In this week’s readings, we see that the democratic ideal of the knowledge commons grows complicated as open access publishing platforms are increasingly targeted by information capitalism. Lamdan, Kember & Brand, and Aspesi et al. all highlight the relationship between open access scholarship and data analytics: as academic publishing proves less and less profitable, companies that once distributed research are now finding financial success in privatizing and paywalling  information that was created under public funding; mining data from their users; and interpreting user data to generate predictions about academic futures, lucrative research investments, and even public engagement with government systems. Kember & Brand offer an optimistic solution to the “corporate capture of open access publishing” by advocating for cross-institutional collaboration and non-profit, non-commercial publishing platforms. However, Lamdan’s book reveals the overwhelming ubiquity of the “data cartels” that undergird the world of information media, essentially making any separation between knowledge and capital impossible. Lamdan identifies two companies — Thomson Reuters and RELX — as the leading data analytics conglomerates behind the push to privatize information at the expense of public cost, safety, and freedom. Within the RELX group, Aspesi et al. focus part of their article on the academic publisher Elsevier, which exemplifies the ability of private publishing companies to control knowledge production through their insider-trading-like access to industry professionals, funding decisions, and university hiring practices. 

After reading the preface and opening chapter of Lamdan’s Data Cartels: The Companies that Control and Monopolize our Information, I was horrified by the power of companies like Thomson Reuters and RELX to transform our data into profit; and disturbed by the links between personal information and systemic violence enacted through surveillance. I wanted to know how these infamous data cartels presented themselves, and visited the Thomson Reuters website. On a recent job posting for “Associate Client Executive, FindLaw”, the company confidently states: “We have a superpower that we’ve never talked about with as much pride as we should – we are one of the only companies on the planet that helps its customers pursue justice, truth and transparency. Together, with the professionals and institutions we serve, we help uphold the rule of law, turn the wheels of commerce, catch bad actors, report the facts, and provide trusted, unbiased information to people all over the world.” This characterization of Thomson Reuters’s work counters some of Lamdan’s most revelatory explanations of the company’s use of data: there is no mention of ICE, “double dipping” information, inaccurate criminal and arrest records, or prescriptive insurance policies. From Lamdan’s book, I got the impression that companies like Thomson Reuters actively do not want their customers to pursue justice, truth, and transparency — unless the company itself is the one dictating what is just, true, and transparent. Contained within Thomson Reuters’s hubristic self-assessment, I did find a kernel of truth: through their overwhelming, inextricable social and political influence, data cartels do have the power to “uphold the rule of law”, “turn the wheels of commerce”, and “provide […] information to people all over the world”. And what a terrifying thought that is… 

Question 1: In their piece on “The Corporate Capture of Open-Access Publishing”, Sarah Kember and Amy Brand propose a safeguard to the future of public knowledge: “More international collaboration, including linked university repositories and, potentially, state-owned, noncommercial platforms, is also needed to turn the false promise of “openness” into truly public knowledge.” Do you think that cross-institution collaboration can be successful, even as academic institutions compete for funding and research breakthroughs? What should the role of the state be in creating and circulating public knowledge?

Question 2: Sarah Lamdan points out that old regulatory laws are not equipped to limit the monopoly that data cartels have on the public’s access to information  (Lamdan, 22). Similarly, are information piracy and theft laws commensurate to the act of releasing paywalled or privatized information to the public? What have cases like United States v. Swartz taught us about making public information accessible through illegal channels?

Question 3: The SPARC Landscape Analysis report ends with suggestions for mitigating the risks inherent to the movement of commercial publishers into the heart of academic institutions. “Risk mitigation” would take the form of “actions aimed at protecting colleges and universities from the unintended consequences of deploying a rising number of data analytic tools and collecting larger and more intrusive amounts and categories of data.” Recalling our discussions on infrastructure, how do you imagine a “risk mitigation infrastructure” could look at CUNY? How would checks and balances be implemented to protect the CUNY community’s personal data and intellectual property? Which existing university offices would be tasked with handling the data analytics companies; or what roles would need to be created to do so?

Shortly after I enrolled at CUNY, I began receiving emails prompting me to enroll in Blackboard, one of the school’s various learning management systems (LMS). Since I wanted to get off on an organized foot this academic year, I quickly googled “CUNY blackboard” to find the right site and create my account. Instead of leading me to an institutional Blackboard page, my search turned up a few articles about how CUNY had recently made the decision to ditch Blackboard in favor of Brightspace, a different learning management software (CUNY and Missouri State Switch from Blackboard to Brightspace). I learned that the expiration of CUNY’s contract with Blackboard precipitated a reevaluation of faculty, staff, and student needs, and Brightspace was determined to be the better LMS for the school. I was immediately curious about this decision: isn’t Blackboard the more popular LMS? Why would CUNY choose to cut ties with a seemingly successful company? As a clearer picture of Blackboard Inc. emerged through my investigation, I’m inclined to say that CUNY made the right choice. 

