SINGAPORE, April 14 (Xinhua) -- "Why is it always the same twenty-odd seniors who show up?"
The question stayed with Fiona Tng, a social worker in Singapore, as she observed attendance at digital literacy classes in 2022. The sessions were held in the central neighborhood of MacPherson and were lively. Seniors learned to use a mobile app to listen to music and test their hearing. But the participants rarely changed.
In a 2.1-square-kilometer community with about 10,000 residents aged 65 and older, only a small fraction ever attended.
The barrier, Tng found, was not simply interest. The community center where the sessions were held sat just minutes from nearby residential blocks, but getting there meant crossing a road. For seniors using wheelchairs, that could feel unsafe, while some other residents -- particularly those living alone -- were reluctant to leave home or take part in group activities.
As part of a broader push for digital inclusion, Singapore has in recent years encouraged older adults to adopt digital tools, offering subsidized mobile plans, neighborhood help desks and courses on everything from video calls to artificial intelligence. Many seniors have responded enthusiastically.
But those who attend in-person classes are often those already able to.
Tng said the ones who never appear may still have needs.
That gap is one that broader efforts have sought to address. A national initiative, the Digital for Life Fund, supports projects across society aimed at helping different groups adopt digital technology. Its 2026 themes include projects for seniors who face challenges participating in existing programs, such as those with limited mobility.
With that support, Tng's organization, Brighton Connection, launched the "Digital Rescue Program" in 2024. Instead of waiting for seniors to come, social workers went door to door, asking if they were willing to learn. Those who agreed were paired with volunteer instructors -- often fellow seniors -- for one-on-one lessons held monthly over nine sessions.
The first lesson focused on ScamShield, an anti-fraud app promoted by the government. Fear, Tng said, is often the first hurdle.
She recalled her mother, in her 70s, who was initially afraid to use a smartphone -- worries that are common among older adults: What if I press the wrong button? Send a message by mistake? Click on a malicious link? Could money be taken from my account?
For 64-year-old Loi Sai Min, teaching began with patience. A regular participant in Brighton Connection's activities, she had learned to use a smartphone with help from her daughter, and later volunteered to teach others in their 70s and 80s.
Her method was straightforward: repetition.
When teaching video calls, she demonstrated how to dial and hang up again and again. Some learners would finish a call and simply put the phone away without ending it. She pointed to the buttons: green to start, red to stop. After class, she added them as contacts and called repeatedly, making sure the lesson stuck.
For 84-year-old Lim Phek Hiang, that persistence made the difference. She had attended group classes before but found them hard to follow. "At my age, with my memory, you can't remember after one or two times," she said.
She did not want to trouble her daughter, who worked long hours. Learning one-on-one, and being able to ask questions when she ran into Loi in the neighborhood, helped her gain confidence. Now, every few days, Lim video calls her sister in Australia, chatting about daily life.
For Tng, peer learning is key. "If a senior can tell another senior, 'I'm using it. It is perfectly fine,' it helps them manage," she said. "It feels like, 'if my friend also uses it, why not?'"
The effort also serves a quieter purpose. During the COVID-19 pandemic, cases emerged of elderly people living alone who died at home and went unnoticed for days. Door-to-door visits, Tng noted, mean that someone is checking in.
A similar concern shapes the work of Lions Befrienders, which served around 6,500 seniors nationwide around 2020, many living alone.
"If it weren't for COVID, we would never capture them," said its executive director Karen Wee. Before the pandemic, many older adults could manage without digital tools. But when in-person visits stopped, the organization had to find new ways to stay connected and to prepare for future disruptions.
It developed a simple tablet device, distributed free to seniors living alone. On the screen is a large blue square reading "I am OK." Users are asked to press it at regular times each day to signal they are safe. If they forget, the device issues reminders and can eventually alert family members or social workers if no response is received.
The design reflected the realities of aging. As Wee noted, many seniors are less sensitive to touch and unfamiliar with swiping on screens. The device required only a press. Of the 6,500 seniors it served, about 80 percent had low levels of education, with some unable to read; recognizing "OK" was enough.
Even so, persuading seniors to accept the device was not easy. Many were instinctively wary of digital technology. During the pandemic, news reports of elderly people dying alone made some more willing to try. More important, Wee said, was trust -- built over years, sometimes decades, of contact.
"If you don't have the trust, it cannot be done," she said.
Reaching these seniors -- the homebound, those with limited means, and the socially isolated -- is what Wee calls the "last mile."
"I can put myself in a mall, asking everybody to sign up for digital courses," she said. "But for this group, no. They don't come. They don't even know what's going on, or they are not interested. Some can't even get out."
For social service agencies, the solution is clear, if labor-intensive: knock on their doors. ■
