Legal intern Suzanne Castillo co-authored of this post.

Playstation’s decision to kill physical game discs is the latest attack on our diminishing rights to access and engage with culture digitally. Rent-seeking corporations and negligent lawmakers share the blame — and they can do better. 

We’ve seen the same playbook used in the move to digital distribution of  film, TV, and music: draw in customers with the convenience of a digital download, then limit physical access and move the goalpost on what it actually means to “own” a piece of media. The end goal is to turn the customer into a renter, stuck making regular subscription payments for access. Gamers are right to sound the alarm, and we must take this moment to fight for digital ownership before it’s too late.

Disk Space Invaders

Depriving gamers of physical discs leads to another obvious and immediate cost: data.  Unlike other digital media like film and TV, video games require a ton of storage. Access to high speed internet is still abysmal in the US, making the high-speeds needed for digital game downloads a luxury some of us may take for granted. For many, a modern game can take days and exceed their data caps. 

This made physical discs, particularly for the biggest AAA titles, a logical choice that also largely spared gamers from losing traditional ownership rights. With physical disks, the cost of storing the game was included in the purchase.

Own or Be Pwned

Limiting customers to digital copies also pushes gamers further into rent-only copyright culture.

Physical media comes with a "right of first sale," which means you can lawfully share, resell, alter, or destroy your own copy of a copyrighted work. This right has also helped protect the emergence of alternative community servers, and emulator addition of online play to games from the dial up era.

But courts have held that digital media doesn't carry the same right, meaning no such protection is afforded to digital purchases. Your ability to freely share games with friends or pass them on to family members becomes totally subject to the whims of the distributor. 

So, for example, a digital-only approach effectively guts the second-hand market for games. Saving some money with a used game and recouping the costs by reselling are no longer an option. Even with steep discounts and holiday sales, this raises the minimum cost of engaging with the medium at all.

The inevitable conclusion of the move to digital-only purchases is to lock gamers into  subscription models, making their access totally dependent on the distributor — or, several distributors, as we’ve seen with major TV and movie streamers. A handful of companies actually own the games, and your only option is to regularly pay for fractured libraries of games you may never play and will never truly own.

Achievement Locked

Since digital games are easy to copy, distributors and publishers argue that they are in an arms race against piracy. The irony is that law-abiding customers consistently suffer collateral damage. 

Most digital distributors lock down the content they offer with restrictive user agreements and digital rights management (DRM) software. DRM software, in particular, imposes onerous controls on the game — like forcing internet connection for single player games or modifications that harm performance — and can even introduce serious privacy and security concerns. Any gamer or researcher in the US who wants to reduce this burden by removing or modifying that DRM risks a lawsuit, thanks to Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA). This federal law makes it illegal to alter DRM software, and is a beloved tool for companies trying to restrict how we can lawfully use our purchases — whether it’s a copy of the newest tractor simulator or a literal tractor. 

And since much of this DRM is tied to user accounts, ownership of a game is also revocable and modifiable for any number of reasons outside of your control. Error in your subscription payment? Your account got hacked? Licensing deal falls through with a major publisher? Developers want to kill the game in an update? All of this can limit or change your ability to access the game long after your so-called “purchase.”

Level-up Ownership

Policymakers can and should work to restore our ownership rights for the digital age. 

That starts with legal protections ensuring that the same rights that apply to physical media apply to digital media. Next up? Reform Section 1201 of the DMCA to clarify that it does not forbid fair uses.  

At the state level, we need meaningful consumer protections. Some promising models include California’s AB 1921, which would clarify what customers are actually paying for on digital storefronts and ensure some protections for maintaining discontinued games. The gaming industry has done its best to kill the bill, including claiming that private community servers are illegal. 

If you bought it, you should own it, and EFF will continue working to mitigate some of the worst harms of the DMCA 1201, defending modders, and fighting deceptive licensing that makes culture less free.

