Example of self-organizing system
Christine Whitney Sanchez
cwhitneysanchez at gmail.com
Wed Mar 9 13:31:05 PST 2011
Thanks, Jennifer. Posted on FB.
OST is like the HOV lane!
Christine
Christine Whitney Sanchez
Partner
Innovation Partners International
480.759.0262
www.innovationpartners.com
On Mar 9, 2011, at 4:16 AM, Jon Harvey wrote:
Ditto – and blogged it too!
Jon
From: OSLIST [mailto:OSLIST at LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU] On Behalf Of Jack
Martin Leith
Sent: 09 March 2011 09:55
To: OSLIST at LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU
Subject: Re: Example of self-organizing system
Thanks for this, Jennifer. Lovely - just Tweeted it.
Warm wishes,
Jack
Jack Martin Leith
Co-Creation Consultant
Bristol, United Kingdom
Mobile: 07582 598548 (+44 7582 598548)<-- New!
jack at jackmartinleith.com
Skype: jackmartinleith
Twitter: @jackmartinleith
www.jackmartinleith.com
On 8 March 2011 18:47, Jennifer Hurley <JLHurley at hfadesign.com> wrote:
The article below has a great example of a self-organizing system at
work!
Jennifer Hurley
__________________________
HURLEY~FRANKS & ASSOCIATES
1500 Walnut St STE 504 | Philadelphia, PA 19102
p: 215-988-9440 | f: 215-988-9441 | c: 267-971-4598
JLHurley at hfadesign.com | http://www.hfadesign.com
Certified WDBE through PA UCP, City of Philadelphia OEO, and NJ UCP
http://www.miller-mccune.com/culture-society/slugging-the-peoples-transit-28068/
Slugging — The People’s Transit
Workers who have come down from the surrounding high-rise offices
begin to line up on a sidewalk in downtown Arlington, Va., across the
Potomac from the nation’s capital, about 3:30 in the afternoon. They
stand in a perfect queue, iPods and newspapers in hand, and they look,
by all indications, like they’re waiting for the bus.
Public transit never shows. But, eventually, a blue Chrysler Town &
Country does. The woman behind the wheel rolls down her window and
yells a kind of call-and-response.
“Horner Road?”
“Horner Road?” repeats the first woman in line.
“Horner Road!”
And two women get in the van, heading, presumably, for Horner Road.
Several more cars pull up: a Ford Explorer, a Toyota Camry, a Saturn
minivan. Each collects a pair of passengers and pulls out past the
intersection for the on-ramp onto State Route 110, which leads three
miles to the south, past the Pentagon and onto Interstate 395/95 and
its glorious 28 miles of uninterrupted, controlled-access, high-
occupancy vehicle lanes.
The queue of cars eventually backs up around the corner, and the line
of passengers on the sidewalk ebbs. In a few minutes, the balance
shifts again. Within half an hour, nearly 50 cars will have come
through, capped by a dusty Ford F-250 pickup truck.
“I don’t care where we go,” yells the driver. “I just need two people!”
And off the three go toward the highway — and the suburbs — complete
strangers, with not the least concern for personal safety, trying to
shave 20 or 30 minutes, maybe more, off their afternoon trip home.
“People are cooperating … to commute?” says Marc Oliphant,
underscoring the novelty of what is going on here. “It’s like the
opposite of road rage!”
Oliphant has brought a dozen local and federal transportation
officials to the sidewalk here to gawk at the commuters. No one would
believe this sight unseen: People here have created their own transit
system using their private cars. On 13 other corners, in Arlington and
the District of Columbia, more strangers — Oliphant estimates about
10,000 of them every day — are doing the same thing: “slugging.”
Their culture exists almost nowhere else. San Francisco has a similar
casual-carpooling system, and there’s a small one in Houston. But
that’s it. Even in D.C., slugging exists along only one of the city’s
many arteries, I-95 and 395, where the nation’s first HOV lanes were
completed in 1975.
Every morning, these commuters meet in park-and-ride lots along the
interstate in northern Virginia. They then ride, often in silence,
without exchanging so much as first names, obeying rules of etiquette
but having no formal organization. No money changes hands, although
the motive is hardly altruistic. Each person benefits in pursuit of a
selfish goal: For the passenger, it’s a free ride; for the driver, a
pass to the HOV lane, and both get a faster trip than they would
otherwise. Even society reaps rewards, as thousands of cars come off
the highway.
