“Work flow platforms are enabling us to do for the service industry what Henry Ford did for manufacturing,” said Jerry Rao, the entrepreneur doing accounting work for Americans from India. “We are taking apart each task and sending it around to whomever can do it best, and because we are doing it in a virtual environment, people need not be physically adjacent to each other, and then we are reassembling all the pieces back together at headquarters [or some other remote site]. This is not a trivial revolution. This is a major one. It allows for a boss to be somewhere and his employees to be someplace else.” These work flow software platforms, Jerry added, “enable you to create virtual global offices—not limited by either the boundaries of your office or your country—and to access talent sitting in different parts of the world and have them complete tasks that you need completed in real time. And so 24/7/365 we are all working. And all this has happened in the twinkling of an eye—the span of the last two or three years.”
Genesis: The Flat World Platform Emerges
We need to stop here and take stock, because at this point—the mid-1990s—the platform for the flattening of the world has started to emerge. First, the falling walls, the opening of Windows, the digitization of content, and the spreading of the Internet browser seamlessly connected people with people as never before. Then work flow software seamlessly connected applications to applications, so that people could manipulate all their digitized content, using computers and the Internet, as never before. When you add this unprecedented new level of people-to-people communication to all these Web-based application-to-application work flow programs, you end up with a whole new global platform for multiple forms of collaboration. This is the Genesis moment for the flattening of the world. This is when it started to take shape. It would take more time to converge and really become flat, but this is the moment when people started to feel that something was changing. Suddenly more people from p. 81 more different places found that they could collaborate with more other people on more different kinds of work and share more different kinds of knowledge than ever before. “It is the creation of this platform, with these unique attributes, that is the truly important sustainable breakthrough that made what you call the flattening of the world possible,” said Microsoft’s Craig Mundie.
Indeed, thanks to this platform that emerged from the first three flatteners, we were not just able to talk to each other more, we were able to do more things together. This is the key point, argued Joel Cawley, the IBM strategist. “We were not just communicating with each other more than ever, we were now able to collaborate—to build coalitions, projects, and products together—more than ever.”
The next six flatteners represent the new forms of collaboration which this new platform empowered. As I show, some people will use this platform for open-sourcing, some for outsourcing, some for offshoring, some for supply-chaining, some for insourcing, and some for in-forming. Each of these forms of collaboration was either made possible by the new platform or greatly enhanced by it. And as more and more of us learn how to collaborate in these different ways, we are flattening the world even more.
Flattener #4: Open-Sourcing
Self-Organizing Collaborative Communities
Alan Cohen still remembers the first time he heard the word “Apache” as an adult, and it wasn’t while watching a cowboys-and-Indians movie. It was the 1990s, the dot-com market was booming, and he was a senior manager for IBM, helping to oversee its emerging e-commerce business. “I had a whole team with me and a budget of about $8 million,” Cohen recalled. “We were competing head-to-head with Microsoft, Netscape, Oracle, Sun—all the big boys. And we were p. 82 playing this very big-stakes game for e-commerce. IBM had a huge sales force selling all this e-commerce software. One day I asked the development director who worked for me, ‘Say, Jeff, walk me through the development process for these e-commerce systems. What is the underlying Web server?’ And he says to me, ‘It’s built on top of Apache.’ The first thing I think of is John Wayne. ‘What is Apache?’ I ask. And he says it is a shareware program for Web server technology. He said it was produced for free by a bunch of geeks just working online in some kind of open-source chat room. I was floored. I said, ‘How do you buy it?’ And he says, ‘You download it off a Web site for free.’ And I said, ‘Well, who supports it if something goes wrong?’ And he says, ‘I don’t know—it just works!’ And that was my first exposure to Apache . . .
“Now you have to remember, back then Microsoft, IBM, Oracle, Netscape were all trying to build commercial Web servers. These were huge companies. And suddenly my development guy is telling me that he’s getting ours off the Internet for free! It’s like you had all these big corporate executives plotting strategies, and then suddenly the guys in the mail room are in charge. I kept asking, ‘Who runs Apache? I mean, who are these guys?’ ”
Yes, the geeks in the mail room are deciding what software they will be using and what you will be using too. It’s called the open-source movement, and it involves thousands of people around the world coming together online to collaborate in writing everything from their own software to their own operating systems to their own dictionary to their own recipe for cola—building always from the bottom up rather than accepting formats or content imposed by corporate hierarchies from the top down. The word “open-source” comes from the notion that companies or ad hoc groups would make available online the source code—the underlying programming instructions that make a piece of software work—and then let anyone who has something to contribute improve it and let millions of others just download it for their own use for free. While commercial software is copyrighted and sold, and companies guard the source code as they would their crown jewels so they can charge money to anyone who wants to use it and thereby generate income to develop new versions, open-p. 83source software is shared, constantly improved by its users, and made available for free to anyone. In return, every user who comes up with an improvement—a patch that makes this software sing or dance better—is encouraged to make that patch available to every other user for free.
