Werd I/O

I’ve been a technical leader since we started conceiving of the Elgg project back in 2003, twenty years ago. Back then, I didn’t know much — about leading teams, about running startups, about building projects — and I had to pick it all up from scratch, sometimes inventing processes and ideas from first principles. In fact, there wasn’t much of a startup scene in Edinburgh, Scotland, when I started my career, so almost everything I did was either from first principles or from what I’d read.

Since then, I’ve worked for startups and non-profits based in San Francisco, Austin, and New York City. I lived in the Bay Area and was steeped in Silicon Valley culture for over a decade. I’ve learned about building culture from very smart people while working at companies like Medium, as well as from the companies I supported when I was the west coast Director of Investments at Matter Ventures. Matter both taught me a formal framework for human-centered product design when it funded my second startup, Known, and gave me the opportunity to pass on that knowledge to startup founding teams and newsrooms when I joined the team. Later, I helped teach inclusive product design with Roxann Stafford as part of the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism’s Product Immersion for Small Newsrooms program.

All of this is to say: I’ve had to figure out a lot, I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve had the opportunity to have some real wins and losses, and all of this has led to a theory about what works and what doesn’t work when you’re leading a technology team.

Everything can be split into two categories, so the joke goes, and sure enough, I’ve noticed two main schools of thought. I think these are well-illustrated through a real-world example drawn from one of the places I worked.

At this particular, unnamed startup, I joined as the engineering lead, but in reality was the de facto CTO. Everything technology-related rolled up to me, and I found myself in countless meetings about company strategy, often late into the night.

I learned very quickly that the previous technical leader had made a particular choice when he hired for his team. He noticed that engineers with poorer communication skills were not being hired by other companies, even if their technical skills were strong. So he decided that he would over-index on technical skill and deliberately not hire for communication skill. That way he could hire what he considered to be stronger engineers more affordably.

He had left the company and they’d had trouble finding another technical lead. The engineers had essentially kept the lights on by themselves, writing code at a furious pace to keep the entire company afloat. Technical debt had built up and built up, and they were spending most of their time on maintenance. They were often re-directed to work on new tasks and pet projects when old ones hadn’t been finished or well-documented. There was next to no testing, either through automation or with users. Meanwhile, the rest of the company complained that the engineers weren’t productive. There were suggestions that code output be measured, or that the team move to one-week sprints to — I am not making this up — make them write code twice as fast. They were great humans, but they’d been placed in an impossible position without the tools that could possibly hope to lead them to success.

Every aspect of this was counter to my own intuition. I took a step back and had some productive conversations with an old boss, who ran technology at a much larger and more successful startup. He confirmed to me that he would have made different choices every step of the way (and helped me feel a little less like I was insane).

One school of thought, then, is this code-led, metrics-driven approach: management by spreadsheet. The other is a qualitative, human-centered approach: management through empathy. A central question is whether you prioritize the things you can measure (lines of code, minutes of engagement in the product) or the motivations of the humans involved (the needs of the people who use your product and the people who build it).

I’m closer to the second camp. The map is not the territory.

My approach to technology is holistic: someone at that same company described it as “supporting the whole engineer”. How could it be anything else? Everybody brings their whole self to work, whether it is acknowledged or not. If you lead a group of people who are engaged in any directed endeavor, whether it’s building software or organizing an event, the experience of being a part of that group has to be intentionally designed. At work, we call that “company culture”, although it’s really community-building: every team should be thought of as a community of human beings who have their own creativity, intelligence, skills, motivations, and preferences.

The output of a technical team is not code. Code is a means to an end, and is only one part of the complete breakfast of tools needed to bring a project to completion. Measuring code is not a good way of figuring out a team’s ability to be successful. While code is likely integral, the job of an engineer is to engineer a solution, not just to be a programmer. That means you’ve got to have a lot of very collaborative human skills; we call them “soft” skills, but perhaps we should think of them as “software skills”, because you really can’t write software without them.

Contrary to popular belief, most people are not coin-operated. It’s not about money (although they need to make enough money). Everyone wants to make progress on meaningful work, in an environment that makes them feel valued as people, and where they feel like they can succeed. I’ve mostly worked in startups, and I like to tell people that although these environments aren’t a Google with kombucha on tap and on-site gyms, they’re opportunities to try lots of different kinds of work and bring more of themselves to work than you might at a much larger company. I want everyone who’s been on one of my teams to look back ten years later and think, I’m really glad I was on that team, because it gave me confidence to be myself at work and helped move my career in a way I care about.

