This post first appeared on Medium. It is reprinted here with permission.
OH: “Every evangelist of yesteryear is now a Community Manager … at least on their biz card.”
This statement best captures a question that comes up regularly in the open source community world when you have corporations involved. Does your community manager report to engineering or marketing? It captures a number of assumptions quite nicely.
First, the concept of a “community manager” does imply a certain amount of corporate structure regardless of whether it’s for profit or some form of non-profit. If the open source licensed project is in the wild then it probably doesn’t have the size and adoption to require people with such titles. Such well-run project communities are self-organizing. As they grow and there are more things to do than vet code and commit, they accommodate new roles. They may even form council-like sub-organizations (e.g. documentation). But for the most part, the work is in-the-small, and it’s organic. The structure of well run “pre-corporate” projects is in process discipline around such work as contributions, issue tracking, and build management.
When projects grow and evolve to the point that companies want to get involved, using the project software in their products and services, then the project “property” needs to be protected differently. The software project already has a copyright (because it’s the law) and is covered by an open source license (because that social contract enables the collaboration), but trademarks and provenance can quickly become important. Companies have different risk profiles. A solution to such corporate concerns can be to wrap a non-profit structure around the project. This can mean the project chooses to join an existing foundation like the Apache Software Foundation or the Eclipse Foundation, or it could form its own foundation (e.g. the Gnome Foundation). In return for the perceived added overhead to the original community, it enables company employees to more actively contribute. (The code base for Apache httpd project doubled in the first few months after the ASF formed.)
A community manager implies more administrative structure and discipline around people coordination for growth, than the necessary software construction discipline that the early project required for growth. But a foundation often brings the sort of administrative structure for events and communications such that folks in the project (or projects) still don’t have a title of “community manager.”
Community managers are a corporate thing. And I believe they start showing up when either a project becomes a company (e.g. Apache Mesos into Mesosphere), a company wants to create a project or turn a product into a project (e.g. Hewlett Packard Enterprise with OpenSwitch), or a company wants to create a distribution of a project (e.g. Canonical with Ubuntu, Red Hat with Fedora, Cloudera with Apache Hadoop). And this is implied in the original statement about “biz cards” and questions of marketing versus engineering.
Software companies have long understood developer networks. MSDN, the Oracle Developer Network, and the IBM Developer Network have been around for decades. They are broadcast communities carrying marketing messages to the faithful. They were run by Developer Evangelists and Developer Advocates. MVP programs were created to identify and support non-employees acting in an evangelism role. These networks are product marketing programs. They tightly control access to product engineers, who allowed to appear at conferences and encouraged to write blog posts. These networks are the antithesis of the conversation that is a high functioning open source community.
I believe companies with long histories building developer networks (or employees that have such experience at new companies) make the mistake of thinking open source “community managers” belong in product marketing. They are probably using the wrong metrics to measure and understand (and hopefully support) their communities. They are falling into the classic trap of confusing community with customer, and project with product.
Liberally-licensed, collaboratively-developed software projects, (i.e. open source) is an engineering economic imperative. Because of that reality, I believe the community management/enablement role belongs in engineering. If a company is enlightened enough to have a product management team that is engineering focused (not marketing focused), then the community manager fits into that team as well.
This is a working theory for me, consistent with the successes and failures I’ve observed over the past 25 year. I would love folks feedback, sharing their experiences or expanding upon my observations.
This post first appeared on Medium. It is reprinted here with permission.
During his inaugural speech on Jan. 20, 1961, U.S. President John F. Kennedy uttered the challenge, “And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” Its simple meaning was to challenge society to contribute to improve the public good. But I think there’s a bigger message here, and that is that we have to work together as a society to improve our collective state. And because of that, I think the statement has a lot to tell us about community building in general and for open source communities certainly.
Publishing software with an open source license is the definitive step of creating an open source project. The creation of such collaborative licensing is Richard Stallman’s brilliant hack on the system of copyright law back in the early 1980s. If software is covered by copyright, so a user of the software must honor the copyright by adhering to its license or otherwise asking for permission, then create licenses that say, “do whatever you will with this software, while honoring these clauses in return.” It is the perfect hack on a software copyright system that would otherwise collapse under its own weight when the dynamic nature of software encountered the friction-free publishing channel of the Internet. But while publishing software this way is the definitive step of creating an open source project, it doesn’t create a community.
While many societal norms and interactions are imposed by a choice of where you live, from the country down to your street address, on the Internet those choices and interactions play out differently. The cost of choosing your online community is far lower in the digital world than the economic friction in the world of bricks and mortar. So is the cost of leaving. As an online community you need to attract folks differently if they’re going to engage. You need to make it easy for the community to do the things they want to do. They aren’t coming to help you build your community, at least not at first. They’re coming because the project (the neighborhood) is interesting to their own needs and goals.
And there are three sorts of folks that join your community.
There are the folks that just want to live there using your software.
There are the folks living there that are happy to help in small ways, letting you know where the potholes that they almost hit every day are forming, or about a vacant lot that’s unsafe.
