I’ve been thinking a lot about maps lately. I like maps. I like the aesthetic of maps, but I realise that as with any worthwhile data visualisation a map that does not convey useful information, a map that does not have purpose, is little more than wallpaper.
It’s arguable that in the past few years the proliferation of digital mapping tools has created an explosion in geo-spatial and geo-tagged information, some of it is produce by experts and some of it is not. Some of this information is useful and has mass-market appeal and some of it is still looking for a reason to exist.
Before the first wave of on-line, geo-spacial information has been totally assimilated and understood, a second wave has already begun. GPS enabled mobile devices have started to provide the next obvious evolutionary step of geo-tagging on the move, and embryonic Augmented Reality applications have begun pushing the boundaries of mobile data retrieval and presentation even further.
But to return to usefulness issue, there is a map that has fascinate me recently that I believe stands as an elegant reminder of the purpose of maps and the potential value of what we currently refer to as user generated content.
In the late summer of 1854, over a period of about ten days, a cholera outbreak killed 10% of people living in the Soho district of London (many more would have died if they hadn’t fled).
Largely due to the investigative work of Dr. John Snow and a local clergyman, Henry Whitehead, the outbreak marked a turning point in our understanding of the transmission of disease.
A key output of Snow’s research was a groundbreaking piece of information design, a spot map illustrating the clustering of deaths around the Broad street water pump. This map set in motion a chain of events that would convince Whitehead, formally a believer in the Miasma theory of disease, of the water borne transmission of cholera and lead to him discovering the original source of infection.
One of the things that makes Snow and Whitehead’s research remarkable is what Steven Johnson, author of The Ghost Map, calls ‘..the triumph of a certain mode of engaged amateurism’. Both Snow and Whitehead were effectively keen amateurs looking to solve a mystery. Snow, despite his medical training, had no official role when it came to cholera, and all Whitehead had to help him was a keen mind and an intimate, local knowledge of the area affected.
Snow’s map is fascinating in its own, historical right, but Johnson points to a link between the cholera map and the new, digital forms of ‘amateur cartography’ that pervade the web:
“As in 1854 , the amateurs are producing the most interesting work, precisely because they have the most textured, granular experience of their communities…maps of local knowledge created by locals. They’re street-smart. They map the intangibles: blocks that aren’t safe after dark, playgrounds that could use a renovation, local restaurants that have room for strollers”.
At the time Snow and Whitehead were not considered to be experts. Their beliefs also ran contrary to the dominant theory of the day, Miasma, and it took another 30 or so years for their theory and research to become accepted and achieve mass appeal. Yet their theory changed the world.
We are yet to see how today’s explosion of location based information, uploaded by a mass crowd of ‘engaged amateurs’, will shape the world. But I think that is probably true to say that, like Snow, today’s amateurs (and already recognised experts) will have to devise ways to present this information so that it is not the mapmaking technique or visualisation that comes to the fore but rather the underlying patterns, wisdom and value that the information holds.