Many people have noted that Y2K brings doomsday enthusiasts, conspiracy theorists, and paranoids out of the woodwork. Paranoia is only one way of characterizing this mind-set. I prefer a description from Richard Landes, director of the Center for Millennial Studies: "Those who are overcome by the apocalyptic narrative to such an extent that they live within it are perpetually in an advanced state of semiotic arousal."
That is, believing strongly that mankind is in the end times of prophecy, they are always searching for signs that confirm this belief. As previously mentioned (see Part I), any stirrings of conflict quickly become "wars and rumors of wars." Earthquakes, plagues and the other traditional signs are easily fitted into the apocalyptic narrative. But virtually any event can be read as an apocalyptic sign, and warnings of catastrophe can be found anywhere and everywhere: in crop circles, UFO sightings, Bible codes, horoscopes, the prophecies of Nostradamus, in the daily headlines, even in Hollywood films.
In a context where this overinterpretation becomes the norm, how could news about Y2K be any different? To an apocalyptic audience hungry for signs and eager to overcome the mainstream media's standard portrait of them as crackpot survivalist maniacs, Y2K was like manna from heaven. It represented a validation by eminent technical and scientific authorities of what they had been claiming all along: that technological humanity was headed for a fall.
That the predicted catastrophes are expected at the beginning of 2000, a year that has been the focus of trembling anticipation by Christian prophecy believers for centuries, is too delicious a coincidence to ignore -- especially for those who believe that there are no coincidences.
For many, then, news of the anticipated failure of global computer systems is a sign of the end of the world foretold in prophecy. For others who cannot fully embrace Y2K as a sign of the imminent return of Jesus, there is a secularized version of the Y2K apocalypse: not "the end of the world," but merely "the end of the world as we know it" (often reduced to a shorthand acronym, TEOTWAWKI).
The end of the world as we know it may not be the same thing as the end of the world, but it is still serious enough. Those who have committed themselves to the view that Y2K is likely to cause major problems are now in the same position as their semiotically aroused religious brethren: they are avidly searching for signs of a severe crisis.
The thing that escapes many secular folk who puzzle over the appeal of apocalypticism is the fact that to the true believer, the predominant emotion that accompanies the knowledge of impending catastrophe (whether or not the knowledge is correct) is not fear, but pleasure -- pleasure at the prospect of watching the powerful receive their comeuppance, at being proven right, at being one of the knowledgeable few who foresaw the catastrophe and prepared for it.
Dedicated Y2K survivalists have a significant stake in catastrophe; the greater the magnitude of the disaster, the happier they will be. If Y2K turns out to be what some experts are now predicting, a "bump in the road" that will hardly jar the economy, then there will be a lot of disappointed people. The most dedicated of these people may even have an interest in creating social disruptions that will transform their bunkers and their stockpiles of food and ammunition from public embarrassments to practical preparation.
Dedicated Y2K survivalists have a significant stake in catastrophe; the greater the magnitude of the disaster, the happier they will be.
I don't wish to focus undue attention on the survivalist wing of Y2K activists, or to insinuate that apocalyptic beliefs and discourses characterize all attempts by religious communities to anticipate Y2K. There are plenty of religiously-based Y2K agnostics -- by which I mean, agnostics about Y2K -- who see it is a potential source of problems and/or disasters, but who resolutely refuse an apocalyptic interpretation.
These "middle-of-the-roaders" are looking to Y2K not as an apocalyptic event, but simply as an opportunity for Christian witness. They urge us to prepare for Y2K not because it is the first event in a sequence leading up to the Great Tribulation, but because it may offer a unique chance to do what Christians are supposed to do according to the message of their founder: to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and care for the widow and orphan.
There are probably more such people than there are hard-core Y2K survivalists, but there's no doubt which of these groups plays better on the nightly TV news.
With half a year to go before the prophesied catastrophe, it is too soon to tell which group will be proven correct. I have a standard philosophy of risk assessment, which is to take the best and the worst case scenarios and split the difference. That means I am looking for some problems, but not of such magnitude that our world becomes unrecognizable. I also don't discount the possibility that people's fears about what will happen may produce more significant impacts of Y2K than any actual computer failures.
The principle of caveat emptor ("let the buyer beware") should apply to just about every source in the Information Age; it is crucially important with Y2K, where a failure to sift fact from fancy may have immense consequences. There is certainly a problem with the spread of rumors, unsubstantiated information, and even hoaxes on the Web. As an example of a story that supports the "rumors and falsehoods proliferating on the Web" scenario, check out the controversy that erupted in discussion threads on the well-known Timebomb 2000 site when independent muckraker Stephen Poole posted a hoaxed Y2K alarm from a supposedly inside source in an electrical utility. Poole does acknowledge that the hoax was eventually uncovered ("An Experiment in Web Journalism"), but only because he loaded his faux memo with easily detectable joke references. And the alacrity with which the hoax was initially accepted gives cause for concern.
At the same time, we should be careful not to automatically dismiss information or questions that come from individuals or Web sites that are not part of the mainstream media. If many Y2K information services have an ax to grind, products to sell, or a covert theological agenda, this doesn't mean the information they purvey is bad. Some of my favorite sources of Y2K news and commentary are those where hostility to received opinion and "the official story" borders on the downright paranoid. One can usually count on y2knewswire.com, for example, for a skeptical/cynical reading of Y2K news and PR that -- if not necessarily accurate in its interpretations -- often leads the diligent investigator toward some interesting and important lines of inquiry. For example, when an official statement claims that "mission-critical" systems are "Y2K ready" or "Y2K compliant," how are these terms defined? What significance should we place on the presumably deliberate choice of words such as "compliant" and "ready" anyway?
The proliferation of sites like y2knewswire, devoted to debunking the calming statements of corporate and government leaders, raises some important questions. How can the media, corporations, and government devise a constructive strategy for reporting and disseminating Y2K information to the sizeable portion of the American audience that is trained to disbelieve much of what they read, hear, or see in the news? What approaches toward disclosure are necessary when public statements by leading figures of business and government are routinely assumed by many to be misleading falsehoods?
A thoughtful essay by Victor Porlier argues that "a sizeable percentage of the American public will not believe any reassurances from corporate, governmental or technological experts anyway," and that this skepticism will contribute to widespread uncertainty with consequences as yet unforeseen. I agree with Porlier's conclusion that this "culture of disbelief" will have a major impact on the way this crisis plays out in the months ahead. I would like to go one step further in characterizing this situation as a crisis of authority, one which affects religion as well as journalism and politics, and to suggest that the religious dimension of Y2K may have a significant impact in the way the millennium crisis plays out in our political and cultural life.
If journalists and public leaders would take up the challenge of Y2K reporting and disclosure, giving people realistic assessments of the progress of remediation and the risks of failure, then perhaps it might be possible to reverse the prevailing trend of cynicism. Given the performances we've seen so far from public officials and the media, however, I'm not holding my breath for this. Even if the trend is irreversible, the media cannot afford to leave investigative reporting to the paranoid. If the mainstream news outlets fail to respond to this challenge, they will have proved their own obsolescence by abandoning the field to cranks, conspiracy theorists and the occasional concerned citizens. The worst case is that these independents could help to promote a dangerous social panic over Y2K; in the best case, they can ask important questions but rarely have the resources to find the answers.
Stephen D. O'Leary is an associate professor at the USC Annenberg School for Communication.