This article addresses the importance of WhatsApp during COVID-19 times in Argentina. It analyzes the use of WhatsApp amidst informal and institutional actors and the bridges it has built for interacting, communicating and creating communitarianism.

by Raquel Tarullo*

Circles of friends, members of sports clubs, parents associations and work colleagues are new actors that have come along with the pandemic in Argentina to provide, in the emergency, food and clothing for thousands of families who live in poverty. These groups, that are neither social movements nor civic associations, use their WhatsApp contacts and the groups they have on this social network to promote, by using distribution lists, their food drives to prepare meals they deliver once a week.

Parallel to this trend, teachers of schools with vulnerable student bodies find in WhatsApp the channel for communicating with families and, in some way, accompanying students in what the government has called ‘Pedagogical Continuity Plan’, as most of them do not have access to the internet or technological devices. Moreover, teachers use this platform for sharing useful information with these families, such as state assistance payment calendars and the WhatsApp direct line for reporting gender or familiar violence.

A universal platform

In Argentina, WhatsApp has become the best ally for an activism that has introduced new actors and new practices since national government established a severe lockdown on 20 March. This platform is used by groups of people that have organized themselves to prepare meals for those poor families that COVID-19 has enormously hurt. Besides, WhatsApp is the only channel that teachers of schools with vulnerable student bodies have not only for interacting with their students’ families, but also for being a communication bridge between the government and their students’ families. Why do they both use WhatsApp? Because the use of this platform in Argentina is almost universal: more than 90 percent of the population use this channel to stay connected and communicate, sharing statuses, selling goods and spreading news. Currently, it is also used for performing micro repertoires of activism.

More than a half of kids and teenagers live below the poverty line in Argentina. According to the last UNICEF report of COVID-19 effects in the country, that percentage will reach 58 percent by the end of this year. Even though the national government has taken socioeconomic measures to maintain the situation under control, such as the Ingreso Familiar de Emergencia (Emergency Household Income), a state assistance for poor families, and zero interest rate loans for the self-employed with minimum or low income, the great majority of Argentines has been suffering a series of crisis that in recent years have widened gaps greatly.

One half of the country’s workforce get about in an informal economy, working under the table and surviving on changas(occasional one-day job that allows for minimal daily sustenance). Besides, cartoneros/as, who live from the sales of disposed garbage items, are part of this vulnerable group. This segment is the most affected because of the direct and indirect effects of the pandemic. Moreover, social movements and civil associations with a strong identity and established history that work in slums and the most helpless zones of the country have warned that people from the most vulnerable urban areas are the most affected by the COVID-19 contagion. In relation to this, La Garganta Poderosa, an NGO that has representation in many countries of Latin America, launched last week a social media campaign #contagiásolidaridad (#infectsolidarity) to promote a collective awareness of the situation.

A diffusional space for the urgency

Olla de Mujeres (Saucepan of women) is a group formed by five girls. Only two of them knew each other before. They decided to come together after exchanging some messages through WhatsApp, and they used this channel for organizing themselves. Since April, they have been using this channel to post in their statuses a flyer with the information about the goods they need for preparing meals, along with their WhatsApp numbers. As they are very active and social, they have many WhatsApp groups, in which they share this information. The members of these groups replicate this message, building an informal network of solidarity. They receive messages from unknown people, offering supplies and help. As they have a special permit issued by the authorities and required to drive around during lockdown, they collect donations all around the city. An NGO lends them its kitchen facilities for cooking. Every Saturday, they distribute the meals to a hundred families.

Fernando is 22 years old, has many friends and many groups of friends in WhatsApp. He uses these contacts for food drives. He creates WhatsApp broadcast lists and his parents do the same, helping him to promote his campaign of food donations. Fernando and his lifelong friends cook every Saturday in the kitchen of the club where he plays volleyball. Last Saturday, they distributed more than 200 meals to people who went to a merendero, or food bank for low-income population.

Schools and WhatsApp

School teachers have a fundamental place in this network, diffusions and emergencies. Schools are one of the institutions that have deeply transformed themselves to adapt to the current situation.

Some extra data to understand the situation: the majority of the schools that are settled in popular and deprived areas of the country offer breakfast, lunch and/or afternoon snacks to their students living in vulnerable conditions. However, since on-site classes were suspended, teachers are in charge of delivering every other week a bag of food products, a measure that the national government has introduced to replace school meals and increase social assistance to these families. Along with the food provisions, teachers distribute school booklets for students to continue with their education, in order to guarantee the Pedagogical Continuity Plan. Then, communication continues via WhatsApp. “Far from other schools that can work via Google Classroom, Zoom or other platforms, our unique way of communication with families and students is via WhatsApp. In our community, families do not have neither internet access nor computers. We give them these booklets, and then we try to continue communication using WhatsApp,” says Jéssica, head of a school in the province of Buenos Aires.

However, the content of these booklets has received much criticism: the Mapuche’s Confederation (the NGO that congregates native people settled in the south of the country) reported that they were described as a vanished community, using discriminatory vocabulary, said the report. The National Ministry of Education publicly apologized to the community.

Even though browsing the governmental site educ.ar – where students and/or their parents can download these booklets – is free of charge and contents can be downloaded without consuming mobile data, access is almost impossible for families with many kids and only one mobile phone per household. “Besides, most of these parents haven´t finished their primary studies. Even if they had mobiles or computers, they wouldn’t have the digital skills for accessing to these sites and downloading the pedagogical material”, says Valeria, a social worker who uses WhatsApp to help women of impoverished communities sending them information about State health assistance for them and their kids.

Nevertheless, communication via WhatsApp largely exceeds pedagogical goals. “At the beginning, it was for school purposes, but currently we use it to share useful information that runs in other social media, such as Facebook and Instagram, which families of our school may not have access to”, explains Jéssica. So in this group formed by teachers and families, schools share information about those places where they can go for free food during the weekends (where Fernando and his friends, Olla de Mujeres and many other groups deliver meals every weekend), state assistance payment calendars and dates of food bags delivery. “We are the link between families and government”. For instance, new of a WhatsApp direct line for reporting gender and domestic violence that was launched recently by the government were shared by teachers using these WhatsApp groups.

However, it is not easy. Jéssica explains that the onsite meetings every 15 days – during which they deliver food bags – are also used for collecting data about connectivity and communication devices available to their students, in order to improve their ways of interacting with students and families and adapt practices in which the dynamics of the context is adverse for the community of the school she heads. “Seventy percent of families have prepaid mobile cards. They top-up their phones when they receive State assistance. That lasts around 10 days. Then communication is cut off.”

