What might define Murdoch's politics?

In the UK Channel 4 is currently running a season of old programmes to mark its 25 anniversary. Channel 4 is both a groundbreaking and controversial broadcaster, which has produced some really quality TV in the past quarter of a century, so the season has made for good viewing. On Saturday night I watched A Very British Coup, which I had never seen before. This film was made in 1989, and is based on the 1982 book of the same name by Chris Mullen, who subsequently went onto become a leftwing Labour MP. The plot deals with the election of a Bennite Labour government in Britain, led by Harry Perkins, a genuinely socialist leader, who promises radical reform, including the removal of all American nuclear weapons and military bases, and declaring Britain a neutral country. The film focuses on the reaction of the British establishment - in the civil and security services, the media and business - and the Americans to the new regime (although it should be noted that the book and the film have dramatically different outcomes).

One aspect of the plot cuts across something I have been thinking about a bit recently - the way the media reacts to politicians. The film contains a Rupert Murdoch-type figure who, angered by Perkins plans to limit newspaper ownership so an individual may only own one title, attacks the Labour leader with vicious headlines, such as "Commie Scum". Actually, this must not have seen so far removed from reality at the time, as the Sun was regularly attacking Labour politicians (and anyone who has read the Alistair Campbell diaries will be aware what a genuine source of pain and hurt these attacks were to Neil Kinnock). Both the fiction and the reality of the 1980s seem then to point towards what has become something of a Shibboleth for the left; namely, that the corporate media is against them and has its own pro-corporate, pro-establishment agenda.

The bogeyman for this idea is undoubtedly Rupert Murdoch, as a funny little film on Slate recently made very clear. But does this idea stand up to scrutiny? On some issues (for example Iraq or European integration) there is certainly a consistent line within the Murdoch stable across both different publications and over time. However, a member of the Conservative party might argue they haven't exactly been treated kindly by the Murdoch-owned media in recent years. And, of course, all the Murdoch papers (with, if memory serves, the exception of the Sunday Times in 2005) have endorsed Labour in every election since 1997. This represents a pretty substantial change from the eighties.

Whilst we can never regard the media as a value free environment, it does seem to be the case that the political zeitgeist and public preferences do have an influence on even the most powerful media barons - in that sense, the media is not just driving public opinion, but also reflecting it. We shouldn't be too surprised by this. As corporations, they are still interested in profit, and making profit requires customers who are willing to consume their product. As a result, they have to, in part at least, reflect the beliefs (and probably, to some extent, the prejudices) of their prospective audiences. If the view that media is in part responsive is accepted, it raises all kinds of interesting issues, especially for a global media firm like Murdoch's News International that straddles a number of markets. The editorial lines employed by the organisation might look very different from country to country, as the two films below indicate. Same company, two countries... and crucially, two very different messages. Perhaps we shouldn't be too surprised by this, given the different audiences they are seeking to appeal to.

[First published on nickanstead.com]

 

New Working Paper: Parties, Election Campaigning and the Internet

Working_Paper_05.gifNick Anstead and I have just published a new Working Paper, entitled 'Parties, Election Campaigning and the Internet: Toward A Comparative Institutional Approach'. Download pdf.

Here's a summary: This paper argues that a comparative approach to analysing the relationship between technology and political institutions has the potential to offer renewed understanding of the development of the Internet in election campaigning. Taking the different characteristics of political parties and the norms and rules of the electoral environment in the United States and the United Kingdom as an illustration, it suggests that the relationship between technology and political institutions is dialectical. Technologies can reshape institutions, but institutions will mediate eventual outcomes. This approach has the potential to generate a theoretical framework for explaining differences in the impact of the Internet on election campaigning across liberal democracies.

A longer and more developed version of this will appear in the forthcoming Handbook of Internet Politics (Routledge, 2008), co-edited by Andrew Chadwick and Philip N. Howard.

Please see the Publications page for a list of recent and forthcoming works by Unit staff. 

The power of social network monopoly...

