Ok, so I’m a dirt-bag

For the third time in my professional career, I am on the cusp of being regarded as an incompetent soldier. Try as I might, there is no getting around it sometimes. Some involved in my situation will draw conclusions based on what they think they see, append the blame to me and move on. While my first reaction, and the first reaction of many, might be to fight and kick due to bruised ego; I have come to the point in life where God has given me peace about these sorts of situations. Even if people unfairly draw conclusions, there is a time where I have to accept that it is beyond my ability to fix.

For the sake of catharsis, and the length of the blog post, I wanted to revisit these interesting times, to have it out and perhaps gain back some of that pride that I lost at the time. It is a bit unfair that these words might be the final say in these matters, considering the involved parties are retired or not frequenters of these circles, but I’ll keep their names out of mention. The names aren’t important. Other people might have reacted in similar ways.

So, the first episode.

Let’s go back to 2004. I was a young specialist, just a year into my time in the Army. I had been busy. Upon reaching my first duty station, I saw that there were only three military people left to run the entire newspaper—a broadsheet, no less. 20-30 pages weekly—a lot of content to fill. The civilian public affairs people made me a section editor immediately and I took on the role of paginating most of the paper, using my own laptop to edit photos, using my own car to get to assignments on weekends, nights, etc. I even started going to soldier of the month/quarter/year boards. I went to seven, made it all the way up to a regional soldier of the year board down in Georgia. Got third place, despite some—erm “interesting” developments that ensured deployable soldiers would progress versus garrison soldiers like myself.

I was the golden child of the battalion. I shot well, ran well, was punctual, kept my uniform sharp. At work, I was a strong performer. It came time for me to go to our E5 school—Warrior Leadership Course as they call it now, but it was Primary Leadership Development Course (PLDC) for me. Before going on this wonderful four-week “boot camp revisited” experience, as is customary, a unit will give a soldier a physical fitness test to make sure he/she doesn’t embarrass the unit when showing up. I remember that test, torrential rains and two other troops. Fun. I maxed my push-ups (meaning I did as many as the Army kept score for) and was on my way to again max my sit-ups when I felt a twang in my lower back/hips. I’d tweaked something. I finished my run, a few seconds slower than usual, which was expected due to the flooding rains.

The next day I woke up to a lot of pain. I had pulled my groin. I went in to the doctor—sure enough, pulled. He gave me a temporary profile and told me to take it easy for a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, that temporary profile disqualified me from attending PLDC in the next few days, which was literally across the street from my barracks, so we’re not talking about some expensive trip here. Now it didn’t disqualify me from ever going, I would go one month later. Just a month. I wasn’t trying to get out of going, as many did.

That didn’t matter to my command. It “looked bad” as my first sergeant said. My battalion sergeant major was furious. He ordered me to his office, had me wait outside for a while, then dismissed me without seeing me because he was “too disgusted to speak to me,” my first sergeant said. I had embarrassed the unit with my malingering and, from that point on, had a hell of a time getting paperwork or anything done.

Episode two.

Fort Hood was interesting. Field problems. All that “hooah!” with logistician units like mine trying to outperform and show up infantry and mechanized units. Interesting.

I was the first public affairs asset ever attached to my unit. I arrived and, as is normal for a public affairs troop, went to introduce myself to my command, as I would need to work closely with them. I walked in to my sergeant major’s office, introduced myself. He looked at me strangely, “We have journalists in the Army? News to me.” I went to my executive officer’s office and asked to speak to him. His aide showed me in. “You’re a journalist, huh? I hate the media.” My commander was nowhere to be found. A couple of days later, I was up at division, getting my camera equipment issued. My commander was in the office of the division public affairs officer, yelling that he didn’t want to babysit some journalist in his formation and to get me out of his unit immediately. He stormed out and the division public affairs officer said I had a lot of work to do.

He wasn’t kidding. It was pulling teeth, but eventually, after an exhausting period of being held at arm’s length during the train-up, I was laughed at when I showed up for assignments as often. In Iraq, for months I labored to showcase the unit in as many news outlets as I could. And we had done well. The Army Times sent a reporter to chronicle a few of our goings on. We had mimicked the delivery systems of UPS and FedEx and had cut down the number of missions on the road while increasing safety and output…all that sort of stuff. The reporter was there to write a couple of stories on us. Command was enthused. “Take her wherever she wants, Sergeant Salmons,” my commander constantly insisted.

I did. We went all around. In the evening, she wanted to see what sorts of things there were to do on our camp. I took her to a couple of martial arts classes soldiers had set up. There was a Bible study I think. We heard a lot of music coming from a building. She wanted to check it out. With all of the Puerto Rican Guard units stationed with us, several of them set up a salsa night with lessons and such. It was pretty cool. The reporter and her photographer hung out for a little while and then I took them back to their rooms.

A couple of weeks later, I started getting evil looks from everybody. “Hey, you’re that journalist?” a group of soldiers shouted out to me one morning. “Yeah?” I said. “Yeah that’s him,” they murmured and walked by. Turns out the reporter wrote a blog about salsa night—a blog! Not even a story. In the blog, she led off with “War is hell, unless you’re on Camp Taji.” It embarrassed the unit. I had failed. Although I was Journalist of the Year for FORSCOM and won the Army’s Best Field Publication for my newsletter, my unit never forgave me.

Episode three.

Now, I wish to insert glib melodrama. This situation isn’t nearly as heavy as the other two. I realize that after reading back through. I could have included a few other stories, but I didn’t want to belabor things any longer than they were already.

Fast forward to the present, dear friends. I am two months away from my terminal leave date. I have been busy. Google “Staff Sgt. Joshua Salmons” and check it out. You know me. I got a call last week from a Navy captain friend of mine, saying that NATO needed my help in Afghanistan. Cool. They wanted to fly me over there to implement some new communication initiatives with the media and the Afghan public. Cool. I hesitantly agreed to go. Hesitantly, because it is going to put my out-processing in major jeopardy. I barely had enough time to get things done as it was, but I wanted to help.

So I began all of the paperwork craziness that goes along with going to a place like a combat theater. Country clearances, immunizations, security briefings, travel, finance, etc. Mountains of paperwork. And I was still swamped at work, so there was that.

