Saturday, August 31, 2013

Applications open for Five Solutions: Digital Sustainability for Historians


APPLICATIONS OPEN!

Five Solutions to What?

Historical scholarship is increasingly digital; and yet we do not have an agreed form of best practices for ensuring that digital scholarship lasts. Five Solutions is looking for five scholars able to outline a solution to the issues of sustainability now facing historians. This one day workshop asks participants to give a 15 minute presentation outlining practical solutions to one of five challenges, with the resources and expertise of an ordinary working historian in mind.  These presentations will form the basis for a one day workshop on practical strategies for digital sustainability.  The presentations can be based on your own experience and ideas, or can be taken on as a research project. We will work with all participants to ensure that the final presentations are both technically workable and illustrated with the most appropriate datasets.

Accepted participants will each receive a £350 honorarium.*

The Five Themes

The following five themes are designed to get you started, but if you have other ideas, we’d love to hear about it. Each theme should be approached with the ordinary working historian in mind.

1.     Preserving research data for the future
2.     Curating an enduring professional online persona
3.     Paying project costs after the money runs out
4.     Capturing and documenting the expertise of temporary staff
5.     Strategies for working together on larger projects

Who Should Apply?

We’re looking for people with passion. Scholars old or young, university students of any level, librarians, archivists, developers, designers, system administrators, or anyone who considers themselves a historian at heart. No specific qualifications or prior experience required - just an interest in helping academia find solutions to organizational and technological challenges facing the sustainability of our digital projects.

What do I have to do?

Figure out a solution, of course! Once you’ve come up with your solution, you’ll share your work in two ways:

1.     A 15-minute presentation of your solution at a one-day conference in London, UK on the 28th of November 2013 at the Institute of Historical Research.

2.     A 1500-2000 word peer-reviewed tutorial outlining your solution to be published in the spring of 2014 in the Programming Historian 2 and distributed as part of ‘IHR Digital’.

All tutorials will be peer-reviewed and released under a Creative Commons CC-BY license. Participants will have the full support of an editor at the Programming Historian 2 who will provide guidance for writing an effective, practical tutorial.

Evidence of previous work with technical writing or a willingness to learn, as well as a strong command of the English language are a bonus.

How do I apply?

By 8 October 2013 send a two-page C.V. and a brief email to adam.crymble@kcl.ac.uk (subject line: Five Solutions) addressing the following questions:

1.     What theme would you like to tackle? (Use one of our suggestions or come up with your own.)
2.     Give us an idea of how you plan to solve this issue, or where you intend to look for a solution (max 200 words)
3.     What skills or experiences make you the ideal person for the task?

We apologize in advance, but we are limited to five scholars.

* Our funding restrictions allow honorariums for UK-based participants only, though we are happy to receive applications from those abroad who have access to their own travel funding and who would like to participate.



Project Support By
And by the AHRC Theme Leader Fellowship for its Digital Transformations Theme.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Can We Reconstruct a Text from a Wordcloud?


We’ve all seen Word Clouds. Many of us have even wondered if they’re of any value. I have used word clouds in the past; I find them useful in presentations when I want to highlight the relative importance of certain words over others. For example, I often use this word cloud to the left, to show the most common Irish surnames in the London area during the early 19th century. I hope my listeners will note that Murphy or Sullivan is more common than Burke or Foley, without me having to take the time to explain the connection between word-size and significance.

I’ve also used word clouds in analysis. In a previous post I discussed how I was able to use the below word cloud to show the relative frequency of topics found in the Gentleman’s Magazine between 1800 and 1820, which allowed me to get a pretty good idea of what the gentry and the middle class were interested in during that period.

I think both of those uses for word clouds have been productive. They’ve allowed me to transmit ideas, and formulate my own thoughts on a set of data in an effective manner. But I began to think about other uses, and I began to wonder about the process of getting back to the original data. Word clouds take the individual words (tokens) out of context. As I mentioned in my last post, we think in metaphors, or ideas. Not in words. That means a word cloud reduces a single idea such as “green bowl” into two tokens “green” and “bowl”. It then combines the word “green” into a single graphic based on how often it appears in the text. The program does not take into consideration the fact that “green” as it refers to a bowl is entirely different than Mr. Green or Green Park. An article about Mr. Green’s picnic in Green Park with his favourite green bowl might give you a skewed idea about the importance of the word green, here representing three completely different ideas, and in all three cases simply acting as modifiers to more important concepts (a man, a park, and a bowl).

Just for fun, I decided to do a test. I asked 4 colleagues, all experts on the criminal trial transcripts of the Old Bailey Online, to look at word cloud of a trial. Each person was asked to describe what key information they could tell me about the crime. I was interested in knowing if they could tell me the who, what, when, where, why type details, and if they could reconstruct the basic building blocks from the prevalence of certain keywords. In the spirit of exploration, I played along as well and offered my own interpretation.