The bottom line is: people who feel supported do better work. Or, as professors Sigal Barsade and Olivia A. O’Neill put it in Harvard Business Review: employees who feel love perform better. In a medical setting, their longitudinal study showed that a strong emotional culture had the following results:

Employees who felt they worked in a loving, caring culture reported higher levels of satisfaction and teamwork. They showed up to work more often. Our research also demonstrated that this type of culture related directly to client outcomes, including improved patient mood, quality of life, satisfaction, and fewer trips to the ER.

It’s impossible to achieve this on a team that focuses on metrics over motivation. It also makes diversity, equity, and inclusion a business imperative: if the only people talking in a meeting, having their ideas heard, or receiving accolades are managers, and particularly if those managers are predominantly white men, will everyone else feel supported? Or will they tune out and feel like they’re not valuable members of the group?

I think even the words we often use in software development don’t serve us well, at least if we don’t consider why they’re there and why they exist. The goal is to create, maintain, and improve a project together, as a community of people, to meet real human needs, in a way that also satisfies the goals of your community.

Some examples of terms that are bad when left unexamined (and I think should probably be changed):

Documentation sounds like the driest thing possible. But we’re not writing a manual for the hell of it. We’re leaving signposts in the code that explain why we built something this way, how it works, the context behind its creation, and most importantly of all, who you are writing it for. Code is never self-documenting, because it can never tell you who it is for and why it exists. One might (might!) be able to follow clean source code, but you’ll never be able to understand the hopes and dreams of the people who made it, which are crucial for understanding the choices that were made in the past and how to continue to maintain the project.

Specifications are a subset of documentation that sound like bureaucracy. What I think is important is that, when you’re embarking upon building something, you take a step back and reflect on what you’re about to do. It’s good to get social feedback on your intended approach, but I think the personal reflection is the biggest value. These don’t have to be super-formal, but should be clear enough to be (I’ve had engineers literally yell at me: “I just want to code!” But after a few times going through this, they’ve all seen the value.)

Retros are, again, reflections. It’s about creating a space to learn what could have been better. A team’s processes are prototypes that are never too precious to be improved; sometimes individual team members need to think about how they felt during a project, and how that might have been better for them. If a project didn’t go well, it’s worth thinking about what the definition of success was, whether they had the tools to achieve success, and what might make a similar project go better next time. Standups are mini versions of this: about learning and supporting the engineer, not reporting back to managers.

Coding standards also sound like bureaucracy. But they’re there to help engineers make decisions about how to write code so that it’s usable by other people in their community. If everyone in a community is writing code the same way, the cognitive load to understanding someone else’s work is much lower. It’s a way of helping other people to understand what you’ve done more quickly.

We could go down the list — and maybe I will in a future post — but it’s clear to me that technical team management has fallen into a metrics over motivation trap that looks at hard numbers over experiential stories. That’s been a trap in technology overall: teams are more likely to do quantitative research rather than truly get to know the people they’re trying to help and learn their stories. The truth is that while some of the tools of the trade are drawn from math and discrete logic, software is fundamentally a people business, and the only way to succeed is to build teams based on great, collaborative communication, human empathy, true support, and mutual respect.

In turn, that means that I look to work in organizations that have those things (and in particular, mutual respect). It’s much harder to change an organization’s existing culture than to establish great norms in a new one — although it is possible, as long as management is on board.

I’ve rarely spoken about my work directly in this space, but I intend to do more of it over the next few weeks and months, including practical examples of techniques I use. If these topics are interest to you, and you haven’t yet, sign up for my newsletter.

Ever so tentatively, I’m beginning to show my head at in-person events this year. I haven’t been to any kind of industry conference or regular event since at least 2019. The small matter of a global, deadly pandemic kept me away, but I’ve decided that I’ll return to events that have solid covid protocols and where I can trust that the attendees will be sensible. It feels weird!

I’ll be at ONA 2023 — the annual Online News Association conference — from August 23-26. It’s just down the road from my new home in North Philadelphia, but also, there has never been a more crucial time for journalism and democracy. I’m looking forward to the conversations.

I’m also planning to be at DazzleCon in Chicago on October 20-21. This is the second ever Zebras Unite conference, all about how to create a better, more participative and equitable economy. I’ve been a huge fan of the zebras since reading an early version of its Sex and Startups manifesto, and I have a zebra startup of my own in my future.

See you there?

