When I venture into new arenas – social media, crowdsourcing, online engagement – I’m fed by discussions with people who are doing this work. But, too often, the conversation gets bogged down by arguments about definitions.
For instance, in a chat about crowdsourcing recently, someone offered online commenting on government regulations as an example, then someone else – it might have been me – almost derailed the conversation by asking whether commenting really counted as “crowdsourcing”.
The problem: the person who’s just run a rule-making process that received thousands of comments knows what she did, how participants responded, what seemed to work, what fell short. But she – and all the rest of us – are clueless about whether this really is crowdsourcing.
In general: when we’re describing an experience or process we’ve experienced, we know what we’re talking about. But when we debate whether this experience is an example of crowdsourcing, we don’t.
Bold claim on my part, I know. And, one day, we’ll be able to agree, quickly, on whether my friend’s process was crowdsourcing, or collective intelligence, or prediction markets, crowd-storming, or peer production or something else entirely.
Why? We’ll, collectively, have more experience, and we’ll have come to (some) agreement on who the authorities are, and there’ll be some benefit to the definitions.
But today we’re still groping, learning what’s been done, identifying new combinations that haven’t yet been tried but look promising.
In effect, we’re crowdsourcing the definition of “crowdsourcing”
(And if you’re thinking that this advice applies to discussion about “social media”, “Gov2.0″, and “online engagement” as well, you’ve got my point exactly.)