The word cloud was created at random by my wife without my knowledge of the trial. All I knew (and all the participants knew) was that the trial took place between 1801 and 1820, and was between 2,000 and 3,000 words long. The word cloud was limited to 75 unique words and common English words were removed. The resultant visualization looks like this:
  
I have colour-coded my assessment (blue) for aspects I got correct and (red) for the bits I got wrong. What struck me immediately was that this was a case involving theft. That’s a safe bet anyways, since about 50% of Old Bailey trials during this period were theft cases. It was the large number of nouns that led me to this conclusion. I know that trial transcripts always list the items that were stolen, and the testimony in the trial almost always discusses the various objects repeatedly as several witnesses are called to give their account of what transpired. In this case, I’d assume there was a large quantity of alcohol that went missing, ranging from red wine, to port, to gin – stored in bottles, measured by gallons, and in at least one case: a cask.

At the time it was stolen the booze was being stored in a cellar before it was transferred to a cart that was being driven by a horsea mare to be specific. Why Restoration actress Nell Gwyn appears in the set of words, I have no idea since she died over a century before this era, unless the name is a coincidence or perhaps refers to the name of a pub that lost its liquor.

There were a large number of people involved with giving evidence against the defendant including Messers Hutt, Wells, Powell, Wood and Bagnigge, as well as possibly a Mr. Limbrick, and definitely someone named Hart – though again that may be the name of the pub. One of those men is likely the watchman and another an officer. Based on what I know about Old Bailey trials, this suggests there were a lot of witnesses, meaning the prosecutor was concerned that his case may not have succeeded.

The alcohol heist took place in the morning (and was perhaps discovered the following night), and the goods were then transferred down either Maiden-lane or City-road. Given the volume of goods stolen and the fact that death appears in the list suggests our defendant was found guilty and sentenced to death.

My conclusion: a pub named either Hart or Nell Gwyn located on City-road or Maiden-lane was robbed of a large volume of alcohol by a solo male defendant, who was found guilty and sentenced to death.

Analysis

You can compare my assessment with the full trial transcript. It turns out I wasn’t that far off. There had been three defendants, but they were found guilty and sentenced to death. It had been a large alcohol theft. I wasn’t able to accurately pick out the fact that Messers Wood, Powell, and Hart were the defendants, meaning the who aspect of the challenge had completely eluded me. I also didn’t recognize Bagnigge Wells, which was the location of the crime, not someone’s name. Nell Gwyn in this case was the pub that had its door pried open to reach the alcohol.

Participant 1

“Powell and Hutt were found guilty of breaking into the wine cellar of the Nell Gywnn inn in Bagnigge Wells (I know about this place) They were accused of stealing two gallons of wine, casks of gin and bottles of port from the cellar  belonging to Mr Hart . A Watchmen Mr Wood on his round at 1 o'clock saw a broken iron (lock)on the wine cellar door  and saw two men drive off in a horse and cart down Maiden lane towards City Road and immediately called for an officer. The men were stopped by an officer who examined the cart and found the cask of wine, gin and port belonging to Mr Hart and arrested them. They received the death penalty.”

Participate 2

“I would guess it involves stealing a hamper of goods including a bottle of wine from the back of a cart.  My suspicion is that the defendants were two women, and that the servant of the person who owned the cart/hamper discovered the theft and was called in evidence, though the actual owner wasn't.  The cart was on its way to or from northwest London to banigge wells, for a social occasion and some visiting, it happened at night (suggesting they were returning home) and there was a runner or 'officer' involved in the arrest.”

Analysis

In these examples, the participants tried to be very specific about the details of the transcript, and in doing so were incorrect more often than not. The basics of the case, including the location of the crime, was however, correct for participant 1. This would suggest that expert readers are able to get some of the basics – though by no means all. However, that expertise does little to bring forth the specifics of the trial.

Participant 3

“This trial seems to have a richer vocabulary than most.  It looks like a theft case from a wine cellar (wine, port, cask, gin, gallons, hampers, bottles, etc. suggest as much), presumably at Bagnigge Wells; actually the prominence of the word cart, and also the word horse, suggest the material might have been in the process or coming or going there, perhaps parked on the City Road (or Maiden Lane). Went suggests action.  Some force was used: broken, crow, saw, which suggests that the cart was broken into.   There is a certain amount of vocabulary indicating how the culprit might have been apprehended: officer, stopped, examined, watchman, observed, charge—this suggests that officers were used to apprehend the defendant. There are some names: Powell, Gwyn, Hart, Mr, Nell, William.  The most frequently mentioned, Hart, is presumably the victim.  Timing is important: o'clock, morning, night—the prominence of night suggests that that is when the crime took place, with the suspect arrested in the morning?  Numbers indicate either the number of items stolen or the time of day (one or two in the morning).

