Month: February 2006

  • The disappointing silence from the top

    It’s been nearly two weeks since representatives of Cisco, Microsoft, Yahoo and Google testified before the House Subcommittee on Human Rights about their various entanglements with China. As expected, after blowing hot in the run-up to the testimony, coverage has cooled a great deal. Unless there is substantial progress with Rep. Chris Smith’s proposed legislation, the issue will probably stay cool until the next crisis moment emerges. But emerge it surely will.

    I read the written testimony submitted by the four companies, although I’ve not read a full transcript of the Q&A. All the companies pretty much responded as expected. They all, without fail, talked about the transformative power of the Internet and the benefits it is bringing to China. They all tried to explain how they’ve weighed the implications of being in China.

    They also all addressed the specifics of their individual cases. Cisco explained that it sells the exact same equipment to China that it sells to anyone else, without special modification, and that the technology that enables content filtering is the same that enables network security. Yahoo addressed the Shi Tao case, and the fact that operational control of Yahoo China lies essentially entirely with Jack Ma’s Alibaba.com (a risk that may haunt them in future, since it may place the brand at risk). Microsoft discussed the Michael Anti case. And Google, of course, discussed the considerations that went into the recent launch of their self-censored google.cn site, as well as the ongoing drop in their market share that they feel is rooted in filtering-based performance issues.

    It was thoughtful, rational and articulate. It was full of motherhood statements about the Internet company values. It was, in short, exactly what you’d expect from three general counsels (Microsoft, Yahoo and Cisco) and a vice president of global communications (Google).

    For instance, here is Microsoft Associate General Counsel, Jack Krumholtz:

    Will the citizens of that country be better off without access to our services, or will their absence just vindicate those who see our presence in the country as threatening to their official or commercial interests?

    And Yahoo General Counsel, Michael Callahan:

    First, our principles. Since our founding in 1995, Yahoo! has been guided by beliefs deeply held by our founders and sustained by our employees. We believe the Internet can positively transform lives, societies, and economies.

    These were all the messages that needed to be delivered. But I see two problems. First, as expected, they lost the war of imagery and emotion. Out of necessity, the companies needed to be defensive and rational. Unlike their interrogators, who are playing to voters only, they are playing to three separate constituencies: the general public who are their customers and advertisers; the shareholders to whom they have fiduciary obligations; and the Chinese government, who was no doubt watching very carefully. Addressing all three of those audiences requires a measured and diplomatic approach. But in the war for general public opinion, they are then left contending with statements like this from Representative Chris Smith:

    Through an approach that monitors, filters, and blocks content with the use of technology and human monitors, the Chinese people have little access to uncensored information about any political or human rights topic, unless of course, Big Brother wants them to see it. Google.cn, China’s search engine, is guaranteed to take you to the virtual land of deceit, disinformation and the big lie.

    But the worst came in an act of confrontational demagoguery from Congressman Tom Lantos, a man who represents Imagethief’s home constituency in the San Francisco Bay Area, who carries the unimpeachable aura of a Holocaust survivor (a fact cited in most articles I read about his participation in the subcommittee) and who has long taken a dim view of China’s government (opposed WTO entry, opposed awarding the Olympics, etc.).  Lantos notoriously called all four company representatives on the carpet, asking each in turn if he was ashamed of the actions of his company. From a longer transcript on CNET:

    Rep. Tom Lantos: Can you say in English that you’re ashamed of what your company and what the other companies have done?

    Google: Congressman, I actually can’t, I don’t think it’s fair for us to say that we’re ashamed.

    Lantos: You have nothing to be ashamed of?

    Google: I am not ashamed of it, and I am not proud of it…We have taken a path, we have begun on a path, we have done a path that…will ultimately benefit all the users in China. If we determined, congressman, as a result of changing circumstances or as a result of the implementation of the Google.cn program that we are not achieving those results then we will assess our performance, our ability to achieve those goals, and whether to remain in the market.

    Yow. Trapped. A seven word question that will stick in everyone’s head, and an eighty-three word response that no one will remember, but precious few better options considering those three different constituencies. Maybe I’m getting conservative in my middle-age (I’m a longtime liberal Democrat), or maybe the CCP is spiking my drinking water, but I didn’t think much of Mr. Lantos’ approach. Here is another statement, from the press release Lantos issued the day before the hearings:

    “The hugely successful businesses that come before Congress tomorrow will have to account for their complicity in China’s culture of repression, and to begin to make amends,” Lantos said. “Government can be expected to do only so much. It is up to these wealthy entrepreneurs to help ensure that the free flow of information from which they have profited is offered worldwide.”

