(In television, the “stinger” is the clip that plays during or just after the closing credits of a show.)
On Friday, the Web Standards Project announced its own dissolution. I felt a lot of things upon reading the announcement, once I got over my initial surprise: nostalgia, wistfulness, closure. And over it all, a deep sense of respect for the Project as a whole, from its inception to its peak to its final act.
In some ways, the announcement was a simple formalization of a longstanding state of affairs, as the Project has gradually grown quieter and quieter over the years, and its initiatives had been passed on to other, more active homes. It was still impressive to see the group explicitly shut down. I can’t think of the last time I saw a group that had been so influential and effective recognize that it was time to turn off the lights, and exit with dignity. As they wrote:
Thanks to the hard work of countless WaSP members and supporters (like you), Tim Berners-Lee’s vision of the web as an open, accessible, and universal community is largely the reality. While there is still work to be done, the sting of the WaSP is no longer necessary. And so it is time for us to close down The Web Standards Project.
I have a long history with the WaSP. Way, way back, deep in the thick of the browser wars, I was invited to be a member of the CSS Action Committee, better known as the CSS Samurai. We spent the next couple of years documenting how things worked (or, more often, didn’t) in CSS implementations, and — and this was the clever bit, if you ask me — writing up specific plans of action for browsers. The standards compliance reviews we published told browsers what they needed to fix first, not just what they were getting wrong. I can’t claim that our every word was agreed with, let alone acted upon, but I’m pretty confident those reviews helped push browser teams in the right direction. Or, more likely, helped browser teams push their bosses in the direction the teams already wanted to go.
Succumbing to a wave of nostalgia, I spent a few minutes trawling my archives. I still have what I think is all the mail from the Samurai’s mailing list, run through Project Cool’s servers, from when it was set up in August 1998 up through June of 2000. My archive totals 1,716 messages from the group, as well as some of the Steering Committee members (mostly Glenn Davis, though George Olsen was our primary contact during the Microsoft style sheets patent brouhaha of February 1999). If I’m not reading too much into plain text messages over a decade old, we had a pretty great time. And then, after a while, we were done. Unlike the WaSP itself, we never really declared an end. We didn’t even march off into the sunset having declared that the farmers always win. We just faded away.
Not that that’s entirely a bad thing. At a certain point, our work was done, and we moved on. Still, I look back now and wish we’d made it a little more formal. Had we done so, we might have said something like the WaSP did:
The job’s not over, but instead of being the work of a small activist group, it’s a job for tens of thousands of developers who care about ensuring that the web remains a free, open, interoperable, and accessible competitor to native apps and closed eco-systems. It’s your job now…
And so it is. These last years have shown that the job is in very good hands.
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” said Margaret Mead. I see now that the way those small groups truly change the world is by convincing the rest of the world that they are right, thus co-opting the world to their cause. Done properly, the change makes the group obsolete. It’s a lesson worth remembering, as we look at the world today.
I’m honored to have been a part of the WaSP, and I offer my deepest samurai bow of respect to its founders, its members, and its leaders. Thank you all for making the web today what it is.