17.1 Introduction

Digital technologies have permeated almost every aspect of modern life. The potential for such technologies to enhance the enjoyment of human rights is coupled with risks of exclusion, surveillance, and growing inequality, particularly for vulnerable populations. We need to ensure that everyone benefits from digitalisation, even those who currently lack the skills or the means necessary for it. As the European Parliament has highlighted, digital technologies ‘can either help create a more inclusive society and reduce inequities, or they can amplify existing inequalities and create new forms of discrimination’.Footnote ¹ It is often the most vulnerable sectors of society that are not benefiting from digitalisation (as they tend to have fewer resources and more obstacles to access). Accordingly, their needs and human rights require special attention in this process.

The gap between demographics and regions that have access to digital technology and those that do not is called the ‘digital divide’. There is nothing new about the digital divide; it started receiving attention from the mid-1990s.Footnote ² Despite long-standing awareness of the problem, it persists. As the United Nations (UN) General Assembly noted in 2016: ‘Despite the previous decade’s achievements in information and communications technology connectivity, […] many forms of digital divides remain, both between and within countries and between women and men. […] [D]ivides are often closely linked to education levels and existing inequalities, and we recognize that further divides can emerge in the future, slowing sustainable development’.Footnote ³

Such divides are problematic as they demonstrate how a significant number of individuals are lacking access to the plethora of benefits that digitalisation has brought (such as faster bureaucracy, access to information at all hours, new ways to express oneself). The European Parliament has recognised that digital divides ‘may accentuate social differences by reducing some workers’ opportunities to obtain quality employment’, and acknowledged the especially problematic position of vulnerable groups in relation to the digital divide by noting the potential ‘negative impact of the digitalisation of public and private services on workers and people such as older people and persons with disabilities, low-income, socially disadvantaged or unemployed citizens, migrants and refugees or people in rural and remote areas’.Footnote ⁴ As M. N. Cooper has highlighted, those on the right side of the digital divide ‘find themselves better trained, better informed, and better able to participate in democracy’, whereas the ‘disconnected become disadvantaged and disenfranchised’, with exclusion manifesting in all aspects of society.Footnote ⁵

Vulnerable groups are disproportionately impacted by the digital divide, making it both a symptom and a driver of systemic inequities.Footnote ⁶ In the words of the UN Secretary-General, ‘[d]igital divides reflect and amplify existing social, cultural and economic inequalities’.Footnote ⁷ The digital divide can perpetuate a cycle of disadvantage for vulnerable groups. Bridging the digital divide and ensuring equal access to digital technology is crucial for promoting equity and social inclusion in our increasingly digital world. This divide not only restricts access to critical services such as education, healthcare, and employment, but also undermines fundamental human rights, including the right to equality, dignity, and participation in societal decision-making. Some of the human rights implications of the digital divide are studied in this chapter to illustrate that the digital divide is not just a practical problem but also a legal one.

This chapter focuses on the digital divide in relation to women and older people as sample groups because they are uniquely positioned at the intersection of systemic exclusion and under-representation, making them illustrative of how the digital divide magnifies inequalities and contributes to human rights violations. By examining these groups, the chapter seeks to illustrate the barriers that vulnerable groups are up against, draw attention to the human rights issues that they face and demonstrate the need for tailored solutions within broader efforts to address digital inequities. The chapter also examines international action regarding the digital divide and whether additional steps need to be taken to adequately respond to the multitude of challenges that the digital divide presents.

17.2 The Digital Divide and Its Contributing Factors

There is a plethora of different definitions of the digital divide. The European Union (EU) has referenced the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) definition of the digital divide,Footnote ⁸ which refers to ‘the gap between individuals, households, businesses and geographic areas at different socio-economic levels with regard both to their opportunities to access information and communication technologies (ICTs) and to their use of the internet for a wide variety of activities’.Footnote ⁹ When the term ‘digital divide’ first emerged in the late twentieth century, it was used to describe the gap between people who had access to mobile phones and those who did not. Over time, its meaning has broadened to encompass the technical and financial ability to use technology and access the internet. As technology evolves, the concept of the digital divide continues to change.Footnote ¹⁰

The digital divide is influenced by a range of interconnected factors that determine access to and use of technology for individuals and communities. Such factors include socio-economic disparities, geographic isolation, cultural and language differences, technological barriers, and gaps in law and policy. Each of these elements plays a role in determining who can benefit from the opportunities provided by digital technologies and who remains excluded. Understanding these underlying causes helps design effective strategies to bridge the divide and promote equitable digital inclusion.

First, socio-economic inequalities, such as education, employment status and income levels directly influence access to digital technologies and the internet. Low-income households often cannot afford devices or reliable internet connections. And individuals with a limited educational background may lack the skills to effectively use digital tools.Footnote ¹¹ This disparity is evident across various demographics and regions. For instance, in India, the digital divide is heavily influenced by income and educational attainment, particularly among disadvantaged caste groups.Footnote ¹² Second, remote or rural regions often suffer from a lack of investment in broadband and mobile networks (owing to higher costs and logistical challenges). Geographic isolation hinders digital accessibility, creating a stark gap compared with urbanised areas that have robust technological infrastructure. A similar tendency persists at the international level, with developing countries lagging behind developed nations in technology uptake. Third, cultural norms and language differences often limit the inclusivity of online spaces. Many websites and digital tools are predominantly available in a small number of global languages, creating obstacles for non-native speakers or those of linguistic minorities.Footnote ¹³ Cultural attitudes towards technology, such as mistrust or unfamiliarity, can further deepen this impact. Fourth, technological and infrastructure barriers are among the more obvious causes of the digital divide. The lack of broadband networks and high device costs clearly restrict access to digital technologies. The quality and speed of available internet also vary, affecting user ability to engage fully with digital services. And fifth, regulatory frameworks and government policies can play a critical role in determining the availability and affordability of digital infrastructure. Moreover, inadequate support for public digital initiatives or over-reliance on market-driven models can exclude marginalised populations. It has also been argued that sometimes groups or entities can use ‘political institutions to enact policies that block the spread of the Internet’.Footnote ¹⁴

Summing up, these challenges perpetuate unequal access to technology and its benefits. Recognising the interconnected nature of these factors is essential for fostering digital equity and ensuring that the benefits of technology are accessible to all.

17.3 Gender Gap

The digital divide manifests differently across various groups, highlighting distinct patterns of exclusion. Among these, the gender gap and the age gap are particularly significant, as they reflect systemic barriers rooted in social, cultural, and economic inequalities. These gaps not only reveal the unique challenges faced by specific populations but also illustrate the broader structural issues that perpetuate digital inequities worldwide.

One of the most widely recognised digital divides is the gender digital divide (gender gap). According to the International Telecommunications Union (ITU), 70 per cent of men are using the internet worldwide, compared with 65 per cent of women, meaning that globally there were 244 million more men than women using the internet in 2023.Footnote ¹⁵ In low-income countries only 20 per cent of women have access to the internet (compared with 35 per cent of men).Footnote ¹⁶ Yet, as UN Women has emphasised, ‘digital inclusion and literacy are critical to the well-being and success of women and girls in society, including their ability to take an informed part in electoral processes and exercise their right to vote and to stand for election’.Footnote ¹⁷

17.4 Age Gap

The digital divide disproportionately affects older populations. According to the ITU, younger generations are significantly more likely to use the internet than older populations. Globally, internet usage rates are highest among individuals aged fifteen to twenty-four, reaching over 75 per cent, while fewer than 55 per cent of people aged sixty-five and older are online.Footnote ⁵⁰ And only around one-third of those aged fifty-five to seventy-four, the retired and the inactive, have at least basic digital skills.Footnote ⁵¹ This age-based digital divide (grey digital divide, age gap) limits older adults’ access to vital services, social connections, and opportunities for lifelong learning. As societies digitise, the inability to engage with technology not only marginalises older individuals but also raises human rights concerns. As the EU Agency for Fundamental Rights has noted, ‘[o]lder persons, a heterogeneous group with diverse socio-economic backgrounds, are among those whose enjoyment of fundamental rights might be at risk from digitalisation’.Footnote ⁵² Their right to participate in civic and public life, the right to work, to health, and to education, can all be impacted by digital exclusion. The age gap exacerbates existing inequalities, as those excluded from digital connectivity face challenges in accessing services, healthcare, and opportunities for social inclusion.

