Jonathan Koppell

Your Ad Here

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 05 Feb 2001 00:00:00 -0500

Is a government Web site more like a bus or a park? How you answer this question is likely to determine how you feel about the idea of government agencies selling advertising space on their official Web sites. This practice is likely to become more common as municipalities hunt for cash to bankroll large investments in information technology. A company called govAds, for example, is already marketing its advertising-placement services to revenue-hungry governments.

This development leaves some people feeling queasy. To them, a government Web site is like a park, a public space that shouldn't be marred by clever click-through ads featuring images of supine Pamela Anderson look-alikes. Others, though, are not troubled by this prospect. These people point to city buses literally wrapped in advertising and nod approvingly. As long as they don't have to pay for it, they don't care.

The debate is new to the Internet but familiar offline. Many are dismayed by the kudzu-like spread of advertising into the public sector. Schools accept advertising revenue through soft drink contracts and cable television broadcasts. Publicly owned stadiums bear the names of corporate sponsors. Even the presidential debates were sponsored by Anheuser-Busch to the tune of $550,000. It was just a matter of time before governments were approached regarding their Web sites. So what should it be, park or bus?

The promise that the Internet would improve government services is repeated so frequently it has become something of a public-sector catechism. First, the argument goes, information technology will make provision of public services dramatically more efficient. Citizens will go online to register vehicles, obtain fishing permits, renew driver's licenses, apply for zoning variances, pay parking tickets, etc. Second, information-hungry folks will be able to delve deep into issues of great concern by reading reports, council meeting minutes, new proposals and the like. More practical-minded Internet users will be able to access the garbage pickup schedule, athletic-field reservation information and tax rules on their home computers.

Finally, elected officials will communicate directly with their constituents. This interactivity, the gospel goes, will break down the vast chasm that separates the governors from the governed. A new golden age of democracy will be born!

This may all be entirely true. The problem is that making it happen will cost a great deal of money, money that most governments do not have. Maybe someday our more traditional interfaces with government -- bureaucrats behind frosted-glass windows -- will be replaced by kiosks at the local supermarket. Potential long-run savings, however, provide little help in making contemporary budgets add up. Right now, governments have to pay for both the high-tech and the low-tech facilities. That is not cheap.

There are three ways to raise the money. One is to pay for the technology investment out of general revenues. This may work for the limited number of governments that are flush with cash. Elsewhere, however, and assuming that citizens are not eager to pay more taxes, this option is going to encounter significant opposition.

A second approach would be to charge user fees for all Web-based transactions. This has some obvious appeal. It would tax only those directly benefiting from the provision of the service, and it would make it easy to gauge "market demand" for that service. On the other hand, it would price significant portions of the population out of the market for a public good. This is especially troublesome inasmuch as it is likely to reinforce the much-discussed "digital divide." There has already been some grousing that community groups conducting business via Usenet groups systematically exclude certain parts of the community.

That leaves the advertising solution. The public has already expressed some dissatisfaction with the ubiquity of advertising in our lives. Critics claim that by allowing commercialism to seep into educational institutions we are effectively commoditizing our children. The 1996 Olympics in Atlanta were reviled for their omnipresent advertising. Denverites are rallying to preserve "Mile High Stadium" as negotiations with sponsors proceed to name the Broncos' new home.

Still, there is ample reason to shrug at the prospect of Internet ads on government Web sites and say, "A little more can't hurt." After all, the aesthetic displeasure created by the placement of crass come-ons on the same page as schedules of city council meetings is not too big a price to pay.

But there are additional issues to consider. First, the endorsement problem. Advertising on a government Web site may carry a tacit endorsement that should not be sold to the highest bidder. Is it possible to place a banner ad for, say, a hotel on the state tourism site without implicitly endorsing that hotel to prospective visitors? Not surprisingly, govAds' CEO Timothy R. Bartlett says yes. People are used to ads on Web sites, he says, and don't infer an endorsement.

And indeed the bus analogy supports him. Just because Los Angeles buses drive around wrapped in plastic technicolor Yahoo advertisements, does that mean the government is making a portal recommendation? Most would say no.

More problematic is what might be called the Rudy problem. Anyone who spends more than a little time on the Web knows the two strategies that seem to guide almost all advertising campaigns there: Create a banner that looks like a Windows dialog box or try to be as shocking as possible. Assuming that most people (outside of Palm Beach County) are not fooled by the fake dialog box, the shocking ads are more of an issue.

Someone is going to have to make decisions regarding appropriate content. Who is that going to be? New York City Mayor Rudolph Giuliani famously had a series of advertisements for New York magazine removed from city buses because they made fun of him. He even went to court to protect his claimed right to do so. (He was soundly rebuffed.)

But placement of ads on Web sites would invite this type of activity on a daily basis. There is simply no way around it. Unless we are willing to accept any and all advertisements on the Web, there will have to be judges of propriety. Bartlett argues there is no censorship problem because his company will make the decisions based on publicly available, contractually set criteria. This helps, but leaves the door open to controversy. Bartlett notes that government clients have the right to veto approved advertisements. Thus a cyber-savvy Giuliani could reject a mocking advertisement.

Interestingly, govAds touts the right of governments to limit advertising as an advantage. In a document prepared by the company's chief lawyer, govAds tries to soothe potential clients' fears of First Amendment lawsuits. He cites a court decision regarding a Texas city's Web site in which, he says, the judge essentially concluded that a Web site is a bus. And, insofar as it was a "nonpublic forum" (for example, unlike a park) reasonable policies regarding acceptable advertisements, such as those that do not discriminate against particular viewpoints, were just fine. Giuliani's problem was his unreasonableness. Are we clear on that?

Advertising on government Web sites is probably not the most pernicious commercialization of public space. For one thing, it may not work. Skepticism regarding the profitability of ventures that rely on Web-based advertising revenues is quite intense. Bartlett does, however, make a convincing case that he's got a winning formula in his ability to target eyeballs for advertisers. More important, his client list is growing.

Still as more of our lives are spent on-line, our concern with the sale of public cyberspace is likely to grow. Because there is essentially infinite room to expand the Internet, there is no need to protect government Web sites as the Grand Canyon or Everglades of the Web. In this case, effectively designating Web sites as "parks" is more a matter of preserving a mindset, a belief that some things are above commerce.

Talk is cheap. But someone has to pay for the servers and software that will make e-government work. If you're not willing to pay for them, maybe Motel 6 will be.

Governed from Cyberspace

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 20 Nov 2000 00:00:00 -0500

At its recent meeting in Marina Del Rey, California, the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers announced that ".info", ".biz" and ".name" as well as four other top-level domain names would soon join the familiar ".com" and ".gov" on computer screens. But a question that still leaves many people stumped is, what is ICANN and why is it making decisions regarding, well, anything?