Then I hit a snag. My weapons qualification was way past due. You see, my unit is a fenced DOD unit, meaning we are locked in for the duration of the tour, meaning there is little priority to send soldiers like me to weapons ranges. Especially when soldiers, like me, are getting out in just a few weeks. I told my handlers all of this and I don’t see it as a major problem, but I am a bit sensitive about the issue. I know it might seem like I’m just a lazy troop who let his qualifications slip, but I’d like to think that’s not the case. Who gets asked to Afghanistan a couple of weeks before he or she is out of the military? And if it did happen, I would imagine these sorts of things would be commonplace.

Ha! Again, I don’t think it’s a huge deal, but it would be my luck that for all the work God has graced me with accomplishing, this would be the thing to show everyone that I am, again and indeed, a dirt-bag.

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Can you stop by Afghanistan on your way out?

To anyone who has ever served in the military, changes to plans are as commonplace as breathing. We even have a type of order for that helps us handle sudden shifts in direction. FRAGOs (fragmentary orders) are used throughout the military planning process, but usually end up as the “oh crap!” type of order that we all use to switch things up. FRAGOs aren’t complete (hence the fragmentary part) and go along well with “stand by” or “more to follow” instructions. Back in the states, waiting for the boss to arrive at a briefing? No problem. Deployed, waiting for the boss to figure out which road won’t lead to certain death? A little more interesting.

We usually just laugh about situations that go 180 degrees every four or five hours. I could tell you a lot of stories that involve a lot of troops waiting for hours in the rain, pounding metal rods through concrete (unsuccessfully, as we figured) to set up tents, briefing changes, ammo changes, miscues…normal stuff for most offices, but with high-caliber weapons and no climate controlled lounge to vent frustrations.

So, I’ve been looking forward to finishing out my term of service for a while now. My original plans involved getting out in January of 2008, but stop-losses being what they are, I stayed in a little longer. Truth be told, being locked in turned out to be the best thing for me. I ended up teaching at the military’s journalism school (and thereby escaping Fort Hood!), and was ushered in as one of the DOD’s social media paragons.

And yet, even the extended time was to eventually end–June of 2010 in my case. We get to save up our vacation days in the military and use them, if we wish, to edge back our final day. We call it “terminal leave” which is an ominous moniker that simply refers to the fact that at the start of this “terminal” period, we will finish spending our vacation days at the legal end of our enlistment contract. So, for me, having not taken many days off in the last while, I have a solid two months of vacation time saved up. So, June became April. Getting out of the military isn’t as easy as it sounds (as in NOT getting up early, NOT pulling duty, NOT saluting every third person you see). It actually involves mountains of paperwork to document the physical trauma most of us suffer at the hands of environments and men who try to kill us.

So the “out-processing” period takes time. Time, for me, that was rapidly approaching its end. Yet there was enough. I was starting to disconnect myself from work—a common theme, as commanders expect their subordinates to take care of themselves on their way out—nothing shirking about it.

That is, until I got a FRAGO of sorts. I got a call as I was heading out the door one morning from a Navy captain I know from the U.S. European Command. He said that Lt. Gen. Caldwell’s office needed me in Afghanistan ASAP. I thought it was hilarious—sounded like something out of a spy movie or action flick. Can’t really say “no” to that sort of direct request. I was told “more to follow” and the higher-ups got to work on the preparations.

So I’m heading over to Afghanistan in the next couple of weeks. NATO is revamping its NTM-A (NATO Training Mission – Afghanistan) websites and wanted me to put in social media initiatives and join a small, select team to formulate the strategic communication plan for NATO and the Afghan people.

Beyond that, there really is no plan. These sorts of special missions rely on the ability and knowhow of people who are put in the mix. So there will be no “wait and see” on my part. I’m starting my prep to hit the ground at full speed. What’s cool about NATOs intent is they want something that can interface with the Afghan people directly. There are, as you might figure, a number of obstacles and quirks to dealing with the Afghan public directly. One being a lack of computers. One being relatively high illiteracy. One being dialect issues.

However, a large chunk of the people have cell phones, in a strange juxtaposition of pre-industrial/post-industrial trends and technologies. These phones are hardly the ones most U.S. commuters cart around—and the cellular infrastructure is barely 1G; but they have cell phones! They get text messages, by and large. There are some Afghan carriers that have data plans, but those are often too expensive for much of the public. If NATO is to have success in establishing a rapport with the Afghan public, it can’t just have a fancy website with social media links and a Twitter feed, it’s going to need a shift in information distribution.

That’s where I come in. I’ve talked with some of my coworkers who have spent some years over there. I’ve tried to get some insight. I think a quasi throwback approach will be best for NATO. We can put a website in place, sure. That will serve the local and international media well. But I also want to see an SMS system put in place, where people can text to a number and get information. That means mobile-friendly versions of the sites. Moreover, that means very, very basic mobile-friendly versions of the sites.

Since dialects and illiteracy are still barriers to communication, I will also want to explore the possibility of having a sort of call-in voicemail system. Regular people will hear that they just have to call a certain number to hear what’s going on, and someone on NATO and the Afghan government’s side will read the stories aloud to them over their phones.

Granted, some will cry “propaganda” from these channels. One, that’s in direct violation of the DoD Principles of Information and the standing intent from our highest levels. Two, we have tried unsuccessfully to repair and restore the country for nine years. The Afghan people aren’t stupid, they know when they’re being fed BS. For my part, the system will be for the distribution of genuine information.

That is, unless I receive a FRAGO that orders me to cancel the Afghanistan trip and head downstairs for a meeting about the school’s website redesign. Ha! Wouldn’t that be painfully normal?

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The importance of conference rapport

I have, to date, spoken at some two dozen seminars, conferences, panels or other public events where the audience is not my coworkers.

Not bragging, just saying that I’ve been to a few. Enough, I hope, to give an observation without having the more seasoned public speakers of the world laugh too hard. I know I’m just starting at this whole speaking circuit thing, but bear with me. I’d like to delve into a common mistake I see most of the VIPs at these conferences making. I want to explore why I think a measure of meekness is essential to be accepted as a worthwhile speaker. First, just a little background on yours truly.