The pandemic in Argentina has revealed repertoires, dynamics and resistances of a ‘backstage activism’ that has WhatsApp as a main ally: for creating networks, for organizing solidarities, for coming along with kids in their educational continuity, for spreading information that is originated in other online spaces to which families of these vulnerable communities don’t have access, for reporting and asking for help. All of these are micro practices of an activism that has become different, but seemingly not less effective, during COVID-19 times. However, it is important to say that these creative uses are responses that different actors perform for collaborating with humble communities during this emergency, an emergency that has made visible more than ever before different edges of a context where resources are unequally distributed.

 

About the author

Raquel Tarullo. PhD in Social Sciences and Humanities. Lecturer and Researcher at National University of the Northwest of Buenos Aires Province (UNNOBA) and National University of San Antonio de Areco (UNSAdA). Visiting Research Fellow, Sociology Department, Goldsmiths, University of London (2019-2020). Contact: raqueltarullo@gmail.com/@unflordeviaje

 

What does it mean, in everyday life, to experience the first pandemic in a datafied society? This article takes a data perspective to discuss the specificities of the Italian experience of the COVID-19 crisis.

 

by Tiziano Bonini

Forms of datafication of society during the COVID-19 pandemic have varied from country to country. The biggest concerns relating to datafication of citizens were the spread of contact tracing and notification apps and the risks these would bring to citizens’ privacy. Some suggest that people have become passively accustomed to surveillance by private multinational companies (surveillance capitalism, Zuboff 2019) but are reluctant to agree to be monitored by their country’s Ministry of Health.

In Italy, as in many other countries, many controversies have arisen around health tracking apps. In the end, the Italian app – Immuni – was released on June 2 and in 8 days it was downloaded by two million Italian citizens. While this might seem a success story, things are more complicated than that. Experts pointed out that it will need at least 30 million downloads to make the app useful for contact tracing and there are many doubts about the possibility of reaching these numbers, also because many smartphone models do not support it (as for example all iPhone models before 6s).

Debate on the Immuni app has revealed the existence of two opposing fronts: we can refer to them as the techno-solutionists on the one hand, and the techno-apocalyptics on the other. The former believe they can slow down the diffusion of contagion simply by having an app installed on their mobile phones; the latter instead reject any form of surveillance, except that coming from Facebook or Google. Yet, the importance of data during the pandemic did not emerge only during the debate on Immuni – public narrative of the lockdown period was in many ways crossed by the rhetoric of dataism, meant as a blind and unconditional trust in data.

Every evening, at 6.30 p.m., for two months, the head of the Italian Civil Protection went on television to “give numbers” about the pandemic: new healed, new contagions, new hospitalized, new deaths compared to the previous day. Despite the dubious reliability of those data (the dead, it was later discovered, were many more; the contagions were ten times as many, and Italian regions did not provide data in a homogeneous way), this press conference immediately turned into a collective ritual, an appointment not to be missed, like President Roosevelt’s fireside chats on the radio, a real “media event” (Dayan & Katz 1992): the (macabre) Pandemic Ceremony. This national ceremony was flanked, in scattered order, by other media micro-cerimonies on a local or municipal basis: this refers to the live-shows on Facebook, You Tube and Instagram of dozens of Italian mayors, who, inspired by the macabre national ceremony, every night “entertained” their fellow citizens telling about the state of the virus spread in their municipality through use of data. In this case data were employed as objective and neutral facts to convince citizens to stay at home and “flatten the curve”.

But if we stopped here, we would end up seeing only a part of the story, the one in which data were used to build a public narrative passively accepted by citizens. That’s not the case, or at least it wasn’t for everyone. Since the early days of the pandemic and lockdown, organized groups of citizens have confronted available data trying to analyze them together, drawing different conclusions from the official narrative or even producing new data. Many have opened Excel spreadsheets where they could download Civil Protection data (made available as Open Data) to try to interpret them independently.

Many others have created Facebook groups to discuss such data and their meaning. Some turned to their math friend, some dusted off their old statistical knowledge, others simply followed the home made analysis of their Facebook friends. From this point of view, we could say that lockdown represented a period of collective learning about the role of data in society and accelerated the emergence or spread of data activism, data journalism and open science practices.

On the side of data journalism, the local newspaper L’Eco di Bergamo made an important investigative work. By collecting data independently and examining those already available, it showed that the number of deaths in the province of Bergamo, one of the most affected cities in Italy by Covid-19, was almost double the official number.

On the open science and citizen science side, one of the most active groups on the examination, interpretation and sharing of data on the evolution of the pandemic in Italy was the Facebook group Dataninja, a community of journalists, citizens and researchers created in 2012 by a group of Italian journalists interested in the use of data in creating information. This community, which counts more than 3,000 members, for two months produced a large amount of data, “home made” graphs and tables, representing a collective effort to try to make sense of what was happening.

Still on the open science side, within the community of medical doctors other interesting projects related to data have emerged, such as the Giotto Movement in Modena, created by an association of young Italian family doctors with the aim of building together an electronic register (a shared excel sheet) where to collect in one place all those COVID-19 suspect patients that didn’t match the official criteria to be eligible for a COVID-19 test and taken care of by the Public Health and Hygiene Service. This need was felt by several family doctors, who, simultaneously and without consulting each other, created very similar “low technology” tools (Excel or Word sheets) to keep the situation under control. These were the first weeks of emergency and the situation on the ground was very chaotic. The project was developed in three main phases:

1. Consultation among young doctors from various Italian regions (thanks to the network of the Giotto Movement, an association of young doctors) to define a first version of the register,
2. A group of about 20 couples of doctors in training in General Medicine tested the instrument for a week and at the end of this week, after a mutual comparison on strengths and weaknesses, they built the final version of the register,
3. Diffusion of the register to all family doctors, thanks to the collaboration of the Primary Care Managers of Modena, and to colleagues from all over Italy thanks to the network of doctors of the Giotto Movement who contributed to its realization.

On the side of data activism, the NGO Action Aid, since March 12, has activated a national mapping of spontaneous and institutional solidarity initiatives (such as volunteers to do shopping for the elderly in various cities), those of psychological support, fundraising, debunking fake news and dissemination of scientific data. The project is named Covid19Italia Help and consists of an interactive map in which anyone can report and insert solidarity initiatives going on the Italian territory. The creators of the project described it as a civic hacking initiative and the idea (and also a good part of the project) came from the same team that had developed the EarthQuakeCentroItalia project, a very similar civic hacking initiative that consisted of a collective effort of managing the emergence caused by the Eartquake that struck Central Italy in 2016 through the use of open data and citizen generated data.

In Bologna, Kilowatt – a working cooperative made up of different souls working in the fields of social innovation, circular economy, communication and urban regeneration, has launched the project “Passa il tempo, passa la bufera” an experiment in domestic ethnography “at a distance”, to stimulate a ritual of collective self-observation. Kilowatt collected qualitative data through online questionnaires with open-ended questions, renewed once a week for five weeks. Respondents (583 people) provided very detailed accounts of their lives during lockdown, changes in their moods and their new domestic occupations. Data collected were then translated into info-graphics and collective diaries, which gave a collective portrait of the domestic climate during the pandemic. Kilowatt’s aim was to try to keep the pulse of what was happening in our homes and in our lives, accompanying us to a new normality, going beyond the logic of statistics and using the tools of ethnography”.

