Bob Schwartz

Permissions, Privacy and App Reviews

In the ongoing battle between your privacy and mobile app developers seeking—and getting—your permission to access personal information about you and your life, you are losing.

Millions of people reflexively agree to permissions that go far beyond the functional needs of particular apps. Sometimes it is because users don’t bother looking at permissions lists, or don’t understand all the permissions. Sometimes it is because the permissions requests are strategically placed: while Google Play includes a Permissions tab on its Web site, the mobile site doesn’t include Permissions at first screen, instead revealing it only after the Download button, when the Accept & download button appears. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, it is because users just don’t care, particularly when apps are free, and it seems that permissions, however onerous, are simply the price to pay.

The reasons to care are the subject for another time. But there is a critical way which this may be rebalanced right now, if just a little bit.

Few reviews, from big media reviewers or from user comments, ever mention permissions as a factor in recommending or avoiding particular apps. For example, and by no means singling out any reviewer or app developer, this morning brought a glowing review from Lifehacker about the new version of the  Springpad app:

Use Springpad as Your New Personal Assistant: Get Organized, Save Money, and Have Fun Being Productive

There seems no doubt that Springpad, especially in this latest iteration, is a creative app in a very crowded field. But looking carefully at permissions, you find the list above.

This isn’t to suggest that these permissions are or are not directly related to the functionality of the app or to subsidiary commercial support from advertising and marketing opportunities. And there is no implication that anything malicious is intended.

The point is information. Whether or not it is to a developer’s advantage to have users pay close and continuing attention to app permissions, it is definitely to the users’ advantage to do that.

Which brings us to a modest—and a slightly less modest— proposal.

Responsible reviewers should at least begin including some form of permissions listing in their reviews. This could be as simple as a shorthand list, something like the ratings for movies and television:  PV (Pictures and Video), RC (Read Contacts), RP (Read Phone), and so on.

The next step would be for reviewers to evaluate permissions in two detailed ways. One is to write about how necessary (or unnecessary) the set of requested permissions is to the functionality of or commercial support for the app. The other is to compare similar apps relative to the intensity of permissions. It’s true to that no two apps are exactly alike, but if you try sometime, you just might find that very similar apps request vastly different access rights.

The issues of mobile privacy are not going away. As the user base grows, as the commercial stakes get higher, and as sophisticated data strategies evolve, things are going to get much more complicated. Having reviewers keep permissions front and center is a small but valuable step in keeping users aware and vigilant.

SketchBook MobileX App

Two points.

Of the hundreds of thousands of mobile apps, free and paid, so many fail because of poor usability, lack of sophistication and polish, or because they are asking for permission to take over your phone and life.

The second point is that the idea of being able to sketch on your mobile display seems questionable. On a tablet, fine, but drawing with even the tiniest finger on eight square inches of screen may be like swimming in your bathtub. And yet, when the visual urge strikes, it would be nice to be able to realize it, however small and unoptimally.

This brings us to imaging and design giant Autodesk. From its beginnings with Autocad, the gold standard for computer-aided design, it is now a billion dollar company engaged in all sorts of digital initiatives. While most are commercial, it has been dabbling in consumer software. A few years ago it acquired Pixlr, a photo-manipulation app superior to Instagram, but obviously less well known.

Autodesk has also developed a line of drawing software called SketchBook. They offer a paid mobile version for phones and tablets. But they also offer a very capable free version for both platforms. The phone version is SketchBook MobileX, If you think that the world’s leading computer aided design company would create a mobile app reflecting that expertise, you would be right. While the paid app ($1.99) offers expanded capabilities, the free version should be enough for most people with an artistic finger and an inspiration.

The balance between capability and elegant, intuitive user interface is exemplary. Some users quibble about the learning curve, and there is an included tour and help function (here is the PDF of the user’s guide). But mostly, a little attention and adventure are all you need. The UI itself is a piece of design brilliance, and may be some of the best use of tiny digital real estate ever.

The final commendation for this should-have app is that Autodesk has done what every developer—multi-billion dollar corporation or one-person shop—should do: request only those mobile permissions needed to run the app (in this case, just network communication and storage).

Women Who (Don’t) Develop Apps

Why are there so few women developing mobile apps? The numbers haven’t yet been established, but the guess is that out of the literally million apps already created, and more on the way, few are developed by women.

