The Department of Loneliness
Our Dystopian Future
This story was inspired by recent proposals by politicians to pass legislation intended to combat America’s loneliness epidemic. I have, of course, taken the idea and run with it, exaggerating it to great fictional effect.
Like most tragedies, the Department of Loneliness was created out of the best intentions, by people who genuinely wanted to solve a problem and believed fervently they were doing something to help. There were vicious debates at the outset, not over whether or not the department should be created – everyone (well, almost everyone) was in agreement on its necessity – but over the question of its name.
While this may have seemed at the time like a semantic debate, there was a real logic to the arguments of those who said that it should have been called “The Department of Friendship,” rather than “The Department of Loneliness,” because that would align the mission of the department in a positive, forward-looking direction, rather than in a negative, backward-looking one. But they lost the argument.
There were a small number of isolated voices making the case that it didn’t matter what the department would be called, it shouldn’t be created in the first place, but they were dismissed as radical cranks.
January, 2025
In his inaugural address, the new president promised to fill the new department with nonpartisan experts who would listen to members of both parties. He said that he would work with his opponents to ensure they had a say in who was staffing it. Ten days later, when he released his list of nonpartisan experts on loneliness and friendship, members of the opposing party immediately began complaining that what he had done wasn’t to pick nonpartisan experts at all, but rather to the fill the department with partisan hacks and personal cronies. He gave a speech to the American people lamenting the partisanship and venality of his opponents who would stoop to such a cheap shot in opposing what scientific consensus knew was a centrist list of nonpartisan experts.
Ten days after that, the national debate had moved on to the color of the vice president’s hair, and everyone promptly forgot about the Department of Loneliness. While the president’s opponents had essentially been correct in their criticism that it was staffed with cronies, every new member of the department took his or her job seriously. They believed in public service and there was nothing sinister about their efforts to use all the power of the executive branch of the United States of America to combat American loneliness.
That summer, the first Public Friends were sent out. Public Friends were the newest social workers – a dedicated group of caring professionals, underpaid but overgenerous, willing to knock on doors and talk to strangers. Every American who couldn’t provide proof (in the form of written correspondence) of having at least three close friends had been assigned a Public Friend.
When the first forays of Public Friends met mixed results – including occasional (luckily unsuccessful) attempts by lonely Americans of a certain social class, living in certain regions of the country, to shoot their Friend when he or she showed up unannounced upon their doorsteps claiming to be from the government – there was a loud outcry in Washington about the unfortunate unruliness of the American people, who through no fault of their own had been conditioned to fear their government by political zealots and cynical elites.
The Secretary of Loneliness – in Beltway terminology, the “loneliness czar” – went on national television to give an address on the problem.
“In past decades, radical anti-statists have said things like, ‘the government cannot love you. Only your neighbors and friends and family can love you.’ But this individualistic ideology has only promoted a culture of selfishness and loneliness. In 2025, we need to do away with the idea that the government cannot love you. The government can and does love you. It wants to look out for your best interests. That is why my department has been created. It is all well and good for extroverted individuals who have no trouble making friends to say that Americans don’t need the government’s help to make new friends. But that is only true for privileged Americans. This macho, self-made-man ideology doesn’t serve the least among us, who really do need the government’s help making friends. And that is why I have personally sent out one hundred thousand loving and caring individuals to help those who can’t help themselves to make friends. Cynical anti-statists who hate the vulnerable and don’t want lonely Americans to have any friends are opposing our mission, and it is because of them that these unfortunate attempted shootings have taken place. We at the Department of Loneliness are thankful that none of our dear Friends have been hurt and we expect that the American people – now that they understand our mission – will ensure that no Public Friend ever comes to harm.
January, 2040
By 2035, every American had been assigned a Public Friend – who had visiting privileges (and even fridge privileges) at the houses of those in their care, because friends don’t turn away Friends who show up unannounced. It had been deemed unfair for only some Americans to have Public Friends, so the franchise was expanded to serve everyone.
In 2036, the first therapists were assigned by the Department of Loneliness, and by 2038 every American had been assigned a personal therapist – who was not allowed to accept tips or make a profit, but who served his or her clients out of the goodness of his or her heart.
Naturally, the budget for the department skyrocketed and by 2039 it rivaled the Department of Defense in size, although its budget had surpassed the DOD’s all the way back in 2029.
By 2040, the Department of Loneliness had also become wildly popular. Despite initial opposition, Americans came to love their Friends. There was near-universal support for the Department, and the only debates were over how much to more to spend on the problem of loneliness. There were some libertarians – including Congressmembers from the Republican Party – who wanted to cut the budget of the department. But only fringe reactionary anarchists thought that it should never have been created in the first place. Both major parties contained planks in their platforms proclaiming their support for the department, and the only minor party to dissent from that position was the Libertarian Party, which was comprised of fringe reactionary anarchists, whose stated position was the immediate and total abolition of the Department of Loneliness along with nearly the entire rest of the federal government.
