Forthcoming: in Digital Food Activism Routledge (Critical Food Studies Series), Eds Tanja Schneider, Karin Eli, Catherine Dolan and Stanley Ulijasz. Food Politics in a Digital Era Tania Lewis A farmer on a small scale organic farm in rural India uploads images of his latest produce to consumers and retailers via an open source online food hub; a “conscious consumer” in Charlottesville, Virginia uses an app while supermarket shopping to look up the ethical credentials of food producers and product ingredients; a business woman on a work trip to Rio de Janiero is “informed” by a travel and food app on her smartphone where and what she might like to eat for breakfast based on GPS technology and her previous preferences. These three diverse examples speak to the changing nature of our engagements with food today in an increasingly digital world. From home cookery to restaurant going, from farming to food politics, the world of food is being quietly colonised by an array of electronic devices, online content and information and communication technologies. Meanwhile the realm of the digital has been invaded by all things food related, from endless food snapshots on Facebook and Instagram to the rise of YouTube cooking and food channels, the fastest-growing genre on the video-sharing service. This digital “turn” in the lives of many people on the planet has unsurprisingly inspired a huge amount of commentary and reflection, some of it celebrating the capacity of technology to connect and empower us, while other accounts offer a more dystopian vision of data control and surveillance, that is, a kind of “drone culture.” Numerous studies have sought to engage with the emergent role of the digital in shaping our everyday domestic lives, interpersonal relations and consumer practices. A number of large-scale accounts have emerged examining the digitisation of work, society and politics, governance, democracy and citizen engagement. Yet, there has been surprisingly little written on the growing entanglements between the digital and the world of food, and particularly the rise of new forms of political engagement and food citizenship. Over the past couple of decades, we have seen the media—from popular documentaries to reality cooking shows to foodie lifestyle shows—increasingly concerned with political and ethical questions in relation to how we consume in the Global North (Lewis 2008, 2012; Lewis and Potter 2011). This has accompanied by the rise of some fairly unlikely spokespeople for issues of food politics including celebrity chefs and even celebrity farmers. Here questions about how our food is produced, how sustainable imported food might be, as well as issues of animal welfare and debates around Genetically Modified Organisms, have become the fodder of both television and film. Increasingly however these questions and concerns have entered the digital realm. In the context of a growing emphasis on personal and household practices of consumption and lifestyle as potential sites of political and ethical engagement with food, the particular affordances offered up by digital technologies have begun to shape a whole new terrain of engagement and activism around food; not only for consumers and the odd digitally-empowered celebrity chef, but for an array of other actors, from farmers and alternative food movements to powerful corporate food players. The realm of digital food politics is a vast emergent field. In this chapter, I will touch upon just some of the themes and concerns facing food citizens, producers and activists. In offering a broad overview of some of the key issues raised by the digitisation of food politics, the chapter is structured accordingly: the first section briefly outlines the growth of lifestyle and consumer-related forms of participatory politics online, while the next section looks at the affordances of online platforms for enabling connected forms of personal consumption. The third section discusses the role of platforms in bringing together food communities. This is followed by a discussion of the limitations of connectivity and the hegemony of corporate food politics in social media spaces. The conclusion discusses the limits of data sharing around food and so-called informational transparency in an era of data monitoring and “big data.” Consumption and Food Politics: Participatory Personal Politics Online In their book YouTube: Online Video, and Participatory Culture (2009) Jean Burgess and Joshua Green suggest that digital media engagement is no longer about consumers and producers, professionals and amateurs, non-commercial versus commercial players but instead needs to be understood in terms of “a continuum of cultural participation” (2009, p. 57). Enabled by the affordances of web 2.0 and by video conversion and sharing technology, websites such as YouTube have heralded a dramatic shift from the digital consumer as passive downloader to an upload and exchange culture of creativity and pro-sumerism. In the space of food politics, the rise of the consumer as a new powerful actor enabled by digital resources speaks in interesting ways to what Juliet Schor (1999) has termed “the new politics of consumption” whereby everyday acts of purchasing and consuming food, goods, energy, water etc. become tied to a sense of global responsibility. For the reflexive late-modern self, once ordinary everyday practices become imbued with both biographic and broader social and political significance or what Giddens (1991) has referred to as “life politics.” The question then becomes what kinds of forms of political civic engagement are we now seeing in a digital realm in which the users are seemingly enabled to