digital

Indigenous Digital Equity: The barriers Indigenous communities face accessing internet

I spent most of my 2L year back on my home reserve in Southern Alberta. It’s about a 45-minute drive to Lethbridge. My internet connection was a challenge when trying to listen to lectures or have a strong connection for a zoom call. Internet connectivity for Indigenous Peoples in Canada has long been difficult to implement due to many environmental and socio-economic factors such as remoteness of communities, difficulty gaining first-mile access, unreliable networks, slow speeds, expensive equipment, and high data costs.

Compared to the other infrastructure problems faced by Indigenous communities, the internet might not seem like a big problem. But COVID-19 has shown that when people don’t have equal access, they lose the same opportunities. Remote learning is now crucial to getting a quality education, but poor internet connections or a lack of a connection in the first place are holding many Indigenous children behind their peers.

A lack of internet also affects those looking for work. COVID-19 has led to many layoffs, and the internet had become one of the only reliable sources to find emplpoyment. This lack of resources is one of the reasons why unemployment is already higher in Indigenous communities than in the population at large. Even the transition to working from home means a greater need for high-speed internet, but this poses another disadvantage for rural homes that cannot access a connection to telecommute. The province says 61 percent of B.C. Indigenous communities lack access that meets the standard, although the council notes that number may count communities with just one broadband access point, meaning there is one place in town with adequate Internet, but it’s not in every home, school, or office. [1]

The geography of remote and northern Canadian communities implies transportation access problems, long cable builds, and harsh climate. Building sustainable broadband infrastructure capable of telehealth delivery in northern and remote Indigenous communities is and will continue to be costly. [2] The economic situation combined with the high cost of connectivity suggests that that many remote and northern Indigenous communities and community members may be struggling to pay the high costs of using digital technologies. At the same time, Indigenous community members and Indigenous communities have demonstrated that they are eager users of digital technologies and they will adopt them when they are affordable, reliable, and meet their needs. [3]

The UN has declared access to the internet a human right. This declaration is formed on the basis that having access to the internet means being able to exercise other fundamental human rights and freedoms (e.g. right to freedom of speech). For Indigenous people, the internet is a tool for cultural survival, acting as a hub for Indigenous languages and traditional stories. Without leaving their community, Indigenous youth and adults are able to learn skills, meet Indigenous role models, obtain a degree/diploma, access healthcare, and share their stories with the world. [4]

The inclusion of Indigenous voices on important issues can’t be accomplished if Canada doesn’t work to close the connectivity gap. The plans must be done in coordination with Indigenous governments, letting them lead any project or policy that may affect their communities or land. Without access to broadband, Indigenous peoples will continue to be left behind.

[1] Katie Hyslop, “Closing BC’s Indigenous Internet Gap” The Tyee (12 December 2019) online: https://thetyee.ca/News/2019/12/12/Closing-BC-Indigenous-Internet-Gap/

[2] O’Donnell, Susan “Digital technology adoption in remote and northern Indigenous communities in Canada.” Canadian Sociological Association 2016 Annual Conference. University of Calgary, Calgary, Canada. 2016.

[3] ibid 

[4] Emma Greenfield, “Digital Equity for Indigenous Communities” Social Connectedness (7 July 2020) online: https://www.socialconnectedness.org/digital-equity-for-indigenous-communities/

Technology as a Barrier to Justice: Cautioning Legal Tech Designers

Harjote Sumbal

Technology alone is not the complete solution to Canada’s access to justice problems. Usage of technology can encounter resistance, the measures may ultimately be unsuccessful, and the approach can actually result in the creation of new barriers to access. Professors Roger Smith and Alan Paterson identify “digital exclusion” with its three “digital divides” as a good place to start in assessing challenges of technological reform: (1) physical access to the relevant technology, (2) the technical ability to use the relevant technology, and (3) the cultural inclination to use the relevant technology.[1] Designers of legal tech would do well to anticipate the barriers to justice their applications may create so that they can address them before they manifest. Addressing the second divide – technology itself as a barrier – should drive legal app design to ensure implementation of technology does not widen the access to justice gap further.