I talked via email with two of the creators of the project, Anna Romani and Gaspare Caliri. They told me that the answers to the last questionnaire clearly confirmed, at the same time, both the need of others and the need for solitude, as two indivisible and both necessary feelings during the lockdown. They also noticed the fear of the respondents that nothing will change: “we often hear this, but especially in relation not only to macro issues, but also to the individual management of one’s own days, after having discovered the special texture of slow, freed time, time to lose, time for idleness, time for oneself, time for loved ones…”. According to Caliri, “the instrument of domestic ethnography worked as a detector of the so-called warm data, the Bateson Institute would say, i.e. those relational data that give meaning (intelligibility) to a complex system and the possibility of collective learning: those data where the important thing is the connection, not the point”. In other words, domestic ethnography has been employed has a “technology of the self” (Foucault 1988): the activity of taking care of oneself during lockdown went through individual generation and collective analysis of qualitative data (the diaries).

These examples are only the surface of a process of domestication of data within daily life during the pandemic and are significant because they show, at least by some social formations, the ability and willingness to exercise agency with respect to data produced by institutions and narrated by the media. These examples show the need to negotiate, appropriate, decode, rework data coming from above and produce, in some cases, new meanings of data.

The collective process of knowledge production around the virus has been largely based on the capacity of sharing and interpreting data, but what I wanted to show here is that many private and collective initiatives from civil society have taken away, at least in part, the monopoly of production, analysis and verification of data by institutions. Moreover, these examples also provide evidence that not all social formations have adhered to blind faith in data and technology as a solution to the COVID-19 crisis.

 

About the author

Tiziano Bonini is associate professor in Sociology of Media and Culture at the Department of Social, Political and Cognitive Sciences at the University of Siena, Italy. He teaches Sociology of Communication (MA), Mass Media, Digital Culture and Society (BA) and Big Data and Society (BA). His research interests include political economy of the media, platform studies, media production studies, and digital cultures.

At a time when the World Health Organization and other government officials say “do stay at home!”, which home does the LGBTQ+ community has the option to stay in? This article illuminates the struggles lived by the LGBTQ+ community during the COVID-19 crisis, also illustrating some of the initiatives taken in response.

 

By Ricardo H. D. Rohm e José Otávio A. L. Martins 

On May 17th the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia was celebrated, a date aiming to promote international events that raise awareness of LGBTQ+ rights violations worldwide. This date was chosen due to the decision of the World Health Organization (WHO) to remove the term “homosexuality” from the list of mental disorders of the International Classification of Diseases in 1990, disregarding homosexuality as a pathology. Even though the date is now remembered as the day against LGBTQphobia, it is important to remember that the so-called “gender incongruence” was only removed by the WHO from the International Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems (ICD 11) on June 18, 2018.

This date is a great achievement for the LGBTQ+ community, especially if we consider the context in which the decision took place – the early 1990s, still reverberating the spread of AIDS. For the LGBTQ+ community, notably for those who were born in the 1950s and 1960s and fully experienced the demonization of their bodies during the 1980s, the situation in which we live today, with the COVID-19 pandemic, recalls painful memories.

Still recovering from being considered as the source and proliferator of HIV/AIDS, the “gay cancer”, the LGBTQ+ community seems nowadays once again being held accountable by some authorities and public personalities, without grounds other than homophobia, for the current pandemic, as we can see in examples in the United States,  Israel, and  Iraq. Situations like these portray the constant and hostile prejudice, discrimination, and attack which the LGBTQ+ community suffers, day after day, year after year, century after century. Even if we are not at the heart of the matter, we are blamed for it.

This system of oppression constantly puts our community in a situation of social and emotional vulnerability. The vast majority only lives in the fullness of their sexual orientation and gender identity far away from the utopian coziness which family and home should symbolize. Many LGBTQ+ people, however, are only free when they are among friends, a chosen family, lovers, on a stage performing with a wig on or waving their flags, once a year, at the pride parades. This distance from their family and home could be by choice, when it is unbearable to cope with prejudice, or not – just like when they are rejected, abused, or thrown out of their home. We should ask again, therefore, at a time when the WHO and other government officials say “do stay at home!”, which home does the LGBTQ+ community has the option to stay in?

In Marseille, France, a couple was kicked out of the apartment they rented because they were “the first to be contaminated” by the COVID-19, an affirmation that has no scientific base, just homophobia. Exposed to a peculiar extra vulnerability now, which increases the existing one which the LGBTQ+ population has been facing, our community is even more targeted within the coronavirus crisis, as pointed out by the High Commissioner for Human Rights of the United Nations (UN),  Michelle Bachelet.

The UN draws attention to those who are HIV positive in the LGBTQ+ community. In Brazil, HIV among men who have sex with men is a reality classified as an epidemic and, although they are not part of the risk group, they do have a specific health care routine and ongoing medical treatments which require, for example, going out to withdraw retroviral drugs in health units. The UN also reinforces the importance of the local authorities to ensure the maintenance of these treatments and the continuous supply of HIV medication during the pandemic, not allowing prejudices to affect access and availability of these drugs.

Other health issues raise worries when we are facing the dissemination of a virus which attacks the respiratory system. Some Studies show that the LGBTQ+ population uses tobacco at rates that are 50% higher than the general population. The community still has a significant amount of people with cancer and, consequently, with a fragile immune system. It is important to note that LGBTQ+ people are historically discriminated by both health employees and the health system itself. As a result, many are reluctant to seek medical care, even in urgent situations. That can mean a health risk in times of COVID-19.

Talking about employment issues in Brazil, a national survey conducted by the group #VoteLGBT, with the participation of researchers from two major Brazilian universities, points out that, within the LGBTQ+ community, 21.6% of respondents are unemployed and 20.7% have no income. This survey was conducted through online questionnaires, therefore, there is a considerable possibility that it has not reached some of the most vulnerable people in the community and the results could be worrisome. It is also relevant to highlight the difficulty in the  access to income by trans and transvestite women who are sex workers  (90% of Brazilian trans population uses prostitution as a source of income) who, in times of social distancing, can no longer carry out their activities, losing their source of income (unless able to resort to virtual sessions instead).

Opening a short parenthesis to talk about the trans population, as if the suffering of the most vulnerable portion of the LGBTQ+ community was not enough, transphobia does not cease during a pandemic. Some Latin American countries have determined that, among the measures of social distancing, men and women can only leave their houses on separate days. There have been cases of trans women being fined for leaving their home on the day designated for women, making the pandemic period even more difficult for the trans population, who in addition to fighting the virus, has to still fight to reaffirm who they are.

