The year is 2014, and I’m stuck in Ukraine. I have a particularly antsy mother who wasn’t keen on me visiting the country just weeks into Russia’s attempted invasion, and she is expecting me back home.
In Odessa—hundreds of miles away from the Maidan and the nascent conflict—the worst example of war I’d seen was a heated snowball battle between those who wanted to remain Ukrainian and those who wanted to be Russian. The reason I’m stuck has nothing to do with Russia: It’s bad fog grounding flights at the tin hut airport I’m due to fly out of. But with no reliable phone communication back home, I know my family will put two and two together and make five.
The problem is allayed when I return to the plush hotel I’d been staying at, which was happy to have us pay for another night’s lodging, and get on Skype. I’m able to call home, explain what happened, and keep them from panicking when I don’t step off the plane back in the U.K. as expected.
International calls remain prohibitively expensive. And for a generation that doesn’t own smartphones—like my parents—or a country that steadfastly refuses to join the rest of the world on WhatsApp (hello, United States), Skype has proven a lifeline.
My use of the platform—to call home when stuck in war-torn Ukraine for an extra day, or to check on the status of my sick grandfather in hospital on the sidelines of a conference in the U.S. earlier this year—is very much a first-world problem. But the reality is that the imminent closure of Microsoft’s digital calling service (which the company attributes to dwindling user numbers and its belief that the same service can be offered through Microsoft Teams) will leave a significant gap for many who depend on it.
I’m not a Skype power user, but by my own estimation, I’ve used the platform at least once a week for the last decade or more. My job as a tech journalist means I frequently call American contacts and sources. The country’s intransigence and refusal, with very few exceptions, to download and install WhatsApp on their cellphones means that unless I want to be hit with eye-watering minute-by-minute charges for calling them for interviews, I need to find an alternative. Since the early 2010s, that alternative has been a rolling Skype subscription to call the U.S.—400 minutes per month, landline and cellphones, has proved plenty for me. Shortly, it won’t be.
Our lives, and our families, are increasingly scattered to the four winds. And in the two decades since its 2003 founding, Skype has helped those families stay connected. It’s also helped a good number of people whose jobs involve international interactions do so at a manageable cost.
It’s notable that mentioning the closure of Skype on a regular roundup of tech news stories I do for a U.K. radio station received the most personal correspondence from listeners. They told me they too were worried about the closure of the service and were seeking out alternatives.
Skype has long been unloved, long surpassed by the likes of Zoom and—whisper it quietly, and by tamping down your gag reflex—Microsoft Teams. Indeed, it’s Teams that Skype is recommending people move to, without realizing it doesn’t offer exactly the same experience. But Skype was our little app that could. And its disappearance will be a loss for many beyond just me.
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