Interview with Sonia Irene Guzman.
The introduction of Digital Tribulations, a series of intellectual interviews on the developments of digital sovereignty in Latin America, can be read here.
I met Sonia Irene Guzman — a consultant, academic, and activist in the free software and culture movement and a Doctor of Feminist Studies at UAM-Xochimilco — at a public consultation organized by the Agencia Digital de Innovación Pública de la Ciudad de México (ADIP). I arrived there on an Ecobici, an excellent service given its affordable annual fee, on a Saturday morning: the sun was out and I arrived sweaty and covered in dust due to the city’s perpetual, mad traffic.
I am fascinated by this newly formed agency that organizes events on digital sovereignty with a long-term perspective (20 years) and seeks to listen to its citizens; a place where speakers still address each other as compañero, something that in Italy is now only found in the circles of the few remaining socialists and communists. It seems to me they are on the right track, and I managed to interview the titular (director), an interview that will be released later.
Irene was invited to speak at the event, which opened with a video celebrating Mexican culture which by praising the grand urban planning and the ancestors’ advanced techniques for filtering salt and fresh water, it made the current dependence on garrafón (bottled water jugs) feel like a degeneration. But all the speakers were top-tier, the first spoke of technological infrastructure as if it were water, arguing that its protection should be treated like that of water wells—as something strategic, and the discussion lasted more than 2 hours. 
Me and Irene met a few days after the event in another neighborhood, sitting at a bar, to discuss the Mexican context, transfeminism, and free software.

***
What is your trajectory, and why are you interested in digital sovereignty?
I studied design at a public university in Mexico City, at UNAM. Then I did a Master’s in Visual Arts, where I developed research on free software and design. That was my first approach—the first time the light bulb went off for me about what digital freedoms and digital sovereignty meant. Then I began a teaching career, which I would say is the foundation of what I do. I’m a professor, and I really love it. I think that’s where I was next able to identify the needs of both the university and the students, and many of the difficulties of using software that isn’t ours or infrastructures that aren’t ours.
Then I pursued a PhD called Interdisciplinary Studies in Communication and Culture. There I began research on practices that I called “hacker practices.” I looked at how people involved in activism who used free software had particular technological practices—from opening the terminal to using different types of software. I was interested in how they solved their everyday problems or needs with a computer. These practices again brought me closer to ideas of sovereignty and being more autonomous.
Later I entered the PhD in Feminist Studies at UAM, another public university. My research topic was about women hackers; I explored what was happening with women who had these practices because I realized that most were men. I went out to find them, and my thesis was called En busca de las hackers (In Search of Women Hackers). That opened up another world, other ways of seeing that gender studies also permeate technology. I began to like and adopt the term feminism—it took me a while, but I came to identify as a feminist precisely to try to build this dialogue between technological freedoms, sovereignty, and the aims of feminism.
Clearly, this led me to speak about different topics, including technological sovereignty. To me, sovereignty is partly rooted in free software. I always say I entered this social dimension through a computer, through my practices and my use of a machine. These topics have led me to give talks, lectures, and workshops. Someone once said I was a reference point in hackfeminism, and I think that’s where my interest in sovereignty comes from.

What do you think about the concept of digital sovereignty? Do you think it’s a good concept?
That’s a great question because, you see, when we talk about this—not just me, but together with other colleagues—even if we don’t necessarily define the word sovereignty, I feel it’s very tied to state-centered ideas, or to giving control and power to the state. It seems that today we only have two options: that technology and our digital lives are in the hands of corporations, or in the hands of the state. Honestly, I don’t really like either option.
I know digital sovereignty can be useful, but I prefer to think in terms of autonomy or something more collective and collaborative, as utopian as that may sound. I feel closer to certain anarchist principles. The problem with anarchy—or with things being neither in the hands of the state nor corporations—is that it requires taking on a lot of responsibility. Anarchy doesn’t mean “doing nothing”; there is a kind of freedom that comes from personal commitment and participation. It’s hard to explain. That’s why I like free software: I feel it brings us closer to a more autonomous practice, or a closer relationship with our technological devices, so that this becomes a principle or a way of thinking about technology from another place. The term itself makes me uneasy insofar as it pushes us toward the state.
What did you find in your research about the gender perspective within the world of technology in Mexico?
