What spurred this post

Earlier today I was hanging in the OpenMandriva space on Matrix and the topic of piracy came up. Arguments for both sides of it came up and there were lots of great points on both sides. But the one common thing that they kept hitting on and skirting around is that the problem is licensing of digitial products. Whether it’s software, audio/video files or ebooks. The licensing is dumb and creates artificial restrictions that only protect larg companies and corporations and not the end user or in many cases the developers and creators themselves.

The ideas I propse below are both ethical and moral in my opinion and are the most likely to be considered acceptable by the general public. Many of the ideas are already in practice in real world use cases. They only need more light shed on them and eyes and ears to hear about them. I firmly believe that these ideas, when they get a large enough audience, will crush the big tech and mega corporations tight grip they have on the marketplace.

10 reasons why licensing is dumb:

– You Don’t Really Own It.
You shell out money, but you’re not buying the software—you’re just renting permission to use it. It’s like paying full price for a car but only getting a lease with a million restrictions.

– Restrictions on Use.
Licenses often dictate how, where, and on what devices you can use the product. Want to install it on both your laptop and desktop? Too bad—some licenses say one device only.

– Expiration Dates.
Ever buy something that just… stops working because the license ran out? It’s absurd to pay for a product that self-destructs unless you renew.

– Forced Updates.
Some licenses tie you to mandatory updates or subscriptions. You might like the version you bought, but nope—pay up or lose functionality.

– No Resale Value.
Unlike physical goods, you can’t sell your licensed software to someone else when you’re done. That $200 program? It’s a sunk cost forever.

– Corporate Control.
Licenses give companies creepy levels of power over your stuff. They can remotely disable your software or track your usage—feels more like spyware than a product.

– Region Locks.
Licensing can restrict where you’re allowed to use it. Move to another country? Sorry, your software might not work because of some arbitrary geo-rule.

– Over complicated Terms.
Ever read a license agreement? It’s a novel of legal gibberish designed to confuse you into compliance. Most people just click “agree” without knowing what they’re signing up for.

– Punishment for Modifying.
Want to tweak the software to suit your needs? Licenses often forbid it, even if you’re just trying to make it work better for you. It’s your purchase, but not your freedom.
– Planned Obsolescence.
Licenses can be a sneaky way to force you into buying new versions. They stop supporting the old one, kill its license compatibility, and suddenly you’re stuck upgrading.

Licensing is built to protect companies, not users. It turns a straightforward purchase into a maze of rules and limitations—hardly the freedom you’d expect from owning something digital.

Moral Alternatives
Here are five moral alternatives to traditional software and digital product licensing that ensure developers and creators get paid for their work, while respecting users and avoiding the privacy-invasive trap of advertising:

– Pay-Once Ownership Model.
Users pay a fair, one-time price for perpetual access to the software or digital product—no expiration, no subscriptions. Developers set the price to reflect their effort and ongoing support costs. You own it outright, like a physical book or tool, with no strings attached. Updates could be optional purchases, keeping the base product functional forever.

– Crowdfunding Development.
Creators pitch their project to the public, and users fund it upfront through contributions. Once the goal is met, the finished product is released freely to all backers (and sometimes the public) under an open model. Developers get paid directly for their labor, and users get unrestricted access without ongoing licensing nonsense.

– Patronage Subscriptions.
Instead of locking software behind a license, creators offer a voluntary subscription where supporters pay a recurring amount to fund ongoing development. In return, patrons get the software, updates, and maybe some perks (like early access), but the core product remains usable for everyone, even non-patrons, after a delay. It’s opt-in support, not forced compliance.

– Community-Supported Open Source.
The software is fully open source—free to use, modify, and share—but developers are sustained by donations, grants, or a “pay-what-you-can” model from the community. Users who value the work chip in to keep it alive, while everyone benefits from unrestricted access. It’s a trust-based system that rewards quality.

– Service-Backed Purchase.
You buy the software once, and it’s yours to use indefinitely, but developers offer optional paid services—like cloud storage, premium support, or custom features—to generate steady income. The base product isn’t crippled or licensed away; the extras are just a bonus for those who want them.

These approaches prioritize fairness: creators get compensated for their time and talent, and users get real ownership or access without being nickel-and-dimed or surveilled. It’s about mutual respect instead of control.

Fair trade goods

It seems like you’re interested in expanding on the idea of fair trade principles applied to digital goods, building off the moral alternatives we just discussed. Let’s explore what “fair trade digital goods” could mean—ensuring creators are paid justly while users get ethical, unrestricted access. I’ll frame this as a concept with practical examples, assuming that’s where you’re headed.
Fair trade in the physical world guarantees producers a living wage, safe conditions, and transparency. For digital goods—like software, music, or e-books—a “fair trade” model could balance the needs of developers and content creators with user rights, avoiding exploitative licensing traps. Here’s how it might look, with five key pillars:

1. Transparent Pricing.
Creators openly break down costs—development time, tools, support—so users know exactly what they’re paying for. For example, a game dev might say, “$30 covers 500 hours of coding and art.” Users pay once, get the product forever, no hidden license fees.