17.5 Conclusions

The digital divide represents a critical fault line in the global move toward digitalisation. Despite decades of attention, the problem persists owing to the interplay of systemic factors, including socio-economic disparities, geographic isolation, cultural norms, insufficient policy interventions, and inadequate resources. This chapter has examined the gender and age dimensions of the digital divide, illustrating how these gaps perpetuate and exacerbate exclusion and vulnerability among women and older populations. Bridging this divide requires a more cohesive, enforceable, and inclusive approach that prioritises the voices and needs of marginalised groups. This has been acknowledged by the UN Secretary-General, who has noted that ‘[r]isk factors that affect the ability of vulnerable and marginalized groups to have access to connectivity should be specifically identified and addressed’.Footnote ⁷⁸ The same has been recognised by the European Parliament, which ‘call[ed] for careful examination of people’s needs when it comes to digital developments and innovation, especially the needs of vulnerable groups, in order to assess how they can benefit from these new technologies’ as ‘the digital transition must take place in a way that benefits everyone’.Footnote ⁷⁹

Both covered dimensions of the digital divide reflect broader systemic failures to address structural inequalities. While international and regional bodies have adopted policies to address these gaps, their efforts are often inconsistent, fragmented, and lack enforceable commitments. For instance, international instruments such as the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals include digital inclusion targets, but fail to address the problem in a comprehensive manner. Similarly, the EU’s Digital Decade policy programme and other regional initiatives advocate for inclusivity but provide limited mechanisms to enforce digital equity for women and older individuals. The organisations themselves are also calling for more action. Some of the concrete aspects that have been noted as key to bridging the digital divide are ‘better metrics, data collection, and coordination of initiatives’ (UN Secretary-General),Footnote ⁸⁰ and ‘strengthened enabling policy environments and international cooperation to improve affordability, access, education, capacity-building, multilingualism, cultural preservation, investment and appropriate financing’ (UN Economic and Social Council).Footnote ⁸¹ The European Parliament has emphasised the need to design ‘online services in a comprehensible way so that they can be accessed and used by people of all ages and levels of educational attainment’,Footnote ⁸² and the importance of promoting ‘basic and specialised skills with a specific focus on the most vulnerable groups of people, and the development of education and training systems including lifelong learning, re-skilling and up-skilling’.Footnote ⁸³ Such calls for action have yet to lead to significant results.

Addressing the digital divide is not merely a matter of technological advancement but a profound human rights imperative. Civil society groups such as AGE Platform Europe have emphasised that human rights need to be used as a compass for digitalisation more broadly.Footnote ⁸⁴ International and regional frameworks must go beyond aspirational targets and implement binding commitments and concrete initiatives that address the specific barriers faced by vulnerable groups. Achieving digital equity is essential not only for fostering individual empowerment but also for advancing broader societal goals of inclusivity, fairness, and human rights in an increasingly digital world.

18.1 Introduction: Children’s Rights in the Digital Environment

Digital technologies have a significant impact on the lives of children and the rights that are specifically attributed to them by the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), Article 24 of the European Union (EU) Charter of Fundamental Rights (CFEU) and many national constitutions. The Council of Europe Committee of Ministers’ 2018 Recommendation on Guidelines to respect, protect, and fulfil the rights of the child in the digital environment recognises that the digital environment is ‘reshaping children’s lives in many ways, resulting in opportunities for and risks to their well-being and enjoyment of human rights’.Footnote ¹ This has also been acknowledged by the United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child (CRC Committee), which adopted a General Comment on the rights of the child in relation to the digital environment in 2021. In General Comment no. 25, the Committee affirms that ‘[i]nnovations in digital technologies affect children’s lives and their rights in ways that are wide-ranging and interdependent […]’.Footnote ² Over the years, the EU has been relying on the guidance of the UNCRC when adopting and interpreting fundamental human rights instruments.Footnote ³ This is demonstrated for instance in Article 24 of the CFEU,Footnote ⁴ which contains language that is very similar to that of the UNCRC. The EU’s commitment to the UNCRC was again confirmed in the 2021 EU Strategy on the Rights of the Child, built on six key pillars of which ‘the digital and information society’ is one.Footnote ⁵ In a recent case, the Court of Justice of the EU has confirmed that CFEU Article 24 represents the integration into EU law of the principal rights of the child referred to in the UNCRC.Footnote ⁶ Hence, the UNCRC functions as a comprehensive framework that must duly be taken into account when legislative proposals that directly or indirectly affect children are proposed and adopted.

In the past decade, regulatory action by the European Community (EC) has increasingly been targeted at the digital environment, leading to the adoption of influential legislative instruments such as the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR),Footnote ⁷ and the Network and Information Security Directive. Other instruments, such as the Audiovisual Media Services Directive (AVMSD), were amended to extend their scope to also cover video-sharing platforms. Two recent legislative initiatives at the level of the EU, the Digital Services Act (DSA) and the Artificial Intelligence Act (AIA), touch upon platforms and technologies that have a significant impact on children and their rights.Footnote ⁸ Digital services, often provided through platforms, provide children with immense opportunities to communicate, learn, and play, and artificial intelligence (AI)-based applications may offer children personalised learning or medical treatments.Footnote ⁹ At the same time, the use of tech platforms and AI may also pose risks to children’s rights. Rights that might be negatively affected are, for example, the right to privacy and data protection, freedom of thought, the right to freedom of expression, and the right to protection from violence and exploitation. The AIA acknowledges, for instance, that this technology ‘can also be misused and provide novel and powerful tools for manipulative, exploitative and social control practices’.Footnote ¹⁰ The question arises to what extent the protection and fulfilment of children’s rights is addressed in these most recent legislative acts, the DSA and the AIA. In order to answer this question, the proposals are analysed, the legislative process is scrutinised, and an assessment is made of how each contributes to the effective realisation of children’s rights in the digital realm. The chapter also suggests some strategies for moving forward, drawing on recent recommendations from the UN children’s rights framework. We propose that EU policymakers adopt a children’s rights approach in their attempts to regulate platform services and AI, so that children’s rights and interests can be a strong regulatory focus rather than a regulatory afterthought.

18.2 Opportunities for and Risks to Children’s Rights from Platform Services and AI Systems

Before analysing the legislative acts, this section zooms in on existing evidence about children’s experiences with platform services and AI systems. The aim is to provide a better understanding of both the potential opportunities for and risks to children’s rights offered by these services and applications. Platform services and other AI-based applications have become an integral part of children’s lives. While AI-enabled toys and voice assistants have infiltrated children’s homes and schools, AI-powered tutors, learning assistants, and personalised educational programmes are becoming more commonplace.Footnote ¹¹ Children are also avid users of (commercial) AI-enabled platform services, such as social media, video-sharing, and interactive gaming platforms. For instance, platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok use advanced machine learning to deliver content and personalise, to use their own word ‘improve’,Footnote ¹² the user experience, provide filters that rely on augmented reality technology, and employ natural language processing tools to monitor and remove hate speech and other harmful content. The specific features of these platforms and systems make them particularly appealing to children, but also carry risks.Footnote ¹³ The lack of transparency and insight into how exactly AI systems generate certain output makes it very difficult for end users to anticipate the potential risks, harms, or violations of their rights.Footnote ¹⁴

Research capturing the opinions of children and youth themselves about the opportunities and risks of platform services and AI shows that they have a balanced perspective.Footnote ¹⁵ On the one hand, they realise that these services offer many opportunities for entertainment, socialising, and learning, but are never completely safe. On the other hand, children express a great deal of concern, and cite as the main risks being confronted with harmful and illegal content, cyberbullying and hate speech, and violations of their privacy and data protection rights.Footnote ¹⁶ In relation to this, questions arise about the long-term impact of platform services and AI on children’s well-being and development. For instance, it has been reported that researchers within Instagram, owned by Meta, who studied user experiences, found that ‘thirty-two percent of teen girls said that when they felt bad about their bodies, Instagram made them feel worse’.Footnote ¹⁷ The introduction of AI-based applications into children’s lives could also have side effects at the societal level.Footnote ¹⁸ More specifically, it could lead to the normalisation of surveillance, datafication, and commercialisation. Many of these applications are driven by commercial interests and deliberately designed and used to ensure maximum engagement of children, and even to establish behavioural patterns and habits for the future.Footnote ¹⁹ Furthermore, lower quality AI-based technologies with a greater focus on entertainment and pacification rather than education and learning might be available for children from disadvantaged backgrounds compared with those from privileged backgrounds.Footnote ²⁰

Because of the impact of platform services and AI on society at large, policymakers and legislators around the world are debating and developing instruments to counteract these risks. However, scholars have identified a disconnect and lack of adequate redress between the potential negative impact of AI on children and the regulatory means to address them.Footnote ²¹ UNICEF also underlines that most of the recent initiatives targeting AI only refer superficially to children and their rights and interests.Footnote ²² Considering the EU’s commitment to safeguarding children’s rights in the digital environment,Footnote ²³ the following section will analyse two of these recent initiatives through the lens of children’s rights and principles. It is important to note that both the DSA and the AIA are likely to have a standard-setting impact around the world, given what scholars and policymakers call the Brussels Effect.Footnote ²⁴ In this sense, these initiatives also present an important opportunity to shape global norms and standards for the design and deployment of digital technologies that are used by and impact children.

