Ross Pruden's recent article highlighted numerous cases where the conventional wisdom, that "the big company always wins" when it goes up against an upstart, is quite frequently wrong. Big companies with lots of money often don't understand the "real" reasons behind successful upstarts and so they end up doing cargo cult copying, where they copy some superficial elements without really understanding the underlying reason for why things succeed.

It looks like we have yet another example of that, with the failure of Google Knol. I have to be honest: I had almost completely forgotten about Knol's existence. When it launched, the press lauded it as a "Wikipedia-killer." Looking back, when it launched I at least expressed some skepticism about the project, noting its similarity to other projects that had failed to gain serious traction. I did give Google the benefit of the doubt in that, if anyone could make such a project work, perhaps it would be Google. However, the fact that it fell off the face of the earth so quickly and is now almost totally abandoned suggests I should have listened to my original skepticism.

Still, it's natural for people to assume that a big company with tons of money entering a space formerly defined by an upstart means that the giant company will come to dominate that space. And it does happen... sometimes. But less frequently than people realize. Google recognized the importance of creating more online knowledge, but didn't quite understand the important community aspects of Wikipedia. In many ways, it's the same issue we recently discussed about Paul Ford's concept of "why wasn't I consulted?" driving successful web community projects. Very little in Knol was about solving the WWIC issue. Instead, it was blank slate knowledge spewing, with little community aspects. In fact, I'd argue that what Quora is doing today is a lot more of what Knol really wanted to be early on but failed. While I'm not as sold on Quora as others have been, there's no denying that it's been growing and getting tremendous usage and has some valuable information. And a large part of that is because it built on that WWIC concept much better than a project like Google Knol.

A few months back, we reported that Fidel Castro had apparently become a big fan of the internet, now that he's "retired" and spends a lot of time surfing the web. It wouldn't surprise me if that's part of the reason that Cuba is apparently trying to launch its own sort-of Wikipedia -- but which you can only edit after an "administrator" approves your edits. In other words: don't expect much editing. Of course, we've also noted how it's almost impossible for regular Cuban citizens to access the internet with any speed or regularity, so it would seem that the community of folks who might be most interested in this won't actually be able to use it. In the end, that's what this effort seems to be missing. Wikipedia works because it's a community effort. But Cuba's attempt appears to be more about a top down approach -- which probably isn't surprising, but might make the project much less likely to succeed.

PrometheeFeu alerts us to a fascinating situation happening in France. Apparently, a successful French author, Michel Houellebecq, recently came out with a novel, La Carte et Le Territoire. However, it turns out that Houellebecq copied decent chunks of three separate Wikipedia articles in the novel, without any credit or indication that he was quoting another source. This is what is normally referred to as plagiarism -- or, in some views, sampling. This isn't all that surprising, and we hear stories of plagiarism in books all the time. In fact, we tend to think that people get way too upset over such things in books. After being called on it, Houellebecq appears to have admitted to copying those sections.

However, what makes this case more interesting, is what came next. Some folks realized that Wikipedia articles are licensed via a CC-BY-SA license, which in real terms says that you are free to share and remix the work, so long as it's with attribution and (most importantly):

"If you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same or similar license to this one."

If you're paying attention, you'll realize that it appears Houellebecq's La Carte et Le Territoire appears to "build upon" the Wikipedia works, which would then mean that his work, as well, must also be available under such a license. Thus, they've created a PDF version of the book -- with the proper Wikipedia references added back in -- and put it up for download under the very same CC-BY-SA license.

The question now is whether or not the author or his publisher will take legal action -- and whether or not the reading of the Wikipedia CC-BY-SA license is accurate. It certainly seems like a pretty strong argument can be made in favor of those now sharing the work. The terms of the Wikipedia content are clear, and thus, in using that content, it does appear that Houellebecq and his publisher may be required to abide by the terms of the license. Of course, there are other questions raised by this as well: such as the enforceability of a license that the person might not have read or understood. Before people automatically assume those posting the PDF are in the right here, remember all those stories we've discussed in the past about questionable end user license agreements that people agree to on websites without ever having actually seen them. In those cases, many of us feel that such licenses should not be enforceable. Is the same thing true for a Creative Commons license?

