Book review: ‘How to Fly a Horse’ by Kevin Ashton

This is a guest post by George Weeks, reviewing a book called ‘How to Fly a Horse’ by Kevin Ashton

Book review:  ‘How to Fly a Horse’ by Kevin Ashton (2015) – and what it means for Auckland.

The title of this article might unnerve any Greater Auckland connoisseur. “This website’s not about general aviation!” exclaims the indignant reader. “It’s not even about equestrianism. What’s going on?”

‘How to Fly a Horse’ is a book about how people develop ideas. It’s relevant to Greater Auckland because of the ease at which ostensibly sensible transport proposals are dismissed with certainty, snubbing the proposer. The book is centred on the following contradiction: Humans are creatures of habit, resistant to change. And yet…we also like to find better ways to do things.

This contradiction of habit and hesitation is at the heart of humanity, and of this book. From hand axes to carbon nanotubes, it’s inherently human to innovate, while encountering doubt or indifference at every step. This has happened with medical history, naval engineering and consumer products.  It’s equally true for 15-minute cities, shared spaces and the Auckland Northern Busway. All of these were radical creations…until they became normal.

“What the human race created was creation itself” (p. 12).

Author Kevin Ashton is an entrepreneur and technologist, but How to Fly a Horse is applied anthropology. It explodes the myth of the “creative genius”, showing that innovation arises incrementally through experimentation, passion and hard work by many people. This is equally true for transport planning and urban design.

Appropriately, Ashton’s work draws on many others’. Back in the 1930s, psychologist Karl Dunker, author of On Problem Solving and ‘the Candle Problem’ discovered that the human brain solves problems one step at a time. Breakthroughs come from many small steps, not one big leap. Iteration, it seems, leads to innovation.

Consider human flight. The Wright brothers were by no means the first people to attempt powered flight, but they were the first to succeed. Wilbur Wright saw that a flat sheet of paper, if dropped, will buck and twist like an unbroken colt (hence: “How To Fly A Horse”). A gliding bird, by comparison, stays level using its wings and tail. Thus we see Wright’s insight: Aeroplanes must imitate gliding birds. This was just one of many steps, over many years, that led to the first powered human flight.

Further examples come from medical research. Dr Judah Folkman faced ostracism for decades from the medical establishment on his theory of a link between blood vessel development (angiogenesis) and tumour growth. Decades later his theory became widely accepted, with the help of his researcher Donald Ingber. This took decades; a series of repetitive failures. Progress is a bewildering maze, with no shortcuts and many setbacks and rejections. Dr Folkman’s persistent affability in the face of adversity was arguably a driver of eventual success; if nothing else, it helps to be well-liked.

We learn that, while humans are innovative, institutions and power structures can unite to stifle change. If your interests, or business models, are based on a particular set of circumstances, then you’ll work hard to keep things that way, rather than seeing how your interests could be served by new circumstances.

To overcome inertia, Ashton emphasises the importance of confident, intellectually-secure leadership. Back in the USA in 1933, Lockheed engineer Hall Hibbard was advised by a 23-year old Clarence “Kelly” Johnson that the prototype Lockheed Electra was “unstable”. Hibbard, the confident boss, told the impertinent Johnson: “Show me”.

Wind tunnel tests proved Johnson’s insight correct, and the Electra’s design was revised accordingly. The lesson here is that Hibbard’s self-confidence meant he could respond positively to feedback and nurture his talented engineer. The Lockheed Skunk Works developed a “Show Me” rule whereby technical disputes were settled on a 25¢ bet. By valuing doing over talking, ideas could be tested and rapid progress could be made. Why talk when you can do?

In the Greater Auckland world, tactical urbanism is the equivalent ‘show me’ action of a 25¢ bet. It’s perfectly possible to spend a decade bickering in offices and achieve absolutely nothing. Time is the only thing that’s really finite, so why waste time in discussions when you could be developing a working prototype?

The most dangerous words in the English language are: “Before I begin…” If we want to solve a problem, we must start working on it. Try an idea out, see if it works, identify improvements and make changes on the ground. The 2016 temporary cycleway in Auckland’s Quay Street showed that reallocating street space a) would work b) would be popular for cycling and c) would not cause “carmageddon”. The current, permanent design owes its success to this trial.

Certainty wrought by familiarity can be dangerous. Think of the office know-all who’s sometimes right. Or the car company that eschews further work on “unprofitable” electric cars. Or a mobile phone behemoth that sinks into obscurity beneath a sea of smartphones.

In 1990s Auckland, when Britomart was under construction, it was often questioned or opposed. “No-one was going to use Britomart”, they said. “Aucklanders only ever travel by car.” This was the received wisdom; it took political courage to understand Auckland’s future transport needs and sign the project off. Similarly, City Rail Link faced 100 years of opposition before construction finally started. Shared spaces in Auckland City Centre were yet another foreign idea that wouldn’t work…until they did, and became international best-practice case studies. And so on.

Innovation hesitancy (with respect to street design) is absolutely not a New Zealand-specific trait. Innovation is generally rejected, even in ostensibly innovative organisations and countries. When Groningen removed through-traffic from its town centre in 1977 the young Mayor needed police protection from irate shopkeepers, certain that limits on cars would ruin the economy. (spoiler: it did the opposite). When London proposed its walk-and-cycle-friendly Mini-Holland suburbs in 2013, many people opposed them, certain that this crazy Dutch idea wouldn’t work in Britain (spoiler: it really did). Again, confident leadership was recognised for enabling the change. Same goes for Ghent. Same goes for Ljubljana. Same goes for anywhere.

Great ideas can turn into actions through creative partnerships. How to Fly a Horse introduces us to Frank Oz and Jim Henson; Trey Parker and Matt Stone (as an Englishman, I’d have nominated French and Saunders). For all of these creative partnerships, each party brings different strengths and perspectives. Similarly, successful cities build teams with complementary skills to deliver successful outcomes.

Readers of this website may be familiar with Anne Hidalgo and Jane Jacobs but other urban innovators have been forgotten, overlooked or simply unacknowledged. It’s a dangerous business to be at the vanguard. Innovators rarely last long in any business and may be seen as troublemakers. Think about the creative left-handed kid at school who was unpopular with the teachers. Survivors are typically those who withdraw, reduce personal input and deviate barely from the mean. An endurance strategy, sure. But it’s hardly a way to harness human potential. Expertise begets certainty but the flipside is that it leads people to dismiss good ideas. The only correct response is: Show me.

This book savours creativity and trying things out. It celebrates human inventiveness and exhorts us to engage with what makes us tick. It is a heartening read for anyone who has had good ideas that were met with scepticism. Both of these are fundamental human characteristics, so we must learn to work with them, manage our expectations, and keep on persevering.

The only constant in our lives is change. The world changes continuously. Humans have spread to all parts of the world because we’re adaptable – more than we realise. This is the key to our survival. Ultimately, progress comes not from “lightbulb moments” but from many small steps. In this way, the reader is empowered to work hard at the things they love.

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