There’s been no shortage of hand-wringing over the past 15 months as our nation grappled with COVID-19 and its ripple effects, many of which aren’t medical: the threat of a collapsed economy, government overreach, and increased seclusion along with its affiliated detriments have been concerns.
But is the antidote to isolation that simple?
I’m reminded of a recent experience I had volunteering at a local homeless shelter. To be friendly, I struck up a conversation with one of the residents, who shared with me unfounded confidence in the stability of his current romantic relationship. I challenged him a bit: “How do you know your relationship is as healthy as you think?” Immediately, his eyes glazed over and, wordlessly, he pulled his phone out and began scrolling absentmindedly. He ignored my presence and left my question hanging in the air, unanswered. It made him uncomfortable, so he dodged it—and his smartphone made it easy.
How could this man, jobless and staying at a homeless shelter, afford a smartphone? He and other shelter residents can have smartphones courtesy of a government program called Lifeline.
The Federal Communications Commission implemented the Lifeline program in 1984 to help low-income households with what was deemed an essential service: phone access. It originally covered a small portion of low-income residents’ landline phone bills. But, over time, the program ballooned, with greater benefits for an ever-increasing number of people—now, many low-income people qualify for free smart phones with free or very cheap service plans, complete with unlimited talk and text and free data. The government imposes a tax on phone companies to pay for the program. The phone companies then pass the expense to their customers via the Universal Service Fund, an additional charge on every conventional customer’s phone bill.
That evening at the shelter, I kept thinking: unintended consequences. On the surface, Lifeline seems to be a good and even necessary program. What could be wrong with providing low-income citizens with means to call about job opportunities, schedule doctor appointments, and stay connected to family? But the insidious problem lies in the risk of overuse and its concomitant issues.
Phone addiction isn’t limited to the poor. A 2015 study in the Journal of Behavioral Addictions discovered a significant correlation between the extent of smart phone use and depression among adult students.
Indeed, the poor have the most acute need for the benefits afforded by a variety of real social connections, including better work opportunities, a sense of community and belonging, and an improved outlook on life—and significant evidence shows smartphones inhibit our ability to make these vital connections. Is it wise to provide a device that’s strongly linked with social isolation and depression as a combatant against social isolation and depression, especially during such a tumultuous time when such issues are already exacerbated? Is it even logical?
The Lifeline program is a sobering reminder of what seasoned poverty fighters know well: Good intentions don’t always yield good results. Knowing what will really help is a job that can only be accomplished by local, knowledgeable, compassionate charity. As we consider the role government should play in mitigating the insidious effects of a global pandemic, remember that blanket solutions may create more problems than they solve.
That which is intended to alleviate isolation and its attendant depression may indeed be fostering it.