... and how it can be used to persuade people to use an inferior product (or "why I hate Facebook messages") 

A while back I blogged on the idea that social networking sites might have a greater tendency towards monopoly than previous computer software and applications (including the archetypal examples of Microsoft and Google). Basically the argument was thus: Social networks sites, by their very nature, rely on... well... social networks. Therefore you don't just choose the site that is "best" - measured by its capabilities - but also for the network that resides on there. Furthermore, once a critical mass of people have joined a site, it becomes incredibly hard for new start ups to get a foothold, regardless of how good their product is. The problem with this, of course, is the network becomes more significant than the service, and people end up settling for second-rate software solutions.

OK, I admit this is a personal rant based on my prejudices (and some people might want to leap in and defend it), but, ladies and gentlemen, I give you exhibit one: Facebook messages, Facebook's internal mailing system. Actually, this is an especially interesting example, because there has been quite a lot of comment on the fact that younger Internet users are abandoning older applications - most notably email - and instead relying on social networking sites for communications. Facebook messages would therefore seem to be a direct replacement and be a very important application. Based purely on personal experience, some of my friends (I would have to add they tend to be friends who are a bit younger than I am) have started to use it as their default mode of communication. But when I sit and think about it objectively, that's actually quite a strange thing to be doing, because, compared to email, Facebook messages is a massively inferior product.

Actually, that's not enitrely fair, as I can see why people do it. Due to the fact it relies on your personal social network, it is astonishingly easy to use. You simply type the first few letters of the name of your friend and you get a list of possibles which you can select from. Of course, you can do this with a well run email address book, but Facebook does it all for you, so there is no need to do any work organising it. Additionally, you'll never get any spam. And, of course, the very fact the mail interface is embedded in Facebook, the place where you organise your social life, store photos and videos of friends, and join groups with those who share your interests, makes it very convenient.

But that is where the advantages end. The message exchanges are strictly linear in construction - there is no forwarding option, for example. Once you have started an exchange, you cannot add people to it at a later point. There is no mechanism for filing messages. Instead you just have one big intray, with the most recent message at the top. You cannot download your messages onto a client, as there is no support for IMAP or POP mail services. This also makes messages much harder to view on a phone or a blackberry-type device. Nor can you set up autoforwarding to take messages into another account. Likewise, there is no autoreply. These are all features that email users have come to take for granted, but don't exist on Facebook messages. It seems in some cases then, that social network does indeed trump functionality.

[Originally published on nickanstead.com/blog

A super reality show

If you took Ben's post from a while back and mixed it with Andy's more recent post... you'd probably come up with something like Heroes: Origins.   Essentially, it's interactive drama.  Each week, a new character (with new superpowers, obviously...) will be introduced.  At the end of the run, the public will get to vote for the character they like the most and that character will be cast in the mainshow for the next series.  

This raises a couple of questions.  One of the big things that has come out of the various television scandals over the course of the past few months is the complex and convoluted relationship between fact and fiction, and how both should and shouldn't be fitted into the idea of narrative.  Even documentaries, after all, need narrative.  Heroes: Origins will blur this line even further.

Also, there might also be problems for Heroes the global brand - it doesn't seem likely that the interactive element of the show will be replicated on a worldwide basis.  That said there is a slightly intriguing comment from the controller of BBC2 on Wikipedia, where he states: "In America there's an interactive element and we'd like to do that here, but I don't know if time will be on our side".  Does this imply that the BBC is seeking to get involved in the phone voting action?  Would this mean a genuinely multinational voting system?  That might be quite an interesting development in the world of interactive television.  Who knows?  Maybe if the characters all came from different countries, they could develop Eurovision like voting patterns...

TV's democratic deposit

A very interesting blog post by Andy (cross posted on his personal weblog) on developments in television and why "reality" TV may now no longer be able to claim it is genuinely participatory.  Andy's point, based on the daddy of reality shows, Big Brother, was that this kind of TV now lacks the sense of authenticity that it once had.  Emblematic of this was the possibility that a contestant on the most recent series might have been sponsored - before she went into the house - to sing a Janis Joplin song about Mercedes cars at regular intervals.  Her reward for doing this was (apparently) a shiny new Mercedes sports car (although presumably Mercedes would have been less pleased if she got onto the second line of the song, which name checks another well known brand of German sports car).  