Cam Pegg writes:

I’m re-reading Michael Porter’s seminal article, The Five Competitive Forces That Shape Strategy, and just had an OMFG-I-need-to-get-this-tattooed-on-my-forehead-so-that-everyone-I-talk-to-gets-the-message moment:

A narrow focus on growth is one of the major causes of bad strategy decisions.

The thing about growth is that it leads to bad strategy decisions if you care about profit. If all you care about is growth because you want to create a monopoly that you can then profit from indiscriminately through infinite supplier power, and you can raise millions upon millions of dollars to achieve that monopoly in such a way that you don’t have to care about revenue in the interim, the mechanics look a little different.

I’m a Porter’s Five Forces stan myself. I think everyone involved in building technology projects (and any business!) should read and understand them. And then read them again.

In particular, a lot of my work — and writing here — has been about addressing the outsized power of suppliers. Consider how much supplier power Facebook has over anyone in the publishing industry, for example: it doesn’t depend on publishers, but publishers sure as hell depend on it. It’s more concentrated than the publishing industry (there is one of it, many of them). The switching costs are astronomical because there is no real alternative. And its power creates great risk for publishers: a policy change could wipe out the industry.

Porter describes the problem as follows:

Powerful suppliers capture more of the value for themselves by charging higher prices, limiting quality or services, or shifting costs to industry participants. Powerful suppliers, including suppliers of labor, can squeeze profitability out of an industry that is unable to pass on cost increases in its own prices.

So what would it take to reduce supplier power to create a more equitable situation for buyers? Switching costs are reduced through the introduction of compatible, interoperable software from other vendors; a supplier’s differentiation is reduced by the introduction of software from other vendors that meets the buyer’s needs well; there are more viable solutions from more diverse vendors. In the Facebook example above, Twitter helped reduce supplier power; Mastodon and the open source fediverse reduces both of their supplier power. In fact, overall, open source software has been a great way to reduce risks to businesses from outsized supplier power.

To continue to run with my Facebook example, reducing supplier power through software has been a better strategy than imposing legislation (although there’s always a place for good legislation, not least antitrust reform, which we’ve needed for decades). When Canadian publishers came together to try and reduce supplier power through creating legislation that forced payments from Facebook, Facebook simply switched off the firehose and removed news from its sites in Canada. It turned out that the publishers needed it far more than it needed them.

I think a close read of Porter makes it clear that publishers would do well to support an open source fediverse that would reduce the power a handful of corporations have over them, but it’s hard for them to see it, in part because the switching costs are so incredibly high. Publishers are dependent on Facebook for audience, and the audience on the fediverse isn’t quite there yet because there hasn’t been the investment, so they don’t put in the investment, and the situation perpetuates itself forever. In effect, publishers aren’t capable of saving themselves, and it’ll take someone else who isn’t as dependent on Facebook to put in the investment instead.

The same goes for the many other industries that are similarly beholden to Facebook. Any of these industries alone can’t change the situation for the same reasons; together they might, but it’s likely to take an external convening force. Foundations, I’m looking at you. (Particularly any foundation that sees the risk to democracy itself from a single-vendor publishing market. It should help that we’ve already been through two Presidential election cycles where this risk couldn’t have been clearer if it was written in twenty foot flames.)

And because the outsized buyer power produced by an open, federated commons co-operatively supported by entities across industries that produced best-in-class social media platforms that were also communally owned would also be a hell of a risk to Facebook’s business, it is likely to want to get ahead of the situation somehow. It could also have allies who might potentially be worried about moving social media from centrally-controlled platforms to a more anarchic commons. Perhaps Facebook might address the risk by launching a network on the fediverse itself, and allowing itself to be the entity that puts in the investment, in a way that just so happens to shape the fediverse to benefit Facebook, eliminate any potential cross-industry collaboration and outside development, and ultimately defuse the risk from buyer power. Completely hypothetically, obviously.

It should go without saying that it’s all more complicated than I’m laying out here. But my core point is that the tech industry is an industry, which is to say it’s about businesses, which in turn are shaped by business forces. Yes, product design and technology architecture are incredibly important. But we ignore business strategy at our own risk, even as open source hackers trying to provide alternatives. There’s a very serious game here that must be won.

The other day I posted a surprisingly glowing first impression of Meta’s new Threads app. This is the counterpart to that.

The site is brands, man. All of it. It’s like the glossy fashion magazine of social networks.