ICANN is not governmental in the usual sense. It does not oversee a country, State or territory. It does not have an army or even a police force.

At present, its authority appears somewhat limited: ICANN has responsibility for the management of the internet's address book.

That is, it makes rules that determine who gets the rights to website names and manages the technical facilities that make CNN's website appear when you type "http://www.cnn.com" into your browser.

ICANN is not part of the US Government -- or any other government for that matter. It's a private, non-profit corporation created by the late Jon Postel, one of the architects of the internet.

As significant as it is to net aficionados and entrepreneurs, ICANN is more noteworthy as a harbinger of government evolution in the globalisation era. With trade, communications, crime -- almost every form of human activity -- routinely crossing borders, political boundaries are less relevant every day. As a result, the mechanisms we rely upon to regulate everything from accounting standards to telephony are creaky and outdated.

How can the US Food and Drug Administration meaningfully protect Americans from dubious drugs if manufacturers around the world have direct access to US consumers? How can local law enforcement officials from Germany or Bolivia punish operators of rogue gambling operations based in the Caribbean? How can Australian financial regulators verify the claims made by issuers of stocks and bonds on the other side of the world?

The solution is a world government run by people in polyester jumpsuits. But this approach is far-fetched. National governments will not vote themselves out of existence -- and most people would look terrible in unitards. More likely, entities like the World Trade Organisation and the World Intellectual Property Organisation will proliferate and governments of the world will slowly cede to them greater authority over international transactions and activities. They will propagate and enforce regulations that apply in all jurisdictions.

ICANN takes the governance experiment one step further. Unlike treaty-based organisations, ICANN hopes to sever all formal ties to national governments and be responsible only to "the internet community". This is immensely appealing -- on paper. But the early experiences of ICANN indicate that this model of quasi-government introduces vexing challenges.

Representativeness: Identifying those eligible to participate in ICANN decision-making is difficult and contentious. Vocal critics argue that ICANN is biased towards corporations interested in commercial property rights. Recently, ICANN bowed to objections and cancelled an indirect election of new board members. In its stead, it ran a direct election open to anyone who registered in advance. Although marred by procedural complaints, the election saw at least one ardent ICANN critic join the board. ICANN has subsequently delayed additional elections and extended terms for some incumbent directors. Not surprisingly, critics have again cried foul. Are objections to the composition of the ICANN board likely to end anytime soon? Don't bet on it.
Challenges to authority: Unlike traditional governments, ICANN has no monopoly on force, physical or otherwise. Indeed, there are ways to circumvent or ignore ICANN. For example, even as ICANN has established and implemented procedures for arbitration of domain-name disputes, opportunities to litigate disagreements abound in various jurisdictions. Maintaining authority is difficult when dissatisfied parties can shop for a new venue.
Accountability: At present, the US Commerce Department's National Telecommunications and Information Administration informally oversees ICANN. In the future, however, it is anticipated that ICANN will not look to Uncle Sam for guidance. But that will leave ICANN unsupervised. Who will hear objections? Who will investigate alleged wrongdoing?
These concerns are expressed now in theoretical terms. But "what if?" can quickly become "what now?" ICANN raised a few eyebrows by granting the Palestinian Authority its own top-level domain name, the same status accorded nation-States. The resulting diplomatic hiccup provided a small reminder that organisations have a funny habit of using authority in ways that few imagine.

ICANN may some day make decisions that affect the ability of national governments to protect property rights or police internet transactions. The consequences could be more than symbolic.

ICANN remains an obscure entity with an odd acronym. So was the WTO before the violent protests in Prague and Seattle. The world is changing and government is adapting, taking new forms to accommodate the new reality. Who can tell you what it will look like? ICANN.

Some States Are More Equal Than Others

Cecille Isidro — Thu, 09 Nov 2000 00:00:00 -0500

Al Gore may well be wondering what happened to 4% of his votes. George W. Bush isn't likely asking any questions about his 5% surplus. What is going on? Election fraud? Corruption? No, this election will likely turn on a political deal made in Philadelphia, a deal made in 1787.

Gore faces the possibility of losing in the electoral college despite triumphing in the popular vote. This would be only the second time in our nation's history such an anomaly has occurred.

How could this happen? The answer, superficially at least, lies in the electoral college system we use to elect our president. Votes are tallied by state, with the winner of each state (in most cases) taking the entire state's allotment of electors. That system alone could result in the popular/electoral vote mismatch. But the problem is compounded by the manner in which electoral college votes are apportioned. Each state and the District of Columbia receive electoral votes according to their representation in both houses of Congress. So, for example, Illinois, which has 20 members in the House and two senators, has 22 electoral votes. Thus the composition of the electoral college bears the strong mark of the celebrated "Connecticut compromise."

As attentive civics students will recall, the Connecticut compromise resolved disagreement between representatives at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. Delegates from small-population states wanted congressional representation to be equal for each state, while delegates from large-population states wanted congressional representation proportional to population. The compromise split the difference by having two houses of Congress, with one house based on the "small state" system and one house based on the "large state" system. The compromise helped gain the Constitution the support necessary for ratification but it also institutionalized disproportionate representation in the Senate, a problem compounded by the addition of several small-population states in the Rocky Mountain West. The consequence has been stalemate on several issues, such as the level of fees charged by the federal government for grazing and mineral rights.

Today we see the more profound consequence of the Connecticut compromise in the context of presidential elections. If representation in the electoral college were based only on population, that is, if the electoral college paralleled the House, Gore would win the presidential election (assuming Bush wins Florida and Gore wins Oregon). But this is not the case, of course.

Instead, several small-population states have disproportionate influence in the presidential election. Wyoming, for example, has 0.18% of the U.S. population and 0.93% of the votes in the electoral college. These numbers suggest that Wyoming enjoys 412% more representation in the electoral college than it would under a proportional system. Other Bush states that are overrepresented include Alaska (152%), North Dakota (117%) and South Dakota (99%). Gore benefits in some cases as well. Vermont (146%), the District of Columbia (128%) and Delaware (108%) are all overrepresented in Gore's favor.

In the aggregate, however, Bush benefited considerably while Gore suffered. Overall, Bush received 5% more votes in the electoral college than he would have if electoral votes were proportional to population. In contrast, Gore received 4% fewer electoral votes than he would have under a proportional system. This can be explained by Gore's success in large population states that are underrepresented in the electoral college. For example, California has 12% of the U.S. population but only 10% of the electoral vote (or 16% fewer electoral votes than it would if votes were determined by population).

