Controlled failure¶

Commander Vimes had been in law enforcement long enough to understand the difference between the system failing and the system working as intended.

“Three homeless people froze to death last night,” he reported to Vetinari.

“How regrettable,” Vetinari said, without looking up from his paperwork.

“It’s the fourth time this month.”

“Quite concerning.”

“We could open the old warehouse as emergency shelter. Cost maybe two thousand euros to heat it through winter.”

Now Vetinari looked up. “My dear Commander, we’ve discussed this. The city simply doesn’t have resources for every charitable impulse. We must prioritize.”

The thing was, the city had just spent eight thousand euros on new ceremonial uniforms for the Palace Guard, who were mostly decorative. The city had approved six thousand euros for repainting the Opera House. The city had somehow found twelve thousand euros for The Patrician’s Discretionary Fund, which was discrete primarily about what it was actually funding.

But two thousand euros to prevent people from freezing to death? Not realistic. Not pragmatic. Not in the budget.

“The thing is,” Vimes said carefully, “if enough people freeze, we’ll have a riot.”

“Ah,” said Vetinari. “Now that would be concerning.”

And there it was. The system could fail individuals constantly. The Watch received reports daily: families evicted, children going hungry, people dying of preventable illnesses because healers cost money. These were sad, regrettable, concerning incidents. Dots on a map.

But if those dots connected into a line, if those individuals became a mob, if the failure became collective rather than personal… well, that was different. That threatened the system itself.

“We cannot allow disorder,” Vetinari continued. “If the situation approaches that point, we’ll naturally take appropriate action. Emergency measures. Temporary shelter. Food distribution. Whatever is required to restore calm.”

“And until then?”

“Until then, Commander, people must be responsible for themselves. We cannot nanny the citizenry. That way lies dependency.”

The Watch files were full of dependencies: dependencies on alcohol because reality was unbearable, dependencies on Slab because depression was untreatable, dependencies on crime because employment was unavailable. But those were individual moral failures, apparently. Nothing to do with the system.

Drumknott brought in the weekly crime statistics. Vimes glanced at them. Theft up. Assault up. Begging up. All the usual indicators of an economy that worked brilliantly for some people and catastrophically for others.

“The system is failing,” Vimes said bluntly.

“The system is functioning,” Vetinari corrected. “It’s simply not functioning for everyone. That’s not a flaw, Commander. That’s a feature. If it functioned perfectly for everyone, where would the incentive be to succeed? To work hard? To better oneself?”

“Most of these people are working two jobs and still can’t afford bread.”

“Then they should work harder,” Vetinari said, returning to his papers. “Or smarter. The market rewards efficiency.”

The market was rewarding the Bread Cartel, who’d somehow managed to raise prices seventeen percent whilst Guild-mandated wages had risen three percent. The mathematics of this were causing interesting effects in the Shades, mostly involving increased incidents of what the Watch euphemistically termed “alternative food acquisition.”

But that was individuals failing to afford bread. Not the system failing to provide it. Important distinction.

“Sir,” Vimes tried once more, “people are dying.”

“People are always dying, Commander. That’s life. What matters is whether they’re dying in an orderly fashion or a disorderly one. Orderly dying I can live with. Disorderly dying becomes my problem.”

Vimes left. He’d do what he could, as he always did. The Watch would look the other way on some thefts. He’d accidentally forget to arrest some squatters. Small acts of disobedience that kept the dots from connecting into lines.

Up in his office, Vetinari made a note to monitor the Shades more closely. The system could tolerate remarkable amounts of individual suffering. It was the collective response to suffering that required management.

As long as people believed their problems were personal rather than systemic, the system remained safe. The trick was making sure they never compared notes.

Fortunately, that’s what the Guilds were for.