And I get it. I really do. This is going to succeed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams — it hit 50 million users yesterday without breaking a sweat — and we’ll all be using it for years to come. It probably will accelerate the fediverse in the way I previously suggested. It’s slick and beautiful and easy to use, and if you want to talk to Paris Hilton or engage in conversation with Taco Bell, there it is.

But there’s a bad taste in my mouth that isn’t going away, that has its roots in the genocide that Meta enabled through its actions and inactions, and the political polarization in the United States that it was undoubtedly a part of, and in Cambridge Analytica and election engineering, and in the very American impulse to not give a shit about what’s happening outside your borders if you’re comfortable and you can make a buck.

Social media was at an inflection point where movements with the potential to radically change society were building through hashtags and calls to action. Black Lives Matter, MeToo, and entire democratic revolutions started on social media. And whether by design or by accident, the fertile platforms that allowed those movements to build and grow are fundamentally gone. Some people called these ideas political extremism; I thought of them as hopeful signs. These spaces have evaporated and we’re left with targeted engagement from Wendy’s: brand managers and marketing targets.

The spirit and community of Mastodon was and is very hopeful to me. It is a non-profit space, co-operatively built and run in a way that is fully in alignment with its communities. The problem is, it’s also a dog to use, and there are enough people who are a part of those networks who are adamant that it’s okay that there’s a high barrier to entry. It’s not okay. There was a populist fascist in the White House, and there may be again, and these are pretty high stakes for the entire world. I care more about the ability for democratic mass movements to form and grow than maintaining the coziness of a community that wants to put Black peoples’ lived experiences at the hands of modern day segregation behind content warnings.

So I also think Threads represents a giant failure of the community to create something that works. If Mastodon had taken off, or if there was another space that was designed around democracy and equity that had lived up to this moment, Threads wouldn’t have worked. But it didn’t and there wasn’t, and 50 million people are engaging with Netflix and Dior on a platform that sat back and allowed the Rohingya people to be slaughtered in the name of ad engagement while the new proprietor of the social network next door is busy calling social justice a mind virus.

That isn’t to say that there isn’t still time, or there isn’t, perhaps, a way to use the Threads network to build stronger community scaffolding. But it requires intent: not just to build a network, but to support democracy. We have not yet achieved this, and I hope that we will. There may come a point where we don’t get another chance.

Meta’s new social network is interesting: an obvious strategic shot at Twitter just as that network is running into trouble, as well as a way to iterate on its aging Facebook property. To that end, it makes sense that Meta would piggyback on the fediverse of independent social networks that interconnect through the open ActivityPub protocol, and I’m genuinely very excited to see it take that leap. Meta is already the closed social networking top dog by a long shot, and by embracing Mastodon et al, it puts itself in a position of working with the open web to compete with Twitter instead of battling with both entities. For perhaps the first time ever, it also aligns Meta with the open web.

By working with Instagram’s accounts and social graph, and concentrating on one form factor, it gets a lot right that other decentralized social networks haven’t managed yet. There’s no waitlist or complicated registration procedure to figure out: if you’re on Instagram, you hit a single button and you’re set up.

The feed starts off by showing you content from influencers and people you’re already friends with on Instagram, bypassing the cold start problem that many social networks suffer from. The more people you follow on Threads, the more the feed seamlessly segues into content from people you follow. Like Instagram, there’s always some new stuff in there, and there’s no way to get to a chronological feed. The algorithm abides. I hate algorithmic feeds, and I find this one somewhere between annoying and maddening. I’ve found myself muting brands with wild abandon, but I recognize that I’m not the target audience — I can see how this would be more accessible for more casual users. Crucially, though, once federation is launched I’ll be able to access Threads users from the social networking interface of my choice — a huge advantage over any other mainstream social networking platform, and a way to support power users without having to explicitly build for them.

It’s fairly easy to find existing friends and people you’re interested in, and there’s a great inline “add friend” option as you see new folks pass through the feed. This isn’t an entirely new mechanism - Instagram has this, and we even built it into Elgg twenty years ago - but it’s noticeably easier than Mastodon in particular.

The content in my feed is less cerebral and much friendlier than I get on Mastodon, which probably makes it more accessible. Of course, as soon as federation launches, I’ll be able to follow folks on Threads from my Mastodon profile and vice versa. This is a boon for the fediverse overall: Threads will bring the celebrities, while Mastodon will bring the academics and activists. The net result will be a mix of everything and everyone, with a choice of user interfaces and host services, in a way that a closed social network could never manage.