make their voices heard as individuals but also to connect at a larger level with virtual communities. There has been considerable critique of the rise of the kind of “intimate” forms of “political engagement” we might associate with the digital realm. American cultural theorist Lauren Berlant, in her work on intimate publics, for instance talks rather scathingly of the way in which the centre of political life has shifted towards the private sphere with citizenship increasingly seen as being “produced by personal acts and values” (1997, p. 5). This shift, for Berlant, constitutes a “[d]ownsizing citizenship to a mode of voluntarism” (1997, p. 5). In contrast, Swedish political scientist Michele Micheletti argues that political consumerism doesn’t crowd out other, more traditional forms of civic engagement, rather it promotes what she sees as a kind of “individualized collective action” (2003). Whether we see these developments in positive or negative terms, it is clear that the digital realm is a space in which a growing range of forms of political participation are taking place. As José van Dijck in The Culture of Connectivity argues “Within less than a decade, a new infrastructure for online sociality and creativity has emerged, penetrating every fiber of culture today” (2013, p. 4) and, in turn, shaping the landscape of civic and political engagement in a range of unforeseen and unpredictable ways. Here I want to discuss some of these new and emergent practices, from consumer-driven online activism to digitalised alternative food networks, in ways that move beyond celebratory or dystopian images of online participation. Nick Couldry argues in his call to understand and interrogate social media platforms as institutions that the utopianism of connected sociality needs to be recognised as “a playground for deep economic battles about new forms of value, value generated from data, the data that we generate as we act online” (2015a, p. 641). Likewise, while recognising the monetary logics of online data flows, I would suggest that these forms of connected sociality also need to be understood as potentially generating other forms of alternative political “value.” Digital Tools and Platforms: Connected Consumption and Apptivism While digital social relations are clearly intrinsically shaped and constrained by what we might term “compromised connectivities,” Couldry’s metaphor of the battleground speaks to the ways in which digital socialities are underpinned by complex interplays of contestation and hegemony. As Deborah Lupton suggests in her recent book Digital Sociology, “Digital technologies have created new political relationships and power relations” (2015, p. 189), and this is no more evident than in the increasing power struggles over information, data, visibility and transparency that mark the contemporary digital foodscape and the rise of digital forms of “food citizenship” (Wilkins 2005; Gómez-Benito and Lozano 2014; Booth and Coveney 2015). Here I want to discuss how the affordances of the internet offer potential for new forms of not only consumer literacy about the politics of food consumption but also connectivity. A key shift associated with the move to digital platforms for consumers is the connection that everyday digital devices and platforms make with people’s actual practices, whether when they are making food choices at the grocery store or market, or when they are wishing to share their food skills and knowledge with others. A range of platforms are concerned with virtually connecting people’s everyday food practices to processes of global food production. National Geographic’s wonderful interactive food documentary “A Five-Step Plan to Feed the World” (Foley, 2017) offers a re-visioning of the usual depiction of the elongated exploitative commodity chain associated with agri-business, reconnecting us with the “faces” of small farmers around the world who they see as the new drivers of a green agricultural revolution. Ethical shopping websites like Follow the Things (http://www.followthethings.com/grocery.shtml), on the other hand, make visible and materialise the politics of production behind the “commodity chains” or “networks” that bring us Israeli avocados grown on illegally seized Palestinian land or bananas grown by Nicaraguan banana workers who have sued Dole, one of the biggest food corporations in the world, for exposing them to a banned pesticide linked to severe health problems. A key area here is the growing use of apps, or what has been termed “apptivism,” to enable more reflexive critical approaches to consumption. In the context of the contemporary globalised foodscape, there has been a growing public concern about the disconnection between consumers and the origins of their food—from questions about the health and food safety, to concerns about animal welfare and the exploitation of third world farmers and producers. In response to these concerns, a large range of food apps have emerged that attempt to create conditions of what we might term “connected consumption” but via virtual means, whether through enabling individual consumers to access information about the origins of a food product’s ingredients via a barcode scanning app or through linking consumers to a broader community of ethical citizens. The Good Guide is one of the most developed online ethical shopping guides, employing a team of researchers including environmental scientists and even sociologists. It offers a range of technological quick fixes for ethical consumers on the go: including a mobile phone app that allows you to use bar code technology to get just-in-time information about the environmental, health