    Well, aside from the fact that the final statement is patently wrong, this does raise a very interesting question that cuts to the heart of my complaint about how the companies dealt with the hearings. While I don’t think the wealthy entrepreneurs have any obligation to ensure that a free flow of information is offered worldwide (that ignores political realities that extend far beyond China and in cases may simply not make business sense), I am a little mystified as to their silence.

    Here is why. The technology industry suffers from an interesting syndrome. It is a time honored practice among tech companies to build founders and CEOs up as evangelical prophets of the transformative power of technology, which is promoted as revolutionary and encompassing in a way that, say, shipping, fast-moving consumer goods, cars, energy, and so on are not. No industry is more susceptible to the CEO/founder cult of personality or mystique, and no industry more flagrantly positions founders and CEOs as “visionaries” than the tech industry does. This is especially important in the Internet generation of companies, all of whom were created in the last fifteen years and are still led by founders. It is only slightly less true for Microsoft.

    The cult of the youthful billionaire genius touches three of the four companies involved in these hearings. Bill Gates of Microsoft may be the pre-eminent technologist of the age. Jerry Yang and David Filo of Yahoo are famous and highly visible, as is CEO Terry Semel, a Hollywood veteran who knows a thing or two about showmanship. And Sergey Brin and Larry Page of Google are in a league all their own. Cisco may suffer from less of this syndrome because, although it is young and CEO John Chambers is well known, it is not first and foremost a consumer oriented firm as the other three are.

    Where were all these Internet visionaries as this storm broke?

    This is an important question because, Cisco aside, these firms are all, for better or for worse, closely associated with the personal values of their highly visible founders. Those values are part of what defines their public images and brands. This is especially true of Google, where the relationship between the founders’ values and the company’s values are formalized in the “Don’t Be Evil” mantra that has become such a millstone during the controversy. On page 211 of David Vise’s book, The Google Story (as unanalytical a bit of hagiography as you will find), it is recalled that:

    Stanford Professor Terry Winograd says that Segey [Brin] has lead the way on three Ps: Policy, Politics and People. (When once asked what the motto Don’t Be Evil meant, CEO Eric Schmidt famously replied that evil is whatever Sergey says is evil.)

    And on page 257 it says.

    [Google’s] very motto, Don’t Be Evil, was a thinly veiled way of letting the technologists of the world know that Larry and Sergey were not just the Google Guys, but the Good Guys, who did the right thing for users and employees and had fun too.

    That’s channeling founders’ values through the company, and using them to build the brand. Michael Callahan of Yahoo does the same thing in his testimony, quoted above. And it makes the silence of all these technology luminaries in the breach seem odd and  somehow discordant.

    One of the most common requests that crosses Imagethief’s desk is for communication plans to help technology executives position themselves as “thought leaders”. Unfortunately, “thought leadership” is an often abused concept in PR, with salesmanship, cheerleading and banality often masquerading in its place. The most interesting proposals are often rejected as too risky. Certainly thought leadership is easier when times are good. But it’s important when controversy arises, such as now. On the table is one of the most important issues of our time: what is the relationship between a commercial Internet and the right to freedom of speech, and should the American companies who are driving the evolution of the Internet be considered international custodians of that right?

    Leadership is about risk (something that these entrepreneurs all know). Thought leadership is about intellectual risk. If it is unlikely to be argued with or shouted down, it’s probably not thought leadership. This was an opportunity for thought leadership if ever there was one. But there was little thought leadership to be had. That is a shame, because I am sure that all of these phenomenally bright and opinionated technologists are thinking deeply about this issue and debating it inside their companies.

    But maybe there was no other choice. As I noted above, the companies are burdened with three different audiences, each of which has a substantially different interest in this situation. Consumers and advertisers want to feel good about the brands of the companies they patronize. Shareholders want growth. China wants foreign firms to toe the line and avoid controversy. Employees may even constitute a fourth important group in this kind of situation. That puts the companies in a supremely delicate position, where every public communication has to be considered from multiple angles if a disaster is to be averted.

    But if you build your brand on the company founders’ values and leadership, and they then remain silent when those values are being questioned and leadership is most necessary, then your brand is at risk. And, in the meantime, people with fewer stakeholders to please will hammer at you from all sides.