And there are the folks living there, that let you know about that vacant lot, and that are happy to help clean it up, contribute a park bench, or organize the neighborhood party to celebrate after the cleanup is done.
And you need to make it easy in three different ways for those three sorts of folks in your community, because the groups are nested inside one another. People don’t build parks in vacant lots where they don’t live. They’re very unlikely to notice the potholes in a meaningful way if they don’t live on the street. They won’t move into your neighborhood in the first place if its cluttered, unorganized, and doesn’t provide any guidance for where the schools and shops are, or when garbage collection happens and how recycling works there. And they certainly don’t move into neighborhoods in which they can’t afford the costs (in time or money).
Growing and scaling a successful open source software project requires building three on-ramps: first for users, then for developers, and ultimately for contributors.
If it is not blindingly easy to download the software, install it to a known state, and use it in some meaningful way, you will not encourage a growing set of neighbors. If the developers in that group of neighbors can’t easily build the software to a known state so they can effect their own changes, then they will look elsewhere for easier to use solutions. They will move out and move on. If you don’t make it easy to contribute those developers’s changes back to the project, it becomes a permanent growing collection of expensive forks that doesn’t harden the way good software projects do.
In the 1990s, we had a ten-minute rule of thumb for packaged PC software from pulling the shrink-wrap off the box to doing something meaningful. When you download an app to your phone, how long do you work at it until it behaves as advertised or you abandon it? The same sort of thinking needs to apply to your software project users. So to for the developers in that group of users that will want to do things with the project to their own needs. So to for your eventual contributors out of that group of developers.
Well run successful open source software communities make the costs of using, developing, and contributing to the community easy to bear, and they work to continue to make it easier. Publishing a piece of software on the Internet with an open source license is easy. Growing a community takes work, but the value in the hardened, evolved software for all is easy to see in successful communities. So ask not what your community can do for you, ask what you can do for your community.
Note: the following was first published on medium.com by Stephen Walli. It is reprinted here with his permission.
Preface: It has been brought to my attention by friends and trusted advisors that a valid interpretation of my point below is that open source is ultimately about “grubby commercialism”, and altruism equals naïveté. That was not my intent. I believe that economics is about behaviour not money. I believe in Drucker (a company exists to create a market for the solution), not Friedman (a company exists to provide a return to shareholders). I believe in the Generous Man. I believe in Rappaport’s solution to the Prisoner’s Dilemma to always start with the most generous choice. I believe we’ve known how communities work since you had a campfire and I wanted to sit beside it. I had the pleasure of watching Bob Young give a talk today at “All Things Open” where he reiterated that a successful company always focuses on the success of its customers. I think that was stamped on Red Hat’s DNA from its founding, and continues to contribute to its success with customers today. I believe sharing good software is the only way to make all of us as successful as we can be as a tribe. I believe there is no scale in software without discipline.
The open source definition is almost 20 years old. Red Hat at 22 is a $2B company. MySQL and JBoss have had great acquisition exits. Cloudera and Hortonworks are well on their way to becoming the next billion dollar software companies. But I would like to observe that despite these successes, there is no open source business model.
yosuke muroya (on Flickr)
I completely believe in the economic value of liberally-licensed collaboratively-developed software. We’ve shared software since we’ve developed software, all the way back into the late 40s and early 50s. This is because writing good software is inherently hard work. We’ve demonstrated that software reviews find more bugs than testing, so building a software development culture of review creates better software. Much of the invention in software engineering and programming systems has been directed towards re-use and writing more and better software in fewer lines of code. Software can’t scale without discipline and rigour in how it’s built and deployed. Software is inherently dynamic, and this dynamism has become clear in an Internet connected world. Well-run, disciplined, liberally-licensed collaborative communities seem to solve for these attributes of software and its development better than other ways of developing, evolving, and maintaining it. There is an engineering economic imperative behind open source software.
Here’s an example using open source that I believe closely demonstrates that reality.
Interix was a product in the late 90s that provided the UNIX face on Windows NT. It encompassed ~300 software packages covered by 25 licenses, plus a derivative of the Microsoft POSIX subsystem, plus our own code. This was before the open source definition. We started with the 4.4BSD-Lite distro because that’s what the AT&T/USL lawyers said we could use. The gcc compiler suite would provide critical support for our tool chain as well as an SDK to enable customers to port their UNIX application base to Windows NT.
It took a senior compiler developer on the order of 6–8 months to port gcc into the Interix environment. It was a little more work when you include testing and integration, etc., so round it up to on the order of $100K. The gcc suite was about 750K lines of code in those days, which the COCOMO calculation suggests was worth $10M-$20M worth of value depending on how much folks were earning. So that’s roughly two orders of magnitude in cost savings instead of writing a compiler suite on our own. That and this was a well-maintained, robust, hardened compiler suite, not a new creation created from scratch in a vacuum. That is the benefit of using open source. You can see a similar net return on the 10% year-on-year investment Red Hat makes on their Linux kernel contributions as they deliver Fedora and RHEL. Of course with Interix, we were now living on a fork. This means we are drifting further away from the functionality and fixes on the mainline.