and social impact of companies and products. The Good Guide folk describe this app as like having “a PhD in your pocket” (Viswanathan 2010). They also offer what I’d see as a rather morally dubious “personal filter” option on commodities whereby you can tailor the guide’s app to fit your own personal ethical concerns and lifestyle needs. Rather more interestingly are those apps that at least attempt to shift people’s thinking away from shopping per se and to engage in other forms of exchange. An app called OLIO is a good example of the latter. OLIO aims to connects neighbours with each other and/or with local businesses to exchange any surplus food they might have, with app users being able to share images of unused food with the OLIO community. On its website, OLIO also emphasises the potential benefits of the app for businesses, noting that the act of sharing leftover food can bring in new customers, reduce food waste and help business “connect with your community” (OLIO 2016). OLIO emphasises a kind of civic-minded digital consumerism with a commercial edge where the act of sharing left over food is framed as a potentially collective and transformative act (“a food sharing revolution”) but with potential personal and business benefits. If value-driven acts of consumption have become a new stage for enactments of civil society and political agency then the just-in-time, connected affordances of personalised digital apps like OLIO are on the vanguard of the new politics of consumption. However, there are obvious limits to this kind of privatised, consumer driven approach to “revolutionising” food practices. Many of these apps and websites offer a fairly banal ethical “shopping can save the world” message without necessarily challenging the foundations of commoditised food consumption itself. As environmentalist and Guardian journalist George Monbiot, comments rather scathingly about such forms of caring consumption. “It does not matter whether we burn fossil fuels with malice or with love,” he writes (2007, p. 112). Further, as Berlant’s critique of intimate politics suggests, there is a problematic tendency to privatise, and therefore to potentially minimise, issues that are of major public or global concern. Such practices, while well meant, may thus deflect from rather than contribute to changing the reality of global agri-business and the inequities of today’s urban foodscapes by offering a quick and easy ethical fix for privileged consumers and business owners who have the choice to share and distribute food. However, the digital space has also seen the emergence number of more critical uses of interactive platform technology that aim to connect a range of actors and groups concerned with offering genuine alternatives to global agri-business. In the next section, I discuss the ways in which online platforms have enabled a range of forms of alternative political organisation and community building in the critical food domain. Crafting and Connecting Food Communities Online “Although it may seem the most unlikely of catalysts, digital technology is jogging our memories of real food and agrarian culture [my emphasis]. We may be going back to the land, but many of us are bringing our laptops and smart phones.” (Hatfield et al. 2008, p. 4) As the quote from Hatfield and others suggests, somewhat paradoxically the digital realm is playing a key and growing role in linking producers to “authentic” food and to “the land,” enabling a sense of reconnection with where food comes from. For small-scale food producers in particular, web 2.0 allows them to connect with consumers directly and also with each other, thus potentially facilitating alternatives to globalised food and the elongated commodity chains of agri-business (Hearn et al. 2014). Another key area in which digital connectivity has enabled significant alternative forms of political organisation and community building is in the form of food networks. For instance, while still a nascent area of research, critical scholarship has begun to emerge on the role of social media in shaping and enabling various virtual, networked alternatives to globalised food (Hearn et al. 2014). In an article on “the online spaces of alternative food networks in England,” Elizabeth Bos and Luke Owen explore the way in which the digital realm offers opportunities for reconnection with the “complex systems of food provisioning” that have worked “to distance and disconnect consumers from the people and places involved in contemporary food production” (2016, p. 1). Studying eight Alternative Food Networks and 21 online spaces, they examine the ways that producers and citizens alike are using digital means to reconnect with local and rural food production and to build potential alternatives to global agri-business. As their research on online food hubs suggests, digital networks are as much about strengthening connections to place and the local, as they are about forging global links. One example of this is the Open Food network (openfoodnetwork.org)—an original Australian online collective, which is based on open source technology developed by US food hubs—Local Dirt and the Oklahoma Food Coop, see Figure 1 (Open Food Network 2015; Local Dirt 2016; Oklahoma Food Cooperative 2016). Linking consumers, food hubs and farmers to local food enterprises, the Open Food network has been taken up as a model around the world. Figure 1: Front page of the Oklahoma Food Cooperative’s website Web 2.0 has also enabled forms of what Bennett and Segerberg (2013) have called “connective action” for a range of other kinds of “communities” including private householders seeking to collectivise their personal “experiments” in living. For instance, Permablitz Melbourne, A term first invented in Melbourne, a permablitz is an event where a group of volunteers come together to transform a backyard into a food-producing garden drawing upon the principles of permaculture. a group of volunteers who conduct makeovers in ordinary suburban gardens throughout Melbourne following the principles of permaculture The idea of permaculture was developed in the mid 1970s by Australians Bill Mollison and David Holmgren as an alternative to industrialised forms of agriculture (Mollison and Holmgren 1978; Mollison 1988; Holmgren 2002). Conceived of as an ethical and holistic design system for sustainable living, land use and land repair, “[p]ermaculture has come to mean a design system, for taking patterns and relationships observed in natural ecosystems into novel productive systems for meeting human needs” and has been embraced by individuals, groups and communities worldwide (www.permablitz.net/resources/our-principles). are not so much a community in the conventional sense as a fluid network of people, connected primarily via a website. Since the Melbourne network formed, Permablitz groups have emerged in Sydney, Adelaide, Alice Springs, Darwin, Canberra, Tasmania, the Sunshine Coast, California, Montreal, Istanbul, Jogjakarta, Bali, Uganda and beyond. In terms of debates around the privatisation of politics and the potential impact of what are fairly localised transformational practices, the Permablitz Melbourne “community” suggests a complex relationship to geographies of life politics and relations of care and responsibility. Geographers Ash Amin (2002) and Doreen Massey (2004), among others, have focused for instance on the role of relationality, with Massey arguing for “geographies of responsibility” where “the relationality of space points to a politics of connectivity” (2004, p. 26). The movement’s “home” is a website (www.permablitz.net) while permablitzes themselves take place in people’s backyards around suburban Melbourne with participants, most of whom are strangers, often travelling long distances across town to help with the permablitz. During and around the time of the permablitz, the garden in question shifts from being a private place to a public and political space of sorts, a resource for the permaculture and broader “community” in terms of both being a site of potential food production, but also a space in which skills and expertise are shared with and passed on to other “blitzers” via the workshops and talks that are held on the day. Photos, and in some cases time release videos, of the transformational process are also posted to the website after each permablitz, serving as a way of documenting and publicizing these various backyard endeavours as well as an advertisement to attract potential future blitzers, while also linking Permablitz Melbourne to other Australian and international permablitz and permaculture communities (www.permablitz.net/regional-groups) and offering a guide on how to set up a regional permabitz network (www.permablitz.net/resources). While driven by households and highly localised experts and intermediaries in the first instance, the Permablitz community and the processes of backyard and suburban transformation the community and its members enable is joined up and “public-ised” via digital platforms and digital networks, making it a good example of how virtual connectivity can help dispersed groups of actors to engage in a kind of Michelett-ian “individualized collectivism.” Another key generative aspect of the connective action enacted through systems like the Open Food Network and Permablitz is the way it raises questions of scale. The development of localised and regional food systems has often been hampered by problems of scale, particularly how to collectivise efforts and scale-up while still adhering to social and environmental drivers. Here the connective affordances of web platforms have greatly bolstered the ability of distributed local systems to expand and collectivise. As Tania Lewis has argued elsewhere in relation to the potentially transformative impact of local movements such as Permablitz Melbourne: The cascading effects of seemingly small-scale initiatives, such as the role played by local and personal actions in the Arab spring, often in conjunction with networked media, have foregrounded the increasing insufficiency of macro and micro conceptions of scale in relation to theorizing political activism, engagement and transformation (Lewis 2015, p. 351). Complicating Connectivity: Corporate Food Politics Online While web 2.0 has undoubtedly greatly enabled alternative food networks to globally connect and scale-up, it is important to remind ourselves that, for many everyday web users, our main engagement with the digital realm today is through what Zizi Papacharissi characterises as “commercially public spaces” (2009, p. 242). The digital realm is not only largely owned by commercial interests but its infrastructure and data logics are also thoroughly monetised. In the food domain, the world’s top agricultural and fast food companies are all significant adopters of social media (Stevens et al. 2016) while Twitter, Facebook and Instagram draw a significant proportion of their revenue from corporate-funded online advertising. Even controversial agricultural mega-corporations such as Monsanto, described by Bloomberg as America’s “Third-Most-Hated Company” (Bennett 2014) have invested heavily in a social media presence. For instance, Monsanto has sought to counter criticism from anti-GMO activists by mounting a “be part of the conversation” campaign on social media in which