classstruggle.tech

In an era dominated by digital interactions and transformations, the discourse around digital rights has increasingly become steeped in ideologies anchored on the tenets of individualism. We have been told over and over again that they were designed that way to champion personal freedoms. Yet, recent events like this, this, this and this have suggested quite the opposite. If anything, the frameworks we have today are actually just masking a profit-driven agenda that aims to commercialise every facet of our digital existence and perpetuate colonial legacies of domination and exploitation under the guise of “modernisation” and “progress”. This deeply ingrained individualistic focus in the realm of digital rights not only sidelines our collective needs. They actively participate in the neoliberal assault on communal structures and in the longer term, environmental sustainability. This blog seeks to scrtutinise the limitations of our current understanding of digital rights and explore alternative approaches that prioritise the collective welfare and environmental health. As our planet faces record high temperatures and escalating environmental crises, it's imperative that we shift our focus from the 'me' to the 'we'.

Back in 1995, Nicholas Negroponte predicted that Internet would “flatten organisations, globalise society, decentralise control, and help harmonise people”. Quite a utopian picture of digital connectivity, starkly different from our reality in 2024. That instead of being a democratising power, the digital landscape has exploited user data for profit, with a few dominant players wielding significant influence over how data is used and monetised. Much of the Internet we see today can be compared to emerald mining, a process that often involves the extraction of valuable resources under conditions that are far from equitable. The digital realm thrives on the same logic for data extraction, often without users’ explicit consent or fair compensation. Thus, mirroring the exploitation during the colonial era when resources were taken from local communities for the economic advantage of more powerful entities, which leaves those communities impoverished and their environments depleted. And as we observe Indigenous Peoples Day this month, it is just fitting to reflect on the parallels between historical colonisation and the digital exploitation unfolding right before our eyes, Today, we see a similar scenario plays out where vast amount of data are harvested from people worldwide. And from these datasets they create a lesser-known, labour-intensive digital sweatshops fueled by the likes of Amazon Mechanical Turks. In countries like the Philippines, India, and Kenya, workers are employed under harsh conditions to process and label these enormous data pools, tasks that are essential for training AI systems. Such labour is often tedious and poorly paid, yet they are the backbone of the sophisticated algorithms we see on search engines and other digital platform. Echoing the sentiment of a popular 90s song, it's profoundly ironic that those who toil to advance cutting-edge technologies often do so in circumstances that starkly oppose the futuristic applications they help create.

This prevailing “me, me, me” agenda in the digital realm further exacerbates the issues highlighted above, where the individualistic ethos not only promotes but necessitates a self-focused view of technology. But, this cultural shift is not just a byproduct of natural course of tech evolution. Rather, it is more of an active engineering concocted by public policy and commercial interests—as noted by Greenstein in his book “How the Internet Became Commercial”. Corporations created environments that encourage constant connectivity and self-promotion, directly influencing how we conceive of concepts like digital rights, and turning them into matters of personal concern rather than communal responsibility.

Take privacy, as an example. Privacy is not merely a personal choice despite how often it is framed that way. Privacy is a social predicament, which means one person’s decisions regarding their data can have far-reaching consequences for others. I am once again citing Kasper (2007) who argued that “[p]rivacy is a socially created need, and without society, there would be no need for privacy”. One person’s choice of an app can jeopardise the privacy of others. When enough people use a non-secure service, it becomes a norm, making it harder for others to choose more secure options without sacrificing social or professional connections.

Privacy is also highly influenced by one’s position in the social hierarchy. The richer you are, the easier it is for you to obtain a higher level of privacy compared to those lower down the social ladder. This very commodification of privacy creates a false dichotomy between those who can afford privacy and those who cannot. A classic tale as old as time. When we treat prvacy as a purchasable good, we marginalise those who lack the resources to buy into these protections. And by framing privacy as an individual choice, society implicitly blames those who cannot afford privacy-enhancing tools for their lack of privacy. This perpetuates the false idea that privacy is a matter of personal responsibility and capability, rather than a systemic issue rooted in economic inequality. It reinforces the idea that people attain privacy simply because they choose to. It ignores the financial and social barriers that prevent many from securing their personal data.

