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dotNetTips.com Jul 16, 2025

The Day the Software Community Died: Let’s Stop Coding in Isolation and Start Creating Community—And Software—People Truly Love

How do you participate in the software community? Do you attend local user groups, help organize community events, or speak at community developer conferences like Code Camp or SQL Saturday?

This is more than a story—it’s a reflection and a call to action. But first, let me be clear about something that shaped my entire career:

I would not be the software engineer, solutions architect, book author, conference speaker, and mentor I am today if it weren’t for participating in the software community.

I’ve shared the details of how I got started before (links will be at the end), but today I want to focus on what the software community was, why it mattered, and why I believe it died—officially—on May 11, 2023, the day the COVID-19 pandemic was declared over in the United States. In reality, the decline started long before that. The pandemic was just the final blow.

Rewinding to the Roots

Let us jump into a time machine and go back—way back—to when I first began my journey as a software engineer. This was before the internet was widespread, before social media, before even cell phones.

So, how did we learn to become great engineers? We went to school and earned computer science degrees. We read books—lots of them. And we got out of our chairs and attended in-person conferences, user groups, and local meetups. Aside from books, everything involved showing up, face to face, and learning from others.

How I Found the Community—and Myself

Shortly after I landed my first programming job, I realized something important: if I was going to succeed, I had to improve my ability to speak and communicate clearly. Like many developers, I am an introvert. I hated public speaking. But I also wanted to grow quickly in my career—just like I did during my service in the U.S. Navy.

Then I saw a classified ad in a local computer magazine. Someone wanted to start the first Visual Basic user group in San Diego, California. Since I was a VB developer, I responded—and that decision changed everything.

I was one of the founding members of the group. I started by volunteering behind the scenes, but over time, I took a leap that once felt impossible—I began speaking. At first, it was deeply uncomfortable, even terrifying. But I knew that if I wanted to support my growing family and advance my career, I had to face that fear head-on. So, I did. What began as a source of anxiety gradually transformed into a powerful skill. Public speaking, once my greatest challenge, became second nature—and one of the most rewarding parts of my journey.

A Golden Era of Community Learning

Back then, user groups were a lifeline. These were not just lecture series—they were practical, peer-driven learning hubs. The talks were deeply relevant, delivered by local developers who understood the needs of their community.

The Visual Basic group I helped start was just one of many. There were SQL Server groups, Linux groups, Apple groups—you name it. Most were run by engineers passionate about the technology and helping others.

And then there were the local conferences. Some were entirely free. Others cost next to nothing. Many featured speakers who were local legends—or nationally known experts. I still remember picking up Daniel Appleman at LAX for one of those events. His book on Windows API calls was a staple on every developer’s desk. I believe I also first saw Billy Hollis speak at that same conference—one of the most insightful minds in UI and usability I have ever encountered.

Microsoft Understood the Value of Community

In those days, Microsoft truly understood the power of community—and they invested heavily in it.

They created the Microsoft Most Valuable Professional (MVP) program to recognize developers who gave back through writing, speaking, mentoring, and helping others. The MVP Summit was legendary—thousands of MVPs from around the world gathered in Redmond for a week. Microsoft covered everything but airfare. The content, access, and camaraderie were unmatched.

Microsoft also had Regional Directors, who acted as community leaders and evangelists. They supported user groups with giveaways, software, and Microsoft speakers. These resources helped us keep our groups running and feed our attendees—literally and figuratively.

Then in 2002, Microsoft launched INETA—the International .NET Association. Its mission was to support .NET user groups around the globe with speakers, funding, resources, and networking. I was one of the out-of-town speakers they sponsored. INETA even awarded me an award and grant in recognition of my contributions—still my favorite award because it came from my peers.

They did not stop there. Microsoft also created DreamSpark for students, BizSpark for startups, and the Microsoft Student Partner Program—each one aimed at building community, fostering innovation, and growing careers.

At one point, Microsoft even flew me to Portland, Oregon—not just to speak at a Code Camp, but to play in a rock band made up of software developers for the attendees. That is how fun and connected the community once was.

A Culture of Growth, Not Isolation

Even if I am forgetting a few names or programs, the takeaway is clear: back then, there was a thriving ecosystem of grassroots events, peer support, and professional growth opportunities. These were not just technical bootcamps. They were culture-building events that turned developers into leaders and friendships into professional networks.