Not being a computer geek, I had never focused much on the open-source movement, but when I did, I discovered it was an amazing universe of its own, with communities of online, come-as-you-are volunteers who share their insights with one another and then offer it to the public for nothing. They do it because they want something the market doesn’t offer them; they do it for the psychic buzz that comes from creating a collective product that can beat something produced by giants like Microsoft or IBM, and—even more important—to earn the respect of their intellectual peers. Indeed, these guys and gals are one of the most interesting and controversial new forms of collaboration that have been facilitated by the flat world and are flattening it even more.
In order to explain how this form of collaboration works, why it is a flattener and why, by the way, it has stirred so many controversies and will be stirring even more in the future, I am going to focus on just two basic varieties of open-sourcing: the intellectual commons movement and the free software movement.
The intellectual commons form of open-sourcing has its roots in the academic and scientific communities, where for a long time self-organized collaborative communities of scientists have come together through private networks and later the Internet to pool their brainpower or share insights around a particular science or math problem. The Apache Web server had its roots in this form of open-sourcing. When I asked a friend of mine, Mike Arguello, an IT systems architect, to explain to me why people share knowledge or work in this way, he said, “IT people tend to be very bright people and they want everybody to know just how brilliant they are.” Marc Andreessen, who invented the first Web browser, agreed: “Open-source is nothing more than peer-reviewed science. Sometimes people contribute to these things because they make science, and they discover things, and the reward is reputation. Sometimes you can build a business out of it, sometimes they just want to increase the store p. 84 of knowledge in the worl
d. And the peer review part is critical—and open-source is peer review. Every bug or security hole or deviation from standards is reviewed.”
I found this intellectual commons form of open-sourcing fascinating, so I went exploring to find out who were those guys and girls in the mail room. Eventually, I found my way to one of their pioneers, Brian Behlendorf. If Apache—the open-source Web server community—were an Indian tribe, Behlendorf would be the tribal elder. I caught up with him one day in his glass-and-steel office near the San Francisco airport, where he is now founder and chief technology officer of CollabNet, a start-up focused on creating software for companies that want to use an open-source approach to innovation. I started with two simple questions: Where did you come from? and: How did you manage to pull together an open-source community of online geeks that could go toe-to-toe with IBM?
“My parents met at IBM in Southern California, and I grew up in a town just north of Pasadena, La Canada,” Behlendorf recalled. “The public school was very competitive academically, because a lot of the kids’ parents worked at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory that was run by Caltech there. So from a very early age I was around a lot of science in a place where it was okay to be kind of geeky. We always had computers around the house. We used to use punch cards from the original IBM mainframes for making shopping lists. In grade school, I started doing some basic programming, and by high school I was pretty into computers . . . I graduated in 1991, but in 1989, in the early days of the Internet, a friend gave me a copy of a program he had downloaded onto a floppy disk, called ‘Fractint.’ It was not pirated, but was freeware, produced by a group of programmers, and was a program for drawing fractals. [Fractals are beautiful images produced at the intersection of art and math.] When the program started up, the screen would show this scrolling list of e-mail addresses for all the scientists and mathematicians who contributed to it. I noticed that the source code was included with the program. This was my first exposure to the concept of open-source. Here was this program that you just downloaded for free, and they even gave you the source code with it, and it was done by a community of people. It p. 85 started to paint a different picture of programming in my mind. I started to think that there were some interesting social dynamics to the way certain kinds of software were written or could be written—as opposed to the kind of image I had of the professional software developer in the back office tending to the mainframe, feeding info in and taking it out for the business. That seemed to me to be just one step above accounting and not very exciting.”
After graduating in 1991, Behlendorf went to Berkeley to study physics, but he quickly became frustrated by the disconnect between the abstractions he was learning in the classroom and the excitement that was starting to emerge on the Internet.
“When you entered college back then, every student was given an e-mail address, and I started using it to talk to students and explore discussion boards that were starting to appear around music,” said Behlendorf. “In 1992, I started my own Internet mailing list focused on the local electronic music scene in the Bay Area. People could just post onto the discussion board, and it started to grow, and we started to discuss different music events and DJs. Then we said, ‘Hey, why don’t we invite our own DJs and throw our own events?’ It became a collective thing. Someone would say, ‘I have some records,’ and someone else would say, I have a sound system,’ and someone else would say, I know the beach and if we showed up at midnight we could have a party.’ By 1993, the Internet was still just mailing lists and e-mail and FTP sites [file transfer protocol repositories where you could store things]. So I started collecting an archive of electronic music and was interested in how we could put this online and make it available to a larger audience. That was when I heard about Mosaic [the Web browser developed by Marc Andreessen.] So I got a job at the computer lab in the Berkeley business school, and I spent my spare time researching Mosaic and other Web technologies. That led me to a discussion board with a lot of the people who were writing the first generation of Web browsers and Web servers.”
(A Web server is a software program that enables anyone to use his or her home or office computer to host a Web site on the World Wide Web. Amazon.com, for instance, has long run its Web site on Apache software. p. 86 When your Web browser goes to www.amazon.com, the very first piece of software it talks to is Apache. The browser asks Apache for the Amazon Web page and Apache sends back to the browser the content of the Amazon Web page. Surfing the Web is really your Web browser interacting with different Web servers.)