18.3 Children’s Rights in the DSA

18.4 Children’s Rights in the Proposal for the AIA

18.5 Discussion: A Children’s Rights Perspective on the DSA and the AIA

It can only be welcomed that both instruments refer to children and their rights. The question is, however, whether the proposals have the potential to ensure that children’s rights will be effectively implemented. For the DSA, the answer is quite clear: it holds great promise for advancing children’s rights, depending on the actual implementation and enforcement. Where references to children in the proposal were few and far between in the Commission proposal, the final text appears to take children and their interests (finally) seriously by imposing obligations on VLOPs that could make a difference. Moreover, in addition to the provisions that directly refer to children that have been discussed earlier, there are of course other provisions that will indirectly have an impact on children as a subgroup of individuals in general. Examples are the provisions regarding recommender systems (Articles 27 and 38) and the design of online interfaces (Article 25). While the text of the law provides indeed many opportunities, the actual realisation of children’s rights will depend on the implementation and enforcement. The DSA does create enforcement mechanisms and oversight bodies that are responsible for ensuring this.Footnote ¹²⁶ In 2024, the Commission already launched formal proceedings against, among others, TikTok and Meta (Facebook and Instagram) related to the protection of minors.Footnote ¹²⁷ The Commission expresses concerns about, for example, age verification, default privacy settings, and behavioural addictions that may have an impact on the rights of the child. It thus seems that the enforcement of the DSA will move forward faster than, for instance, the enforcement of the GDPR.

For the AIA, it remains to be seen whether it will succeed in guaranteeing children’s rights. Children’s rights are mentioned in the Preamble and provisions of the Act – which is laudable – and it clearly acknowledges the potential negative impact of AI systems on their rights. However, whether these acknowledgements are sufficient for protecting and promoting children’s rights in an increasingly AI-driven world is questionable. First, the prohibition of AI systems that exploit vulnerable groups leaves questions about the threshold for significant harm and its interplay with other instruments. Second, while the final text mentions that the impact of AI systems on children’s rights is considered ‘of particular relevance’ when classifying them as high risk,Footnote ¹²⁸ As a final consideration, the AIA does not explicitly introduce a general obligation for ‘specific protection’ for children when AI systems and automated decision-making infiltrate their lives – in contrast to, for instance, the GDPR when it comes to the processing of their personal data (recital 38) or – arguably – the DSA requirement to ensure a high level of privacy, safety, and security for minors. By introducing an obligation to ensure the best interests of children for all AI systems that are likely to impact children, this could have led to more effective rights implementation in practice.

From a children’s rights perspective, a few questions remain. First, the adoption of any legislative initiative that affects children should be accompanied by a thorough Children’s Rights Impact Assessment (CRIA).Footnote ¹²⁹ Although both proposals have been preceded by an impact assessment, it can hardly be said that they would qualify as CRIAs. A true CRIA would assess the impact of the proposed measures on the full range of children’s rights and would balance conflicting rights (both where children’s rights would conflict with each other and where children’s rights would conflict with the rights of adults, businesses, or other actors). A CRIA is also the way to evaluate whether a proposed measure takes the best interests of the child as a primary consideration. The best interests of the child is a key children’s rights principle, which is laid down in Article 3 of UNCRC and Article 24 of CFEU. This principle should guide all actions and decisions that concern children. This is also very closely linked to another children’s rights principle, laid down in Article 12 of UNCRC, which is the right to be heard. Children’s views must be taken on board and must be given due weight. Although in the preparatory steps leading towards the adoption of the proposals, children’s rights organisations have had opportunities to share their views and suggestions, this does not replace the actual engagement of children in that process. This is – again – a lesson to be learnt. Moreover, CRIAs might also be helpful for the addressees of the legislative acts, when assessing risks that their services or systems pose for children and their rights.

Second, experiences with other legislative instruments, such as the GDPR, have shown that the vague wording in the legislative instruments leaves addressees often at a loss for how to implement obligations (notwithstanding their often-well-meant intentions). Hence, fast and concrete guidance,Footnote ¹³⁰ for instance, by means of Commission Guidelines (Article 28.4 DSA), codes of conduct or guidelines by the newly established European Board for Digital Services or the European Artificial Intelligence Board will be essential. In addition, whereas enforcement by Data Protection Authorities of the GDPR has been argued to be slow, lacking, or not prioritising children, it will be up to Member States to ensure that the DSA and AIA oversight bodies are well resourced, and it will be up to the Commission to take up its supervisory role when it comes to the VLOPs and VLOSEs.

Finally, both instruments adopt an approach that predominantly focuses on safety and risks. There are few to no obligations for platforms to take measures to support children, to enable them to use the services to fully benefit them, and explore the opportunities that such services offer. Although this is for instance something that the BIK+ Strategy has more attention for, it is perhaps a missed opportunity to put into practice some of the more positive measures the General Comment no. 25 requires States to take.

18.6 Conclusion

The EU legislator is determined to minimise risks that are posed by platforms and AI-based systems by imposing various obligations on a range of actors. While many of those obligations are not child-specific, some of them are. Children who grow up today in a world where platforms and AI-based systems are pervasive might be particularly vulnerable to certain risks. The EU legislator is aware of this and pays increasing attention to the risks to children and their rights, although this is not necessarily the case to the same extent across different legislative initiatives. While the DSA emphasises the protection of minors quite heavily, the AIA is less outspoken. Both during the legislative process, and in the stages of implementation and enforcement, the rights and principles contained in the UNCRC should be duly taken into account in order to effectively realise children’s rights in the digital environment.

19.1 Introduction

How can we define linguistic rights and their role in human rights protection? According to the United Nations (UN) Special Rapporteur on minority issues: ‘Linguistic rights can be described as a series of obligations on state authorities to either use certain languages in a number of contexts, or not interfere with the linguistic choices and expressions of private parties.’Footnote ¹ Linguistic rights include the right to use one’s language in private and public and not to be discriminated against for it. In respect to education, it is usually the competence of the state to organise this and set up rules for public but also for private schools. The school curricula prescribe the basic values and goals pursued by education and also the language of instruction. Could it be claimed that states have a duty to provide education in the minority languages used by portions of its population?Footnote ²

The protection of the linguistic rights of minorities, including in education varies. We shall compare this protection at the level of the UN and the Council of Europe and look into some more recent developments in international law including during the COVID-19 pandemic.

19.2 UN: A House Much Divided

Linguistic rights are endorsed in a number of international human rights treaties and standards, especially regarding the prohibition of discrimination, the right to freedom of expression, the right to a private life, the right to education, and the right of linguistic minorities to use their own language with others in their group. These treaties and standards are both universal and regional. The most significant contributor at the universal level is, of course, the UN with its many declarations and opinions. In that respect, the most important is the Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious or Linguistic Minorities, adopted in 1993.Footnote ³ Even though the General Assembly’s declarations are not legally binding, they still have a certain legal authority. According to Article 1 of the Declaration, ‘States shall protect the existence and the national or ethnic, cultural, religious and linguistic identity of minorities within their respective territories.’ Consequently, linguistic identity is recognised to be an integral part of the identity of minorities and must be protected. Nevertheless, in Article 4 that speaks about education, provisions for learning and instruction in the mother tongue (para. 3) ‘are qualified and ambiguous’ when it comes to the teaching of or in the minority language.Footnote ⁴

However, perhaps not so surprisingly, today there is still no binding treaty at the UN level on the rights of minorities nor is there a universally accepted definition of minorities other than the famous Article 27 of the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR).Footnote ⁵ Article 27 refers to the duty of state parties ‘not to deny’ minorities some fundamental (collective and individual) human rights. The monitoring body under this treaty – the Human Rights Committee – provided an interpretation of this article as requiring also positive measures ‘to ensure that the existence and the exercise of this right are protected against their denial or violation. Positive measures of protection are, therefore, required….’Footnote ⁶ Positive measures by state parties may also be necessary to protect the identity of a minority and the rights of its members to enjoy and develop their culture and language.Footnote ⁷ The ICCPR does not deal with the right to education but it left this to the complementary International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, also adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1966.Footnote ⁸ This treaty recognises the right of everyone to education. Its Article 13 paragraph 4 reserves ‘the liberty of individuals and bodies to establish and direct educational institutions’, which may be construed (!) as including the right of minorities to run their own schools and teach (in) their own language, especially when read in conjunction with Article 2.2 (non-discrimination clause).Footnote ⁹ State parties are obliged to establish ‘minimum educational standards’ to which all educational institutions established in accordance with Article 13 (3) and (4) are required to conform. UNESCO – a specialised UN agency for education, science and culture – is more specific about the right to have education in one’s own language. The Convention against Discrimination in Education provides for the ‘rights of members of national minorities’ in Article 5.1.c., including the use or the teaching of their own language.Footnote ¹⁰ This right, nevertheless, depends on some requirements:

In this context, it is also necessary to look into the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC), adopted in 1998 and in force in an extraordinary number of 196 states.Footnote ¹² Article 30 of the CRC, following Articles 28 and 29 on education, follows the formulation of Article 27 of the ICCPR so children belonging to a minority ‘shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of his or her group, to enjoy his or her own culture, to profess and practise his or her own religion, or to use his or her own language’.

