On a late October morning in Hanoi, a gathering of scientists and experts came together at the University of Social Sciences and Humanities, Vietnam National University, to talk about something that affects nearly everyone in the modern world: the gap between those who can use digital technology confidently and those who are left struggling on the other side of that invisible line. At the international conference “Digital Divide and AI Capabilities,” Dr. Phan Van Kien, Director of the Institute of Journalism and Communication Training, presented a piece of research that was less about numbers and more about real lives. He and his team spent time with informal workers in Hanoi — street vendors, domestic helpers, security guards, auto repair workers, and cleaners — people between the ages of 30 and 66, all of whom use smartphones and the internet every day, yet almost none of whom had ever been formally taught how to use these tools. The interviews took place in March and April 2026, and what they reveal is a quiet, often overlooked crisis: these workers are connected, but they are not truly equipped. They can scroll, tap, and watch, but many struggle to verify what they see, to decide who to trust, or to use the phone as more than a limited set of familiar apps. Dr. Kien’s central message is important and easy to misunderstand at first glance: owning a smartphone and having an internet connection does not mean a person has real digital skills. The digital divide is not just about who has a device and who does not. Even among people who are online, there are deep inequalities in how they are able to participate, protect themselves, and make informed choices. That insight sets the tone for everything that follows, and it asks us to look beyond the simple question of access and toward the much messier, more human question of capability, confidence, and support.
The stories behind those findings make the issue tangible. Seven out of the ten people interviewed described their technology skills as basic or incomplete. Five admitted that when they first started using their phones, they needed someone to physically sit beside them and show them what to do. Learning, in most cases, happened through children, friends, phone store employees, or trial and error. Some of them had been selling goods online for years, yet they still only knew a fraction of what their phones could do. Screenshots were a mystery. Sending an email felt intimidating. Online shopping was risky. Banking apps were even worse, and some said they were afraid to make a transaction themselves because they worried about making a mistake and losing money. Imagine the frustration of relying on a tool every day, of depending on it for your livelihood, and yet never feeling fully in control of it. That is the reality for many informal workers. They find workarounds, of course. They ask for help. They learn just enough to get by. But the foundation beneath them is fragile. Dr. Kien emphasized that this reveals a crucial distinction between simply having a phone and being able to use it independently. If researchers and policymakers measure digital inequality only by counting how many people own devices or have internet access, they will completely miss the suffering and risk hidden inside that connected group. Being online, in other words, is not the same as being safe, confident, or capable. And in a world where more and more daily tasks move online, from applying for jobs to managing money to understanding news, that gap has serious consequences. The study forces us to see these workers not as passive victims or ignorant users, but as people doing their best in a digital world that was never designed to welcome them.
But the most worrying part of the research is not about screenshots or banking apps. It is about information — specifically, the ability to tell what is true and what is not. In the group interviewed, only three people said they regularly checked information before sharing it with others. The rest described their verification process as limited, unsystematic, or simply absent. They gave reasons anyone can understand: not enough time, not enough knowledge, or no idea where to begin. When asked how they decided whether something was believable, they did not talk about checking sources or looking for evidence. They talked about familiar cues. They trusted information that came from known sources. They were convinced by images that looked realistic. They believed stories that matched their own experiences or feelings. And they were especially drawn to content that had already been widely discussed, as if popularity itself were proof of truth. Some people said they trusted familiar television channels and newspapers because they assumed those organizations had verified things behind the scenes. Others admitted that content related to money, health, or family safety could easily persuade them. Then there is the new complication: artificial intelligence. Dr. Kien shared one memorable case from the study. A participant described being deeply moved by a story about two people who were supposedly reunited decades after the Hiroshima bombing. It felt real. It touched the heart. Only later did that person learn the story had been completely fabricated by AI. Dr. Kien carefully noted that this is just one person’s account, and it is not enough to draw broad conclusions about how widespread such experiences are. But the case is still deeply troubling. It shows how AI-generated content can slip past the defenses we might normally use. When a story is emotionally powerful and presented convincingly, people naturally pay less attention to sources and facts. The technology is becoming better and better at producing realistic text, images, and narratives, which means the old shortcuts for judging truth are no longer enough.
