Locating DIY in the digital shift: Exploring grassroots activist responses to COVID-19 in Indonesia and the Philippines

Abstract

This article explores opportunities and obstacles encountered by activists in Indonesia and the Philippines when forced to adapt to COVID-19 regulations. Although digital activism pre-dated the pandemic, mobility restrictions and social isolation have prompted a greater dependence on the virtual realm for protest tactics. The pandemic provides a unique temporal lens to highlight the role of DIY in activist communities in Indonesia and the Philippines, and the challenges of translating the material into the digital. Considering existing inequalities in the digital divide across the Global South and government responses to dissidents, the article critically interrogates the matters of digital literacy and surveillance risks in virtual activism. Findings throughout the article are supported by interview data from online fieldwork with activists in both Indonesia and the Philippines in 2021.

Introduction

Do-it-yourself culture and grassroots activism share an entangled history and a dynamic relationship. In the context of the COVID-19 pandemic, DIY ethos in grassroots activist communities has been put to the test. The restrictions on physical mobility throughout 2020 and 2021 prompted many activists to expand their handbook of tactics and resources. Resistance shifted from the streets to the virtual realm, where new strategies of disruption and methods of awareness-building were continuously tried and tested. Online meetings became the norm for activist organizing, simultaneously creating opportunities and barriers to participation for people with different levels of access and digital literacy skills (Alami et al., 2023; Arya and Henn, 2021). The ubiquity of social media provided a beacon of connectivity during a time of isolation, but also prompted greater levels of screen fatigue and burnout.

Before COVID-19, digitalization in the Global South was being conceptualized as a paradox since rapid technological advancement both increases social and economic opportunities and amplifies existing gaps across various demographic lines (Ragnedda and Gladkova, 2020). Beyond the complex matter of the digital divide, virtual activism in the Global South is further complicated by rigorous surveillance tactics (Arora, 2019), state censorship (Alami et al., 2023; Krismiyati et al., 2023), and in some cases, toxic online environments riddled with misinformation, trolls, and cyber-violence (Auethavornpipat and Tanyag, 2021; Ford and Sinpeng, 2022; Ratnasari et al., 2021).

In this article, I explore the new possibilities and barriers that emerge from DIY digital activism in two Southeast Asian countries: Indonesia and the Philippines. Following on the adaptable nature of DIY, an ethos that guides both political and practical activities in grassroots activism, I ask: What role can DIY in online activism play in reducing the digital divide in countries of the Global South? How do surveillance risks and tightly controlled mediascapes impact the potential of digital activism?

While digital activism has pre-dated the pandemic, the restrictions on people's mobility for public health purposes generated a much greater reliance on virtual protest and organizing. Based on the experiences of my participants, I find many contradictions in the accessibility and effectiveness of virtual activism. In discussing the pros and cons of the digital shift (i.e. moving workshops and protests online), the responses from activists stimulate questions about accessibility, engagement, mental health, and echo chambers. These reflections inform the backdrop for the critical discussions that will ensue.

While the data informing this article was collected during COVID-19, the findings of this article should not be limited to a pandemic study. If we consider that digitalization is linked to democratic consolidation in the Global South (Alami et al., 2023), then we must remain vigilant of the ways in which virtual spaces are weaponized, both for and against civil society. Further, we should be attentive to the efforts of grassroots activists who navigate precarious online spaces and assist in the digitalization of the social peripheries through DIY modes of pedagogy.

The article begins by situating Indonesia and the Philippines in the pandemic landscape, as this will provide context about the impact of COVID-19 on residents. This is followed by an overview of the research methodology. The next section explores the shift to DIY digital activism as experienced by the activists interviewed. While this has boosted the scope and breadth of communication platforms and expanded the terrain for virtual activity, it has also amplified the risk of screen fatigue (Lestari and Fayasari, 2022) and echo chambers (Modgil et al., 2021). Subsequently, I will address some critical points about digital literacy and accessibility in activist spaces, as this varies greatly from affluent urban centres to remote peasant communities across the Global South.

Situating Indonesia and the Philippines in the pandemic landscape

Both Indonesia and the Philippines have a rich yet turbulent history of repression and resistance, from colonial rule to twentieth-century tyrants. After enduring Dutch colonialism, Japanese occupation, and President Suharto's New Order regime, Indonesia now finds itself in a ‘post-authoritarian’ era. The Philippines, meanwhile, has been marked by a ‘cultural schizophrenia’ (Lockard, 1998: 121) inflicted by Spanish colonialism, American occupation, and the tumultuous dictatorship of President Marcos. The recent legacies of mass movements against Suharto and Marcos offer compelling models of civil resistance that illustrate the potential of people's power in each country. However, dubious governments and state-induced moral panics against leftists create a precarious socio-political terrain for activists to navigate today. This was further complicated by the global pandemic.

