I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a detail we often gloss over in digital inclusion conversations — the device itself.

Not skills.
Not confidence.
Not even connectivity.

The device.

As more public services in the UK move fully online — immigration status checks, HMRC, digital tax accounts, right-to-work, NHS access — the phone in someone’s hand has quietly become something else entirely. It’s no longer just a personal gadget. It’s a gateway to citizenship, rights, and participation.

And that shift has consequences we’re not talking about enough.

Digital citizenship is now device-dependent

When we say digital citizenship, what we often mean in practice is the ability to safely, reliably, and independently interact with the state online.

That includes:

• proving who you are
• accessing health services
• managing tax and employment records
• navigating immigration systems
• receiving official communications

In theory, this should be device-agnostic. In reality, it isn’t.

I keep seeing situations where people are technically online, have basic skills, and are motivated — yet still get blocked because their device doesn’t support a required function reliably. NFC not working. Security updates no longer supported. Identity checks failing. Apps behaving unpredictably.

For someone with time, money, and options, this is frustrating.
For someone with precarious status or limited resources, it’s exclusion.

Why iPhones keep coming up in practice

I want to be clear: this isn’t about brand preference or lifestyle tech.

Many Android phones do have NFC. Many are excellent devices. The issue isn’t Android versus iPhone — it’s fragmentation and predictability.

In high-stakes digital services, what matters most is:

• guaranteed NFC support
• long-term security and OS updates
• consistent behaviour across government apps
• hardware-backed identity and biometrics

In practice, iPhones tend to meet these requirements more consistently over time. That’s why, informally and operationally, they often become the “safe” recommendation for people navigating immigration, HMRC, and other critical systems — even if that recommendation is rarely stated plainly.

This creates a quiet inequality: people are told to be digitally responsible, but are given tools that aren’t always fit for civic use.

The device is now part of public infrastructure

This is where my thinking connects to my 7 Pillars of Future-Proofed Digital Communities.

Across those pillars, the same issue keeps surfacing:

• Digital Citizenship depends on devices that can reliably support identity and verification
• Digital Education breaks down when tools fail at critical moments
• Digital Living assumes phones are stable gateways to housing, work, and services
• Digital Commerce relies on secure payments, tax, and verification
• Digital Healthcare depends on trusted, supported access to NHS systems
• Digital Governance increasingly embeds expectations into technology itself
• Safety & Security are undermined by devices without long-term updates

At this point, the smartphone isn’t just consumer technology. It’s part of the governance layer of modern society.

What this means for donations and the tech sector

This is why I think we need to be more honest — especially in digital inclusion and donation programmes.

Not every smartphone is equal when it comes to civic participation.

If organisations are donating devices, or manufacturers and importers are shaping supply, we should be asking:

• Will this device still be secure in five years?
• Does it reliably support NFC and identity checks?
• Can it handle government services without workarounds?

“Well-intentioned” donations that ignore these questions can unintentionally lock people into second-class digital citizenship.

I’d like to see more tech organisations:

• support iPhone donations where appropriate for high-stakes use
• improve Android consistency and long-term support
• acknowledge that devices now carry social and civic responsibility, not just market value

This isn’t about choice — it’s about dignity

None of this is about saying people should all use the same phone. It’s about recognising that choice without reliability isn’t real choice.

If we want digital inclusion to mean participation — not just access — then the tools people rely on must be fit for the reality we’ve created.

As we continue to digitise public life, we need to be brave enough to say: the device matters, and pretending otherwise quietly pushes risk onto those least able to absorb it.

That’s a conversation worth having — calmly, honestly, and with the people most affected at the centre.