It seemed manageable at first. On the Monday before Christmas, as Winter
Storm Elliot began to build, Southwest Airlines management huddled up to formulate a plan. The following day, it went into motion: after
internal deliberation, and after informing the pilots’ union, Southwest HQ began canceling
flights in advance of the strengthening storm. The notice first directed customers at these
airports to check to see if their flight had been disrupted. Then, the list of airports began to grow. So, the airline started the process of canceling
flights by the hundreds. As the winter storm worsened, that call proved
worthwhile—in fact, with the benefit of hindsight, they didn’t go far enough. But the assumption that undergirded the decision
to cancel—that they could process the cancellations early enough for customers to pivot plans,
and crews to reposition for new routings—proved utterly, devastatingly wrong. You know the rest of the story: temperatures
plummeted, thermometers across Denver plunged 37 degrees in a single hour, foiled travel
plans ruined holidays, 5,700 flights nation-wide canceled before Christmas, and while other
carriers staggered along, Southwest crumbled into crisis, ultimately canceling nearly 17,000
flights and losing out on an estimated $825 million dollars in the final ten days of the
year. It was the biggest meltdown of its kind. Some blamed the storm, others blamed the carrier’s
point-to-point model, while others still blamed the company’s culture. But as time let the hot takes cool, a less
exciting culprit came forward, a culprit that’s hardly unique to Southwest, a culprit, in
fact, that’s less a bug and more an inherent flaw within the industry. While the biggest, the meltdown wasn’t the
first, and while an embarrassment to Southwest alone, it was hardly a crisis unique to the
big, beloved, budget airline. For Southwest, winter Storm Elliot may have
set the stage for the meltdown, but it didn’t cause it. As much as anything, Southwest’s meltdown
was a function of legacy. Southwest made its name as the pioneer of
the low-cost business model through quick turnarounds and point-to-point route networks. While a typical airline will fly their plane
out and right back into their hub, a given day for a Southwest aircraft might start in
San Diego, then continue to Sacramento, Denver, and Nashville, before finishing up in Tampa. Through this network structure, Southwest
could offer nonstop flights where competitors only had one-stops, and by exploiting this
niche, grew into the world’s sixth largest airline. But while efficient in perfect conditions,
this system becomes a liability in the event of a delay or cancellation. Pilots time out, crews don’t make it to
their expected destination for the evening, and planes aren’t positioned in the right
place for the next day’s flights. But weather and unforeseen circumstances—as
they always have—exist. So Southwest has tools for these situations—one
of which is a GE Aeronautics system called SkySolver. Plug data into SkySolver on irregular operations
and its algorithms will, in the words of its brochure: execute flight schedule changes
and cancellations, conduct aircraft routing and equipment swaps, and make fixes to crew
assignments and pairing. That means, if a developing storm was to roll
over Denver and cause Southwest to cancel this inbound flight from Sacramento on account
of the risk that the plane and crew will stay grounded by the weather, it would call on
SkySolver to effectively stem the bleeding, and make sure that problems don’t cascade
to impact the rest of the routing. After arriving in Sacramento, rather than
heading to Denver, SkySolver might send this plane on a passenger-less deadhead to Nashville,
where the crew now nearing the end of their work day could time out and hand the plane
over to the next. Of course that’s only the beginning: while
finding the most cost-efficient solution is simple in the context of this single routing,
it becomes orders of magnitude more complicated when considering the hundreds of additional
Southwest flights passing through. Like, where to reposition this 737 that normally
would’ve been running in and out of Denver all afternoon that has both the space for
the plane and can begin running services the following morning? Or, what to do with this 737 that is running
flights between cities in the storm's path, and thus, is at risk of getting stuck in a
snowed-in airport? And how to make sure the later legs of this
routing get flown when the plane meant to run it won’t make it out of Denver that
morning? Now, SkySolver is powerful enough to run up
to 300 batches of cancellations in 20 minutes, but it does have limitations. First, it creates solutions to cancellations
on the assumption of a static baseline. For it to figure out viable alternatives if
half of Denver’s flights are canceled, it needs to know that the Sacramento-to-Denver
flight has already been canceled, and if it doesn’t, or if the flight is canceled while
the system’s running, SkySolver’s solutions become less tenable, requiring re-runs or
manual intervention. Second, SkySolver is also limited by the data
input into the system. Some of this data comes from an internal tool
of Southwest’s called The Baker. Dispatch processes delays and cancellations
through The Baker to reconfigure routings for aircraft and passengers before the information
is then plugged into SkySolver. Crucially, what The Baker’s data lacks is
crew information—who’s available, where, when, and for how long before they’re timed
out. Now, as the storm worsened and the number
of cancellations increased, the limitations of Southwest’s solver collided, resulting
in a massive tailspin. With crews left out of the equation, the algorithms’
output provided what it thought to be viable solutions, but solutions without pilots and
attendants. Once these flights had to cancel close-in
to departure time when it became apparent that they had only half a crew, everything