Indonesia

The Indonesian government struggled to manage the pandemic as it tried to juggle an attempt at economic recovery while poor medical infrastructure reflected low capacity for testing and a very high number of daily cases (Lindsey and Mann, 2020). Furthermore, the pandemic provided President Jokowi with a great distraction to push controversial economic reform policies including mining laws and the omnibus bill, which benefit big businesses (Mietzner, 2021; Setijadi, 2021). Aside from the glaring health crisis that the pandemic has caused, it has also resulted in extreme levels of poverty and unemployment, substantially working against the country's efforts thus far in reducing poverty (Suryahadi et al., 2020).

Jokowi's overall pandemic strategy reflects his ‘single-minded focus on economic development’ (Aspinall, 2021) and has allowed him to consolidate power and popularity (Setijadi, 2021). Aspinall noted several indicators of democratic decline as the pandemic has evolved, notably concerning the Omnibus Law, the Corruption Eradication Commission and an increasing intolerance for government critics (2021). While the pandemic did not completely prevent public protests from taking place (e.g. Omnibus protests in October 2020), public health orders and government rhetoric have disincentivized mass demonstrations. The reduction of protests is argued to be relevant to the passing of certain bills after the start of the pandemic, including a fast-tracked mining bill in June 2020 (see Setijadi 2021). This attests to the power of mass demonstrations and coordinated strikes in Indonesia, where trade unions, labourers, and students have historically pushed for change by taking to the streets in the thousands. In a pandemic landscape, this power is not extinguished, but subdued. It has been difficult, however, to measure how the pandemic has impacted smaller-scale protest activities or local grassroots activist communities, hence the present focus on these groups.

Philippines

In August 2020, the Philippines overtook Indonesia to become the Southeast Asian epicentre of COVID-19. Like Indonesia, the Philippines’ government rushed to resume ‘business as usual’ to ease the economic burden caused by the pandemic (Walden and Herr, 2020).

Many have criticized the government for using the pandemic as an opportunity to crack down on protestors (Auethavornpipat and Tanyag, 2021). On 12 June 2020 (Philippine Independence Day), authorities tried to prevent a rally against the anti-terror bill due to COVID-19-related reasons. On 26 June 2020, over 20 people were arrested at an LGBT pride demonstration, using the pandemic as a cover (Thoreson, 2020). While authorities used legal justifications, Filipino human rights advocates argued that protests and rallies were not prohibited under such laws (Thoreson, 2020). Numerous environmental defenders were also arrested during lockdown periods under the guise of COVID-19 measures, although advocates see this as a draconian effort by the state to dissuade activism (Mongabay, 2020).

Outside the scope of metro Manila, it is also important to consider how the pandemic impacted rural communities, since the Philippines is primarily an agricultural country with approximately one-quarter of employed Filipinos working in farming, fisheries, livestock or forestry sectors (Statista Research Department, 2021). Farmers in rural provinces of the Philippines received little assistance from the government as they faced the consequences of lockdown and disruptions of their supply chains, which are the main source of income. Class and social standing impact the freedoms and privileges afforded during the pandemic, resulting in double standards that benefit the elites while depriving labourers and peasants. This is evidenced, for example, in the way that security forces enforced strict checkpoints for peasants while providing substantial leniency of movement for mining companies (see La Via Campesina, 2020).

The work of grassroots peasant advocacy groups in the Philippines will be discussed in this article. Through creative practices and more recently, through virtual protests, many of these organizations demanded better subsidies for farmers throughout the lockdown and fought for the rights of peasant women faced with the double bind of patriarchy and pandemic.

Methodology

The findings in this article draw on a set of semi-structured interviews with activists in Indonesia and the Philippines in 2021. These two countries were chosen as sites for analysis due to (a) my pre-existing networks and (b) an interest in contrasting the activist experience across different Southeast Asian regions with unique cultures and histories. Eleven people were formally interviewed in Indonesia and six people in the Philippines. Interviews were complemented by participant observation in online spaces as well as long-term informal engagement with activists in both countries. The data was collected for a broader PhD research project on DIY and gender in grassroots activist communities, including a focus on Australia. While methodology is not a central concern for this article, I have reflected on the challenges of conducting safe and ethical research with activists elsewhere (Imray Papineau, 2023).