In a voice vote earlier this week, the House of Representatives passed H.R. 6028, the “Legislative Branch Agencies Clarification Act.” The legislation is presented as a technical reorganization of some government agencies, but it’s much more than that. 

H.R. 6028 would fundamentally change the U.S. Copyright Office, and not in a good way. The bill removes the Library of Congress’ current supervisory role over the Copyright Office, transfers several powers directly to the Register of Copyrights, and makes the Register a presidential appointee, confirmed by the Senate. 

These changes would make an office that’s already hugely influential in copyright and tech policy much more political. EFF first explained why that’s a terrible idea when it came up nearly a decade ago. This bill, like the older one, weakens the few public-interest checks and balances that do exist.  We hope the Senate promptly rejects this bill. 

The Copyright Office Doesn’t Need More Politics—Or More Power

The Copyright Office's main responsibilities are administrative and advisory. It registers copyrights, maintains records, grows the Library of Congress’s collections, and provides expertise to Congress on copyright law. But over the past two decades, the Office has also become increasingly influential in copyright policy debates that affect free expression, libraries, educators, competition—and everyday internet users. Unfortunately, it has not been a neutral advocate. The office’s recent report on the role of AI severely bungled the issue of fair use, prioritizing private licensing market “solutions” over user rights. 

Going further back, the Copyright Office supported one of the most infamous anti-internet proposals of all time—the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA), a disastrous internet censorship proposal that sparked one of the largest online protests in history. The Office has repeatedly advanced positions that favored large entertainment-industry interests over the public interest.

The Office also plays a major role in the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) Section 1201 rulemaking process, which determines when the public may lawfully bypass digital locks for activities such as security research, repair, preservation, or accessibility. EFF has used this process repeatedly to mitigate some of the worst harms of the DMCA. H.R. 6028 would move rulemaking authority over 1201 from the Librarian of Congress to the Register of Copyrights, further consolidating power within the Copyright Office itself.

The bill also makes the Register of Copyrights a presidential appointee confirmed by the Senate. Each administration will be pressured to pick nominees aligned with their own policy preferences, and the powerful copyright owning industries will invest even more heavily in lobbying to get their way, and influence the selection. This position should be focused on administrative ability and actual expertise, not lobbying and politics. 

The Copyright Office Should Stay Connected To The Library of Congress

H.R. 6028 would do more than change who appoints the Register of Copyrights. It would sever the Copyright Office from Library of Congress supervision and transfer many Librarian powers directly to the Register. 

The supervisory relationship exists for good reason, as the nation’s libraries have pointed out for years. The Library, while far from perfect, at least has the mission of preserving and providing access to knowledge. That should be an important public-interest counterweight in copyright debates. Congress has not explained how weakening the ties between the Library and the Copyright Office would serve the public better, or even seriously inquired about it. 

This Bill Was Rushed Through

Back in March, EFF joined Public Knowledge, the Center for Democracy and Technology, library organizations and tech groups, urging Congress not to fast-track this legislation. We told them changes to the Copyright Office will have major consequences for the “speech rights, educational opportunities, and creative freedoms of all Americans.” 

Yet Congress moved forward without any hearings on the bill, and without meaningful examination. H.R. 6028 creates a years-long separation of the Copyright Office from the Library of Congress, transfers significant legal authority, and restructures the appointment process for the nation’s top copyright official. Changes like that deserve hearings, debate, and public scrutiny. H.R. 6028 got none of that. 

The Senate Should Stop This Bill

Copyright law exists to serve the public and “promote the progress” of science and learning. The institutions that administer copyright law should do the same. 

H.R. 6028 would move the Copyright Office further away from that goal. Congress should be strengthening public-interest oversight of copyright policymaking, not looking for ways to concentrate more authority in a single presidentially appointed official. 

The Senate should reject H.R. 6028. The Copyright Office should serve the public—not presidential administrations, and not industry lobbyists.