Many of my peers from that time are now founders, authors, and industry influencers. I have no doubt they would point to community involvement as a huge factor in their journey.

And remember—this all happened before YouTube tutorials, Stack Overflow, online training libraries, and endless social media hot takes. It was real, personal, and driven by people just like you and me.

I still believe that the best tech conferences I ever attended were the grassroots ones—especially Code Camp. These developer-run events had the most diverse, relevant sessions and the strongest sense of connection. Silicon Valley Code Camp, for example, was once the largest in the world—and every session felt like a conversation, not a sales pitch.

From Code to Community: Why Today’s Apps Are Failing Us

Why am I even writing about this? If you have followed my work, you already know how much the tech community means to me—and how profoundly it has shaped my career and the quality of the code I write. The truth is, I spend a lot of time thinking about code quality. Not just in the projects I architect, but in nearly every app I interact with—mobile apps, websites, desktop software, and even the apps baked into my Smart TV.

So, let me ask you this:
How many apps do you truly enjoy using—across any platform? I am talking about apps that are reliable, intuitive, and rarely crash or behave oddly.

If you can only name a few, that is a problem.

Modern software engineering, in its widely accessible form, has been with us since the 1980s. By now, shouldn’t we be delivering better experiences more consistently? And yet, it feels like we are moving backwards—that the number of stable, well-crafted applications is shrinking rather than growing.

Why is that?

There are many reasons, but one that keeps resurfacing in my mind is this:
We have lost the community.

The tech community—once a vibrant, collaborative ecosystem where developers gathered to share ideas, sharpen skills, and lift each other up—has been fading. And with its decline, so too has the craftsmanship in our industry.

Now that I have laid the groundwork for why I feel this way—and walked you through the value that community once brought to our industry—it’s time to shift focus. Let us talk about what is happening right now, in 2025.

The New Reality

The new reality, at least in the Microsoft tech community, is that it is almost non-existent. After COVID-19, most user groups are gone. There are none where I used to live in San Diego, California, and now that I have moved to Austin, Texas, which people call “Silicon Valley 2.0” or “Silicon Hills”, the same has happened here too. There are very few community conferences, such as Code Camp, anymore, either. Even the biggest in the world, in Silicon Valley (my favorite) of all places, is gone too. If there are events like this still being held, they are much smaller than they used to be during the height of Code Camp popularity, seeming to be on life support.

One of the biggest reasons behind this shift is surprisingly straightforward: many younger developers today simply don’t recognize the value of these events. Meanwhile, those of us who spent decades building, organizing, and sustaining these communities eventually burned out. I certainly did. After helping to start and run one such group for 20 years, I made the difficult decision to step away. That was 11 years ago—and unfortunately, the group dissolved soon after my retirement.

Today, there are few—if any—places for software engineers to gather regularly. The monthly meetups that once offered opportunities to learn, grow, and connect have largely disappeared. For me, the greatest value always came from the in-person networking—those conversations with fellow engineers were often more insightful than the sessions themselves. Another major factor in this decline is the loss of support from companies and universities, including tech giants like Microsoft, which once championed and sponsored these events.

Let’s put this into perspective. In the U.S. alone, prior to 2010, there were an estimated 500 to 700 active Microsoft-focused user groups, many meeting regularly in person across cities nationwide. Today, that number has dropped to just 50 to 100, and many of those exist only online. Even more staggering is the decline in Code Camps — once a vibrant grassroots movement. At their peak before 2010, 100 to 150 Code Camps were held annually across the country. Now? Fewer than 10 remain each year, if that. These numbers should be a wake-up call for our industry. They worry me — and they should worry you too.

Rebuilding the Bridge: Microsoft and the Future of Tech Community

For decades, developers looked to Microsoft not only as a technology leader but also as a partner in growing and sustaining vibrant developer communities. That relationship, however, has changed. While the shift began years before the pandemic, it has become much more noticeable in recent years. I felt the decline myself, even before stepping away from running my local user group. But I believe this can be turned around.

Let me share a story that captures both the problem—and a glimpse of what is still possible.

