Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Digital government my foot!

I still remember footage of a diligent police officer typing away noisily on a typewriter at a police station. In almost all these bastions of law enforcement, the all-important occurrence books are still outlandishly manual and dog-eared. I still remember footage of a diligent police officer typing away noisily on a typewriter at a police station. In almost all these bastions of law enforcement, the all-important occurrence books are still outlandishly manual and dog-eared.   PHOTO | FILE
By LARRY MADOWO
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What do you do when you suddenly end up with the deputy president’s phone number?
Do you send a funny and only slightly inappropriate video on WhatsApp or do you forward a thoughtful critique of the government’s handling of the security situation?
Better still, do you call to inquire about where he and the president obtain their matching white shirt and red tie combinations?
I wrestled with these weighty questions just over a week ago when Deputy President Mr William Ruto’s number unceremoniously ended up on my Twitter feed, along with a cheeky little smiley icon.
It was nestled neatly in between sanctimonious outrage about whatever it was the Internet was condemning that week and another reference to the now mythical Kasarani “concentration camp.”
EVIDENTLY A POSER
It was the third time in a week that a government Twitter account had been hacked by the aptly named Anonymous Kenya. Just a few days earlier, the Kenya Defence Forces and its spokesman, Maj Emmanuel Chirchir, had also had their Twitter accounts captured.
Instead of the usual reports of airstrikes in Somalia — and endless irrelevant commentary in Major Chirchir’s case — the accounts poured forth anti-government propaganda that would outdo Hugo Weaving’s character in V for Vendetta.
You see, the government’s “digital assets” (pro tip: anybody who uses this term is evidently a poser and a fake) are managed by folks like Dennis Itumbi, who goes by the misleading and poorly crafted title, Director of Digital, New Media and Diaspora at State House.
His exact qualifications for this senior role are still a mystery, and have been questioned by no less than a government agency. But the bigger mystery is what exactly he does – besides creating new Twitter accounts, that is.
HACKING ICC WEBSITE
Right up to the time he was appointed to the position, he had consistently denied working for Jubilee candidate and then president, Mr Uhuru Kenyatta.
You know, just the same way he denied ever having hacked the ICC website and extracting information beneficial to suspect Uhuru Kenyatta.
He did visit the International Criminal Court during one of the trials, though whether he carried out the alleged hacking has attracted surprisingly little debate.
In an odd twist of fate, it now appears that the hacking flowchart has come full cycle, and a man once accused of hacking the website of a global court now finds himself fending off hackers from his “digital assets.”
In the last month alone, nearly half a dozen government Twitter accounts or websites have been captured. Anonymous even bragged about Kenya being an easy target in an interview, and promised more.
I tried counting how many government departments or agencies had been compromised since March 2013 but ran out of fingers.
POLICE TYPEWRITER
In the grand scheme of things, hacking is the least of this government’s digital challenges. We were sold this false premise of a digital government for what is essentially an analogue administration.
How else would they so memorably put out a tender for airlifting presidential speeches in 2014? Granted, the tender was cancelled, but only after sustained online consternation.
There was also the tender for typewriters for a number of ministries. The justification was that important documents such as title deeds and birth certificates were still filled in manually.
I still remember footage of a diligent police officer typing away noisily on a typewriter at a police station. In almost all these bastions of law enforcement, the all-important occurrence books are still outlandishly manual and dog-eared.
I tried to assess the greatest digital success of the Jubilee administration and came up hopelessly empty. Starting new Twitter accounts and contradicting senior officials does not count.
In any case, “governance by hashtag” does not translate to measurable progress for citizens. Hashtags don’t build schools or roads. Hashtags don’t give jobs or raise living standards.
Hashtags can’t be called upon in place of a policeman or an ambulance, they are only good for tracking the government’s supposed progress on social media.
FREE WI-FI
Team Uhuruto’s biggest promise – delivering laptops to impressionable little ones joining primary school – is still stuck in the tendepreneurship maze nearly two years later.
Even a plan to begin cashless matatu transport using an electronic payment system just won’t start. “Failure to launch” is a good title for this government’s grand digital ambitions, and their customary disappointing conclusions.
Just look at the over-publicised and spectacularly underwhelming free wi-fi projects in Nairobi, Nakuru and Siaya counties. In the eyes of the powers that be, free Internet connections are more important than clean streets and working services.
The Jubilee administration should just accept that it is hopelessly at sea with technology, and drop the “digital” tag until it figures out how to protect its “digital assets,” create strong passwords and deliver laptops to the nation’s impatient children.
Appointing a credible Chief Technology Officer would also be a good idea. I’m also still taking ideas for what to do with the deputy president’s phone number.

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