I started my speaking gigs by accident. I was attending a social media for government seminar a couple of years back. My organization wanted me to go learn about what social media was. I already had a healthy knowledge of things, but they said they would feel more comfortable if I had a certificate or something, saying I knew what I knew. Fine. They ponied up the thousands of dollars necessary for me to earn a listening spot at a table in a Washington, D.C., hotel; I was able to escape the clamor of the office for a few days. Fair trade.

The conference was well-organized. The speakers were varied. The audience was engaged. But I had heard most of it before. A few of us had. I and a couple of others raised our hands a bit to bring up points of discussion. There were a few times when I was able to add a fresh viewpoint or other perspective. I tried to not be too overbearing. I know how annoying those know-it-alls in school always are. Still, by the end of the conference, people knew I was pretty comfortable with social media. I guess it was enough to show through in the end-of-conference summaries, because the organizers of the conference asked me to return for their next venue and speak.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary—these conferences self-perpetuate as attendees grow, learn and are asked to speak. It’s how the companies who run these events stay fresh. I was excited at the chance though. After the next event, I received several more invites. After those, several more. These things have a way of begetting further speaking opportunities.

DINFOS has a training course for new instructors. In this course, veteran educators teach the ragtag bunch of military journalists, broadcasters and public affairs officers how to impart knowledge in the classroom. There’s a lot to do to successfully reach the mind of an adult. Unlike children, who respond with external motivational factors like grades, candy or perhaps recess; adults learn through internal motivation. Someone has to appeal to an adult’s inner self—perhaps through self-interest (what’s in it for me?) or some sense of duty (performing well for the betterment of whatever). There are important steps that must be done prior to instructing.

An instructor must be respected. He or she must be seen as an authority or someone with a skill or bit of knowledge to share. An instructor must then be accepted by the audience. An instructor must coax engagement out of the audience, give an avenue for them to show their intellectual growth and then leave them encouraged at whatever skill or challenge an instructor wishes to impart.

This game is a miniature version of every leader ascension in the history of civilization. When a new leader wished to prove his or her dominance over a tribe/town/region/nation, these sorts of games had to happen too. Rapport was essential. An audience had to feel that the leader was a part of them—that the leader and they shared something. Perhaps it was a common interest in surviving. Perhaps it’s iPods. Whatever. Without rapport, people might listen, but it’s more out of dread or terror; either because of the position the leader/instructor holds, or the fear of what will happen if the audience member does not absorb the presented knowledge.

So, fast forward to most seminars and, finally, what I’m aiming at. I think it is essential that speakers show up early, stay for the entirety of the conference and know when to change their presentations. Most VIPs at these conferences whisk in and out. The most important ones have to, really. How often can President Obama just hang out? Probably not that often. So, were he to speak at one of these social media seminars, it would be an in-and-out venture. Granted.

But most of us can afford to stay longer. Perhaps we choose not to, because we wish to mimic the spectacle of the truly important members of society. If I’m jet setting to LA, Paris, or some meeting, I just have to scurry along. “Sorry I’m late, blah blah blah.” I’ll speak, get the applause and move out—on to the next critical event. I think too often speakers look to be celebrated as some sort of royalty. So whether it is because of honest busyness or ego, too many of us don’t invest in our audiences.

At every seminar I’ve ever been at as a speaker, I’m evaluated as the top or in the top three, so far as audience ratings go. Why? I think it has to do with rapport, honestly. I enjoy conversing with the attendees. I am an attendee at these seminars. I sit through the other lectures. I laugh and ask questions like the other attendees. When lunch comes around, I don’t make plans. I hang out with the others who are unsure where to go, how long we all have before we have to get back. Sometimes I eat alone. I crack some jokes. Most importantly, I think, is I listen. I talk about how the seminar is going. I hear people’s feedback on the other sessions—how two or three covered the same thing, or how one’s slides were too small, how another just tap-danced around the questions.

One disadvantage of most of these seminars is a general lack of content coordination. Most speakers flux—some cancel, all have different experience levels and areas of ability. As a result, especially in the volatile and formulating world of social media, many speakers cover the same thing. Or, they are so far removed from the audience members, they have absolutely no relevance.

The audience makeup doesn’t help speakers prepare either. Most of the seminars I have participated in are for government, but that is little help. In the audience there are usually contractors, government service employees, federal agencies, state agencies, non-profit, think tanks, marketing, businesses wishing to get into the government scene. There are police departments, Army guys, IT, legal, public affairs, directors, managers, workers….

A mess, especially if someone is trying to prepare material to speak to this disparate mob. So, most speakers default to a single or small series of lectures they give routinely. I know because I’ve seen several people pitch the same lecture years later. No one is the wiser if they attend only one event.

What I try to do is remain adaptable. Even if I’m covering similar material and borrowing from past presentations, I will rebuild new slide shows for every event. If I see several people giving the same lecture, I make sure I remove that material from my upcoming speech. If I hear people complaining about things being too loud, or the slides being too dark, I change my presentation to assuage the complaints. Most importantly, though, I listen to their situations through our conversations. I try to empower them. I try to build them up as much as I can. I offer my services. I give them examples. I add value to their conference experience.

And the result? Glowing reviews. Honest relationships. Continued invitations. It takes listening to make a great public speaker. The more grandiose a speaker’s introduction—when degrees and acronyms trip up the event organizer as he or she reads the biography…those are usually the speeches that lose the most people. There’s a hell of a disconnect there from the average government worker and the celebrated darlings of event organizers. If that speaker hasn’t taken the steps to be accepted by the tribe he or she stands before, then the following hour or two becomes a waste. The applause afterward is as much for the audience congratulating itself on surviving than any showing of appreciation.

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Rethinking ownership

One of the aspects of social media and collaborative work environments that people have a lot of trouble with is this “sharing” aspect. Many people aren’t comfortable letting others into “their” space, to learn about “their” knowledge. They feel that “their” job might be threatened by someone else. This goes along with our traditional viewpoints on territory, ownership and individualism. But what happens as people shift their mindsets? What happens when people realize that by contributing to a pool of resources, they can do more with more? Socialism? I would argue “no,” not in the politically tarnished sense. As every generation adopts values and behaviors that befuddle and confound the generation that precedes it, I want us to take a look at our concepts of ownership and how we or our children will perhaps redefine what it means to have “stuff.”

