Genealife in Lockdown - A wasted(?) week

Alex Daw has challenged fellow geneabloggers to write about their lockdown experiences in a series of blog posts on Sundays during National Family History Month in Australia. Read more at https://familytreefrog.blogspot.com/2021/07/genealife-in-lockdown-nfhm-blogging.html.

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Well, that was very different week! Sunday August 1 was meant to be the day that our "short sharp" lockdown ended but on Saturday morning came the announcement that restrictions would be extended for a further week.

Day 1 would surely be business as usual. My recurring task is to finalise the Tween-meeting Newsletter for our local family history group ready for email distribution on Monday morning. But when the lockdown began on Friday, I had begun that job early and it was already completed. Time for a quick scroll through Twitter where an historical photo from Queensland State Archives caught my eye. This is a regular feature that usually attracts little more than a cursory glance, but (with time on my hands) I switched to the big screen and examined the South Brisbane streetscape at full magnification.

A few hours later, I had contributed three reply Tweets and a Facebook comment! Not (only) because I am a very inefficient (some say reluctant) user of "the socials"; but because I had found so many fascinating rabbit holes to explore. War-time rent controls on a private hotel, the historical location of a brewery, the alignment of tram tracks and the challenge of deciphering the (unlit) second layer of a neon advertisement meant that I had easily filled what might have been wasted hours. I guess that is what is meant by the "opportunity cost" of a habit - the experiences that we miss when choosing to focus on getting jobs done.

The second day of my lockdown week began with a slightly guilty feeling. Not only was I breakfasting "late" but the joyous glow from simply rambling through historical sources without a goal in sight persisted. Clearly I needed to get down to proper "work".

And the spur was the realisation that a lockdown (extended once) could become even longer. If we were not released as scheduled on the 8th, what would become of our Family History Group meeting with a guest presenter on the 10th? We had seen the impact of an extended period without interactions in 2020 and were determined to provide continuity. The thought of delivering a livestream session (as we had done last year) flickered briefly but was replaced with the (less stressful) option of pre-recording segments that could be uploaded to YouTube when (if) the face-to-face meeting could not proceed.

By Monday evening, the outline of a worthwhile program had been established and the individual components were beginning to come together. But once I added the third scratch to the wall on Tuesday morning, the time to complete the necessary work seemed to stretch endlessly before me and any sense of urgency evaporated into it. Surely it would be more efficient to spend a few minutes developing a template in a new piece of software for a standard process for creating each 5 minute video segment than to simply blunder around making one (or even three) in an ad hoc manner.

At the end of Tuesday, I had adaptations of several very promising checklist templates but none of them were exactly what I had imagined. Surely, the breakthrough would come early on day 4, or I could simply start recording the first video.

Upon awakening, my first thought was the shock that I did not know what day of the week it was. Where was I meant to be? Then I remembered, my scheduled visit to Miegunyah House Museum to continue cataloguing the 70 year collection of "family files" was not deemed to be essential work that justified leaving my home. So there was ample opportunity to recover from the effects of my procrastination research into process enhancement of the previous day. By nightfall, there were rough cuts of two segments in the (digital) can and solid progress on a third. I had reluctantly decided that the best form of template for production would not be produced a priori but rather arise inductively from the experience of competing the task repeatedly.

Thursday dawned (figuratively speaking) with a repeat of that feeling of dread that I had missed an appointment the details of which I could not remember. (Is this a reported effect of lockdown in chronic workaholics?) My scheduled role as a guide at the House Museum for a group of primary students completing a unit on 19th century domestic arrangements had, of course, been wiped from my diary (and their's). I wonder who was the more disappointed?

However, the full day was now available to finalise (or at least make substantial progress on) the recorded replacement for next week's meeting. I soon learned that I was not the only one considering the risk of enforced cancellation. A staff member from the library that generously hosts our gatherings wondered whether (if our speaker agreed) a Zoom meeting would be an appropriate substitute. Of course it was far preferable to my plan, so the professionals took on the organisation of setting up the event and advising prospective attendees. And I now had a day free.

A colleague who phoned wondering "if I had a moment" to talk through some potential confusion about (incomplete) names on passenger lists probably was not expecting our conversation to be quite so extended; but I relished the opportunity the work things through at some length. After a coffee, I remembered that last time I was at Miegunyah (it seemed so long ago) I had scanned some hand-written letters to be transcribed. Some cleaning up in image-manipulation software would make that process both easier and more reliable. The afternoon passed quickly.

