Kansas was never like this

Originally published 18 November 1991

“Good gra­cious, Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore.”

No, Dorothy, this isn’t Kansas. It’s Cyber­land. You and your dog were picked up by the cyclone of his­to­ry and plunked down here.

“Oh! A talk­ing scare­crow! Can you tell me, are we far from Kansas?”

Not far. Only about ten or twen­ty years.

“Whose feet are those stick­ing out from under Uncle Hen­ry’s and Aunt Em’s house? Oh dear! The house must have fall­en on her.”

That’s the Witch of the East, Dorothy. Don’t wor­ry about her. She was obso­lete, any­way. Just look at her wand. A plain old stick. These days witch­es use Smart­Wands, with micro­com­put­ers net­worked direct­ly to the Sil­i­con City and the Wiz­ard of Cyberland.

“You seem so smart for a scare­crow. Back in Kansas our scare­crows have straw in their heads.”

Ha! So there you have it. Cyber­land scare­crows are intel­li­gent. Our heads are fit­ted with com­put­ers that enable us to respond with max­i­mum effi­cien­cy to the nui­sance of crows. We’re net­worked too, via fiber optic cable, to the Wiz­ard’s ultra­high-speed main­frame com­put­er. The Wiz­ard knows exact­ly how many crows we have scared, and we know exact­ly when the crows are com­ing our way.

“Who is this Wiz­ard? Is he a good man?”

He is a good wiz­ard, but whether he is a man or not I can­not tell, for I have nev­er seen him. Per­haps he is a super­com­put­er. Per­haps he is the net­work of all the com­put­ers in Cyberland.

“If I go to see him, can he help me get home to Kansas?”

I’m sure he’ll help you, but there’s no need to go to him. Here in Cyber­land every­thing is done by e‑mail. I can remem­ber the time when if you want­ed to go to the Sil­i­con City you fol­lowed the yel­low brick road. Not any­more. Every com­put­er in Cyber­land is con­nect­ed to every oth­er com­put­er. Com­mu­ni­ca­tion and infor­ma­tion is passed almost instan­ta­neous­ly from place to place.

“Gra­cious. I nev­er heard of any­thing like that in Kansas.”

In Cyber­land we have reached the fourth stage of com­put­er tech­nol­o­gy. In the first stage, back in the 1960s, there were just a few big com­put­ers. Peo­ple came to the com­put­ers and used them for one task at a time. Then came time-shar­ing in the 1970s. One big com­put­er ser­viced lots of ter­mi­nals and worked on many tasks at once. In the third stage, dur­ing the 80s, com­put­ers had become so cheap and pow­er­ful that any­body who want­ed one could have one on their desk­top. Now in Cyber­land most per­son­al com­put­ers are con­nect­ed togeth­er, and linked to huge data­bas­es and super­com­put­ers. Even a scare­crow like me has instant access to…

“I think I should like to see the Wiz­ard as soon as possible.”

…all of the infor­ma­tion in the Sil­i­con City libraries, busi­ness data, sports events, trav­el and restau­rant reservations.

“I’m afraid I could nev­er learn how to use a computer.”

Ah, Dorothy, that’s the beau­ty of things in Cyber­land. Com­put­ers have become so ubiq­ui­tous that they are invis­i­ble. As easy to use as flick­ing a switch to turn on the lights. Let’s say that I want­ed to trav­el to the Sil­i­con City. I point to ‘Trav­el’ on the big high-res­o­lu­tion screen of my TV-Info­s­ta­tion. A map appears. I point to the Sil­i­con City. A menu comes up with trav­el pref­er­ences — time of day for trav­el, seat­ing pref­er­ences, that sort of thing. I point to my choic­es. Flight options appear. I point. A reser­va­tion is made. The cost of the tick­et is deduct­ed from my bank account. Lat­er on, if there is a change or delay, that infor­ma­tion too will appear on my screen.

“Can I book a flight to Kansas?”

In Cyber­land, trav­el agents are a thing of the past. As are mail car­ri­ers, FAX machines, the Yel­low Pages, video cas­settes, mer­chan­dise cat­a­logs. Even tele­vi­sion news pro­grams are per­son­al­ized. Did you know that thou­sands of hours of tele­vi­sion pro­gram­ming can be trans­mit­ted to your TV over fiber cable dur­ing a typ­i­cal day, far, far more than you could ever watch. Here in Cyber­land, our TV-Info­s­ta­tions have mem­o­ry and inter­ac­tive dis­play. We can pick and choose what we want to see, and in how much depth. We are freed at last from con­straints of space and time. Here in my corn­field I have access to all the infor­ma­tion in the land.

“My good­ness, I don’t think I should know what to do with so much infor­ma­tion. I think I would rather sit in the hayloft and watch Uncle Hen­ry milk his cows.”

Get with it, Dorothy. Where else but in Cyber­land could a scare­crow like me know as much as the Wiz­ard? Where else could my pal the Tin Wood­man have access to lots and lots of friends — with­out going out in the rain. Ubiq­ui­tous com­put­ers! Unlim­it­ed infor­ma­tion! Just ask me what you want from my Info­s­ta­tion. Bach or hard rock in corn­field-fill­ing stereo? Tonight’s spe­cials at our local restau­rant? A clas­sic movie? The lat­est stock mar­ket reports from the Sil­i­con City?…

“I won­der if this Wiz­ard real­ly cares so much about me.”

…Play games? Read a rare book? Check the weath­er reports from any­where on earth?…

“I should just like to see my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.”

…Send a let­ter to your Aunt Em? File your income tax­es? Check your cred­it rat­ing? See all the prop­er­ty for sale in Cyberland?…

“Oh dear, Toto. I’m begin­ning to think we shall nev­er get back to Kansas.”

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Com­put­er sci­en­tist Tim Bern­ers-Lee, the inven­tor of the World Wide Web, cre­at­ed the first web­site in Decem­ber 1990. Since then, nei­ther Cyber­land nor Kansas has ever been the same. ‑Ed.