Have you ever read copyright law? A lot of people have, actually, that’s why I ask. Usually it’s for some media law class in college or an ethics thing. I remember when I had to pour over books and try to decipher how we treat copyrighted works. It’s an odd thing.

Did you realize that when you “buy” a movie at whatever store, you aren’t buying the real movie? You’re actually buying the license to watch the content provided on the disc. It’s like buying a movie ticket, but the movie studios entrust a physical copy of the movie to your care. If you’ve ever taken the time to read the FBI warnings and such that flash near the beginning of things, it speaks about how the movie studios have the right to take back said movie if certain conditions of the law are violated, blah blah blah.

When I worked at Blockbuster, people would occasionally lose movies. Our systems would add charges to a customer’s account after so many weeks went by after a movie was due. It was like a bench warrant. We didn’t necessarily release the hounds to hunt them down, but if they ever tried to rent another movie, the charges would show up. Imagine the surprise of the average customer when they had a $120.00 charge on their account for the loss of one movie. Usually there would be cursing. The customer would say we were ripping them off and that they could replace it for $14.99 from Wal-Mart. They were wrong.

You see, it’s a matter of copyright. For $14.99 at Wal-Mart, when a DVD is “purchased,” an individual buys the license to watch a movie. This is an individual viewing license. By law, as it is written (though completely unenforceable), if anyone else is ever in the same room as the buyer, or within earshot of the TV as the movie is playing, the buyer of the DVD is breaking copyright law. You see, if more than one person is viewing the content of a DVD, it is considered, under law, as a “public showing.” And public viewing licenses per movie are far more expensive—about $120.00 more expensive. Hence the hefty penalty.

So, I want us to think about ownership. Do we “own” our stuff? Our cars (any car loans?)? Our houses (renter? mortgage?)? Even movies, books, or any copyrighted work that we simply have the licenses for?

Now, I want us to think about how ownership is changing. Look at companies like Netflix (and their video game sister company GameFly), Zipcar or the startup cloud computer gaming company Gaikai.

I had a friend who talked about how she and her husband were trying to cut back on the number of video games and movies they purchased. I asked her about Netflix and GameFly, which operates under the model that you pay a flat subscription fee per month and select DVDs or video games that come in the mail. Customers can hold on to them for as long as they want or go through as many titles as they want, with only the day or so wait as the mail comes and goes. She said that they had tried both of them, but it was actually more expensive. I asked why. She described how there would be a good choice of movies or games that her husband and she would know they wanted, and would buy at full price. Then they had this Netflix and GameFly thing that they only used for titles they maybe wanted, but weren’t sure. The subscriptions became wasted money.

I asked her to reconsider ownership. Why did she still buy movies and games, I asked? Why didn’t she just rent a title more than once? After all, a customer could keep a game for a solid three or four months and still have other titles coming and going, before reaching the same price as one game. The concept was foreign to her. She had never thought about NOT buying something to “own” it, but she would think about it.

“But what if I want to watch a certain movie now?” she asked.

“Other than wait a day?” I asked.

She conceded that her want of instant gratification might be standing in the way of the potential cost savings.

Now look at Zipcar. Have you ever explored that service? They market their company as “an alternative to car ownership.” Basically, you subscribe to the service (monthly fee and whatnot). You are issued an access card. You reserve a type of car from a place for a set amount of time (hours–whole day, etc.), then you return the car back to the same spot in the same place when you are done. You might not get the same car if you reserve another pickup, let’s say, the next day, but you’ll still have the type of car you want, pretty much when you want it.

Now, I’ve heard some people lament not “owning” a car. “Yeah, but what if you wanted to just go to Alaska? Can’t do that with a Zipcar.”

Well, yes, granted. How often does that happen? If, for you, that’s a normal thing, then I concede you probably need to “own” your own vehicle.

But what about the rest of us? Companies like Zipcar talk about how the average car, when owned, sits idle for 90% of its life. We don’t think much of it, but that’s a lot of metal, oil and gas, just sitting in parking spaces and driveways all throughout the country. On ships, the Navy often “hot racks,” that is, as one sailor is waking up to begin his or her shift, another sailor, who is just finishing, climbs into the “still warm” bunk and goes to sleep.

Most people scoff at that. They say “ewwww.” Apart from the potential sanitary problems, what’s so wrong about that? Is it that a person doesn’t have his or her “own” bed? Is that such an alien thought? But isn’t it a better use of limited resources?

It is the very American thing to have stuff we own—cars, houses, books, whatever we want. But what if we started to reconsider our concepts of ownership? What if, for the sake of the environment, the costs of insurance, gas—whatever, we gave up the potential privilege of driving to Alaska TONIGHT or watching “Short Circuit 2″ NOW, and instead took on the more pragmatic and realistic attitude of using a service when we needed instead of having millions of redundant devices we hardly use?

Finally, let’s take a look at Gaikai. It’s still in its early stages. The concept, though, is fascinating. Computer gamers are always chasing after the latest and greatest hardware to run the latest and greatest games. Video cards, RAM, faster hard drives, processors—there are dozens of components that turn the average computer into a screaming hot rod. High-end computer systems from companies like Voodoo run upwards of $15-20,000. Insane. All for a machine that will be “outdated” within a year or two.

So, enter Gaikai. For a subscription, a gamer is promised remote access to the most state-of-the-art hardware. Gamers can use whole computer systems “on the cloud.” They can remotely load their computer games onto these machines churning away in Topeka or where ever, and never have to worry about dumping another $800 on this month’s newest video card.

Isn’t it interesting? People wouldn’t need to even “own” their computers. With a dumb terminal, maybe a decent monitor, and the ubiquitous Internet connection, people could have all the processing power they wanted.

Now, yes, security concerns, privacy concerns, infrastructure concerns…on and on, sure. But I’m just saying what if our ideas of ownership continued along these lines? Wouldn’t it be interesting if our children or grandchildren looked at us with near disgust and said, “You OWNED your own car? What for? Wasn’t that wasteful?”

Stranger things have happened.

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Money and how we burn it

I know things work as they do for the reasons they do. I realize that our current form of bureaucratic insanity is the result of centuries of careful, refined and deliberate progress. I accept that trying to alter the direction of how things are done is as effective as trying to hold back a hurricane with a riot shield.

