Recently, Amazon announced that they would be making a policy change to Kindle that seems relatively minor on the surface; at least until you start to peel down through the layers of it. Let's obsess over this for a minute because we can all probably use a distraction right now. Here's the deal, as of February 26, Kindle users can no longer download their purchased books to their computer for backup or manual transfer purposes.

But most Kindle users now sync their purchases over wifi, so what's the big deal? (you might say)

The issue is that this further muddies the already murky waters of ownership in the digital age. Or perhaps, from another angle, it makes things clearer. The question of do-you-really-own-it when it comes to purchased digital media has already been a tricky one, with the answer mostly being, "Well, not really." When you buy a digital product like a movie or a song or a book, you never really own it. You just own a license to access it. In reality, this is the way it has always been—even with physical media. When you picked up your limited edition HD DVD Director's Cut of Good Burger from the 2 for $22 bin at Blockbuster, you didn't own the rights to the 1997 masterpiece; you simply had a license to access it via that disc whenever you liked. You weren't allowed to make copies of it or host ticketed screenings in your parent's basement. We all understood this. And while some people did make the odd copy for their cousin Steve, the FBI wasn't coming for them because it wasn't a form of piracy on a scale that mattered much. Also, it was nearly impossible to track down. Even when Steve started selling bootleg copies behind his gym.

Digital changed this. It changed the scale and ability to crack down on piracy, it changed how and where we bought and consumed our media, and it changed our relationship to that license of access entirely. That dynamic that we all understood became cracked wide open, and a whole new slippery and strange entity crawled out. We no longer had something physical to take hold of and move around between the method and location of consumption. Again, I want to highlight that even physical media always represented just a form of access, but the form changed so starkly that everything became up for grabs. Out of this, two clear forms of access emerged that I think are worth highlighting: piracy and walled gardens. One used the slipperiness of the digital form to make the free copying and sharing of that access easier than ever before. The other found a way to use that very form to confine people to a closed (and pricey) system in order to continue to access their purchases. Apple was an early pioneer in this with the way they began introducing not just the media but the tools required to play that media on. This went on to include both software and hardware.

Okay, I wasn't really planning on a history lesson, but I can't avoid giving context to frame my thinking here as I reflect on these changes that Amazon has made. Kindle falls squarely into this messy space as one of the first major players in the digital book market. They sold both the e-books and the e-book readers required to consume them. And while there has always been a policy (and protections) to keep those e-books on Kindle, many savvy users have found ways around that, primarily through the ability to download your purchased files to your computer.

Alright, Amazon has a right to prevent people from exploiting their product. Again, what's the big deal? (You still might say)

The big deal, and this applies to all digital media, is the question of the ownership of that license to access. With physical media, it was easy to understand. As long as I have this physical thing—a tape, a VHS, a DVD, a book—I can access and enjoy this media that I have purchased. Even if the method of access breaks or needs to be replaced (think a Samsung DVD player), I can continue to use it on the replacement. On top of that, I am not forced to purchase another Samsung DVD player. If a Sony DVD player happens to be on sale, I can buy that, and my ability to watch my DVD remains unchanged. Digital media is increasingly locking your access into a closed system. You are forced to read that book on Kindle. You will always be forced to read that book on Kindle.

But let's take this to a few other possibilities. Let's say Amazon decides to change the text of a book because they feel that a certain line no longer fits with their values as a company. Or, what if they decide to ban certain books outright? They can just delete those sentences or books right off your Kindle, and there's nothing you can do about it. Or, and this is something I think is a very high possibility, what happens when Amazon decides that recurring and predictable revenue is better for their profits and moves Kindle to a subscription-only model. What is to prevent them from cutting off access to your purchased books and locking them behind a monthly paywall? And if you think they can't do that, you need to be paying more attention to the shift to the subscription model that has been taking place across the digital landscape over the last 5+ years. If you're a new user, that might not seem like such a bad deal. But let's remember that Amazon was a pioneer in e-books, releasing Kindle way back in 2007. If you've been faithfully purchasing books from them since they began, that becomes a much bigger thing.

