by D.L. Kidd
The turning of a millennium is always a little screwy. Of course, the Western World has only witnessed one, way back in 999 A.D. when people were throwing themselves from rooftops, making blood sacrifices in the market and huddling together waiting for a rain of fire that would herald the commencement of Armageddon. Luckily, the Romans had no idea that the birth of Jesus Christ signaled the beginning of a new calendar and so they were cheated of the chance to drive themselves mad at the dawn of a new millennium, having to settle instead for the reign of Augustus and the Pax Romana. Our own millennium, characterized with global expansion, the Age of Reason, enlightenment and technological superiority, would appear to be winding down without a doomsday watch. Unfortunately, no told the computer programmers.
On December 31, 1999, while we're out getting impatiently tipsy waiting for the bloated red light bulb to fall in Times Square, the computers in our homes and offices will be preparing to go through split second death throes. The next day, they will greet us with "End code text" messages or simply won't respond at all. Why? Because they'll think it's January 1, 1900.
Albert Camus once said that "everything is simple. It's men who complicate things." No statement is more apropos for the Year 2000 problem, or the Y2K for short. The issue is simple: most computer programs require a specific date field to perform everything from file storage to complex analytical (and date sensitive) operations. So we just make sure a smooth transition follows by putting in the proper field, right? Wrong.
This is where humans complicate things. When programmers were developing software in the "early days" of the 1960's and 70's, computer memory was a fraction of today's standards. A larger date field would require greater memory capacity that could not then be used to perform more essential functions. The solution was to restrict date fields to two numbers, such that 1986 would read 86 and 1998 would read 98. Programmers left the first two digits out of the date field (19--) to save memory, but in the process left their programs implicitly limited to dates in the 1900s. The computers measure dates on a loop scale from 00-99, not on a scale from 0000-9999 or even 000-999, so at midnight on January 1, 2000, the computers will loop back to the 00, only they'll think that it's 1900 and not 2000. The date loop will have been completed and the computer will either "start" over or relay a message that it has reached the end of the code text, meaning that the date field has reached capacity. Although computer technology has advanced to accommodate such minimal restraints on memory, one of those strange quirks that can linger on to become an anachronistic industry standard occurred and the "two-digit date field" remained common practice until several years ago. The implications are staggering in light of the simple solution that could have easily prevented this from happening.
The Y2K problem is an issue of gargantuan proportions. Analysts estimate that over 5 billion lines of code text for different computer programs contain variants of the two digit date field command. These lines recur in several hundred thousand different programs currently in use. The code can be "fixed" to a four digit date field in a matter of moments--the problem is going through every line of code for every copy of every program that contains the field. If an expert computer programmer working with the fastest available mainframe were to work 60 hours a week remedying the problem, it would take over a million years to finish the job. We have about a year and a half.
So how will the Y2K problem affect society? First, anything with a limited date field is subject to crash. This is a small problem if it's a planner on a personal laptop, a serious problem if it's on a major telecommunications mainframe. Many of the mainframes in use by large corporations were designed and installed during the "two digit" era. When the year 2000 rolls in, these computers will loop back to 1900--rolling back interest rate calculations, billing information, file storage and all other date sensitive information with it. Virtually all the information will be wrong and worthless. Worse yet, the systems may simply cease to function once the end of the date field is complete. The upshot is an international standstill of computerized information systems until the problem is alleviated. The hardest hit sectors? Telecommunications (including ISP and Internet providers that make up the essential backbone of on-line communications), banking and the government.
Second, cost will present a burden. While several organizations have begun scanning their program code for errors and fixing the date fields in preparation for the year 2000, most companies have not even begun to update their "doomed" date fields. The average cost of fixing a corporation's system against the Y2K problem is $5-10 million and many corporate executives fail to see why they should pay such a sum to fix a simple programming error. The quandary is either to pay now or replace later--an inevitable high cost transition funded by the consumer.
Third, legal liability is becoming an increasing probability for companies that fail to protect against the Y2K problem. While some organizations are taking steps to protect their systems, others are not. Yet, those who have taken corrective measures nevertheless will continue to have problems because the flow of information in the market will not be "pure"--some data will be correct and some incorrect information will flow from those who have not updated their systems. If incorrect data taints the correct data of a company that took precautionary measures, will the company have grounds for suit? Since the market is interlocked, a failure in one link of the chain may spell disaster even for those in another which had foresight to tackle the problem now.
Fourth, the extent of the Y2K problem is unknown. No exact measure or record of susceptible code text exists and the extent of the damage is speculative. Interconnectivity and data transmission is likely to spread erroneous information like a digital plague. The Internet, as a conglomeration of thousands of different operational nodes, could be temporarily crushed if portions of the backbone cease to operate. All one can do at this point is to scan existing code and hope to catch all the errors or buy new equipment. And wait.
Midnight, January 1, 2000, is the witching hour. No Cinderella, no Masque of the Red Death, only simple lines of programming language and an array of international computer systems. While we've come a long way during the past millennium, it's interesting to note that something so basic should challenge the intricate structure we've imposed. Indeed, it does seem that we're the ones who complicate things and that's something that may never change.
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