When Purchase Means License: Digital Ownership's Quiet Erosion
When you "buy" a book on Audible, you're not buying anything. You're leasing conditional access that can vanish when licensing agreements expire. No refund, no notice, just gone from your library.
This isn't unique to Audible. It's the pattern:
Games: When Nintendo shut down the Wii Shop Channel, thousands of purchased titles became inaccessible. PlayStation's fumbled Vita store closure nearly did the same. Digital game purchases survive only as long as the platform remains profitable.
Music: When Microsoft closed its Zune music store, DRM-protected purchases became unplayable. Apple has quietly removed purchased songs when licensing expires. Your "bought" music exists at the pleasure of rights holders you'll never meet.
Video: When Sony shut down its PlayStation Video store, users lost access to purchased movies and TV shows. Amazon reserves the right to revoke Prime Video purchases. You bought it, but they control it.
Books: Kindle's 1984 deletion incident—ironically appropriate—demonstrated Amazon's power to reach into devices and remove purchased books. Audible follows the same model with audiobooks.
The Pattern
- Vague disclosure: Terms of Service mention "licenses" in legal language users don't read or understand
- DRM enforcement: Technical restrictions ensure you can't keep what you "bought" when the license expires
- No recourse: When content vanishes, users have no remedy—it's all in the TOS you agreed to
- Marketing deception: Platforms use "Buy" and "Purchase" language despite offering temporary licenses
The only exception: DRM-free downloads from services like GOG for games or Bandcamp for music. These are rare, and platforms don't proactively offer them.
Why This Matters
Digital "ownership" affects cultural preservation. When platforms fold or licenses expire, content disappears—not just from individual libraries, but from existence. Games, books, albums that shaped culture become inaccessible, preserved only by piracy.
It undermines consumer trust. "Buy now" should mean ownership, not rental with ambiguous terms.
It creates inequality. Wealthy collectors can maintain physical media libraries. Everyone else depends on corporate goodwill.
What Needs To Change
Option 1: Regulatory intervention
Laws could mandate that "purchase" language requires perpetual access or DRM-free downloads. If it's a license, call it a license. If it's a purchase, guarantee it.
Option 2: Industry standards
Platforms could voluntarily offer DRM-free backups for "purchased" content, similar to GOG's model. Good for PR, good for users, good for preservation.
Option 3: Consumer awareness
At minimum, explicit warnings: "This purchase grants a revocable license subject to content availability" might make people reconsider spending on something they don't actually own.
The current model benefits only platforms and rights holders. Users assume ownership while platforms retain control. That assumption won't last forever—but how much cultural history will we lose before it breaks?