Friday was not just the sixth day of my week in lockdown, it was the day that I had been most looking forward to getting out. I had arranged to visit the premises of Brisbane City Council Archives (for the first time) to extend my searches beyond what I had been able to do online. The date had been chosen to be my fun day for research after two work days on Wednesday and Thursday. Now it was just another 8 to 10 empty hours to be filled.

The day did not start well. Even the QSA photo Tweets did not stir me. Perhaps some blog browsing would spark enthusiasm. Which is how I came across Alex's suggestion for an NFHM blogging challenge. My first thought was that I had nothing to say on that theme, but I did read through a couple of couple of contributions from others. At that point, I was distracted by the realisation that I had been confined to barracks for ever a week and not once had I thought of catching up on a recorded webinar, such as Helen Smith's Burying the body in England (soon to disappear behind the paywall).

Saturday ought to have been my rostered duty as a House Guide and server of afternoon teas to visitors to Miegunyah but that too was impossible under the lockdown restrictions. Perhaps it would be worth devoting a few moments to reflecting on the week that was, just to see whether I could contrive some sort of a blog post!

Postscript:

Even after this was written, it almost did not make it on-line when I realised that it revealed that with 168 hours of potentially uninterrupted time available, I had not devoted a single minute to research into my own family history. That surely disqualified it from inclusion under the Genealife banner. But if I did not publish, then what would I have to show for the week!

Outrage is a great motivator

My statistical history as a blogger is not a pretty sight. There have been periods where my level of activity was enthusiatic (perhaps even manic); but there were even longer times when "desultory" would be a kind description of my engagement with the platform. But Google has found a fool-proof way to stir me into renewed action.

At 10:17 on Saturday 15 May, I received an email indicating that a post originally published on 4 March 2021 had been reviewed and determined to have "violated our malware and viruses policy". It was then deleted. 50% of my output for the calendar year was gone at the stroke of a (digital) bureaucratic pen!

Naturally, I had not kept a copy of the post because such responsibility was a characteristic of the former me who managed his blogging schedule studiously. So a detailed review of the (now invisible) text to identify the offending material was ought of the question. On the other hand, I had little difficulty recalling the general content of the post. It was one of two grumpy-old-man reviews excoriating My Heritage for the less than stellar quality of the predicted family relationships that they insisted on emailing me.

It was at this point that paranoia and conspiracy theories kicked in. Surely it could not be that my humble rants had so enraged the corporate behemoth My Heritage that it sought the assistance of its fellow on-line Titan to silence me? Of course not.

While I wondered how to seek redress, a second email arrived (at 21:10 Sat 15 May) advising that the post had been re-evaluated and was now "reinstated" at its original URL. Except, when I clicked through, it was not available for viewing. The page loaded with a message advising the post did not exist. Perhaps it would take a few minutes to appear.

30 hours later, I was still unable to see the post that had apparently caused such offence against the good-governance standards of the community. Clearly, I need to intervene but all the information that I had received from Blogger came from a "no reply" address. Eventually I found the Blogger Support Community, where the trending topics (headed Error Messages and Accessing my Blog) suggested that I was not alone.

A stream of posts complained of receiving the very same unwarranted deletion notice and a Platinum Product Expert (sic) responded "your posts may have been removed in error. Blogger is aware of the issue, and is working on a fix." A little further down the conversation trail was the revelation that the purportedly reinstated posts "will be drafts, so you have to republish them".

I have now finished repairing the damage wrought by Blogger's artificial intelligence. When I hit Publish, my output for 2021 to date will actually exceed that of the whole of 2020. Oh for the heady days of 2012, or even 2013.

I really must find a way to recapture the enthusiasm that once saw me commited to regular posts that in turn drove me to undertake the type of focussed investigation that would generate good post fodder. I cannot continue to rely on big corporations making me suffiently angry to switch into keyboard warrior mode in order to be productive. (Blogger please note.)

Can I help you with that?

I think it is wonderful that My Heritage (and others who extract annual subscriptions from family history researchers) seek new and exciting uses of information technology to reveal previously undiscovered insights that will justify the expense. But the sad reality is that occasionally the cutting edge of technology can leave scars.

Today I received another exciting revelation of a "new" Theory of Family Relativity. Sadly, its chain of reasoning depends upon the same invalid assumption (that my great-grandmother who migrated to Australia in 1881 was recorded in the UK 1891 Census, presented with 27% confidence) as the previous effort. Feeling that it would be unfair to damn a whole program on the basis of two tiny misteps (well technically, the same misstep twice), I resolved to review all twelve offerings.

Only three of the other ten "theories" included that same logical break (but one of those did offer three internal options, all of which fell at the same obstacle). That is, 41% of the output of this program (in my case) is invalidated by exactly the same flawed reasoning.

