True ‘Smart Cities’ should invest in libraries

A library. Image: Getty.

When we talk about the ‘smart city’, we talk about the ‘smart’ more than we talk about ‘the city’. We lean heavily on digital innovation to create the biggest impact with the smallest digital insert.

Or so we’d hope. Mostly we make assumptions, targeting broad and rough sketches of city users, what they want, to what they have access, how immediately we can expect change to happen or money to be saved.

Libraries are seen as irrelevant to the ‘smart’ conversation; expensive, under-used, unnecessary. Who needs a library when you have a phone, the internet and Amazon Prime? This plays into a one-sided discourse around digitalisation, which ends up helping the city users who need the least intervention. It assumes that every citizen has access to a safe place in which to engage with free public information.

A system is only as resilient as its parts. Citizens are active generators of a city’s data economy, as well as its economic flow and function. A function of smart city development is to automate city services, providing swiftly and cost-effectively for the needs of these citizens. At their core, smart cities mean to help citizens help themselves: make it easier to apply online, to search, get directions, to buy tickets or commodities.

And yet, 10 per cent of UK households have no internet access at home, and only 66 per cent now have access to a desktop computer or laptop, according to the Office for National Statistics. Around 48 per cent of DE classified households do not use the internet at all. These figures are likely a significant underestimate, as there is no UK body that consistently measures internet usage and rates of literacy in those who are homeless or in temporary housing. Inability to self-manage and self-inform significantly affects health and mortality rates, let alone economic stability.

Government digital standards often targets ‘accessibility’; how to design for different user requirements, impairments and specific needs on multiple devices. But They rarely considers access in terms of facilitating self-management through a computer, printer, internet, reading. Citizens who do not possess the individual advantages necessary to navigate smart cities are losing access to an infrastructure and service that is leaving them behind. To encourage citizen health and independence in the smart city’, we need to build a foundational understanding of what constitutes minimum viable access.

To enable optimal measures of active city engagement, citizen-centred design practice, research and innovation must consider service access beyond the screen; how to increase happiness, independence, and self-care, and how to intervene when it is most appropriate. What is necessary for a baseline access? What touchpoints, emotions, or events drive engagement through digital and non-digital formats?

While smart city strategists discuss city kiosks and building information hubs, properly funded, open and trained library spaces remain a culturally significant baseline, or safety net, for struggling city users to engage safely and competently, with the information-centric world that we need to keep up with.


With the appropriate resources, libraries have the ability to help users learn to engage with and manage information at varying levels of comfort – from accessing books, to printing benefits claims on a local computer, to ordering a replacement mobile phone, to giving children a warm, supervised place to read while training for work.

Libraries are also an effective arena in which to carry out democratised smart city research for digital tools targeted at hard-to-reach communities, such as busy parents or older persons. A library is an information hub, and an innovation hub. This is essential to the foundations of a smart city.

And yet, this established and recognised infrastructure of library spaces, culturally and historically viable information hubs with varied means of access, is under threat. The UK has experienced a £66m cut in library spending over the last year, with 105 libraries closing between 2016 and 2017.

We shouldn’t still be arguing for the necessity of safety, space and book access for young people. The argument is a vital one on its own in terms of social mobility and citizen worth. However, as we automate and digitise public services, local authorities looking for a business case must also recognise what drives and what hinders healthy engagement for their citizens.

To create a robust and resilient digital and local economy, local authorities are required to optimise possibilities for interaction with the information that is being shifted to digital – and required to optimise the confidence and capabilities to do so, too. To reengage citizens who might be falling out of the economic flow of the city, requiring extra support and enabled access, the first point of focus might not be further automation. Instead it should be targeted ‘smart’ intervention using the traditional, recognised, non-digital and pre-built infrastructures of a city.

Hannah Kaner is smart cities strategist at digital agency Orange Bus.

 
 
 
 

In New Zealand, climate change is driving an eco-nationalist revival

The green and pleasant land of the South Island. Image: Getty.

“Ten years ago I would have called them settler f*****g land squatters,” Mike Smith, Maori-dom’s most tenacious activist, said last November as he reflected on the agriculture industry’s central role in driving climate change. “Now I have to try and get these people on board.”

Smith is infamous for taking a chainsaw to Auckland’s most prominent tree on a damp October night in 1994 in protest of the “Pākehā” – or white European –dominated government’s fiscal envelope restraining treaty settlements. Now he’s turned his hand to another cause close-to-home for the Maori, New Zealand’s indigenous population: the environment.

“We’re super vulnerable, like we are to anything,” Smith says. “When it comes to climate change it’s like the poorest people in the world are going to be hit the hardest first, and that’s a lot of us.”

Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern appears, at least rhetorically, the most sympathetic leader to his cause in a decade. In her campaign launch speech late last year, she made the future government’s position clear: “Climate change is my generation’s nuclear free moment.”

This message should resonate with followers of her Labour party: the NZ left has long nurtured an environment-orientated “culture-of-protest”. So Ardern’s call to arms was bound to gain her loyal support among children of the 1960s and ‘70s, who led the march against nuclear ship visits, spurring on the government of the time to wriggle out from the US nuclear umbrella, and place a ban on foreign nuclear ship visits.

Now, it is to the tycoons of deep sea oil exploration they aim to close NZ’s ports.

In this, Smith is not short of support locally, with marches run by grassroots organisations and international animal welfare funds beginning to gain traction with every day New Zealanders. In this, Ardern’s prediction is correct: the Coal Action Network Aotearoa (CANA), is reminiscent of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), an earlier cluster of left-wing pacifists and nature lovers who drove the creation of the nuclear free zone.  

In December, 15,000 passionate protesters marched through the capital. And with the government’s recent ban of offshore oil exploration projects, Jeanette Fitzsimons, former Green party co-leader and the head of CANA, is optimistic about similar change to the energy and farming sectors.

The Labour-NZ First-Green party coalition seems focused on setting a new global precedent, weaning NZ away from a United States which has jettisoned the Paris Agreement. The move replicates another 20 years ago, when New Zealand’s anti-nuclear movement was central to an upsurge in New Zealand nationalism. Now, the same sense of going it alone on foreign policy is apparent both locally and in Parliament.

Dr. Gradon Diprose, a senior lecturer at Massey University, argues that this echoes an older expression of colonial nationalism, that saw “New Zealand as a land of natural abundance”. This: “eco-nationalism” is centered on “protecting certain visions of picturesque landscapes and unspoiled natural beauty”. The slogan “Clean, green New Zealand” is prevalent in popular culture and tourism marketing. The public seems to have latched onto it too, and ranked keeping NZ’s waterways “clean and green” top of a recent survey of of kiwis’ top concerns.

Three decades ago, it was the 10 July 1985 sinking of the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior that thrust local activists’ fears into the public eye, resulting in an almost nation-wide expression of climate-protectionism.


The bombing, a French intelligence operation sparked by Greenpeace’s calls for an end to foreign nuclear testing in the Pacific, galvanised a great deal of change to New Zealand’s overseas defence policies. A lack of censure from New Zealand’s Western allies drove Wellington to distance itself from the United States, while the shock of seeing a friendly nation violate NZ’s sovereignty left many at home seething.

Thirty years on, the foreign policy split throughout the Anglosphere, regarding Russian-Western relations, globalism, and the old international rules-based order, is becoming wider. Climate change is just the tip of the iceberg.

Most Kiwis you talk to will shake their heads in disapproval at US president Donald Trump’s scandalous outing last year in Helsinki. But US defiance of internationally brokered climate resolutions is something they can see clearly reflected in rural communities across the country.

The country saw records broken at both ends of the extreme weather spectrum last year. As 2018 kicked off, Kiwis sweltered through the hottest summer on record, while in Golden Bay, a small inlet near the northern tip of the South Island, residents endured the largest flood in 150 years. So, when President Trump tweets “So much for Global Warming”, the majority of New Zealanders look back fondly on NZ’s 1985 decision to boycott the “ANZUS” treaty, putting New Zealand at odds with its war-time ally America on defence legislation.

Public calls to take the same track on environmental regulation have become louder in the wake of Donald Trump’s election. The former US Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson, received a frosty “unwelcome” while on a flyby to the capital in 2017, with the New York Times’ Washington correspondent, Gardiner Harris remarking: “I’ve never seen so many people flip the bird at an American motorcade as I saw today”. Protests against President Trump’s stance on climate change are beginning to gain greater traction further still, with the hundred-strong “march for science” setting the tone for the new government later that year.

New Zealand certainly isn’t afraid of radicalism, and its activists are persistent. It’s already banned single use plastics in supermarkets. Plenty more is to come, Smith says.

And yes, reform is going to inhibit sometimes vital industries: “It doesn’t matter which way you spin the dice on this, whatever’s being done is going to hurt. People who are looking for a painless way of mitigating climate change, [but] I don’t think there is one.”

But among Smith’s troupe of climate agitators, the feeling is that, without drastic change, “the land”, the heart of the Maori ethos, is going to be hurt far more.

Back in Auckland, NZ’s financial hub, an electric scooter craze is gripping the city. This, too, has gained the support of local environmentalists. In New Zealand, a national sense of pride is always coupled with a certain eccentricity. In a country this size, change always starts small.