Several things. Since I come from the free software community, I understood technology from that perspective. Gender and feminist frameworks came later for me. It felt natural that most participants were men; even the people who taught me things or installed Linux for me were men. When I encountered this other perspective on what happens with women, the first thing I found was a cultural questioning. There’s always this idea that women aren’t in technology—and in free software even less so—that there are no good Mexican women hackers.
For example, I was introduced as a “user.” When I went to talks, I was always the only woman—like at the event where we met—where everyone else was men and they invited “the woman.” Everyone else was introduced with their CV, and for me it was: “Oh, Irene, who is a user.” I felt like a little monkey there who could do a few tricks—with apologies to monkeys. That’s when I began to notice these signs that there really was a difference in “being a woman.” Free software and this whole environment was very comfortable for men, or offered them many advantages and privileges. The fact that a man could be coding late or solving a technical problem often meant that someone else had washed his clothes, fed him, or taken care of the children. There is always someone, almost always a woman, who takes care of things.
So I said: of course, it’s not that women don’t like technology; it’s that there are many factors that prevent them from moving forward, what we call the “sticky floor” (piso pegajoso). Another thing I found was that I believed code was the most important thing for all programmers. But the women who coded would tell me: “Well, I do it because that’s how it is.” There wasn’t a magical aura around code for them, nor did they idealize it; they were interested in what could be done with it. It didn’t matter as much that it was perfect or that it compiled “en chinga” (super fast), but rather what you do with it. It reminded me of when we tell women they cook really well and they say: “Well, it’s just something I have to do; it’s something that’s always been there.”
I also found it interesting that many women specialized in computing came from certain privileges: white women, European or North American, or in Mexico, women who studied at private universities. Other women without those characteristics had learned through bootcamps or programming spaces and worked in companies doing web development—the famous front-end or back-end. I was interested in what was happening with them. And I also saw that the feminist figure we imagine, the cinematic hacker who knows martial arts and manages to outsmart the villain, doesn’t really exist.
I noticed a disconnect: women with deep technical skills are in places like Google or Facebook, where the pay is good. Meanwhile, women involved in the social side, interested in feminism and technological freedom, sometimes don’t have as many technical skills. I also noticed that some women were what my advisor Giomar Rovira called “free radicals” (radicales libres): isolated women who weren’t part of feminist or activist communities. They know how to do things but are completely isolated because there isn’t that connection with communities interested in digital freedoms. We still have a long way to go toward sovereignty. If it’s a collective issue, then the women who didn’t have technical skills started learning them collectively, out of a need to teach each other. One of my interviewees spoke about “the club of failure” (el club del fracaso), meaning allowing yourself to fail in coding, for things not to come out cleanly, and for that to be okay. That’s a dissonance I found often.
How has the discourse on digital sovereignty changed or developed in Mexico in recent years?
As you know, Mexico underwent a radical political shift a few years ago, toward a left-wing government. The truth is that many of us in activist movements—I was the director of Creative Commons Mexico—had a lot of hope that technological issues would gain ground, but that didn’t really happen. Very little, in fact. My perception is that the community working on digital rights also had its own interests; civil society organizations with a lot of funding from Google and similar companies. At some point they began to criticize the government, and the government responded by isolating them, saying: “Oh, they’re privileged kids (niños bien), we won’t listen to them because they’re against us”.
Some things within the government were framed in terms of sovereignty, but not entirely. There was talk of creating our own Mexican social network, but it was done in a very isolated way. The Agencia Digital de Innovación Pública (ADIP) has an important interest, but it didn’t engage with different communities. Also, the Secretaría de Ciencia, Humanidades, Tecnología e Innovación (Secihti) developed the Chapultepec Principles around AI ethics, stating that AI should not be used to the detriment of human rights. It’s good that a government states that, even if some aspects are a bit idealistic.
But in the end, I feel there isn’t a real “match” between the government and those of us who have been working on these issues. There’s always a lag: they are talking about things we’ve already been discussing, but without collaboration. I would even say that in earlier governments, like Vicente Fox’s, there was more use of autonomous servers with free software or open practices. Now I feel there isn’t, partly because it’s seen as something “very American” or colonial. There’s a rejection of it. Free software sounds too much like Global North, and it hasn’t been fully appropriated because it requires a lot of work, and maybe there’s no one to do it. It feels disconnected, even if at least the topic is on the table.
Are there specific aspects in Mexico where the political economy influences digital sovereignty? And how can long-term continuity—like the 20-year plan mentioned at the event—be achieved?
