Fuji Riang Prastowo
A parallel session at the Unconference on Polarization and Its Discontents in the Global South, titled “A Discussion Forum on Digital Inclusion and Its Connection to Friction and Polarization in the Digital Landscape,” moved beyond academic discourse. It became a dynamic space where indigenous faith practitioners, scholars, and activists confronted one of the digital age’s core tensions: how to foster inclusion without erasing diverse knowledge systems.
The session revealed a pressing truth: digital inclusion is not merely a neutral endeavor aimed at closing gaps; it actively transforms traditional knowledge systems, reconfigures community delineations, and, if approached without critical scrutiny, threatens to exacerbate socio-religious divisions. Technology emerged not solely as an instrument, but as a catalyst for transformation—a pharmakon, embodying both the promise of healing and the threat of toxicity—for indigenous epistemologies.
As esteemed thinkers like Mignolo (2011) and Santos (2015) have cautioned, the assurances of modernity frequently come with the concealed burdens of epistemic subjugation. Within the framework of the Global South, the forum participants contended that digital inclusion necessitates a profound rethinking: access devoid of sovereignty risks perpetuating the very hierarchies it purports to dismantle.
The session, consequently, advocated for a profound reevaluation of inclusion—not merely as an extension of connectivity, but as an imperative endeavor of epistemic justice, community self-determination, and a counteraction against the emerging forms of technofeudalism that increasingly characterize the global digital landscape.
Epistemic Resistance Against Digital Homogenization
In his opening remarks, Dr. Leonard C. Epafras (“Leo”) revealed how Indonesian indigenous identities have been perverted by bureaucratic pressures. He delineated various typologies among the penghayat—from spiritual entrepreneurs to those who defy categorization entirely—emphasizing the complexity of indigenous religiosity that eludes straightforward classification within state-sanctioned frameworks.
This classification demonstrates that indigenous religious expression is marked by a diversity of knowledge systems, a condition that digital frameworks, created for efficiency and uniformity, frequently overlook. In his account of how indigenous groups were forced to define “God” in accordance with administrative standards, Andri Hernandi, an education advocate from Majelis Luhur Kepercayaan Kepada Tuhan Yang Maha Esa Indonesia (Supreme Council of Belief in Almighty God of Indonesia), emphasized that “One God, interpreted differently by 178 communities,” highlighting the epistemological violence that flattens theological diversity.
The Sumba Marapu community’s emphasis on rituals led by elders prior to any digital engagement highlights a significant opposition to the simplification of knowledge systems. According to Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2015), marginalized communities frequently engage in Southern epistemologies—forms of knowledge-making that challenge modernity’s monocultures. By declining immediate digitization, the Marapu are not dismissing technology; rather, they are affirming that “not all knowledge is destined for the digital commons.” In a similar vein, Paul, a Filipino affiliated with the Focolare Movement, initiated the establishment of a pendopo in Yogyakarta following the earthquake in 2006. This traditional gathering space serves as a means to anchor digital interactions within the context of local community engagement. Through the creation of tangible environments for interfaith dialogue, communities counteract the abstraction and estrangement frequently engendered by communication mediated by platforms.
The acts of refusal indicate that digital inclusion necessitates negotiation rather than imposition. Indigenous knowledge systems require that technology aligns with the rhythms, protocols, and sovereignties of the community, rather than supplanting them. A variety of subjects pertaining to “Indigenous Concerns and Digital Inclusion Challenges” were examined during the FGD sessions. In addition to the matters of inclusion, participants identified a more troubling undercurrent: technofeudalism. In this developing framework, digital instruments, rather than fostering equitable access to knowledge, exacerbate pre-existing disparities and engender novel forms of marginalization.
Suryo Pramono’s admonition was clear: “Democracy requires a redefinition—we must harness technology as instruments of narrative or face the peril of becoming victims of technofeudalism.” His statements resonate with McKenzie Wark’s (2020) analysis: within the post-capitalist framework, dominance over digital infrastructures—rather than possession of physical assets—determines authority.
