No Problem

Is it a question, a problem or an issue?

Stay with me, as defying recommended norms of essay writing, once again it’s going to take me several paragraphs to get to the meat of this post.

My friends are familiar with some of my peccadillos of everyday speech. I bristle—and so should you—at being told that this or that TV program has been “prerecorded.” (We hear that less today than in the past.) Or that your airline flight is ready for “preboarding.” What does “pre” add? “This program was recorded" would do, as would “We will now start the boarding process.”

I have a bigger problem with “No problem,” which you must hear regularly, particularly from a server at a restaurant. You might ask for some ketchup that is missing from your table. “No problem,” replies the server. Or, “Can I get the check.”¹ The response: “No problem.”

Now, why should I have thought either of those requests would be a problem in a restaurant? This is what the server is paid to do (by the management and via gratuities). On the other hand, if I was in a Shake Shack and asked if the order taker could arrange for steak tartare, then a response of “No problem” would be surprising but appropriate in that context.

This is the long way around to a different problem: When does a question become a problem? And when does a problem turn into an issue? It is not uncommon for many of us to conflate the triumvirate of “Question,” “Problem.” “Issue.” As in “The question of a wealth tax is being considered by Congress. Substitute “problem” or “issue” for “question.” Are they synonymous?

In everyday usage, no problem. However, these three terms have very different characteristics in the context of strategy or policy for government, business, and notably in academic research. The three move from the simply curious to the realm of important.

For example, a question might be “How many angels can fit on the head of a pin?” It really doesn’t matter what one answers. The number would not solve any known problem. There is no issue to be resolved, other than perhaps for a purely theological discussion.

Is the moon made of green cheese?

Try this one: “Is the moon made of green cheese?” For millennia, whether it was or not made no real difference. There was no problem an answer addressed.

But in the mid-20th century, as we started the process of actually sending probes and people to the moon, what its surface was like did matter. What it was made of could be a problem for landing rockets. More realistically, determining the nature of the surface of the moon was a problem to be solved. If everyone agreed that it was made of green cheese, then the problem could be directly addressed—we all agree and can deal with it. An issue arises when there is contentiousness from various parties about what to do about the problem. The pro-green cheese advocates toss out their research and opinions, which would lead to one way to configure a landing craft. Other advocates promote the notion that the surface is rock, so there is a different solution for landing craft configuration. Conflict ensues.

As a principal at the Program on Information Policy Research (PIRP) at Harvard in the 1980s, I was tasked with advancing its mission to “watch how the major blocks in the information and communications world” were “evolving and affecting one another as well as their effect on society as a whole.” In short, my colleagues and I were on the edge of conflict, controversy, and change. With limited resources (resources are always limited), we had to pick our spots on what was most productive of our attention. Our test was whether it was an issue where the stakes were substantial, and the outcome mattered to players and stakeholders.

Is AI a question, problem, or an issue?

Let me put this process to a current question. Is AI good or bad? Five years ago—maybe even one year ago—this would have been largely a green cheese type of question. Yes, there was the occasional article about the technology. But for the most part, there was no perceived problem, let alone an issue to be grappled with. Or, at least, not in salient, public view. Thus, there was no issue. It became a problem when ChatGPT was unleashed to the public in November 2022. And from there quickly rose to the level of an issue, as nightmare scenarios quickly competed with the benefits the technology could unleash. Predictability, our legislators soon proposed regulation.

Clearly, AI has quickly escalated from a question to a highly contentious issue. On the other hand, a top-level issue can fade away. In 1979, when the first edition of my book Who Owns the Media? was published, media competition was top of mind at the Federal Trade Commission and in the popular press. There was hand-wringing over the supposed monopoly power of three large broadcast networks and major newspaper chains in controlling the news and the political agenda. Gannett was the dominant newspaper chain.

Today, most newspapers are barely surviving, with Gannett clinging to life by downsizing. Broadcasters were undermined first by cable networks, then by Netflix and the streamers. Media ownership is barely a problem, let alone an issue. That has been replaced by the issue of the perceived dominance of a new set of players: Google, Apple, Amazon, Facebook, none of them media companies by any traditional measure.

Why does this matter? Well, most of the time it doesn’t. A server who I ask for a few extra napkins with my dripping cheesesteak and says that is “no problem” is not the issue.² But it does become relevant for a grad student looking for a topic for a dissertation which may consume two or three years. Or for an entrepreneur seeking a business opportunity, a philanthropist exploring a mission for a foundation, or an environmentalist looking to make a difference. And even for a blogger deciding what to spend a few hours writing about.

When I was a grad student, a professor pointed out that in my career I might be able to research and write maybe five or six major papers.³ He advised me to pick my spots carefully. What I learned later was to make sure I was dealing with bona fide issues.

1. Note that I didn’t use a question mark at the end, as this isn’t a real question. I could have snapped my fingers and asserted, “Check, please.”

2. See what I did there?

3. To be sure, there are some prolific academics and legal scholars who have dozens of book, papers, and articles. A close look, however, would often find that many revolve around a handful of themes that get expanded and revised over the years. My own bibliography would be an example.