“To me,” marvels Oliphant, a facilities planner with the Navy, “it’s
an illustration of the ideal for government.”
He’s drawn to slugging as a creative vision that would begin to ease
the eternal mess of urban gridlock. Society always reaches first for
the infrastructure fix — the costly highway expansion, the new route
for the metro rail. But what if government could just nudge more
people to do what they’ve done here, creating their own commuting cure
within the existing system? Federal Highway Administration studies
suggest that free-flowing traffic can be restored on a clogged highway
simply by removing 10 percent of its cars.
To get more drivers into a self-sustaining casual carpool, though,
officials would have to confront slugging’s built-in complication.
They’d have to figure out how to stimulate slugging elsewhere without
spoiling its defining feature: Government is not involved, or at least
it looks not to be.
Slugging — The People’s Transit fromMiller-McCune on Vimeo.
Oliphant, a trim and animated 30-year-old, spent six months on loan
from the Navy last year thinking about just this question as a Federal
Highway Administration transportation policy fellow. He began studying
slugs three years earlier for a master’s thesis at Virginia Tech.
(“Slugging is not most interesting for what it can teach about
carpooling,” he wrote, but rather for the trust among strangers it
requires and its leaderless organization. “Slugging is a contradiction
to the everyday culture of America.”)
“Whenever I meet someone new, all I have to do is ask about their
commute, which I’m often very interested in,” he says. “And I get an
immediate emotional response. Especially for people in urban areas,
it’s like this universal problem. No one likes how they get to work.”
Including him. He used to bike from his home in Virginia to his office
at the Navy Yard in Southeast Washington. But last summer was even
hotter than the usual D.C. steam bath, and his new office had no
shower. His wife tried dropping him off by car (20 minutes door to
door), with a return trip home at night by metro (1 hour, 10 minutes
door to door). On mornings when Oliphant uses public transit, he gets
on a bus about a block from his house, rides to the local metro stop,
takes a subway into the city, transfers once, then walks 10 minutes on
the other end to his office. In more than an hour, he covers about six
miles.
Error! Filename not specified.
The benefits of slugging: For the passenger, it's a free ride; for the
driver, a pass to the HOV lane, and both get a faster trip than they
would otherwise.(Monica Lopossay)
But a driver who hops on the HOV from Horner Road, 23 miles south of
the city, can cover that distance in about 30 minutes.
“The way the entire transportation system in this country is set up is
to support people traveling by their own car,” he says. “So parking is
subsidized. The incentive with lots of different laws and programs is
to drive as much as possible.”
In America, he says, cars have become an extension of houses. Most
people would no sooner think to let a stranger into the back seat than
they would let the same stranger into their living rooms. Americans
drive cars everywhere because gas relatively cheap (half what it costs
in Europe), because only 6 percent of the interstate highway system
requires tolls, because insurance rates are unrelated to how many
miles people drive. We pay for the land we live on, but we expect the
parking spot out front to come free of charge. The federal government
has lately encouraged drivers with tax breaks to buy, variously: a new
car, a hybrid orclean-diesel vehicle, a truck or SUV weighing more
than 6,000 pounds, or any upgrade from a “clunker.” Then, regardless
of what we drive, the IRS invites lucrative tax deductions forwork
travel, now at 50 cents a mile.
Go ahead, all the signs (and car ads) seem to suggest: Buy your own
car — and ride in it alone!
“I think your average Joe or Jane who doesn’t know anything about
transportation thinks things are the way they are because that’s what
society wants,” Oliphant says glumly. “And that’s not really the case.”
What if, instead of one bus with a capacity of 50 that came along
every 30 minutes, five cars came along every few minutes, each with a
capacity to carry five people? Looked at broadly, Oliphant says,
slugging is a kind of public transit, because public subsidies pay to
pave and restrict the HOV lanes on which slugging relies.
What the people using HOV lanes really want, apparently, is not to
enjoy their own company in a stylish and spacious single-occupancy
vehicle. People who become slugs just want to get to work and home to
dinner as painlessly as possible.