Polling showed that Public Friends consistently ranked higher than doctors, nurses, firefighters, members of the armed services, and grandmothers in public trust. Gallup found that public trust in the Department of Loneliness was four times higher than public trust in Congress, the White House, and the Supreme Court.
All of which brings us to the events of today.
When the Baker family got into the minivan on Saturday morning to go and visit Grandma Helen, naturally they brought along Mary, their Public Friend. She had been the one to introduce Grace and Willie back in the day, and the kids loved her so much that when they came of age their parents petitioned the Department to allow Mary to be Public Friend for each of them. So, the whole family had one Friend, which suited them just fine.
There was a little trepidation about bringing Mary, but she was a part of the family now. “I’ve met Helen before,” Mary reminded them, but Grace apologized and said her grandmother would have forgotten her.
“I know you’ve been with us for some time, dear, but she doesn’t remember any of her great-grandchildren and she won’t remember you. Please don’t take it personally. She’s forgotten me before, and I’m her eldest granddaughter.”
“And,” added Willie, who was sitting in the back with the kids, “please don’t mention your last name again. I’m sorry about what happened last time, but you know what people of Helen’s generation believed about the Irish.”
Mary, whose last name was O’Dowd, wasn’t sure she did, but she agreed not to mention it.
When they arrived at the assisted living facility, they found Helen waiting in the living room – a large common area filled with families visiting their loved ones. Grace gave her a hug and reminded her who Willie and the kids were.
“Who is she?” asked Helen, pointing to Mary. “I don’t know her.”
“This is Mary,” Grace said, “she is our friend.”
“Oh, what do you do, Mary?”
“Actually,” said Mary, “I’m a Friend.”
“Well, yes, my daughter just said that. But what do you do for a living?” insisted Grandma Helen.
“Well,” said Mary with a bright smile, “Friend isn’t just who I am. It’s also my job title.” She went on to try to explain to Grandma Helen what her job entailed, but the centenarian was having none of it.
“What do you mean you’re assigned by the government to be my granddaughter’s friend? She can make friends perfectly well on her own. Why it’s the easiest thing in the world!”
“Well,” Mary tried to explain, “that may be true for some people, but other people find it really difficult to make friends.”
“Well, why don’t they do something about it?” asked Grandma Helen. “When I was a girl, we just went down to the park and told the boys they had to let us play ball with them. We didn’t need the government to help us do that. We just did it. What else were we supposed to do, sit around all day?”
Grace tried to hush her grandmother. “Please, Grandma, keep your voice down,” she said.
“Or what? People will think I’m odd? Why it’s only common sense. I don’t see why people will think I’m odd for saying that when I was a little girl we knew how to make friends.”
Grace was looking around and hoping the other families would forgive her grandmother. She didn’t want any of them to think she supported what her grandmother was saying. But then Mary asked a question Grace really wished she hadn’t.
“Where is your Public Friend, Helen? Surely around here somewhere, right?”
“What are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, every American has been assigned…”
“I haven’t been assigned anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Public friends. I don’t have one of those. I have friends I made in elementary school and friends I made as an adult. I don’t have a Public friend.”
Grace and Willie exchanged glances. “I hope they don’t think we’re reactionary anarchists,” Willie muttered under his breath to Grace as he looked around at the other families.
“I think they won’t,” Grace said and she hoped she was right. Most people didn’t take kindly to criticism of the Department of Loneliness.
When it all was over and they were driving home, the entire family was exhausted. Except for Timmie, who was three and wanted to play on the playground and kept asking why they weren’t at the playground yet. Willie, who was driving now, turned on the news. Public radio always played the headlines at the top of the hour.
The first headline was, of course, the report released that morning by the Department of Loneliness. Everyone had forgotten about the report, which must have come out while they were inside trying to calm Grandma Helen down.
“The results of the annual American Loneliness Report are in and they are stark,” said the host. “The president plans to give her remarks on the report tonight, and it is generally suspected that she will call for more funding, which is clearly necessary to combat such an intractable problem.”
Americans are lonelier than ever. According to the latest report, suicides are up ten percent year over year. Self-harm has more than doubled since these reports were first put out in the twenty twenties. Self-reported feelings of sadness, lack of connection, lack of intimacy, and despair have continued to skyrocket. Only two percent of Americans say they feel grounded in their communities. Ten percent say they maintain close personal connections. Eight percent say they keep in touch with high school or college friends. And four percent are involved in recreational activities and sports leagues. Attendance at religious services has hit a new low, surpassing last year’s low. Participation and volunteerism have continued to plummet and many charities and PTAs have been forced to close doors their doors.
Willie and Grace looked at one another. They felt suddenly very afraid and small. The host went on.
“The only bright spot of the report is that public satisfaction with the Department of Loneliness has hit a record high. In particular, the Public Friend program now has a ninety-five percent approval rating. Except for the youngest Americans, and a few of the oldest who were granted an exception, every citizen now has a Public Friend. But this year’s report may give further fuel to the radical proposal of certain members of the president’s party: giving every American citizen a second Public Friend.”