Perhaps Gore will squeak out a narrow victory in Florida, thus capturing the White House. If not, Bush will ascend to the presidency due in part to an electoral system that awards inordinate influence to some citizens based on accidents of geography and political history. It is time to rethink a system that is designed to satisfy the political exigencies of the late 18th century. It may be too late for Gore, but is not too late to award each citizen an equally weighted voice in the presidential election process.

In Postmodern Politics, Style is Substance

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 30 Oct 2000 00:00:00 -0500

Lamentations on the state of American politics often take the following form: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln or Theodore Roosevelt would never make it to the White House today because of television. People would reject them as preachy, awkward, whiny, ugly, boring or some combination thereof. Since the Kennedy-Nixon debates, modern politics has bee

Since the Kennedy-Nixon debates, modern politics has been defined by the importance of communication, especially televised communication. Ronald Reagan was dubbed the Great Communicator in a somewhat backhanded tribute to his ability to thrive in the age of modern politics. Reagan, it was conceded even by his critics, utilized his understanding of the medium and skill in reaching American voters to win and retain the presidency. Reagan, it was said, constituted the apogee of style over substance.

Bill Clinton is as skillful as Reagan in his use of television. Indeed, Clinton adapted to the accelerated news cycle of the contemporary age and is considered the father of the "permanent campaign." As Newt Gingrich learned during the 1995 budget stand-off, Clinton's ability to shape public opinion through television is formidable even in the "governing" context. And unlike Reagan, Clinton never was accused of lacking substance, in large measure because he is so obviously engaged with even the most arcane policy matters.

The 2000 presidential campaign begins a new era of postmodern politics. Everyone understands the importance of television appearances. Our awareness of political figures' ability to communicate has been stoked by the proliferation of news analysis programs. Each show provides a platform to a passel of politerati who demonstrate their acumen not by analyzing substance but by focusing on the really important matter, the performance. Indeed, pundits explicitly judge the candidates on their tone, inflection, mood, body language, even their clothes. This is the essence of postmodern politics: Style over substance has been replaced by style as substance.

Perhaps the most frightening spectacles related to the presidential debates were the post-debate focus groups on several of the news shows. Citizens influenced by the tenor of political coverage offered stylistic evaluations as the substantive reasons behind their preferences. Al Gore seemed stiff. George W. Bush exceeded expectations. Gore seemed to restrain himself only in reaction to his poor showing last time. Bush made smug faces. And on and on and on.

Even the ostensibly issue-oriented disagreements are evaluated through a prism of style. The question is not whether Gore has a better Social Security plan but whether he was compelling in his presentation. What does Bush think about affirmative action? Analysts didn't care. They wanted to discuss the impression created by Bush's apparent confusion and Gore's nerdy needling on the name of the bill. Indeed, the candidates' explicit disagreement on U.S. policy in the Balkans was striking for its substance. Of course, the story had "no legs" because it could not be shoe-horned into the dominant election "story lines." Is Gore trying to be knowledgeable but nice with this? Is Bush trying to demonstrate that he is a capable but nice guy?

We have reached what may be a natural evolutionary point for a media-saturated democracy. And perhaps it makes sense. Better to judge candidates on their ability to manipulate than be manipulated unwittingly. At some point, a brave candidate may fight the trend and urge us to put aside the spin and focus on the issues. Will voters be willing to follow this leader? Depends on the color of his tie.

Bad Boys

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 23 Oct 2000 00:00:00 -0400

In the days before Web addresses were as ubiquitous as McDonald's, the Internet was imagined as a lawless badlands. Rogues and bandits would soon terrorize cyberspace as hapless sheriffs struggled to turn on their computers. And as promised, cybercrime has presented novel challenges to law-enforcement agencies.

Fraud has gone online in multiple forms. Auction sites such as eBay have proved fertile hunting ground. Some sellers make fake bids on their own merchandise to inflate its price, while others simply take the money and run. That is, they never send the buyer the promised item. Not the most sophisticated gambit, but surprisingly effective.

More ambitious scam artists have targeted the growing population of stock traders that gather information on the Internet. Even improbable claims can fuel an effective "pump and dump" scheme. Two California men were arrested after spreading a rumor that a small, publicly traded car dealership had acquired another company that just happened to possess a cure for AIDS. The stock shot up, proving that people will believe anything.

Then there are the purveyors of illegal items -- everything from alcohol to prescription drugs to firearms. If you want it, you can probably get it via the Net. Online gambling sites have created a global floating craps game that would make Nathan Detroit green with envy.

And then there is perhaps the most sinister class of criminal Web denizens: sexual predators. There are pedophiles that troll the Internet looking for children. There are sociopaths who take advantage of the Internet's culture of trust to lure unsuspecting victims of all ages into vulnerable positions.

Here's the surprising thing. The spate of horror stories and the dire predictions of uncontrolled mayhem on the Internet obscure reality. Law enforcement is holding its own against scam artists, malevolent hackers, snake-oil salesmen and violent criminals who use the Internet. Does crime exist on the Web? Of course. But there isn't any evidence that Internet criminals are less likely to be caught than their unwired colleagues.

It turns out that law enforcement agencies have been (surprisingly?) skillful in responding to cybercrime. Police departments have used data-mining techniques to track down drug traffickers. Hackers have been busted through invisible backup monitoring systems. Pedophiles have been snared by agents posing as kids in chat rooms. And law enforcement agencies are just getting started. There are increasing numbers of personnel devoted to cybercrime at the FBI, Federal Trade Commission, Securities and Exchange Commission and just about every other agency in Washington. State and local agencies are ramping up their capacity as well. One could cynically harrumph and say, "These bureaucrats are just trying to protect their budget!" I would respond with an emphatic "So what?" Government is responding to the "market demand" for more law enforcement on the Internet. That is, for many, the essence of reinventing government.

I do not want to suggest that there is no crime on the Internet or that law enforcement has fully adapted to the changes wrought by the proliferation of information technology. It has not. There will always be new scams and new technologies to be exposed, understood and addressed. Moreover, the shape of law enforcement will evolve. As I have argued before, the Internet will require the centralization of law enforcement in order to combat cross-jurisdictional crime.

The point is that the good guys have not been overwhelmed by the bad guys. Indeed, one of the biggest unmet challenges for Internet crime-fighting is the establishment of what we might call "norms of proportionality" to keep law enforcement from doing too much.

In the world of "real" crime, we have developed shared standards of the appropriate behavior of police that relate to the seriousness of crimes. This is most obvious in terms of sentencing; jaywalkers are punished less severely than murderers. But the same logic carries over to the realm of enforcement.