In late July, Oliphant organized a symposium on slugging in a
conference room of the Arlington County Commuter Services office. The
topic had been, until now, a fringe curiosity, largely ignored by
local officials and transportation academics. The few paying attention
had never talked to each other, but the meeting drew three dozen
people: a local politician, a researcher from the University of
Maryland, officials from the district and staffers from the Virginia
Department of Transportation and the Federal Highway Administration.
Oliphant introduced them all to David LeBlanc, a retired Army officer
best described as a folk hero to the slugging community.
“This guy has basically been running a small public transit system for
the last 10 years!” Oliphant said, making LeBlanc blush. He is
frequently in the awkward position of explaining that he doesn’t lead
the slugs. Slugs organize themselves.
When LeBlanc moved to the area in the mid-1990s, slugging was already
entrenched. It was born alongside the I-395 HOV in the 1970s.
According to the slugs’ creation story, drivers quickly realized they
could get people in their cars and qualify for the new lanes by
poaching waiting passengers from bus stops. Bitter bus drivers are
credited with coining the term “slug,” originally a derogatory
reference that has been amiably reappropriated.
The first organized slug line is thought to have formed in the parking
lot of Bob’s Big Boy restaurant, now a Shoney’s, in Springfield, Va.
Its destination — as with most early slug lines — was the largest
single employment center in the country: the Pentagon. There are
25,000 people who work there, and the site is a hub for two
underground Metro lines and exponentially more bus routes.
LeBlanc moved to town from Missouri, where he drove four minutes to
work each morning and parked in a spot right out front. A friend in
Washington warned him. “He said one of the biggest issues in D.C. is
where you’re going to live and how you’re going to commute,” LeBlanc
says. “A lot of people, they try to figure out the commute first.”
The friend suggested slugging. LeBlanc balked at the idea. For several
weeks, he rode the bus 25 miles from Woodbridge, catching it each
morning in the same commuter lot where strangers were hopping into
each others’ cars. Oliphant often wonders about what pushes people
into that position for the first time.
For LeBlanc, it was a morning in the winter of 1996.
“The light bulb went off,” he says. “Here I am standing in the rain,
in February, it’s really cold, I’m waiting for a mode of
transportation that’s going to get me to work slower and cost me
money. And I could just walk across the street, and maybe that would
get me to work faster, easier. Let me just try it this one time; give
it a try.”
Of course, he never went back. Cars in the HOV lane regularly travel
above the speed limit through a corridor where the average speed
during congestion is 14 miles an hour. Once you’ve been in that lane,
your whole quality of life changes.
LeBlanc slugged to the Pentagon for months, using the subway to hop
two stops north to his office in Rosslyn. Eventually, he learned there
was a slug line there, too. Up to that time, the slugging culture had
sustained itself for 20 years entirely by word of mouth. You could
only learn about the system from people inside it, and even after you
joined a particular slug line, you might not know about others.
LeBlanc decided slugs needed a book, one that would identify all the
lines and the unwritten rules for how to use them. In 1999, he self-
published 1,000 copies of Slugging: The Commuting Alternative for
Washington, D.C. (Today, a “collectible” signed copy sells on Amazon
for $88.65.) “I wrote this book,” he explains in an introduction,
“because I don’t want others to have to learn about slugging the way I
did … through the school of hard knocks.” But he put his book out of
business with its corresponding website.
A decade later, slug-lines.com is the hive of community wisdom.
LeBlanc posts a code of etiquette, and the denizens have their message
boards where they swap tales of all who violate it. The rules are
intricate, if unenforceable: Passengers don’t speak unless spoken to;
no talk of religion, politics or sex; no cell phones, no money
offered, no smoking; no asking to change the radio station or to
adjust the thermostat; and never, ever leave a female slug waiting in
line alone. Also frowned upon is something called “body snatching” —
cruising a parking lot for passengers to avoid waiting in the orderly
first-come, first-served car queue. And, it should go without saying,
no one wants to watch you put on your makeup or eat your Egg McMuffin.
One of the more curious slugging behaviors does not appear on
LeBlanc’s list: Most cars pull up to a slug line and, regardless of
its length, pick up two passengers — and only two.
Jim Cech, who also attended the symposium, gets agitated about the
Pentagon parking lot. He pulls out a legal notepad and begins to
sketch a diagram: Here are the bus bays, the parking spots, the police
directing traffic. There are also eight slugging queues at the
Pentagon, heading to more than 15 destinations. The scene is chaotic
and not, as Cech fumes, as efficient as it could be.