Addressing the issues associated with staying at home during the pandemic and the difficulty of finding a safe place to be protected, a global survey conducted by the relationships app Hornet, with gay, bisexual, cis or transgender men points out that 1 out of 3 men feels physically and emotionally insecure in their own homes. The reasons are not only due to the intrafamilial prejudice, for those who live with their families, but also the loneliness of those living alone – data from #VoteLGBT`s survey also pointed out that 28% of the Brazilian respondents have been diagnosed with depression, which worsens the scenario presented  by Hornet`s survey.

When talking about LGBTQ+ people who are unable to earn a living or who have been kicked off from their families’ homes, an alternative to survival are the shelters (in Portuguese “Casas de Acolhimento”), present in several cities in Brazil. Although each has its administration, they support each other on joint projects to collect donations and carry out cultural actions. In addition to a shelter, they provide food and personal hygiene products for marginalized LGBTQ+ people, as well as develop academic, capacitation, and cultural activities for their residents and the external public, always relying on donations and sponsorships to maintain their activities. During the pandemic, where everything is more urgent and scarce compared to normal times, the shelters see the decrease of donations while the requests for shelter are increasing.

Initiatives to cope with this scenario

Amid the plight that the LGBTQ+ community faces today, some initiatives deserve not only visibility but also our support. They are the result of the mobilization of the community itself and, eventually, with the support of some LGBTQ-friendly companies and celebrities. Links to the initiative and organizations are copied herein under to bring awareness and visibility to the cause.

Speaking about the shelters mentioned above, some fundraising initiatives have managed to obtain significant support to these institutions in this time of crisis. A virtual live concert with a famous Brazilian DJ organized by NGO Casinha, produced by Tenho Orgulho, FestivalUniverso, and  TODXS, raised more than 5,000 BRL for organizations such as Casa Nem,  LGBT+ Movimento and for Casainha itself. Another virtual live concert titled Festival do Orgulho was organized by Amstel Brewery and payment app AME. The Festival was headlined by artists of great national visibility (among them singer/drag queen Pabllo Vittar) and raised 115,000 BRL that were donated to the NGOs  Casa Florescer, Grupo Pela Vidda and  Projeto Séfora’s,  Família Stronger and Arco Íris de Ribeirão Preto

Another fundraising initiative for shelters across the country – in this case, without musical performances – was the crowdfunding organized by All Out Brazil movement to support these institutions in their maintenance, purchase, and distribution of cleaning and hygiene materials, as well as food. The initiative raised approximately 54,000 BRL and will benefit  CasAmor LGBTQI+  (Aracaju),  Astra Human Rights and LGBT Citizenship | Acódi LGBT  (Aracaju),  Casa Transformar  (Fortaleza), Casa Miga Acolhimento LGBT+  (Manaus),  Casa da Diversidade Niterói  (Niterói),  Transviver  (Recife), CasaNem (Rio de Janeiro), Casa Aurora  (Salvador), Casa dos Direitos da Baixada  (São João de Meriti), Casa Chama  (São Paulo), Casa Florescer 1 (São Paulo) and Casa Florescer 2 (São Paulo).

Another initiative, linked to the arts, was created by #VoteLGBT, the same group which conducted the aforementioned survey. Created during quarantine, LGBTFLIX is a free-access platform, not linked to any streaming service, that compiles more than 200 LGBTQ+ themed short films! The initiative aims to bring entertainment to the LGBTQ+ community during this period of social isolation; on the platform, you can choose short films with homosexual, bisexual or transgender themes.

Some nationwide initiatives are still ongoing and accepting donations. One of them is The Emergency Fund for TRANS people organized by Casa Chama, in São Paulo, which has already raised 83,000 BRL (all information about this initiative is listed in this link).

Those initiatives show a path of light amid so many adversities and also the capacity of the LGBTQ+ community to once again unite efforts to face another major challenge with COVID-19. It is essential to understand the reality of the LGBTQ+ community during this pandemic, to highlight good movements that have already accomplished significant results and call on everyone to support initiatives such as those mentioned herein, not only during the pandemic. With prudence, responsibility, union, and following scientific and WHO`s guidelines the COVID-19 pandemic will be surpassed.

 

About the authors

Dr. Ricardo Rohm is associate professor at the Faculty of Administration of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. Founder and coordinator of the Study and Research Program in Human Development, Transformational Leadership Training and Social Governance: pep-rohm.facc.ufrj.br – rohm@facc.ufrj.br

José Otávio Martins is an undergraduate student at the Faculty of Administration of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro and also an intern in research at the PEP-ROHM Program. zeotavioalm@gmail.com

 

 

 

While the government limits access to information, data activists are consolidating and structuring COVID-19 data for open access.

 

by Peter Füssy

While healthcare workers fight the coronavirus pandemic with drugs and ventilators, journalists and data activists try to tackle the infodemic with numbers and visualizations. In Brazil, it is difficult to tell who is winning those battles as the death toll continues to rise and president Jair Bolsonaro “continues to sow confusion by openly flouting and discouraging the sensible measures of physical distancing and lockdown”, according to an editorial from the journal The Lancet. Mixing a historical lack of capacity and an attempt to control the narrative of the crisis, the federal government provides poor quality numbers about COVID-19, reinforcing the fact that beyond producing knowledge to deal with a problem, data (or the lack of data) “can also shape perceived realities” as Renzi and Langlois claim.

As a result of federal administration decisions, Brazil is one of the countries that test less for the virus in relation to the population and has a peculiar COVID-19 dashboard that shows first the number of recovered cases with larger font sizes, then new cases and deaths with smaller fonts. For one week in June, the total toll of cases and deaths was completely removed from the dashboard to reappear after intense criticism. The Brazilian government also cancelled the daily press conferences and started to release pandemic reports after the most-watched TV news program in the country. All of these decisions are seen by the media and independent organizations as authoritarian, insensitive attempts to make COVID-19 deaths invisible.

Brazil’s Ministry of Health dashboard highlights recovered cases estimation (Source: covid.saude.gov.br)

Beyond that, the Ministry of Health breaks numbers only by states (in Brazil, one state can be as large as France, Spain and Sweden combined), which means that the local dimensions of the problem are mostly ignored. The government had promised information by cities but never delivered and, to make it worse, switched the total report format from an open format (CSV) to a closed one (Microsoft Excel) in the middle of the pandemic. As I discussed previously in this blog post, Bolsonaro’s regime has been limiting access to information since the beginning. The institutional resistance to transparency has only become more evident with the health crisis.