We think police should distinguish between crimes based on the severity and behave accordingly. First, there is a sense that resources should be deployed based on the nature of criminal activity. Police are expected to spend more time and energy stopping thieves than tracking mattress retailers who illegally cut off the tags. Second, we tolerate more intrusive police behavior when it is intended to stop more serious crimes. Thus wiretaps are acceptable in the pursuit of a kidnapper but perhaps not as a means of apprehending a juvenile shoplifter.

Are such norms of proportionality iron-clad and universal? Absolutely not. Some police behavior is held to be unacceptable regardless of the ends (such as torture of suspects). Some people would argue that criminals are targeted because of their race without regard to the severity of their alleged crime. Moreover, the "seriousness" of crimes may be related to the race of the person committing the offense (for example, possession of crack is punished more severely than possession of powder cocaine, disproportionately affecting minority populations). An alternative critique of the "proportionality" approach is that minor crimes must be addressed or they will grow into more serious crimes. This theory, espoused by James Q. Wilson and implemented by New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani and his first police chief William Bratton, is widely used to explain the reduced crime rates in New York.

The point is that we do not have any sense of the proportionality of Internet crime. What is a serious crime? Denial-of-service attacks? Is that a worse crime than creating the I Love You virus? How does that compare with the transgressions of Napsterites? And how do all of these crimes rank relative to more traditional crimes that have migrated onto the Web?

Thus when the FBI unveils Carnivore, we're left to wonder who it will devour. (Who came up with the name Carnivore, anyway? Stephen King? Hey, FBI! Call the next big surveillance proposal "Cuddly Bunny" and I guarantee it will go over much better.) Are the feds going to use Carnivore to go after scheming terrorists? That might be OK. Or are they going to hunt down the next "Coolio" who shuts down E-Trade for an hour? Doesn't it make a difference?

Even if we decide, as in New York, that the police must punish quality-of-life crimes, it must be determined what constitutes such a crime. Is "shouting" someone down in a chat room such a crime? Few would say so. How about sending spam? That seems to make people upset, but is it criminal? How about vandalizing a Web site? How about sending pornographic instant messages to unsuspecting computer users (including children)?

The point is clear enough. Currently, we have no means of distinguishing among Internet crimes and thus reaction to Carnivore, Digital Storm, Echelon and future crime-fighting technologies are bound to be decidedly mixed. Law enforcement agencies will understandably see these technologies as the required tools to combat cybercrime in the 21st century. Civil-liberties advocates will see police officers chasing after juvenile pranksters with elephant guns. And both sides will be right.

We need to figure out what types of cybercrime constitute the greatest threat to the Internet and society as a whole. Then we can work on determining the appropriate responses to different offenses. Until then, Internet cops will keep coming up with ever-scarier names for their software and cruising the Internet in search of criminals without distinguishing between the digital equivalents of scofflaws and serial killers.

New World Order

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 28 Aug 2000 00:00:00 -0400

The future of governance was recently on display in Yokohama, Japan. It was not a World's Fair, a U.N. conference or an international exposition. Rather, it was the latest meeting of ICANN, the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers.

ICANN is not governmental in the usual sense. It does not oversee a geographic jurisdiction. It does not have an army or even a police force. What it does possess, however, is authority. At present, its authority appears somewhat limited: ICANN has been delegated responsibility for the management of the Internet's address book. That is, ICANN is making the rules that determine who gets the rights to Web site names and manages the technical facilities that makes, say, Amazon.com's (AMZN) Web site appear when you type "http://www.amazon.com" into your browser window.

But what exactly is ICANN and why should it be making rules regarding anything? Some people mistakenly think that ICANN is a U.S. government agency. This confusion is borne of a contemporary propensity to make government agencies seem more efficient by calling them "corporations" (for example, the Corporation for National Service). But ICANN is not part of the U.S. government -- or any other government for that matter.

No, ICANN is a private, nonprofit corporation. It was created by the late Jon Postel, former leader of the Internet Society and one of the architects of the Internet, after the Clinton administration announced that it would transfer responsibility for management of domain-name registration to a private organization. Up to that point the domain-name registry had been administered by Network Solutions (NSOL) , a private company, under contract with the National Science Foundation (a U.S. government agency, despite its misleading name) and later, the U.S. Commerce Department.

ICANN's critics charge that ICANN is an instrument of Internet interest groups that secretly colluded with the Clinton administration. The appearance of an objective selection process, they say, was a sham. Setting aside this controversy, delegating regulation of the Internet to ICANN (or any other nongovernmental entity) suggests an approach to the complexities of governance in this era of globalization that is likely to become common and thus deserves examination.

Trade, communications, crime -- almost every form of human activity -- now routinely crosses borders. As a result, the mechanisms we have relied upon to regulate everything from accounting standards to telephony now appear creaky and outdated. How can the U.S. Food and Drug Administration meaningfully protect Americans from dubious drugs if manufacturers around the world have direct access to U.S. consumers? How can local law enforcement officials punish operators of rogue gambling operations based offshore? How can American financial regulators verify the truthfulness of the claims made by issuers of stocks and bonds on the other side of the world?

The science fiction solution is world government. But this approach seems far-fetched because national governments will not vote themselves out of existence. The answer is more likely the growth of entities like the World Trade Organization and the World Intellectual Property Organization to which governments of the world will cede authority and responsibility for international transactions and activities. In theory, such organizations can overcome many of the logistical problems that restrict national governments. Their authority ranges across borders. They propagate and enforce regulations that apply in all jurisdictions.

The creation of ICANN extends the governance experiment one step further. Unlike treaty-based organizations such as the WTO, ICANN's creators hope to sever all formal ties to the governments of the world. ICANN is envisioned as a model for the quasi-government of the Internet because it is ostensibly responsible only to "the Internet community." This is immensely appealing -- on paper. Like many who vilify traditional government agencies, ICANN's proponents argue that by being independent of "the bureaucracy," ICANN will be lean, efficient and free of the political wrangling that characterizes traditional government. Moreover, ICANN is promised to be immune to the ideological disputes that make governance in the nonvirtual world so difficult.

But the early experiences of ICANN indicate that such governance structures introduce vexing challenges of their own.

For instance, representativeness. ICANN aspires to be a democratic government for the Internet. Without borders, however, identifying those with a legitimate right to participate in ICANN's decision-making is difficult and contentious. There is a vocal group of critics who argue that ICANN's board of directors and management are not representative of the Internet user population and, as result, biased toward corporations with an overriding interest in protection of their commercial property rights.

The last ICANN meeting, in Cairo, was embroiled in disagreement regarding the election of additional board members. The board bowed to objections that an indirect election system would give the existing board greater authority; the election procedures are being revised but will allow anyone with an e-mail address to vote for five at-large members of the board (from a list put forward by a nominating committee). Will this eliminate objections to the composition of ICANN? Not likely.

