Governments Shut Down the Internet to Stifle Critics. Citizens Pay the Price.
Governments
Shut Down the Internet to Stifle Critics. Citizens Pay the Price.
HARARE,
Zimbabwe — When Zimbabwe turned off the internet during a recent crackdown,
Obert Masaraure, a prominent government critic, had no way of knowing when it
was safe to emerge from hiding.
He waited one day, then another. On the third
day he broke cover, hoping that a wave of arrests had come to an end.
He was seized at home by soldiers 12 hours
later.
“If I had been connected,” Mr. Masaraure
said, “maybe I would have got information that it wasn’t safe to be out there.”
Internet shutdowns have become one of the
defining tools of government repression in the 21st century — not just in
Zimbabwe, but in a growing number of countries, mainly in Asia and Africa, that
are seeking to quash dissent.
The Indian government employs the practice
more frequently than any other, most recently in Kashmir,
but it is not alone: In 2018, there were at least 196 shutdowns in 25
countries, up from 75 in 24 countries in 2016, according to research by Access
Now, an independent watchdog group that campaigns for internet
rights. In the first half of this year alone, there were 114 shutdowns in 23
countries.
Typically used during times of civil unrest
or political instability, a shutdown allows officials to stifle the flow of
information about government wrongdoing or to stop communication among
activists, usually by ordering service providers to cut or slow their customers’
internet access.
“People always had this simplistic view that
technology could only be used in one way — that it was this great tool for
democracy,” said Kuda Hove, a digital rights researcher at the Media Institute
of Southern Africa. But after the emergence of the shutdown, he said, “it
dawned on them that the government could use technology against the people.”
Governments sometimes justify their actions
as an attempt to stop the spread of “fake news” or hate speech, or to keep
students from cheating during exams. But these explanations often mask the real
motivation, said Berhan Taye, who leads research into internet shutdowns at
Access Now.
“Internet throttling and internet shutdowns
are an extension of traditional forms of censorship,” Ms. Taye said. “This is
not a unique phenomenon — it’s an extension of what’s happening in countries
where civil space is already shrinking.”
The economy often pays the price, research
suggests. In countries with a medium level of internet penetration — that is,
where 49 percent to 79 percent of the population has internet access — a
shutdown might dent daily economic activity by $6.6 million per 10 million
people, according to analysis by Deloitte,
an international accounting firm.
As the agent for a South African gas company,
Mr. Makichi was meant to wire his suppliers more than $100,000 every three
days. The shutdown prevented him not only from transferring the money for several
days, but also from emailing his clients, who then canceled his contract.
The cancellation forced him to close three of
his four branches and fire 27 of his 35 workers, reducing his profits more than
90 percent every month, Mr. Makichi said.
On the outskirts of Harare, Zimbabwe’s
capital, most customers at Wisdom Fore’s grocery store had money to pay for
food, but not the means to access it.
Because of a bank note shortage, many
transactions in Zimbabwe are made through mobile payment systems, even small
purchases. But the system needs the internet to function, so Mr. Fore ended up
throwing away most of his perishable food and losing about half his daily
turnover.
The shutdown even hit the music industry.
Ameen Jaleel Matanga, a popular singer who performs as Poptain, had intended to
release his latest music video on the first day of the internet outage. The
shutdown prevented him from uploading it, and that delay disrupted his business
plan for the whole year.
In some countries, that has even included the
supply of crucial medicines and the deployment of medical professionals.
“We had a WhatsApp group in which we’d say,
‘We need a surgeon in Omdurman, we need an anesthetist in Buri,’” said Dr.
Abdelgalil, the president of the British chapter of the Sudanese Doctors’ Union, which supports Sudan’s
transition to civilian government. “All that became very difficult.”
In parts of the developing world, merchants
derive most of their revenue by advertising their products in public WhatsApp
groups, which allow sellers to send advertisements to hundreds of recipients at
a time. During a shutdown, those groups turn into online ghost towns.
Patrice Binwa Naledi runs a series of such
forums in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where the government stopped the
internet for 20 days this year, nominally to prevent rumors spreading while votes were counted from
the presidential election.
Normally, advertisers using Mr. Naledi’s groups
can reach about 70,000 people and make sales totaling as much as $10,000 a day,
keeping Mr. Naledi’s phones constantly buzzing with new messages.
But during the shutdown, “it was like the
phones had stopped working,” he said. “It was very calm — and when it’s calm,
for me it’s sad.”
In Cameroon, a shutdown blocked internet
access in the restive, English-speaking
western regions of the country, on and off, for 240 days in
2017 and 2018.
To keep communications flowing, residents
there would draft emails on their phones and hand them to friends and
colleagues who were traveling to Francophone regions, said Rebecca Enonchong,
an internet entrepreneur in Cameroon.
Once the phones were carried over the
invisible border between English- and French-speaking provinces, the emails
would send.
“Everyone was doing it,” Ms. Enonchong said.
“You would give someone the device, and they would come back with the device at
the end of the day.”
But the workaround was not enough to save
many digital-based firms in the affected regions, which were the epicenter of
the Cameroonian technology business. “Imagine shutting down the internet in
Silicon Valley,” said Ms. Enonchong, who runs digital innovation centers in both Anglophone
and Francophone areas. “That’s the equivalent of what happened in Cameroon.”
“If the email I was expecting hasn’t arrived,
I have to decide whether to go back across the border, or to wait until the
person I was waiting for has got connected,” said Mr. Tungali. “But that means
delaying the things I need to do back in the office.”
In the capital, Kinshasa, people gained
access to the internet by secretly buying SIM cards from the Republic of Congo,
a separate country just across the Congo River, at a vastly inflated price.
Once they were sure the police weren’t looking, they would loiter on the
riverbank until they picked up nearby mobile networks.
“It became a bit like a drug deal,” said
Lemien Sakalunga, a journalist based in Kinshasa. “You’d buy a SIM, and you’d
hide it immediately. The vendor would say: Hide it, hide it, hide it. Then
you’d move as quickly as you could, as far as you could.”
In Zimbabwe, a growing number of people have
downloaded virtual private networks, systems that allow users to circumvent
some internet restrictions. But V.P.N.s are often themselves blocked by the
government, and those that work are often too slow to be useful, said Mr. Hove,
the digital rights researcher.
The Zimbabwe government already appears to be
harnessing the internet to its advantage, using software to surveil opponents
and sending armies of trolls against its critics, Mr. Hove said.
“The next battle in my view isn’t going to be
against the government shutting down the internet — that’s maybe too obvious,
and with the level of international condemnation they received, they might not
do it again,” he said. “But they may step up attempts to drown democratic
discourse online.”
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