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My latest Locus magazine column, “Making Smarter Dumb Mistakes About the Future,” is about the ways that corporate futurism goes astray, imagining futures that make the boss happy which never come to pass. It’s based on the magnificent and wondrously wrong “Carousel of Progress” that Walt Disney creates for GE’s pavilion at the 1964 NYC World’s Fair, an updated version of which lives at Walt Disney World. I love that thing to bits. I wish it would fit on my desk, I’d put it there like the old poets used to keep a skull by their elbows, to remind them of their hubris and frailty.

Also, if I had one on my desk, I could stop dragging my family onto it. My wife has written a new chorous to the themesong (which goes, “There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow, shining at the end of every day”): “There’s a great big hairy Cory Doctorow, sitting in the front row every day.”


When confronted with a new technology and asked to predict its application, it’s tempting to look for existing, unsolved problems to which the technology might apply. For example, in a notorious early ad for personal computing, Honeywell depicted a satisfied, modish hausfrau cheerfully setting the dip-switches on her kitchen’s PC in order to recall recipes. It’s easy to follow their thinking: Computers are used by giant companies to store and manipulate files in the workplace. What files do housewives have to store and manipulate? Recipes! This is the “horseless carriage” fallacy: tomorrow’s world will be like today, but moreso. Faster transport will get us to the same places, but faster. Faster communications will let us talk to the same people, but better.

So it’s natural to think that HD television will be twice as unifying as old, standard-def sets (in fact, one of the big selling points for HD is that it will allow a small percentage of the household, usually Dad, to watch sports matches with his friends, while the rest of the family waits it out somewhere else).

Making Smarter Dumb Mistakes About the Future

/ / News

My latest Guardian column, “Ducks, Nazis and Disney: well, that’s one way to get a TV transition,” tells the unlikely story of how a duck based on a rehabilitated Nazi rocket-scientist helped create the American color TV transition in the sixties:

There was one source of ready-made colour material that could have gone out over the airwaves: Hollywood had been shooting feature films and accompanying short subjects in colour for decades and had amassed a prodigious back-catalogue of material that might have jumpstarted the colour TV transition.

There was another problem, though: the studios hated TV, feared it, and would like to have seen it dead and dusted. It was the competition.

Until Walt Disney decided to build Disneyland, that is. The Walt Disney Company came through the second world war as a publicly listed firm, and Walt spent the next decade chafing against shareholder control and squabbling about spending with his brother Roy, the adult in their partnership. When Roy refused to open the company coffers to him for the $17m he needed to embark on a mad scheme called Disneyland, the company instead raised millions by opening their vaults to ABC, a broadcaster.

Ducks, Nazis and Disney: well, that’s one way to get a TV transition