Update: As noted in the comments, the publisher has said it will take legal action against those who posted the work, though it's unclear if such proceedings have started yet.

A few years back, we discussed whether or not it was appropriate for judges to cite Wikipedia, noting that some were against the idea. Now, Slashdot points us to a case over in the Philippines, where the Filipino government has lost a recent lawsuit, in large part due to relying on Wikipedia to counter claims, rather than bringing in an expert witness.

However, what's odd, is that the judge in the case seems upset about the use of Wikipedia itself, with no specific attempt to determine if the citation was accurate or credible. It appears that the government was really using Wikipedia to call up the infamous psychologists' bible DSM-IV, in order to explore whether or not one of the participants in the case had a real personality disorder. While citing Wikipedia might not be the wisest of decisions, it still seems a bit harsh to dismiss it entirely because of the source, without any effort to determine if the content itself was legitimate.

Apparently the FBI has some free time on its hands. How else can you explain this bizarre, and almost certainly legally questionable attempt to force Wikipedia to remove its logo on Wikipedia's article on the FBI: Wikipedia's General Counsel, Mike Godwin (yes, of Godwin's law fame) responded to the FBI with a delightfully snarky reply (pdf) noting that the FBI's reading of the law concerning displaying an FBI badge is clearly written to prevent people from falsely presenting themselves as being with the FBI or directly profiting from the use of the seal: Godwin notes that the version of the law that the FBI conveniently sent him just happened to omit some parts of the law, which basically show that the law is entirely focused on such attempts to use the logo to deceive. Among the key passages:

Entertainingly, in support for your argument, you included a version of 701 in which you removed the very phrases that subject the statute to ejusdem generis analysis. While we appreciate your desire to revise the statute to reflect your expansive vision of it, the fact is that we must work with the actual language of the statute, not the aspirational version of Section 701 that you forwarded to us.

In your letter, you assert that an image of an FBI seal included in a Wikipedia article is "problematic" because "it facilitates both deliberate and unwitting violations" of 18 U.S.C. 701. I hope you will agree that the adjective "problematic," even if it were truly applicable here, is not semantically identical to "unlawful." Even if it could be proved that someone, somewhere, found a way to use a Wikipedia article illustration to facilitate a fraudulent representation, that would not render the illustration itself unlawful under the statute. As the leading case interpreting Section 701 points out, "The enactment of § 701 was intended to protect the public against the use of a recognizable assertion of authority with intent to deceive." ... Our inclusion of an image of the FBI Seal is in no way evidence of any "intent to deceive," nor is it an "assertion of authority," recognizable or otherwise.

Godwin also points out that the Encyclopaedia Britannica appears to have an image of the logo as well. As for our own usage here, I'll first note that the NY Times is also displaying the logo with its story, and it would seem that all three of us are similarly not running afoul of this law, in that none of us are using the logo with any attempt to deceive at all, but to display factual information for the sake of informing.

Britxardo alerts us to an amazingly ironic story coming out of Argentina. It seems that an elected politician there, Gerónimo Vargas Aignasse, has introduced some new legislation against plagiarism (Google translation of the original). It seems odd enough that he would be outlawing plagiarism (here in the US plagiarism is socially shunned, and could cost you your job, but isn't against the law unless it also reaches the point of copyright infringement, which is different), and it's made even worse by the fact that it looks like he's confusing plagiarism with copyright infringement -- noting in the explanation of the bill that "plagiarism" is harming the recording industry.

But that's not the ironic part.

As unbelievable as it may seem, it appears that the text Vargas Aignasse used to explain the bill was plagiarized straight from Wikipedia (Google translation of the original). Seriously. And not just a little bit. The first three paragraphs of the Spanish Wikipedia page on plagiarism are identical to three paragraphs in the explanation of the bill.

Just to make sure someone didn't do the opposite and take the text of the introduction and make it the Wikipedia page, I looked, and as I'm typing this, the Wikipedia page hasn't been updated since April -- and it looks like the bulk of that page has actually been in place for quite some time. The bill was introduced on May 6th.