This is where Dr. Kien’s argument becomes most urgent. In an age of AI, digital literacy and information literacy can no longer be treated as separate concerns. People need not only to know how to use technology, but also how to question it. They need to understand that AI can produce convincing lies as easily as useful truths. They need practical skills such as finding the original source of a story, checking the time and context in which something appeared, and cross-referencing with reliable, independent sources. These habits should become second nature in the digital world, especially when dealing with information that could influence serious decisions about health, money, or work. If a piece of content tells you to take a certain medicine, invest in a certain scheme, or accept a certain job, the cost of being wrong is too high to rely on emotion or instinct. Dr. Kien is not simply calling for more warnings or generic advice. He is asking for a change in how digital literacy and AI literacy are taught. Instead of just introducing tools or giving people broad, abstract knowledge, education needs to be grounded in the real situations that ordinary users face every day. That means teaching people what to do when they receive a suspicious message, how to react to an emotionally charged video, how to think about health advice found on social media, and how to evaluate financial information that seems too good to be true. It means moving from theory to practice, from abstract concepts to concrete decisions. The goal is not to turn everyone into an expert, but to give people confidence and agency in a digital environment that often feels overwhelming and dangerous.
Interestingly, the study also found that these users are not simply passive victims of misinformation. Many of them have developed their own ways of protecting themselves. Some people chose to reduce how much time they spent scrolling through social media. They deliberately limited their exposure to news and posts because they had been burned before. Four people said they rarely or never shared content unless they were sure it was accurate, and three described actively consuming less online information. Some had become more cautious after encountering scams, especially ones involving group invitations or requests for money. Others said that constantly seeing misinformation made them less interested in social issues altogether. Dr. Kien argues that these behaviors should be seen as self-protective efforts, not as passive withdrawal. It would be wrong to assume that people with fewer digital skills are always more likely to believe or spread false information. In some cases, their caution is exactly what keeps them safe. But there is another side to this story. If the digital environment feels too complex, too risky, or too filled with traps, people may choose to withdraw from it altogether. That withdrawal has consequences for their ability to learn, participate in civic life, and access information that matters to them. The research also highlighted something that is easy to forget: information does not only flow through public posts and news feeds. Many of the participants received and shared information through private messages, family group chats, phone calls, colleagues, and neighbors. In those settings, trust in the sender often becomes trust in the content. If a sister sends a message, it feels more believable. But the study also found that sharing does not always mean believing. Some people forward content to family members not because they trust it, but because they want to ask whether it is true. This shows that family and community can be powerful resources for verification. At the same time, there is a risk that misinformation is reinforced when caring people pass along false content without knowing it. The same networks that provide support and love can also become channels for confusion and fear.
In the end, Dr. Kien’s study is a call to rethink what digital inclusion really means. It is not enough to count devices and connections. A complete picture must include independent use, the ability to evaluate information, and access to support when things go wrong. Digital empowerment programs need to be designed with real people in mind, especially those who have not had the luxury of formal technology training. These programs should be flexible, practical, and respectful of the knowledge that people already have. Dr. Kien also pointed to the important roles to be played by families, community organizations, educational institutions, and the media. Media outlets, for example, can contribute by providing content that is verifiable, easy to understand, easy to find, and connected to the channels people actually use. Families and communities can guide users, verify information together, and support each other in handling difficult situations. Dr. Kien was careful to acknowledge the limits of his research: it involved only ten interviewees and was never meant to represent all informal workers or all internet users in Vietnam. But even with these limits, the cases it recorded are enough to suggest that we need to pay much closer attention to the quality of digital participation, not just the quantity of digital adoption. As he said so clearly, in a time when AI is increasingly shaping how people receive and process information, bridging the digital divide is not just about bringing technology to more people. It is about empowering them to understand, evaluate, and make proactive decisions about what they receive. That is a far deeper and more human challenge than a simple question of access, and it will require all of us — educators, media leaders, family members, and citizens — to take part.