Analysis

This one came out surprisingly accurate. The participant hadn’t recognized Nell Gwyn as the name of the actress. As in my own case, it proved impossible to figure out who was the defendant and who was the victim. However, the details of the crime and the process of apprehending the defendant is almost bang on. This participant didn’t try to reconstruct the narrative in the same way as Participant 1 or 2, and thus avoided many of the pitfalls. However, there has been no guess at the verdict, and while the basics of the trial are here, the richness of what actually is recorded in the transcript is nearly entirely lost.


Participant 4

“Geographical location
Wine Cellar –property crime
Bagnigge Wells – recognise this as the location of a rather seedy spa/pleasure
grounds on the outskirts of Clerkenwell towards Kings Cross.
City Road – not too far away runs from the City to Islington
Maiden Lane – small street that runs parallel to Covent Garden Piazza on the
south-side although there might be other Maiden Lanes
Time –mention of time o’clock and watchman (usually worked only at night)
and night although mentions morning (in the or the next)
Crime probably burglary because of the mention of the relevance of time
together with watchman
Stolen Goods: bottles of red wine, port, cask, gin from wine cellar
Broken into cellar with an iron bar, maybe crow bar
Probably took it away or hid it in a cart, certainly it is central to the plot and
perhaps discovery of the stolen goods. There may well have been a significant
amount of drink gallons, casks and bottles? Hampers – might have been used
to transport/hide the goods
Arrested – yes (examined) and officer (probably from one of the Police Courts
Observed - spotted
Names Hart – think this is a personal name rather than pub sign and possibly
Wood as it’s mentioned frequently but not as much as the things I think were
actually stolen
Gwyn –forename Welsh? Ha – just spotted nell (same size) and I know that
Nell Gywn was supposed to have lived at Banigge Wells. John, William, think
Hutt is a personal name (not a shed)
Death –punishment (so guilty)”

Analysis

This one was particularly interesting, because the participant included their thought process as it related to the various words on the visualization. The fact that it was clearly a theft of goods, and that time was mentioned, lead this person to conclude we were dealing with a burglary, which was correct.  The conclusion that Hart was the name of a person rather than a pub was correct, but equally could have been wrong. While Nell Gwyn may have lived at Bagnigge Wells, that wasn’t really relevant to this case.

Conclusions

Can an expert on a historical source reconstruct the details of that source from a word cloud? It would seem the answer is: sort of. Of the five participants, two (#3 and #4) did an incredibly good job of getting some of the details. These people were able to reason out what the words meant by drawing upon their experience with the ways certain types of words were used in criminal trial transcripts. However, in both cases they were light on the details, and it would appear decided not to guess on elements of the crime that they couldn’t be confident in. That is, they spoke confidently when they were confident but otherwise stayed silent.

I think my analysis fell in the middle. I got lots of bits right, but I was also wrong just about as often. I was disappointed that I couldn’t pick out the roles people played in the trial from the word cloud. There was no way to guess who was the defendant, who was the victim, and without recognizing the names, who were the officers. I wasn’t even able to guess how many defendants were on trial. On the other hand, I did guess the type of crime, the verdict, and a few details and circumstances surrounding the arrest. Having said that, I can’t say I was confident in all of my conclusions and was guessing.

And finally, two of the participants were way off (#1 and #2). These two attempted to reconstruct the narrative of what had happened, providing a level of detail that involved a good deal of guesswork.

What does this mean? I think it shows that when faced with a simplified visualization such as a word cloud, the process of getting back to the original is fraught with a level of guesswork. However, an expert in the source material can, with reasonable accuracy, reconstruct some of the more basic details of what’s going on.

How do we move forward? Well, as I pointed out earlier in this article, I think the secret is in moving away from the idea that tokens transmit ideas. Ideas and metaphors transmit ideas, and it would be far more useful to have an idea or concept cloud than one that focuses on individual tokens. But I also think it’s time that those ideas were linked back to the original data points, so that people interpreting the word clouds can test their assumptions. We are ready to see the distance between the underlying data and the visualization contracted. We’re ready to see the proof embedded in the graph. And I hope we continue to see a development in this trend.

Thanks to my participants, Janice Turner, Bob Shoemaker, Louise Falcini, and Tim Hitchcock.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Can you explain this graph to me? Peer Reviewing a Visualization

"For sale: Mixing bowl set designed to please a cook".

That opening sentence contains 10 words, or "tokens" as linguists often call them. Yet either in its spoken or written form, it really only transmits 4 ideas, or what I imagine Marc Alexander would call "metaphors", which are concepts that go beyond the words but that express meaning and understanding. They allow us to think in chunks.



What?: For sale
What's for sale?: a mixing bowl set
What's it like?: designed to please
Please whom?: a cook

The same sentence represents an attempt to conjure a very measured set of thoughts in another person. I can't take credit for the sentence, but when the author wrote it down, they hoped that you, dear reader, would understand those 4 ideas in the same way as all the other readers, and as they themselves understood them. It's their attempt to control your mind temporarily by drawing upon your understanding and memories associated with those 4 ideas. We may not get all the details exactly the same. Your mixing bowl set may be blue. Mine is seafoam and has spout on each bowl to make it easier to pour your batter into the baking tin. So we likely havn't had exactly the same understanding of the sentence, but our understandings are almost certainly within the limits of what's acceptable to the author.