The shift to digital activism

While many social movement scholars have commented on the interplay of information and communication technology, social media, and collective action before the pandemic (Cammaerts, 2015; Gerbaudo, 2012; Juris, 2008; McNutt, 2018), research on the impacts of a COVID-induced digital landscape in activist spaces is still emerging. Throughout my discussions with activists in Indonesia and the Philippines, there were many mentions of creative adaptions during the pandemic involving partial or full reliance on digital platforms. As a core element in the practice and culture of grassroots activism, DIY ethos is observed through some of these new digitized initiatives, though it is simultaneously constrained by the capitalist mediascape (Appadurai, 1996) and the monopoly held by social media.

For grassroots activist organizers, the challenge of maintaining momentum for their cause while shifting their activities to an online space was significant. However, the thrust towards virtual activism also opened an array of new possibilities. The pandemic has indeed created unique opportunities to engage with virtual communities in a time marked by social distancing (Westoby and Harris, 2020: 554). Drawing on the findings, I have assigned these new possibilities to two main categories: (a) increased variety in protest tactics and (b) increased audience reach. I explore responses within these two categories based on interview data from Indonesia and the Philippines.

New possibilities

With street activism coming to a halt in early 2020 as the first wave of COVID-19 sent countries globally into lockdown (Pinckney, 2020), grassroots activist organizers were forced to re-evaluate their tactics. Forms of online protest may have been used regardless of the pandemic, but the following examples highlight a broad diversity of ways in which groups sustained pressure against a particular target or maintained momentum for a campaign while adhering to public health protocols. In the Philippines, advocates from the peasant sector explained how their campaigns adapted to new social distancing regulations from 2020 onwards:

We have to adapt to the reality. Despite the pandemic, our chapters still launch campaigns. But the form of campaign they launch has to respect social distancing; they can't mobilize to go to the agencies in the local government in their provincial officers. So, their campaigns are launched in the field holding placards, and then we post that on Facebook with their demands or a video. (Philippines, C)

Without the ability to mobilize in person, social media became the conduit to broadcast messages from rural to urban areas. Additionally, it allowed those affected – in this case, the farmers themselves – to be involved in the action. The spread of posts, tweets, and photos across different platforms then served as a gauge of support, as elaborated in the following example:

The farmers, they have placards, and they write this: 15,000 [Philippine peso] support subsidy for farmers, 10,000 [PHP] aid for all affected by this pandemic. They take pictures holding the placard and post it to their Facebook. And you can see that there are many who retweet or like the post and that's how we see that thousands of people, not just farmers, are also campaigning for this issue; this direct aid and subsidy for the food security frontliners. (Philippines, C)

In Indonesia, another group of activists supporting agricultural workers explained how they created an online market during the pandemic to help farmers sell their products. This simple yet innovative tactic was used not only to financially assist farmers but also to raise awareness about their work:

During COVID, we make the Pasar Desa. Pasar Desa is the online marketing strategy to market agricultural products. For example, the organic beans and rice, and organic vegetables. We try to support the farmers until their product sells out. (Indonesia, A)

Activist groups from both countries who support agricultural workers also highlighted the importance of ongoing advocacy and awareness-building in the online realm. In some ways, this did not change much with the pandemic since webinars did previously occur online, but in-person workshops and discussion forums also had to be held digitally. Education through webinars remained an important part of their activist practice: ‘We do regular education discussions on the peasant situation, national situation, and health situation through online webinars, where our peasant leaders are the speakers’ (Philippines, C). This allowed peasant leaders to remain spokespeople for their plight during a time when advocates could not meet with them.

One of my participants pointed out another effective way to use webinars as an activist tactic, which served as a clever way to inject humour and dissent in an otherwise two-dimensional space:

We’re not the only people who are making webinars: the government is making a lot of webinars. So, we’ve been doing webinar hijacks. That's really fun. We distribute a virtual background that directly counters the title of the webinars, and we all put it on. And we flood the comments section, [or] the YouTube live chat. And we’ve done that so much that they’ve actually blocked us, they’ve kicked us out a few times. They changed the format of the webinar, so we are no longer allowed to use a background. They disabled the chat system and moved to a Q&A forum, but we also flooded that. (Indonesia, C)

The ‘webinar hijack’ tactic is a largely harmless yet effective means of disruption. This may constitute a safer form of resistance that does not involve putting your body on the line, which contrasts with street activism and direct actions where the protestor's corporeality is part of the resistance and is thereby at higher risk of physical harm. That said, there is still a risk when it comes to identification online, which will be explored later. Accessing – and disrupting – a government webinar is arguably less difficult and dangerous than infiltrating a physical state-run event. Some tactics function better online because the high-risk factor of in-person action greatly deters participation (Ratnasari et al., 2021). This is especially pertinent in countries of the Global South, where there is generally less accountability and transparency of government responses to activists.