  • Chinese medicine puts the squeeze on Imagethief

    Imagethief is a strapping manly-man, and spends long hours in the gym perfecting his Adonis-like physique. Occasionally, however, his enthusiasm gets the better of him, and he tries to hoist a few kilos too many. This happened to me about a month ago as I was doing plate-rows. At the apex of my set, something in my steely, well-honed trapezoidal wentspang! and pain ricocheted down the length of my left arm.

    I called a halt to the day’s strains, thinking that a week or so of recuperation was all that was necessary. Three weeks later, with phantom pains still coursing up and down my left arm and unable to sleep in either of the two positions that I am tolerant of, I finally dragged myself to my regular doctor in Singapore, where I was spending Chinese New Year.

    After palpating me in various unsavory ways and making me bend my head into several unnatural positions, he rendered a verdict: a pinched nerve at the sixth cervical vertebrae.  He said I could either pay $500 for an MRI, or, since there was no loss of strength (this, I gather, would have been bad), I could go on anti-inflammatories for a couple of weeks and see how things played out.

    I selected the cheap, pharmaceutical option. Going for the MRI at that stage would have been far too large a concession of vulnerability. As an American man, I have a battleship-strong sense of denial when it comes to medical issues. In fact, it was an heroic effort of will (no pun intended) just to make it to the doctor in the first place. Like most American men, I won’t go see a doctor unless a bone or major internal organ is protruding through my skin. And even then it’s a toss-up. Is there a good ball game on?

    I did, however, make one extra concession to medical adventure. I agreed to go see my wife’s Chinese doctor.

    And this raises another American medical prejudice. Americans are raised to believe that all medicine is Star Trek. If a medical therapy doesn’t involve nitrogen-cooled electromagnets or a particle accelerator and flat-panel video screens, it’s stone-age witch-doctor crap not worth pursuing. This maximal approach to medicine explains why America’s health system is such a dysfunctional wreck. When even stubbed toes require PET scans, something has got to give. When I lived in America, what gave was my bank account, under the onslaught of my insurance premiums. Freelance writers part-timing as radio producers to avoid starvation get to pay their own way, insurance-wise. That leaves little left over for such wastrel’s luxuries as “food” and “rent”.

    Thus, going to see the Chinese physician was something of a leap of faith for me. I had been to his clinic with my wife before. It looked like Gandalf’s office: dusty, leather-clad tomes, mysterious charts of the human body covered with meridian lines and Chinese script, and shelf after shelf of cryptically labeled, dark-brown potions in equally dark-brown jars. Not a Star Trek medical device or Physician’s Desk Reference in sight.

    Although it was Singapore, the doctor (or, more accurately, daifu) didn’t speak any English. I explained my symptoms in laborious Mandarin, with my wife occasionally helping me through the tricky parts. Accuracy is important in medicine, and doubly so when using a language where a single tonal difference can change the coruscating imprecation “fuck your mother” into the merely perplexing “dry your horse”.

    After listening patiently to my explanation, the doctor arrived at a prescription that involved neither a horse nor my mother. Rather, it involved a course of moxibustion, or “cupping”. I grant you that “cupping” sounds like something where a horse might be involved, but I assure you that this is not the case. You are, perhaps, thinking of a “crupper”, which the leather strap that runs beneath a saddled horse’s tail. If so, you are either an equestrian or a bondage freak and, either way, have ventured into territory beyond the scope of this post.

    The daifu asked me to remove my shirt, and then rubbed a film of of lubricating lotion on my back. This was the pleasant part of the procedure. The only pleasant part. As soon as I was nicely greased, the daifu took a hollow glass globe the size of a baseball and dropped an alcohol-soaked cotton swab through the thick-lipped mouth. He lit the swab, which flared and burned out rapidly, and then clapped the open mouth of globe onto the skin of my back.

    Anyone who has ever performed the collapsing gas-can experiment will be familiar with the principles behind what happened next. In this old, grade-school science experiment you light a little alcohol or other flammable liquid inside a metal container, then screw an airtight top onto it. As the air inside the sealed container cools, the pressure drops and the pitiless math of Boyle’s Law takes over. The sealed container is slowly crushed by outside air pressure. Now, if the container is rigid enough to withstand the pressure, but covered by a flexible membrane, it is the membrane that will distort in response to the decreasing pressure in the sealed vessel. In this case, the membrane was me. A golf-ball sized gobbet of Imagethief was quickly sucked into the glass cup. The suction was surprisingly strong, and I had brief thoughts of my skin rupturing and my left lung exploding into the glass cup. If that had happened, I would have asked for my $15 back.