If we add 2 more ideas to the end of the sentence we end up with a failed conjuration:

"For sale: Mixing bowl set designed to please a cook with a round bottom for efficient beating".

Because of the misplaced modifier, there are now two ways to understand these ideas. Does the bowl have a round bottom for efficient beating, or should the cook who will enjoy the bowl be so proportioned?

Visualizations can offer the same ambiguity.



Is this an image of a rabbit, or a duck?

In this case, it's both, and it's that very ambiguity that the artist intended us to understand. Not all visualizations are intended to teach us something specific, or to so carefully conjure a series of ideas in our minds. That's wholly too modernist for some. Visualizations can be exploratory, used by researchers to come to a different understanding of their data by slicing it in lots of ways until they see something interesting. Or, as I demonstrated in an earlier post, can be a quick way to get a distant look at a large amount of data by reducing it to something easier to digest. In that sense graphing can aid the discovery process of research even before the conclusions are ready to be shared with the world.

But when it comes to visualizations for academic publication, unintentional ambiguity is something we must strive to avoid. If done well, there should only be one proper way of interpreting the visualization. It's our job to create something that can conjure specific thoughts in the reader's head based on the graph's shape, colour, size, orientation, etc. And it should go without saying that those conjured thoughts should be grounded in rigorous research.

As academics we spend so much time and care on our prose, and even our footnotes. Usually (we hope) that prose comes out lucid and if we're lucky, is enjoyable to read. One of the ways we ensure that is through peer review. The editors help us find people who are willing to take the time to read what we've written and provide constructive feedback upon it.

Yet few of us feel we have the aptitude to offer similar feedback on visualizations. We're not visual artists and so we can be forgiven for using colour in confusing ways, or for thinking a pie chart with 100 categories is a good way to express an idea. As I mentioned previously, I'm quite confident that in the present climate, unique looking or impressive visualizations will slip through peer review unchecked, lest the reviewer's lack of expertise in visualization be exposed by making a comment to the effect of "I don't under stand this graph".

Now, far be it from me to suggest we only use column graphs or line graphs, or that we do X, but not Y. I think it's fantastic that so many people out there are pushing the boundaries of what we can achieve via visualization. The folks at the Guardian Data Blog do great work on bringing data to life, and are a wonderful place for anyone seeking inspiration.

Instead, what I would suggest is that as creators of academic visualizations, we make sure our graphs are reviewed, even if our reviewers cannot or will not do so in the traditional peer review process.

The way I'd propose we do that is to show our friends and colleagues what we've made as often as we can, including during the drafting process. But it's not just about showing them. We have to ask the right questions. Let's use the graph below as a (relatively poor) example of a visualization that we might like to get feedback on. Please note that this is not a graph showing real data about the cost of grain in the 19th century. It's just an example.

Most of us likely want to ask "Do you like my graph?" or "What do you think of this?"

A more productive starting point is probably: Can you explain this graph to me? You aren't going to be there when your reader or viewer is interpreting your graph. The best way to find out what set of ideas are going to form in their mind is to ask them to explain their thought process out loud.

In this case, I had intended to show the seasonal difference in the price of grain in London and Edinburgh over a 20 year period. You may not have picked up on that, which means I need to fix something.

Don't be affraid to ask explicitly: Is there any element of this graph that you do not inherently understand? Make sure they can explain the labels on both axes (if relevant). If they don't know where you're getting those values from you may need to rethink your axis labels. You'd be forgiven for asking what the numbers on the Y-axis represent in the example. I didn't label it, so how could you know?

When you start experimenting with your visualizations, you're bound to come up with ideas you think are clear, but that just don't translate into ideas that your reader can interpret. Looking at the sample graph, I wouldn't fault you for asking what the top and bottom line of the curves represent. They're supposed to be two line graphs: one representing Edinburgh prices, and one representing London. I've shaded in the space between the lines to emphasize the size of the gap. If this is in fact two lines, then which one is Edinburgh? Which one is London? And when they overlap, how do I know which bit corresponds to which line? Do they cross, or merely meet and diverge again? I havn't made the fact that this is a line graph obvious because the lines aren't distinguishable from the shape formed by the colours.

Speaking of colour, you'll want to make sure you havn't come up with a palette that is going to make interpreting your graph difficult for someone with colour blindness. There are many different forms of colour-blindness, so it pays to run a test on your graph. You can do this online by using a "Colour Blindness Simulator" on your finished image.