else unraveled, as these new cancellations altered SkySolver’s baseline assumptions. Effectively, the software’s blindspot transformed
the expected difficulties of a winter storm—hundreds of flights canceled at least 24 hours out
on the 20th and 21st—into a full blown crisis where Southwest’s tools worsened problems
that it then tried to fix, only to worsen things further. Through Christmas, cancellations occurred
closer and closer to departure times as pilots arrived to planes with no flight attendants,
while planes with no passengers deadheaded on circular, nonsensical routings like this,
as the software essentially panicked—positioning and repositioning planes only for the crew
to time out and get stuck once again. Finally, blind as to where their own crews
were and with flawed programs providing flawed fixes, Southwest went manual, training volunteer
staff at headquarters on how to process pilot and flight attendant forms and preparing for
a hard reset. In the four days following Christmas, Southwest
would cancel an incredible 10,700 flights all because the airline failed to address
a weak point that they had already identified. They had put too much pressure and stacked
up too much complexity onto a fragile IT system that everyone already knew needed an overhaul. And yet, as the calendar flipped, as Southwest
began to stabilize, and as more detailed reporting on the meltdown began to emerge, a new meltdown
stole the spotlight. Now it was the FAA that issued a nation-wide
ground stop. For ninety minutes, no commercial flights
took off, and for the first time since 9/11, American commercial aviation came to a complete
standstill—all because a single software update went sideways, leading to important
pre-flight safety communications having to be relayed manually until they simply could
no longer keep up with the morning rush of flights. And the cycle began again: upset customers,
outraged press, and promises that the old technology that everyone knew would fail would
be looked into. And this pattern didn’t start with Southwest,
either. IT meltdowns hit British Airways in 2017,
then in 2019, then again in 2022; they forced Delta to cancel thousands of flights in 2016
and 2017; they pushed American Airlines to cancel over 1,000 regional flights in 2018. All said they’d do better the next time
and yet all still rely on outdated, over-stretched IT systems that were never designed to handle
the volume of industry growth in the decades since their initial development. But the problems of old, over-stacked IT systems
don’t stop with the backend: while customer-facing systems might look good on the surface, the
most important one, the very system that makes it all possible was created as close in time
to the Wright Brothers’ first flight as to today. When a traveler sees this, it may look modern,
but what they’re actually looking at is a translation of this. Behind the scenes, Google Flights entered
a query into the Global Distribution System: an interconnected set of softwares run by
Amadeus, Sabre, or Travelport. In fact, specifically, it entered this: AD,
to initiate an availability lookup, 08FEB, to indicate the date, then DENLHR, to specify
Denver as the origin and London as the destination. This initiates a query from the GDS system
to another: OAG, which essentially acts as the definitive source of airline scheduling
data worldwide. The GDS then comes back and spits out two
options, one by British Airways, one by United. The strings of letters and numbers indicate
availability across the different fare classes, then the right side provides most other data:
departure time, arrival time, aircraft type, and flight duration. But fare data is still missing: for that,
Google Flights needs to pick a flight, pick a fare class, and enter another query for
its price. But the GDS doesn’t have that data itself:
it seeks the answer from the Airline Tariff Publishing Company which, similarly to the
OAG with scheduling, is the one-stop-shop for pricing data, used by essentially every
major airline globally. So, once again, the GDS will repackage their
response into this: reiterating the flight schedule, then displaying the base fare, the
carrier surcharge, US passenger facility charge, security fee, and international departure
tax, to give a total $630.20 one-way fare on the February 8th British Airways Denver
to London flight. This entire process is repeated for the United
option, which gives Google Flights all the information necessary to populate this screen. But next up is booking, and that’s even
more involved. Regardless of where a booking takes place,
with some limited exceptions, the user interface is just a translation tool to input a string
of commands into the GDS. This sequence initiates the process of creating
a passenger name record, or PNR, to which it will then input a phone number, the name
of the person making the booking, then a precisely-formatted description of the desired flight itinerary. After reconfirming availability and fare price,
the GDS will submit the PNR and return with this: the time limit for actually paying for
the booking. At this point, the booking is confirmed: that
seat is reserved and will stay reserved unless that payment deadline passes without payment. While these days customers typically pay immediately,
in the background it’s rarely required, but this delayed deadline gives an online
travel agency like Expedia, for example, time to process and verify payment from the customer
before actually paying for the ticket themselves, at which point it might become nonrefundable,
leaving the company in a tricky spot if a customer’s credit card payment declines. But even before paying, Expedia will close
out the transaction with the GDS, therefore sending the passenger name record to the airline
which will respond with a modified version including a confirmation number, which is
then extracted and sent to the customer is a flashy, well-formatted email. The GDS, and its associated systems, were