Another difficult issue involves challenges to authority. Governments have a unique tool to compel subjects to respect their authority: force. ICANN has no analogous monopoly on power, physical or otherwise. Indeed, there are ways to circumvent or ignore ICANN. For example, even as ICANN has established and implemented procedures for arbitration of domain-name disputes, opportunities to litigate disagreements abound at the state and federal level. It's difficult to maintain governmental authority if parties dissatisfied with the outcome can turn to another venue.

Accountability is also tricky. To whom, exactly, is ICANN accountable? The question is difficult to answer. At present, the Commerce Department's National Telecommunications and Information Administration exercises at least a supervisory role. In the future, however, it is anticipated that ICANN will grow wings and set out on its own. ICANN should not look to Uncle Sam for guidance as it oversees an increasingly international Internet. America's dominance of the early days of Internet governance was a natural consequence of its seminal role in the Internet's creation. But what, if any, body will assume the role now played by the U.S. government? Opponents can now turn to Congress to air objections regarding the administration of ICANN. Indeed, Congress ordered the recently released General Accounting Office report on ICANN. Who will conduct investigations in the future?

These concerns are expressed now in theoretical terms. But "what if" can quickly become "what now?" ICANN raised a few eyebrows by granting the Palestinian authority its own top-level domain name, the same status accorded nation-states. The symbolic recognition provides a small reminder that organizations to which significant authority is delegated have a funny habit of using it in ways that few imagine. ICANN may someday make decisions that affect the ability of the U.S. government to protect property rights or police Internet transactions. The consequences could be more than symbolic.

It is difficult to picture ICANN, an obscure entity with an odd acronym, as anything more than a footnote to the rise of the Internet. But a year ago it would also have been hard to imagine violent protests disrupting the WTO meetings in Seattle. The world is changing. Old boundaries are being eroded by commerce, transportation and communications. And government is adapting, taking new forms to accommodate the new reality. In this sense, ICANN is an important harbinger of the controversies to come.

No 'There' There

Cecille Isidro — Tue, 01 Aug 2000 00:00:00 -0400

I'm a pretty Net-savvy guy. I read my morning newspaper online. I buy discount airline tickets online. I participate in animated sports banter online. I even manage my finances online (if transferring money to cover checks qualifies as "managing my finances"). Still, I have never been to the magical land called cyberspace.

Cyberspace isn't on any map, but I know that it must exist, because it is spoken of every day. People spend hours in chat rooms. They visit Web sites. They travel through this electronic domain on an information superhighway. The language we use implies that cyberspace is a place as tangible as France or St. Louis or the coffee shop on the corner. But why, exactly, should we think of the Internet as a geographic location? I recently participated in a telephone conference call with people in several other states and countries. Were we all together in another "place"? I doubt that any of us thought so.

Many would say that it isn't just the act of communicating that makes cyberspace a place but the existence of a community consisting of broadly dispersed people. But that characteristic is not particularly distinctive. There are communities big and small that do not exist within any physical jurisdiction. Professional associations, alumni groups, and religious orders are among them. Members of such groups feel a kinship with other members with whom they have never interacted, in either the real or the virtual sense.

Some would respond, "Those people all had something in common before they forged connections across boundaries. But cyberspace communities were created online. There were no prior affinities to bring them together. That's unique." Is it? Ham radio operators have a global network of friends and acquaintances who came together solely through their use of that instrument. Do they exist in "hamspace"? And why is the manner in which people make first contact so significant? Do pen pals exist in "penpalspace"?

One reason that cyberspace is described as a place is to avoid downgrading it to the status of a mere medium, and perhaps especially to avoid comparisons with television. Those who would distinguish the Internet from television point out that Web denizens are not mere passive recipients of electronic signals. That may be (partly) true. But telephones and the postal system are also communications media that allow two-way communication. We don't regard them as places.

Thinking of the Internet as a place certainly makes it seem more intriguing. The idea of logging on and entering another space is suggestive in all sorts of ways. It raises issues of consciousness, allows us to think of ourselves as disembodied cybernauts, and sets us apart not just from our primitive ancestors but also from our recent ones. Not incidentally, representing the home computer and AOL membership as a gateway to another dimension helps to sell home computers and AOL memberships. The various Web sites, IPOs, and dot-coms-of-the-day feed on the fervor surrounding our exploration of this strange new land. By morphing the Internet into a destination, cyberspace has become the Klondike of our age. (Curiously, Seattle is reaping the benefits this time around, too.)

* * *

Metaphors matter: they can help to shape our views and actions. Consider the widespread acceptance of the term "marketplace of ideas" as a metaphor for free speech. This representation emphasizes one's freedom to enter the arena of discourse, rather than one's ability to be heard. Thus, in the context of campaign-finance regulation, protection of free speech means that unlimited campaign expenditures are sacrosanct, but guaranteeing equal opportunities to reach the electorate is not a consideration. If, in contrast, we imagined not a marketplace but a classroom, enabling the quietest voice to be heard would be more important than protecting the rights of the loudest. Another example is the ill-fated "war on drugs." By conceiving of drugs as an enemy to be defeated in combat, we blind ourselves to many potential solutions. In the context of war the legalization of drugs amounts to capitulation to the enemy -- even if it might address many of the problems, such as crime, disease, and chronic poverty, that were used to justify the war in the first place.

For its part, the cyberspace-as-place metaphor raises issues of logic and psychology that may ultimately impede wise management of the Internet. Lawrence Lessig, of Harvard Law School, argues in his book Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace (1999) that the government should not sit by while private code (software) writers define the nature of the Internet. Such a seemingly neutral stance, Lessig says, is not neutral but irresponsible. In the case of cyberspace, laissez-faire government simply defers decision-making authority to profit-seeking companies. Guided only by commercial interests, the development of the Internet is skewed to favor the corporation rather than the individual or society as a whole.

The problem, Lessig explains, is that legislatures and courts are reluctant to regulate the Internet. He lays out some compelling reasons why this is so, but he skips a crucial one. Because we think of the Internet as a place, the prospect of "going there" takes on an extra dimension. Legislatures are wary of bringing government to cyberspace -- as if it somehow existed in some pure state beyond ordinary society. Judges are reluctant to bring law into this "new" arena, as if applying existing laws to Internet transactions would be tantamount to colonizing Antarctica or the moon. In the context of legal discussions, cyberspace is seen not as a potentially anarchic realm but as a virginal Eden; the introduction of law would not so much bring order as corrupt utopia. Republicans in Congress have vowed to "stand at the door to the Internet" to defend its sanctity. Their "E-Contract 2000" would, for example, prohibit sales taxes in cyberspace for at least five years -- as if such a moratorium were needed to nurture the most dynamic sector of the economy. Many Democrats, equally eager to win favor in the industry, also support the concept of an online duty-free "zone."