members of the public are invited to ask questions about the company and its practices. Rebranding itself via Twitter using discourses of “sustainable development” and “biological conservation,” Monsanto (Figure 2) has attempted to position itself as a responsible corporate player engaged in a “rational” public dialogue around nutrition, sustainable population growth and environmentalism (see Peekhaus 2010; Monsanto 2015). Figure 2: Monsanto’s website offers a “good news” message for the future of agriculture Monsanto’s use of Twitter to position itself in an “open” dialogue with the community highlights the way in which social media is associated with a seductive “myth of natural collectivity” (Couldry 2015b, p. 620). While the tweets of teenagers and those of global corporate CEOs apparently receive equal airtime in the democratic realm of social media, as Couldry contends, the new media landscape is nevertheless dominated by corporations that strive to control and above all monetise the everyday connective practices of web users. While the rise of alternative food networks online highlights the power of connective action, the flipside of virtual engagement then is the way in which connectivity itself has become a key source of value for corporate players through both audience labour and also the traces of data produced by acts of connectivity. Scholars such as Tiziana Terranova (2000) argue that, whether through the act of demonstrating one’s “alternative” lifestyle and consumer preferences through “likes” on Facebook or by producing videos for YouTube demonstrating backyard permaculture, digital audiences effectively perform “free” labour which can be potentially exploited by capital. As van Dijck explicates, while social media emerged out of a participatory ethos of creativity and exchange: “Connectivity quickly evolved into a resource as engineers found ways to code information into algorithms that helped brand a particular form of online sociality and make it profitable in online markets” (2013, p. 4). People’s everyday engagements with digital media can be commoditised and exchanged between digital media companies and advertisers (Fuchs 2013). This subtle and often hidden commercial exploitation of digital interactivity is often referred to as the “experience economy.” An example in the household food realm is the rise of “free” services such as Whatscook which is sponsored by the mayonnaise manufacturers Hellmann’s. Purportedly assisting hapless householders to cook up convenient meals based on what’s in their fridge (through using WhatsApp to connect people to Hellmann chefs), the app also enables the collection of household data on food and lifestyle preferences marking a broader monetisation and corporate surveillance of the so-called “social” exchanges in social media. Thus, aside from the labour that users provide as they interactive with and upload data online, another key area where the digital realm has converted audience engagement into a resource is through the generation of data. As Lupton discusses in relation to digital food, “[i]n the context of the digital data economy, digitised information about food- and eating-related habits and practices are now accorded commercial, managerial, research, political and government as well as private value” (forthcoming, p. 11). While the big data economy is a space in which anyone can play, it is the large global commercial food corporations who are, alongside government, arguably best placed to use large scale data monitoring for their own purposes, marking what Mark Andrejevic calls the “big data divide” (2014). As Stevens, Aarts, Termeer and Dewulf note in an essay on social media and agro-food: The food and beverage industry is at the forefront of interactive marketing and new types of digital targeting and tracking techniques. Food retailers have taken over social media marketing companies to gain more data and enhance their marketing strategies (2016, p. 103). Closely related to concerns over the commercialisation of personal data is the rise of what’s been termed “dataveillance,” that is, the use of digital forms of connectivity to monitor individuals or groups. Such forms of surveillance go much further than corporations and governments monitoring web data. While this chapter doesn’t have the space to discuss the broader emerging ecology of data-linked devices and bodies, suffice it to say that the rise of a range of technologies such as Radio Frequency Identification tagging and geo-location enabling constant connectivity and monitoring promises to further digitally transform the space of food politics. Again, such developments represent a double-edged sword for the realm of alternative food politics. Jaz Hee-jeong Choi and Mark Graham (2014) note the potential benefits that might arise from such food data. For instance, innovations like edible QR codes to tell customers where their dish has come from and apps that analyse photographs of food taken with the user’s mobile phone to algorithmically identify its caloric content, “have provided novel and richer ways for consumers to understand food” (Choi and Graham 2014, p. 152). Meanwhile, in the realm of agro-business, the rise of “smart” farming is seeing the use of geo-tagged animals, data-driven production techniques and the use of drones to monitor crops and animals over large distances. Digital connectivity here is about the rationalization and efficiency of systems and the maximisation of profit—with potential (though often short term) benefits in terms of food production and food “security”—but often at the cost of environmental and ethical scrutiny and sustainable and equitable approaches to