Sticking with the negatives, ask your tester which element of the graph they like the least. For the sample graph, they may say they don't like the colours, or the font, or the legend. Personally, I think using --------> to represent arrows looks lazy. Everyone will have their own opinions on what's worst about your work. If you know what turns people off you can make visualizations that people like. And if they like the visualization, readers are more likely to engage with its message. With this in mind, go ahead and ask if they like your graph. Or if there are any elements of the graph that they particularly fancy.

Just as with your prose, it may take a few iterations and a number of different opinions from colleagues before a graph says to others what you think it says in your own mind. Just because you submitted a graph with your article and the peer-reviewers didn't comment on it doesn't mean you've done a good job of clearly expressing your ideas visually.

And one last question to ask, just to make sure your readers get the right message and aren't distracted: does the shape of the graph make it look like anything unrelated?

Graphs and visualizations have tremendous potential for expressing ideas in academic research, but it's not a skill we're typically taught in school. Most of us learn on the job, or emulate graphs we saw elsewhere that we found effective. Taking the time to ensure the graphs you create transmit the right ideas to your reader is good scholarship. Knowing the right questions to ask makes it that much easier to reach that result.

Questions to ask about a visualization:
  1. Can you explain this graph to me?
  2. Are there any elements you do not inherently understand?
  3. Can you explain what each axis shows (if applicable)
  4. Will people with colour blindness be able to differentiate your colour palette? (check online)
  5. What do you like least about the graph?
  6. Do you like the graph / a particular element of the graph?
  7. Does the shape of the graph make it look like anything distracting?

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Students should be empowered, not bullied into open access

'Bully Free Zone' by Eddie-S
The American Historical Association (AHA) has just adopted a resolution in support of recent graduates, encouraging them to feel empowered to keep their dissertations offline while they seek a publisher to turn that dissertation into a scholarly monograph.

Surprise, surprise, open access advocates everywhere have started snivelling.

No! they cry. We shouldn't support a resolution passed in good faith to protect the career progression of new scholars against scholarly presses that are allegedly refusing to accept manuscripts based on openly available dissertations. We should be burning books and the organizations that publish them. Down with books, up with free information on the Internet!

Lovely, but you can't eat free information. Makes a shit shelter as well.

Now, I certainly understand, sympathize, and even agree with the complaints of the open access community. Trevor Owens posted some great suggestions last night for ways to amend the AHA statement into one that recognizes some real flaws in the publication / promotion / tenure model that is over-reliant upon books. I certainly agree with Owens that it makes no sense to leave career progression of historians in the hands of acquisition editors at famous scholarly presses.

I'd also suggest that the AHA's claim that history is a "book" discipline is a bit too narrow. From where I live in London England, hundreds of thousands of people make their living either directly or indirectly off of history. That can be anything from freelance tour guides who offer historic walks through the City, to the cafeteria workers in the museums and historic sites, the actor who draws you into his theatre for a rendition of Richard III or the actress who portrays Elizabeth Woodville in a television series, or even her Majesty the Queen whose very presence and connection to a historic institution draws in millions of tourists every year.

The AHA's perspective is probably flawed in terms of the negative reaction of presses towards open access of dissertations. A yet to be published (and open access) article Do Open Access Electronic Theses and Dissertations Diminish Publishing Opportunities in the Social Sciences and Humanities suggests that the vast majority of publishers are willing to consider submissions based on openly available theses.

With all of this in mind, let's give the open access community what they want: You're right.

But dear God you're obnoxious.

The decision of the AHA to support this measure is nothing but a well-intentioned gesture designed to protect and empower those at the most vulnerable point in their career from a perceived threat. How could anyone could criticize them for that? The AHA and scholarly societies like it are not the enemy, and they don't operate to keep scholarship in the 19th century. They exist to promote the interests of their members, and that's exactly what the AHA has done with this resolution. If you want to change their direction, join them. Run for positions of power within their ranks, and influence the opinions of their membership. The historians who belong to these organizations aren't stupid, so if your ideas are good and your models sound, there's no reason we can't expect gradual change towards open access.

Both scholarly monographs and open access have their merits. We shouldn't be pushing for either / or, just like we havn't driven actors from the stage because we have television. Scholarly monographs are an effective way of preserving historical knowledge; they're in a format that the vast majority of us understand and even appreciate. We don't need to give that up.

And while I can appreciate the advantages of open access, its advocates often ignore the problems of an open access model. We live in a society in which things that have no cost have no perceived value. You wouldn't expect your lawyer to work for free, so why your historian? The scholarly presses defend their (failing) business model because it keeps their friends and family employed, their kids fed, and their bills paid. This isn't just a matter of profits funneling into the pockets of the rich. It's the way people like you and me make modest and honest livings.

If we start giving everything away we're promoting a model in which certain professions operate without the security of a paycheque while others doing important work continue to charge for their services. It's all well and good for open access advocates to tell us the benefits of their model, but until they come up with some solutions for its failings, they won't gain any friends who are sitting on the fence. Especially not if every well-intentioned effort by a scholarly society is met with a hostile barrage on Twitter by an extremist perspective that ignores the fact that we're all on the same team: We love history and we want to spend our careers sharing it with others.