Blackboard Inc. was founded in 1996, born from the combination of two education software startups called Blackboard LLC and CourseInfo LLC (“Blackboard Inc.” via Wikipedia). The four founders of these companies — two men per company — have an almost hackneyed backstory: they met in pairs at their respective colleges, and merged the companies when one of the Blackboard founders met a CourseInfo founder at a conference. Within one year of its founding, Blackboard Inc. saw sales of nearly $1 million; and, by 2006, Blackboard was used on more than 65% of U.S. college campuses (A Brief History of Blackboard). Despite buying up many of its LMS competitors, Blackboard Inc. experienced significant debt and a loss of clients in the late 2010’s. In a graphic by ListEdTech, we can see that Blackboard Inc. lost many of these clients to Brightspace. In 2021, Blackboard Inc. became absorbed by Anthology, another LMS, creating an “ed-tech behemoth” (Blackboard, Anthology to Merge, Creating Ed-Tech Behemoth). Inside Higher Ed points out that, given its near ubiquity on college campuses, Blackboard had suffered from widespread complaints about its software and usability from faculty and other higher ed administrators. Blackboard’s popularity also made it a target for LMS competitors. By the end of its independent life, Blackboard Inc. was worth at least $3 billion but had amassed a significant debt of $1.3 billion. As of 2023, ZoomInfo and Zippia, two job information sites, estimated that Blackboard has almost 3,000 employees. On Glassdoor, an employee review forum, some of these employees have left negative reviews citing high turnover at the company due to the merger with Anthology. As the Blackboard Inc. is absorbed into Anthology, I wonder what will happen to many of the company’s employees. 

CUNY has held a contract with Blackboard Inc. since at least 2015, when the countersigned “Blackboard Prepaid Campus Card Agreement” was created. This contract – which includes an extensive implementation manual – outlines CUNY’s use of Blackboard through 2018. I dug further into CUNY’s contracts with Blackboard, and found a document to “Authorize a Contract Extension with Blackboard, Inc. to Ensure Ongoing Access to the Learn System and to Enable the Migration to Blackboard’s Cloud Platform”, extending Blackboard’s contract with CUNY from December 2021 to December 2022. In this document, it is stated that CUNY has been using Blackboard for over twenty years, with Blackboard overseeing 99% of CUNY’s enrollment systems, course registration, and operation of educational programs. Under this contract, CUNY would pay Blackboard almost $3.6 million per year between 2021-2022 and 2022-2023. Given CUNY’s longstanding history with Blackboard and the considerable sum of money the university is devoting to the LMS, I’m even more curious about the decision to drop Blackboard Inc. altogether. Blackboard Inc.’s rise from dorm room startup to multibillion dollar, privately owned company is remarkable; and so is its subsequent descent into merger-and-acquisition oblivion. As Blackboard Inc. is subsumed by Anthology and Brightspace takes over CUNY’s learning management systems, I’ll be curious to track each company’s rise and fall. Will CUNY use Brightspace forever, or is this LMS just the latest in a chain of ed-tech programs that jostle for recognition from the seemingly perpetual beast of the higher education business?

When it comes to developing my personal knowledge infrastructure, I am shockingly – disturbingly – rooted in physical, non-digital methods of tracking and storing knowledge. For someone who loves the internet and the accessibility of contemporary organizational tools so much, it comes as a surprise, especially to me, that I am so reliant on pen and paper. 

As I set out on a research project, my tendency is to jot down some thoughts on my topic as a jumping-off point. I have notebooks for each class I’m in, as well as a small notepad for my job and larger notebooks for general, unaffiliated writing. Last year, my friends made fun of me for keeping a large piece of poster-board paper under my bed: whenever I had to make a shopping list or write a card, I would simply cut off a piece to write upon. My notebooks and papers are not particularly organized. Instead, I rely on my own memory to recall where I might have collected notes on a project or begun an outline for a paper. Eventually, I migrate my notes into a Google doc where they become the basis for a formal paper. Although this system has worked for me through years of college and into my employment, one step in the writing process still gives me pause: citations. Bridging the gap between my handwritten outlines and typed final drafts depends on adopting a more effective, organized approach to my research. 

It is difficult – and certainly overwhelming – to keep track of research citations scattered across sheets of paper; and it is discouraging to type these citations, character for character, into a Google doc where they’ll still have to be formatted and annotated. Online citation generators and browser extensions exist to mitigate the tedium of creating citations, and I’m particularly interested in using Zotero. Zotero is an open-source software designed to manage bibliographic data, and can be integrated with Google Chrome, the internet browser I prefer to use (zotero.org). Because Zotero can collect research articles as I access them, organize citations into groups, facilitate annotations, and eventually create a bibliography, I’m confident that my ragtag approach to research and citations will be improved immensely if I incorporate this software into my personal knowledge infrastructure. 

Currently, my chosen system of writing relies on memory, access to my physical notebooks, and a personal sense of organization. If I were to adopt Zotero – a choice of which I’m entirely in control – I would become less dependent on my unique organization style and rely instead on access to the internet, knowledge of Zotero’s functions, and a willingness to embrace a new system. To this end, I think of Susan Leigh Star’s requirement of an infrastructure to “link with conventions of practice” (Star, 381): how can I approach Zotero in a way that builds this software into actions I am already taking as a scholar? I believe the ability to sync Zotero with my Google Chrome browser and integrate it into Google Docs, my word processor of choice, is essential to embedding Zotero into my larger knowledge infrastructure. Finally, the greatest problem posed to my adoption of Zotero as a research tool is forewarned by Star: “seemingly trivial alterations in routine, or demands for action, will act to prevent [me] from using the system” (Star, 386). The action required to install Zotero, familiarize myself with its functions, and troubleshoot as I use the software risk discouraging me from abandoning my tried and true pen-and-paper method. In order to successfully change how my personal knowledge infrastructure is built, I must not be “so routinized, so rigid in [my] ability to adapt to change” (Star, 386). It would be shame to be my own greatest obstacle in reformulating my knowledge infrastructure, and so I will make a concerted effort this semester to integrate Zotero – and better citation practices, in general – into my research and writing processes.