In response to that, during the pandemic, data activism assumed governmental functions providing the numbers to substantiate decisions on a variety of levels, from NGOs (1, 2) to policymakers (1, 2) which use open data from activist group Brasil.IO. Trying to reduce the “data gap” characteristic from countries of the Global South, data activists and other organizations from civil society are collecting and structuring COVID-19 data. Besides Brasil.IO, journalists from six major newspapers and news portals are working together to provide independent total numbers of COVID-19 deaths and confirmed cases, while a data intelligence consultant is crowdfunding another COVID-19 monitor. Initiatives like those work with primary sources, allowing news production and research to be less dependent on problematic federal reports.

In the case of Brazil, more than making people visible and represented through the concept of data justice or advocating for social change, data activism is essential to challenge the state narrative about the pandemic and to prevent more deaths from COVID-19. If it depends on data activism and data journalism, Brazilian democracy will not die in the dark.

Brasil.IO case

One group of volunteers taking over the Brazilian government responsibilities is part of the Brasil.IO initiative. Their COVID-19 project includes data from more than 5.500 municipalities and other sources, such as notaries, making sub notification of cases and deaths visible. The data have been used by major newspapers and news broadcasters, including The New York Times, CNN and BBC. Scientific research is also relying on their data to produce comparative studies and forecasting.

Figures from the project indicate not only underreporting but also the delay in the official balances of COVID-19 deaths. For instance, the Ministry of Health announced that the country had reached a thousand deaths on April 11, while Brasil.IO’s platform pointed to the same number six days earlier. If undercounting promotes the discourse that minimizes the health crisis, data activism can liberate the numbers to public scrutiny.

Social media call and operationalization

Seeing the lack of structured data about COVID-19, founder of the non-profit organization Brasil.IO, Álvaro Justen, tweeted a call for volunteers to help in collecting data manually from all the 27 federative units on March 20. Rapidly, 34 volunteers answered the tweet (most of them are data journalists or software developers). “Fortunately, I have several friends and contacts who work with journalism and data and it was not difficult to find volunteers”, said Justen in an interview via email.

The group spent one whole weekend manually tabulating hundreds of epidemiological bulletins from state health departments since the beginning of the pandemic. Because of the urgency, they started with Google Spreadsheets to consolidate data. After the first round, the spreadsheets with the most recent numbers started to feed directly into the reformulated Brasil.IO platform, which uses Python, Django and PostgreSQL in the backend.

All communication is made with an open-source chat platform (Rocket.Chat), while publicization of updates and new insights appear on Twitter and in a Telegram group. Scripts for automated processes, such as scraping, monitoring, checking data, generating internal reports, and consolidating data are available at GitHub. For example, the group uses a robot to send notifications to the chat when one State Health Secretariat updates COVID-19 numbers.

Improving data quality

Due to the issues with data quality, a considerable part of the data collection is made manually by the volunteers. Besides collecting and checking data, volunteers also carry out the task of contacting health secretariats to recommend good data practices and ask them to make changes, so the data is more accessible via automated processes. “Not all respond satisfactorily but most of them are willing to collaborate in some way. With time and pressure, some things are improving but not in speed that a pandemic requires”, Justen points out.

In order to create an open data culture in Brazil, Justen has worked in databases and improved tools to facilitate data extracting from inaccessible formats since 2013. One emblematic example is a dataset that includes more than 500 thousand companies, and its shareholders, registered at the Brazilian Internal Revenue Service (Receita Federal). After the 2011’s Freedom of Information (FOI) act, that information should be publicly available and accessible to be read by robots. However, the page hosting the data used captchas to limit access. After several requests via FOI in 2018, the demand was denied with a link to a system that sold the data for R$ 506,000. Justen and other data activists pressured the IRS, which finally sent the dataset in a USB drive.

As everything is done on a voluntary basis and the data are available free of charge for everyone, one of the challenges of the project is about financial funding. “We don’t have that much time to work on the project and, therefore not everything advances at the speed we would like”, tells Justen. To help with this issue, they started a crowdfunding campaign to hire developers, making it possible to add new datasets that can be useful to “flatten the curve” of coronavirus in Brazil.

Brasil.IO’s manifesto defines the process of collecting, converting, cleaning and making data available in a structured and open format as ‘data liberation’. As stated in the manifesto, “liberating” access to public data is to make democracy less elitist. However, in the exceptional circumstances of the COVID-19 response in Brazil, liberating data seems to be fundamental to keep democracy and save lives.

Enquanto o Brasil se torna o novo epicentro da pandemia, motoristas Uber precisam escolher entre arriscar seu bem estar e desistir de sua principal fonte de renda. O que há de novo nisso? Conversamos com três motoristas de Belo Horizonte para descobrir.

Por Ana Guerra

Read in English

O Brasil é o maior mercado da Uber fora dos Estados Unidos, com mais de um milhão de “parceiros”. Recentemente, o país bateu outro recorde como a pior eclosão de COVID-19 no mundo depois dos Estados Unidos, com 772.416 casos confirmados e mais de 39.000 mortes até 11 de junho. Este artigo explora o impacto da pandemia em uma população social e economicamente marginalizada: motoristas Uber. Ele traz à tona preocupações que povoam seu cotidiano enquanto circulam pelas ruas de Belo Horizonte, a sexta cidade mais populosa do Brasil.

Por dentro dos modelos preditivos da Uber

A plataforma transnacional, que opera em 63 mercados nacionais pelo mundo, é conhecida como um exemplo da economia sob-demanda, ou “economia de bicos”. Se por um lado ela confere um certo grau de independência aos trabalhadores, por outro, não os fornece estabilidade ou qualquer tipo de proteção . Trabalhando sob um regime de trabalho altamente datificado os motoristas se veem em meio a rotinas exaustivas e privados de direitos trabalhistas, já que não são classificados como empregados.

Como esse modelo funciona? A plataforma emprega uma série de técnicas de gerenciamento algorítmico da força de trabalho dos motoristas a partir da combinação entre um ideal de livre mercado autorregulado e análise preditiva, o que costuma ser apresentado como um modo de minimizar incertezas e ajudar os motoristas a tomarem decisões mais lucrativa. so se torna possível graças à contínua coleta e processamento de dados sobre padrões de trânsito e localização e comportamentos de passageiros e motoristas. Os esforços tanto de desenvolvimento, quanto retóricos da empresa evidenciam a ambição de gerenciar e mitigar incertezas.  Isso é ilustrado pelas soluções de forecasting da plataformas, voltadas para a predição e o gerenciamento das dinâmicas espaço-temporais do que é chamado de “mundo real”, conforme é visível em publicações no blog de engenharia da Uber e em aplicações de patente, por exemplo.   O desejo de antecipar dinâmicas futuras por meio de dados também é evidenciada peloque Rosenblat and Stark  chamam “trabalho algorítmico” dos motoristas Uber.