A successful application is driven by user demand, which in turn requires trust. Technology can indirectly risk undercutting the administration of justice and compromise user trust. Mistrust of the legal system is a noted barrier to access,[2] so the security of technological processes is essential to make user adoption a possibility. For example, Abedi, Zeleznikow, and Brien have identified three core “facets of security” Online Dispute Resolution (ODR) systems must ensure: (1) information security and confidentiality, (2) privacy of the parties involved, and (3) authentication of parties in transactions and communications.[3] If technological reforms are implemented without due consideration of security issues, legal tech may serve as an additional barrier for wary users rather than increasing access to justice.

Digital divides in accessing technology can serve as significant barriers to access. While cultural resistance speaks to the acceptance of technology by the existing legal industry structures, physical access and technical ability are both barriers for potential users that may actually want to engage with legal technology. While these digital divides can affect any given individual, their impact is likely to most strongly affect vulnerable groups like lower socioeconomic communities, elderly people, Indigenous peoples, and those with language barriers, whether they are refugees, immigrants, or citizens.[4]

In some cases, it is possible to address these barriers within the technological tool’s infrastructure. For example, the Civil Resolution Tribunal (CRT) attempts to address potential language barriers by providing information on the CRT, its process, limitation periods, and available help resources in multiple languages.[5] It also provides additional resources for Indigenous users and directs those without computers to ServiceBC locations or paper forms.[6] The CRT’s recognition of potential technological barriers is an important start. However, not all technology platforms are constructed in the same manner, nor are they as comprehensive as ODR platforms tend to be. Justice apps are more individualized in their scope and user design. For example, the MyLawBC website is designed, amongst other capabilities, to allow users to construct their wills, but offer none of the language, Indigenous, or general helper resources of the CRT described above.

The need for accessibility tailored to vulnerable populations is apparent. A 2008 Law Foundation of Ontario report stated those in vulnerable populations “need to receive direct services rather than rely on self-help”, as legal trouble often piles on to the barriers they already face.[7] As self-service is one of the key features of user-targeted legal technology to save paying legal fees, tools that are too daunting to use are essentially useless. Without specific consideration of vulnerable populations and their userability, technological reforms risk creating a further divide between users and access to justice.

Technological tools like ODR and justice applications have great potential. However, the design and conception of technological tools must consider the specific needs of vulnerable populations or they risk exacerbating the access to justice problem. In order to successfully facilitate greater access to justice, legal tech designers must exercise empathy with target populations when conceptualizing solutions.

[1] Smith, Roger & Paterson, Alan, “Face to Face Legal Services and their Alternatives: Global Lessons from the Digital Revolution” (2014), online (pdf): Strathprints <https://strathprints.strath.ac.uk/56496/1/Smith_Paterson_CPLS_Face_to_face_legal_services_and_their_alternatives.pdf> at 19.

[2] Tania Sourdin, et al, Digital Technology and Justice: Justice Apps, (Milton: Routledge, 2020) at 23.

[3] Fahimeh Abedi, John Zeleznikow & Chris Brien, “Developing Regulatory Standards for the Concept of Security in Online Dispute Resolution Systems” (2019) 35 Computer Law & Security Review 1.

[4] Sourdin, supra note 2 at 66.

[5] Civil Resolution Tribunal, “Resources” (2021), online: < https://civilresolutionbc.ca/resources/>.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Sourdin, supra note 2 at 68; See Karen Cohl & George Thomson, “Connecting Across Language and Distance: Linguistic and Rural Access to Legal Information and Services” (December 2008), online: The Law Foundation of Ontario <https://lawfoundation.on.ca/download/connecting-across-language-and-distance-2008/>.

Avatar Justice and the Virtual Frontier

As a lowly 2L – only just returned (sort of) from my summer escape – my experience with law school has been overwhelmingly virtual. Obviously 1L is a challenge (regardless of what “mode of delivery” one engages in), but for me, I found that the digital interface allowed me to participate and interact in a manner that I find in-person actually doesn’t (due to my anxious tendencies and so on).

In a way, my virtual-self was liberating and – perhaps – was a more accurate representation of who I could be (in the hallowed halls of Zoom U).

[1]

This got me thinking; in our electronic age, we now have countless games and platforms that allow us to project boundless versions of ourselves out into the digital universe.  More importantly, these versions we create and share may offer the most authentic and original take of “who” we are.

So what does this have to do with a law blog you ask? Hopefully I can decode some 1s and 0s below.

At some point in the future, we will have next-next-generation Second Lifes, World of Warcrafts, and other massive multi-user platforms that begin to blur the lines of what “real” is for an individual.