If you want to give your dissertation away online, by all means do so. But it is your dissertation. You should feel equally empowered to bury it in a hole in the back yard, or throw it off a bridge. Anyone who tells you that you're bound by some moral obligation to give it away has a job, or a trust fund, and has no business putting any demands on your labour. Even if your scholarly book never earns you a cent, it's your prerogative to try and flog it any way you like. That doesn't make you a bad person. Neither does withholding your thesis from the Internet if you think that will help your pursuit towards a career that allows you to provide for your family. I hold my right to support my family far above your right to read my ideas for free.

I wholeheartedly want to thank the AHA for standing up for and empowering new scholars. No good deed goes unpunished, but there are many of us out there who appreciate your efforts and look forward to continued progress in what we hope becomes a civil debate and progression towards increased open access.








Saturday, May 18, 2013

The Role of Blogging in the Academic Feedback Cycle

Feedback Diversity is Good
Last year I delivered a couple of research papers on the history of crime. The first was in October at the Institute of Historical Research or the IHR as it’s known, here in London. The second was in January, on a beach in Belize. I thought I'd talk a little bit today about how those two experiences were different, how they were the same, and what place I think each holds in the future of scholarship.

Now before you start looking for tropical conferences on 18th century crime, I should qualify that the first paper was delivered to a room full of people. The second was posted on my blog while I was on vacation – and yes, sadly, I DID write about 18th century crime while gazing out over the Caribbean Sea. For some people speaking to a room and blogging are probably significantly different activities. But for me they aren’t all that dissimilar. Let me explain why by talking about what I got out of both experiences as well as what went into them.

At the IHR, I presented an hour-long paper based on three chapters from my PhD thesis. It was about two years worth of work that I had condensed down and tried to make engaging for a room full of people. For about two months before I gave the talk I didn’t do much other than scramble to get the research done, create the graphs build the powerpoint presentation, and craft the 8,000 words that I was to deliver. It was an incredible amount of work. I wore a jacket and tie, and I think I might have even gotten a haircut. Good thing because some of the most eminent crime historians in the world happened to be in town and decided to come to my talk. In all, I think there were about 50 historians in the room, most of whom knew far more about crime and the eighteenth century than I do.

The talk was followed by a really engaging discussion – at least from my perspective. I had a number of people offer suggestions for improving my argument, or on sources and archives I should visit. A couple of scholars who also write on similar topics challenged my findings – though were collegial and offered their own suggestions. Afterwards we continued onto the pub and to dinner as a group and over the course of the evening I must have heard ideas, criticisms, and praise from about 25 individuals on what I was doing.

The beach was a very different experience. The paper itself was just shy of 3,000 words, so somewhere in the 20-25 minute range if I had delivered it orally. This time my paper was based on some quick research I’d done just before Christmas. In total I’d invested a little more than a week analyzing the use of language in the Old Bailey Proceedings over a two hundred year period. It was really nothing more than an idea I'd wanted to test out, based on a conversation I'd had at the pub concerning the size of the lexicon over time.

The results I came up with were what you might call half-baked. Not that I’d been lazy, or that I didn’t know what I was talking about, or that the results were wrong. Just that I hadn’t spent weeks or months revising my methodology and my prose as I had at the IHR. Nor did do an in depth literature review. Instead it was more an activity in play. I had some sources, I had an idea, I tried it out, I wrote it up – with a reasonable amount of care – and I posted it to the world, curious to see what it thought.

The world doesn’t scare me, although many postgraduate conferences suggest it should. It’s not uncommon for these postgraduate affairs to advertise the fact that they are collegial, and a safe place to try out ideas. No senior academics are going to be on hand to put you in your place and tell you how wrong you are. I’ve never been one for intellectual safety, so I don’t see putting a half-baked idea before the world as one of risk. Rather it’s one of potential. But it’s also one of uncertainty and often loneliness.

When I posted my paper on the blog, there was no beer and pizza afterwards – though I did have a nice swim. And in the end I got one comment on the post from Ben Schmidt at Harvard who offered a suggestion for improving the methodology and the results.

On the surface it looks like the blog post was significantly less successful, since the number of comments I got were 25 at the physical presentation, and only one on the blog. But I don’t think that’s quite fair, for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, the talk at the IHR was a formal affair presenting years of research, with a moderator that gazes around the room encouraging more questions from the audience. The blog post was a way to test an idea, which is shouted into the great wilderness. That level of anonymity readers of blogs enjoy means there isn’t the same pressure to respond. But just because they don’t respond doesn’t mean they didn’t engage with the content. It’s difficult to know how many people engage with content on the Internet. I know 50 people were in the room for my seminar paper at the IHR, and I didn’t notice anyone sleeping, but even then I can’t be sure who disappeared into the recesses of their mind as I talked away.