revolutionary for the airline industry. Not only did they make reservations a far
less labor-intensive process, they made essentially every airline reservation system interoperable
with each other. These days it’s fairly simple for airlines
to sell tickets involving other airlines: they’re all using the same GDS already,
so the way United’s internal systems interpret and modify a PNR is the same way Lufthansa’s
would. Theoretically, United could sell you an itinerary
connecting onto an American Airlines flight—they wouldn’t, because they don’t have a commercial
partnership with the airline, but from a technical perspective, there’s nothing stopping them,
and if something goes wrong and your United flight cancels, the airline can and occasionally
will rebook tickets onto American, Delta, and others using this system. But while the GDS was revolutionary, it hardly
still is today. In fact, at airports around the world, when
you step up to a reservations agent, chances are the other side of their screen looks like
this: still today, in 2023, the GDS is operated as a command-line interface, the way computers
worked before graphical user interfaces were popularized in the ‘80s. Command-line interfaces aren’t in and of
themselves an issue, but in context, the difficulty is that using them well requires legitimate
creativity and skill. Let’s say, for example, a customer is here,
in Denver, headed to Zurich, and their 1:40 PM flight to Chicago to connect onto the 7:10
overnight to Zurich just canceled, meaning they won’t make their connection. A rebooking agent would start by querying
the GDS for the next itinerary between the two cities, and they would see there is a
viable one connecting onto a 7:20 PM Swiss Air flight out of LAX, but the problem is
that the only two flights to LA that would make that, at 1:36 and 3:55, are already oversold,
meaning there’s no seat available for the stranded passenger. So, according to the GDS, it’s impossible
to get that passenger on their way to Zurich until the next day. But just because the GDS says it's impossible
doesn’t mean it actually is. For example, an experienced rebooking agent
would know that United also flies to John Wayne Airport, in Orange County, about an
hour’s drive from LAX, so if desperate, the passenger could fly to there, take a taxi
to LAX, then make their overnight flight to Switzerland. The GDS can’t offer this as an option because
it’s not one that the airline would sell, so it’s not in the system, but with this
knowledge, an agent could individually book seats for each leg, then string them together
into an itinerary in the PNR. The GDS also wouldn't know that United’s
11:45 AM LAX-bound flight was delayed until 1:30, meaning this passenger could still take
that and make the connection. It also wouldn’t suggest taking American’s
4:10 PM flight to LAX as an option because Swiss Air and American don’t typically ticket
together, but in this exceptional circumstance, United could buy the stranded passenger a
ticket on American through the GDS to continue their journey on Swiss. And this is only the tip of the iceberg—there
are endless tricks to working with the GDS to solve problems, but experience is needed
to know the right technique. The horrible truth this presents for both
passengers and airlines is that, constantly, passengers are getting stranded when they
don’t have to be. It’s down to the luck of the draw: is the
rebooking agent you’re walking up to one that’s worked there for thirty years and
knows the GDS like the back of their hand, or have they just finished the limited required
training to complete those simplest tasks. For passengers, this increases the frequency
of getting stranded on the road, and for airlines, this increases the costs borne from issuing
meal vouchers, booking accommodation, and paying for delay compensation when passengers
don’t get to their destination on time. And the limitations of the GDS not only create
additional costs, but also prevent potential revenue. For example, Air New Zealand developed an
innovative product where three successive economy-class seats can be transformed into
a short, lie-flat bed called Skycouch. That means that those seats can be sold individually,
as usual, or as a set of three to one or two passengers. This sort of optionality breaks the GDS—it
doesn’t have a way of properly communicating or reserving these sorts of transformable
seats—so on the GDS, Skycouch seats are just displayed as occupied, regardless of
whether they actually are. In order to book them, one has to go directly
to the Air New Zealand website. For the airline, this leaves plenty of potential
revenue on the table. For example, a huge portion of the airline’s
traffic is ticketed through United, since United is a major partner that feeds inbound
traffic from across the US to Air New Zealand’s long-haul flights out of LA, San Francisco,
Houston, and Chicago. Those passengers can book and check-in exclusively
with United, meaning they would never have even had the chance to pay Air New Zealand
for a Skycouch, and it's the same with passengers who booked through other airlines or online
travel agencies. Airlines have been complaining about the GDS
systems for decades, and so there are an increasing number of technical solutions and workarounds
to the GDS’ constraints, but even those have their problems. For example, IATA introduced the New Distribution
Capability standard, which allows for more complex backend communication. But rather than serving as the solution to
the GDS’ shortcomings, it more so demonstrates what’s truly at the root of the problem. 162 airlines, travel agencies, system providers,
and others are certified by IATA as having properly integrated this new standard into
their systems—or at least, part of it. The core functions have pretty good uptake:
for example, 156 of those have incorporated the NDC standard that allows for shopping