Finally, among other relevant UN instruments, we have to mention the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, 1966 (CERD).Footnote ¹³ This refers to ‘the right to education and training’ as among the rights to be protected against discrimination (Art. 5 (e)v).Footnote ¹⁴

CERD provides for the jurisdiction of the International Court of Justice (ICJ), and it was used by Ukraine to bring a case against the Russian Federation concerning, among other issues, education in Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar languages on the occupied territory of Crimea.Footnote ¹⁵ Ukraine alleged that the measures taken by the Russian Federation in education since the invasion in 2014 led to a dramatic decline in accessibility and quality of education in these two languages. The Court started from the premise that:

The Court then considered that:

Recognising the right of every state to decide on the primary language of instruction in its public schools, the Court warns against a discriminatory adverse effect of such decisions so ‘as to make it unreasonably difficult for members of a national or ethnic group to ensure that their children, as part of their general right to education, do not suffer from unduly burdensome discontinuities in their primary language of instruction’ (para. 357). Finally, the Court established that there was an 80 per cent decline in the accessibility of education in Ukrainian during the first year after 2014 and a further decline of 50 per cent by the following year.Footnote ¹⁶ The Russian Federation was not able to provide convincing reasons for such a decline, so the Court concluded that it violated the relevant articles of CERD.Footnote ¹⁷

In conclusion, it seems that there has been certain progress at the level of the UN in recognising education for members of linguistic minorities. However, the majority of the analysed instruments either limits its scope to the non-discrimination obligation or imposes certain limitations and requirements on such education.Footnote ¹⁸

19.3 Council of Europe: General Human Rights versus Special Treaties

The protection of national minorities and their languages is among the core activities of the Council of Europe as part of the protection and promotion of human rights. Today, the Council of Europe has forty-six Member States after expelling the Russian Federation in March 2022 owing to its aggression against and invasion of Ukraine.Footnote ¹⁹ All forty-six Member States are bound by the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, the Council’s flagship treaty, and the jurisdiction of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR).Footnote ²⁰ However, the Convention has a somewhat limited scope with regard to minorities’ rights and freedoms.Footnote ²¹

Post-Second World War Europe has been a champion in many aspects of the protection and promotion of human rights. Case in point, the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR) was already adopted in 1950, only two years after the adoption of the Universal Declaration on Human Rights by the General Assembly of the UN.Footnote ²² Nevertheless, the ECHR and consequently the case law of the ECtHR has limited application in the field of the protection of minority rights and education in minority languages.

The right to education is protected by Article 2 of Protocol No. 1 to the Convention. In 1968, the ECtHR ruled in the Belgian Linguistic case that states have no obligation to ensure education in one’s own language.Footnote ²³ The right to education implied the right to be educated in the national language (in public schools).

This firm position was seemingly challenged in the interstate case between Cyprus and Turkey before the Grand Chamber in 2001.Footnote ²⁴ The case concerned Greek-language education in the occupied part of Cyprus where the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC) was in power. Primary education was available but if children wanted ‘to pursue a secondary education through the medium of the Greek language’ they were obliged to transfer to schools in the south or to continue education at a Turkish or English-language school in the north. The Court admits that:

However, and here comes the twist:

Finally, the Court concluded ‘that there has been a violation of Article 2 of Protocol No. 1 in respect of Greek Cypriots living in Northern Cyprus in so far as no appropriate secondary-school facilities were available to them’ (para. 280).

More recently, the ECtHR adopted two judgments concerning schools in a minority language (Russian) in Latvia. Both cases concerned legislative amendments from 2018 increasing the proportion of subjects to be taught in the state language (Latvian) in public and private schools, so the use of Russian as the language of instruction was consequently being reduced.

The first case, Valiullina and Others v. Latvia,Footnote ²⁶ concerned the use of Latvian in public schools. The Court returned to its conclusions reached in the Belgian Linguistic case that Article 2 of Protocol No. 1 does not include the linguistic preferences of the parents and explained that this judgment, as well as the one in the Cyprus v. Turkey case, and some others, dealt with education in (one of) the national language(s).Footnote ²⁷ Accordingly, ‘the right enshrined by Article 2 of Protocol No. 1 does not include the right to access education in a particular language; it guarantees the right to education in one of the national languages or, in other words, official languages of the country concerned’ (para. 135).

In Džibuti and Others v. Latvia,Footnote ²⁸ the Court examined the complaints by Russian speakers concerning the effect of the same 2018 legislation reform with respect to private schools. Prior to the reform, education in the state language had been mandatory only in public schools, but the authorities claimed that private schools form part of the state education system and should therefore respect the need to have a certain proportion of classes in the national language.Footnote ²⁹ The Court would not accept that Article 2 of Protocol No. 1 covers education in minority languages and concluded that the claim must be rejected as incompatible ratione materiae with the provisions of the Convention.

In both Latvian cases, the Court also dismissed allegations of discrimination and concluded that there was no violation of Article 14 taken together with Article 2 of Protocol No. 1.Footnote ³⁰ Furthermore, the applicants tried to rely on the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (FCNM).Footnote ³¹ This convention refers to education in several articles, but the Court ‘emphasized that the principle of instruction in one’s mother tongue, which the applicants referred to, is far from being the rule among the Member States of the Council of Europe’.Footnote ³² Ironically, this conclusion was extended with praise for Latvia for ensuring the protection of minority rights in their Constitution.Footnote ³³

Almost simultaneously, in October 2023, the Advisory Committee (AC) of the FCNM adopted their fourth monitoring report on Latvia. The AC adopted a very stark warning about the second education reform legislation following the one from 2018 adopted in 2022 that:

With these two judgments, the Court further confirmed that the ECHR has very limited application concerning minority rights and that their protection is better ensured through the treaties especially dedicated to the protection of minorities, namely, the FCNM and the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (ECRML).Footnote ³⁵ However, these treaties apply only to state parties. So far, the Court has refused to apply some of their principles as customary law or general principles of international law extending their application beyond state parties.Footnote ³⁶

The ECRML has not been invoked in these two cases, since Latvia is not a state party to it. In general, the ECRML is hardly ever discussed by the Court. In one of the more recent cases, the Court simply established that the ECRML expressly recognises that the protection and encouragement of minority languages should not be to the detriment of official languages and the need to learn them.Footnote ³⁷

Nevertheless, the two treaties of the Council of Europe dealing specifically with national minorities (FCNM and ECRML), in force since 1998, have their own peculiarities. The former has thirty-eight state parties,Footnote ³⁸ and the latter only twenty-five. They both have specific monitoring mechanisms that include the Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe. The Framework Convention monitoring body is the AC and the Charter has the Committee of Experts.Footnote ³⁹ The system is based on recommendations by all three bodies. Both special instruments of the Council of Europe dedicated to the protection of national minorities provide for the need and indeed the obligation to offer education in minority languages. The state parties of the Framework Convention ‘undertake to promote equal opportunities for access to education at all levels for persons belonging to national minorities’ (Art. 12.3). The Charter is even more precise as one of its objectives includes ‘the provision of appropriate forms and means for the teaching and study of regional or minority languages at all appropriate levels’ (Art. 7.1.f). In addition, state parties may choose to provide education at all levels or a substantial part in the selected languages. Finally, the last option is to provide for the teaching of the relevant regional or minority languages (Art. 8).Footnote ⁴⁰

19.4 COVID-19 Pandemic and Education

During the COVID-19 pandemic, both monitoring mechanisms issued statements and recommendations to state parties that were also valid for a wider circle of states. The statements identified and focused on specific problems that minorities faced during the COVID-19 pandemic and that the majority population was not. Furthermore, as part of their monitoring processes, both bodies now routinely ask questions about the measures taken during the pandemic that affected the national minorities and the use of their languages.

In addition, a newly established intergovernmental body within the Council of Europe called the Committee on Anti-discrimination, Diversity and Inclusion (CDADI) specifically carried out an investigation to shed light on this worrying problem.Footnote ⁴¹ It seems that education in minority languages has been most affected.

From the start of the pandemic, the Committee of Experts as the monitoring body included the question of the measures taken during COVID-19. The pandemic had a terrible impact on all aspects of our lives – social, mental, financial, political, educational, and, of course, it affected our health. It was often heard that the virus does not discriminate; that we are all in it together. Nevertheless, research shows that this is not necessarily true and that there are some social groups that were more affected than others.