Five other theories each relied upon a match for Jane in an earlier census (although not a correct match) to bridge back to a parent who was apparently buried in the United States (although he definitely died in Australia). For those keeping score, that leaves two "theories" (16%) that match connections that I had already made through old-fashioned document analysis.

No doubt the experience of others will differ. I felt terribly guilty about having not drawn these shortcomings to the attention of My Heritage when the first message arrived; in order to save them the time, expense and embarassment of continuing to rely upon false reasoning.

… simply ignore any theory that you consider incorrect.¹

Even in My Heritage does not care (although "perhaps" their view will change), I still feel that the blame for this mess rests with me. If I had uploaded a more comprehensive tree, their algorithm could select different starting points and hence have the opportunity to make different errors instead of repeating the same nonsense over and over. There is surely a minimum level of data below which the type of extrapolation being undertaken has a very high probability of error. Since I have not met that threshold, I ought not be entitled to these high-level services.

Why not place a warning on each member's tree that is likely to generate erroneous "theories" to give the owner the option to improve the tree to the required minimum or to lose the privilege of receiving (what will almost certainly be) speculative works of family fiction.

As an interim measure I have taken the only path offered and "updated my preferences" to stop the email notifications of each new Theory. I imagine that they will still be generated and attached to my DNA "matches" but at least I can ignore them there and reduce the impact on my blood pressure.

1 https://faq.myheritage.com/en/article/what-if-a-theory-of-family-relativity-is-wrong

A theory is meant to explain something.

My Heritage has just forwarded me the latest instalment in their fantasy series Theory of Family Relativity™. They boast that they have "found a theory that can explain how one of your DNA Matches is related to you" and inform me (in large bold type) that "R.... R..... is your 4th cousin once removed".

Some epistemologists might be puzzled by the idea that a theory can be "found" rather than being painstakingly constructed. But in this case I am happy to accept that finding a theory (sic) is a convenient shorthand for "cobbling together from a pile of old tat that was lying around the office".

The moment that I clicked the link to View Theory, the merest hint of reality crept into the over-weening confidence of the email message. In type distinctly smaller than the statement of the AssertionTheory of Family Relativity itself, I read "This path is based on one community tree, 3 record collections and 5 MyHeritage family trees, with 20% confidence."

As I scrolled across multiple screens, I realised that this was a Tarzan argument -- leaping from tree to tree with naught but a loincloth to hide one's shame. Each of the eight transitions depends upon the auxiliary hypothesis "so long as these two persona actually represent the same unique individual".

To be fair, My Heritage does not try to hide this essential feature of their case. At each change of source, they have assigned a percentage probability (although they might prefer a more positive term, like confidence or even certainty). Those probabilities range from 92% (that my grandmother in my tree is the same person as someone with identical name and vital dates in another tree) to 20% that R.... R...'s grandfather was reported in the 1891 Census with a different surname, preferred given name and date of birth to those by which he was apparently known to his family.

The complete set of probabilities upon which the chain of the argument depends is {92%, 27%, 27%, 37%, 27%, 100%, 25%, 20%}. I will freely admit that it has been many years since I studied compounding probabilities but I am fairly certain that simply taking the smallest value in the set and assigning that to the complete chain is not how we did it. But that is the only way that I can see by which they could have arrived at the value they quote viz "with 20% confidence".

I did think that a more realistic estimate of P(IF a AND b AND c) might be P(a)*P(b)*P(c); but if the top of the page had read "with 0.0335% confidence" perhaps not everyone would read on.

But set aside the mathematical pedantry, and let's examine the actual genealogical evidence that has been assembled. I am happy to accept that my grandmother has been correctly identified in the second tree, so we shall move on to the next leap - into the 1891 UK Census. I am actually surprised that the quoted proability is as high as 27% given that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of young women of Welsh-heritage called Jane Davies. Just why this "theory" should choose one called Sarah Jane as its "match" is somewhat puzzling.

But that point is moot because the probability of Nan who arrived in Queensland aboard the SS Corona in 1884 later being recorded living in England in 1891 is actually nil (or a bit less). Since the smallest probability of any individual step in the argument is now zero, the confidence that one can have in the theory as a whole, even by My Heritage's idiosyncratic algorithm, is ZERO.

The revelation that Tarzan's grip on the vine failed at just the second swing took away all my enthusiam for revealing any subsequent nonsense bundled in the Theory.

I imagine that R... R... has come to the same conclusion as he begins to explore the theory from his end. I do hope that he does not waste too much time because there is nothing for him on this side.