Perpetually ignored through digitisation

Digitisation has created a new class of Malaysians.

They are not the B40, M40 or T20. They are the ones I call the “perpetually ignored” — our seniors who are being quietly pushed out of daily life because everything now lives inside an app.

This is not how it started.

Back then it was just ICT, cables, copper, maybe fibre if you were lucky.

The internet came to our offices and homes, but it was still a tool, not a border guard.

You could ignore “dotcom” and still pay your bills at the counter, see a doctor, complain to the local council by walking into the office and talking to someone.

Nobody rushed to teach our elders how to use a modem.

No one insisted that your grandmother must understand “hardware” and “software” just to survive. And that was fine, because their lives did not depend on it.

Today, it does.

To make a complaint, you have to download an app, to order lunch, scan a QR code, and if you need to see a doctor, you have to register online.

For many of us, this is an inconvenience.

For seniors, it is a wall.

Picture an 80-year-old “makcik” at a government health clinic, appointment card in hand, being told to register online.

She’s never used email and her phone is the same trusty Nokia she has used for a decade.

Around her, younger patients are busy tapping on screens. She stands aside, suddenly illiterate in a country whose anthem she can still sing by heart.

This is not progress. This is exclusion.

We like to say our seniors “refuse to learn”, but we forget to ask how many can afford a smartphone and data plan on a fixed pension, not to mention dealing with an endless stream of updates.

In our rush to digitise, we have quietly changed the rules of citizenship.

Rights that used to be automatic — to seek treatment, to pay for utilities, to complain about services, now come with small print: “Subject to your ability to download, register and navigate our app”.

If a “pakcik” in Rawang must depend on his grandson just to pay his TNB bill or reload Touch ‘n Go, what happens when that grandson moves to Johor, or simply has no time? Do we tell this pakcik that his electricity is a “user experience issue”?

We talk endlessly about “digital transformation” in Malaysia. We set KPIs for “cashless transactions”, “e-government”, “paperless offices”. But we rarely ask the most basic question: who pays the human cost of our efficiency?

Make no mistake, there is a cost — the embarassment of having to quietly ask for help at a counter that no longer exists, the frustration of pressing one number after another only to be cut off by a cold recorded voice.

Then there is the loneliness of being left out of family conversations because they happen on WhatsApp or dealing with banking apps you do not understand.

We are creating a generation of elders who are dependent not because they are weak, but because we have designed the system without them in mind.

So, what do we do?

First, “digital by default” cannot mean “digital only”. For critical services, health, utilities, transport, government assistance, there must always be a human counter, a phone line answered by a real person, a form that can be filled with a pen.

Digital should be an option, not the only channel.

Second, we need serious, nationwide digital literacy programmes for seniors. Not a one-off CSR photo opportunity, but sustained, community-based classes in suraus, temples, community halls and PPR flats, where volunteers patiently guide the elderly through the process.

Third, designers and developers must stop assuming everyone sees the world through a 6.5-inch screen. Fonts must be larger, steps fewer, language simpler. Not everyone understands “sign up”, “OTP”, “two-factor authentication” and “reset password”, especially when all of that appears in English legalese.

And finally, we, the so-called digital natives, must check our own attitude.

It is easy to roll our eyes when a senior asks for help. It’s easy to just say “Ah, so easy. Just press”. But for someone who grew up in a world of typewriters, this is anything but easy. It is foreign, intimidating, and often frightening.

A society that requires a 90-year-old to have a smartphone just to see a doctor is just one that has outsourced its conscience to convenience.

We call ourselves a caring nation. We remind our children to respect elders, help elderly people cross the road. But respect is more than giving up your seat in the MRT. It’s about designing systems that do not quietly push your elders out of the queue altogether.

Being truly digital is not just about download rates, cashless transactions or sleek interfaces. The real test is how we can help our seniors navigate daily life, gain access to services, make payments, seek help, and be heard without having to master systems never designed with them in mind.

Until then, our digital transformation remains hollow.

Progress that sidelines the elderly is not progress. It is neglect dressed in innovation. A nation that advances technologically while abandoning its aging population reveals not strength, but a profound failure of priorities.

And with our society aging rapidly, this is no longer a peripheral issue, it is a defining one.

In the end, the true measure of development is not how advanced our technology becomes, but how human we remain in its application.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.