The app world is one of the most fascinating phenomena in technology. It is in some ways an extension of the old school software development model, and bears some similarity. But a number of things are different. Development is easier, creativity is open, distribution is seamless and global (thanks to the apps markets), and the user base is expanding exponentially. The scale of the resulting tech opportunity is mind-boggling.

One more thing: it is a transparent development world. Many of the most popular apps (popular as in millions of downloads) are the work of one person. It is, even more than in the early days of computers, a place for garage developers, the equivalent of the garage band model of rock. And in many cases, we know exactly who that person is, because the market allows us to communicate directly with him. And, anecdotally, it is almost always a him.

The thought is prompted by the continuing drumbeat that women are severely underrepresented in STEM (science, technology, engineering, math). The focus is properly on the failure to cultivate and use so much needed talent in our always needy enterprises. But app development is also an enterprise, a remarkably democratic and free market that is now an inextricable part of daily life.

Discovering the extent to which women don’t develop apps, and the reasons why, may hold a key to the entire women and STEM debate, as well as to bigger issues of emerging consumer tech. In any case, it is an intriguing and fun question. As to the question of whether women can develop apps, the garage rock analogy is useful, if not entirely encouraging. It turns out that women actually could rock pretty hard, given the opportunity. But in a boy’s club, that continues to be a struggle to this day. Let’s hope it goes better for app development and next gen tech.

Tragedy and Branding

It may seem insensitive to mention this small and bizarre facet of a fresh tragedy. Yet an intensive commercial campaign has run headlong into sad current events in a very peculiar way.

The tragedy is the shooting and killing of multiple students at Oikos University, a small Christian college in Oakland, California. Few have heard of this school, and except for some scholars, Greek-speakers, and religionists, few will have heard the word “oikos” (which means house, home, household, or in the religious context, house of God; it is also the root of the word “ecology”).

Few, that is, except for the millions who have been exposed to this strange-sounding word by the Dannon Company in promoting its Greek-style yogurt. The story behind the brand is a little complicated. Stonyfield introduced it as its brand of organic Greek yogurt first. Then last year, its sister company Dannon adopted the Oikos brand as a new name for its previously unnamed non-organic “Greek yogurt.” Dannon launched the campaign starring John Stamos with its Super Bowl commercial, and it has been pushing ever since, aimed at its  insurgent independent yogurt rival Chobani (“chopani” means shepherd in Greek).

There is no sensitive way to say this: In the days ahead, as the coverage about this school tragedy expands and intensifies, it is likely that some small number of consumers is going to think of this yogurt the first time that they hear about an unknown college named Oikos. It’s not that the name is familiar to them; it’s that the name is peculiar and newly almost-familiar to them. It is also possible that some brand managers are thinking about this too, though their likely response is to do nothing at all in the face of strange happenstance. Strange happenstance, and a tragic event, much more important than any yogurt business.

Mean-ing

For those who wonder whether meanness is a sin or vice, you can start with Summa Theologica by St. Thomas Aquinas, where Question 135 addresses the issue. Or you could ask your parents or your elementary school teachers or your spouse or your children: It’s not nice to be mean.

Which should make us think about why rampant meanness is not only acceptable, but encouraged, entertaining, and profitable. Cheaters may never prosper (though they often do), but meaners are doing very well these days.

Saying that all things virtuous seem to be dying and on life support is an overstatement that doesn’t get us far. Instead, four possible explanations of how what was once a private disturbance has become such a pandemic, a public poison:

Meanness by proxy: All art and performance is based on the ability and willingness of creators to express what we can’t or won’t. It would be nice to think that we only long to be the one who can move people to tears or laughter, inspire people to reach higher, and if we can’t be those creators, at least they are doing that for us. The same thing unfortunately applies to darker messaging, though. We may not be able to attack quite so sharply and eloquently, but we appreciate that someone can. “Yeah, what he said!”

Meanness as superiority: This is a subset of meanness by proxy. There’s perversity in enjoying the meanness of others, but at the same time taking pride in being one who would never say something like that because…we are better than that and would never be so mean. (Whatever the theological status of meanness, by the way, pride is definitely on all the lists of sins.)