The back of the envelop estimate suggested that every new major revision of gcc would cost us another 6+ months to re-integrate, but if we could get our changes contributed back into the mainline code base, we were probably looking at a month of integration testing instead. So from ~$100K we’re approaching $10K-$20K so possibly another order of magnitude cheaper by not living on a fork. We approached Cygnus Solutions as they were the premier gcc engineering team with several gcc committers. The price to integrate quoted to us was ~$120K, but they were successfully oversubscribed with enough other gcc work that they couldn’t begin for 14 months. Ada Core Technologies on the other hand would only charge ~$40K and could begin the following month. It was a very easy decision. (We were not in a position to participate directly in the five communities hiding under the gcc umbrella. While some projects respected the quality of engineering we were trying to contribute, others were hostile to the fact we were working on that Microsoft s***. There’s no pleasing some people.)
This wasn’t contributing back out of altruism. It was engineering economics. It was the right thing to do, and contributed back to the hardening of the compiler suite we were using ourselves. It was what makes well run open source projects work. I would argue that individuals make similar decisions because having your name on key contribution streams in the open source world is some of the best advertising and resume content you can provide as a developer on your ability to get work done, in a collaborative engineering setting, and demonstrating you well understand a technology base. It’s the fact with which you can lead in an interview. And it’s fun. It’s interesting and challenging in all the right ways. If you’re a good developer or interested in improving your skills, why wouldn’t you participate and increase your own value and skills?
Well run open source software communities are interesting buckets of technology. If they evolve to a particular size they become ecosystems of products, services (support, consulting, training), books and other related-content. To use an organic model, open source is trees, out of which people create lumber, out of which they build a myriad of other products.
Red Hat is presented as the epitome of an open source company. When I look at Red Hat, I don’t see an open source company. I see a software company that has had three CEOs making critical business decisions in three different market contexts as they grow a company focused on their customers. Bob Young founded a company building a Linux distro in the early days of Linux. He was focused on the Heinz ketchup model of branding. When you thought “Linux”, Bob wanted the next words in your head to be “Red Hat.” And this was the initial growth of Red Hat Linux in the early days of the Internet and through the building of the Internet bubble. It was all about brand management. Red Hat successfully took key rounds of funding, and successfully went public in 1999. The Red Hat stock boomed.
Matt Szulick took over the reins as CEO that Fall. Within a couple of years the Internet bubble burst and the stock tumbled from ~$140 down to $3.50. Over the next couple of years, Red Hat successfully made the pivot to server. RHEL was born. Soon after Fedora was delivered such that a Red Hat focused developer community would have an active place to collaborate while Red Hat maintained stability for enterprise customers on RHEL. They successfully crossed Moore’s Chasm in financial services. JBoss was acquired for $350M to provide enterprise middleware. Red Hat went after the UNIX ISV community before the other Linux distro vendors realized it was a race.
In 2008, Jim Whitehurst took over the helm. In Whitehurst, they had a successful executive that had navigated running an airline through its Chapter 11 restructuring. So he knows how to grow and maintain employee morale, while managing costs, and keeping customers happy in the viciously competitive cutthroat market of a commercial air travel. He arrives at Red Hat just in time for the economic collapse of 2008. Perfect. But he has also led them through steady stock growth since joining.
Through its history, Red Hat has remained focused on solving their customers problems. Harvard economist Theodore Levitt once observed that a customer didn’t want a quarter inch drill, what they wanted was a quarter inch hole. While lots of competing Linux distro companies tried to be the best Linux distro, Red Hat carefully positioned themselves not as the best Linux but as an enterprise quality, inexpensive alternative to Solaris on expensive SPARC machines in the data centre.
Red Hat certainly uses open source buckets of technology to shape their products and services, but it’s not a different business model from the creation of DEC Ultrix or Sun SunOS out of the BSD world, or the collaborative creation of OSF/1 and the evolution of DEC Ultrix and IBM AIX, or the evolution of SunOS to Solaris from a licensed System V base. At what point did Windows NT cease to be a Microsoft product with the addition of thousands of third party licensed pieces of software including the Berkeley sockets technology?
When companies share their own source code out of which they build their products and services, and attempt to develop their own collaborative communities, they gain different benefits. Their technology becomes stickier with customers and potential future customers. They gain advocates and experts. It builds inertia around the technology. The technology is hardened. Depending on the relationship between the bucket of technology and their products, they can evolve strong complements to their core offerings.
The engineering economic effects may not be as great as pulling from a well run external bucket of technology, but the other developer effects make up for the investment in a controlled and owned community. It’s why companies like IBM, Intel, Microsoft, and Oracle all invest heavily in their developer networks regardless of the fact these historically had nothing to do with open source licensing. It creates stickiness. Red Hat gains different benefits from their engineering investments in Linux, their development of the Fedora community, and the acquisition of the JBoss technology, experts, and customers.
I believe open source licensed, disciplined, collaborative development communities will prove to be the best software development and maintenance methodology over the long term. It’s created a myriad of robust adaptive building blocks that have become central to modern life in a world that runs on software. But folks should never confuse the creation of those building blocks with the underlying business of solving customer problems in a marketplace. There is no “open source business model.”