Lastly, I share a few examples of how art, craft, and music have been incorporated into virtual activism during the pandemic, illustrating both flexibility and creativity among activists. The first describes a series of virtual crafting workshops, one of which was run by the interviewee. She taught others to crochet bandanas with political messaging around the topic of financial assistance during the pandemic:

We've been incorporating discussions on the current situation with DIY workshops online. For example, we had one that was a comic-making workshop wherein people who make comics for our group taught us [how to make them], and in between the tutorial sessions, there would be discussions about the political situation. I personally did one on crochet. This one was related to our calls on ayuda; it's financial assistance for people, a production subsidy because the government obviously has not been supporting us during this pandemic enough. So, I did a protest bandana where I sewed the calls onto the bandana and another person crocheted a potholder because it was also about food and how we sustain ourselves. And the other one made a market bag. And so, we were teaching [others] how to make them. And in between, the peasant women themselves were giving [a] situation [update] on how things were with no production subsidy, no financial assistance. (Philippines, E)

Here we see how tangible forms of DIY practice, such as craftivism, ¹ are supported by the use of virtual platforms to facilitate practical skill-sharing and broaden political awareness. The reclaiming of traditional crafting practices such as stitching and weaving are multi-layered: they not only serve as a medium to disseminate political messages, but the acts also honour women's cultural work in the Philippines. This is particularly strong in the peasant sector, where group leaders have inspired others to incorporate more needlework in their activism. During strict lockdown periods, forms of craftivism were some of the only enduring methods of resistance (see Rival 2021).

In this next excerpt, the participant explains how they successfully pulled off a virtual music and dance strike:

We just had our first strike with music. That was on Earth Day, so it was quite fun. We did this event called Joget Jagat, which means the universe's dance. What we did was we put the music on YouTube live and Zoom, and everybody can just join in, tune into the music and dance at the same time wherever they are. And we sent the choreography of each song before so that they could learn it. (Indonesia, C)

While interviewees in Indonesia mentioned the cultural importance of song and dance in their protest tactics, scholars have also documented the rich history of social critique in Indonesia's performing arts (see Lockard, 1998). Though some activism loses its character when translated to the online realm, these examples show that virtual protest can still be multi-dimensional and attentive to the cultural subtleties of one's context.

The final example draws on the use of community radio and social media platforms to disseminate information:

During the International Women's Month, which is March, RUWA [Rural Women Advocates] in coordination with Amihan [National Federation of Peasant Women] launched a radio RUWA and then we posted it to Facebook. This radio program discusses the different issues of peasant women. (Philippines, C)

Independent radio has strong ties to DIY culture and protest (see Langlois and King, 2010). Since the Filipino mediascape has been tainted by a culture of disinformation – induced by paid trolls and state-sponsored ‘fake news’ websites (Auethavornpipat and Tanyag, 2021: 18) – the creation of grassroots community media could itself be seen as a subversive act.

Between online crafting workshops, dance strikes, and grassroots radio programmes, these examples reveal how the pandemic urged many activists to expand their toolkit. The diversity of online tactics that emerged from this challenging period of lockdowns and physical distancing regulations can be considered a great strength, as this experience of forced adaption begets creativity and flexibility.

Beyond devising new tactics, some activist groups also benefited from a wider audience reach. Without the constraints of borders, virtual activism boasts the potential of increased participation from a more diverse demographic. Realistically, this is most applicable to frequent social media users. As one of my participants pointed out, it is predominantly successful with young people, as they are the most prolific on social media:

I actually think it's been positive because Indonesia has one of the highest penetration of gadgets, [biggest] social media users in the world. The biggest push here has been the youth, university students all the way to maybe 25 to 30. That's the sweet spot here. And it's been much easier to reach them during the pandemic, especially with the webinars. (Indonesia, C)