Many people are not equipped with the knowledge to make informed decisions about their privacy. Some wouldn’t understand the trade-offs they are making by sharing their personal information in exchange for free services. This gap in knowledge and the individualistic push highlight a significant divergence from the long-term thinking and sustainability prioritised by indigenous traditions, which often consider the impact of actions on future generations. To rectify this, we can draw on the collective-focused principles of many indigenous cultures such as the Maori’s whanaungatanga, Igorot’s **og-ogbo **and Minangkabau’s gotong toyong. These groups prioritise collective well-being over individual success, a stark contrast to the self-centered, narcistic approach we see everyday as we browse Instagram’s Explore tab or Tiktok’s Discover page. For these cultures, decisions about community resources are made collectively. This reflects a deep commitment to the entire community's welfare, which could inform a better approach to digital privacy, and digital rights more generally.

In the face of the current digital rights framework dominated by commodification, consumerism and individualism, there is an urgent need to pivot towards a decolonial and degrowth approach in digital rights. The Euro-American centric paradigms that have long dominated and distorted our approach to digital interaction have failed the global majority. These frameworks perpetuate a colonial legacy and dictates terms and conditions from a viewpoint that aligns with Western interests at the expense of local and indigenous practices. In various communities across Asia and Africa, for example, data and digital resources are traditionally seen as collective assets, integral to the welfare and advancement of the entire community rather than just the indivdual. This communal approach to digital resources has become evident in practices such as community-managed cooperative mobile networks in South Africa and Mexico, where the technology is maintained and used by the community to ensure that all members have access. Such models highlight a stark contrast to the individualistic, privatised approach, where data is often siloed and monetised on individual bases, leaving the control largely in the hands of corporate entities.

Another critical framework that can provide guidance for rethinking digital rights and advocate for a shift away from unsustainable consumption is degrowth. Degrowth challenges the relentless drive for technological advancement and data accumulation. Instead it proposes that we prioritise ecological sustainability and human well-being over corporate profits. At the heart of the degrowth argument is the call to curb unnecessary data collection, which is critical in an era where the over-collection and exploitation of data are rampant.This would mean that data collection is limited strictly to what is necessary for the functionality of services, rather than for surplus value extraction through surveillance capitalism. We need to reorient our relationship with technology to make it align with the principles human rights and environmental sustainability. As long as these problematic business models persist, we are trapped in a destructive cycle where companies often play the dual roles of arsonists and firefighters.

As we move away from individualistic data ownership models to collective data governance, we need to ensure that digital resources are managed in ways that benefit entire communities rather than individual corporations. This could involve community-controlled data trusts that prioritise transparency and equitable access. We need a radical reevaluation of how digital technologies are developed, deployed, and discarded, emphasising moderation, regulation, and the minimisation of digital footprints. Integrating indigenous perspectives into digital rights discourse can provide valuable insights into how digital technologies might be harmonised with cultural practices and communal values, offering a more holistic approach to privacy and data protection.

Digital rights policies should align with broader sustainable development goals, ensuring that digital growth does not come at the expense of environmental degradation or social inequality. This could mean imposing stricter regulations on energy consumption of data centres or designing technologies that are both energy-efficient and accessible to economically disadvantaged communities. To combat the monopolistic control of tech giants, supporting decentralised and open-source technologies can empower smaller businesses and communities. This would help reduce the concentration of power and promote a more democratic digital landscape. 

By addressing these aspects, the discourse on digital rights can shift towards a model that is not only anti-capitalist but also decolonial and aligned with degrowth principles. This would foster a digital environment where technologies serve the collective good, ensuring fair access and sustainable practices that respect both human and environmental rights. The challenge for us, activists, lies not just in resisting the commodification of digital spaces but in reim