Back in 2017, I was consulting for a company whose entire stack was built on Microsoft technologies. They brought me in to solve performance issues that were crippling their services during peak shopping seasons. Moving to the cloud was a necessary step, and one day, I arrived at work to find out that Google was coming in to pitch their brand-new cloud services.

I was surprised—Google Cloud was still in its infancy, and integrating it into a Microsoft-heavy ecosystem seemed like a risky move. I asked the lead engineer, “Why not Azure?” Her reply was simple but revealing: “Because Microsoft isn’t showing us any love.”

As a longtime Microsoft MVP, I took that personally. So, I reached out directly to Scott Guthrie, EVP of Microsoft, and head of Azure. Within two days, Microsoft managers were calling the company to rekindle the relationship. I do not know what happened after my contract ended, but the story shows the power of genuine outreach—and how quickly things can shift when someone listens and takes action.

Unfortunately, that kind of engagement has become an exception rather than the norm.

Many of Microsoft’s former community-focused programs have been rebranded, sunset, or forgotten altogether:

The beloved INETA program shut down in 2015 and was never replaced.
Programs like DreamSpark, BizSpark, and the Microsoft Student Partner Program were renamed and faded into obscurity—so much so that I never hear Microsoft or developers talk about them anymore.
The Regional Directors, who once supported user groups and grassroots conferences, are no longer active in that capacity.
Support for third-party conferences has drastically shrunk—unless it is hosted by Microsoft itself.
Even their top engineering advocates now have to cover their own travel if they want to speak at independent events.

And then there is the MVP Program—a program I’ve proudly been part of since 2006. Sadly, it no longer resembles the thriving, dynamic community it once was:

I do not even know who my MVP lead is anymore.
Emails to the program team go unanswered.
There is little to no communication about events or opportunities.
Invitations to private MVP group discussions (PGA meetings), once quite common, are rare.
Opportunities to be a voice at events or advocate for the platform are virtually gone.

One of the greatest losses has been the MVP Summit. It used to be the best conference a Microsoft developer could attend—period. Not because of the perks (though those were fun), but because it gave us:

Direct influence on product development—I have had features I proposed implemented in Visual Studio.

Early visibility into Microsoft’s roadmap—so we could help our teams prepare for what is coming.

Unparalleled networking—with developers from around the world who share our passion.

All of this has changed. The Summit is now mostly one-way communication—“Here’s our slide deck for Build”—and MVPs now bear 100% of all costs. Attendance has dropped as a result.

So, why did this all happen?

There are likely many reasons, but I believe one of the biggest is that large corporations—Microsoft included—struggle to measure the long-term value of community. They are focused on metrics they can instantly quantify for performance reviews, not the lasting impact that strong community engagement has on product adoption, loyalty, and innovation. But this is shortsighted.

The value of community is not in quarterly charts—it is in trust, goodwill, and a developer base that feels heard, supported, and empowered.

I have even publicly volunteered to help lead the MVP program. Not because I need the recognition, but because I have lived the benefits. I came from the community. I have seen what it can do—for individuals, for products, and for Microsoft itself. But I also know how difficult it is to enact change in environments where politics, not vision, steer decisions. And that is one of the reasons I prefer not to work in large corporations.

Let me be clear: This is not an attack on Microsoft. Rather, it is a call to action—for Microsoft and for all tech companies. If you lose your community, you lose your connection to the people who care most about your success. And once that is gone, it’s hard to get back.

But here is the hopeful part: It’s not too late.

The goodwill is still there. The passion still exists. Developers still want to engage, give feedback, and be ambassadors. All it takes is for companies to listen, reinvest, and rebuild those bridges.

The future of our industry—and the quality of the software we all use—depends on it.

Online Isn’t the Same: We’re Losing What Matters Most

Let’s talk about one of the most significant shifts affecting our industry: the rise of online events. While technology has made it easier than ever to stream conferences, host meetups virtually, and broadcast content to a global audience, we’ve lost something incredibly valuable in the process—the magic of being in the same room.

Platforms like Teams, StreamYard, Twitch, YouTube, and others are great for convenience and reach. But they’re not a true substitute for the human connection that comes from in-person events. Attendees often can’t ask real-time questions, and presenters struggle to engage meaningfully. The energy, spontaneity, and nuanced communication that come with face-to-face interaction simply don’t translate.