These social groups may be called vulnerable, and they represent different kinds of minority populations – mostly ethnic, racial, national, or sexual minorities. Evidence shows that these groups suffered the consequences of the pandemic disproportionally to their share in the population. The consequences ranged from a lack of access to sanitary information and vaccines to exposure to hate speech and physical violence. The latter especially affected LGBTQI people but also Asian-looking people at the beginning of the pandemic, as they were perceived as responsible for the virus. Roma and travellers also suffered from hate speech, and a trend known as anti-gypsism was exacerbated during this period.

These trends were confirmed, for example, by the European Network of Equality Bodies (EQUINET) and ombudsmen across Europe. They noted increases in xenophobia and racism against pretty much every minority group. The people responsible for leadership – politicians at different levels – were marked as those who often incited hate speech and discrimination.Footnote ⁴²

The usual targets, at least in Europe, where such trends are concerned are the Roma, a community that were already marginalised and discriminated against even before the start of the pandemic. According to a study by the Council of Europe for the CDADI,Footnote ⁴³ in addition to general measures that affected the general population, Roma were targeted by some measures directly discriminating against them. For example, in Bulgaria and Slovakia there were militarised quarantines imposed on Roma settlements as, allegedly, they were the people who would not respect the sanitary restrictions. In Bulgaria, they were even using drones with thermal sensors to take the temperature of the residents of these settlements and to monitor their movements.

Restrictions on free movement during the pandemic affected the Roma also in a more indirect form. Their way of life and making a living often includes travelling and collecting materials for sale. That was obviously not possible during the lockdowns, but they were not entitled to financial assistance for losing their jobs because, technically, they did not lose their jobs as they did not have jobs to lose. A real Catch-22.

Finally, there is data in many states that minorities, including the Roma, suffered more infections and COVID-19 related illnesses. Namely, belonging to a minority ethnic group was an additional health risk factor. As far as the Roma were concerned, most of them did not have any health insurance and were not entitled to free health services, so many stayed away from hospitals for as long as they could.

Let us think back to those first few weeks of the pandemic. We were receiving hourly and daily information and instructions on how to behave and what measures we had to take to stay safe. How much of it was given in minority languages, in real time? According to research carried out by the Committee of Experts for regional or minority languages, which I am a member of, many states failed to provide early information in regional or minority languages. Put that in the context of the non-available sanitary facilities in Roma settlements, for example, then add the lack of sanitary material such as disinfectants or facial masks together with big families living together in small houses, and the result was quite devastating for these communities. In the early days of the pandemic, in March 2020, the Committee of Experts warned about the need to use regional or minority languages in providing information to the population about the sanitary measures required to prevent the spread of the disease.Footnote ⁴⁴ In the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, people were confused and scared and the lack of proper information made it even worse. The Committee of Experts invited states to take language-related issues into account when developing further policies and instructions to address this exceptional medical crisis. In its view, the authorities should not forget that national minorities are an integral part of their societies, and in order for the measures adopted to have full effect, they should be made available and easily accessible to the whole population.

It is very common to say – well, they all speak the official language. However, this is not always true. There are parts of societies in some countries where a minority language is so dominant that many people do not master the official language of the state. This is especially the case with the Roma, whose social isolation also results in poor language skills in the official language.

A positive example in this context comes from Croatia, where the Institute for Public Health published sanitary instructions in Romani on their webpage in April 2020 along with other minority languages.Footnote ⁴⁵ There are, however, at least two problems with this commendable example: (a) How many Roma had access to the internet? (b) Romani is not the only language spoken by Roma in Croatia, as the majority speaks Boyash Romanian, a completely different language. However, the Red Cross organisation in one of the counties where the Roma community in Croatia lives distributed sanitary packages with instructions in Croatian and Boyash.Footnote ⁴⁶

As far as education is concerned, at the start of the pandemic the first measure across the world was the lockdown affecting all aspects of public life, including schools at all levels of education. According to UNESCO data, 1.6 billion learners were affected by school closures in more than 190 countries.Footnote ⁴⁷ Therefore, realising the importance of education, one of the first measures undertaken by public authorities to counter the lockdown and the closing of schools was the shift to online education and/or TV classes.Footnote ⁴⁸ This was a quick fix for an unprecedented situation.Footnote ⁴⁹ However, the Committee of Experts realised the downsides of online education that quickly became a dominant model of education with respect to regional or minority languages. Many states took care of the education in the majority official language only, neglecting sometimes the needs of the speakers of regional or minority languages to also access quality education. The Committee of Experts made a public statement in July 2020 highlighting this potentially discriminatory treatment.Footnote ⁵⁰ In addition, and bearing in mind the insufficient availability of teaching materials in regional or minority languages noticed during several monitoring cycles in many states, the Committee of Experts encouraged public financing of the development of quality open access textbooks in all languages protected under the Charter. Such textbooks, registered under open licences, should be made accessible online for the use of pupils, students, teachers, and the larger public. This was done for the majority languages, so the same standard was necessary also for regional or minority languages.

In view of the AC under the Framework Convention, the suspension of classes in schools and pre-school education during the COVID-19 pandemic has regrettably often resulted in unequal access to education and discrimination of children belonging to national minorities, particularly those who were not proficient enough in the official languages to be provided with appropriate educational content. As a result, children of national minorities were at risk of learning delays and dropping out.Footnote ⁵¹

Although some of these inequalities were justified by the sudden onset of the pandemic and the need to deal with such an unforeseen public health situation, it is still not acceptable to treat members of ethnic or national and linguistic minorities as second-class citizens. Furthermore, it is also clear that some aspects of COVID-19-style education will remain, and it is therefore important to be aware of the needs of the members of national and linguistic minorities.

Let us pause here for another best practice example from Croatia. The Ministry of Education realised the problem of Roma children’s inability to follow classes online or on television. The classes were in Croatian since Croatia did not provide for education in Romani or Boyash. In fact, the school authorities are obliged to give Roma children enhanced teaching of Croatian to improve their language skills so that they can follow classes in Croatian.Footnote ⁵² Living in settlements meant that the vast majority of children had no access to the internet; television sets, if available, were not at the disposal of the children or, even more often, had to be shared by many children in the household. The Ministry of Science and Education provided tablets and vouchers for the internet for all children who could not afford it otherwise in order to be able to follow the online classes. Most of them were Roma. However, some comments suggested that there was no real control or assistance for these families so the vouchers were often misused. Almost 60 per cent of Roma pupils barely participated in online education. Among the reasons given, lack of support by the family and inadequate conditions at home were predominant, but lack of tablets or no access to the internet were high on the list.Footnote ⁵³ It is clear that the consequences will be difficult to remedy since Roma children have a very high drop-out rate from school even at the best of times.Footnote ⁵⁴

In Slovakia, on 28 April 2020, the Ministry of Education issued the first guidelines on the content and organisation of education for primary school pupils during that time and released material by the State Pedagogical Institute entitled ‘Content of education at primary schools during the extraordinary interruption of teaching at schools’ including minority languages: German, Hungarian, Romani, Russian, Ruthenian, and Ukrainian. However, the Committee of Experts noted that, as in other state parties, there were significantly more alternative audiovisual education materials available in the official language from official and unofficial sources.Footnote ⁵⁵

In the UK, the authorities undertook a number of measures considering the needs of regional or minority languages, in particular when it was the remit of regional authorities.Footnote ⁵⁶ The Welsh Government has taken measures in education by ensuring that children and parents/carers received support during school closures and their reopening. The Scottish Government, through Bòrd na Gàidhlig, also provided funding for resources to help students with distance learning in Scottish Gaelic during the closure of schools. Many resources have been produced to help with distance learning. Additionally, the BBC published resources for ‘lockdown learning’ in Irish, Scottish Gaelic, and Welsh.

In Austria, a study was carried out on the perception of a possible decrease in knowledge of the languages of instruction (Slovene and German) in three minority secondary schools in Carinthia. After the overnight shift to online teaching, one favourable fact was that the majority of pupils were from economically solid backgrounds and were able to follow online lessons. Nevertheless, there seems to be a decline in knowledge of both languages in monolingual speakers owing to a lack of contact with the languages at school.Footnote ⁵⁷

19.5 Conclusions

The right to education in minority languages has been challenged recently in the proceedings of several international courts with not so satisfying results for minority language speakers. The arguments accepted by the courts were limited to non-discrimination. However, wider arguments should have been propagated in favour of the protection and promotion of minority languages in education. While not every language can be catered for in the school system, states should be persuaded that they have more positive obligations to preserve and promote languages spoken by parts of their population.

The COVID-19 pandemic has shown just how easy it is to fall into discriminatory patterns in the treatment of minorities and how easy it is to find excuses for this. Instead, the authorities should always keep in mind their responsibility to manage social trends and correct those with negative potential.

