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I think one of the reasons I find the whole brouhaha so mystifying is that, from my university apartments to my first townhouse to my current home, I’ve never actually had a regular letter delivered to my door. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: it’s not the end of the world. I live across the street from the community box in my neighbourhood, and the only “problem” is a small traffic uptick when people are coming home from work. It’s well lit, snow is cleared promptly, and when vandals smashed one of the glass walls, it was replaced almost immediately.

All of that might explain why, in a 2013 poll, a solid majority of those who already get mail from community boxes supports Canada Post’s strategy. True, most Canadians were opposed, but I’d be interested in a poll that asks them how much they’d be willing to spend to maintain that service. Canada Post is mostly self-sustaining now, but it won’t always be that way.

There is a legitimate need for home letter delivery in some cases, and the new plan makes accommodations. The catch is that you have to apply for it, and you actually have to prove you need it. Advocates for those with disabilities (and, conveniently, the postal workers’ union) are aghast that people would have to provide medical information, but I’m not quite sure I understand the issue. Applying for home letter delivery doesn’t seem any more onerous than acquiring an accessible parking permit in Ontario — your doctor actually has to fill out a form describing your ailment or limitation in that case — which has so far escaped the gaze of activists and litigators (who also seem to have missed the fact that two-thirds of Canadians already don’t receive home mail delivery). I acknowledge that may sound crass coming from me, a 34-year-old with no mobility issues. I hope it doesn’t, though, because I’m not indifferent to the challenges of others, including someone in my own extended family.