Anna’s doctoral fieldwork within the Indonesian Consortium for Religious Studies among indigenous communities illuminated the tangible realities present in those contexts. The initiation of training for indigenous educators frequently commenced with fundamental digital literacy skills, including the operation of a laptop, and despite this, numerous individuals returned to the practice of handwriting. This scenario engenders a phenomenon of “double marginalization,” resulting in exclusion from both digital economies and wider social narratives.
Damar from PIKAT Demokrasi (Center for Innovation in Artificial Intelligence and Technology for Democracy) introduced a geopolitical perspective, contending that absent significant intervention, AI and search engines will shape theological definitions in alignment with prevailing worldviews. He noted that by 2016, platforms such as Google had initiated the standardization of theological knowledge, establishing perilous precedents for the homogenization of global epistemic frameworks. Indeed, technofeudalism transcends mere economic considerations; it represents a monopolization of attention, data, and definitions on a cognitive level. As noted by Irani (2019) and Stiegler (1998), technological infrastructures are inherently biased, actively influencing the formation of human consciousness and the dynamics of community.
In the absence of proactive resistance and dialogue, indigenous knowledge is not merely at risk of extinction; rather, it is subject to assimilation into frameworks of understanding to which it has not given its consent.
Negotiating Boundaries and Building Fragile Digital Sovereignties
Despite being aware of these risks, participants nevertheless chose not to believe in fatalism. Indigenous peoples are becoming more than just casualties of digitalization; they are also shaping increasingly precarious forms of sovereignty.
It was necessary to relativize borders, as Leo noted, even within indigenous representation, because of the influence of Javanese cultural domination. Elders in rural areas fought for the sanctity of rituals and secrecy, while young people in urban areas pushed for digital storytelling that is respectful of community traditions but is careful not to violate them.
This negotiating process is reminiscent of Irani’s (2019) “slow technology” approach, which prioritizes community-driven, thorough discussion above hasty technological implementation. Instead of focusing on scalability and speed, indigenous societies model a different technological temporality that values relationships, ethics, and memory. Paul’s interfaith pendopo and Suryo’s efforts to revive kungkum (ritual bathing) practices are examples of real-world initiatives that show indigenous communities may regain control of digital spaces while preserving ancient wisdom.
Jenny, a former lecturer at Duta Wacana Christian University’s Department of Digital Humanities, advocated a hybrid approach to education that incorporated both humanism and technology. She brought indigenous issues to the attention of the next digital generation by arguing for sympathetic digital engagement that respects complexity, ambiguity, and relationality, drawing influence from Moana 2 and Studio Ghibli narratives.
The conversations that took place in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, highlighted that in order to achieve genuine digital inclusion in the Global South, epistemic justice, and not only access, needs to be the foundation.
According to Dr. Leo, technology is a pharmakon, which means that it may both be a poison and a cure (Stiegler, 1998). Without rigorous judgment, negotiation, and solidarity, it is only possible for it to serve as an alternative to indigenous ways of knowing rather than to replace them. In an era that is becoming increasingly dominated by technofeudal overlords and algorithmic epistemologies, the fragile practices that were explored in Yogyakarta provide a radically different horizon. This horizon is one in which technology is reclaimed as a servant to many ontologies, rather than as their executioner.
It is imperative that future activities prioritize the following: (1) the construction of digital infrastructures that are controlled by indigenous communities; (2) the development of digital literacy programs that are based on local epistemologies; and (3) the formation of alliances between indigenous communities, computer humanists, and critical technologists.
In order to bridge gaps, profound patience, critical solidarity, and a resolute refusal to allow technology to rewrite the human spirit on terms that are unequal are all necessary components. Through the assertion of its epistemic sovereignty, the Global South serves as a reminder to the rest of the globe that we are not merely data points; rather, we are worlds unto ourselves.