“Single points of failure drive me crazy,” he says.
To improve the slugging situation at the Pentagon, last year Cech
started a side business in his basement. He has been driving slugs for
nearly 20 years and figured he could shave a few more minutes off his
commute with a sign mounted to the roof of his car, instantly
communicating his destination. Currently, each driver must negotiate
out the window with each potential passenger to find theright match.
Cech’s business, RUGoingMyWay, would eliminate those interactions.
He found a company in China to produce his acrylic signs, another in
Canada to make the roof-mount magnets, an outlet in Florida to print
the stickers, and a webmaster in India to host his site.
“It’s become an international business,” he jokes, “all designed to
help me get to work faster!”
Cech’s labor, like LeBlanc’s, speaks to a key element of the system:
Absent any real organization, slugging thrives on the compulsion of
individuals who are extremely interested in finding small
efficiencies. This is, not coincidentally, what Cech also does by day
as an engineering consultant working on naval radars. (Like LeBlanc,
he is also retired military.)
“My day job is trying to eke out seconds and miles and bytes,” he says
from his office near the Navy Yard. “In order for the system I’m
working on to be more effective, the radar’s got to search quicker,
the missile’s got to fly straighter, the time to solve the solution
has got to go quicker, the data rate has got to be more efficient. The
errors have got to be reduced. It’s the same kind of thing, trying to
address a systems problem.”
He explains that slugs are, above all, motivated by time saved, not
money pocketed — and certainly not by any regard for the environment.
A Prius is a rare sight pulling into a slug line. Those ostensibly eco-
conscious drivers don’t need slugs to reach a three-person HOV
threshold; hybrid owners in Virginia are eligible for a special clean-
fuel license plate that gives them a free pass into the HOV.
“Lots of people will pay money for the gas, they’ll pay the money for
the tolls,” Cech says. Some of them will even pay to risk the HOV as a
single-occupancy vehicle. The first infraction costs $150, and it
quickly escalates to $1,000. “The thing you can’t buy,” Cech says, “is
time.”
He concedes that he’s not likely to recoup in minutes saved in the
Pentagon parking lot all the hours he has invested in his basement
business. He took on the project after retiring as the president of
his homeowners association. RUGoingMyWay has become, in place of that
responsibility, something of a personal challenge.
Cech’s understanding of the psychology of slugging mirrors one of the
startling findings of Oliphant’s thesis. Oliphant surveyed 284
participants and asked them, among other things, what they liked least
about slugging. Only 31 people mentioned “riding with strangers.” In
the three-decade history of the activity, there has not been a single
known incidence of violence or crime. When safety was cited as a
concern, slugs worried about safe drivers, not personal attacks.
The homogeneity of Washington’s work force may play a role in this
casual acceptance of strangers in cars. With so many federal employees
and military personnel, people here even look alike, sporting uniform
haircuts, black briefcases and government IDs. “If you’re a government
employee or in the military, you’re taught ‘the group,’ not
individualism,” suggests Donald Vankleeck, a civilian on his way to
Bolling Air Force Base one morning in September at 80 miles an hour.
“So it’s nothing to get in a stranger’s car. You may have been all
over the world serving with people whose first names you never knew.”
Where apprehension does exist, Cech recasts it in oddly bureaucratic
terms: “It’s not fear for safety; it’s fear for time,” he says. “Are
you going to be held hostage to someone else’s agenda by riding with
them?”
What if a driver swings by the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through before
getting on the highway?
The casual-carpooling system that thrives across the country in San
Francisco betrays any notion that slugging could exist only in
Washington. The Bay Area network grew up in similarly organic fashion
in the 1970s, although more as a response to public transit service
disruptions and rising gas prices.
Today, slugging exists on the HOV corridor on Interstate 80 between
the East Bay and, across the Bay Bridge, San Francisco. In addition to
time savings, commuters scored an additional advantage: Most cars
crossing the Bay Bridge westbound into the city paid a $4 toll.
Carpools passed through for free — until last summer.
On July 1, the Metropolitan Transportation Commission changed the toll
structure in a way that dramatically disrupted the local slugging
ecosystem. Now, everyone must pay a toll to cross the Bay Bridge.