A Uber é um caso paradigmático de precarização do trabalho pelo que é conhecido como “economia de bicos” ou “economia de compartilhamento”. De certa forma, não surpreende que este processo seja frequentemente chamado de “uberização do trabalho”.  A incorporação de modelos preditivos à rotina dos motoristas reverbera o que Adrian Mackenzie identifica como uma generalização da predição na vida cotidiana, ou seja, a presença crescente da ordenação algorítmica de preferências e recomendações, reconhecimento de padrões e previsão de demanda voltados à estabilização de resultados e ações futuros.

A mistura perigosa de performances datificadas, precarização e informalização do trabalho, e pobreza é particularmente tóxica durante uma pandemia que vem se caracterizando pela incerteza que impregna todas as esferas da vida.

Managing uncertainty in a pandemic

Desde que a Covid-19 passou a tomar conta dos nossos pensamentos e afetos, o mundo real parece estar se tornando ainda mais real, e nossa relação com a predição, um pouco mais íntima. O mundo como o conhecemos está se transformando rapidamente, e às vezes é difícil acompanhar os números que nos dizem o que está acontecendo hoje e o que esperar do amanhã: quantos casos? Quantos mortos? Quantos dias até voltarmos ao “normal”? A resposta muda dia após dia. O novo coronavírus distorceu nossa experiência de tempo e espaço. Um agente invisível, que podemos ou não estar carregando dentro de nossas células ou na superfície de nossas roupas, rapidamente perturbou as referências sólidas em torno das quais nos acostumamos a organizar nossas rotinas Enquanto uma ampla variedade de dados, modelos preditivos, projeções e representações visuais tentam tornar seus efeitos um pouco mais inteligíveis, o desconhecido continua encontrando modos de nos confrontar por ângulos inesperados. Qualquer lampejo de certeza rapidamente se prova efêmero e nenhuma projeção ou infográfico animado dá conta de amenizar isso. De certa forma, nossa narrativa dataísta que privilegia ideais de verdade datificados e orientados para a predição é progressivamente desestabilizada. A noção de “dataísmo”, como explica José van Dijck, diz de uma crença  na o “objetividade da quantificação” potencializada pela datificação do comportamento e da socialidade humanos em plataformas de mídia digital. Sim, continuamos contando  —  contando pacientes, contando leitos, contando corpos, contando os dias  —  mas nosso ritmo mudou.

Apesar da sensação globalizada de incerteza, alguns lugares parecem mais incertos do que outros. Aqui no Brasil, o novoepicentro da Covid-19, o “mundo real” encontra pitadas de realismo fantástico. Entre subnotificações, falta de testes, infindáveis conflitos entre os posicionamentos de autoridades de saúde e os do presidente Jair Bolsonaro, notícias sobre valas coletivas e notícias falsas sobre caixões cheios de pedra, os brasileiros se vêem em um cenário no mínimo caótico. Enquanto isso, o número de mortes segue aumentando à medida que as camadas mais pobres da população são afetadas pelo vírus e por um sistema econômico e social colapsado.

Entre aqueles apanhados pelo desamparo estão muitos dos motoristas Uber no Brasil. O país é o segundo maior mercado da Uber fora dos Estados Unidos. Desde que chegou por aqui em 2014, a plataforma rapidamente se posicionou como uma solução de mobilidade para comunidades mais pobres e menos assistidas pelo transporte público, forjando um papel quase infraestrutural. Ela chega onde muitos taxistas se recusam a ir e onde o transporte público é deficitário, como em favelas e periferias. Além disso, pegar um uber pode ser mais tão barato quanto pegar um ônibus, e, em geral,  muito mais rápido. Para além disso, ela também sustenta uma posição ambígua e privilegiada como uma salvadora em meio a altas taxas de desemprego, e muitos motoristas dependem da plataforma como principal fonte de renda. Neste momento, no entanto, os motoristas são forçados a desacelerar. Alguns relatam uma queda de 90% no movimento no movimento.

Lidando com tempos incertos: respostas da Uber vs. experiências dos motoristas

As respostas da Uber à pandemia fazem pouco para apaziguar a sensação de incerteza. Dentro do pacote de “recursos”direcionado a motoristas brasileiros, a plataforma anunciou uma “auxilio financeiro” com duração de até 14 dias para “parceiros” diagnosticados com Covid-19 ou classificados como casos suspeitos ou parte de grupos de risco. Sua elegibilidade deve ser atestada por documentos oficiais de autoridades de saúde contendo informações detalhadas. A assistência não tem um valor fixo, comum a todos os motoristas assistidos. Ao invés disso, a quantia a ser recebida é calculada com base nos rendimentos médios do motorista nos últimos três meses, estando intimamente vinculada à performance individual de cada um. A própria política que informa a assistência é efêmera parece  incerta e de curto prazo, já que a plataforma indica que podem ser atualizadas em pouco tempo. As regras descritas acima foram atualizadas no dia 17 de abril e eram válidas até o dia 8 de maio, tendo sido posteriormente estendidas até o dia 8 de junho. Tudo isso é exacerbado pelo tratamento paradoxal da noção de “risco”. Quando um motorista solicita a assistência, sua conta é automaticamente desativada, por motivos de segurança. Isso não garante, no entanto, que ele será atendido. O motorista é assim colocado em uma posição dúbia: ao mesmo tempo em que ele representa um risco, e portanto não pode trabalhar, ele não está em risco, e, por isso, não receberá nenhuma assistência.

Para conhecer melhor a perspectiva dos motoristas, entrevistei Giacomo, Antônio e Verón, três motoristas que trabalham na região metropolitana de Belo Horizonte, cidade populosa com mais de 2.5 milhões de habitantes e capital do estado de Minas Gerais. Também analisei mais de 50 comentários mais de 50 comentários deixados em uma postagem no YouTubepublicada por Samuel, um motorista e YouTuber que compartilhou minhas perguntas com seus seguidores. No momento da escrita deste artigo, todos os três entrevistados continuam trabalhando. Enquanto dirigem, o Sars-Cov-2 pode estar dando uma volta em seu banco de trás, um risco agravado pelo falta de cuidado de alguns passageiros. Giacomo estima que de dez passageiros por ele transportados, dois teriam usado máscara. A esposa de Antônio é diabética, grupo de risco para a Covid-19.  Ela precisa de uma dieta balanceada, e ele decidiu continuar trabalhando para que possam pagar por isso. Para se proteger, comprou máscaras e álcool em gel, e embora pudesse requerer um único reembolso no valor de R$20,00 oferecido pela Uber para aquisição de produtos de higiene, ele se optou por não fazê-lo. “Uma ajuda irrisória”, diz, “é um desaforo”. Os motoristas compartilham a sensação de que o movimento se afrouxou, o que significa ficar algumas horas parado dentro do carro esperando (e, portanto, sem ganhar). O trabalho ficou um pouco mais solitário. Após ter o filho de 19 anos assassinado, Verón relata ter ficado parado por mais de dois anos, “e aí eu conheci os aplicativos”. Desde então, ele vê dirigir para a Uber como um tipo de terapia e uma oportunidade para conhecer novas pessoas. Ele nota que desde o início da pandemia, os passageiros se tornaram menos inclinados a conversar durante as corridas.