This certainly seems to jar with the original claims of Big Brother when it launched in the UK in 2000 and in the years immediately afterwards.  Back then, the show had pretensions not only to being entertainment, but also to being a serious enquiry into the human condition.  There were frequent allusions to the Stanford Experiment as a pre-cursor to the show, and zoologist Desmond Morris said he was fascinated by the concept, to the extent that he was willing to write articles for the Channel Four website about the show.  The programme created as many column inches in the broadsheets as it did in the tabloids, with media commentators like Mark Lawson frequently writing about it. 

However, we shouldn't be surprised that this situation has now changed and the sort of example that Andy cites is occurring.  A vital element in the early installments of Big Brother was the security blanket the contestants were wrapped in - because no one had done TV like this before, none of the people in the house had a notion of how they would be received when they left, or, indeed, if anyone was even watching the show.  They were genuinely locked inside a bubble.  Now, contestants are completely aware of what is likely to be going on outside the house and they have a good idea what will happen to them when they leave.  That changes the whole nature of the series and the expectations of the people appearing on it.   

More generally, the format may have additional problems, which undermine claims it has to being genuinely participatory television.  If we go back to the original conception of Big Brother, we can see something that went further than promises of either authenticity or genuine sociological enquiry.  Big Brother, along with shows like Pop Idol, was in a wave of telly that proclaimed to employ a democratic model.  This had two aspects to it.  Firstly, the people on the show were regular folks - that is, people like us.  Anyone could audition and be selected to go on telly and become a star.  Secondly, whilst there would be celebratory and expert panelists, it was ultimately viewers who would be given the power to decide the course and outcome of the show.  At the time it might have been argued that this type of television heralded the rise of a new kind of "bottom up" (as opposed to "top down") television. 

But such arguments don't stack up, for at least three reasons.  Firstly, when the television companies adopted this model of programming, they did not do so because they had come to believe that democratic television was good television.  In contrast, they saw this type of programme as providing an effective economic model that allowed them to continue making profits in a very adverse environment.  Once upon a time, when there were only four channels, top-rated TV programmes could get audiences of twenty million viewers.  The top soaps might pull in, week-in-week-out, audiences of more than 15 million people (although, apparently Coronation Street had an all time high viewing figure of 27 million).  Of these four channels, only two - ITV and Channel 4 - were able to sell advertising.  This situation had two impacts.  Firstly, an advert placed on television would be seen by many, many people, so the advertising space was tremendously valuable.  Secondly, companies wishing to advertise products had few outlets to undertake this activity. 

Compare that with the situation now.  Viewing figures have dropped massively.  Last week, not a single programme was watched by more than 10 million people.  The media market has become atomized, not only because many homes have many more than the five terrestrial channels, but also because of the development of DVDs, computer games and the Internet.  This not only means that advertising space - for example the interval of Coronation Street - is worth less than it once was, but also that companies hoping to advertise are looking at alternative means of reaching the public.  Do they necessarily want to spend their ad budget at ITV, or would they rather buy Google banner ads, for example?

The democratic model of television offered one solution to this problem.  The people appearing on the programme weren't famous, so didn't demand high appearance fees (heck, a lot of them would probably have done it for free).  Generally - although I would actually imagine Big Brother is something of an exception to this, as it quite an intricate production - reality TV is cheaper to make than drama.  And, most crucially of all, the programme can be financed from the revenues made from members of the public phoning into vote.  Perhaps we shouldn't be surprised then that a model of media economics that was adopted because it was profitable has ultimately come to be seen as corrupt and untrustworthy. 

Secondly, the early promise of TV featuring "people like us" clearly wasn't happening.  In fact, the people chosen for these participatory forms of programming were in no way representative of the British public.  On occasions, this might have had positive impacts in combating prejudices against certain people in our society - for example, transsexuals or those who suffered from Tourette's Syndrome - but often it left the impression that the producers of the show were actually trying hard to do the opposite of what they had claimed originally - instead of "people like us", the were giving viewers people "who were not like us at all, thank god".  More often than not, it seemed the reality TV shows were pandering to people's prejudices, rather than seeking to undermine them.  And to be fair, we rewarded them.  The more conflict, the more outlandish the housemates, the louder the arguments - the more we watched and more we voted. 