Another thing to consider with the ubiquity of smartphones is the convenience of using ‘selfies’ to boost participation: ‘Something that we also made popular is the selfie protest with the sign and things like that. To a certain degree, with our demographic, it's a bit easier now’ (Philippines, E). Aside from gaining momentum with the younger demographic, the shift to virtual activism has also created a pathway of engagement across cities, provinces, and countries. Without the central premise that in-person attendance is required to participate in activism, new audiences and opportunities could emerge. Moreover, campaigns or collectives that were based in one city could reach people outside their local bubble:

The pandemic is like a blessing in disguise, because online, we can do more. We can get more audience [members] and people come from other cities outside central Java. And I think that's a great thing because they get to know about our collective. […] If we do it offline, we can't do that, because the people who come to the events are maybe just people from our environment, not from other cities. (Indonesia, G)

For small, localized collectives, the ability to reach an audience outside their home base is significant. This can open important opportunities in terms of networking and solidarity initiatives. For example, members of different grassroots feminist collectives across Java could be invited to participate in a digital zine workshop or a webinar on gender equality, allowing them to co-create discourses or practices of resistance in a virtual setting. Despite the limitations of the online realm, this opportunity for dialogue could facilitate future collaborations, and at a more foundational level, it can help produce meaningful connections among activists. While virtual activism has proven to be beneficial for grassroots activist groups to remain connected during the pandemic, it also comes with several limitations.

New barriers

Activists have faced many challenges resulting from the digital shift. There is first the frustrating reality that some activities simply cannot be relocated to an online space. Mutual aid stalls or workshops to paint large banners, for example, do not translate well to digital platforms. The inability to carry out certain activities can stifle momentum in a movement. Based on interview data, I have identified the following six categories of limitations in digital activism since the pandemic: disengagement, screen fatigue, isolation (social and financial), echo chambers, and technical barriers.

For activists who primarily engage in street activism, the digital shift removed the essential mechanism through which they struggle for social change. Online protest actions do not convey urgency in the way that tangible street actions do. While some activities can continue to operate online, the digital shift calls into question the purpose of activism:

The limitations of lockdown were discouraging for some. I mean, at some point I feel like the whole idea of activism online is so […] general? It's been, for lack of a better word, dumbed down. It's been so commodified. It's been such a common thing to share a post, right? It's just something that everyone does, and it becomes so mundane. (Philippines, D)

We have this term here called keyboard warriors. You see day in and out Filipinos being noisy and sharing with gusto their sentiments and opinions about the government's wrongdoings or other societal perpetrators at the moment, but it always ends that day. No follow through. I feel that no one's being angry and tired enough to really create disruptions the same way we see in other Western countries, or even Asian countries like Hong Kong or Myanmar. (Philippines, F)

Both these excerpts illustrate the contrast between the perceived value of street activism versus the perceived value of online activism. The latter, while being more accessible, is portrayed as less meaningful because it requires less effort and no follow-up. The character of the ‘keyboard warrior’ is rather pejorative, stipulating that their actions lack acumen and consistency. While the scope of participation has increased, the significance of the activism engaged in is seen as inferior. In a sense, quantity overtakes quality.

Recent studies argue that social media platforms in the Philippines have become toxic environments for expressing dissent since the pandemic because the online realm has been at once manipulated by the government to consolidate its power and manipulated by users to confirm their own beliefs (Auethavornpipat and Tanyag, 2021). Poor social media literacy results in greater vulnerability for users (Alami et al., 2023), and growing numbers of ‘slacktivists’ (or keyboard warriors) inundate the digital sphere, making it a challenging terrain for activists (Pineda, 2022). The following quote also touches on the superficiality of social media activism:

Sometimes I feel like when I post something it's so insignificant, because I'm scrolling through everyone's stories and posts and it's all information about things and there's no processing happening, no conversation, no action is being taken. (Philippines, D)

The over-saturation of information available on social media results in a lack of depth and a broad sense of inertia. News stories reporting on the latest tragedies and injustices circulate rapidly, which offers the advantage of wide dissemination at the expense of meaningful engagement. This ties in with the second limitation, which is screen fatigue and burnout. Constant exposure to social media is argued to increase risks of anxiety (Pineda, 2022: 119), notwithstanding the barrage of violence towards activists that is reported daily, especially in the Philippines.

