Meritocracy

Today I attended a workshop as part of the annual Games for Change conference. G4C explores ways that people can use computer games to effect positive social change.

In the workshop we formed into small groups to try our hand at designing potential games for change, based on the brilliant values-based Grow-a-Game Cards approach developed by Mary Flanagan and Helen Nissenbaum. I contributed an idea that our group ended up going with. Actually, I asked the other group members if it would be ok for me to hijack the group agenda for my own purposes, and everybody said that was just fine.




 

Unfortunately, the person who later presented our game got nervous and didn’t convey it properly. One nice thing about having a blog is the way it can help to keep an interesting idea from getting lost. So please indulge me while I try to rescue my crazy proposal.

The basic notion is this: A member of the group had mentioned an upscale Connecticut community whose residents argue that they shouldn’t have to share their resources (eg: money for schools for kids) with less affluent communities. I proposed to build a game which demonstrates that this philosophy could eventually lead to a nation’s ruin.

In particular, I claimed that the economic self-interest of a nation-state is best served by identifying and nurturing the talents of its children, so that those talents can be turned toward increasing the economic wealth of the nation itself. In each generation a certain number of children are born with unusual natural gifts for engineering, or medicine, science or artistic expression. If those kids’ minds are not nurtured within the first seven years of their life, much of that talent is irretrievably lost.

I would argue that a nation’s best “selfish” capitalist strategy, particularly given the competitive pressures of a global economy, is to identify as many of those kids as possible. In a society with entrenched social inequality, a large percentage of those talents will be lost, through substandard housing, education and healthcare. Society never gets the benefit of that potential Einstein or Edison of the next generation.

We proposed to build a game along the lines of “God games” like SimCity or Civilization, but in which a player’s potential resources would come from the random occurance of particularly bright little minds, which if properly nurtured would increase economic wealth in specific ways for any community that contained them.

A player who adopts the strategy of throwing all resources into wealthy enclaves would be able to make short-term gains, but would find that there just weren’t enough bright minds showing up in each generation to sustain maximum growth over time.



I wanted to call the game Meritocracy, but I was out-voted. The group ended up calling it A Leader is Born, which I thought was a bit misleading, since most of the benefit would come from kids who didn’t grow up to be leaders, so much as small-scale economic powerhouses.

BTW: the word “meritocracy” also has a negative meaning (cf. Michael Young’s original coinage of the term in his 1958 book The Rise of the Meritocracy), in which a privileged class hordes resources, justifying its actions by pointing out that its kids are the brightest and most capable. Which is a self-fulfulling prophecy, since these kids become exposed to better education, superior health care and greater opportunities, as well as growing up with higher self-esteem. I would argue that this is a false meritocracy, which actually keeps a society running at only a fraction of its economic potential – which would become clear when playing the Meritocracy game.

I also argued in the group discussion that properly nurtured talented minds in poor communities are actually more economically beneficial to society than are bright young minds that show up in wealthy communities. This is because it is more liketly that talented kids from poor communities will relocate to places where they can help improve local economic potential, whereas rich people generally try not to migrate socially downward. So the talent that a game player can identify and nurture in the next generation of a poor community is actually more valuable for increasing the nation’s wealth over time.

Pretty much all of this got lost in the presentation; we picked one spokeperson, who I think became flustered. Most of the ideas I described above did not come across in her presentation, not even the core idea that gameplay would span multiple generations.

But there is no reason I can’t take back my little Meritocracy game, and use these blog pages to develop it properly. I’m happy to hear any and all suggestions. After all, this blog is a meritocracy!

All the king’s men

Recently I went on a little personal journey through a little bit of American pop-culture history. I saw both Robert Rossen’s All the King’s Men (1949) and Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd (1957). In the Rossen film, Broderick Crawford plays a charismatic self-described hick who develops into a populist demagogue, beloved by the poor folk, and gaining in corruption as he gains in power. Eventually he becomes the despotic and neo-fascist Governor of his state, just one step away from the White House.

In the Kazan film (screenplay by the great Bud Schulberg), Andy Griffith plays a charismatic young country boy who parlays his “aw shucks” charm into a successful radio show. He continues to gain power and influence, eventually getting one step away from installing a neo-fascist into the White House.

By the way, if you only know Andy Griffith from his genial Andy of Mayberry persona, you’re in for a real treat. In this film he plays a character who is not merely monstrous, but also layered, complex, full of contractions. It is a genuinely great performance.