Because the goal is, in effect, to grow a bigger pie for this kind of service, I think Meta would be wise to think about how to help build an ecosystem of interoperable tools and services. Assuming Threads takes off, ActivityPub will be the way social networks interoperate for at least the next decade and the majority of ActivityPub profiles will be Meta-hosted. Given this, providing an easy to use SDK, potentially an AWS-like cloud service to make it as easy as possible to build new apps on top of the protocol, and some funding would be a great way to create developer leverage and differentiate themselves from Twitter’s extortionate API pricing. (If Meta doesn’t do this, by the way, this would make an amazing startup for someone else. Hell, I’d gladly talk to investors myself about building this.)

All in: I don’t hate it. Despite the gnashing of teeth in the fediverse about Meta’s arrival, if Threads implements ActivityPub cleanly I think it’s actually going to be a decent addition. It may even be a boon to the whole open social web that validates the space and creates a stronger ecosystem of developers and platforms. Imagine that.

Our baby loves dogs.

His eyes light up as soon as he sees one. His arms extend outwards, his lips turn up, and it’s a matter of seconds before he’s unable to constrain his joy any longer and something between a delighted squeal and an unhinged canine howl is let loose in its general direction. Sometimes, the dog is receptive to this small, hairless symbiote riding atop a strange hooman. Other times, the dog will give me a long look as if to ask, “why?” and also, “how make go away?”

If the dog is a known quantity, for example one of the two dogs owned by his aunts in Oregon who he happens to be visiting with this week, we might allow him to get closer. Tentatively, he might reach out for a stroke or receive a gentle but unsanitary lick from a likeminded fluffball.

As I write this, he is lying in a travel crib, by mutual agreement sleeping soundly for an hour to an hour and a half but in actuality singing at the top of his voice. His songs don’t yet have words or a tune to speak of. They’re a direct outpouring from his soul, unfiltered by templated meaning or rote learning. He has no idea that we’re listening. He’s just happy.

He burps when he wants to burp. He farts when he wants to fart. He lets his joy and his displeasure be known whenever they are felt. Sometimes he makes weird crunching noises like a fax machine even though he has never heard or seen one. He can be mesmerized for hours on end by videos of dancing fruits and vegetables set to a MIDI bossa nova beat (the pineapple winks knowingly; he has very clearly seen some things, but we’re left to guess exactly what they might be). He enjoys bouncing up and down on his weary collection of human trampolines and absolutely must explore the whole house, his tiny hands slap-slap-slapping on the wooden floors as he crawls around at high speed, at least once per day.

I feel like we somehow lose this fearlessness when we get older. We are not, unkind words from people who should know better aside (c’mon), uninhibited babies. We get wrapped up in the to-ing and fro-ing of adulthood, and in particular in the whole business of being who we think we should be instead of who we actually are. We wear formal attire as adult cosplay and sometimes dine at fancy restaurants and read literature and ponder whether we should acquire a metal fish slice because Wirecutter says that no kitchen should be without one. We have more conversations about compound interest (behold its power!) than we could have ever predicted.

“Burpus,” I say, matter-of-factly, when he burps. “Fartacus,” I announce when he farts. My own unseemly childishness hides behind his perfectly acceptable baby-ness, as if having a baby is umbrella insurance for acting like one. When I’m the Burpus, I apologize. When he’s the Burpus, I herald it.

Adults are expected to hide their humanity behind a theatrical mask. Babies are allowed to hang loose.

The people we allow to be themselves, when it really works and is done in a place where we can see it, are also heralded for it. Writers shed light on their humanity, and through it, ours. Artists make us see the world in a whole new way. Musicians help us feel. If any of them held back and let their humanity lie behind the mask, they would fail. It would be bad art, reflecting the mask itself rather than the people underneath. Even the great entrepreneurs put their inner selves out there. It is not unthinking or fearless; these are some of the most anxious people you will ever meet. They are terrified of what they’re doing because we’ve all been conditioned to be afraid of it. But they do it anyway, and it improves the experience of being alive and being human. Artists provide their own umbrella insurance for the rest of us, in a way. They teach us to loosen the mask just enough to let us remember who we are.

My baby has woken up now and is exploring a sunbeam as it falls across a leather chair. He turns and looks at me and smiles broadly before dropping to the floor and slap-slap-slapping his way across the floor. His mask has not yet grown, and somehow, I hope it won’t. I hope he gets to be himself forever: hanging loose, pure and joyful and free.

Part of the Indieweb Carnival for July: moments of joy.