Another consequence of physical distance is that of isolation. While social isolation was extremely prevalent during the pandemic, financial isolation due to travel restrictions also proved to be an issue for certain grassroots activist communities:

Our friends from other countries can't come here because of the pandemic situation. That's usually how we raise money, when friends are coming here. They visit our collective house; they bring back some crafts and then sell them at home. It's DIY and solidarity for us. But no one's coming. (Indonesia, E)

In-person participation, in this case, is key to the collective's financial viability. This kind of transnational solidarity, facilitated by a global network of punks and anarchists visiting Indonesia, was effectively stalled during the pandemic. There is a tension here between the material and the virtual: the handcrafted items that sustain the collective financially and act themselves as a form of resistance cannot be translated to the online realm. This is an impasse, whereby the tangible DIY practice cannot be digitized, which creates multiple obstacles for the activist collective. Another side effect of the digital shift is the creation of a virtual echo chamber. Although we earlier explored how social media could widen the demographic reach, it is perhaps naïve to believe that these platforms will indeed capture a greater audience than they would in the offline space:

In a strike, it's opt-out. I mean you're standing there, people passing by. They have to see you unless they want to ignore you. Meanwhile, for online talks, you have to be willing to opt in. You have to actually register, and you have to jump through hoops. I am afraid - and this is my biggest concern actually – that it has been creating an echo chamber. Only certain people are willing and can join, and most of them are people, more or less, who already have a pretty high awareness. (Indonesia, D)

The need to ‘opt-in’ to digital activism, as argued above, creates a hurdle to participation given lower levels of self-motivation among activists during the pandemic. This is just one barrier among many others, including the challenge of mastering online platforms such as Zoom. With the sudden shift to digital activism, many people have had to undergo a steep learning curve. Young and urban populations, who typically benefit from a higher digital literacy, have been able to move forward with this shift much more readily than other demographics. The following excerpts illustrate the challenge of heavy technological dependence for people in the grassroots peasant advocacy sector:

Young people usually help the grassroots women get connected, show them how to use the new lifestyle. But it's not easy because most of them are farmers, and they don’t care about this style. They call it the modern, millennial style, because our young community has many events on social media. There's a challenge when we face technology problems with them. Because they don't understand how to do [a] video conference, how to operate social media. So, we have to explain step-by-step. (Indonesia, A)

They have to go to the city just to get the signal. Or they have to travel to the town centre, just to be able to have signal, and only then we'll be able to have communication for the meeting. (Philippines, C)

These two excerpts highlight different challenges regarding the issue. On the one hand, there is a generational gap between the older farmers and the young community; both in their capacity to use digital platforms and their interest in doing so. The reliance on social media and online apps for digital activism means that the older generations are forced to adapt to the new tactic – which is already commonplace for the younger population – and this becomes necessary if they are to continue their outreach during the pandemic. On the other hand, we also see the geographic divide between rural and urban, which overlaps with the previous gap. Rural and agricultural workers not only require more assistance with technology, but their distance from certain infrastructure also impedes on their ability to communicate with activist groups and to participate in digital activities. The geographic digital divide is especially prominent in regions of the Global South, where hyper-developed urban centres overshadow the lack of digitalization in most villages and rural areas: the peripheries of Indonesia and the Philippines both reflect this problem. The widening digital divide is not only a matter of infrastructure or availability, but also a question of socio-demographic factors, income, education, and digital literacy (Ragnedda and Gladkova, 2020: 19). The following section will address the topic of digital (il)literacy in grassroots activist spaces in Indonesia and the Philippines.

Facilitating digital literacy

Digital literacy is described as ‘competence or skills required for using digital technology, applications, or internet networks to search, consume, and transfer information wisely’ (Butarbutar et al., 2021: 162). While overall digital literacy skills have accelerated in the context of the pandemic (Butarbutar et al., 2021: 163), it is important to reflect on the dynamics of privilege and power that come with digital literacy, and how these recreate patterns of inclusion/exclusion in virtual spaces. Further, we may ask how digital literacy is mitigated in online activist spaces and what role activists have played in bridging – or exacerbating – this divide.

From one perspective, the digital shift has proved to be an equalizer, since individuals living in rural or remote areas are now afforded with greater opportunities to participate in activism through online platforms (Arya and Henn, 2021: 9). Accessibility is about providing an additional option that allows people with varying responsibilities (e.g. having to stay home to do care work) and limitations (e.g. having no way to commute) to participate.

