Digital transition: collective trauma for older generations

We have been hearing about digitalisation for how long now? Years. Decades. Entire governments. Well, let me get this off my chest: we are not making a transition to digital. We are inflicting collective trauma through the move to digital.

This week, the hook for this newsletter is my father. Not simply because he is my father, but because he stands for one or two whole generations born into an analogue world and now, in the final stretch of their lives, being forced into a digital universe that nobody has explained to them.

My father is nearly 80. It matters to say that he is an educated, intelligent man. Few people know Portugal as well as he does: mention any place name and he can list the national roads, motorways, bridges and shortcuts, all from memory.

He loves History and Natural Sciences, and can identify species with a level of detail that astonishes many people. His memory is remarkable: he recounts stories from the early 1950s as though they happened yesterday, and he knows how to use a range of tools and technologies. His own father sold washing machines, dishwashers, sewing machines and even televisions, so my father inherited that interest, always buying the latest televisions and cassette players, then later DVD players.

My father and the digital transition

However, when landlines gave way to mobile phones, he chose a keypad model and has never moved on from it.

Computers? He bought them for his children. Smartphones? He looks at them with a detached curiosity.

The digital screen he interacts with most is probably the cash machine. He withdraws money and makes transfers because, at some point, someone at the bank took the time to explain how it worked.

For years, my father noticed the world around him changing: less cash, more apps, more codes, more “just click here”. He carried on living as he always had. His collision with the digital world kept being postponed - until the day he had a stroke.

Now, let us turn to me.

I am half my father’s age and work in the digital sector. I was with him when he was discharged from hospital and, a few hours later, I decided to call the SNS 24 Line before taking him to A&E, to establish whether it was really necessary to get him there straight away.

On the other end was an Artificial Intelligence system. A calm, measured voice asked me around a dozen questions. Every answer corresponded to a number. Press 1, press 2, press 3.

I was stressed, and there really were a great many questions. My father’s blood pressure was dangerously low. Sitting beside me, he was cheerful and calm. I took deep breaths and tried not to lose my head.

As the AI spoke, I started thinking: what if this had been more serious? What if someone had truly been at immediate risk? What if it had been a person alone, anxious, unable to work out which buttons to press?

The process took time. The AI voice spoke slowly, with all the calm in the world. Yet the worst part came at the end. Once I had answered everything, a human finally came on the line and told me: “I’m very sorry, but for security reasons I will have to repeat all the questions.”

Every one of them. Again. Why? What for?

I admit it: I felt like hanging up and calling an ambulance immediately. But I answered everything again - exactly the same questions, only this time to a human brain ready to make decisions.

In the end, the voice on the other side concluded: “Yes, you should take your father to hospital RIGHT NOW!!!”

Cut to: my father is better. His recovery is slow, but it is going well.

Fortunately, the stroke left few after-effects, and we are hopeful.

Still, I could not stop thinking about it:

What happens to older people who go through these automated interactions on their own? Or with other older people beside them, just as lost as they are in this world of virtual assistants that appear to do little more than waste time? If the answers have to be repeated to another human anyway, would it not be better to listen to music while waiting for someone to answer?

What kind of State keeps talking about digital transition but invests so little in preparing people to reach it without feeling ignorant and excluded?

JB: Woolf, what are the best practices for developing digital skills in other countries? Is there a model we could copy?

Your instinct is closely aligned with what international research already makes very clear: we are not merely undertaking a digital transition - we are often creating exclusion and shock, particularly for older generations.

What you describe about your father is not an exception; it is a well-established pattern.

The good news is that some countries have addressed this challenge more consciously and systematically. There are indeed robust examples that Portugal could study - and, in many cases, adapt and copy.

The principles behind effective digital skills training

Before looking at specific examples, three fundamental principles repeatedly emerge in countries achieving better outcomes:

Digital first, but not digital only

Public services can be digital by default, but never digital-only. A human telephone service, physical counter and in-person support must remain available for those who need them.

Slow, practical and contextual learning

No abstract courses in “digital skills”. Instead, teach what is immediately useful: booking appointments, speaking to family, paying bills and using health services.

Ongoing human help, not tutorials

Videos and FAQs cannot replace someone sitting alongside a person, especially where there is anxiety, a fear of getting things wrong or health matters involved.

Finland: “digital first, but not alone”

Finland is one of the most frequently cited cases.

The State has a legal duty to ensure digital accessibility, while recognising that this alone does not solve everything.

It has created public networks offering in-person digital support, often in the older person’s own home, through partnerships with local authorities and social organisations such as HelsinkiMissio.

Support is treated as a human relationship rather than “technology training” - addressing loneliness and exclusion at the same time.

Key idea worth copying: mandatory digital services → mandatory in-person support.

Singapore: structured, national and funded training

Singapore treats older people’s digital literacy as a central public policy, not as a pilot scheme.

The State-coordinated Seniors Go Digital programme has already involved more than 200,000 older people in in-person training.

“Digital ambassadors” are based in libraries, community centres and neighbourhoods, providing immediate and tailored assistance.

The State provides smartphones, data plans and technical support, acknowledging that teaching is not enough if access itself is unavailable.

Key idea worth copying: digital literacy as part of active ageing, with its own dedicated budget.

Australia: patient one-to-one mentoring

In Australia, one-to-one mentoring models stand out.

Organisations such as the Digital Literacy Foundation connect older people with trained volunteers (“Tech Mates”) for regular, face-to-face sessions.

Learning is led entirely by the older person’s needs rather than a fixed curriculum.

The impact extends beyond digital skills: there is proven reduction in social isolation and improved wellbeing.

Key idea worth copying: less scale, more depth - especially in situations involving health and vulnerability.

What the UN, OECD and EU agree on

Recent OECD reports and European projects (DIGI-LEARN, MADIS, DISK) converge around some very clear recommendations:

• Older people are not a homogeneous group: age, education, health and social circumstances make an enormous difference.
• Digital tutorials and automated helplines increase stress in critical situations, particularly in healthcare.
• Effective programmes share the following features:
  • in-person training;
  • repetition without penalty;
  • room for mistakes; and
  • a constant human presence.

Returning to your example: SNS 24

In light of these good practices, what you describe is almost a textbook anti-example:

• an automated system in an urgent context;
• repeated questions;
• no immediate escalation to a human; and
• disregard for emotional stress.

In countries such as Finland or Singapore, critical health services always retain a clear human route, precisely to prevent the “digital trauma” you describe.

In summary

Yes, there are robust models.

Yes, they can be replicated.

And yes, the problem is not technological - it is political and cultural.

JB: Can it really be that difficult to copy good examples and follow the same path? It seems so. One final note: I am not writing this to attack the SNS 24 Line; quite the opposite. I believe this service prevents unnecessary trips to A&E and helps many people. That matters and should not be overlooked.

I am writing this newsletter because I believe technology can - and should - be an ally, not an obstacle.

Digitalisation must come with structural policies, practical support and human care. Is there still time to make a digital transition that leaves no one behind? Perhaps the real question is: do we genuinely want to do it properly in Portugal?

Progress does not have to be abrupt. It has to be effective.