“We don’t need to be hooked up to a digital drip feed of violence to do something about it”: Why this activist is taking the fight offline
She created the Very Offline Club as a way to counter Big Tech’s chokehold
Over the past 15 years, I’ve been active in community organizing around various social justice causes. As a result, the content I’m served on social media tends to be heavy: horrifying videos, calls to action, lots of outrage. There’s this idea that, as activists, we need to keep witnessing and posting and commenting about atrocities—that we shouldn’t allow ourselves or the world to look away. I understand why our engagement is crucial. But I also worry that our constant social media consumption is playing into an overall business strategy to keep us online while simultaneously compromising our capacity to actually change the terrible shit we keep seeing. I don’t think we need to be hooked up to a digital drip feed of violence to do something about it. Instead, we should be critical of the effects of surveillance platforms on our organizing.
Related: How smartphone addiction is ruining our lives
This became especially clear to me during the pandemic. Without the ability to gather in physical spaces, we had to rely on tenuous online connections to organize. There was a surge of activism related to supporting unhoused encampments, protesting police violence and more. Then came the backlash. The dynamics of social media made infighting much worse, and disinformation spread like wildfire. People were depressed and hopeless; they felt defeated rather than empowered to take meaningful action. I know because I experienced the phenomenon first-hand. The more time I spent online, the more incensed I became at the flattening of nuance and the erosion of complex relationships.
In 2021, burnt out and ready for a big change, I decided to take a break from not just social media but my smartphone. I went to Best Buy and bought a big-buttoned flip phone marketed to seniors. It was inconvenient for my friends and family—I rarely texted anyone much more than “ok”—but it worked perfectly for me. I was happier and healthier. I regained the ability to read books, my friendships deepened and I got a clearer idea of how to take effective action rather than always feeling scattered and overwhelmed.
Related: Why this tech worker started a series of phone-free socials
Eventually, I started using a smartphone again, but I tried to be mindful about how I was using it and what I was using it for. I was still concerned about the lack of resources to help activists address the problems posed by social media. Because I have experience running workshops and community groups, I decided to fill that gap by starting the Very Offline Club. The first cohort met weekly between January and March of 2025. There were eight participants. Some were recovering smartphone addicts; others had been off social media for years. Depending on the week, we’d do one of four things: a lecture about a topic such as surveillance capitalism or addictive design; a form of acupuncture that helps with detoxing; a workshop to share tools that enhance digital security, privacy and autonomy; or unstructured social time, filled with conversation and games and laughter—no phones allowed.
Going without our phones for a few hours at a time presented some unexpected challenges. One of the first times the club met, we wanted to play music. But, because we’d agreed not to use any screens, we couldn’t load Spotify or Apple Music. The host that week offered to put on an LP, but she couldn’t figure out how to get the record player going, nor was she able to call her partner for help. A bunch of us crowded around the turntable, fiddling with different buttons and wires. It was a beautiful example of people working together in real time, and there was such a sense of accomplishment when music finally rang out of those speakers.
I’m in the process of enlisting the club’s second and third cohorts. The typical tech-industry playbook would be to scale the idea, but I want to keep the groups small. The in-person intimacy of the meetings, where we all get to know one another and have meaningful conversations, is what makes the Very Offline Club so special. Ultimately, I want to make sure we practise harm reduction, not shaming. I’m not trying to be prescriptive—like, “You need to get offline!” I’d like people to come away from our events with a set of tools for resistance and more agency, awareness and hope, and then to make the decision that’s best for them.
