**Reprinted here with the author's permission**
Subject: Shouting 'Fire' in a Crowded Y2K Theater, 19 March 1998
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 12:06:16 -0500 (EST)
Welcome to the Y2000 E-Mail Advisor, a weekly electronic briefing
from
Ed Yourdon, Director of the Cutter Consortium's Y2000 AdvisoryService.
SHOUTING 'FIRE' IN A CROWDED Y2K THEATER
Perhaps it's an indication that Y2K awareness has hit another group
of heretofore oblivious folks: I've gotten half a dozen e-mails from
strangers in the past week, warning me that my "alarmist" remarks
about Y2K could trigger bank runs and general panic. "It's like
shouting 'fire' in a crowded theater," one person scolded me.
Perhaps so ... but I'd like you to think about the issue carefully --
especially if you, too, find yourself surrounded by coworkers,
friends, and family members who are much less concerned about Y2K
than you are.
There's no question that it's criminally immoral to shout "Fire!" when
you know there is no fire in the theater; this is often used as the
example of the limit to the First Amendment right of free speech. A
variation on this theme has often been aimed at Y2K vendors (most
recently in a remarkably nasty Forbes magazine article, available
online at
http://www.forbes.com/asp/redir.asp?/tool/html/98/mar/0312/feat.htm
Even if it's not illegal, it's immoral to yell "Fire!" if you
stand to profit from the sale of fire extinguishers, especially if you
exaggerate the size and severity of the blaze. Perhaps such an
accusation is warranted in a few instances, but many of the "alarmist"
statements showing up in the media recently have been from people
like Alan Greenspan, who obviously has nothing to do with the sale of
fire extinguishers.
While others of us may not be as famous or as saintly as Mr.
Greenspan, I think it's fair to say that our Y2K warnings are not
only sincere, but indicative of some important variations on the
fire-in-a-crowded-theater metaphor. Consider this variation: when
the theater was built 10 years ago, you were one of the junior
members of the construction crew. You wondered why they didn't use
all of the formal engineering disciplines you had learned in school,
but the veteran construction workers told you that academic theory
doesn't work in the "real world." You were particularly concerned
that the theater wasn't built with sprinklers or smoke detectors, and
you recall overhearing a heated argument between the construction
foreman and the general contractor. The contractor argued that the
sprinklers and smoke detectors were too expensive, and that the
theater owner had not shown any interest in making the investment,
because he planned to sell the theater within a few years.
Ten years have now passed, and you've settled down, gotten married,
and begun raising a family. Your kids are now clamoring for you to
take them to the movies, and as you sit through the Saturday afternoon
matinee performance, you notice that the fire exits have been blocked
by soda vending machines and arcade games. When you mention this to
the theater manager, he shrugs and says it's never been a problem.
But it worries you, especially when you remember the absence of
sprinklers and smoke detectors -- so you tell your children, to their
considerable annoyance, that they can't go to the theater any
more. And because your friends and neighbors have children, you
decide that you should tell them of the danger, too. Indeed, your
sense of civic duty compels you to stand outside the theater during
your spare time, with a big sign that says, "Unsafe theater!" But
most of your neighbors ignore you, and the theater owner is angry: he
accuses you of being an alarmist, reminds you that there have been no
fires since the theater was built, and threatens to sue you for
endangering his thriving business.
Here's another metaphor: you're sitting in the theater, along with a
couple hundred other patrons, and you catch a whiff of smoke and see
a flash of fire in the corner. The rest of the audience apparently
doesn't see or smell anything; they're far too engrossed in the film,
a romantic farce called "Monica Meets Bubba." Again, you remember
the lack of sprinklers and smoke detectors in the building, and you
wonder what you should do. This is a serious question: what is your
moral responsibility at this point? If there was a smoke detector
system, the warning would be sounded without any involvement on your
part; but you don't have that option. It occurs to you that you
should alert the theater management, since it's presumably their
responsibility to deal with the problem. But when you rush out to
the lobby, you find that the cashier and clerks are sound asleep, and
the theater manager has gone home for the night. When you call to
warn him, he hangs up on you. What now? The easy option would be
to leave, but you feel a sense of responsibility -- after all, you
were involved in building this theater that's about to turn into a
fire trap.
So you go back into the theater and begin tapping some of the patrons
on the shoulder. "Pssst!" you whisper, quietly but urgently. "There's
a fire in the theater!" But only a few people pay attention; most of
them frown at you and whisper in response, "Shush! The Monica story
is just getting to the juicy part!"
One last metaphor: you're sitting in the front row of the movie
theater, together with your spouse and your two young children.
Again, you smell smoke, and you see a fire in the corner of the
theater; and again, you remember the lack of smoke detectors and
sprinklers, as well as the blocked fire exits. What now? If you
jump up onto the stage and shout "Fire!" at the top of your lungs,
you run the risk that (a) people will be trampled to death as they
rush for the exit, and (b) your family might be trapped, because the
only functioning exits are at the rear of the theater. The sad irony
is that most of the audience will shout at you to shut up and sit
down; they REALLY want to see the next episode of the Monica story.
Suppose this was not an theoretical exercise; after all, fires DO
break out in crowded buildings occasionally; and in the absence of
effective leadership, everyone is on their own. Some would be
paralyzed by fear (as seems to be the case with Y2K), but those
capable of acting would have to decide whether their own survival
was more important than that of their fellow theater patrons. In my
case, there would be no hesitation: I would tap my wife urgently on
the shoulder and whisper, "Psst! There's a fire!" My wife, who is
just as fascinated by the Monica story as everyone else, would be
incredibly annoyed; but she knows me well enough to realize that I
wouldn't joke about a life-threatening situation. "Are you sure?!?"
she would whisper back to me crossly. And when I responded that I
was absolutely, positively sure, we would both snap into a
well-rehearsed parental-emergency mode: we would march the children
quickly, quietly, and calmly up the aisle of the theater, and out
through the exit. Only then would I go back into the theater to warn
the others, assuming that management was still abdicating its
responsibility.
The Y2K "fire" has not broken out yet, though we'll begin seeing the
first few flames in 1999, possibly as early as January 1, 1999. But
like many of my Y2K colleagues, I can already smell the smoke, and I
believe, deeply and sincerely, that it's going to be a very bad fire
indeed. We can quibble about whether it's better to whisper or
shout, but now that I've gotten my family out of harm's way, I've got
to warn the rest of the audience before the theater is consumed by
fire. I feel obligated to do so, you see, because I helped build
the theater. It wasn't my decision to leave out the sprinklers and
smoke detectors, but I still share some of the responsibility. So
does the cashier and so does the theater manager. So does the
construction foreman and so does the general contractor. So does
the original owner of the theater. And so do you.
Ciao!
Ed
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
If you'd like to comment on today's Y2000 E-Mail Advisor, send e-mail
to yourdon@cutter.com, or send a letter by fax to +1 781 648 8707 or
by mail to The Y2000 E-Mail Advisor, Cutter Consortium, 37 Broadway,
Arlington, MA 02174-5552 USA
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You can meet Ed Yourdon and the Cutter Consortium faculty members at
Summit '98 -- but only a few seats remain. For more information on
the Summit, call Kara Lovering at 800-964-8702 or 781-648-8702, send
e-mail to klovering@cutter.com, or visit the Cutter Web site,
http://www.cutter.com/consortium/
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
(c) 1998 Cutter Consortium. All rights reserved.
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