Still, how we choose to set fire to vast fields of money still gives me pause.

Our government, founded by the people, for the people, operates through the use of paper monetary notes, regulated and accepted as legal tender for goods and services. Taxes are the price we pay for civilization, it is correctly said. Through those dollars, agents of our government execute their duties to ensure good order and accomplishment of various civil tasks.

But there’s another aspect of our government. I call it the “GIMMEH!” factor, taken from the base childish demand for “give me!,” itself from the concept that a group needs more.

You see, at the dawn of the Christian age, with those first in the faith of the Way, everyone lived in communes. They all sold their possessions, lived together and gave as each had need. This equitable distribution of wealth was taken so seriously that an early Christian couple, who decided they would save money from the sale of personal goods, was struck dead by the Holy Spirit, as the story goes.

So, as the basket came around, people took out what they needed, on the faith that everyone would show restraint out of respect for others. It’s a tremendous idea, and requires the careful introspective examination of each person to keep humanity’s inherent greed at bay.

Then enters Capitalism and the idea that men should be rewarded for their hard work. If a person works harder, the theory (roughly) goes, to him or her goes the spoils. Why should someone else gain from the work of another? The transfer of wealth comes through the marketplace. Each person competes and outperforms others. Some get more; some get less.

In a world of excess, both systems work well. But what happens when there isn’t enough–as in the real world?

What happens in the Christian model, when a person at the end of the bread line has an empty basket, or just crumbs? Maybe that person tries to get to dinner earlier? Maybe he or she tries to sit earlier in the order? Maybe he or she tries to establish rules and social circumstances that prove the right to sit closer to the bread basket?

Or, maybe the person takes more. Even if not hungry, what if the person takes more? There won’t be a second time around, the person assumes.

What happens when everybody starts taking all they can, supposedly in “need”? Who starts to judge one person’s “need” over another’s?

In the Capitalist system, when there’s not enough, some stay in business, some don’t; some succeed, some fail; some live, some die.

And yet, in our government, we blend the two systems. We see ourselves as Christian Capitalists, and our government tries to be both a provider and a business.

So we operate on the assumption of group fiscal responsibility, but we all secretly grab all we can from the bread basket.

It’s October and many in the building are still trying to spend all their money from last fiscal year. I hear people passing by my cubicle:

“What’s the status on the money? Spent yet?”

“Nope. Working on it.”

There’s talk of excess and the scramble to spend it all–often on useless or unneeded things. My dad talked about these sorts of stories every year during his time in the Navy. At low levels, at high levels, organizations grab all they can and spend all they can, whether they need it or not.

When Capitalist Christians have their turn at the bread basket, they all grab all they can, because there’s the fear there won’t be any left after everyone has gone through.

And they’re right. If an organization doesn’t spend all of its allotted money–the money they’ve fought and argued they “needed” in the past–next year, they won’t get it. Their budget will shrink. And even if it should shrink, what manager wants to see less money? What manager wants to run the risk that some day that money might actually be needed? So the original amount must be maintained. More, in fact, should be argued for. There’s always the need for more.

When everyone does this, it’s a feeding frenzy. There’s no saving, no conservation, no rewards for taking less. If you’re hungry, it’s your problem. You should have taken more, even if it was out of the mouth of another. At the Christian meal, everyone is elbowing past each other, snatching bread from the arms of their neighbor, and gorging themselves with mouthfuls of food they’ll spit out, just to show how much they “need.”

So when we talk about “conservation,” I laugh. When I hear about bailouts, I sigh. When there’s the talk about cutting back, tightening our belts and learning to operate smartly, I roll my eyes.

None of it can happen if we operate in a government that takes all it can and burns vast amounts of excess, just to show they need more later. How can we move to an era of fiscal responsibility in our economic plight if we continue to sack Rome as barbarous reprobates?

Because meanwhile, while the guys the next hallway over are looking to throw $100,000 away on a NLE video system they don’t need, I can’t get training on InDesign to update my course curriculum. I can’t get $49 to buy a webcam to hold webinars to benefit the global public affairs community. Last year, we were given 20 $1,500 huge beautifully-bound Webster dictionaries, but our software is years behind.

Basket is always empty for the sucker who lets others go before him.

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The long pause (life without Internet)

Since September 16th, I’ve been without Internet access at home.

Now, I realize that people lived for centuries without the steady stream of 1’s and 0’s from our Gore-inspired Information Superhighway; but I would insist they never really lived.

Seriously, a life without electronic mail? No Google Maps? No Google, even? No online library card catalogs? I can hardly imagine a world where my life isn’t punctuated several times a minute by the need to be online. It is ubiquitous. Access to data is everywhere. Movies, restaurant reviews, buying groceries, renewing my driver’s license…all of it is accomplished online. Hell, my master’s program is totally online, which made my recent Internet drought all the more painful.

Yesterday, finally, my Internet Service Provider, through happenstance only, plugged me back in. Like a fever breaking, I at once felt relief as the flickering green light on the router told me I was no longer alone. Life had been on pause. I would come home, now in a new studio apartment, and stare at the emptiness that used to be filled by Facebook, YouTube, Baker Business College, City of Heroes and the blog.

I go out a lot, so it wasn’t SOOOOOO bad. But still, it was almost Zen in its stillness. It was a chance to prioritize, look to the future and all that. It was terrible.

Because I, as a person, have fundamentally been changed by the technologies I use on a daily basis. I can’t imagine a world without Netflix, eBay, Google or Amazon. It is a world I wouldn’t want to live in. It would be a step backward. And when I look at social media, in all of its intricacies, I see this sort of online world expanding. It’s almost as if there are two parallel worlds—the online and offline, that we live in. We spend the majority of our time in the real world perched in front of a liquid crystal display, peering into the online world. It gets to the point where we feel more at ease—more complete when in this fake world. The portrait of the offline world begins to fade as we spend more time on the details of the online world. Isn’t this nuts? Our digital heartbeat is growing stronger.

So how did I survive? My friends would ask me, half jokingly, half knowingly, if I was going crazy. I’d read more books, I wrote more, but then it was six in the evening, and I wasn’t tired, so no early bed time. I don’t get cable, so I couldn’t phase out into passive television. Nor would I want that, anyway.