Three-person carpools owe $2.50, which must be paid through an
electronic transponder usable only in the HOV lane. Everyone else pays
a variable rate — $6 per car during rush hour and $4 during the off-
peak times. Carpools without the transponder must stop and pay the
full rate, in cash, at a toll booth.
“Despite the fact we had all this messaging — we were trying to talk
about it for months leading up to July 1 — people still just didn’t
get it,” says Susan Heinrich, the commission’s rideshare and bicycling
coordinator. Local news stations filmed bewildered drivers pulling
into the wrong toll lanes and trying to back out of them, then waving
cash at automated transponders.
Back in the East Bay commuter lots, where casual carpools form each
morning, more confusion ensued. The new tolls still give carpools
crossing the bridge a financial incentive, but the existence of any
toll at all where once none existed has dislodged a central tenet of
slugging: No money changes hands. Without tolls, slugging is a
perfectly equal exchange between riders and drivers.
Since July 1, the discussion board atridenow.org — the West Coast
equivalent of David LeBlanc’s cyberhub — has been dominated by
hundreds of comments on the topic of who pays for the toll. Should
passengers each offer up a dollar? Does the burden lie with the driver
or the rider to broach the issue? Should drivers who expect a donation
advertise that in a window sign? The debate has thrust the whole
premise of slugging into question: Who, after all, is providing the
service here?
“Certainly the contentiousness that exists here on the discussion
board must carry over into our carpools in the morning,” one commenter
laments. “This is not good for the community.”
“We don’t know exactly how all of this is going to play out yet,”
Heinrich says. Transit officials did know, however, that one month
after the toll’s implementation, carpooling was down 26 percent on all
area bridges. Heinrich suspects that the community will eventually
settle into a détente, with the driver paying the toll. Drivers still
earn a discount thanks to the added bodies. And, most important, they
still reap the time savings on the HOV.
The toll crisis, however, highlights the delicate balance of interests
essential for a slugging ecosystem to exist — and why this activity
thrives in so few places. In Oliphant’s view, HOV-4 — that is, a
requirement that a car have four occupants to drive in the high-
occupancy vehicle lane — doesn’t work, but HOV-3 does. HOV-3 lends a
sense of security in numbers that HOV-2 never could. The lanes,
preferably separated by physical barrier from the rest of traffic,
must be long enough for time savings to accrue. The fines for
violating them must be steep enough to force compliance. Parallel
public transit must exist as a reliable backup. And employment nodes
must be situated just so, creating dense, communal urban epicenters
that draw workers from across suburbia.
Back on the East Coast, Gabriel Ortiz, the transportation demand
management coordinator for Alexandria, has been trying to do what no
municipal official has done in the area’s slugging history — create a
slug line from scratch, artificially. Washington’s slug lines have
expanded over the years, always in response to the demand of the
community and with the initiative of some of its members.
But slugs have never had a government body create a new line for them,
and the proposition entails both logistical and philosophical
dilemmas. LeBlanc, whom Ortiz enlisted as a consultant to the project,
warned that he would have to achieve just the right balance of drivers
and passengers in the experiment’s first phase to make the new line
stick. Downtown Alexandria isn’t located immediately off the HOV, as
destinations in Arlington and the district are. So Ortiz was toying
with the idea of temporary perks, maybe Starbucks gift cards, to
incentivize people where slugging’s natural conditions don’t already
exist.
Once a slug himself, Ortiz knew he’d also have to contend with the
community’s deep distaste for meddling. Many slugs told Oliphant that
they thought any type of intervention — the very idea Oliphant is
devoted to encouraging in urban areas outside Washington — would
“ruin” the system. (Cech points out that there is an irony here, or
perhaps just a depressing commentary on the state of government
competence: Many of the slugging proponents who abhor government
involvement work, well, for the government.)
“Slugging is its own thing, and I don’t want to have a heavy hand in
saying ‘Here’s City Hall doing this!’” Ortiz says. “We want to keep
things kind of low-key.”
Chris Hamilton, the Arlington County Commuter Services bureau chief,
understands this better than anyone. Sitting in the 11th-floor office
where he hosted Oliphant’s symposium two months earlier, he confesses
that Arlington has been quietly funding LeBlanc’s website with an
annual $10,000 grant. For 10 years. The site doesn’t disclose the
connection, and Hamilton seldom does.