I know this firsthand. I’ve been presenting for Microsoft since the early 2000s and have never enjoyed the impersonal nature of virtual presentations. Even when I hosted the successful show Rockin’ the Code World for four years during the pandemic, it never felt like a replacement for genuine community. I only did it because the world was shut down—and once we opened back up, I stepped away from it.

The same thing happened when the University of California approached me to teach online during the shift to remote learning. I turned it down. Why? Because I’ve believed—and still do—that in-person learning is more effective, more memorable, and more impactful. Nothing compares to looking someone in the eye, answering their question on the spot, and building relationships that last beyond the session.

This loss of connection isn’t limited to tech events. It mirrors what we’re seeing with social media, online dating, and remote everything—we’ve become more isolated, more distracted, and less connected to our peers. Even Microsoft’s online conferences have drifted far from their roots. Many are now pre-recorded, overly scripted, and more about marketing than meaningful learning. And that’s not a direction that serves developers well.

When Companies Stop Investing in Growth, Everyone Loses

Another major challenge affecting our community is the disappearance of company support for professional development. Training budgets have all but vanished at many organizations. Conferences? Considered too costly. Weekend user groups? Barely mentioned. College-level classes or certifications? Rarely reimbursed.

And yet, these investments are crucial—not just for the engineer, but for the business itself. Supporting community involvement, ongoing learning, and skill-building isn’t a perk. It’s a competitive advantage.

That’s why I recommend in my book Rock Your Career: Surviving the Technical Interview that you always ask about a company’s training budget during interviews. If they don’t have one—or worse, if they don’t see the value in helping you grow—it’s a red flag. It tells you they’re not interested in your long-term success.

The irony? Many companies worry that if you learn something new, you might leave. But in reality, most engineers leave because they aren’t learning, or don’t feel supported. When companies stop investing in their talent, talent finds somewhere else to grow.

The result of this lack of investment is that most of us are left to learn on our own time. We squeeze in tutorials after hours, pay for certifications out of pocket, and try to keep up with a constantly evolving industry on nights and weekends. That’s not sustainable—and it’s part of why so many software projects miss the mark. When engineers don’t have the time or support to sharpen their skills, users ultimately suffer.

Summary

After reading this article, you might be thinking I’m just nostalgic for the “good old days” or stuck in the past. And yes, I’ll admit—there’s a bit of truth in that. But here’s what’s also true: I’ve always pushed myself to grow, to adapt, and to embrace new technology. It’s in my DNA, forged during my time in the military and refined throughout my career as an engineer, author, speaker, teacher, and mentor.

When I discover new tools, techniques, or ways of thinking that genuinely improve how we build software, I welcome them with open arms—they become part of my everyday workflow. But when I see trends or decisions that make it harder to create quality software that people actually love to use, I can’t just accept that. I feel a responsibility to speak up, to share what I’ve learned, and to help guide us toward a better path.

What I see today is troubling: software quality declining, engineers disengaged, and a growing sense that we’re all just grinding out code for a paycheck—not building careers, not taking pride in craftsmanship, and not creating apps that users truly enjoy.

That’s why I wrote this article. Not to complain. But to teach, to inspire, and to remind developers—especially those early in their careers—that the tech community matters. That your network, your passion, and your pride in your work can change everything. And for companies: your willingness to invest in people, support the community, and foster real learning will shape your future more than any metric ever could.

We’re all in this together. And we can steer this ship toward something better—not just for ourselves, but for every user we serve.

Call to Action

If this message resonated with you, don’t let it stop at the end of this article.

If you’re a developer: Reach out. Join a user group. Start one if it doesn’t exist. Mentor someone. Ask questions. Teach what you know.
If you’re a company leader: Fund training. Encourage conference attendance. Give engineers space to grow and connect. Stop thinking in quarters—start thinking in careers.
If you’re an industry veteran like me: Share your story. Advocate for what matters. Help the next generation understand that writing great code is only half the job—building community and connections is the other half.

Let’s stop waiting for someone else to fix the problem. Let’s be the community we wish we still had.

The power to revive it is already in our hands.

Pick up any books by David McCarter by going to Amazon.com: http://bit.ly/RockYourCodeBooks

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