A maior parte dos motoristas que responderam à postagem de Samuel parece terem desistido de dirigir por enquanto. Medo e segurança figuram como as principais razões para isso: “eu já andava com medo antes, imagina agora”, escreve um deles. Trabalhando ou não, os motoristas logo sentiram as consequências financeiras da pandemia. Muitos estão devolvendo os carros alugados (cerca de 160 mil, segundo informações de locadoras). Outros ainda não sabem como pagarão a próxima parcela do veículo que comparam precisamente para trabalharem como motoristas de aplicativo. Muitos recorreram ao auxílio emergencial do governo, no valor de R$ 600,00 mensais. Algumas das solicitações foram aceitas, algumas recusadas. A maioria dos motoristas segue encarando a mensagem “em análise” na tela de seus celulares e computadores, acompanhada da recomendação ambígua, com doses de cinismo, para “tentar novamente amanhã” — alguns deles vem “tentando novamente amanhã” há mais de um mês. Quanto à assistência da Uber, a grande parte dos motoristas não é elegível. Prevalece um sentimento geral de descrédito na “mãe Uber”, como alguns costumam se referir à plataforma, por vezes ironicamente, mas nem sempre: “a Uber não faz nada por nós”.

Mas a algo realmente sob o sol?

Quando lhes peço para descrever o atual momento em uma palavra, motoristas transitam entre “incerteza”, “medo”, “frustração” e “resiliência”, “perseverança”, “aprendizado”. Mas o que isso significa? Seriam estes sentimentos novos? Olhar para como a pandemia afetou motoristas Uber pode ser mais produtivo pelo que ela torna visível do que pelo que traz de novo. As circunstâncias em que nos encontramos nos convidam a desfamiliarizar um estado de precariedade recentemente atualizado, mas há muito naturalizado. Como sugere Judith Butler, quando perguntamos sobre as condições dos motoristas Uber sob a pandemia, “nós também estamos perguntando sobre as condições de vida e morte que sustentam a organização social do trabalho”.

A incerteza não é nenhuma novidade. Tanto quanto estão acostumados a serem “contados“  — trabalhando sob um regime altamente datificado, sendo continuamente atrelados às métricas de suas performances— os motoristas Uber também estão acostumados a contabilizar. Tentar estimar seus ganhos diários enquanto lidam com a taxa de serviço variável cobrada pela Uber ao fim de cada corrida, calcular gastos com combustível e manutenção, planejar o pagamento do aluguel ou das parcelas do carro, tudo isso é parte de sua rotina. Eles também dedicam tempo e energia à criação de estratégias e metas para otimizar sua produtividade. A vida como motorista Uber é marcada por uma orientação precária de à preditibilidade de curto prazo, enquanto o futuro continua obscuro.

Quando trazemos o risco de volta à equação, as condições de vida e morte se tornam ainda mais evidentes. Butler pergunta: “quem arrisca vida enquanto trabalha? quem trabalha até morrer?”. Trabalhar até morrer é uma metáfora um tanto comum para os motoristas. Como um dito motorista que entrevistei em 2018, pouco tempo após um dano causado a seu carro o impedir de trabalhar por mais de 20 dias, “agora é a hora que eu entro na Uber pra gastar. Enquanto o corpo aguentar, eu vou indo”. Infelizmente, a presença da morte vai além da metáfora. O medo da violência é um forte componente de experiência compartilhada dos motoristas que se veem vulneráveis a assaltos, sequestros e assassinatos. Não é raro nos depararmos com notícias sobre corpos de motoristas Uber encontrados algum tempo depois de serem reportados como desaparecidos.

Assim, enquanto o modelo de negócios e o desenvolvimento tecnológico da Uber gira em torno da mitigação de incertezas por meio de processamento de dados e modelos preditivos, os motoristas, de seu lado, estão bastante acostumados a gerenciar incertezas às próprias custas. A diferença reside na escala. A Uber quer estabilizar o mundo real, prever a demanda, gerenciar o trabalho e racionalizar a dinâmica das cidades pelo mundo. No caso os motoristas, a incerteza os atinge mais de perto. Trata-se de pagar as contas do mês e sobreviver por mais um dia. Trata-se de sentimentos de medo, desamparo, esperança, resiliência, orgulho e cansaço.

Já faz tempo que os motoristas estão cientes de como a precariedade constitui seu cotidiano, e lutam para fazer a diferença, organizando-se em associações, organizando protestos e buscando conversa e tanto com representantes do poder público, quanto levando propostas à própria Uber. Tarifas mais altas e mais segurança estão no topo de sua lista de demandas. Por enquanto, não enxergam nenhum sinal de melhores condições no horizonte do retorno à “normalidade”. Alguns argumentam que este é, na verdade, o momento certo para fazerem com que suas vozes sejam escutadas — “mas tem gente que é cega e continua trabalhando se arriscando por esmolas”, lamenta um motorista na publicação de Samuel. Enquanto a incerteza se agiganta, a urgência parece falar mais alto. Pergunto a Giacomo qual a maior necessidade dos motoristas no momento. Sem hesitação, ele me diz: “o que precisamos é de corridas. Precisamos de corridas”.

What happens when the digital city encounters large-scale disasters and pandemics like COVID-19? This article analyzes the case of São Paulo, Brazil, to illustrate how the pandemic contributes to emphasize a broad spectrum of inequalities. In the largest metropolis in Latin America, the population lives with a strong disparity of socioeconomic and cultural conditions, at the same time marginalized groups in the city survive amid the greatest risks of the pandemic, with precarious conditions of access and use of the Internet. As a result, an “inequality virus” emerges out of the pandemic.

Leia em Português

By Larissa G. de Magalhães

 Over the last two decades, the proliferation of digital technologies has supported an ambitious process of digitalization of complex urban ecosystems, including those of megacities like São Paulo (Brazil). But what happens when this trend clashes with large-scale disasters and pandemics like COVID-19? These moments of intense crisis represent a turning point in the governance of urban habitats, exposing the urgency of data-based responsiveness supported by advances in technology.

During crisis situations, analytical tools and data learning techniques can support decision makers with large swaths of data, for example by triggering alerts and helping governments to identify the main front lines. However, in the developing world large sectors of the population remain excluded from the digital sphere, and even government-led open data projects can lead to the under-representation of certain groups. As many of these countries become increasingly active online, it is likely that inequalities, including the digital divide, will jeopardize attempts to use data to improve the life quality of citizens. The inequality patterns of megacities, in particular, reveal that social, economic, cultural and digital inequalities are still a severe challenge in defining the best strategies to combat crises affecting the whole population.