So the Robinson Crusoe romantic dream of a life lived without its normal trappings is crap for me. I needed the Web. It perhaps did not need me, but I felt the pang of its absence. Now that it’s back, I feel a bit like Tom Hanks after returning from his exile on “Cast Away,” comfortable with catching my own fish, but back in the world of instant information cuisines by the gigabyte.

And, like Hanks’ character in that movie, I sort of glossed over that chapter in my life—those agonizing few days where I was offline at home. The molehill mountain had been climbed and past. No one cared to hear what life was like alone on that island, and it in fact made them feel ashamed for fidgeting in the luxuries of our lives.

Here, the adventure started and stopped. I’ll forever remember the time, back in 2009, when my digital heartbeat stopped, and I was on the cusp of oblivion. I’m back now, though, so let’s get back to it.

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Assuming…and other mistakes

The social media explosion is temporary—or at least I hope it is. As more people learn how to fish, there won’t be the need for people like me to toss halibut into the throng of open mouths—or at least I hope so.

Sometimes I do have pangs of doubt whether the current crop of policy makers and leaders will ever graduate beyond their current levels. Maybe the eventual evolution of the common body of knowledge will be due to the replacement of one generational talent pool for another. Maybe, eventually, I won’t have to explain Boolean search strategies to people, not because eventually people will understand the how-tos that people like me are putting out, but that they will be replaced by new blood or the programs themselves will evolve to make the Semantic Web a reality.

Maybe that’s always the way things work. Perhaps we all hit a certain wall when it comes to new ideas or approaches. While many can adapt and learn, maybe the majority of people reach some sort of innovation saturation? Could be. I know I hit a wall with math. Calculus. I gave up—went to philosophy and literature and never looked back. If the world was waiting for me to engineer a bridge somewhere, it was out of luck until they start putting a “build me a bridge” button on these graphic calculators.

Most of you are probably wondering what the hell I’m getting at. Fair enough.

Last week I got an email that highlights a type of email I routinely get. Now, before we continue, I am going to qualify all of this by removing any sense of elitism or a patronizing tone. If the points of this post are true, I too will fall victim to my own saturation of innovation where my mind will be unwilling or unable to further redefine its information-processing structures. So this isn’t a “old people don’t get it” post in the slightest.

Anyway, email. About a month ago I led a faculty bible study. It was on the passage of the Christian Scriptures where Jesus led his disciples to Caesarea Philippi and made the speech about “On this rock, I’ll build my church.” That whole thing. I opened up with a short side study, discussing how old the disciples probably were before moving on to the rest of things.

I talked about how I’d heard a bible teacher named Ray Van Der Laan give a pitch years ago, showing that the disciples were probably all teenagers. This was how old disciples usually were in the culture and time: teens. I meant it as a quick intro to the rest of the study, but people at the session were blown away.

“That makes sense!”

“I’ve always wondered about that.”

“I’ve never heard that before.”

“Where did you find that?”

“Where are your sources?”

“How can I read your information?”

I told them the Web. Google the teacher I’d mentioned. They went away astonished and paid little attention to the actual study….I guess I should have focused on the age thing.

About a week later, I was still getting emails, asking where to go and what Web site to look at. I had to tell them it wasn’t in one neat package, but the information was across several sites. Google was their friend. But that’s where I assumed people could find out information, and I started to think again on how some groups, no matter how many times you coach them through something, can’t figure things out.

Again, not an intelligence or age thing, but some people will never learn how to adapt to new technological environments. Some people just can’t get the concept of fishing.

This final email that set off this post arrived a few days ago.

“SSG Salmons, where did you get your information for that study last month? I’m giving a session and want to bring up the young disciple idea. Fascinating.”

I had to break it down. Google the teacher’s name “Ray Van Der Laan.” That would bring up every document he’s remotely associated with. By adding words after the name, you can further exclude irrelevant searches. Try adding the phrase “disciples were teenagers.” That should bring up the list of posts I had scanned through to refresh my sources.

A few minutes later…

“SSG Salmons, I don’t see anything.”

I typed in the search string. Then looked down the list. There they were, the articles I’d seen before. I picked out the first few, including the “teenage posse” one that had been the most helpful.

A few minutes later…

“Thank  you!”

Our educational philosophy focuses on questions and answers. I think this has a tendency to lobotomize us to adaptation and innovation. We expect something to just work.

Car breaks? Someone fix it. “It won’t make a ‘vroooooooom!’ anymore!” Computer has an error? “My Yahoo! is broken!”

Classical education focuses on how to think. It’s not in the lists of facts that can be digested like a machine, but it’s about cultivating the character of a thinking person. In Rabbinic teaching, questions are answered by other questions.

“What is 6 + 4?” a teacher will ask.

“What is 5 x 2?” a student will respond. It shows that the student not only knows the answer, but can move the discussion further.

We don’t do that anymore, it’s all just quantifiable rote memorization and minimized thought. Ninety six percent? Great, “A+”. Ninety six credit hours? Great, bachelor’s degree.

So when a new paradigm like social media enters the fray and challenges us to redefine how we perceive and interact with social units, geographical and notional affiliations, or even data itself; many of us cannot figure it out. It’s me and Calculus. Ugh! My brain is teh hurts!

So, to help, guys like me who haven’t reached their innovation saturation levels, Google the term “social media training” and teach ourselves. A year later, I’m speaking at seminars, companies and governmental organizations throughout the world because I’m soooo knowledgable. If only people knew….

Granted, I know I can put on a good show, and I am genuinely flattered at the attention; but as we move forward, I do grow concerned that we’ll have to wait for many to retire or move on to get people in positions who haven’t become saturated.

And then, eventually (although “eventually” is happening faster and faster these days), I’ll hit my ceiling too. My processor won’t be able to handle the load. I’ll check out, and someone else will step in who can run two or three computers at once, type two letters simultaneously and watch seven movies concurrently with commenting on a quantum mechanics blog.

Meanwhile, I’m available to give training to you and your employees on how to effectively leverage social media trends in your workplace and on your external-facing communication initiatives to increase the effectiveness of your organization.