“It’s not public knowledge because we don’t want people to know; it
works fine the way it is — that people think it’s just this little
slugging community,” he says. “The slugging community has always had
that idea about themselves, that this is their own thing, and they’ve
created it, and they don’t need anybody else to muck it up.”
The $10,000 is not much in Arlington’s $8 million commuter services
budget. A model for urban smart growth atop a public transit corridor,
the city has 50 people who work in this office trying to prod
residents and commuters into alternative transportation. The city
promotes the Metro, carpooling, bike lanes and walkable development.
Some officials continue to harbor the suspicion that slugging siphons
riders — and fares — from public transit (and not from single-
occupancy vehicles). But Hamilton says he doesn’t care how people get
to the city, as long as they don’t drive. He also shakes off the
suggestion that a city takes on legal liability the moment it
encourages people to ride in cars with strangers. If the city also
promotes buses and bike lines, and someone is injured using those, is
Arlington at fault?
“Slugging is kind of like a dream come true for someone like Chris
Hamilton,” Oliphant says. “His job is to give people information, to
basically convince them to do anything other than drive their own car.
This is like a miracle to him, because he has to spend all this time
and energy going, ‘Here’s the bus, here’s how you do it!’ In slugging,
people are lining up on their own to do it; you don’t have to do a
thing.”
Oliphant always chuckles at slugs’ insistence that government stay out
of the way. The whole system wouldn’t work if it weren’t for a crucial
official outlay: If law enforcement didn’t police the HOV lanes, there
would be no incentive for scofflaws to stay out of it, and no time
savings for the carpoolers who go so far out of their way to get in.
Government is also responsible for the free, sprawling park-and-ride
lots that dot the I-95 corridor, several of which have flyovers
directly onto the HOV. Government is, of course, also responsible for
designating the carpool lanes. In short, it has had a hand in creating
every element of infrastructure that gives rise to slugging in the
first place. At the Pentagon and in Arlington, officials have even put
up signs for each slug-line destination (“Horner Road,” “Tackett’s
Mill”).
“There are more creative ways to generate beneficial behaviors than
the direct heavy-handed ways,” Oliphant says. “I see it as: Give
people lots of choices, subsidize the beneficial onesand tax the non-
beneficial ones.”
This idea resonates increasingly as the funding for heavy-handed
transportation solutions — road expansions, for example — dries up,
and as the available space to construct them in dense urban areas
disappears. Transportation officials could work with what they have,
identifying more HOVs, or converting existing HOV-2s into HOV-3s. They
could open more carpool lots in collar counties and build rain
shelters to accommodate waiting carpool passengers in the city.
The district is now contemplating this last option in a bid to
relocate slugs off of 14th Street, a congested north-south
thoroughfare through the city (this, after an outbreak of moving
violations incurred the wrath of the slug community). District
officials have now smartly offered to solicit community input through
LeBlanc’s website and have held several meetings with the slugs.
“Ten, 11 years ago when I first got involved, nobody from government
would even talk to you about it,” LeBlanc says. “The dynamics have
changed a lot over the years.”
Heinrich and Susan Shaheen, a transportation researcher at the
University of California, Berkeley, suspect the change has a lot to do
with new technology. With the ubiquity of smart phones, real-time
ridesharing — a close cousin of the casual carpool — suddenly has much
greater appeal to transportation officials and academics.
Theoretically, a driver with a GPS application could spot passengers
standing on any street corner in the city.
Several companies are already deploying pilot programs, although the
arrival of proprietary smart phone technology brings an added
complication. Firms are testing micro-payments between driver and
passenger (some of which companies would skim for profit), criminal
background checks and reward systems.
But all of those ideas make slugging appear that much more elegant in
its simplicity. The system is location-based, not data-driven. You
don’t have to tell anyone a thing about yourself — only where you’re
heading. And ultimately, personal goals align with the group dynamic
in a rare exception to the principle that we often pursue our own
interests at the expense of someone else’s (or at the expense of
society or the environment).
“It’s like anarchy or chaos, but it actually works,” Oliphant says,
road-testing the catchphrase that might carry this idea elsewhere. “It
actually works!”
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