As it happens, Lessig himself reinforces cyberspace-as-place thinking. He argues that the Internet user exists simultaneously in two "places," a physical location and cyberspace -- thus making the application of law somewhat difficult. In reality, the problems created by Internet transactions simply involve making decisions about jurisdiction. Should a criminal computer user, for example, be subject to the laws of the state in which he resides, or to the laws of the state in which the victim resides? This can be a knotty question, but it is not a new problem -- not a "cyberspace problem." Such determinations are made every day with respect to telephone and postal transactions. Are these problems more common because of the Internet? Yes. Do they involve more jurisdictions because of the Internet? Yes. But they do not involve their own jurisdiction, any more than matters initiated or conducted through the mails involve "postalspace."

That is not to say that the Internet will have no consequences for governance. The growth of the Internet may gradually shift the locus of authority upward, from local and state governments to the federal government or even international institutions, because as human interactions transcend political boundaries, only governments with broad jurisdictions will be able to monitor certain kinds of behavior and enforce certain kinds of laws. Law and government will adapt accordingly.

The cyberspace-as-place metaphor is probably here to stay. And it has its uses, as do the many other fanciful metaphors we use in everyday speech. But let's not be misled. The regulation of cyberspace -- in areas from copyright to taxation to privacy -- hardly represents the spoliation of a pristine and untamed land.

On the Internet, There's No Place to Hide

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 19 Jun 2000 00:00:00 -0400

In its early years, one of the most cherished characteristics the Internet offered was anonymity. Online, no one knew your real name.

You were also anonymous in a deeper sense. In chat rooms or MUDs, Net denizens could become anyone they wanted. A bored, thirtysomething middle manager could spend a few hours as a wealthy fashion model, big-game hunter or 18-year-old college coed. Your imagination was the only constraint on your identity. In the words of the famous New Yorker cartoon, no one knew you were a dog.

Fifteen or so years later, the commercialization of the Internet is assaulting both types of anonymity. Information about individuals is now a treasured commodity. A computer user could once hide his or her identity with ease. It can still be done, but it takes considerably more work.

The first type of anonymity -- I'll call it "name anonymity" -- has consumed most of our attention. Privacy advocates have decried infringements on name anonymity by both government and business.

Big Brother certainly has the resources and, depending on whom you ask, the technology to track people as they move about the Web. This is genuinely disturbing. Suppose the friendly folks at the National Security Agency listen in on your Echelon transmissions and become interested in your frequent use of the word "revolution." They could follow your online activities, with staggering opportunities for invasion of privacy. They could punch up your eBay (EBAY) bids to search for suspicious items, see what seditious literature you were reviewing at Amazon.com (AMZN) , check out your dietary habits through your Webvan purchases. Before you know it, there's a knock on the door, and blammo! Janet Reno's working your grandmother over with a garden hose.

Or maybe not. Call me naive but that possibility, in this country at least, still seems remote. For most people, the bigger threat is from profit-seeking data collectors, driven by an insatiable thirst among marketers for lists of promising customers.

Several companies are trying to efficiently amass data on individuals based on their online activities. So, for example, after you enter your name and address to win an online raffle, the data-gathering company will track your surfing habits to establish your likes and dislikes. In theory, this aggregated information can then be sold to companies that can send e-mail and snail mail perfectly crafted to appeal to you.

So far, the promise of perfect information for Web-based marketers falls short of the reality. Even without action from Congress or the Federal Trade Commission, name anonymity seems relatively safe for the time being.

But don't get too comfortable. The second type of anonymity -- the ability to hide and alter our defining characteristics -- is very much under siege. I call this "profile anonymity."

It turns out that to marketers and advertisers, your name is not terribly important. Oh, they certainly would like to know your name, address and so on. It makes direct mail that much more effective. But what matters most is your profile. They want to know what you are.

In what city do you live? How old are you? What is your race, religion, ethnicity? The answers to these questions define you as a consumer. With this kind of knowledge, advertisers can make refined pitches ostensibly crafted to persuade someone just like you, if not you.

Until the technology to accumulate large quantities of data linked to individuals is improved, the dominant techniques of building profiles are simple. For example, Internet users are being funneled through portals designed to attract consumers that fit a certain profile. There are portals for African Americans, women, gays, Latinos and more. At many sites, people are induced by offers for goods and services to fill out questionnaires that help establish salient characteristics of interest to marketers.

This lets companies target types of people, even if they can't target individuals. In this sense, your profile anonymity is eroded. Where once it could be said that "no one knows you're a dog," that is no longer the case. Indeed, a more contemporary caption to the New Yorker cartoon would read, "On the Internet, everyone knows you're an aging, overweight, malamute-retriever mix living in the Southwest, and with a preference for rawhide."

So what? Is there any reason to care whether people are identified by their Internet habits, especially if these cannot be linked to a name? After all, if the worst thing that happens is that a fictitious FloraBonita.com targets left-handed gay and Latino gardeners for its Web ads, who cares?

I do. The commercial pressure to identify online individuals by their demographic characteristics reinforces many of the schisms in society. Instead of breaking down barriers by allowing people to escape predetermined categories, the Internet now reinforces identities, swells their significance in a whole new context and makes it more difficult to be seen as an individual separate from racial, ethnic or gender identifiers.

This means something in real terms. Consider services that attempt to agglomerate computer users by customizing newspapers based on their identifying traits. By limiting exposure to news that is not "relevant" to a certain group, our biases and preconceptions may be hardened because they will remain unquestioned.

There will always be discord in society, with or without the Internet. Whether we are less likely to get together and sing "Kumbaya" is of no concern to me. But practically speaking, building consensus in a multiracial, multicultural world becomes increasingly difficult if society is fractured. While Web portals are not necessarily going to bring about social disintegration tomorrow, they and similar devices of division encourage some of our most antisocial tendencies.

Politicians are more likely to fuel this trend than combat it. Although balkanization of the population inevitably makes policy-making more contentious and challenging, splitting up the electorate has traditionally served electoral purposes. The same logic that leads marketers to subdivide audiences appeals to candidates seeking votes.

Candidate Web pages already solicit information from visitors and direct them to particular areas within their sites. Thus the Jewish voter, the soccer mom or the blue-collar white male see different faces of the candidate. This makes possible a type of high-tech pandering. Without broadcasting potentially alienating views to all audiences, politicians can appeal to the basest interests of supporters without broader accountability.