My blog however offers statistics, and though I know not everyone who visits a blog post reads it, I do know about 600 people came to take a look. That’s about 12 times more than showed up to hear my seminar, and because a blog post is printed on the Internet rather than delivered orally, vanishing on the wind as it’s spoken, my blog readers could be anywhere in the world, and could even have been sleeping when I delivered it.

But what I think is important is not how many people read the blog post. Rather, it’s the diversity of the people who did so. The seminar at the IHR was attended almost exclusively by specialists in 18th century British history. The blog reaches a much more diverse audience who typically come through one of two channels:

• Twitter
• Digital Humanities Now.

When I post a new blog post I then post a notice on Twitter letting my followers know. If I’m lucky a few people will notice and share it with their followers on Twitter, or will write a response on their own blogs. And if I’m really lucky a group of scholars in Virginia who run a blog called Digital Humanities Now, which post the best blog posts of the day related to digital humanities, will tell their audience about my post, sending even more people. That’s basically what happened in the case of my Belizean blog post. I published it to the blog, told Twitter, was re-tweeted by a few people, and was showcased on the Digital Humanities Now blog.

That meant my audience included a large number of digital humanists who work in a wide range of academic disciplines including linguistics, computational analysis, literary studies, and history. I think it’s fair to say most of that audience doesn’t care about 18th century British history. However, they do share an interest in the methodology I used to work with the sources. One of those digital humanists, Ben Schmidt, posted the comment that helped me refine my methodology and come up with even stronger results.

No one in the IHR seminar was going to give me that type of feedback because that’s not the type of expertise they have. Instead they focused on the details related to the history of crime or on the records they knew of in the archives. So by seeking out a different audience through the blog, I was able to get interdisciplinary feedback on my work.

History seminars are extraordinarily valuable, particularly for early career scholars like myself. The level of intimacy you get in that type of environment is unparalleled. But they’re a bit like poorly designed focus groups. If you want to take the pulse of the nation on welfare reform or Euroskepticism, you don’t want a room full of Horse and Hound subscribers. You need the diversity of a few Daily Mail readers thrown in the mix, who see the world from a slightly different angle.

And I think the blog and twitter provide that diversity for me. In my case, my blog attracts a lot of digital humanists, but blogs aren’t just a way to get feedback from digital humanists. I posted another blog post a few weeks later on the same research material, this time focused on using criminal records to measure immigration. I again got one comment, but this time it was from Tim Hitchcock, a historian of 18th century Britain, who offered a historical interpretation that might explain what I had found. Tim’s expertise with the provenance of the records meant he knew things about the sources I didn’t.

I posted a third blog post again on a slightly different topic, and received different types of comments again from linguists, computer scientists, and Sharon Howard, the project manager from the Old Bailey Online project. With three blog posts and roughly the same number of words as my seminar paper, I’d engaged a number of different types of people from all over the world with very different sets of expertise, and different types of feedback than I could ever expect to get from a room full of crime historians.

Which experience was more valuable? The seminar or the blog posts? For me, I don’t think there’s much that can compare with a room full of world experts devoting their combined experience to listening and critiquing years of your hard work. I also don’t think you can beat the type of connections that can only be made in a face-to-face meeting at the pub, or over pizza with people who share your interests. But I also don’t think we should sniff at a model that allowed me to test 3 ideas in an informal setting, get a broad range of feedback from interdisciplinary experts all over the world, and all without costing anyone a penny.

I’ve taken on board all of the feedback I’ve received from these two papers. My PhD thesis is stronger for having delivered the seminar paper, and I’ve decided to pursue the ideas expressed in my blog more formally as a future research project. So these papers were both valuable in their own right, and I think I’m a better historian for having delivered them.

This is the text of my talk at 'Our Criminal Past: Digitisation, Social Media, and Crime History' held at the London Metropolitan Archives, 17 May 2013. With thanks to Heather Shore for inviting me to speak.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Is the Programming Historian 2 a MOOC?

'Evil Robot' by Jennifer Morrow (cc-by)
A few months ago I was asked if the Programming Historian 2 is a MOOC. For the uninitiated, a MOOC is a Massive OpenOnline Course. They’ve been popping up online for the past couple of years, principally at major American universities like MIT and Stanford, claiming to be able to teach thousands or even hundreds of thousands of students at the same time – for free. They’ve so far had mixed results but it seems most people in academia have an opinion on them – either, meh it’s a fad, damn we gotta get one of those at our school, or the robots have come for our jobs! Defend! Defend!

I can’t speak for the other editors of the Programming Historian 2 (PH2). But I can say: No. I don’t think the PH2 is a MOOC.  If you havn’t found us yet, the PH2 is an open access series of tutorials designed to let humanities researchers get their toes wet with computer programming. The lessons involve learning simple programming tasks that are immediately useful to ordinary working humanists. That might be automatically downloading historical recordsfrom the Internet, or analyzing a collection of sources with topic modeling. All of the lessons are online – like a MOOC – and there is no teacher in the room with you – like a MOOC.