Council of Europe treaties specifically dedicated to the protection of minorities and their languages, in particular the ECRML, seem to be better suited to promoting a different approach to education at least for their state parties. It makes sense, therefore, to promote their ratification even more.

In the words of the former UN Special Rapporteur Mr de Varennes:

20.1 Introduction

This chapter aims to provide the reader with a comprehensive overview of contemporary discussions surrounding labour and human rights in the context of technological acceleration using the context of Brazil. In times of profound digital transformation, labour relations have been shaped by growing platformisation, precarisation, and inequality, demanding a critical analysis of the new forms of exploitation and the social and political responses to these challenges.

The chapter is structured around a bibliographical review of authors who address the intersection of labour, technology, and human rights, including Rafael Grohmann, Ricardo Antunes, Ludmila Costhek Abílio, Trebor Scholz, Paul Singer, and Renato Dagnino. These scholars provide a solid foundation for understanding how platformisation processes and algorithmic management have redefined labour dynamics, exacerbating social and economic inequalities. In particular, it discusses how the gig economy and the ‘uberisation’ of work have transformed labour relations, increasing worker vulnerability while reducing their protections and rights.

Throughout the chapter, we investigate how the regulation of digital work and the recognition of labour rights, especially on digital platforms, have become topics of debate in Brazil, particularly in a scenario of increasing automation and social exclusion. We analyse initiatives such as Fairwork, which has emerged from the fight to promote decent working conditions in the context of digital platforms. Additionally, we highlight the difficulties faced by workers involved in this digital economy, such as the lack of security, income instability, and the opaque control exercised by companies through algorithmic management.

Finally, we bring environmental education to these discussions, showing how it can significantly contribute to addressing the socio-economic and environmental inequalities associated with platform capitalism. Environmental education, especially from the perspective of environmental justice, offers a critical lens that not only addresses ecological issues but also reflects on the social and political conditions that affect the most vulnerable workers. The connection between education, human rights, and technology thus becomes an important avenue for building more just socio-environmental relations.

20.2 Contextualising the Discussion: Digital Transformations and Labour Inequalities in Brazil

In recent years, the rapid advancement of digital technologies has profoundly transformed labour markets worldwide. As Brazil navigates this wave of digitalisation, a critical issue arises: that of the inequalities faced by vulnerable workers in this evolving landscape. Although digitalisation offers remarkable opportunities for efficiency and innovation, it also introduces new forms of disparity and exclusion. Vulnerable workers – often those in low-paying jobs, informal sectors, or with limited access to technology – are particularly susceptible to the adverse effects of this transformation, which directly impacts their well-being and economic stability.

Globally, and especially in Brazil, the intensification of labour exploitation has been used as a measure to revitalise and stabilise capitalist accumulation.Footnote ¹ According to Neves, processes of precarisation, outsourcing, and informal labour are essential for the expansion of capitalism. The shift in the labour organisation model, which makes it increasingly flexible, is strongly marked by the platformisation of work.Footnote ² The accelerated advancement of digital technologies and the growing automation of production processes have generated profound transformations in the world of work, while simultaneously accentuating socio-economic inequalities.

In this context, workers face the risk of alienation and exclusion as technological development advances at an ever-increasing pace without adequate social protection mechanisms and adaptation to the new labour realities. According to the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean, technological progress has been accompanied by a series of socially negative outcomes, such as the exclusion of a significant portion of the population from the benefits of digitalisation, mainly owing to insufficient incomes that limit access to quality connectivity, suitable devices, and reliable domestic connections. Additional problems include the proliferation of fake news, the increase in cyberattacks, growing privacy risks, and the issue of electronic waste.Footnote ³

The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated these issues, bringing negative impacts on jobs, wages, and efforts to combat poverty and inequality, especially in countries such as Brazil, where structural constraints, such as connectivity problems and social inequalities, further limit the benefits of digital technologies.Footnote ⁴ While common elements can be identified in the digitalisation process across different countries, it is crucial to recognise the particularities of each location and region. The social dynamics and inequalities that characterise each context are accentuated by digitalisation, which often does not allow collective struggles to take shape or rights to be strengthened.

Rafael Grohmann, in his book Os Laboratório do Trabalho Digital (The Digital Labor Laboratories), argues that contextualising the geopolitics of platform labour also means understanding the different meanings of work in the economies of each country, distinguishing experiences between the global North and South.Footnote ⁵ Grohmann and Abílio et al. highlight that while the term ‘gig economy’ emerged in the global North to describe the platform work landscape, in Brazil, this nomenclature does not apply in the same way, as the Brazilian economy has always been characterised by a management of survival for the working class, now intensified by the transition to the digital under a liberal rationality.Footnote ⁶ Thus, platform-mediated subordinate labour is embedded in contemporary dilemmas related to mapping and recognising worker exploitation and its centrality in current forms of capitalist accumulation.Footnote ⁷

Ricardo Antunes, one of Brazil’s most prominent labour sociologists, notes that before 2020, more than 40 per cent of the Brazilian working class was in informal situations, a situation that worsened further with the COVID-19 pandemic.Footnote ⁸ According to him, ‘we are living in a new level of real subordination of labour to capital under algorithmic governance, with the working class living between the disastrous and the unpredictable’.Footnote ⁹ In our view, this scenario reinforces Grohmann’s analysis of the gig economy where workers, placed in precarious and unstable conditions, struggle to secure only the bare minimum for their survival.Footnote ¹⁰ These workers, constantly pressured by low wages and volatile conditions, cannot surpass the subsistence barrier, leaving them with only the effort to cover basic expenses, without the possibility of reaching an income that provides any kind of stability or economic progress.

Despite the over-exploitation of labour being a constant in Brazil and Latin America, it is evident that technological advances are transforming the ways in which the working class faces precarisation and exploitation.Footnote ¹¹ In this context, Fairwork emerges as a relevant initiative both in Brazil and globally.Footnote ¹² This project, based at the Oxford Internet Institute and the WZB Berlin Social Science Centre, works closely with workers, platforms, lawyers, and legislators in various parts of the world to think about and develop a fairer future for work. The Brazilian team is co-ordinated by professors Rafael Grohmann, Julice Salvagni, Roseli Figaro, and Rodrigo Carelli. Additionally, we highlight the efforts of researchers, such as Ludmila Costhek Abílio, Abílio et al., Grohmann, Rebechi et al., and many others who are fighting for the recognition and defence of the labour rights of workers within the context of digital platforms.Footnote ¹³

In 2023, the second Fairwork Brazil report was published, continuing to examine how the major digital labour platforms in the country align with Fairwork’s decent work principles amid intense disputes and debates about platform labour regulation.Footnote ¹⁴ The document highlights that after the election of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva for his third term as president of Brazil, a working group was established to discuss the regulation of platform labour in the country, involving the participation of companies, workers, and government representatives. Another important fact concerns how digital platforms use lobbying practices to influence legislation and public policies, often using subtle tactics and data manipulation to distort and contest notions of decent work.

In this regard, the phenomenon of uberisation exemplifies the adverse conditions faced by digital platform workers in Brazil, as described by Abílio and Santiago in the ‘Dossiê das violações dos Direitos Humanos no Trabalho Uberizado’ (‘Dossier on Human Rights Violations in Uberised Work’).Footnote ¹⁵ Uberisation, as the dossier defines it, refers to the growing precarisation of labour relations promoted by digital platforms such as Uber and iFood. In Brazil, workers face structural problems, including the lack of basic labour rights, unsafe working conditions, and the absence of the formal recognition of their activities as regular employment. Platform-mediated work has given rise to various terms worldwide and in Brazil that attempt to describe the specific forms of precarisation associated with this reality.

Besides the terms ‘gig economy’ previously mentioned, and ‘uberisation’, we highlight new vocabularies that have been incorporated into research on the world of work. Among them is the concept of the ‘just-in-time worker’,Footnote ¹⁶ ‘crowdwork’, and ‘work on demand’.Footnote ¹⁷ These terms reflect the different dimensions of the gig economy, which encompasses both crowdwork (work performed through online platforms) and on-demand work managed by apps (‘work on demand via apps’).

Based on De Stefano’s contributions, we understand that crowdwork involves the performance of tasks through online platforms that connect clients and workers globally, ranging from simple microtasks to more complex jobs.Footnote ¹⁸ On-demand work via apps includes traditional activities such as transportation and cleaning, managed by apps that set quality standards. While crowdwork has global characteristics and on-demand work responds to local aspects, both share characteristics such as payment and management methods. We know these terms are more complex than presented here, but the goal is not to exhaust the concepts, but rather to highlight the reflections of these practices in the world of work. Additionally, differences between platforms can impact legal issues, such as the validity of contracts and applicable legislation.