That caught my attention too—I hadn’t even realized it said 20 years. I was like: “¡no manches!” (no way!, very Mexican/CDMX slang). One of the things that happens in this country is that every six-year term everything changes, even if it’s the same political side; new people come in and everything that was done gets thrown away. This is an attempt to prevent that. The problem is how to translate that idea into concrete actions. How do we agree on how to achieve sovereignty? I haven’t seen an open discussion.
There are efforts at UNAM, but I haven’t seen the government take a clear and explicit stance on citizens’ data with these companies. Instead, agreements are made with Google. We have many problems, and technology is not a central axis in Mexico. It’s still framed as “innovation,” a word that bothers me as much as “entrepreneurship.” I feel the government’s position is still to create space for companies to operate. This just happened in Querétaro with data centers; there are already groups discussing how this will affect water resources. Paola Ricaurte is researching the ecological damage, but these are not widely discussed issues. The government doesn’t really address them either.
That’s why I find this Mexico City plan interesting—it’s local, not federal. At the federal level, there have been discussions about AI with senators, but they haven’t reached the level of concrete issues: what happens with companies and data? It’s not strong enough to say, “Google, don’t take my data.” 
In Latin America, unlike Europe’s regulatory approach, there are examples like Brazil’s PIX system as public digital infrastructure. Do you see dialogue or collaboration between Mexico and other states?
My impression is that there isn’t much—there are isolated efforts. Those of us who’ve worked on these issues know that Brazil is a reference point, not just in technological policies but also culturally. I’ve seen forums where people involved in Brazil’s cultural policies under Lula are invited, but at the state level I don’t see a clear technological narrative. It doesn’t seem like a priority; the scale of the issue isn’t fully understood. There are many other pressing problems in Mexico, and if this need isn’t understood within the government, then alliances won’t form. Alliances happen around other “Latin America united” themes, but not around technology. That’s my impression, though I could be wrong.
Looking ahead, what measures can be taken to improve the situation and women’s inclusion?
Without putting everything on the individual level, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough. I’ve done activism with women and free software, but there’s a lot of loneliness in this work. I think we need to rebuild something more collective and cooperative. The problem is that when we try to build communities or collectives, we end up fighting. It’s something we’ve discussed a lot: the political includes personal issues.
For example, I ended up very estranged from people at Wikimedia Mexico because they were very territorial and quite rude to me, and I know they’ve been the same with others who don’t fit their ideology. I don’t know if it’s something Latin American or specifically Mexican, but we struggle with cohesion and accepting differences, and movements end up becoming what they once opposed. This also happens within feminism. We need to learn to live with differences and resolve conflicts—or do what capitalists do: it doesn’t matter if you’re Jewish or Christian; the ultimate goal is capital, money. That doesn’t happen in the Latin American left.
I think we need more cohesion between civil society, academia, and government. And in the case of women, we need more spaces where we’re allowed to make mistakes. I still see a lot of isolation among women in engineering; they don’t reach their full potential because they stay quiet due to lack of confidence. In Mexico, we have this joke: when there’s a tech job posting, men meet one requirement and apply, while women meet all of them but if they lack one small thing, they say “I don’t know this” and don’t apply.
There’s a mindset we need to challenge: that your voice matters, that you can make jokes, that you can dress however you want. This is something individual, but tied to a Latin American machismo that needs to be addressed differently than in Europe or the United States. The Latin American patriarchy is not the same; men here have also been oppressed, and you can’t treat them the same way as in the Global North.
I find it very interesting what Indigenous communities say: many women don’t identify as feminists, but they do embrace a struggle alongside their campesino partner because he is also oppressed. It’s a position opposed to white feminism; it’s more intersectional. Many of these poor men are also programmers, struggling against a system that demands excellence while they have to hold multiple jobs.
Part of technological sovereignty also has to do with technical inefficiencies. Engineering students are taught to work for the market, to use Windows solutions or Microsoft agreements. In Mexico, the Ministry of Finance made an agreement with Microsoft, and it was terrible: Azure handled our invoices and strange things happened—like receiving someone else’s invoice. They’re not taught deep technical efficiencies in coding, but rather how to use tools—like learning how a car works instead of changing the engine.
There are many moving parts, but I think there needs to be a government policy that drives change from education, civil society, Mexican companies, and above all, a cultural and ideological stance to understand the problem posed by these corporations.