What made the Internet truly distinctive was its potential to corrode superficial barriers, to let people escape the confines of identity. Currently, it is relatively easy to avoid identification on the Web, but it has to be approached consciously. Every time you check weather forecasts or movie times, for example, you disclose your location. Surfers have been single-minded in their concern for name anonymity, with little or no concern for profile anonymity. Privacy protection may keep our names and numbers from prying eyes, but we may never again be able to lose ourselves in cyberspace.

The New Politics

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 17 Apr 2000 00:00:00 -0400

Several years ago I was driving cross-country from Washington to Berkeley. My D.C. license plates inevitably sparked interesting political discussions along the way, especially in the Rocky Mountains, where I encountered many people with sympathy for the militias so often derided on the coasts. One conversation in particular made a strong impression.

I chatted with a nice fellow who was fishing with his son. He was discussing his firsthand experience with the federal government's abuse of power. When I told him I was on my way to Berkeley, he said, with some regret in his voice, "Those guys in the '60s had it right. I didn't realize it at the time but the antiwar radicals were patriots. They understood that the government couldn't be trusted and tried to do something about it."

Here was a guy most people would have placed on the far-right fringe of American politics expressing his admiration for those who defined the far left. Isn't that shocking? Well, yes, at first. But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense.

The so-called ideological spectrum bears a strong resemblance to a circle. Although guided by very different logic, people on the far left and far right of politics have reached similar conclusions regarding the danger of governmental abuse of power and the importance of individual rights.

The Internet often reminds us of the plasticity of political ideology. Few, if any, of the hot online issues that currently receive attention in political and policy communities have a readily identifiable ideological divide. In other words, there is no right or left in cyberspace.

I am not arguing, as some have suggested, that the Internet is post-political. On the contrary, as the Net grows, political disputes regarding technology's future will only increase. What is clear, however, is that in all such policy disputes there will be no "liberal" or "conservative" position, and partisan labels will provide little guidance. Consider a few of the most prominent issues of the moment:

Internet Taxation: Having failed to reach an agreed-upon two-thirds majority recommendation, the 18-member Advisory Commission on Electronic Commerce voted 10 to eight to a five-year extension of the moratorium on new Internet taxes. The deep divisions that kept the committee from reaching consensus didn't follow ideological or party lines. Utah Gov. Mike Leavitt, a Republican, has led the opposition to Virginia Gov. James Gilmore, also a Republican, who has led the drive to ban taxes on e-commerce.

It's possible to view this issue in ideological terms. The exemption of Internet sales from taxation is an extremely regressive tax policy. Poor people spend less money online. By exempting online purchases, the tax burden is disproportionately placed on the people who can least afford it, instead of on relatively wealthy Internet users. But that argument is rarely, if ever, invoked. Rather, attention is rationally placed on the unfairness of putting brick-and-mortar retailers at a comparative disadvantage.

Striking even closer to the concerns of public officials of all stripes, the exemption of Internet sales from taxation is a potential threat to states and localities that rely on sales taxes to finance their programs. That is a concern naturally uniting the most partisan of Democrats and Republicans.

Privacy: What is striking at the moment when it comes to privacy is that the big, bad government wolf is not a Joseph McCarthy-like reactionary or even a religious prude in the image of Pat Robertson, but more like Bill Clinton. That's right, the same president reviled by the political right as a dope-smoking, draft-dodging liberal is also feared as an information-age Big Brother. As if this does not seem weird enough, Georgia Rep. Bob Barr, conservative icon and House impeachment manager, is teaming up with the ACLU to protest Echelon (ELON) , the network of spy agencies that is monitoring all sorts of electronic global communications. Has the world gone mad?

Not really. The Internet has introduced new problems ranging from malicious hacking and sales of prescription drugs to cyberstalking. Most people want these problems addressed. Disagreement comes when the solutions more than the problems themselves frighten people. So, for example, the FBI's proposed rules, which would require computer manufacturers to make PCs eavesdropping-friendly is a step too far for many -- even if it means that some criminals may escape punishment. Others, however, are willing to let the government onto their computers to protect their children from pedophiles lurking in chat rooms. Which group of people are the liberals and which are the conservatives?

OK, let's move past the straightforward part. Many privacy advocates argue that the real danger is not from the government, but from profit-seeking corporations, greedily searching for consumer data. This is the DoubleClick (DCLK) threat. Now who can stop these companies from violating our rights? Industry self-regulation? Unlikely. Why, it's the government, of course.

Uncle Sam is being called on to restrict private firms in their collection of personal information. To the libertarian (for those who think my whole argument comes down to over-reliance on the liberal-conservative divide), this is unacceptable. The government should not be restricting the behavior of private firms. But if the government does not act, individual liberty would be, in a real sense, even more threatened, albeit by private companies.

Intellectual Property: It would surprise no one if tomorrow an Internet company patented the idea of going to work in the morning. Stories of silly patents mask a potentially debilitating problem. What is the proper extent of property rights in an information-based economy? The e-commerce patent follies raise some worries of overly aggressive protection of intellectual property rights stalling economic activity.

The coming donnybrook in the intellectual property field will concern biotechnology. Already private companies have patented sequences of the human genome. This poses a danger not only for the future of genetics-based industries but also for medical researchers. Do such patents preclude scientific investigation? If there is no commercial angle, will large pharmaceutical companies or other biotech firms invest the hundreds of millions required? Should the government bankroll research that will benefit a limited number of investors who planted their flag in this unmarked terrain? Which is of greater weight, the property rights of those who secured patents, or the health of a market for genetic innovation that could be prematurely stifled by speculation?

These are difficult questions for which ideology is no guide.

The ambiguity helps explain why neither the Republicans nor the Democrats have been able to establish themselves as the party of high tech (notwithstanding the efforts of both to do just that). Not only do tech concerns cut across party and ideological lines, but tech interests inevitably clash with core elements of each party's constituency. For example, high-tech companies' insistence on the need to raise immigration quotas offend both right-wing Republicans and the Democrats' labor base.

It is conceivable that as Internet and other technology issues take on broader societal significance, a new or existing political party will abandon positions based on old cleavages to emerge as the Party of Technology. For the immediate future, the ideologies that animate political parties will not allow any such co-optation. Both parties will continue to court Internet support, and tech leaders will continue to play both sides of the fence.

In the long run, however, the persistence of issues that do not conform to the right-left schism could finally banish this flawed paradigm to memory.

Where's the Revolution?

Cecille Isidro — Mon, 13 Mar 2000 00:00:00 -0500

John McCain was able to raise thousands of dollars on the Internet because people already knew about John McCain from TV.