It's difficult to think of anything more ironic than introducing a bill that calls for "imprisonment from three to eight years" for plagiarism... that plagiarizes the explanation for that bill. It's out and out plagiarism too. The three paragraphs look to be copied completely, and no effort is made to identify the source. It's also a bit weird that the text from Wikipedia -- which is basically just a definition of plagiarism -- is being used as the explanation of the bill. Nowhere does it describe why it's a problem or why it requires stringent jailtime. But, perhaps that's something Vargas Aignasse can ponder while serving three to eight years in prison for violating the law he just introduced... with the law he just introduced.

It's no secret that Larry Sanger is no fan of Wikipedia. He's often credited as being a co-founder of the site, though some dispute this. He was involved in the creation of Nupedia, Wikipedia's predecessor, which was more of a traditional expert-edited online encyclopedia. While many involved in Wikipedia these days downplay his role there, Sanger has made a pretty compelling case that he was heavily involved in the early days. Either way, since he left, he's gone way out of his way to distance himself from Wikipedia, while setting up a competitor (again, an expert-edited encyclopedia) that doesn't get much usage. Every few months or so, he seems to find some way to pop up in the news, often using his connection to Wikipedia as the hook for why the press should cover his competitor, which appears to get almost no traffic whatsoever.

His latest tactic is really pretty low. SimonTek points us to a Fox News article all about Sanger calling on the FBI to investigate Wikipedia for distributing child porn. While Fox of course plays up Sanger's Wikipedia credentials, they leave out the fact that he has been working on a failed competitor for years (they mention the company name, but not that it's a competitor). They also leave out much of the animosity between Sanger and Wikipedia.

This story actually got some attention a few weeks ago on Slashdot, where many commenters, rightfully, took Sanger to task. Sanger responded to the criticism by arguing a few points, saying that he was required by law to report his findings to the FBI. To some extent, on that point, he is correct, though it is an issue with the law that focuses on criminalizing even those who accidentally run across questionable material, rather than focusing on those who create and purposely distribute the material (the real problems). However, he does appear to go somewhat out of his way to publicize this claim. He could have just alerted the FBI and been done with it... but he republished his letter to the FBI on a mailing list. That certainly raises some serious questions.

On top of that, his complaint is not about actual photographs of child pornography, but drawings. Indeed, the courts have found that even such depictions count as child pornography -- though many people find that arguable about whether or not a made up drawing exploits a child in any way.

The real problem, of course, is that this (like so many arguments over this stuff) takes away from the real issue: which is stopping those actually responsible for child pornography. Attacking Wikipedia is not the answer and does little to help the issue -- especially when the attack comes from someone with a long history of animosity towards the site, and a failing competitor. Why not focus those resources on actually dealing with the real problem? Wouldn't we all rather that the FBI is focused on actually stopping those involved in the production of child pornography than wasting time going after Wikipedia? Part of the problem is certainly with the way the law is structured today, but it does seem that Sanger went out of his way to try to broadcast this attack when that absolutely was not necessary.

He makes it even worse in the Fox story by claiming that he was doing this to alert educators that Wikipedia is dangerous for school children. That's flat-out ridiculous. For the most part, it is not. It's quite unlikely that anyone is going to accidentally stumble onto those drawings on Wikipedia -- and they're equally as likely to find similar (or worse) stuff elsewhere. To call out all of Wikipedia as being unsuitable because of this is clearly going way too far.

A bunch of folks sent over an editorial in the Wall Street Journal that goes out of its way to trash "techno-utopians" for believing that the internet is a good thing and can be used to help fight authoritarian regimes, such as the one in Iran. The problem with the piece, written by Evgeny Morozov, is that it basically sets up a strawman that is quite easy to knock down:

It's easy to see why a world in which young Iranians embrace the latest technology funded by venture capitalists from Silicon Valley, while American diplomats sit back, sip tea and shovel the winter snow on a break from work, sounds so appealing. But is such a world achievable? Will Twitter and Facebook come to the rescue and fill in the void left by more conventional tools of diplomacy? Will the oppressed masses in authoritarian states join the barricades once they get unfettered access to Wikipedia and Twitter?

