Bye, Stack Overflow

Yihui Xie 2026-05-15

After being a member of Stack Overflow for more than 15 years, I have finally decided to leave it behind. I’ve complained about it in once in 2017 and again in 2018. The similar frustration still occurred earlier this month, which became the last straw to me. I’m not going to tolerate this site anymore.

For the record, one gatekeeper who closed the question asked:

What’s the point of reopening this question? Will the bug get more fixed that way?

to which left my final reply on this site:

What’s the point? Let me tell you the point. The point is a user is looking for help, and a maintainer is willing to help and knows a solution. They are all real humans. You guys are hurting them by closing and deleting the question. It hurts even more when we see a question is deleted by people who have zero experience on the specific topic (R exams package in this case) but act as judges nonetheless who essentially said “goodwill is pointless”. The point is humanity. If you believe the rules and your interpretation of the rules are more important, that’s fine, and I’m leaving.

To be fair, I do believe there are many nice, helpful, and humble volunteers who have helped maintain the quality of Stack Overflow over the years. I just no longer have the bandwidth to deal with gatekeepers who don’t know what they are doing. Again, to be fair, I don’t believe these gatekeepers are evil or bad. I think they want to make the site better. All they need before they can truly appreciate empathy and humanity is one thing: have one of their own posts closed and deleted by another group of gatekeepers.

The story below was written by Gemini after several rounds of revisions per my request. Please feel free to ignore the “AI slop”. I was just curious if the above story could be told better via metaphors. BTW, I learned several new words from this writing, too.

The Ledger and the Light

The wind howled across the frozen plains, carrying a biting snow that blurred the world into a haze of grey. I stood on the porch of the Manor—a place that called itself a “Sanctuary for Seekers”—as I had many times over the last decade. I knew the weight of the stone and the chill of the air all too well.

I watched as a lone traveler struggled through the drifts, clutching a dying brass lantern. He reached the massive gates and knocked with trembling hands. Inside, I saw the Host—a scholar with a kind, tired face—recognize the lamp immediately. “I know that flicker,” the Host called out, reaching for his tools. “I designed that lamp. I have the fix right here!”

But before the traveler could cross the threshold, the Gatekeepers emerged from the shadows. They didn’t look at the traveler’s freezing hands; they looked only at their ledgers. “The request is improperly phrased,” they hissed. “He hasn’t documented the wind’s direction to the tenth degree.”

With a mechanical coldness, they shoved the traveler back and hammered the iron bolt home. CLANG.

I didn’t hesitate. I signaled to my friends in the storm. Together, we rushed the porch and jammed our heavy timber staves into the doorframe. I put my shoulder to the oak, prying at the wood until the hinges shrieked in protest. Through sheer, collective will, we forced the door back just wide enough for the Host to reach through and hand the traveler a new, shimmering lens. The traveler’s lantern flared into a brilliant white light. The man was saved.

But as soon as we stepped back, the Gatekeepers swarmed again.

“The lamp is lit now,” one sneered. “There is no longer a reason for this door to be open. What is the point of a record that isn’t perfect?”

They kicked our staves aside and threw their weight against the door. CLANG. The bolt hammered home. They began to scrub the traveler’s name from the stone, as if the struggle had never happened.

I stood my ground. I looked at the Gatekeeper who had spoken—the one with the cleanest robes and the heaviest ledger.

“You ask for the point?” I said, my voice steady against the roar of the gale. “The point is that a living man was looking for help, and a master stood ready with a solution. They are flesh and blood, yet you treat them like errors in a script. You hurt them to protect the vanity of your archives.”

The Gatekeeper didn’t look up from his book.

“It is worse,” I continued, “to see you act as judges of a craft you do not practice. You have never felt the heat of the forge, yet you decide whose flame is worthy of the hearth. You have traded humanity for the comfort of your own interpretation of the rules. You have decided that goodwill is a flaw in the system.”

I looked at the massive, silent walls. “If this stone is more precious to you than the people it was built to shelter, then keep it. Enjoy your perfect, empty halls. I am finished.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned my back on the Manor. I walked down the stone steps and out into the blizzard.

The wind was still cold, but as I moved away from those walls, I felt a strange, quiet warmth. It wasn’t the warmth of the Manor’s hearth; it was the warmth of the open road. I realized I no longer had to spend my strength holding a door for those who only wanted it shut. I was free to find a new place—or build one—where the light is kept for the sake of the traveler, not the ledger.

I disappeared into the white, leaving the fortress behind to guard its own silence.