Coronavirus apps were supposed to be the answer to COVID-19. They are not

As the UK rolls out its app, it’s time to get real about what we can really expect from these digital tools.

Digital Politics is a column about the global intersection of technology and the world of politics.

Coronavirus cases are again on the rise. Governments are scratching their heads about what to do next. Many are relying on digital apps to track the spread of the pandemic.

They shouldn’t get their hopes up.

As England and Wales on Thursday became the latest countries to roll out a coronavirus smartphone tool (in the United Kingdom, Scotland and Northern Ireland had already done so), the track record of these apps across Europe and elsewhere is, at best, patchy and, at worst, a distraction to more analog attempts to corral a pandemic that has so far killed almost 1 million people worldwide.

These tracking apps — backed, almost exclusively, by technology from Google and Apple — allow people to keep tabs on who they’ve been in contact with and to be notified, virtually and anonymously, if any of those contacts has contracted COVID-19. In most countries, the data is stored only on people’s phones to avoid governments generating a massive database on people’s health records and personal details.

But poor uptake by people wary of handing any of their information to governments and tech giants, technical limits on how these apps can work across borders, and overhype about how these tools can manage a once-in-a-generation health crisis have hamstrung the efforts.

Now, with COVID-19 cases skyrocketing and countries from the United Kingdom to Spain considering broader lockdowns, the failures are more glaring than ever.

At the heart of the problem is trust.

For these digital tools to be successful, some academics estimate that almost two-thirds of a country’s population must download the app to provide blanket nationwide coverage. Others suggest that as little as 15 percent of a country’s population needs to participate to have a meaningful effect on the spread of COVID-19. Either way, the tools require people to willingly download an app (on a smartphone with up-to-date software) and people linking positive coronavirus test results with their online profile so that it can be shared widely.

But in almost all countries, those goals remain aspirational, at best.

In the most successful cases, like Finland and Iceland, uptake has hovered between 30-40 percent — not a bad start in terms of keeping tabs on a country’s population.

Yet elsewhere, particularly in countries with long histories of not trusting government agencies with people’s data, apps have been a lot less popular. In Germany, the usage rate is about one in five, while in France (a country that decided to go its own way and not use technology provided by Google and Apple), less than 8 percent of the population downloaded the tracing service, according to government estimates.

More important, across all countries, the apps still send out few alerts to those possibly infected with the virus, raising questions about whether people are truly being honest regarding their COVID-19 status.

Researchers at the University College London, after reviewing multiple global trials of coronavirus apps, found little, if any, evidence of benefits in combating COVID-19.

In England and Wales, the latest countries to roll the dice, the app development has been mired in false starts; an initial, eventually-scrapped attempt to not work with Google and Apple’s technology; and ongoing concerns that the tracing service hasn’t complied with local privacy laws. Officials say such snags have been worked out, including allowing people to delete their data quickly if they choose to do so.

It’s all well and good to have a COVID-19 app. But if no one uses it — after officials spent millions building the tools — what really is the point?

The next significant blindspot is data, and who has access to people’s coronavirus records.

After Google and Apple forced countries to embrace their so-called decentralized approach (in which all data would solely be stored on people’s phones) in exchange for their technological expertise, privacy campaigners cheered, claiming that such efforts would limit a government data grab.

But what it also did was hamper national efforts to track the spread of the virus. Countries’ health agencies could not get their hands on people’s COVID-19 data because all such information was stored (and encrypted) on people’s devices.

Already, health experts in Germany, the United Kingdom and elsewhere have criticized their inability to track the pandemic because of a lack of data access from coronavirus apps. The only country to get around this issue, so far, is Ireland where app developers built in a question when people first downloaded the app that asked them to willingly share their data with local health authorities. More than half of Irish app users agreed.

To make matters worse, it’s still an open question how countries’ individual apps can work with each other — a critical problem if people are supposed to (eventually) get back to traveling across Europe and beyond.

Earlier this month, the European Commission started trials to see how apps from six countries could work with each other with the plan for the system to be rolled sometime next month. One big holdout was France, whose app — based on centralizing data in one national server — was not compatible with other digital tools from across the bloc.

Yet alongside the technical issues, health agencies from individual countries must also sign agreements for data to be shared (anonymously) across borders, and questions remain about how such a region-wide system could work, legally, when national governments are still struggling to get their local apps up and running.

Officials don’t have long to sort this all out.

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With cases spiking across the Continent, even before winter really kicks in, a reliable (and widely-used) coronavirus tracking system is all but essential to avoid the national lockdowns that blighted the region earlier this year.

In theory, digital apps could lie at the heart of this strategy. But the reality has shown they are little more than glitzy gadgets that leave much to be desired.

Mark Scott is chief technology correspondent at POLITICO.