Consumer Rights in Tech: Myrtle Beach Event Highlights Ownership Erosion

Standing in a Myrtle Beach community center, Kevin O’Reilly held up a smartphone. It wasn’t a new model. It was a device fully paid for, yet he described it as being on a digital leash. The audience, a mix of retirees, small business owners and young tech workers, nodded in a shared, simmering recognition. They were gathered for a discussion hosted by the FULLU Foundation, and the topic was an unease many feel but struggle to name: the slow-motion disappearance of outright ownership.

O’Reilly’s argument, echoing across their nationwide tour, cuts to the core of our modern relationship with technology. We don’t buy products anymore, he contends, we merely license them. The transaction is no longer a transfer of property but the beginning of a relationship, one where the terms are dictated by end-user license agreements longer than some novels and enforced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA). This legal framework, designed to combat piracy, has been stretched into a tool that can lock down the software in everything from a tractor to a thermostat, making independent repair or modification a potential copyright violation.

This is the engine of what he calls “the subscription-driven business model.” It’s the reason your car’s heated seats might require a monthly fee, a reality already emerging in some markets. It’s the software in a farm combine that only a dealer can reset. It’s the smart home device that becomes a useless brick if the company’s servers go offline or decides to end support. Ownership, in its traditional sense—the right to tinker, to fix, to modify, to use indefinitely—is being quietly eroded, replaced by a perpetual revenue stream for manufacturers. The tangible product is just the delivery mechanism for the software, and the software is never truly yours.

The frustration in that room was palpable because it’s a friction point in daily life. It’s the printer that rejects third-party ink cartridges. It’s the inability to replace a cracked smartphone screen at the local repair shop without potentially voiding a warranty or triggering a security lock. As reported by MIT Technology Review, this shift creates a “repair monopoly,” driving up costs for consumers and generating massive electronic waste. The right to repair isn’t just about saving money; it’s about autonomy, sustainability, and resisting planned obsolescence.

• Loss of Ownership: We no longer truly own the products we purchase.
• Repair Monopoly: Restrictions prevent independent repairs.
• Sustainability Issues: Increased electronic waste from non-reparable devices.
• Bipartisan Support: Growing political traction for right-to-repair laws.
• Consumer Frustration: Everyday products are increasingly difficult to fix.
• Legal Barriers: Copyright laws create obstacles to repair and modification.

This movement is gaining remarkable, bipartisan political traction precisely because the grievance is so universal. The letter-writing campaign targeting U.S. Representative Russell Fry, urging support for stronger right-to-repair laws, reflects a groundswell that transcends traditional political divides. A farmer in rural America and a graphic designer in San Francisco might agree on little else, but they can share a profound irritation at being locked out of the devices they depend on. The Federal Trade Commission has taken note, prioritizing “unfair repair restrictions” in its enforcement agenda, signaling a regulatory awakening to these anti-competitive practices.

The technological irony is deep. We live in an age of unprecedented access to information and tools. Online forums and video platforms like YouTube are filled with detailed repair guides created by passionate individuals. The knowledge exists. The community will exist. But legal and digital walls, often built on claims of security or copyright, are deliberately placed between that communal knowledge and the physical product. It creates a paradox where we are simultaneously more connected and more powerless over our own possessions.

Walking out of that meeting, the conversation lingered. It’s no longer just about a broken screen or a costly dealer visit. It’s a fundamental question about the nature of purchase in the 21st century. Are we building a future where every object is a ticking subscription, a permanent tenant in our lives that pays rent to a corporate landlord? Or can we reclaim the idea that when we buy something, we own it—to use, to understand, to fix, and to control? The answer will be written not just in laws like those the FULLU Foundation champions but in the choices we make and the values we demand from the technology that shapes our world.