Little of that sounds familiar to 46-year-old Xavier Rah, a lifelong Washingtonian who lives in the neighborhood with his wife and his son. Rah doesn’t own a cellphone and has never heard of SketchFactor. And in his neighborhood, where everyone knows everyone else’s children and grandparents, and where most people live in neat, semi-detached townhouses with postage-stamp lawns, he doesn’t know much about “sketchiness,” either.
“It’s a good city,” he said, looking out on the street. “I don’t think any individual should have the power to plague a neighborhood based on what they think.”
This is the critical dissonance at the core of SketchFactor, a crowdsourced safety-mapping app that launched to accusations of racism and profiling on Aug. 7. The app’s stated purpose — to empower communities with more information about crime and safety in their neighborhoods — is hard to fault. But a tone-deaf marketing campaign rife with overtones of socioeconomic and racial privilege, combined with the concerted efforts of Internet pranksters, trolls and satirists, have crippled SketchFactor and posed serious questions about the role of technology in addressing social ills.
“It’s hard to even find words to describe how I feel about this app,” said amalia deloney, the associate director of the Center for Media Justice. “It’s atrocious. It’s getting into really dangerous territory. And I think it represents everything that’s wrong with technology: making it not for the many, but for the privileged few.”
Case in point: You can only use SketchFactor if you have an iPhone, which — as deloney points out — few low-income people do. After downloading the app, users can browse a map for reports of “sketchy” behavior and share stories of their own.
As of Tuesday morning, nearly 2,000 SketchFactor reports had been filed in D.C., all given a rating between 1 and 5, with 5 being the most “sketchy.” These incidents submitted by users ranged from a homeless man at New York Avenue and I Street NW to a group of people loitering outside the Aldi in Southeast to a suspicious run-in with police on the eastern end of the H Street corridor.
Farragut Square — where one of the app’s co-founders, Allison McGuire, worked until decamping to Manhattan to work on the app full-time — collected a rating of “3” for two “weird guy” sightings. (Someone also complained of loud construction at Connecticut Avenue and 18th St. NW.)
Those weird guys, if not the construction, were on McGuire’s mind when she dreamed up the app as a D.C. resident last year. A young woman in the big city, working first on Capitol Hill and later just north of Farragut Square, McGuire says she “kept hearing fun, strange, and alarming stories of exploring the streets.” McGuire’s background is in the progressive nonprofit sector — she has previously canvassed for same-sex marriage rights and drafted national security reform legislation — and she believed an app could pool everyone’s street smarts, for everyone’s good.
That refrain — that SketchFactor is for everyone, by everyone — is one McGuire repeats.
“SketchFactor is an empowerment tool for anyone, anywhere, at any time,” she told The Post twice via e-mail. “… People choose how they use their technology. That’s not up to us.”
But while McGuire’s intentions may have been good, reality has proved more slippery. Early press on SketchFactor, published even before the app came out, savaged it as a platform for privileged yuppies to air their petty biases or, worse, avoid minorities entirely. The app’s founders were accused of promoting racism and mocking poverty. Repeatedly, critics asked why they used the word sketchy — a vague, subjective term fraught with all kinds of cultural and socioeconomic judgments — rather than something more benign. After all, something that looks “sketchy” to a well-coiffed L.A. transplant like McGuire probably doesn’t look “sketchy” to someone like Xavier Rah, who has lived in D.C. all his life.
Critics from deloney to musician Questlove to sports talk-show host Bomani Jones also worried that SketchFactor could blacklist entire neighborhoods or communities — like a bad Yelp review, but for entire city blocks. And that, activists say, makes it a tool of disempowerment, not the other way around.
“In the short term, maybe it helps you avoid a certain block with a lot of street harassment,” said Karen Gregory, a sociologist who has lectured extensively on technology and urbanism. “But in the long term, it’s changing how you participate in a neighborhood, how you comport yourself, who you talk to … The bigger story is that we’re relying on data to inform our social interactions.”
The data involved aren’t quite accurate, either: A comparison of the available SketchFactor reports for D.C. and actual crime data from the Metropolitan Police Department revealed few clear overlaps. (McGuire said the app incorporates public crime data in its “backend,” which is not visible to a casual user.)
And because SketchFactor does not screen or moderate incident reports before they’re filed, it’s all too easy to make things up: One user reported a fictional murder from Netflix’s “House of Cards,” while another slapped the Clarendon Crate and Barrel with a “sketchy” rating.
“Crate and Barrel may be financially dangerous if you want a $2,000 table,” joked Jessica Roman, 36, an Arlington doctor who sat outside the store drinking iced tea on Monday afternoon. (Spotting a bee near her drink, she added, “That’s the scariest thing here.”)
But McGuire and co-founder Daniel Herrington have no plans to change the app in light of the criticism they’ve received. In an e-mailed statement to The Post, McGuire said she was “proud of the product” and “excited” to see people use it; in tweets dating back almost a year, she certainly sounds convinced that SketchFactor could help people — marginalized people, in particular. When a transgender teen was stabbed on a Green Line train in late July, McGuire mused online that her app could have helped. She also tweeted, long before the app’s controversial launch, that it could be of use to women who face cat-calling and street harassment, or minorities who want to document problems with police.
“My career is dedicated to empowering communities,” McGuire said in an e-mail, later adding: “Communities know their issues better than anyone else. We provide the technical data to help solve the issues they face.”
But that doesn’t comfort people like 25-year-old Grace Minus, who lives in Congress Heights in Southeast D.C. The only SketchFactor review of Minus’ neighborhood gives it a 5, for “dangerously” sketchy: A user claims he was “followed and attacked by two males” there.
“You hear people say it’s really ghetto,” Minus admitted, but she didn’t think that reputation should drive visitors away.
“I try hard not to be prejudiced,” she said. “I think people need exposure to different people.”
Karen Chen and Victoria St. Martin contributed to this report.