This is why it's important for us to remember that our consumption habits are nothing more than an opportunity for profit. Corporations keep finding ways to turn those habits against us in order to maximize those profits. Why settle for selling a book to a customer once when you can force them to pay a recurring membership fee to keep reading within your walled garden? Perhaps the most absurd part of this whole thing is that libraries still exist. We already have FREE access to books whenever we want them, and services like Overdrive have made that access possible in a digital way as well.

I've heard it said that no one would be able to sell the idea of a library today, and I think that is true. It's also why they matter so much. Public goods and services are the few remaining strongholds of resistance to capitalism we have left. We need them as much as they need us. We should be supporting them while they're still around.

** Aside: I left Kindle years ago when I realized they were tracking my reading data and using it to make more profit.

"We need to value the consequences of our actions more than the cleverness of our ideas." (Ruined by Design)

While this statement is written for designers, I think this is something that can—and should—be applied more broadly. Our economy runs on ideas. Business ideas that are tidied up just enough to find venture backing, seen to be a path profit for those doing the investing. Advertising ideas crafted to chase awards and notoriety. Marketing ideas that are praised on their ability to stand out amidst a rising tide of excessive content. The better the idea, the faster we move with it. Monteiro's point is a call to slow down and consider the potential consequences of these ideas before we put them into action.

Unfortunately, slow and deliberate thinking is rarely rewarded in our economy.

"Where we put our labour is a choice; a choice that we should be willing and able to make with our eyes wide open, fully aware of its repercussions. Who we work for and how we do that work are the only things that matter right now." (Ruined by Design)

I've often felt that where I worked mattered more to me than things like how much I make or even what it is I am doing. Of course those things are important, but the balance for me has always tilted slightly in favour of wanting to work somewhere that I feel aligned. That's not always an easy thing to find and I'm grateful for the times in my life when I have had it.

At the end of my life, I want my kids to know that I did what I could to not screw the planet up too bad and to make things better for other people. Even if that maybe cost them a few luxuries that their friends had.

Picked up the 'sh*tty pulp edition' of Ruined by Design recently. This was one of my favourite books I read a few years ago and so it's a good excuse for a reread. A lot has happened since I first read it—both in my personal life and in the world—so I'm interested to see what resonates now.

In the intro, Monteiro describes the goal of the book as wanting to "help you do the right thing in environments designed to make it easier to do the wrong thing." I think this is a perfect description of the tension of trying to work for a better world under capitalism. It's something that time and time again I have grown frustrated by how much the system, those environments he speaks of, are resistant to change. The question of whether or not capitalism is capable of producing a common good, one I have reflected on previously, seems to keep coming up as a no.

Capitalism relies on the myth that profit and the common good can coexist. It's what has fuelled Silicon Valley's techno-futuristic promises up to this point. Sure, you have to ignore all the missteps along the way. Selling people's data, massive efficiency layoffs, union-busting, those are all necessary evils on the road to a better tomorrow. But the truth is these aren't in the pursuit of good, these are done in the pursuit of profit. As Monteiro puts it,

“When the people at the top tell you they want to change the world, it’s generally because they’ve figured out how to profit even more from those below them.”

Came across this research paper making the rounds on LinkedIn last week. It's a study looking at the impact of AI usage on our critical thinking and other cognitive functions. The authors note:

"While cognitive offloading can free up cognitive resources, there is concern that it may lead to a reduction in cognitive effort, fostering what some researchers refer to as ‘cognitive laziness’. This condition might diminish the inclination to engage in deep, reflective thinking. The use of AI tools for tasks like memory and decision-making could lead to a decline in individuals’ abilities to perform these tasks independently, potentially reducing cognitive resilience and flexibility over time."

Though I am sure that this is a nuanced topic and a need for some healthy debate around this remains, I am thankful that this is getting attention. Technology, like any tool can be beneficial in the ways it helps us achieve efficiency in tasks we do repeatedly. Yet, there is always a risk that if we become too reliant on that tool we might forget how to do the task without it. Skills can be diminished and lost entirely if not used.

My growing concern with AI has been a fear that it might erode our abilities to learn and think critically about things; and this study certainly lends itself to that theory. Yes, an AI tool might be able to summarize a book, an article, or meeting notes and save me the time of doing it myself; but efficiency should not be our only goal. Being able to critically evaluate something we read or hear and know how to pull out the useful or quality parts is crucial—especially as information online becomes less and less trustworthy.