Therefore, the problems faced by platform workers include income instability, where earnings vary significantly and often do not cover living costs. Additionally, these workers do not have access to benefits such as health insurance, pensions, or protection against work-related accidents, and they bear the full cost of work tools, such as vehicles and smartphones, exacerbating their financial vulnerability.Footnote ¹⁹ Another critical aspect is algorithmic management, which subjects workers to opaque control, meaning there is no transparency in this relationship.Footnote ²⁰ Abílio et al. add that algorithmic management is based on automated instructions that process large volumes of data, influencing both the workers’ daily actions and consumer dynamics.Footnote ²¹ This work organisation model generates instability and a lack of clarity in the rules.

20.3 Forms of Resisting the Deepening of Platform Capitalism Inequalities

The book Platform Cooperativism: Challenging the Corporate Sharing Economy by Trebor Scholz, translated and commented on in Portuguese by Rafael Zanatta, emphasises that platform capitalism deepens labour precarisation, offering unstable and rights-deprived conditions while concentrating wealth and power in the hands of a few, thereby intensifying economic inequality.Footnote ²² The lack of regulation allows these companies to operate without social responsibility, exploiting workers under the false promise of autonomy and flexibility. Furthermore, this model contributes to the erosion of traditional labour rights, such as paid vacation and health insurance, aggravating de-regulation and worker vulnerability – a point already addressed by other authors throughout this publication. However, Scholz’s main contribution, in our view, lies in his proposal for platform cooperativism, which offers a fairer and more democratic alternative to this exploitation.Footnote ²³

Scholz’s proposal opposes the logic of the sharing economy, advocating for the creation of worker-controlled labour platforms, offering a more equitable and democratic alternative to the exploitation inherent in current corporate models.Footnote ²⁴ In this same book, Rafael Zanatta discusses the origins of cooperativism in Brazil, which is linked to the early days of the Republic and the immigration process aimed at replacing slave labour and adapting to urbanisation and changes in productive structures. However, the dimension of cooperativism in Brazil followed a business logic, only giving way to more solidarity-based proposals during the Lula administration (2002–10) with the creation of the National Secretariat for Solidarity Economy within the Ministry of Labour and Employment.

In this context, it is essential to highlight the importance of the solidarity economy and social technologies, which have been gaining strength in Brazil since the 1980s and 1990s. These initiatives, whose names are associated with Paul Singer and Renato Dagnino, aim to promote solidarity-based and democratic forms of labour organisation, serving as resistance to capitalist exploitation methods. As previously mentioned, Brazil faces a legacy of social inequality and the exploitation of the working class since its origins. Therefore, we believe that platform cooperativism shares the same goals as social technology and the solidarity economy.

Social technology emerges as a tool that promotes collaboration, inclusion, and social transformation, designed to meet the specific needs of communities. By characterising technology as ‘social’, we recognise that it is not neutral and that its applications can have varying impacts.Footnote ²⁵ This understanding challenges the traditional view of technology, which often prioritises profit over social and environmental well-being. It is within this context that the movement for social technology arises, which, according to Dagnino, constitutes a rejection of conventional technology, seeking alternatives that prioritise the collective and sustainability.Footnote ²⁶

Paul Singer, in turn, argues that the solidarity economy presents itself as an alternative to the neoliberal model, seeking fairer forms of production and trade.Footnote ²⁷ Singer discusses the solidarity economy as a response to the context of inequality, highlighting its capacity to generate income and empower communities.Footnote ²⁸ Singer argues that ‘there is no way to ignore that the solidarity economy is an integral part of the capitalist social formation, in which capital concentration incorporates technical progress and thus determines the conditions of competitiveness in each market’.Footnote ²⁹

Singer adds that the formation of cooperatives or cooperative complexes reveals an organisational strategy aimed at strengthening cooperativism in the face of capitalist dynamics.Footnote ³⁰ In a scenario where capital is concentrated in the hands of a few, technological advances tend to favour this concentration, resulting in growing inequalities. Therefore, while the solidarity economy tries to mitigate the negative effects of capital concentration, it is also influenced by these conditions, revealing the interdependence between the two systems.

In this context, platform cooperativism emerges as an alternative that enhances this logic of collaboration and coordination among cooperatives. Social technology aligns with this perspective of platform cooperativism by proposing technological alternatives to facilitate collaboration between cooperatives and their members, promoting an organisational model that values community participation and autonomy. These platforms not only offer tools for management and commercialisation but also foster the exchange of knowledge and experiences, essential for strengthening cooperativism and the solidarity economy. Alvear et al. argue that:

Social technology and the solidarity economy, when integrated into platform cooperativism, can help build more robust networks where cooperatives from different sectors can come together and develop solutions adapted to their local realities. This is especially relevant in contexts of vulnerability, where communities need support to overcome economic and social challenges. All these theoretical and methodological efforts share a common denominator – building foundations to achieve decent work.

20.4 Human Rights and Worker Protection in the Era of Technological Acceleration

The concept of fair and decent work has its roots in the labour struggles of the twentieth century, formally defined in 1999 by the International Labour Organization (ILO). Even in the twenty-first century, this remains a central demand within the United Nations (UN) 2030 Agenda, as part of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).Footnote ³² The UN recognises that decent work is essential for eradicating poverty and promoting prosperity. This concept encompasses working conditions that ensure fundamental rights, social protection, and equal opportunities. SDG 8 emphasises the importance of decent work and sustainable economic growth, acknowledging that promoting proper working conditions is essential not only for eradicating poverty but also for fostering prosperity and social well-being.

Achieving this goal involves ensuring labour rights, combating unemployment, promoting job security, and encouraging social dialogue. In an increasingly globalised and constantly changing world, the challenge of ensuring fair and dignified working conditions becomes even more relevant, requiring collective efforts from governments, businesses, and civil society. Amid these changes, human rights emerge as a crucial anchor for safeguarding the dignity and working conditions of millions of people around the world.

The right to work, enshrined in Article 23 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), constitutes a central principle to ensure that, even in times of intense technological transformation, everyone can have access to dignified employment opportunities. The growing automation of jobs – especially in industries and service sectors – puts millions of jobs at risk. This results in a paradox between technological progress and increasing precarisation of work.

Hartmut Rosa, in Alienation and Acceleration: Towards a Critical Theory of Late-Modern Temporality, describes ‘time compression’ and ‘technical expansion’ as central features of a world driven by the imperatives of growth and speed. As the economy accelerates, technology not only transforms production dynamics but also redefines social relations and the experience of time and space.Footnote ³³ Rosa argues that we are living in a ‘late modernity,’ marked by a process of social acceleration in three dimensions: ‘technological acceleration, acceleration of social changes, and acceleration of the pace of life’.Footnote ³⁴

According to Rosa, technological acceleration ‘constantly displaces the spaces of security’ that were once guaranteed by stable jobs and continuous careers, creating new forms of insecurity and alienation.Footnote ³⁵ This acceleration intensifies the pressures on workers, who face both the insecurity of losing their jobs to machines and algorithms and the difficulty of adapting their skills to new contexts.Footnote ³⁶ In this sense, it is crucial to ensure that workers have not only access to jobs but also fair and equitable working conditions, along with opportunities for reskilling and professional development.

The ILO advocates that the protection of fundamental labour rights must include job security and access to decent working conditions. Technological acceleration, while bringing innovation, also exacerbates social inequalities. As Rosa points out, the dynamics of acceleration tend to benefit those already in privileged positions, widening the gap between the rich and the poor.

This issue is reflected in the Fairwork Report in ‘Life Stories’, where we see workers such as João.Footnote ³⁷ João’s story clearly illustrates that, in scenarios of labour precarisation, such as those he faces, the principles of Article 23 of the UDHR, which establishes the right to decent work, are violated. This, in turn, impedes the fulfilment of what is guaranteed by Article 25, which ensures an adequate standard of living. In light of this scenario, human rights, such as the right to a safe working environment, fair wages, and protection against unemployment, must be reaffirmed in the contexts of digitalised labour. The regulation of platforms and the inclusion of informal workers in social security networks are necessary measures to combat exploitation and ensure that technology is used to promote social well-being, rather than deepening inequalities.

20.5 Environmental Education as a Response to Inequalities and the Defence of Human Rights

Environmental education, according to Reigota, emerges as a response to the need to address the environmental problems generated by the capitalist economic model, which is predatory and unsustainable.Footnote ³⁸ The starting point for the environmental discussion occurred at the First World Conference on the Human Environment, held in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1972. This meeting resulted in agreements between the UN signatory countries, emphasising the importance of educating people to solve environmental issues. From this conference onwards, global environmental concern gained prominence, followed by other significant events, such as the Belgrade Conference (1975), Tbilisi (1977), Moscow (1987), Rio (1992), and Rio+10 (2002) in Johannesburg, all of which contributed to the implementation of public policies on environmental education at the international level.