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Delivering on promises

One of my weaknesses is that I get distracted. When operating in a team, with constructed deadlines and timetables, things are easy. A day’s mission or set of milestones are there to be tackled and accomplished. However, when a rogue agent like me, I’ve discovered the common challenge of effective time management. It’s harder to be your own boss.

It’s a skill we can always improve on—getting the most out of our day; and I see the danger that guys in my position can get into. I have a tendency to go on and on all day about how A, B and C can all change the world and help at work immensely; but without the follow through, it’s all a Ponzi scheme—shuffling one pile of enthusiasm to another, without ever accomplishing anything.

My personality doesn’t help. I’m an extrovert, so while I have that hard-charging attitude that Myers-Briggs talks about, I miss out on the detail-oriented aspects of being more introspective. As a result, I find that I have five or 10 projects in the works at any given time. Wikis for the European Command, DINFOS, the Public Affairs Department; video pages for the broadcasters, for my personal social media site; draft policy for NATO; access consulting for the Library of Congress; that novel…just for starters. If I don’t hunker down and follow through, it’s all for naught. I become just another zany distraction—all about theory with little execution.

I think the follow-through idea is the best part. I’d rather be a man of fewer initiatives but more thorough implementation. But—ha! don’t we all wish for other traits? Instead, maybe I need to write things down…or find a job where I can get some help. Maybe part of my problem is that I’m always working alone. Strange that the social media guy is always by himself. Hrmmm.

In addition to actually following through on initiatives, it’s also necessary to follow up once something is completed. In the case for social media initiatives, it’s good to touch base with people I’ve worked with previously. I’ve found that a lot of people have questions or concerns, but don’t want to be a bother or, worse, think they look like a fool.

But, far from it, when someone helps a group or organization set up something new, there’s always the need for further consultation. I’ve found calling up people I’ve worked with and asking how things were going gets a sigh of relief. At work, it’s the same. Continued training and encouragement is necessary for sustainable and consistent adoption of new initiatives. Otherwise, the flash in the pan is dazzling, but quickly dims to what was before.

Most discouraging is failure. When all of the best intentions for an organization get stymied in argument or inaction, or when an initiative just falls flat with no users or interest. That can make the social media advocate and supporters look the fool. The discouragement can bog down enthusiasm; but that’s where my journalist’s thick skin comes in. Jesus doesn’t love me any less when an initiative fails. Moreover, some of the big higher ups in my chain of command would rather me make a mistake in trying something rather than make a mistake by not trying something. So, really, where does the fear or sense of dread originate? Even in the midst of abject failure, it’s good to stick to the drive that spurred the initiative in the  first place.

After all, execution that didn’t work out is far better than a promise without results. And a good attitude amongst failure will help keep a person trying to deliver on the expectations set forward by innovators and dreamers.

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Don’t push too far ahead

My boss gave me some good advice today. Don’t push so far ahead of things that it makes you irrelevant.

Very true. It’s the same wisdom we teach our journalism students. A lot of them, especially the college grads, show up with a lexicon of words and fancy literary tricks. Even if they are correctly used (that’s an “if”), a lot of times the alluded-to humor or historical references are too far above most peoples’ heads to be of any use. Students argue with their instructors all the time about how they feel journalistic style is “dumbed down” or too simple. Some even think it’s our duty as literary types to raise the bar of average literary levels.

And of course we, the ever patient instructors, nod, put our hands on their shoulders and lament the state of American reading levels. Then we insist on our original “make it simple” edits.

The same is true for social media. A lot of people in the social media sphere/universe/whatever pride themselves on getting it. They are in the know. They have the pulse of communication. And it’s terribly exciting to harness the power of changed communication–to be the harbingers of revolution and burn the status quo. But unfortunately, I can see how arrogant that can make social media proponents like myself. Moreover, as there is a push to move beyond social media, we can further confuse those struggling to keep pace. What good is poetry to a person who can’t read? Aren’t the nuances of Shakespeare lost on someone just beginning to learn English? It’s true that those who advocate social media trends, jargon and practices should take care to not push too far forward, too quickly.

We can keep counsel with ourselves–establish thinking groups and work in new areas, sure. But we should always be diligent in empowering those around us. There was a civilian gentleman who presented at the Marine’s public affairs symposium down in Hampton, Va., yesterday. He and I chatted about how surprised we were that it has taken this long to get most people on just the basic levels of social media. And, I admit, every time I run across a new group of people who laugh about being social media infants, I do have the urge to roll my eyes, get frustrated and say “Get with it, keep up!” But what good is that? What good is a steak, however well cooked (or not), to a newborn? If the crowd we social media zealots are in need more basic modules of instruction, far be it for us to see ourselves as too elite to be bothered.

Teachers learn patience. They learn to teach the same skills to new people, constantly. They shouldn’t lament the never-ending procession of 5th graders who need to learn state capitals. They shouldn’t be angered when a student needs the same special instruction that hundreds of students before him did. Likewise, those that teach social media shouldn’t be too in love with themselves that they “can’t be bothered” with teaching the basics or working with new groups on ground already covered.

Granted it is discouraging on one hand to still be mired in teaching 101 even after this long. Sometimes it does seem that the world will never get it–that we’ll spend so long continuing to argue “if” we should instead of “how” that we’ll miss the boat. But we have to temper our itch for innovation with the wisdom of restraint. When journalism students come to interview me for their assignments, they always ask for me to spell my name. Sometimes, I want to say, “Look it up. Don’t bother me with that.” But they’re just learning. We all don’t know what we don’t know. It’s unfair to come down on someone for mistakes we all made.

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Preamble to the revolution

There are a couple of quotes that I use to start off my social media seminars/talks/whatnot. Today, I’ll share those.

There are two kinds of fool. One says, ‘This is old, and therefore good.’ And one says, ‘This is new, and therefore better.’

– John Brunner, author
“The Shockwave Rider”

Most people who run across jerks like me resist. And rightfully so. There is no shortage of snake-oil salesmen who promise the world, if only some company hire them or some company buys a service to cure all that ails. Social media is no different. It’s immediately overwhelming the number of speakers, conferences, books, seminars–not to mention blogs, wikis and videos; all explaining how social media will solve the world’s problems. So, when faced with yet another session from yet another presenter, there is often skepticism. And I don’t blame people.

