The ArriveSCAM Scandal

Navigating the tumultuous seas of government technology projects can often feel like trying to sail a boat with no compass, no map, and a crew that’s more interested in arguing over who gets to wear the captain’s hat than actually steering the ship. The ArriveCAN app saga is a perfect storm that encapsulates everything that can go wrong when the government tries to go tech. It’s like watching your drunk uncle try to use a smartphone for the first time—both hilarious and deeply concerning.

So, here we have ArriveCAN, an app that was supposed to be Canada’s digital drawbridge, controlling the flow of travelers with the precision of a health-conscious Robin Hood. Instead, it turned into what can only be described as a dumpster fire on a sinking ship. The app, fraught with bugs, was about as effective as a screen door on a submarine. It created such a backlog at airports that you’d think the border guards were asking each traveler to hand-carve their personal details into a maple tree.

And then there’s the spending—oh, the spending! The government threw money at this app like it was trying to win a carnival game. Except, in this game, the prize was a $14 million contract awarded faster than you can say, “Wait, what happened to competitive bidding?” And who caught this lucrative bouquet? None other than GCstrategies, the tech world’s equivalent of a mysterious van with “Free Candy” painted on the side. With a broken website and an address leading to a cottage, they’re about as transparent as a lead-lined vault.

But wait, there’s more! The fun doesn’t stop at overpriced contracts. The app itself was about as stable as my opinions on daylight savings time—constantly changing and frustrating everyone in the process. It had more glitches than a 90s video game, requiring over 167 updates. Imagine updating your relationship status on social media that often; you’d exhaust your friends and probably end up blocked by most of them.

The supposed oversight on this project was like putting a vegan in charge of a barbecue—completely out of their element. The lack of testing and quality assurance was so apparent it made you wonder if their idea of beta testing was crossing their fingers and hoping for the best. And with every new release, Canadians were left wondering if this time, the app would actually do what it was supposed to, or just offer them a new digital puzzle to solve.

The real kicker, though, is the claim that this digital debacle could have been built on a shoestring budget. Instead, the government opted to shower the developers with cash like they were making it rain in a club, only the club is federal procurement, and the dancers are tech companies with dubious backgrounds.

The moral of this story? When it comes to government handling tech projects, maybe it’s time to stop letting them play with the big toys until they can prove they won’t break them. Or, at the very least, let’s make sure they’re not spending the GDP of a small island nation on an app that, in the end, couldn’t even do its job without causing a national headache. If this is the future of government tech projects, maybe it’s time to go back to carrier pigeons. At least they know how to find their way home without a $14 million GPS.