All posts by Gary C. Woodward

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This Cloud Pollutes

Think of a server as something like your cable box.  It’s probably always on, always warm, and usually has a cooling fan.  Now add 80,000 thousand more for one location.

Communications equipment isn’t particularly known for creating excessive amounts of pollution.  But we may need to reconsider that view.  Unfortunately, our language isn’t very helpful.  “Cloud computing” may be a boon to organizations and internet-based businesses.  But its clear that what we are really talking about is server farms firmly planted on earth, often in the Southwest, but spreading to other locations as well.  The “cloud” sounds so. . .well. . .innocent. It’s our habit as Americans to put a gloss on what is usually a harder reality–like the euphemism of “bringing justice” to Iranian general Qasem Soleimani rather than naming the harder truth that the United States assassinated him.

Imagine a server farm the size of a shopping mall, with thousands of separately powered electrical units generating heat that needs to be controlled. As with other industrial processes, the shortest route is no longer opening a window (dust, you know), it’s building huge cooling units that usually sit on a corner of the site.  It’s the part of the site with machinery that is clearly on the outside of the structure: cooling units, large insulated pipes and standby generators. This section is filled with energy-thirsty pumps and large heat-exchangers.  It’s one thing for a boxed toaster to sit on a shelf until needed in an Amazon warehouse.  No special air handling is required to store it. But Amazon’s servers, along with Google’s and others, need to operate in conditions that will not melt down their circuitry. Think of a server as something like your cable box.  It’s probably always on, always warm, and usually has a cooling fan.  Now add 80,000 thousand more for one “farm.” The units obviously burn energy as they work, with heat as one of the largest side effects.  The need for cooling makes two forms of pollution.  Now add a third.

We are swimming in a sea of racket.

As a homeowner, you may be in for a surprise if you live in an area where server farms operate.  There is growing evidence that the pumps for cooling not only generate chilled air, but a fair amount of infrasonic noise.  This is the kind of low noise that approaches the point where the ear passes off the responsibility of detection to the body.  We can feel some infrasonic noise.  And that’s apparently what’s happening in the Southwest, where residents complain about a very low hum that never stops and is not easily blocked by routine building materials.  Bianca Bosker recounts the stories of some residents in Chandler Arizona in her recent Atlantic article, “Why is everything getting louder?”

It would not be true to say that server farms are the worst polluters. Indeed, in the 19th century you could identify towns like Lowell Massachusetts or Pittsburgh Pennsylvania or Dearborn Michigan by the rumbles of their heavy industries and the dirty air.  Smoke was the most visible form of pollution in these places, and few then considered the equally destructive effects of this newer culprit of industrial noise.

But our day of reckoning is here.  Partial deafness in older Americans is now as much a certainty as wrinkles. We are swimming in a sea of racket made worse by devices that have almost made it impossible to remember what quiet sounds like.

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The Pessimist’s Guide to Persuasion

retochet[Changing attitudes is hard.  This piece written several years ago confronts the strong likelihood that a persuasive message will trigger unanticipated effects.  I like to think of this as realism rather than pessimism.  But either way, guiding others to where we want to take them is never easy]

A number of years of writing and teaching persuasion have forced me to be a student of the unexpected ricochet.  That’s pretty much the whole game if you are playing racquetball, and it has a lot of relevance to communication.

The actual court for the game is simply a room-sized shoe box that functions as a playing surface for a hard rubber ball and several players.  It’s typically smashed so hard against the playing wall that it comes back at speeds and angles even a supercomputer couldn’t predict.  Those who have escaped the sting of that small missile can be thankful.  It hurts.  the word“ricochet” must have been coined by a bruised French player. But it also evokes the unanticipated associations, meanings, slights, and bogus significations possible every time we open our mouths. More than most kinds of human endeavor, persuasion is fraught with effects that are unforeseen. No wonder it is so difficult.

Try the different analogy of competitive running. Our inability to anticipate effects usually means that a person’s resistance to change is pretty much on its last lap before the possibility of personal transformation has even left the blocks. From a number of meta-studies we know that the odds of getting someone to alter their attitudes even after a flurry of good reasons have been presented is—on the best days—no better than one in ten.  After explaining this theory of “minimal effects” in a recent class, a student glumly asked, “What’s the point?  Why bother? The challenge hardly seems worth the effort.”

The short answer is that we have no choice.  Gaining assent from others is why we are mostly social rather than isolated creatures.  We are hard-wired to connect.  And, by the way, who says that convincing another person to give up an attitude or a cherished behavior should be easy?  We’ve worked hard to put our lives together in some sort of coherent way.

The point is how functional it actually is to be ready for the worst.

In persuasion theory, unexpected effects are called “boomerangs.”  Even well-planned campaigns to change others’ behaviors can easily veer off course. I teach this logic, and encourage my students to wear their newly acquired skepticism as a badge of honor. Having a healthy level of doubt about predicted effects is a life skill.

Consider some cases, all mostly true:

  • You show up to give an invited presentation to a group and (a) there is no screen for the PowerPoints you counted on, (b) there is nowhere to plug in your video projector, (c) there is no podium for your notes and (d) and a crew of ten men and nine machines are busy re-paving the parking lot next door.  Under these circumstances, how effective do you think will can be?
  • Your advertising agency has prepared a gay-friendly ad campaign that tested well and is now running in three national media outlets. Everyone on the creative team basks in their certain rewards of their progressive messages. But a respected leader in the LGBT community condemns the ads for “promoting old stereotypes.”  Condemnation of the ads is getting more attention than the ads themselves.
  • At a business lunch with a potential client you innocently praise the good service you once got from a large national retailer, only to be chided for supporting a chain whose owners are “political reactionaries.”
  • You meet a new set of Michigan in-laws for the first time, not realizing that for this family of General Motors employees, your new Ford visible to all in their front driveway might as well be a load of manure.
  • You are Bridget Jones at a literary party in the midst of introducing the work of a hack you oversell as the author of “the greatest book of our time.”  This happens just as you catch a look of dismay cross the faces of Jeffrey Archer and Salman Rushdie, just a few feet away.
    See the clip here.

    When it comes to communication, some of us are natural pessimists who are certain that life will not work out as planned.