Smartfall: 25 Years Later

As we reach the 25th anniversary of Smartfall, also known as Reboot Day, we sat down with several local figures to discuss that fateful day and the impact it still has a quarter century later.

Wyatt Herschel sets out a pitcher of homemade lemonade infused with thyme, mint, and coriander fresh from his garden. Herschel, local author and poet, lets out his trademarked gravelly laugh when asked if he remembers the day the smartphones went down.

“I’m old,” he says. “But my memory isn’t quite gone yet.”

He takes a sip of lemonade and looks impressed by his own work.

“But yes,” he continues. “I remember it quite vividly actually. The car crashes. The panic. Looked like one of those old paintings of what the Rapture was supposed to look like. Minus the piles of folded clothes.”

He chuckles again.

“There was quite a bit of uncertainty and worry in those first few hours, especially. People figured it was some kind of attack by a foreign nation. World War Three! Nuclear Armageddon! That sort of thing. Internet was still working, so once people got on their computers and figured out it was a worldwide issue, some of those tensions started to ease a little. Can’t blame people for assuming the absolute worst though.”

When asked how the end of smartphones affected his life, Herschel gestures to the surrounding garden.

“Not that I’m saying I couldn’t have done all this when smartphones were still a thing, but it did make me realize how much time I was wasting with the damn thing. But even in the absence of a thing, you have to choose how you are going to replace it. I just so happened to put my hands to work in nature.”

We asked Herschel about his thoughts on what actually caused the event, to which he shrugged and shook his head.

“Don’t know. Don’t rightly care, really either. It’s something that happened, and not sure it matters who or what actually made it happen. Would be a lie to say I hadn’t ever thought about it though, but I don’t dwell on it. I’ll leave that pondering to other folks.”

“Aliens.”

Linus Williams nods solemnly in response. 

Neatly organized stacks of books, articles, and pictures surround the self titled “independent questioner” at his home here in town. 

“Or some secret, string-pulling cabal. Doubt it was one person, though I suppose even that’s not out of the question. But every make and model, and every service going out at once? Unlikely one person could pull that off.”

Williams leans forward intently when asked more about the alien theory.

“Well I guess that all depends on if you view them as benevolent or malevolent,” he nods slowly. “It’s quite possible they saw the intense division and isolation that smartphones were causing, so they stepped in to stem the tide, as it were. Intervening on our behalf kind of thing. Kind of like how UFO activity drastically increased after we started testing nuclear weapons. You know, warning us that we are on a path of mutual assured destruction. On the other hand, maybe they were hoping society would completely collapse and we’d go all Mad Max on each other, but the indomitable human spirit rose up like cream in the crops and we came together and pressed on despite their nefarious intentions. Fifty-fifty odds I’d say on motivation.”

Williams sighs before continuing.

“Human cabal could have had the same intent, though that’s more like ninety-nine to one in favor of destructive disruption. A benevolent cabal? Now that would be crazy.”

Founded in the first few months after Smartfall, The Sisters of the Black Screen opened their first, and still largest, center right here in town. 

With Scrolling Centers now all over the world, The Sisters of the Black Screen, according to their mission statement, sought to bring comfort and guide individuals through the loss of their smartphone routines.

“While the screens may have gone dark,” Sister Beryl recites as she gives a tour of the center, which serves over 300 visitors a day. “That does not mean our hearts have to.”

She pauses and looks in on a ReelTok room where a small audience watches twenty seconds long skits and shouts “like” or “swipe” in response.

Another room houses a group that holds lifeless phones in their hands and types, taps, and swipes on the blank screens.

“We simply wish to bring a measure of joy into people’s lives that was lost on that day,” Sister Beryl smiles. “So many people felt lost and despondent when the screens went black. Here, they can capture that happiness and contentment again.”

“It’s essentially a cult now,” co-founder and former leader Bethany Collins says, shaking her head. “Maybe always was.”

Collins, who left the organization six years after its founding, has been an outspoken detractor of the Sisters ever since.

“When we first started the whole thing, we, or at least I, thought we would be helping wean people off their smartphone addiction. Basically get it out of their system, help them realize they really didn’t need things, and then they could move on with their lives.”

Collins sighs and takes a drag off her cigarette.

“It took me a shamefully long time to realize people weren’t leaving, and our numbers were just getting larger. The whole point was to be a temporary thing. Put ourselves out of business naturally as it were. But now there is a strong membership contingent of people under twenty five years old? Why would you need to detox from something that only existed before you were born? I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being so naive and helping to start something that’s turned so insidious.”

While opinions and experiences have wildly varied, one thing is clear: the impact of Reboot Day is still felt, even twenty five years later.

From backyard gardens to conspiracy theories, Scrolling Centers, and beyond, reminders of that day can be found in communities all over the world. As the anniversary passes, debate over what was lost and what was gained shows little sign of ending.

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