Why I don’t want a BritCard, a Saltire App, or any more of the endless short-termism of politicians

I hoped not. I was incompetent with technology – always have been – and remember a fidgeting irritation I had to engage with it. I couldn’t yet grasp the wondrous utopia imagined by early internet pioneers. Floppy discs, loud mouse-clicks, and screeching dial-up modems wouldn’t help matters.

Thirty years on, despite developing an internet addiction as robust as the next guy’s, I’ve never quite managed to bury that inner Luddite. So, last Thursday, when it was reported Prime Minister Keir Starmer planned to announce a compulsory, UK-wide, digital ID system by the year 2029, that latent teenage impatience re-surfaced. It often has during three decades of digital solutions being proposed as the panacea for social and economic problems.

There’s been a rare, unifying opposition to Labour’s proposal from across the political spectrum. Starmer’s speech on Friday at the Global Progress conference claimed the policy will crack down on illegal immigrants working in the UK. Labour Together, architects of the scheme, envisage the ‘BritCard’ operating as a ‘verifiable digital credential’ downloaded to a smartphone. For those without a device, Labour will ‘ensure accessibility.’ The suspicion can’t be quelled this may mean ‘make having one mandatory.’

At the time of writing, full details of the scheme haven’t been revealed, nor has this been debated in Parliament. The vague details and out-of-nowhere announcement raised suspicions from the Tory opposition this was a ‘dead cat’ strategy: a policy thrown out to deflect attention from other negative stories facing the beleaguered government, which are plentiful.

Presuming the cat isn’t dead, but actively mewling, what of it? Whether or not the scheme will solve the problem of illegal immigration can be dealt with swiftly: no. It’s already possible to discover who works here illegally. The question causing intense social division is what to do about it. ‘Not this’ appears to be the overwhelming consensus.

For liberals, there’s instinctive opposition to being compelled to give personal data to a centralised database administered by the state, upon which access to employment and potentially other services may become mandatory. From the left, a concern for minorities is centred. Will innocent people be unfairly targeted? From the right, Reform UK judge it a ‘cynical ploy to fool voters that something is being done about illegal immigration’.

In Scotland, First Minister John Swinney’s main concern isn’t the potential erosion of civil liberties, but the name. By calling it BritCard, ‘the Prime Minister seems to be attempting to force every Scot to declare ourselves British.’ I’ve a suspicion – in these tribal times - that if the SNP introduced an identical policy and thwacked a saltire on it, many independence supporters would unquestioningly support it.

Scottish secretary Douglas Alexander opted for the ‘for your own good’ angle: “How many times have any of us had to scrabble around in the house to try to find an old utility bill?” As “more of our lives move online”, having a secure digital ID is a perhaps inevitable practicality.

My answer to the first question is: not very often and, to the latter, why? Enter my stroppy teenager. I turned 18 in the year 2000. Far from wanting to move ‘more of’ my life online, I’m one of many grappling with what our digital era has done to us. We’ve enough knowledge of the ‘Before’ to recognise our globally-networked lives have not produced only the sunshine and roses predicted by idealistic Modern Studies teachers. Both our working and social lives have been characterised by near-constant technological change and a shin-kicking insistence we keep the hell up. We’ve done so, dutifully. But at what cost?

Our concerns are endless: social media encouraging us to be snappy and vile; the radicalisation of permanently-online young minds leading to nihilistic offline extremism; depleting attention spans; declining literacy; the warping effects caused by immersion in echo chambers. I’m still sad we don’t all watch the same telly now, never mind the wholly different realities occupied by those with a Bluesky or X account regarding many a subject.

That I often pontificate about this online is a hypocrisy I live with. I’m far from alone in feeling I must engage with these sites to fully understand their social impacts. Grappling with our digital reality with a naturally analogue mind, I don’t want a BritCard, a Saltire App, or the endless short-termism of politicians trying to solve real social problems like illegal immigration with yet another costly ‘streamlining’ policy. Centralised databases are a boon for hackers, while providing the means for authoritarian social control measures for any current or future government in the process. I read about what can go wrong with this impulse for total social control 30 years ago. I checked out 20th century novels and memoirs from the school library.

I’m sometimes despondent we’ve failed to deal with – or even recognise - the problems caused by this extraordinary 30-year-long technological and social revolution we’ve been living through. Now, we’re chuntering towards more social upheaval caused by AI, which, unless you’re an expert (believe me, I’m not) sometimes feels too huge to navigate.

Whether BritCard proves a dead feline remains to be seen. I’m certain, however, that the state shouldn’t mandate owning a device that forces you to do anything. Should someone wish to live entirely offline, and/or drown their smartphone in the nearest body of water, they shouldn’t suffer social or economic detriment for doing so. My inner teen often wishes I’d join them.