But who made that argument? The answer, which Morozov ignores or conveniently skips over, is no one. No one is saying that Twitter or Facebook will replace traditional diplomacy. No one says that Iranians with access to Wikipedia will suddenly overthrow their government. It's a total strawman that Morozov sets up because it's so easy to knock down and there's no one at all to defend it, because no one's said it.

Instead, what people are saying is that having better tools (which, by the way, go way beyond Twitter and Wikipedia -- but it's easier to dismiss what people are saying by lumping the entire internet into two offerings) can help aid in driving change. But no one is saying it takes away the need for diplomacy or real leadership. No one is saying that the technology can't also be used by the other side -- often to oppress further (as Morozov implies later in his article). The argument is that these tools, if used well, can augment and help those fighting against such regimes. Further, the argument in many cases (though, certainly not all) is that if you provide better communication tools to "the masses," in the long run, that will enable them to more strongly advocate for their own rights. Though, again, that is as a process of augmenting true leadership -- not replacing it entirely.

Morozov uses the failure of Twitter to successfully allow the Green Movement in Iran to effect change and the (supposed) failure of West German TV in East Germany in the late 80s to lead people to tear down the wall, as his only bits of evidence. But, again, that presupposes the wrong thing: that it is the technology alone that leads to revolution. Yet, again, no one claims such a thing. The technology is a tool, and it depends entirely on how it's used as to how effective a tool it is for the purpose. But what many of us who believe in the forward march of technological progress feel is that, in the long run, the greater flow of information opens up more opportunities for people to step into a leadership role, and leverage the technology effectively.

So, yes, it's true that technology alone does not make a revolution. But no one claimed it did. That's just a strawman that's easy for Morozov to knock over. The real issue shouldn't be trying to disprove mythological statements from a nebulous group of "techno-utopian,s" but looking for ways to make sure those other elements are in place to make use of the technology in a positive and helpful manner.

More than two years ago, we talked about a great idea to deal with the (somewhat misleading) question of the trustworthiness of Wikipedia: color code new edits from untrustworthy editors. Not only would this alert people to at least double-check that particular info, it would remind people that Wikipedia is a constantly changing site. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't heard much about this idea since that summer of 2007. However, apparently, it's been gaining in popularity, and now Wikipedia is set to start using it across the site. Here's how it works:

Based on an person's past contributions, WikiTrust computes a reputation score between zero and nine. When someone makes an edit, the background behind the new text gets shaded orange depending on their reputation: the brighter the orange, the less "trust" the text has. Then when another author edits the page, they essentially vote on the new text. If they like the edit, they'll keep it, and if not, they'll revert it. Text that persists will become less orange over time, as more editors give their votes of approval.

While there are some concerns about how well this will work (and how much processing power it will take), it seems like a worthwhile experiment.

A few weeks back, we wrote about the argument over whether or not it was okay that a doctor had uploaded the public domain (and available in pretty much any library) original Rorschach ink blots to Wikipedia. The whole thing was perfectly legal and reasonable in the view of many. But some strong believers in the ink blots seem to think that even though the images are in the public domain, they have some sort of right over them. The thinking, on their part, is that keeping the ink blots secret protects the integrity of the test -- which totally ignores the fact that these ink blots are already widely available (and the fact that it seems rather unlikely that all that many people are going to "study up" for their Rorschach tests.

But, it hasn't stopped a witch hunt against the guy who uploaded the images. Apparently, he's being investigated by his local doctors' organization for "unprofessional" actions. The complaints against him are equally ridiculous. They say that this is "serious misconduct" because he "shows disrespect to his professional colleagues in psychology and disparages them in the eye of the public."

So apparently no doctor is ever allowed to question any methods used by psychologists? Yikes. Talk about a chilling effect.

Even more to the point, I fail to see how sharing public domain knowledge with the world can be unprofessional or an ethical breach. It seems like the exact opposite. I would think it's a hell of a lot more unethical to trump up bogus ethics charges and investigations against the doctor who actually put that content on Wikipedia.