Much has been made of the Internet's potential to wrest political power from the moneyed interests that dominate both Washington and state capitals. The Net, we are often told by true believers, allows ordinary individual citizens to spread the word, to organize resistance, in short, to fight the power.

And there is compelling anecdotal evidence that this is true. MoveOn.org was arguably the first political movement to garner the attention of the "politerati" when hundreds of thousands of electronic petitioners beseeched members of Congress to dispense with the impeachment of Bill Clinton and move on (get it?) to more important matters. MoveOn.org raised eyebrows when it helped raise thousands of dollars for anti-impeachment congressional candidates.

The anecdote of the moment is the Web-based fundraising surge that John McCain experienced in the wake of his New Hampshire primary victory over George W. Bush. This, we have been told, signals a new era in politics. Now renegades like McCain can use the Internet to bring down establishment candidates like George W.

All this optimism (unless you are part of the reviled "establishment") sounds vaguely familiar. When it first became clear that radio and television could be utilized as effective tools of mass political mobilization, they were considered by many to be the triumphant chariots of populism. No longer would big-city bosses -- long suspected to be in the pockets of the well-heeled business establishment -- dominate American politics. No, with the power of television, candidates who spoke for and to the people would ascend. If only William Jennings Bryan had lived on for another campaign ...

Of course, it has not quite turned out that way. Advertising on television and radio costs a fortune. And as the current debate over campaign finance reform suggests, few are more satisfied with a system that puts political influence in the hands of contributors than in the hands of party leaders. Is the Net more likely to fulfill its advance billing as a panacea?

Probably not.

At the moment, insurgent, underfinanced interest groups and candidates have more-developed Internet strategies than traditionally powerful interest groups. This is not surprising. Environmental groups, gun-control proponents, consumer advocates and other frequent losers in the current system were quite naturally the first to see the potential of a new medium and the first to devote capital and energy to its exploitation.

But in Internet politics, as in "real" politics, money is a commodity that when utilized intelligently can make up for lost ground in a hurry. Consider an area where activists have been endeavoring to use the Web: environmentalism. Suppose an environmental group mobilizes interested citizens to press for legislation that would lower acceptable levels of automobile emissions. Thousands of e-mail messages pour into Congress -- some from people who had not considered themselves "environmentalists" before happening upon a persuasive Web site. Each member gets messages from constituents making the electoral significance of the vote on the emissions bill quite plain. Don't pop the champagne bottles just yet.

What would automakers do? Nothing? That seems unlikely. First, they would mobilize the parties most interested in the fate of automobile companies: auto workers. Wouldn't that be easier if every employee had a home computer with Internet access? Most definitely. (Note to self: Call Ford to pitch ... oops, too late.) Unfortunately, this group is shrinking in number and is restricted to a few parts of the country. So the second step would be to identify other Americans sympathetic to carmakers' argument. Ideally, this group would be distributed nationally and represent a good cross-section of the population. How about gasoline consumers? They would naturally oppose any legislation if they believed it would raise gasoline prices. But how do carmakers reach them? Buy the names and contact info of people who buy large quantities of gas from credit card companies. Send them e-mail. Get them angry. Voila! Now a stream of constituent mail, e-mail and phone calls arrives on Capitol Hill assailing the emissions bill. It may even overwhelm the outpouring generated by the environmental types. And remember, Ford is not going to abandon its traditional approach. This is merely a supplement.

This is not a fantasy. There already is a community of consulting groups specializing in the use of the Internet as a tool of political mobilization. And guess who their clients are? Issue Dynamics specializes in "using the Internet to influence the media and decision-makers." Clients include America Online (AOL) , Bell Atlantic (BEL) and Hewlett-Packard (HWP) . Capitol Advantage produces CapitolWiz, "a grassroots legislative action tool." Its users include the AARP and the American Medical Association, neither currently starved for influence on the Hill.

Of course, there are consultants catering to less established groups and nonprofit operations like the Technology Project and NetAction that are helping existing grassroots organizations utilize the Internet. But grants from the Pew Trusts and other charitable foundations, the main source of funding for such programs, can hardly be expected to keep pace with the lobbying and PR budgets of Fortune 500 companies.

It's been pointed out that the power of the Internet lies in its facilitation of two-way communication. Thus, says author Douglas Rushkoff, the Internet, like the telephone, has the potential to bring people together, rather than to create a society of passive recipients, like television. True, but from the perspective of political mobilization the difference is insignificant. Much has been made of the earthy appeal of an e-mail campaign pitch from a volunteer in Nebraska made on behalf of, say, Bill Bradley. That "personal" approach can be persuasive. It can also be purchased.

The telephone simile is instructive. Political operatives have long known the power of phone banks. They are slow, inefficient and limited in scope -- but they can influence their audience. That is why campaigns pay workers to make phone calls. That is why candidates might pay people to send out "real," friendly e-mail messages that sound like they're from Aunt Bea in Mayberry. Perhaps this is depressing. But it is the way things are done. Those hand-painted signs featured at campaign rallies that look like the work of civic-minded 7-year-olds? Sorry. They're fake too.

Popular political support generated by paid consultants and operatives has been cleverly derided as "astroturf." But it is no less "real" in terms of its impression on elected officials than the genuine grassroots activity it emulates. This is likely to be true on the Internet as well.
The difference, die-hard defenders of the Internet revolution insist, is that anyone can publish their own Web site. The truly little guy now has a chance -- not just the entrenched figures with ties to the business, labor and the political establishment. Build it and people will come. But we know this is, at best, half true. Many of the most successful Internet retailers have been companies with an established brick-and-mortar identity. People get on the Web and look for Gap.com because they've been to the Gap, they know the Gap, they wear -- and want -- stuff from the Gap.

Voters saw on the news that McCain beat Bush in New Hampshire. And they heard McCain plug his site's URL at every opportunity. Would John McCain have raised all that money on his Web site if he had not already garnered the attention of the broadcast media (and already raised millions of dollars)? Quite simply, no. Does that mean it is impossible to imagine a candidate gaining widespread attention on the Internet? When a lonely Speedo-clad Turkish fellow is known to thousands of computer users around the planet, nothing is impossible. But it is unlikely.

I am not suggesting that the Internet does not have the potential to reshape politics in ways that cannot be foreseen. The famous Kennedy-Nixon debate of 1960 is remembered because it made clear that the ability of candidates to look good in front of the camera would be an essential characteristic in the era of televised politics. In the future, a campaign's Web site quality may be critical and the capacity of operatives to mobilize supporters using the Net may be key. But even if that comes to pass, the predicted leveling of the playing field so often associated with the Internet is unlikely. The Internet will likely alter the logistics of American politics without affecting its logic.