is a great place to point to your favorite version ... Does the world need a Wikipedia for stick-in-the-muds? W. A. Gerrard objects:

Of what value is publicly documenting the change history of an encyclopedia entry? How can something that purports to be authoritative allow the creation of alternative versions which readers can adopt as favorites?

If an attempt to craft a wiki that strives for accuracy, even via a flawed model, is considered something for “stick-in-the-muds”, then it’s apparent that many of Wikipedia’s supporters value the dynamics of its community more than the credibility of the product they deliver.

I think this is exactly right: the history pages are worth much more to members of the Wikipedia community than to Wikipedia users. People like to form communities and communities like to chat - and edits and votes are the currency of Wikipedia chat. And gaming the system is fun (hence the word 'game'). Aaron Swartz quotes comments about Wikipedia regulars who delete your newly[-]create[d] article without hesitation, or revert your changes and accuse you of vandalis[m] without even checking the changes you made, or who "edited" thousands of articles ... [mostly] to remove material that they found unsuitable. This clearly suggest the emergence of behaviours which are driven more by social expectations than by a concern for Wikipedia. The second writer quoted above continues: Indeed, some of the people-history pages contained little "awards" that people gave each other -- for removing content from Wikipedia.

Now, all systems can be gamed, and all communities chat. The question is whether the chatting and the gaming can be harnessed for the good of the encyclopedia - or, failing that, minimised. I'm not optimistic about the first possibility, and I suspect Larry Sanger isn't either. Larry does, however, suggest a very simple hack which would help with the second: get everyone to use their real name. This would, among other things, make it obvious when a writer had authority in a given area. I don't entirely agree with Aaron's conclusion:

Larry Sanger famously suggested that Wikipedia must jettison its anti-elitism so that experts could feel more comfortable contributing. I think the real solution is the opposite: Wikipedians must jettison their elitism and welcome the newbie masses as genuine contributors to the project, as people to respect, not filter out.

This is half right: Wikipedia-the-community has produced an elite of 'regulars', whose influence over Wikipedia-the-resource derives from their standing in the community rather than from any kind of claim to expertise. I agree with Aaron that this is an unhealthy situation, but I think Larry was right as well. The artificial elitism of the Wikipedia community doesn't only marginalise the 'masses' who contribute most of the original content; it also sidelines the subject-area experts who, within certain limited domains, have a genuine claim to be regarded as an elite.

I don't know if the Citizendium is going to address these problems in practice; I don't know if the Citizendium is going anywhere full stop. But I think Larry Sanger is asking the right questions. It's increasingly clear that Wikipedia isn't just facing in two directions at once, it's actually two different things - and what's good for Wikipedia-the-community isn't necessarily good for Wikipedia-the-resource.

Back in the garage

I have begun to see what I think is a promising trend in the publishing world that may just transform the industry for good.

Paul Hartzog's Many-to-Many post on publishing draws some interesting conclusions from the success of Charlie Stross's Accelerando (nice one, Charlie). but makes me a bit nervous, partly because of the liberal use of excitable bolding.

What I am suggesting is happening is the reversal of traditional publishing, i.e. the transformation of the system in which authors create and distribute their work. In the old system, it is assumed that the publishing process acts as a quality control filter ... but it ends up merely being a profit-capturing filter.
[...]
Conversely, in the new system, the works are made available, and it is up to the community-at-large to pass judgement on their quality. In the emerging system, authors create and distribute their work, and readers, individually and collectively, including fans as well as editors and peers, review, comment, rank, and tag, everything.

Setting aside the formatting - and the evangelistic tone, something which never fails to set my teeth on edge - this is all interesting stuff. My problem is that I'm not sure about the economics of it. It's not so much that writers won't write if they don't get paid - writers will write, full stop - as that writers won't eat if they don't get paid: some money has to change hands some time. If the kind of development Paul is talking about takes hold, I can imagine a range of more-or-less unintended consequences, all with different overtones but few of them, to this jaundiced eye, particularly desirable:

1. Mass amateurisation means that nobody pays for anything, which in turn means that nobody makes a living from writing; this is essentially the RIAA/BPI anti-filesharing nightmare scenario, transposed to literature
2. Mass amateurisation doesn't touch the Dan Brown/Katie Price market, but gains traction in specialist areas of literature to the point where nobody can make a living from writing unless they're writing for the mass market; this is Charlie Gillett's argument for keeping CDs expensive (and the line the BPI would use against filesharing if they had any sense)
   
3. Downloads like Accelerando function essentially as tasters and people end up buying just as many actual books, if not more; this scenario will also be familiar from filesharing arguments, as it's the line generally used to counter the previous two
   
4. Mass amateur production becomes a new sphere of economic activity, linked in with and subordinate to the major mainstream operators: this is the MySpace scenario (at least, the MySpace makes money for Murdoch scenario)
5. Mass amateur production becomes a new sphere of non-economic activity, with a few star authors subsidised by publishing companies for the sake of the cachet they bring: the open source scenario
6. Mass amateur production becomes a new sphere of economic activity, existing on the margins and in the shadows, out of the reach of the major mainstream operators: the punk scenario (or, for older readers, the hippie scenario)
   

We can dismiss the first, RIAA-nightmare scenario. The third ('tasters') would be bearable, although it wouldn't go halfway to justifying Paul's argument. Most of the rest look pretty ghastly to me. Perhaps Paul is thinking in terms of the last scenario or something like it - but in that case I'd have to say that his optimism is just as misplaced, for different but related reasons, as the pessimism of the first scenario (although a new wave of garage literature would be a fine thing to see).

The trouble with making your own history is that you don't do it in circumstances of your own choosing. The participatory buzz of Web 2.0 tends to eat away at the structural and procedural walls that stop people getting their hands on stuff - but that can just mean that only the strongest and highest walls are left standing. Besides, walls can be useful, particularly if you want to keep a roof over your head.