“I found myself sitting in on this forum watching Tim Berners-Lee and Marc Andreessen debating how all these things should work,” recalled Behlendorf. “It was pretty exciting, and it seemed radically inclusive. I didn’t need a Ph.D. or any special credentials, and I started to see some parallels between my music group and these scientists, who had a common interest in building the first Web software. I followed that [discussion] for a while and then I told a friend of mine about it. He was one of the first employees at Wired magazine, and he said Wired would be interested in having me set up a Web site for them. So I joined there at $10 an hour, setting up their e-mail and their first Web site—HotWired . . . It was one of the first ad-supported online magazines.”
HotWired decided it wanted to start by having a registration system that required passwords—a controversial concept at that time. “In those days,” noted Andrew Leonard, who wrote a history of Apache for Salon.com in 1997, “most Webmasters depended on a Web server program developed at the University of Illinois’s National Center for Supercomputing Applications (also the birthplace of the groundbreaking Mosaic Web browser). But the NCSA Web server couldn’t handle password authentication on the scale that HotWired needed. Luckily, the NCSA server was in the public domain, which meant that the source code was free to all comers. So Behlendorf exercised the hacker prerogative: He wrote some new code, a ‘patch’ to the NCSA Web server, that took care of the problem.” Leonard commented, “He wasn’t the only clever programmer rummaging through the NCSA code that winter. All across the exploding Web, other Webmasters were finding it necessary to take matters into their own keyboards. The original code had been left to gather virtual dust when its primary programmer, University of Illinois student Rob McCool, had been scooped up (along with Marc Andreessen and Lynx author Eric Bina) by a little-known company in Silicon Valley named Netscape. Meanwhile, the Web refused to stop growing—and p. 87 kept creating new problems for Web servers to cope with.” So patches of one kind or another proliferated like Band-Aids on bandwidth, plugging one hole here and breaching another gap there.
Meanwhile, all these patches were slowly, in an ad hoc open-source manner, building a new modern Web server. But everyone had his or her own version, trading patches here and there, because the NCSA lab couldn’t keep up with it all.
“I was just this near-dropout,” explained Behlendorf. “I was having a lot of fun building this Web site for Wired and learning more than I was learning at Berkeley. So a discussion started in our little working group that the NCSA people were not answering our e-mails. We were sending in patches for the system and they weren’t responding. And we said, ‘If NCSA would not respond to our patches, what’s going to happen in the future?’ We were happy to continue improving this thing, yet we were worried when we were not getting any feedback and seeing our patches integrated. So I started to contact the other people I knew trading patches . . . Most of them were on the standards working groups [the Internet Engineering Task Force] that were setting the first standards for the interconnectivity between machines and applications on the Internet . . . And we said, ‘Why don’t we take our future into our own hands and release our own [Web server] version that incorporated all our patches?’
“We looked up the copyright for the NCSA code, and it basically just said give us credit at Illinois for what we invented if you improve it—and don’t blame us if it breaks,” recalled Behlendorf. “So we started building our own versi
on from all our patches. None of us had time to be a full-time Web server developer, but we thought if we could combine our time and do it in a public way, we could create something better than we could buy off the shelf—and nothing was available then, anyway. This was all before Netscape had shipped its first commercial Web server. That was the beginning of the Apache project.”
By February 1999, they had completely rewritten the original NCSA program and formalized their cooperation under the name “Apache.”
“I picked the name because I wanted it to have a positive connotation of being assertive,” said Behlendorf. “The Apache tribe was the last tribe p. 88 to surrender to the oncoming U.S. government, and at the time we worried that the big companies would come in and ‘civilize’ the landscape that the early Internet engineers built. So ‘Apache’ made sense to me as a good code name, and others said it also would make a good pun”—as in the APAtCHy server, because they were patching all these fixes together.
So in many ways, Bellendorf and his open-source colleagues—most of whom he had never met but knew only by e-mail through their open-source chat room—had created a virtual, online, bottom-up software factory, which no one owned and no one supervised. “We had a software project, but the coordination and direction were an emergent behavior based on whoever showed up and wanted to write code,” he said.
But how does it actually work? I asked Behlendorf. You can’t just have a bunch of people, unmonitored, throwing code together, can you?
“Most software development involves a source code repository and is managed by tools such as the Concurrent Versions System,” he explained. “So there is a CVS server out there, and I have a CVS program on my computer. It allows me to connect to the server and pull down a copy of the code, so I can start working with it and making modifications. If I think my patch is something I want to share with others, I run a program called Patch, which allows me to create a new file, a compact collection of all the changes. That is called a patch file, and I can give that file to someone else, and they can apply it to their copy of the code to see what impact that patch has. If I have the right privileges to the server [which is restricted to a tightly controlled oversight board], I can then take my patch and commit it to the repository and it will become part of the source code. The CVS server keeps track of everything and who sent in what . . . So you might have ‘read access’ to the repository but not ‘commit access’ to change things. When someone makes a commit to the repository, that patch file gets e-mailed out to all the other developers, and so you get this peer review system after the fact, and if there is something wrong, you fix the bug.”
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