While some people felt as though they were ‘forced’ to improve their digital literacy, they also gained a new way to engage with meetings and activities: especially for those living at a distance or with limited time. Interviewees in the Philippines and Indonesia offered remarks about increasing the digital competencies of fellow activists and agricultural workers during the pandemic:

Before – and during the first quarter of this pandemic – we could not operate a Zoom meeting, so we had to ask somebody from the house, our children [to help] or we had to stay in the office where someone can do the technical work. But because this was the reality, we were able to adapt to it. (Philippines, C)

Sometimes we have our discussions online. To involve the women in the village, we usually help them operate the social media, the computer, and set up the Zoom meeting. It's really helpful for them. I think that we have already helped the women in the village. The young people help them make posters, flyers, and also videos about their activities, for example, [about] food nutrition. We help them to educate [others] more during COVID. For example, we have videos about events, natural fertilizer, harvests. Sometimes a daily vlog in the rice fields about them. (Indonesia, A)

It was not easy for them. At first, they refused virtual meetings. We [offered] them a resource person, they didn’t want one. But we always make sure that it will be useful for many people. And now, they’re very familiar with virtual meetings, and more confident in that. (Indonesia, A)

The last two excerpts, shared by members of the same group, highlight an important skill transfer from young activists with a high digital literacy to women farmers living in rural areas who previously had very little knowledge and interest in virtual organizing. Notably, activists from this interview explain that ‘it will be useful for them’, as they recognize the value of improving digital literacy competencies among rural workers, particularly the ones they advocate for. In this case, we see grassroots activists themselves taking on the role of ‘digital educators’ to upskill members of their community, which helps to boost digital literacy in rural and remote areas where such competencies are typically underdeveloped.

The sudden ubiquity of social media and video communications platforms in activist spaces also pushed older generations, such as retirees, to expand their digital literacy in order to remain involved in their existing activist groups. In the best of cases, they have the necessary resources (including time and assistance) to embrace this learning curve and the digital upskilling journey. However, not everyone has these resources available, and this can lead to exclusion from activist spaces. Online spaces replicate patterns of privilege (Arya and Henn, 2021: 12) given that gadgets and internet not equitably available to everyone. The same can be said about digital literacy since time and energy are finite resources, which have been particularly reduced for some people during the pandemic. As pointed out in their study of the Indonesian ‘Awas KGBO!’ campaign, activist campaigns cannot equally reach populations if they are centralized on virtual platforms because digital literacy and adequate infrastructure are lacking outside most main cities (Ratnasari et al., 2021: 110). Without intermediaries to help bridge these divides, campaigns will themselves be confined to echo chambers and may fail to reach those who would most benefit from advocacy and participation.

Surveillance, security, and identification

When using online technology, there is no guarantee of safety and protection. Online platforms create digital data, and even individuals with high digital literacy cannot completely eliminate their ‘traceability’ (Beaulieu and Estalella, 2012) as internet users. Social media sites are opportune platforms for information sharing – especially among those excluded from conventional forums and political participation – but they are tricky to navigate due to poor user privacy and confidentiality (Curtis, 2014: 63). I thus question whether the online space can provide ‘safe’ cover for activists who engage in contentious politics, or if, conversely, the digital realm produces greater risks through hacking, cyber-interference, and identity exposure.

Indonesia and the Philippines are both highly ‘digitized’ countries, as they both exceed the global internet penetration rate (Kemp, 2022). However, digital literacy of internet safety does not automatically accompany a demographic of high internet penetration. Many people who own a device such as a laptop or a smartphone, regardless of where they live, are not well versed in online security and do not typically enforce measures to protect their identity online. Accessible chat platforms, such as WhatsApp, are effective for instantaneous communication, but they have also been used by police intelligence to target activist movements (see Westoby and Harris 2020). As activists have found new and creative ways to disrupt online, some are being met with similar tactics:

A big problem that has been happening is security issues online. I used to work with a feminist organization who's more heavily – well everybody's been heavily targeted right now – but targeted with ‘Zoom bombing’. For example, we're having a feminist webinar and people infiltrate the Zoom and a lot of the time, they’re doing rude stuff like drawing a phallic symbol on the screen because we're a feminist organization. (Philippines, E)

Another problem comes from hackers and trolls on the internet, which is common in the Philippines (Cabanes and Cornelio, 2017). While it may seem harmless, this kind of online harassment is especially concerning among vulnerable and marginalized demographics:

Troll culture is very big in the Philippines. We have a lot of trolls, who are those people who are really just hired to harass us online? Personally, I've been really trolled online both for being red-tagged and for being a lesbian. (Philippines, E)

Not only activist groups, but unions in the Philippines have also been targeted by state-funded trolls, cyberattacks, and red-tagging ² campaigns which confirm that they are being surveyed – and assailed – by the government (Ford and Sinpeng, 2022: 56).