    As a technical scuba diver, Imagethief is well schooled the concept of barotrauma. This is injury resulting from a pressure differential, a common risk in scuba diving. To date, Imagethief has suffered only one serious barotrauma: a ruptured eardrum self-inflicted when I clapped a hand over my ear following the nearby detonation of an explosive by Indonesian dynamite fishermen. More common, and generally less serious, is something called a “squeeze”. This happens when a diver fails to equalize the pressure in some internal airspace, such as a sinus or middle ear, or an external one, such as the airspace in a diving mask. As the water pressure increases during descent, the growing differential forces –or “squeezes”– tissue and fluid into the area of low pressure. Generally you feel this –trust me; you feel it– and stop descending before you are seriously injured.

    Never in my life did I think I would pay someone to inflict a painful squeeze upon me, but that’s what I was doing.

    Anyone who has lived in China or Singapore will probably have, at one time or another, seen someone with a pattern of round, red welts on their back. These are the marks left by regular moxibustion cupping (I have photos here and here), in which the cups are placed upon specific points on the back, and left there. That kind of moxibustion is for pussies. My wife’s family daifu is renowned in Singapore for his expertise in a technique in which a single cup is slid over the affected area to draw out the “wind” that, from a Chinese medical point of view, is invariably the source of all ailments. My wife swears by this technique, and has had her own sports injuries treated in this way on a few occasions.

    Her pain threshold must be higher than mine. I now have a pretty good idea of what an orange feels like as it is peeled. Grease or no grease, it felt like the skin was being torn from my back as the doctor slid the globe up my trapezoidal muscle and left to right along the delicate supraspinatus. It was one of the most painful procedures that I have ever been subjected to, and I’m a veteran of two root canals, eight dental extractions (four under local anesthetic), outpatient neurosurgery on my hand and a hernia operation. After the first course was complete, leaving me breathless and sweaty, the daifu asked my wife something in Mandarin. “He asks if you can stand a stronger treatment,” she translated. Macho posturing immediately suppressed all other instincts, including my instinct to flee screaming from the office. “No problem,” I wheezed, like a teenager who’s voice has just broken.

    As the daifu began the second course, I tried to mentally transport myself to another location. Blissful green fields. A rowboat on a calm lake. A spectacular, icy glacier. It didn’t matter. Wherever I visualized myself, I was accompanied by a burly, sweating medieval torturer intent on scourging my back. There was nothing for it but to endure the treatment in the here and now. It was clear that the daifu subscribed to the “after I do this to you, the pain you were complaining about won’t seem so bad any more” school of medicine. “Look,” he said. “You can see where all the old, clotted blood is being drawn out of the injury.” Not surprising.

    Centuries later it was all over. I gingerly pulled my shirt on over my abused, stinging back. “Any better?” asked my wife, sweetly.

    It wasn’t enough for the daifu to strip all the skin from the upper-left side of my back. He had to send a reminder of my misery home with me, in the form of a jar of noxious, brown liquid medicine decanted from one of the hundreds of mysterious, cryptically labeled bottles in his office. I was instructed to take one good swig, three times daily. It was the nastiest substance I have ever ingested, a potent combination of bitterness and herbal pungency like a combination of slivovitz, crude oil and potpourri. It made me want to cry the way I did when my mother made me take liquid penicillin for strep throat when I was seven. I had to have a water chaser standing by every time I took it. I carried it onto the flight back so I wouldn’t miss a dose, and I’m mystified as to why the security inspectors didn’t catch it, confiscate it and fine me for trying to bring a dangerous liquid onto the airplane.

    Now, nearly a week later, I can report some improvement in my symptoms. Of course, given that I have been on a combination of moxibustion, bizarre herbal tonic and old-fashioned, western anti-inflammatories, it’s hard to tell what’s responsible for the progress. Would I dare subject myself to another treatment of moxibustion? The daifu told me that, in an ideal world, I’d be able to come back for another treatment a week hence. Now that I am back in China that will be difficult, unless the daifu can refer me to a trusted colleague here. He did, however, suggest that I come in for a repeat session when I am next in Singapore.

    Only time will tell if Imagethief has the nerve to steel himself for another pass. The wind may be bad, but between that and being skinned like a rabbit, I might just stick with wind.