At the other end of the scale, talent-based participatory programmes weren't really showing people like us either.  The people doing the auditions weren't off the streets or working ordinary jobs.  Often they had been to stage school or even worked in theatre or performance.  These programmes were becoming established as an alternative root into show business rather than discoverers of new talent. 

Thirdly, we really need to question where power lies in reality TV.  On the surface, it might appear that viewers do have a great deal of control, via the medium of telephone voting (let's assume for the a second that the voting process itself is beyond reproach).  But how free and informed are the choices that viewers make?  There are at least two reasons to have doubts about this.

Firstly, producers still control who appears on programmes through the audition process, and they decide the rules of the game.  I used to watch Big Brother for the first few series (I think the last one I really watched was Big Brother Four and - unlike most people - I really enjoyed it).  However, I found that Germaine Greer's critique of the programme, after she had briefly appeared in the celebrity version of the show, was very powerful.  The producers have stupendous power to control and modify the behavior of the people in the house - they control the diet of the contestants, their access to alcohol and other substances (for example, tobacco), their activities, the furniture, their sleep patterns, and everything else that goes on in their lives.  This is a stupendous degree of control to have over a group of human beings, and could easily be abused.  That's certainly what seemed to be happening when, following the low ratings of series four, the producers of the show proudly proclaimed it was getting "evil".  That made me feel deeply uncomfortable (power and evil, after all, are probably not a good mix).

Additionally, as well as the control they have over what is actually happening in the house, the producers of the show have a second power that further undermines the ability of viewers to make informed decisions, and thus the claims of the programme to be genuinely participatory.  Any level of participation on the part of the viewers requires them to have access to information about what is going on in the house.  What they actually have access to is a version of what is going on in the house, created by producers and editors of the programme by splicing together video and sound that has been recorded to make a narrative.  As a result, events can be emphasized, downplayed or even removed from existence altogether.  On some levels, we have to acknowledge that this is how TV works (as has been highlighted recently), but how does it relate to a TV form that claims to be authentic and participatory?

The decline of participatory television

Over the last few months in the UK, there has been a fierce debate regarding the ethics of television. This has been fuelled by a number of scandals around racism, sexism and homophobia in reality TV shows (Celebrity Big Brother, the recent series of 'ordinary' Big Brother, now Hell's Kitchen); 'rip-off' or fabricated viewer phone-ins; and general concern over hypercommercialization in less regulated areas of satellite and cable TV, such as the quiz channels that occupy the obscure reaches of the satellite listings. Public trust in viewer participation formats seems to be at a low ebb.

The parlous state of some British television, and surely one of the forces driving the exodus away from the medium among the under-30s was brought home to me last Friday.

I was watching a Channel 4 programme about what had happened to the latest Big Brother contestants following the end of the series. There were the usual tours of radio and TV studios, tabloid photo sessions, and so on. There was also a rather heated argument between two of the housemates: Charley and Chanelle. The argument itself was not interesting, but one of Charley's outbursts was. At one point, she started singing the hook line from the well-known Janis Joplin song 'Mercedes Benz' (you know it: "Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz").

Charley proceeded to boastfully explain that she had sung that line regularly during her time in the Big Brother house because she had been 'sponsored' by Mercedes to do so. She went on to state that she had been rewarded with a Mercedes sports car. This particular scene lasted only a few seconds, then it was off to the next photo session, and so on.

Was it true? Well, yes: she did sing that song on several occasions while in the house.

Did she get the car for doing so? This is where it becomes more difficult. We do not know. A web search has thrown up nothing more than a speculative thread on the entertainment and gossip website Digital Spy.

Let's suppose it is true. If it is, this was one of those rare, often very brief, moments which seem to crystallise something perfectly. The great hopes for participatory television formats, especially the sense of wonder at Big Brother when it first emerged, must now be put in contexts such as this: a housemate (possibly) 'sponsored' by a car manufacturer to the tune of tens of thousands of pounds, to spread brand awareness by behaving in a deceptively spontaneous manner.

And then we wonder why the participatory web has taken off so rapidly. People are turning to it for multiple reasons, but authenticity must surely be one of them.

[Crossposted from my Internet Politics blog]. 

You say reflexivity, I say waffle, let’s….