On the flip side, some activists argue that the virtual realm provides a cover, allowing them to voice dissent while obfuscating their identities. Under oppressive regimes where freedom to protest is limited, online platforms such as Facebook and Twitter allow for greater potential in civic activism (Demydova, 2021: 1997). Digital literacy and internet safety are key, then, in the ability to circumvent state surveillance when protesting online. In the Philippines, where ‘activism is increasingly synonymous with terrorism’ (Dressler, 2021: 465), it could be the case that the virtual realm offers a refuge for activists:

We feel powerless already and this is the general mood and sentiment. And I think perhaps this might be the reason why we're taking it on the digital platform. That's a platform where we can hide our identities and not go through the motions and inconvenience of being harassed on the streets or jailed for it. (Philippines, F)

Innovative forms of digital activism, however creative and tactful, still carry their own set of repercussions, as it is extremely difficult to remain anonymous online. The cost–benefit analysis of activism in a digital space must be weighed just as it would be in a physical space. Activists living under oppressive regimes generally face greater repercussions to their safety than activists in Western countries, since tight regulations and surveillance extend to the online sphere (Demydova, 2021: 1982). Further inquiries should be conducted to assess the many ways in which authorities weaponize digital assets against activists in the Global South, both during times of relative stability and instability.

Conclusion: DIY resistance from the virtual margins

In this article, I have critically reflected on the impacts and limitations of the digital shift in grassroots activist spaces in Indonesia and the Philippines. Findings from my interviews highlight many nuances in virtual activism, portraying it simultaneously as freeing and restrictive. The digital sphere boasts potential for wider demographics and alternative modes of participation, but it would be false to say that this is happening practically and equitably. It is inconclusive whether the shift to digital activism has increased the accessibility of political participation among activist groups and the people they advocate for.

As activists in Indonesia and the Philippines have expanded their repertoire of tools to navigate repression during the pandemic, their governments have deployed new means of deterrence. While there is comfort, perhaps, in the ubiquity of social media platforms such as Facebook, Instagram and TikTok, activists must remain wary of covert surveillance and identification risks. The use of encrypted platforms for activist organizing has increased, which suggests that digital literacy skills have expanded to keep up with new technologies and safety concerns. It appears, overall, that digital literacy competencies across geographic and generational gaps have improved during the pandemic. However, socio-demographic gaps spill over into the digital divide, meaning that people lacking the necessary skills, resources, and access are often excluded from participating. This is especially salient in the Global South, where the digital divide is greater than that of the Global North. In response, this has also prompted some activists to take on the role of digital educators to upskill their community members, thereby juxtaposing a tradition of DIY skill sharing with the greater pursuit of social justice through digital democratization.

While some of the core values of DIY culture do shine through in virtual activism, there is also a tension to be noted between the material and the digitized. First, DIY practices do not all translate to the online world. Second, many aspects of digital activism rely on social media and communication platforms that are corporate-owned and monopolize the internet: this is at odds with the political values of autonomy and anti-capitalism that underpin DIY ethos in many activist communities. However, there are still significant traces of DIY in the digital shift among grassroots activist communities, notably through DIY modes of digital pedagogy, crafting workshops, and upskilling initiatives. The tendency to use the most popular virtual platforms may reflect limited digital competencies: even if these sites pose a greater risk of identification or cause a moral dilemma due to their patronage, they are easy to navigate and cater to the widest demographic. This further problematizes the meaning of DIY among activist groups during the pandemic. Perhaps it could be interpreted as a form of ‘entrepreneurialism’ or ‘creative contemporary production’ to keep a social movement afloat during uncertain times rather than an autonomous, anti-capitalist practice. ³ The ‘digitization’ of activism – whether temporary or permanent – may be diversifying the demographic of people that can engage in grassroots resistance and creative advocacy, which means that more activists can, in fact, do-it-themselves online.

Lastly, the COVID-19 pandemic serves as a useful temporal lens to critically analyse the way in which both grassroots activists and governments in Indonesia and the Philippines respond to one another in a crisis, but it should not be confined to this unique time frame. This case study provides a reference point for future crisis situations, whether they consist of global public health emergencies or localized natural disasters with ensuing economic and socio-political consequences. As such, the matters discussed in this article should still be used as indicators when thinking about the strengths and vulnerabilities of grassroots activist communities and other DIY cultures in the Global South beyond the pandemic landscape.