Culture always finds a way, even when access to it feels broken, blocked, or out of reach. In a world increasingly reliant on the internet and its promise of everything at our fingertips, it’s easy to forget that many are still shut out. Dominant, Western market models decide what gets seen, published, or funded, leaving much of the world’s creativity outside the frame.

When official channels fall short or aren’t accessible to certain communities, people build their own systems. Files are passed by hand, novels are sent through messaging apps, and networks are carved out, however small or improvised.

Dubbed as Handmade Networks, these infrastructures are created by hand to meet real needs.

This might sound retro, like a throwback to pre-internet days, but these networks are urgent and present, designed by and for those left out of dominant, corporate channels.

For auster, Handmade Networks are creative ecosystems that operate outside institutional or societal expectation. They’re blueprints for how culture survives, and flourishes, on its own terms.

When the internet fails

Not everyone has internet access. Where they do, it’s often expensive, slow, surveyed or manipulated. In some countries, a single gigabyte of mobile data can cost a day’s wages. In others, state censorship blocks platforms entirely, or telecom monopolies keep prices high. Broadband infrastructure often doesn’t reach rural areas, and when it does, speeds are too slow for streaming or transferring large files.

This is when people connect to form alternatives. Here are just a few examples of the Handmade Networks they’ve built instead:

El Paquete Semanal is Cuba’s response to state-imposed internet restrictions

Image courtesy of Sección ARTE

In Cuba, El Paquete Semanal (The Weekly Package) emerged as a way for people to catch up with the global flow of digital culture after years of restricted internet access under state regulations. This system became a cultural lifeline, with TV shows, films, music, software, and magazines distributed on 1 TB hard drives across the island.

Within this system is an offline curatorial project: !!!Sección ARTE. Launched in 2015 by artist Nestor Siré, it functions as an exhibition space embedded within El Paquete. The section includes a folder dedicated to showcasing work from Cuban and international artists, along with news and opportunities from the art world. In doing so, it transforms an improvised distribution network into a platform where contemporary art is circulated alongside everyday media, showing how culture can be built and sustained outside official channels.

Photo courtesy of Sección ARTE

In the Philippines, Pisonet offers internet access for spare change

Photo courtesy of Arry Asiddao

Emerging across the Philippines, these coin-operated kiosks were set up by local entrepreneurs using repurposed computers and improvised slot mechanisms. For as little as ₱5 ($0.09), anyone could get online for a few minutes, making them essential for lower-income communities without home internet access.

More than just access points, pisonets became neighborhood gathering spots. People would browse, download, share files, and sometimes trade content locally, turning makeshift booths into informal hubs for digital culture. They don’t replace official infrastructure so much as patch its gaps, offering affordable, improvised access where formal systems fall short. As grassroots digital infrastructure, pisonets are proof that people will always build their own ways to connect when the official ones don’t deliver.

In Zimbabwe, WhatsApp gives writers a direct line to readers

Photo courtesy of Sharon Munjenjema, Global Press Journal Zimbabwe

In Zimbabwe, authors have turned to WhatsApp as a platform for serialized fiction. Chapters are sent directly to subscribers, often via broadcast lists or groups. Readers can reply instantly, building an intimate, two-way relationship between writer and audience. All that’s required is a signal; there’s no need for ISBNs or the hierarchy of traditional publishing houses.

Some authors build cliff-hangers into each chapter, inspiring overnight debates in group chats. Others include audio notes or memes alongside the story, re-focusing the reader experience for a mobile-first generation.

Omenana Magazine is Nigeria’s answer to publishing gatekeepers

Image courtesy of Omenana Magazine

Nigeria is leading the way when it comes to grassroots literary innovation. When speculative fiction from Africa is dismissed by mainstream publishers as “too niche” or “too risky”, Omenana Magazine steps in. Founded in 2014, the digital magazine publishes African writing that might otherwise be overlooked, from sci-fi, fantasy and horror genres.

Each issue is free to download as a PDF via their website and is often shared through social media and peer networks. The stories travel far beyond Nigeria, carried by readers into group chats or community hubs. Omenana proves that audiences can be found outside of the approved and increasingly old-fashioned channels.

Indonesia turn to Telegram for alternative access to knowledge

In Indonesia, Telegram has quietly become an alternative library. Entire channels circulate PDFs of rare novels, banned zines and academic texts that are otherwise hard to find. With no ads, no file limits and strong encryption, Telegram functions as an underground archive.

While piracy raises questions about authorship and compensation, it highlights the fact libraries can’t serve everyone; sometimes they don’t stock what readers want or are in areas where economies can’t or don’t support access to them. In these cases, Telegram becomes a bridge between the desire to read and the absence of legal means to do so.

In the Global South

Many Handmade Networks emerge in the Global South, in regions where infrastructure is patchy, economic inequality is high and creative industries are underfunded. In these contexts, building your own structures is a survival mechanism because the alternative is silence.

What’s often called the “Western market” refers to the dominant models of distribution, created around centralization, scale and profit, from Big-Tech’s ad-driven platforms to traditional publishing houses that typically favor Anglo-American stories. Within these structures, local specificity and non-English storytelling are often treated as commercial risk.

The result? A Nigerian science-fiction saga read only in the glow of a midnight WhatsApp chat. An Indonesian zine whispered through Telegram channels, never touching a bookstore shelf.

Handmade Networks are a direct response to this neglect, supporting the kind of work that gets ignored because it doesn’t fit neatly into mainstream categorization.

Proof of concept

For auster, this is what we’re here to document: how people self-organize when institutions fall short. These networks show what happens when culture circulates without centralized control.

We want to learn from the systems developed in bedrooms, corner shops and group chats that end up shaping communities by tapping into a shared sense of imagination. It’s a reminder to us all that creativity can thrive without approval from official channels.

Because people have always built the best networks, using whatever they had. This will never change. They’re improvised, made to last, and almost always handmade.

Banner image courtesy of Seccion ARTE