for flights. But then you get to the more novel functions:
SHPAN2 is a standard that allows for the sale of increasingly-common unbundled ancillaries
like in-flight wifi, lounge access, priority boarding, and more, meaning that, theoretically
it’d allow someone booking through Expedia to buy that in-flight wifi right in their
checkout flow. But only 51 of the 162 are certified on this
capability. And then you get into the really specialized
stuff: NDC has enabled airlines to have interoperable dynamic pricing systems, meaning rather than
working with the constraints of the GDS and ATPCO, which only allow for price updates
a certain number of times per day, each fare would be customized for each individual consumer
based on an algorithm’s estimation of their price sensitivity. But to date, not a single airline is certified
on this already-existing, revenue-generating standard. This is a familiar refrain: airlines ask for
more advanced systems, more advanced systems are developed, then airlines don’t use the
more advanced systems because they decide the cost it would take to integrate them isn’t
worth it. And some airlines are going further: not only
failing to implement new interoperable systems, but rejecting their use altogether. For example, if you search on Expedia for
an itinerary between Denver and Long Beach, it’ll tell you the best option is a one-stop
trip through Phoenix on American, but there are actually three non-stop flights a day
on that route. The problem, though, is that they’re Southwest
flights, and, with limited exception, Southwest does not allow for booking through the GDS,
meaning Expedia has no way to book a customer a ticket on the airline. Meanwhile, on Google Flights, which focuses
on directing people where to book rather than booking itself, you can find Southwest schedules,
which are filed with OAG, but you can’t find fares—with no GDS sales, there’s
no reason to distribute fare information. This all means that nearly all Southwest bookings
are done on Southwest’s website, where the airline can customize and revenue-optimize
the booking process as they wish. The upsells are everywhere—before confirming
a fare, one gets a pop-up outlining the benefits of the next most expensive fare-class. On the following screens, there’s the same
up-sell again, an offer for a $200 credit in return for signing up for their credit
card, and an option to pay for early check-in—guaranteeing one of the best boarding positions. These upsells matter. In 2021, ancillary fees made up more than
$4 billion in revenue for Southwest, and that ancillary revenue is raised when customers
book directly and are offered all the upsells. And in addition to increased revenue, direct
booking costs less—no paying for developers to integrate their systems with others, no
paying GDS fees, no paying commissions to Expedia and others. Following Southwest’s lead, GDS non-participation
by budget airlines is downright common these days, and the full-service network carriers
are increasingly working around it to strike up direct business and system relationships
with major sales channels and partners. But this is fragmenting the industry: airlines
are innovating, which is exactly what the industry should be doing, but through this
individual innovation are losing the collective interoperability that has led to the globally
seamless travel experience that customers have come to expect. It’s almost analogous to a reverse tragedy
of the commons. Each individual node in this system would
grow their revenue by investing in better interoperable systems, but only if every other
node did too. If only one node invests, they’ll have spent
money to create interoperability but still lack partners to interoperate with, meaning
no revenue impact and a negative cost impact. So, in this context, each node is actually
incentivized to reduce interoperability to push consumers towards their own systems,
which are better designed to increase per-customer revenue than the interoperable ones. It’s a strategic stalemate. And this can explain the broader issue as
well: there’s a strategic IT stalemate. When every airline’s IT is equally bad,
there’s little competitive incentive to improve it. Why invest to improve to a level that the
public doesn't even know is possible? Globally, the airline industry has just settled
on a culture of “good enough.” The problem, from our outside perspective,
is that airlines essentially act as public utilities these days. They are the only practical means of long-haul
travel, and are also the only practical means for medium-haul travel in areas of North America,
Russia, Australia, and other larger, less-dense countries. When airlines slow down, people slow down,
and therefore economies slow down. The US recognizes this fact by subsidizing
the construction and maintenance of airports, and even more strongly by subsidizing airlines
to fly to rural and remote communities, under the thesis that a lack of air travel options
would hold back their economies. And countries also recognized this preemptively,
historically treating the earliest airlines as government services and running them as
state-owned enterprises, but in the century since, the trend has been thoroughly towards
privatization, meaning the only real obligation is to the shareholder. So, this is one of those all-too-common scenarios
where there is a stark difference between what’s good for the shareholder and what’s
good for the world. Therefore, it’s pretty simple: regulators
need to decide whether airlines’ IT antiquity is a problem for the public and, if so, do
something about it. As many of you know, I travel constantly—I’m
on the road more than I’m at home—and one thing that I’ve found is crucial to
making that level of travel sustainable is having self-improvement routines that I can
do both at home and on the road: that means going to the gym, on runs, and a less common
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