What events in Nepal, the Red Sea and UAE schools tell us about digital disruption

A woman uses her phone at Basantapur Durbar Square in Kathmandu, Nepal after the government announced it will close all social media not registered with it. Reuters

Three disparate events in the past few days – the Red Sea internet cable issue, the blocking of some social media platforms in Nepal that sparked protests and, more locally, recent updates regarding the use of smartphones in schools – offer a discursive glimpse at how societies think about the digital world and the broader relationships we all have with technology.

First, the cable cut. It became a big story over the weekend with internet services being reduced to a crawl in parts of the Middle East and South Asia after some Red Sea communication lines were apparently severed. Experts suggest the disruption was most likely the result of a commercial shipping activity, such as a dropped and dragged anchor, rather than the work of a nefarious group. Whatever the cause, repair work is likely to be time-consuming, expensive and complex.

For the average technology dependent person, it may mean some bumps in the road in their day-to-day digital life while relevant authorities devise workarounds to keep communication channels moving. But this is also a short but uncomfortable step into the unknown. We just don’t know whether life will be affected or not from hour to hour.

Anecdotal evidence suggests disruption is now low level, but the incident is a reminder that most of us also find any uncertainty or unknown hard to process. Even small inconveniences become perceived as much larger glitches than they are and can push anxiety levels higher.

The unrest in Nepal over the past few days has provided another perspective on the darker side of disruption and denial of access to digital assets.

While those protests later mutated into severe and deadly violence – more than 20 people have died since unrest began – the roots of the crisis lay in the decision to ban Facebook, X and YouTube over failure to comply with newly introduced registration rules in the country and gave life to a larger protest movement.

Children at the Gems Winchester School, Dubai use pouches that keep the phones locked away during school time. Chris Whiteoak / The National

Before the ban was imposed, the government in Nepal said regulations had been designed to stop the spread of fake news, hate speech and cybercrime. When protests and violence followed, access to those platforms was reinstated, the prime minister resigned and the government said it would work to address the broader demands of demonstrators.

Recent history provides many adjacent examples. The 2011 uprisings in Egypt were, perhaps, the first example of protesters using social media to organise and communicate with a global audience and achieve their goals. A proposed tax on WhatsApp in Lebanon in October 2019 drew swift popular criticism and was withdrawn within hours, but protests simmered thereafter. Both cases remind us that the digital version of the town square of old remains a crowded and often transformative space.

The third recent example is an evolution of school policy mandates more locally. Public schools in the UAE have adopted a stricter line on mobile-phone use within their grounds this year, matching moves made elsewhere in the world. Changes of policy are evident in private schools, too.

The issue of phone use in schools is divisive and contested, like large tracts of the digital world itself. Those who support bans say they make students more focused during school hours, while others maintain that there are circumstances where students should be permitted to carry their phones and have access to them. We often talk about education needing to prepare students for the working world they will move into, which is one that is, for better or worse, powered by smartphones and digital communication.

The internet, once considered a disruptor, is now a run-of-the-mill utility with associated expectations

One parent told The National that our phones are an addiction: “Our children need traditional ways of writing, reading and interacting to develop … not social media”, while another said: “for many parents, being able to reach our children during the day is essential”. Few of us have neutral opinions on the matter.

A couple of years ago, I wrote in these pages about no-phones policies at entertainment venues, arguing for relaxation of rules at comedy shows and music concerts that required attendees to put their phones in pouches for the duration of the performance. The column was met with some robust disagreement on social media, underscoring the very polarised nature of this issue.

All three stories speak to our attitudes to digital disruption, denial of service in the wider sense of the words and growing global technology dependency. The internet, once considered a disruptor, is now a run-of-the-mill utility with associated expectations. Outage begets outrage.

Having captured large tracts of the attention economy, platforms are regulation resistant institutionally. Their users either coalesce in the same free-for-all area or want the exact opposite to counter their influence. The middle ground may well be more fertile.

More specifically, societies used to think about signal and noise as opposite terms. Recent events tell us that many people want both signal and noise – and they want it all the time.