land management. Conclusion: Governing and Decoding Digital Foodscapes This chapter has discussed the way in which digital connectivity has become an important component of contemporary food politics and activism, one which has—at least for some actors in the food landscape—transformed the possibilities of political action and engagement. For households concerned with connecting with other likeminded food citizens, web 2.0 has offered a cheap, accessible means to mobilise, link and collectivise at times diverse and distant players. For alternative food producers and food communities, new media platforms have provided the communicative and connective infrastructure for re-scaling “local” food hubs to offer real alternatives to global agri-business. As Stevens et al put it, Flexible networks enable communities to join for a common cause in opposition against industrial food production, the horizontal links can bypass industrial-economic institutions and the interpersonal communication supports the social connections important to alternative food networks. This provides an opportunity for actors that do not fit industrial production standards, in which farmers play a greater role and the social and environmental origins of food products are emphasised (2016, p. 103). However, as this chapter has emphasised, while the rise of web 2.0 may have initially offered seemingly “neutral” spaces for the sharing of information and communication, the programming, formalisation and customisation of social media along commercial lines means that many forms of online connectivity have become sites for capital to extract value (van Dijck 2013). Another limitation with relying on online forms of connective action in the food realm is the fact that many people are not necessarily equally placed to engage with or have access to the connective realm (Dimon 2013). For food activists, such a realisation requires maintaining a healthy scepticism towards the progressive participatory promise of the media tools and infrastructure that are increasingly dominating our daily lives. Which brings us to questions of visibility and transparency on the Internet. A recurrent trope in food activism oriented towards consumers is a concern with making visible the origins and conditions of global food production, often through the provision of information provided via apps or interactive online platforms. Political engagement and empowerment is thus equated with informational transparency (as per the Right to Know GMO movement, see Figure 3) that is, with the idea that by making visible some of the questionable production processes adopted by big food players so that consumers can choose not to buy their products, we can also challenge these increasingly normative food systems. As I have suggested however, enabling consumers to choose alternatives may purely lead to political quiet-ism, to a sense that the consumer act itself displaces the need for more collective forms of activism. Figure 3: The German Facebook site for the anti-GMO Right to Know movement. The question of informational transparency also raises issues of what we mean by “transparency,” and who has and does not have access to key forms of knowledge. As Arthur Mol argues, while the possession of environmental information in a digital era may enable reform, the rise of what he terms “a new informational mode of environmental governance” also raises critical concerns in relation to “new power constellations” (2006, p. 511) around information access and use. As we have noted in this chapter, the digitisation of food through commercial apps like whatscook, for instance, can change our relationship to food in ways that are often hidden from view to the average person, embedded in an increasingly invisible algorithmic logic and culture. In relation to food politics and questions of activism, the vocabulary of visibility, transparency and connection needs to be tempered by an awareness of issues of information governance and control. This, in turn, suggests that the alternative food movement will need increasingly to engage with attempting to understand and critically debate the social, cultural and political economies of digital data processes and infrastructures. As critical technology gurus Arthur and Marilouise Kroker put it: technological society is no longer understandable simply in terms of the globalizing spectacle of electronic images but in the more invisible, pervasive, and embodied language of computer codes [. . .] when codework becomes the culture within which we thrive, then we must become fully aware of the invisible apparatus that supports the order of communications within which we live (2013, p. 7). Ironically then in a digital age, food citizens increasingly need to develop a critical media literacy as much as a degree of food literacy. Just as the savvy food consumer is increasingly aware of the material conditions under which their food is produced, so too an online literacy requires a similarly critical approach to material or infrastructural underpinnings of our everyday digital engagements. While digital connectivity is an increasingly taken for granted and ubiquitous part of political engagement, we don’t necessarily stop to reflect on the material infrastructure required to support an increasingly globalised internet (Horst 2013). As with the realm of coded infrastructure, the material foundations of the Internet also raise a larger set of political economy and governmental issues as well as concerns about the potential environmental and social impact of digital infrastructure and energy-reliant communicative systems. 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