The concerns that gave rise to environmental education were primarily conservationist in nature and often resembled a ‘manual of etiquette’,Footnote ³⁹ with proposals that were more behavioural than critical of the capitalist system. Initially, environmental education was a concern of ecological movements; however, as the debate deepened, works by authors such as Layrargues and Carvalho became essential in expanding the field’s discourse.Footnote ⁴⁰

In this regard, it is worth noting that environmental education is a constantly evolving field, shaped by socio-environmental issues: ‘Refounding the historical, anthropological, philosophical, sociological, ethical, and epistemological foundations of Environmental Education means providing new representations to the signs that these sciences come to symbolise within the horizon of a plurality of knowledge within a unity of meanings.’Footnote ⁴¹ Considering that we live in a time when crises seem to overlap at a frenetic pace – something we can call polycrises, as reported by Pinheiro and Pasquier – we understand that the necessary debate in the field of environmental education is one that seeks to comprehend the conditions surrounding the emergence of epidemics and pandemics, particularly COVID-19, climate catastrophes, and wars spreading across different parts of the planet.Footnote ⁴² In all cases, there is always a segment of society disproportionately affected by the damages and negative consequences of these processes.

From this perspective, Isabelle Stengers, in her book In Catastrophic Times, discusses the relationship between the economic crisis in the US and the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina.Footnote ⁴³ The author asserts that economic and climate crises share a common denominator. Similarly, Henri Acselrad argues that the COVID-19 pandemic, which emerged in 2020, cannot be understood in isolation, but rather as an intrinsic product of neoliberal capitalism.Footnote ⁴⁴ The health crisis emerged in a context already marked by impending financial crisis, resulting in a general collapse of economic activities. For Acselrad, the notions of environmental crisis and disaster must be analysed in light of the processes of capitalist reproduction and crisis.

Carvalho and Ortega support Stengers and Acselrad by pointing to the intertwining of the pandemic, environmental issues, and the climate crisis.Footnote ⁴⁵ In the same paragraph, the authors reflect on the war between Russia and Ukraine. Therefore, the pandemic, environmental issues, and geopolitical tensions are deeply intertwined, revealing an interconnected global system in which crises not only accumulate but mutually intensify.

Based on Abílio et al., Grohmann, and the Fairwork Report, we add that platform capitalism is an emergent factor within these crises, interconnected within a complex global system in which each crisis amplifies the others.Footnote ⁴⁶ This reality, described as a polycrisis, demands a relational approach, which has already been addressed and to which we aim to contribute through the field of environmental education. From the perspective already emphasised, environmental education must not only address environmental degradation but also the social and political conditions that contribute to these emergencies. Therefore, environmental education must include a critical analysis – based on critical thinking – of epidemics, climate disasters, and conflicts, recognising that their consequences disproportionately affect vulnerable groups.Footnote ⁴⁷ This is an environmental education for environmental justice.Footnote ⁴⁸

Environmental education provides a conducive space for strengthening the fight against the socio-economic and environmental inequalities faced by workers, especially in the context of environmental crises and technological acceleration. By expanding its boundaries beyond environmental preservation, environmental education becomes a field of study aimed at promoting educational projects in which individuals are engaged in the fight for life in its entirety.

In this sense, Carlos Frederico Loureiro, in his book Environmental Education: Questions of Life, places life at the centre of the debate, highlighting the urgency of a utopia that allows the overcoming of the limiting situations imposed by an exclusionary, oppressive system that destroys nature, including humans.Footnote ⁴⁹ Loureiro’s view of environmental education is anchored in a broad understanding of the struggle for life. For him, this struggle is not limited to the environmental field but involves transforming the social structures that perpetuate inequalities and the exploitation of workers. He emphasises the need for hope and the imagination of other possible worlds, resisting the logic of a system that generates human misery and environmental destruction.Footnote ⁵⁰

This conception resonates with discussions on the centrality of life as a fundamental right within the framework of human rights. Rossane Bigliardi and Ricardo Cruz, in their article, reinforce this view by stating that the right to life, beyond mere biological existence, includes access to the minimum conditions necessary for the constitution of a healthy and dignified subjectivity, allowing human beings to fully and equitably develop their potential.Footnote ⁵¹ In this sense, environmental education aligns with human rights education, promoting a praxis oriented towards justice, equality, solidarity, and freedom.

Amorim et al. provide another key reading for environmental education by discussing the need for environmental educators to reflect on the temporal dynamics of contemporary society.Footnote ⁵² In their article ‘A resonance of time: the contemporary challenges of environmental education’, the authors point out that contemporary time is marked by an acceleration imposed by neoliberal dynamics, which creates challenges for the full development of humanity. According to the authors, environmental education should engage in a resonance of time, rescuing the importance of educational practices that consider the multiple and complex temporalities of human existence and life on the planet, challenging the utilitarian view of time promoted by a society focused on consumption and productivity.

Moreover, they suggest that environmental education needs to reformulate its foundations, taking into account temporal dynamics and how they affect human and environmental relationships. They propose a critical analysis of social temporalities, articulating individual and collective time, and point to the need for new ‘synchronisers’ that enable formative practices more suited to the complexity of life. This critical reflection on time is also directly connected to the inequalities faced by Brazilian workers in a context of technological hyper-acceleration.Footnote ⁵³

New technologies, by accelerating production rhythms, impose increasing demands on workers, deepen labour precarisation, and exacerbate social inequalities. To address this challenge, environmental education must adopt a perspective that problematises the impact of temporal dynamics on labour relations and society as a whole, promoting a critique of neoliberal models that alienate individuals and fragment their temporal experiences.

Articulating environmental education with human rights is not only possible but also necessary given that both fields share fundamental principles such as human dignity, social justice, and the right to life. Bigliardi and Cruz argue that environmental education, when oriented towards human rights, fosters a civic education that promotes solidarity and cooperation, essential elements for building a more just and sustainable society.Footnote ⁵⁴ Moreover, this education provides workers with a critical understanding of structural inequalities and prepares them to face the challenges imposed by a system that commodifies life and destroys nature.

By incorporating human rights principles and placing life at the centre of the debate, environmental education becomes a field of reflection capable of building, together with workers, the necessary tools to confront socio-environmental inequalities and participate in constructing a more just society. As Loureiro, Bigliardi, and Cruz, and Amorim et al. argue, this education goes beyond environmental preservation and involves transforming social structures that perpetuate exploitation and the destruction of life in all its forms.Footnote ⁵⁵ Therefore, environmental education is an education for life and human rights, preparing us for the struggle for a more just and equitable world.

20.6 Conclusion

This chapter has sought to provide a critical analysis of technological transformations and their implications for labour, as in Brazil, particularly for the most vulnerable workers. Throughout the chapter, we have discussed how platformisation, precarisation, and algorithmic management – topics emphasised by authors such as Rafael Grohmann, Ricardo Antunes, and Ludmila Costhek Abílio – are reconfiguring labour dynamics, exacerbating inequalities, and excluding millions of people from basic conditions of dignity at work. The phenomena of the gig economy and the uberisation of work have emerged as symbols of this new landscape, in which workers face financial instability, lack of legal protections, and the invisible control of digital platforms.

The chapter has also highlighted the importance of initiatives such as Fairwork, which aim to regulate platform labour and promote fairer working conditions. Regulation and the recognition of digital workers’ rights are essential in a context where technological acceleration has deepened exploitation, necessitating new forms of protection and worker participation in decisions that affect their lives.

However, the discussion is not limited to formal labour rights. By connecting labour issues with environmental education, this text broadens the reflection to encompass the right to life in its entirety, integrating social, economic, and ecological dimensions. The struggle for environmental and social justice is intimately connected to the fight for decent working conditions, as both involve the right to a full and sustainable life. Environmental education, when grounded in principles such as justice and solidarity, proposes a critical perspective that goes beyond environmental preservation, addressing the roots of the inequalities that perpetuate the exploitation of workers and the destruction of the environment.

In addition, one of the central issues discussed throughout the chapter has been the acceleration of time, a theme explored by Hartmut Rosa. Late modernity is characterised by acceleration in technological, social, and life dimensions, transforming not only labour relations but also workers’ experience of time. This acceleration, driven by the neoliberal logic of productivity, fragments temporal experiences and intensifies pressures on individuals, calling for a response that embraces more human and balanced rhythms. In this sense, environmental education can also be seen as a proposal to reclaim a different rhythm of life, one that considers the complexity of natural, social, and individual temporalities, in contrast to the alienation promoted by technological acceleration.Footnote ⁵⁶

Consequently, this chapter aims to contribute to discussions about technological transformations in the workplace by proposing an integrated approach that links the right to decent work with the right to life and environmental justice. By recognising that the accelerated pace of contemporary life affects not only work but also human and ecological relations, this chapter suggests that any response to the challenges of digitalisation must include a critical analysis of the foundations of environmental education. Only through a broad perspective that comprehends life in its fullness will it be possible to build alternatives that promote a more just, equitable, and sustainable future.