 

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Both films are enormously powerful and effective, and both tap into the same fears: that democracy is fragile, and is always in danger of being destroyed from within by a corrupt charismatic figure who has the charm and wiles to win over the uneducated poor. On the one hand, both films were clearly reflecting cold war fears – the spectre of Communism as insidiuous opiate of the masses – but in fact the monster who arises in both films is not actually a friend to the poor, but rather secretly allies himself with the very rich, in order to pull off a far-right-wing takeover of the United States.

It’s fascinating to compare these two films in another way: Writer/producer/director Rossen was blacklisted in the McCarthy era as a communist fellow-traveller, whereas Elia Kazan famously supported the purge of Hollywood leftists by the House Committee on Un-American Activities.

Both of these films are arguably very relevant today. There may be no way to know what the current occupant of the White House has actually been thinking for the last seven years, but it is clear that our nation has been led into some very questionable places mainly because many very sincere citizens without a lot of money were won over by the down-home folksiness and country charm of a man who is in fact very much a friend to the extremely rich.

It seems that over half a century ago, from opposite ends of the political spectrum, we were warned. And not just warned: We were told exactly what to look for.

You could do that

I just saw the very last evening of the week long Toy Theatre Festival, which means I’ve just seen about twenty miniature puppet shows by various artists. There is a warmth and love from audience to performer that pervades these shows which is quite different from anything you generally feel in a movie theatre or at a Broadway show. I now realize that part of my brain has been working away trying to understand this feeling. I think I’ve got it.

When you see a film, or traditional theatre, there is a definite sense of being on the outside looking in. You are aware that you are seeing an experience which took entire teams of experts, undoubtedly belonging to many different unions, with a budget that far exceeds any amount of money that has ever passed through your own mortal hands. All of this reinforces your position as anonymous consumer: you are merely a recipient of somebody else’s massive effort, a villager greeting the victorious army as it rolls into town with its banners waving and its massive tanks on the roll.

Miniature puppet theatre is different. The materials are simple and inexpensive. You can get by with a make-shift foam core proscinium arch and some pieces of painted cardboard on sticks. The real magic resides in the story you tell and your sense of timing in the telling. The audience is perfectly willing to enter the “magic circle” where disbelief is suspended – in fact, they are far more likely to do so – precisely because your puppets are so disarmingly simple and childlike. And therein lies a deeper truth.

I would argue that an audience for miniature puppet theatre is charmed by the clear implication that they themselves could make such shows, should they so wish. Of course the reality is different. Budget or no budget, you need talent and aesthetic judgement to put on a show. Great theatre is great storytelling, and that’s a skill that most people lack.

But the illusion is there. And what is puppetry, after all, if not a masterful illusion?

The last sentence is actually invisible.

It’s a kind of literary game.
Sentences must have exactly six words.
Apparently someone wrote a whole book!
The New Yorker reviewed it recently.
The reviewer played the same game.
All his sentences had six words.

What about five word sentences?
Could that also be expressive?
Or would it become restrictive?
Guess you’d have to try.
It never hurts to experiment.

Four might be hard.
There aren’t enough words.
Gets way too terse.
Sounds like bad Hemingway.

Three is ridiculous.
It becomes constricting.
Words fail me.

Feeling uncomfortable.
Getting nervous.

Quitting.

Human first

I spent the day today at the annual end-of-year symposium of the Human Computer Interaction Lab (HCIL) at the University of Maryland. All three of the Lab’s successive directors – Ben Shneiderman, Ben Bederson and Allison Druin – were there, and they are all good friends of mine. Ben Shneiderman founded the lab in 1983. He is one of the fathers of the field of HCI research, and is a font of wisdom on many subjects. Ben Bederson, with whom I’ve been friends since he was in grad school, took over the lab directorship in 2000. Allison, who is married to Ben Bederson, became the lab’s director in 2006. I actually know Allison the longest of the three. I have had lots of time to talk with all three of them in the last twenty four hours, which has been great fun.

The wonderful thing about the HCIL, as Allison pointed out today, is that it puts the “human” first. Much of computer science research seems to forget that there are such things as humans. Instead it seems to be a quest for a kind of abstract algorithmic purity, as though computer science were merely a branch of mathematics. The HCIL people have been way ahead of the curve in recognizing that the real power of computers comes when we find ways to interweave that power with the complementary power of the human mind. Computation is indeed enormously powerful, but computation that augments human thought is downright transformative. And to achieve that, you’ve got to understand human thought.