What I try to convey with this quote is that there are two ditches to each road, and both have a danger to we, the travelers. On the one side you have the ditch of too little–too little action, planning, whatever; it’s the extreme of inaction. On the other side you have the ditch of too much–rash, impulsive, misplaced emphasis, too much action. Falling off of either ditch means a stuck car. Anyone who advocates either ditch is a fool, Brunner says.

When it comes to social media, these extremes apply as well.

You have the guy harping about “new new new” like it’s some kind of cult. Guys like me can fit into this category. These are the snake oil salesmen, latching on to social media because it’s new. Nevermind the fact that it might or might not be needed. People in this category–advocating this ditch, are out to tear the world down because it’s old. Everything must go! Shake up the system! Oftentimes, paranoia about becoming irrelevant drives a person to such zealous rage, or perhaps frustration at a circumstance, or perhaps still ignorance. It is foolish.

Likewise, the other side of the argument is foolish as well. These involve the “old” people, advocating “old” things. Many times, the new zealots attack old because–well, it’s old. What more does a thing need to demonstrate before being taken down? Regardless, people who advocate the old ditch do so out of zealous conservatism. They are worried. Sometimes they’re scared. They would rather be safe than risk a foray into the unknown. And, to the defense of what works, it has done so. Established norms have proven themselves. Otherwise, the organization wouldn’t exist today. Where this mindset paralyzes people, though, is that comfort in past procedural or philosophical victories stagnates. Spartans were amongst the best warriors of the world in their time, but even the mighty phalanx became obsolete, as did the Spartan strategies.

Flirting with either ditch is risky. That’s why we stay in the middle. We bring the wisdom of experience and temper it with relevance and constant introspection. We push to wisely move forward. With social media, we aren’t burning down the house–we’re remodeling and reshaping things as we find tools that better meet our established objectives. There is a place for the zealot revolutionaries and staunch conservatives–both offer valuable insight and innovation. But neither can be given too much sway. Too much of either is foolish.

A leader is best when people barely know he exists. Of a good leader, who speaks little, when the work is done, his aim fulfilled, the people will say, ‘We did this ourselves.’

– Lao Tzu, father of Taoism

When advocating change, starting a revolution, orchestrating an attack on the status quo or whatever; it is important that the thought leader, commander, policy maker, whomever, is not chasing after glory or personal gain. Side effects can occur, sure–a book deal, a better job offer; but these are best accomplished when the above quote is held close to the heart. It is in the essence of every good leader to be selfless. Being the frontman/woman should be a role taken with modesty and supplication. Cults of personality are too easily swayed toward the dangerous cliffs of disconnection, misdirection or self-affirmation. When a leader falls in love with him/herself, the movement is in peril. While it is still possible for such a movement to continue to do good, based on the altruism of the leader; more often than naught, petty personal squabbles and short-sightedness keep the vision from seeing past the fog of the immediate morning.

Instead, when a leader is focused on empowerment, on teaching others to fish, such a movement is timeless. It speaks to the essential goodness in people: self sacrifice, extraordinary effort, collaboration, truth. These are the virtues that social media tries to extol. After all, it does take a lot of work to set up and maintain a wiki; to write a blog; to prepare a seminar lecture. If a leader pushes for these initiatives with the intentions of being beneficial to as many people as possible, it stays genuine. People listen. It sounds socialist, sure, but people trust it. That’s why most of Web 2.0 is free. So many tools that do so much…free. Who is the head of Google? Who wrote Facebook? Ok, even if you know those, who is submitting data sets to data.gov? Who put in the long hours to establish drop.io? Or any of the other thousand free and extremely beneficial tools out there?

If you don’t like change, you’re going to like irrelevance even less.

– Army General Eric Shinseki (ret.), former chief of staff, as quoted by Tom Peters in Reimagine, DK 2003

Ha! Priceless. And spot on. Now we’re getting down to business. With the process of revolution qualified and the new guys hopefully humbled a bit, the conservatives need a good kick in the butt too. Every time I run into a brick wall when teaching social media–every time people say, “Not now” or, “We’d rather stay with email”; this quote comes to mind. And I said brick wall, mind you. People who are generally hesitant are normal. I’m talking about when all is said and done–when the objectives have been defined, the leadership pushing forward, the tools identified, the initiatives begun, the training established. Then, after all of that, if the general consensus remains, “Who are you? Go away! We’re fine with what we’ve always done”; then it’s time for this quote. Safe might be safe, for now. But soon (soon happening sooner and sooner every day), such stagnation will render an organization irrelevant, if it isn’t already.

DINFOS, where I work, was skirting close to irrelevance. When no one could be bothered to push for new material in the curriculum. When everyone was happy just plugging along. When change was too hard, according to some. Or worse, when change was not needed. I would often liken it to working in a monastery. We painted over the windows with our incredibly limited Internet access. We stuck to studying our ancient texts of journalism, complete with “FLITJ” headline counting and dummy sheets for pagination. We never mentioned blogs, wikis or anything like that. Hell, even our “field training exercise” had media pools, a practice decades old and not used very often anymore.

But some in the schoolhouse started kicking people in the teeth and got things moving. For various reasons, certain mindsets were resisted. I was one of the advocates for social media, joined by several others in the building. We started tearing down the rotted, old framework and started reinforcing our operations with new material. We had to. Some of the services had already set up follow-on schools to augment the training of individuals from here. When I was in the field (out in the regular Army), doing things the “DINFOS way” was a joke–synonymous with wrong or uninformed.

Whereas instead of being the bastion of military communication, as we daily laud ourselves as being; we were instead the babbling old relative in the corner–someone the services tolerated because of our history, but arguably one who never said anything of much value.

Irrelevance should be the fire than always nips at our heels to wisely change. Businesses change because irrelevance equals bankruptcy. In the bureaucratic morass of government service, where irrelevance does little to stymie promotion, it takes the girded zeal of well-intentioned introspection to push through the expensive and suffocating layers of mechanisms dedicated to the status quo.

So many say, “Why bother? It’s easier to just sit back and get paid.”

Easier, yes; but God is watching. I’d rather better the world, in my small way.

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