Meanness as incompetent and faulty criticism: This is the explanation of meanness as sub-juvenile behavior. When little children aren’t sure why they hate somebody or something, or can’t articulate it, they revert to name-calling and indiscriminate meanness: “You’re a poo-poo head!” It’s a fantastic dream that one day, thanks to some spell, the most gratuitously mean would be magically forced to speak only such childish epithets.

Meanness unconditioned by a thought/speech barrier: The thought/speech barrier, the wall that should keep many thoughts from ever being spoken, is dissolving. Whether phenomena such as Twitter are causal, enabling, or merely symptomatic is beside the point. Thought moves from brain to mouth (or keyboard) at the speed of synapse. Mean heart becomes mean words in a literal instant.

There is a genuine critical function, which can be exercised with thoughtfulness, care, and respect. That simple sentence, a foundation of a free, enlightened society, is looking particularly quaint, and seems for many to have lost its meaning.

“Will No One Rid Us of This Genocidal Leader?”

When Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, stood in the way of Henry II of England, reports are that the king uttered these words: “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” Henry’s men took this not as an idle wish but as a command, and killed Becket.

Except in times of war (which has taken on an ever fuzzier meaning), the assassination of world leaders risks crossing all kinds of legal, moral, and political lines, not to mention its assault on national sovereignty and its likelihood to incite new problems and precedents as it resolves old ones.

Nevertheless, even the most humane among us – or especially the most humane – may be heard to paraphrase good King Henry regarding Syria: “Will no one rid us of this of this genocidal leader?”

Sad to say that Syria today may not even be the worst we’ve seen in recent years. But there is some quality about it, perhaps the arrogance and impunity of Assad, perhaps the daily display of malevolent slaughter, which sets this one apart.

It would not be surprising to learn that in the corridors of power, behind closed doors, a “wish” like that is being made. In the front rooms idealistic but unworkable peace plans are being announced, but maybe in some back rooms there is talk about the pragmatics and consequences of “ridding.”

You have to be careful what you wish for, since wish fulfillment can carry high and unexpected prices. But for some, particularly those living in daily fear of annihilation and mayhem, the price may be worth it if certain wishes do come true.

At Home Without Books

Home libraries, whether modest but treasured shelves of books or vast collections, have been part of homes for centuries. The splendid volume At Home With Books (a kind of bibliophile pornography) celebrates the interesting libraries of the ordinary book-lover along with those of the rich, creative, and the “I had no idea he had such a cool library, but nothing should surprise me about him, including his survival” (that would be Keith Richards).

Most of the changes in what homes typically include have been improvements, additions or trade outs, especially with very useful appliances in the bathroom and kitchen. In entertainment, there has even been the democratizing of screening rooms: once the domain of the rich and famous, thousands now have huge digital screens and plenty of plush seating.

Then there is the evolution/devolution of home libraries. Lots of people never had many books at home, let alone areas or rooms that could be called libraries. Those that do, old and young, are still adding to the shelves, but based on the growth of non-paper formats, at a slowing pace. There is an unsettling sense that, for those of us who view home book collections as the essential equivalent of a working bedroom, bathroom, or kitchen, these libraries are a vestige, a legacy.

Living rooms once had big, beautiful, furniture-style radio consoles that became big television consoles, which then became sleek, minimalist big screens. This is much more than that. This is a model that goes back centuries and that is – hard to say it – disappearing. On a practical level, this is actually a perfect development, since it seems likely that the coming generations may not be living in the expansive spaces that the previous few have enjoyed. Digital bookshelves are a whole lot smaller and easier to move. But separate from the qualitative question of whether paper books are the equivalent of digital books (they aren’t), to some of us, a home without books is not a home at all.

Could We Have Survived a Great Depression?

The Great Recession did not turn into a(nother) Great Depression, and the prospects of continuing towards prosperity, or at least less economic insecurity, seem good. The big question that we now have a limited luxury to ask is this: Could we have survived a Great Depression? The study of that question may be the most valuable we can make.

The Great Depression has spawned an industry for scholars, historians, and thinkers of all stripes, and that has been a good thing. Systems and people are seen truest at their moments of greatest stress, and hardly anything before or since qualifies

Looking at how we managed to survive the last Great Depression – whether it was leadership and action, the normal cycle correcting a horrific anomaly, the fortunate unfortunate impact of a global war, or all/none of the above – tells us something about how we might handle the next. A couple of small starting points:

Creativity matters. Dismissing creative civic solutions out of hand and out of political pique is something we can never afford, and in the worst times something we should never tolerate. Love him or hate him, FDR got boldly creative, pushing the bounds of constitutionality, convention, and common sense. But when things fall apart as they did, common sense is cold comfort. Herbert Hoover, who was in fact a man of civic accomplishment, lacked the boldness and sense of adventure needed for the unprecedented times.

