Perhaps for the first time, Google executives were feeling defensive, troubled that folks thought they had violated their “Don’t be evil” pledge. In the wake of China and the Google IPO, Eric Schmidt said he expanded his own job description. “It took me a while to figure out that we had to reach out to traditional media,” he said. “It’s part of acknowledging they are incumbents.” But he, like Google, was just making nice. “I’m happy to be diplomatic,” he added. “But I’m about winning!” What wasn’t clear was: Winning what? And at whose expense?
Schmidt was not diplomatic with Elinor Mills, a reporter for CNET News, a Web site that contains various online networks, including business news, technology, video games, and television programs. Mills in 2005 was working on a story about how much private information Google collected. As part of her research, she used Google search and Google Maps to run a quick search on Eric Schmidt. She located his Atherton home and address on Google Maps, his approximate net worth, political contributions, and a fair amount of other personal information. Then she published what she found, writing, “That such detailed personal information is so readily available on public Web sites makes most people uncomfortable.” It certainly made Schmidt uncomfortable.
“CNET was informed,” wrote Randall Stross, “that Google was unhappy with the use of Schmidt’s ‘private information’ in its story, and as punishment, Google as a matter of company policy would not respond to any questions or requests submitted by CNET reporters for one year.” Schmidt’s and Google’s reactions invited derision; Schmidt was accused of a “hissy fit.” Google executives tried to reason with Schmidt, to coax him to apologize, to end the ban. Months later, without offering an apology, Stross wrote that Google “quietly restored a normal working relationship with CNET.”
Google was becoming more defensive but also began to slowly worry about a potential threat far more powerful than any competitor: government. Google was alienating media companies, and when these companies speak, Washington listens. These companies are a major source of campaign funds and jobs; they provide the stage and microphone for elected officials. By 2005, broadcasters and telephone companies and others were raising questions about Google. Google may have been a multibillion dollar company, but it was unprepared to fight back. It had no political action committee; for a long time its only Washington presence was a one-man office located in suburban Maryland. This office reported to both David Drummond and Elliot Schrage in Mountain View. Drummond was supposed to oversee policy, and Schrage communications, which led to some confusion as the two often go hand in hand.
Although Google was not yet alarmed, it was on notice. At the weekly executive committee meetings, they talked about beefing up their presence in the nation’s capital. Brin volunteered to stop off in Washington to say hello to various government officials the next time he was back east visiting his parents in Maryland. But the the trip was hastily planned, as Brin admits: “Because it was the last minute, we didn’t schedule everything we wanted to.” Among the key people he didn’t get to see was Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska, then the chairman of the commerce committee, with jurisdiction over the Internet. (Senator Stevens’s knowledge of the Web appeared limited. He once referred to an e-mail by saying that “an Internet was sent by my staff.”) The Washington Post depicted the poor reception as a snub of Google; it probably didn’t help matters that Brin’s outfit that day included a dark T-shirt, jeans, and silver mesh sneakers.
Brin did manage to meet with senators John McCain and Barack Obama, and the topic was “network neutrality,” an effort by Google and others to ensure that the telephone and cable companies who provide high-speed access to the Internet didn’t charge higher fees to Web sites with heavy traffic. Around the time of Brin’s visit, an organization called Hands Off the Internet, financed by telecommunications companies, ran full-page newspaper advertisements accusing Google of wanting to create a monopoly and block “new innovation”; one ad featured a grainy photograph of a Google facility housing a sinister-looking “massive server farm.” Brin saw it for the warning it was. “I certainly realized we had to think about these things, and that people were going to misrepresent us,” he said. “We should be entitled to our representation in government.”
Like Microsoft in the late nineties, the Google leadership, “composed of ideological technologists,” as Schrage put it in 2007, was slow to appreciate the political and the human dimensions of the technical decisions it made. Schrage’s resume spans a law degree, years of teaching, a senior executive position at The Gap, and work as an international consultant on corporate social responsibility. He acknowledged that Google engineers were new to the ways of Washington. “Some call that naivete. Some might criticize this; others might applaud it. No question that people here regularly discuss Microsoft’s experience and use that as a cautionary tale.”
Later, meaning to explain rather than criticize, Schrage told me, “One can make the argument that the genes of technological innovation are frequently in conflict with emotional intelligence. Successful technological innovation is all about disruption. Effective emotional intelligence is all about collaboration, how you get talented people to work together and enjoy it.”
Collaboration was central to the thinking of Lawrence Lessig, who was widely hailed as an Internet oracle and was then teaching at Stanford Law School. Lessig had just been treated as such at Facebook, where he’d been invited to speak to its employees and expounded on the virtues of an open Web. Afterward, we had dinner at Il Fornaio in Palo Alto, which is a favorite Valley canteen, and there he asked, and answered, a central question people increasingly posed about Google: Is Google becoming what Microsoft was in 1998?
“The argument is that in an important way, they are the same,” he said. “In fact, whether now or soon, Google will have more power than Microsoft did at the time. Google’s power will extend to more than one layer of the network.” Microsoft’s power was its ability to leverage its potent operating system to control the various applications that use the operating system. So Microsoft offered a free browser to knock out the Netscape browser and attacked Java software that might “facilitate competition with the underlying operating system.”
Google’s power flows from a different source, he said. “They have produced this amazing machine for building data, and that data has its own ‘network effect’”-the more people who use it, the more data generated, the more advertisers flock to it. “Everything sits on top of that layer, starting with search. Every time you search, you give Google some value because you pick a certain result. And every time you pick a result, Google learns something from that. So each time you do a search, you’re adding value to Google’s data base. The data base becomes so rich that the advertising model that sits on top of it can out-compete other advertising models because it has better data… The potential here is actually that the data layer is more dangerous from a policy perspective because it cuts across layers of human life. So privacy and competition and access to commerce, and access to content-everything is driven by this underlying layer. Unlike the operating system, which couldn’t necessarily control the content that you got.