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A week ago Gordon Brown was announcing citizen juries, the latest consultation technique to allow government to listen and learn by sitting in a room with that magical category, ‘ordinary voters’. Politicians and officials would use these chats to inform policy by drawing on “the wisdom and experience of the British people”. A new book casts light on government-citizen relations in the UK, with one insight that might be telling for the value of citizen juries and other such exercises. In Media Consumption and Public Engagement, Couldry, Livingstone and Markham present a study showing that however informed citizens may be about political issues, they felt unable to act on this and make a difference at any level of politics. It may be that they were able to act, but they didn’t feel that way, often because politicians offered little signal that they actually listen to citizens. The authors argue governments must ‘take fuller account of not just citizens’ choices but also their reflexivity’ (p190, italics added). This corresponds to research I’ve been involved in, in which interviews with policymakers suggests they have a very limited view of the public. They often have simplistic assumptions about how citizens think about politics, and are surprised that citizens, when presented with a news story, will interpret it in various different ways and on a number of levels; moreover, it is in the process of interpreting news and talking with friends or strangers that their knowledge of politics is often generated.

How a government could take account of citizens’ reflexivity is a thorny challenge, however. Brown and Cameron cannot sit listening to every citizen work through their thoughts and confusions. Would citizen juries offer a step towards what Couldry, Livingstone and Markham call for, or do they raise questions about representation that only muddy the matter further, e.g. which citizens are chosen, who do they speak for, and if they are juries, what powers do their judgements have?

Mayor Idol # 4

A little wait for this one, as it has taken me a while to get round to doing it, but here is the final Conservative Mayor Idol, Warwick Lightfoot.  Lightfoot is a former government special advisor who has also served as a councillor in Kensington and Chelsea for a number of years.  And here's his website:

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First thing to say: It's loooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnngggggggg..... And it isn't even in blog format (by which I mean having entries tagged and organised, and published in chronological order).  They just seem to have crammed loads of information on to the homepage, and it is a bit of a mess.  The obvious solution to this would be to have a nice, self-contained front page and a blog.  But the site has no blog, which is a big limiting feature.  Most of the content on the front page of the site comes from press releases.  Whilst these are clearly well-ordered and up-to-date (there is a release on today's tube strike for example), it also says something about the type of audience that the site is reaching out to - namely the mainstream media.

The site does have some nice features.  For example, it has podcasts on it (which are actually called podcasts and have an RSS feed).  And there is an RSS feed for content.  Although, once again, I am left wondering why anyone - unless they were a jounro - would subscribe to a dry, press release-based feed?  Successful political blogging, as everyone since Dean '04 has showed, is about personality and humour, as much as it is about policy and organisation.  Without that, I suspect that the number of people subscribing to a feed will be very low.

Overall, whilst the site, looks OK (aside from the extreme length of the homepage), has quite a lot of stuff on it, and, I have no doubt, would be useful to a journalist, something really, really big is missing - the site is almost completely lacking in interactive features.  Basically, these are limited to an email address, the ability to sign a supporters list and donating.  There is no option to publicly comment anywhere.  And as all the media is held on the site, and doesn't use a third party site such as YouTube, there is no possibility of commenting on or rating it.  There are not even online polls.  And, given the populist nature of London Mayoral contest, that really misses a trick.

Measuring online success

I've added this to my del.icio.us feed, but it seemed worth flagging up on its own, as it is so interesting. Spartan Internet has just launched an index of online political success. The index combines a whole host of measures - hits, tags on social bookmarks, outreach on social networking sites and search engine placement - to assess just how well candidates are doing online. At the moment, Barack Obama leads the line, with a score of 21.29 per cent, followed by Ron Paul (11.51 per cent) and Hillary Clinton (11.36 per cent).

Spartan's efforts are probably the most complete index, as they seek to amalgamate a range of measures, but they aren't the only people seeking to order data created from online presence. TechPresident has been counting Facebook and MySpace friends, and YouTube viewers, whilst Hitwise has been calculating scores for individual candidate websites based on the number of visits and search queries they receive. I reckon there are two things to remember about these measures. Firstly, these measures aren't an exact science - they are constructed with weightings and variable methodologies after all - and, as I blogged a while back, the real significance of online success is how it fits into the wider campaign.

[Originally published at nickanstead.com/blog