The question is: At that moment in 2008, if things had gone from bad to worse, would there have been the will to be creative and to try things, even if that meant setting aside ideology and political advantage. The answer is that nothing at the time, and nothing today, tells us that there would have been.

Optimism matters. One of the latest political ads from Rick Santorum depicts a cautionary apocalyptic vision of Obama America, something straight out of the Book of Revelation. During the Great Depression, there was no need for a fanciful version of the Apocalypse; it was already there. Books, songs, and movies painted an accurate vision of hardship, but they also tried for uplift and hope. The best and smartest politicians realized that when the spirit of America was already broken, the last thing people needed was a reminder that things could and might yet get worse. Happy days might not have been there again, as the song said, but there was no point in saying that they never would.

So as with the dismissal of creative solutions, the question is, in the face of a 21st century Great Depression, whether today’s politicians could find a way to set aside the darkness and pessimism for a brighter vision of good times ahead, even if it meant faking optimism, even if it meant losing political advantage. There is little evidence of that.

Otherism

At any moment in America, some portion of the population believes in and is engaged in otherism towards those not like themselves or whom they do not like. The proportion varies, the degree varies, the targeted others vary. It may be race, ethnicity, religion, geography, age, gender, sexual preference, class, wealth, anything. It has been that way, here and everywhere, and it will be that way.

What we can do, the best we can do, is try to shrink the proportion of the population acting on these tendencies, reduce the degree, lower the number of targets. At least we can change the mechanics built into the system, and allow others to do what anyone does, and to be free to be who anyone is. As for the hearts and minds of otherists, that is a farther reach, but ongoing awareness and open discussion is a start.

This is in the context of, a prelude to, a very brief comment on the Trayvon Martin case. There are only two certainties there: Trayvon Martin was shot dead by George Zimmerman and it is in some ways about race. Racism is the primary—though not sole—form of otherism in America. It is our curse, our karma, the legacy of a misguided enterprise that fed right into a tendency toward otherism. Progress is not so much a matter of two steps forward, one step back on a road. It is more like a chaotic, entropic society that wants to be better, if not good, but finds itself spinning around a dark past that throws orbits off kilter by its powerful gravity.

We constantly need to know where we are so we can make corrections, however slight. There was the election of a black President, and now there is this case. Let’s see how we do.

Heritagecare

In 1989, Stuart Butler and others at the conservative Heritage Foundation laid the groundwork for Obamacare/Romneycare in the publication A National Health System for America. Chapter 2 by Butler, A Framework for Reform, outlines and explains “the key elements of a consumer-oriented, market-based, comprehensive health system for America.” Element #1 is “Every resident of the U.S. must, by law, be enrolled in an adequate health care plan to cover major health care costs.” (page 51):

The requirement to obtain basic insurance would have to be enforced. The easiest way to monitor compliance might be for households to furnish proof of insurance when they file their tax returns. If a family were to cancel its insurance, the insurer would be required to notify the government. If the family did not enroll in another plan before the first insurance lapsed and did not provide evidence of financial problems, a fine might be imposed.

In other words, a mandate.

Agree or disagree with the Heritage Foundation or this proposal, Butler deserves credit for putting together a cogent, well-written primer on health care history, a report on the shortcomings of the current system, and a set of well-reasoned and creative proposals.

But no good or at least well-intentioned deed goes unpunished. In the time since, and especially in the past year, Butler and others have taken pains to explain how this Heritage Foundation proposal isn’t Obamacare and, in any case, how the proposal has been misunderstood and misapplied. The document itself can still be found on the Heritage Foundation website, though it is not shown and linked as one of Stuart Butler’s documents.

No matter what is argued to the Supreme Court today, no matter what the Justices ultimately decide about the constitutionality of mandates, and no matter how the complicated political dance involving Obama, Romney, Obamacare, and Romneycare turns out, Heritagecare was there first. It is essential reading.