Even if we aren’t already in a simulation, as Elon would has us believe, The Matrix gave us a chance to ponder what that reality would be like – and importantly – whether we would prefer to exist in the simulated world, or take our chances fighting squidy-machines outside (I can see why Cypher chose the steak).

Applying a legal lens to this scenario, the issue of proper jurisdiction quickly comes into focus: these worlds will likely  have their own law-making and systems of governance, leading to possible conflicts with the established rules on the outside.

In fact, we already see this occurring in settings such as Minecraft, where users operate realms and administer justice for wrongs that are both familiar and novel (see griefing). [2]

[3]

This opens up quite the legal quandary, namely, whether physical courts can (or should) interfere with the organization and nation-building of digital worlds.

A potential “test case” for this idea emerged in the now almost-vacant Second Life (SL) landscape: a dispute first originating within the virtual domain – concerning intellectual property rights – eventually made its way to a physical proceeding in the District Court of New York.

The avatar Amat Juris, acting for a client who claimed ownership over the use of the word “SLART” (as evidenced by a US trademark), sent another avatar, Victor Vezina, a “cease and desist” notification within Second Life, hoping to make the latter change the name of his virtual art gallery. When this didn’t work, a complaint was formally filed in the real world, dragging the creators behind SL into the legal debacle as well.

While the identity of Vezina remained unknown throughout the entire process, the sign displaying the word in question was finally “removed”, due to the Court’s decision to enforce the trademark. [4]

Much like piercing the corporate veil, it seems, for now, there is recourse for physical courts to manifest their legal muscle within a digital ecosystem.

But what about in-world lawyering and digital practice?

Second Life may have lost its lustre for many, as users and businesses left for greener (and less pixelated) pastures, but it gave us a window into where things are likely headed (sorry Zoom).

Amat Juris could easily have been a practicing member of the Second Life Bar Association (SLBA), working diligently for clients from the confines of a computer-generated office, earning viable income for services rendered.

This may sound a bit far-fetched, but many real and credible firms did just that: setting up virtual spaces to better facilitate representation and access to legal communities outside of their customary reach. Ross A. Dannenberg, an IP attorney at Banner & Witcoff, Ltd., goes as far as calling such environments the great leveler, as they provide “the ability to reach out and connect with people in any country in the world…very easily” (referencing his firm’s use of SL to locate and work with a solo practitioner in China). [5]

With the recent news that Mark Zuckerberg is looking to redefine the Facebook brand as a metaverse company, we may not have to wait long to expand on the SL experience.

Facebook is looking to become an online world where users interact with content, but also engage from the “inside” (through the use of virtual reality headsets such as the Oculus). Zuckerberg envisions a space that on-boards a substantial chunk of an individual’s life – allowing one to both attend a concert for a favorite artist, and welcome customers into a virtual storefront to purvey goods and services. [6]

There’s a solid chance then, that the next iteration of the SLBA will be found here; firms will once again be setting up shop and opening their “doors” to the masses, but this time around, the client-pool – of users and businesses – will dwarf anything that has existed previously.

This alone should be reason enough for most to explore a new paradigm of legal practice, but there are more incentives than just dollar signs; the metaverse promises to be a rapidly changing immersive experience, blending legal considerations of the past with new and uncharted waters of advocacy, representation and what it truly means to offer value to a client or customer.

In summary, the pandemic has shown us how badly outdated our current landscape really is; perhaps the way forward comes not just from a reworking of our legal systems, but a complete re-rendering of who were are – as individuals and professionals.

SOURCES:

[1] “I am not a Cat” Screenshot by Amanda Kooser/CNET

[2] u/xReyjinx “Ideas for realm rules?”, Reddit.com (2019) Online: https://www.reddit.com/r/Minecraft/comments/b4ve8w/ideas_for_realm_rules/

[3] “Minecraft Castle” by Mike_Cooke is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

[4] Victor Keegan, “How an Avatar on Second Life sparked a real-life court case”, The Guardian (Nov 25, 2008) Online: https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2008/nov/25/second-life-internet

[5] Thai Phi Le, “Are Second Life Residents Subject to Real Laws?”, DCBar (March 2013) Online: https://www.dcbar.org/for_lawyers/resources/publications/washington_lawyer/may_2013/virtual_game

[6] Casey Newton, “Mark in the Metaverse”, The Verge (July 22nd, 2021) Online: https://www.theverge.com/22588022/mark-zuckerberg-facebook-ceo-metaverse-interview