The Deadline Dilemma
Do you remember Y2K? Throughout the 1990s, businesses and governments all over the world were warned by computer experts that when 1999 ticked over to 2000, computer systems could fail. Planes could crash, utilities cease working, bank accounts disappear, and nuclear missiles might launch.
It would all be caused by a bug, the Millenium Bug. It would infect us at exactly midnight on 31 December 1999.
Committees were formed, new roles created, teams were gathered and consultants engaged. The smallest companies right through to world leaders took this threat seriously, and they all took action. An estimated $300 billion was spent globally to prepare for the bug, and when the bells chimed in the New Year on 1 January 2000 … nothing happened.
Some say it was a hyped up threat and destined to be a non-event. Others say that the threat was avoided because the work had been done. (See The Paradox of Preparation)
Exactly twenty years later, on 31 December 2019, the World Health Organisation received official notification of a different type of bug. This time we were not ready.
The lack of preparation in recent decades for our current Pandemic stands in stark contrast to that of Y2K. Why were we so willing to globally prepare for a bug that could harm computer systems, but so resistant to prepare for one that would take lives?
It’s not like we hadn’t received ample warning. Many millions of people had viewed the hauntingly prophetic TED Talks by Larry Brilliant (2006), Laurie Garrett (2007) and Bill Gates (2015). The evidence for an inevitable Pandemic was compelling. So why didn’t we listen?
It’s not because the problem was too daunting. The steps required to prepare for this challenge were no more complex or costly than that of Y2K. So why didn’t we do it?
It’s not because we didn’t believe the threat was real. From the 1918 Spanish Flu through to the 2003 SARS outbreak and many other times in recent decades, we’ve seen clear evidence that a microscopic bug is capable of wreaking havoc on humanity. Some countries like Taiwan, Singapore, South Korea and Hong Kong were frightened enough by their previous exposure to prepare their defenses, but why weren’t we all?
When you eliminate all the variables and discard the details, there is one simple difference between Y2K and the arrival of SARS-CoV-2, and that is the certainty of the date. The Y2K date was firm, known and immovable. The date of our next Pandemic was not. And so we delayed…and delayed…and we got caught out.
Prioritising our efforts is a game of Russian roulette that we play every day. Despite our rich and complex cognitive capacity for far-reaching imagination and long term planning, the things that really get our attention are those that register as threats on our short-range radar.
By having a fixed date, Y2K presented an explicit threat. But our next Pandemic presented an ambiguous threat. Studies reveal that our brains process these differently. Explicit threats offer us the gift of certainty. Important variables such as “when” or “where” are known, making the necessary response clear. Ambiguous threats force us into rumination. Lacking certainty, we feel compelled to seek more information, to consider the options, and to wait for a reason to act.
Y2K was a rare example of an explicit global threat. Most don’t come with fixed dates, and a threat with an uncertain arrival date is, within the human brain, no threat at all. Just ask frustrated climate activists or health advocates who shower the world with stories and statistics about impending collective or personal doom. They too face the deadline dilemma: they can’t give us one, so we delay.
We will see more turmoil yet: economic, geopolitical, personal. Few of the coming shocks will broadcast their arrival date, or where they might land, or even who they will sweep up in their wake. We must look ambiguity in the eye, see the trap that it lays in our path, and step past it by creating our own certainties. Despite our urge to wait, we must prepare. “The unthinkable” does happen, and while we all hope for the best, it is best to plan for the worst. By doing so, the worst may be avoided.