So why no MOOC? For me, what sets a MOOC apart from a classroom-based course is a belief that the tutor-tutee relationship can be depersonalized and made redundant. MOOCs replace this relationship with a series of steps. If you learn the steps in the right order and engage actively with the material you learn what you need to know and who needs teacher?

I don’t think that’s what we’re about. Instead, some of the most exciting feedback we’ve got at the PH2 has been from academics who have used the PH2 as a teaching tool in their classroom. Either they’ve assigned lessons for their students to work through, they’ve challenged students to write lessons of their own, or they’ve used the PH2 to teach themselves a skill that they can then pass along to their students.

That’s not to say you can’t use the PH2 to teach yourself some programming if you havn’t got a teacher. It’s to say the PH2 is not the evil robot looking to take your job away. It’s the friendly robot looking to give your teaching toolkit a few more options, and maybe a new skill or two with which to impress your friends and colleagues. Not unlike a book. And Books havn’t put literature professors out of a job, but they have made English lit courses more interesting.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Trust Me: The Old Bailey Online as a model for digitization projects

The Old Bailey Online (OBO) turned 10 years old this week, and to celebrate, Sharon Howard has been encouraging blog posts and tweets from the project's wide network of contributors. I thought I'd add just a few brief thoughts on what I like about the OBO, and why I avoid so many other competing digitization projects. Rather than explain what the OBO is, I thought I'd save time and steal the explanation from their own website:
A fully searchable edition of the largest body of texts detailing the lives of non-elite people ever published, containing 197,745 criminal trials held at London's central criminal court.
The trials run from 1678 to 1914, making it a great resource for social historians or historians of crime. I broadly fit into both of those categories, but what really interests me is knowledge management. I want to know how we can extract useful knowledge from bodies of text far larger than we could ever read in our lifetime. I'm interested in the historical research questions I pursue, but I'm more interested in the processes of understanding and discovery that the pursuing of those questions lets me explore. That is to say: I'm more interested in how we can know something than what we find out. This all means I have slightly different criteria for a good resource than does a typical historian. When I'm planning a project I'm not looking for 'gaps in the literature'. Instead, I'm really only looking for 2 things:
  1. A corpus of downloadable electronic text
  2. A corpus that does not assume I want to read anything
 1) A Corpus of Electronic Text

At the moment my work is almost exclusively based on textual analysis. By that I mean I work with words rather than sounds or images or smells or physical objects. I want to know what human knowledge is contained in the symbols on pages. That means for me the best thing you can give me is a good clean set of electronic text. The Old Bailey Online does this beautifully - better than just about anyone else actually - by providing more than a hundred million words of transcription. Most important: the OBO is entirely downloadable. That means I can put it on my own computer and I can measure it, twist it around, write programs to analyse it, use other people's programs...anything I like. No one is going to threaten to sue me or press criminal charges for downloading the records, And best of all, once I have the records I don't have to read them. Because that's not the focus of what I do.

2) A Corpus That Does Not Assume I want to Read Anything

I'm certainly not one to suggest reading is obsolete, or that historians should stop going to the archives. But I'm always disheartened to see new scholarly - usually commercial - databases come online that only allow reading. I'm talking about the ones that cost an arm and a leg to university libraries, let you keyword search, but then force you to read a scanned copy of the original while hiding the electronic text layer.

I find these projects infuriating, and would rather pretend they don't exist than struggle to find a research question that's appropriate for their limited interface. The thing that bothers me most about these gated resources is that the publishers who create them are implicitly saying: we don't trust you. They don't trust us because the only thing they possess that allows them to sell their product is the electronic text. That's the part of the project that cost the most and took the longest to create. They think if that starts floating around on the Internet they won't be able to make money anymore.

The OBO is different because it's non-commercial. The OBO trusts us and encourages anyone interested to use the records to explore human knowledge in any way they see fit. For some that means sitting down and reading from digital copies of the original source. For others like me, it means downloading the entire corpus and measuring the rates of transcription errors, or of the impact of courtroom reporters on the vocabulary used in the records, or on the pace of migration in eighteenth century London.

The OBO and its team have trusted us. And from that have poured forth far more research about early modern crime in London than anyone ever could have imagined. Perhaps more research than we need. Meanwhile, researchers like myself continue to ignore the large commercial databases who lock up access to their resources, and hope intently that these people will learn from what is still the best online scholarly database I've worked with. We're starting to see steps forward from some (see the Library of Wales' Newspaper Collection for a good example), but overall there's room to improve.

Until we see a shift away from mandated reading, I'll stick to resources like the OBO. So happy birthday to the OBO and cheers to the project team for trusting us. I hope it's paid off.