This article looks at the case of São Paulo, Brazil—the most populous city of the Americas with its 12 million inhabitants—to explore how the opportunities for access and use of the Internet at the core of the project of the digital city follow the pattern of structural inequalities, ultimately contributing to further reinforce them. These inequalities most severely affect households and families in the most peripheral and poorest areas of the city.

Digital segregation and the city

During emergencies, decision makers can be inundated with data. According to the OECD (2019), however, data gaps caused by extant inequalities can create problems for those affected by policies created by incomplete or underrepresentative data bases. Another problem is the use of automated systems to collect data, especially from groups that may have a less reliable label than the majorities due to the “embedded” presence in the network.

As decision-making based on missing data can neglect the poverty lines drawn in the urban landscape, it may trigger higher survival costs in areas already marked by social segregation. It is during large-scale emergencies like COVID-19 that these data gaps become particularly problematic because inequalities drive the underprivileged to the highest risk level for the virus and lead to the worst socioeconomic consequences of the pandemic.

The digital geography of the country indicates a panorama of inequalities in relation to Internet use, although in the last 15 years Internet access has reached 70% of households. On the one hand, Brazil has made progress in creating laws, standards, policies and practices designed to open data, such as the creation of the National Open Data Infrastructure, the Access to Information Law, the Civil Framework of the Internet, Open Data Policy, Data Governance Policy, Digital Government Strategy and the implementation of the 4th National Plan of Partnership with the Open Government Partnership  . On the other hand, however, there remains a digital stratification in the country that coincides with inequalities in income distribution, and which is reflected in the scarce ability to be an active part in the digital economy and formal data production. The cost of broadband is another factor that affects inequalities in access, with rural areas being penalized; in addition, levels of digital literacy and accessibility of the Internet are low.

In the metropolitan region of São Paulo, which counts 12 million inhabitants, connectivity is higher than the average national , reaching 79 percent of households. Connectivity alone, however, is not enough to ensure that people can benefit from the Internet. In addition, the Internet is relevant when people have the skills and confidence to use it. In São Paulo, opportunities for access and use of the Internet appear segregated in the urban territory, following the pattern of existing structural inequalities. This suggests that in the case of São Paulo inequalities related to the digital realm are conditioned by the matrix of vulnerabilities that affect households and families in the urban territory, where the patterns observed reproduce intra-urban inequalities.

The “inequality virus”                                                         

Against this backdrop, the pandemic exacerbates existing inequalities. A closer look at inequality and Internet access shows how the outskirts of São Paulo are the epicenter for the spread of another virus alongside COVID-19, which we may call the “inequality virus”. Data from the independent research group COVID-19 Observatory indicate that in the city people of color are 62 percent more likely to die than white individuals. If we look at the map of confirmed or suspected coronavirus deaths in the districts of São Paulo, there is a clear overlap of inequalities, that is, the broader the social vulnerability matrix, the highest the lethality of the virus. The risk of death from COVID-19 is higher in the East, North and part of the Southeast regions, which is also where the districts with the highest number of COVID-19 deaths are: Brasilândia and Sapopemba, among the least developed districts of the city.

Otherwise, a large part of the South, Midwest and Southeast regions, with an higher per capita income, currently have standardized mortality rates below the municipal average. However, housing conditions are an extremely relevant factor, since central neighborhoods that concentrate tenements, pensions and homeless people have a significant number of deaths. In sum, the home address contributes to defining the impact of the coronavirus, its severity and lethality, as it is indicative of other persistent, destructive inequalities.

According to the Municipal Health Department, as of April 30, there was a 45 percent increase in deaths in the city’s 20 poorest districts. The number might also reflect the discrepant distribution of intensive care units in the city, since 60 percent of the beds in the Public Health System are concentrated in the richest and most central regions of the city.

Towards a post COVID-19 socio-digital regime

But what does the near future bear for megacities like São Paulo ? A new approach to data-based governance, that we may call a socio-digital regime, is likely to be extended to the Souths. The pandemic showed how we are experiencing a new social order, which combines resources that facilitate physical access to information and communication technologies – Internet access infrastructure, and digital skills and abilities at the individual level. These combinations generate digital capital. Since governments do not create policies or incentives for access infrastructure or digital literacy, there is an emptying of digital capital. This deficit is driven by the structural inequalities that characterize a socio-digital regime. In particular, in the race to create surveillance platforms for epidemics and emergency forecasting systems, artificial intelligence (AI) systems “produce” political evidence projected from the aggregation of the so-called big data and other forms of government-produced information. However, marginalized groups and the digitally excluded continue to survive within the margins imposed by socio-digital regimes. The risk of reproducing and perpetuating inequalities in the highly technological environments of the future is real and should not be underestimated. Marginalized groups survive in a complex matrix of vulnerabilities, ranging from economic, social, and legal to the cultural, digital and political dimensions. The risk is that missing data or even misused data will become yet another by-product of inequality.

Several studies indicate that marginalized groups produce less data, as they are not involved in data generation activities, are not represented in the formal economy, have unequal access and less capacity to get involved online. Therefore, while more data is available to design policies and solutions, and for policy makers to include historically excluded social demands and groups, the data ends up reproducing the patterns of discrimination and exclusion present in the digital world, resulting in potentially discriminatory public policies. That is, having a lot of data does not necessarily mean that data is representative and reliable or that governments can use it.

So what can the pattern of inequality observed in megacities like Sao Paulo tell us about the future of the impending socio-digital regimes? Reducing inequalities in urban centers is a global challenge, especially in the current context in which data and technologies are coupled with potential emergency solutions resulting from developments such as climate change, technological disasters and pandemics. But inequalities in access and use of the Internet reveals the continued importance of the struggle for rights and access to quality goods, services and opportunities.

Although multiple inequalities coexist, the lights cast by digital inequalities reflect the lack of effective and efficient public policies for all. The digital world reproduces the business models of the physical economy, reinforcing existing gaps in access to benefits. It is hoped that the end of isolation will also be the end of the isolation of the poor, black and misfits in the cities. Cities are engaging in the construction of solutions for the aftermth of COVID-19, which invites  intervention in education, health, infrastructure, participation, collaboration and public transparency. Building digital capabilities and shared responsibility must be a lasting feature of governments in cities.

 

About the author

Larissa is a PhD in Political Science, Unicamp, a young researcher and consultant in public policy, governance and open data. She is Associate Researcher for Post-Doctorate, CyberBRICS Program, at the Getúlio Vargas Foundation Law School, and analyzes the infrastructure of internet access, digital policies, impacts of technologies and innovation in developing countries and the global south through the lens socio-digital inequalities.