    There, now. Doesn't that feel better?
    There, now. Doesn’t that feel better?
  • BadBranding@Singapore

    I love coming back to my adopted home of Singapore. Always languid and green, Singapore makes an invigorating break from the smoggy bustle of Beijing. Yet whenever I return it doesn’t take long for me to be reminded of some of the niggling, little annoyances that made it so refreshing to get out of Singapore for a few years. Near the top of that list is the local infatuation with the inappropriate use of the “@” symbol in branding.

    Those of you who read this blog regularly will know that I am semiprofessional scornheap. Yet, were I to live for another hundred years (and don’t think I’m not trying), I could never find enough time to heap upon this idea all the scorn that it so richly deserves. As long as I have been here, the branding mavens of Singapore have used the “@” symbol, once a lowly accounting symbol meant to indicate a unit price, to add a whiff of technological glamour to undeserving brands.

    Imagethief is not immune to the seductive charms of the “@”. Along with my old friend and former business partner, Joe Pantuso, I once co-authored a book on online games called, to my eternal shame, Online G@mes. In my defense, however, that book was written in 1994 before the “@” rose to depressing ubiquity. The book and its title were both obsolete the moment it hit the shelves, which was just about the same moment the Internet began to kill off the proprietary online services such as GEnie, Prodigy, AOL (in its dialup incarnation) and Compuserve that hosted the games we had written about. Such is life as a technology writer.

    I keep thinking that the brand developers of Singapore will outgrow “@”, and they keep disappointing me. I was scandalized five years ago when the glamorous, new office tower at Dhoby Ghaut was named “Atrium@Orchard”. In 2006 using “@” in a brand is beyond unforgivable. It’s the branding equivalent of a fifty-year old man with a pot-belly and severe male-pattern baldness growing a pony tail and getting his ears pierced in a futile attempt to stay youthfully hip. It reveals a failure to grasp contemporary style that is so final and absolute that it obliterates by definition the very sensibility that it was meant to create.

    You would think that the manifestations of “@” that I run into these days would the last of a dying breed; fading survivors of the dot-com boom days, when anything that evoked the Internet was sexy by definition. But, alas, it is not so. Many of them are freshly minted. In 2006 that is a crime against style that makes one consider the fact that there are some offenses for which caning is a justifiable punishment.

    “@Orchard” –meaning at Orchard Road, Singapore’s main shopping drag– is a particularly common abuse. In fact, one of the things that reminded me of this issue was discovering that Harry’s Bar, a longtime fixture of the Boat Quay restaurant strip, has opened an Orchard Towers branch called Harry’s@Orchard. This is shameful retread of the government’s time worn “Library@Orchard” and the “Atrium@Orchard” mentioned above. I can understand when government bureaucrats, like the National Library Board, make these transgressions. I expect government to be ten years behind, and they are serial “@” offenders as a quick scan of the ww.gov.sg website rapidly shows (not counting use in e-mail addresses). But a bar impresario? Criminal.

    A quick flip through the online Singapore yellow pages reveals at least four other offenders including “The Dentist@Orchard” and, to my surprise, “Apple@Orchard” for the Apple Computer store in Wheelock Place. The brand-conscious Apple people should know better, and I, writing this on my PowerBook, feel tainted by association. (And upon writing that, I also note that the Apple people have fallen victim to the equally loathsome branding cliche of intercapping –as in PowerBook–, a longtime Singapore branding crutch.)

    But by far the worst example of “@” abuse I stumbled across this year was the naming of Singapore’s annual Chinese New Year “Chingay” parade. According to the official Chingay website, the word Chingay comes from a corruption of a Chinese dialect word for a small, decorated stage or float carried by performers, and was first used during ethnic Chinese celebrations in the storied Malaysian Chinese trading port of Penang. With such a colorful history, it seems a shame to drag the word down into vulgar techno-cliche, but there it was: Street Party @ Chingay. Ooh, taste the coolness.

    I realize I shouldn’t be surprised. This is, after all, the country that felt compelled to rechristen its perfectly sensibly named National Science and Technology Board as the precious “A*Star“, complete with asterisk (and don’t even ask what happened to the oldProductivity and Standards Board). But the line must be drawn somewhere. Otherwise, why not simply rename Changi Airport Airport@Singapore and have done with it?

    Think I’m p@ranoid? As you can see, it’s not entirely far-fetched.