This is rather tricky for many academics, because it requires bridging the large gap in scientific subcultures between computer science on the one hand, and psychology on the other. It’s very hard to get academic recognition when any given reviewer of your manuscript is not going to understand half of what you are saying. To me the people at HCIL are visionary because they recognized, a full quarter of a century ago – long before it was fashionable – the need to reconcile these two parts of the problem.

And they are still at it. Only now the world is starting to catch up.

Train of thought

I spent several hours today on a train – several blissful hours. I am struck by how different trains are from other modes of transportation. There is something soothing and meditative about train travel. The ride is smooth and graceful, there is plenty of room for each passenger, and you can get up and walk around if you like. If you’re hungry, just wander over to the diner car, and pick up a snack or a meal.




 

It’s as though trains are an alternate vision of the world, one where things have gone right. None of the huge carbon footprint of automobile and air travel, no going through security with your shoes off or needing to deal with road rage. Just a lovely Victorian idea of getting from one place to another, suitably updated for our twenty first century world.

One thing that always strikes me about the Europeans, as compared to us Americans, is how much they really appreciate the magic and beauty of train travel. To go from Paris to Marseilles in the TGV is to discover a nation that, at least in this one regard, genuinely likes itself. Our own AMTRAK, on the other hand, lives somewhat the life of an orphan, needing to get by on borrowed track, disparaged by those in power, Harry Potter and Cinderella rolled into one.

Perhaps, with the high price of oil, this might now change – after so many decades of neglect, our nation might once again embrace its locomotive self. I’m going to try not to get my hopes up, lest I be disappointed. But I can dream, can’t I?

Not remarkable

I was surprised that people thought I was describing something exceptional in yesterday’s post. In fact I was merely reporting something completely unexceptional, something that happens every day here. Of course people jumped in to help that old man. New Yorkers are very practical people: If there’s a problem we can solve, we generally prefer just to solve it.

For example, if there is a parent with a baby carriage at the bottom of the subway steps, someone will immediately offer to pick up one end and help carry it to the top. Afterward the volunteer is more than likely to forget that s/he even did it. That’s just the way things work in this city.

My friend Jon pointed out to me today that the misconception that New Yorkers are indifferent might come from the fact that (with so many people in such a small space) people here have a very good B.S. filter. You just know, in much less than a second, when somebody is about to come on to you and pretend they need a handout. You can feel the sense of practice in their pitch, even before they open their mouth.

But a legitimate problem, like this ninety-something year old man needing to get from point A to point B, is a whole different thing. People are actually relieved to be able to do something to help make this town a more manageable place.

I am aware that there are places in the world where jumping in to help an old man get somewhere he needs to go is considered remarkable. But New York City isn’t one of them.

Recently, on the subway

Recently, on the subway, a little old man walked into our crowded rush hour subway car. He must have been in his nineties, and he was walking very slowly, leaning on his cane and balancing carefully with each step. I stood up to give him my seat. He thanked me in a thick Russian Jewish accent, the kind you don’t hear so much anymore, and then asked me how far it was to Grand Central Station.

I explained to him that it was three stops. I continued to stand by, hovering over him worriedly, wondering how he was going to make it out the door at Grand Central during rush hour without getting knocked over. As we pulled into 33rd Street I told him it was the next stop after this one. He slowly and carefully pulled himself up out of his seat, so he’d have plenty of time to make his move, and I helped him up, holding him firmly by one arm to steady him until he was fully on his feet.

As it happened, a woman got on at 33rd Street, a large black woman probably in her mid forties. She saw this little old man standing there precariously with his cane, and she told him, somewhat concerned, that he shouldn’t get up so soon, he should wait until it was closer to his stop. I told her that I was looking out for him. She said “Oh, are you with him?” And I replied “No, I’m just looking out for him.” We smiled at each other, and she moved on into the car.

A few moments later, still smiling, she turned back toward me and said “I’ll fight you for him.” I laughed and said “Well, we can share, right?” Just then the subway pulled into Grand Central. The woman and I both watched with trepidation as the little old man slowly made his way out of the subway car and onto the platform. While the doors were still open, I saw him ask a young woman in her twenties how to get to the main concourse of Grand Central.

I’m pretty sure the young woman had been planning on boarding our subway car. But instead, sizing up the situation, she said to the old man “I’ll take you there.” As the subway doors closed, I could see her start to walk with him toward the stairs leading up and out of the subway, as he slowly and carefully made his way to the next part of his journey.