2. Guaranteed Creator Compensation.
A fair trade label could certify that developers receive a living wage upfront, not just scraps from subscriptions or royalties. Think of a co-op model: a team builds an app, splits the sales evenly, and users buy it knowing the money directly supports the makers.

3. Unrestricted User Rights.
Once purchased, the digital good is yours—no DRM (digital rights management) or licenses locking it to one device. Imagine downloading an e-book and being able to read it anywhere, forever, like a paperback, with creators still paid fairly at the point of sale.

4. Community Accountability.
A fair trade digital marketplace could let users and creators vote on what projects get funded, ensuring ethical practices. For instance, a music album gets crowdfunded, the artist sets a fair price, and buyers get DRM-free tracks—everyone sees where the money goes.

5. Sustainable Support Options.
Instead of forced updates or subscriptions, creators offer optional ways to keep the lights on—like donations or paid add-ons—while the core product remains fully functional. Picture a video editor sold for $50, with an optional $10/year for new filters, all voluntary.

This could work in practice with a platform certifying “fair trade digital goods.” For exasmple, a photo-editing tool is sold for $40—users get lifetime access, the developer’s team earns a decent cut (say, $30 after platform fees), and there’s no licensing nonsense. Or a musician releases an album for $10, with clear info: “This pays for studio time and my rent.” Users feel good knowing their money supports real people, not corporate gatekeepers.

It’s a shift from control to trust—creators thrive, users aren’t shackled, and the digital world feels less like a rigged game.

An Ethical Digital Marketplace

Building on the fair trade digital goods idea, let’s flesh out the concept of ethical digital marketplaces—platforms where creators are fairly paid, users get genuine value, and the whole system prioritizes integrity over exploitation. These marketplaces would be the practical backbone for distributing digital products (software, music, art, e-books, etc.) in a way that ditches licensing headaches and respects everyone involved. Here’s what they could look like, with five core features and some real-world flavor:

– Creator-First Revenue Sharing.
The platform takes a minimal cut—say, 5-10%—and the rest goes straight to creators, unlike the 30% or more gouged by some app stores. For example, a developer sells a $20 app; they pocket $18-$19, enough to live on, while the platform covers hosting and payment processing. Transparency shows users exactly where their money goes.

– No DRM or Licensing Locks.
Everything sold is yours to keep, use, and move freely—no digital handcuffs. Buy a digital album? Download the MP3s and play them anywhere. Get a game? Install it on any device you own. Creators are paid upfront, so they don’t need to cling to control through restrictive licenses.

– Community-Driven Curation.
Instead of algorithms pushing whatever’s trending, users and creators rate and review products based on quality and ethics. Think of a marketplace where a $15 e-book gets spotlighted because its author paid contributors fairly, not because it’s backed by a big publisher. It’s meritocracy over marketing.

– Flexible Payment Models.
Ethical marketplaces could support one-time purchases, pay-what-you-want, or voluntary patronage—letting users choose how to support creators without coercion. Imagine a video editing tool: $30 to own it forever, or $5/month to fund updates, both options clear and optional. No forced subscriptions, just trust in value.

– Sustainability and Accountability.
Platforms commit to ethical operations—openly auditing creator payouts, ensuring no shady middlemen, and even supporting open-source projects. Picture a marketplace that donates 1% of sales to fund free tools for students, with creators opting in because it aligns with their values.

How It Could Work

Picture a platform like “EthiMarket.” A musician uploads an album for $10; 90% ($9) goes to them, and buyers get high-quality files with no DRM. A coder sells a productivity app for $25; they keep $22.50, and users download a fully unlocked version. A writer offers an e-book with a “pay-what-you-can” option, averaging $8 per sale, and still earns a living because the platform’s low fees don’t bleed them dry. Reviews highlight ethical practices—like fair wages for collaborators—building trust.

Why It’s Better

Unlike today’s giants (think App Store or Amazon), ethical marketplaces wouldn’t trap creators in exploitative royalty schemes or users in licensing mazes. They’d prove you can pay people well without treating buyers like tenants. It’s a win-win: creators get a living wage, users get freedom, and the platform sustains itself modestly.

Change often sticks better when it starts small, gains traction, and scales up, rather than trying to topple the big players in one national—or digital—sweep. Let’s break down why this could work and how it might play out.

Why Localized Communities Could Shift the Tide

1. Trust and Tangibility
People are more likely to buy into a system they can see and touch—literally or figuratively. A local community of creators and users, maybe centered around a city or niche interest (like indie game devs in Portland or musicians in Austin), builds trust through familiarity. You’re not pitching an abstract “ethical marketplace” to millions; you’re showing your neighbor how a $10 app sale paid a coder down the street. It’s real, not theoretical.
2. Proving the Model Works
Small wins demonstrate viability. If a local marketplace—say, 50 creators and 500 users—thrives without DRM, pays people fairly, and delivers great products, it’s a blueprint others can copy. Like a city council win showing a party can govern, a successful local digital co-op proves ethical markets aren’t just hippie dreams. Word spreads, and soon you’ve got ten towns doing it, then a hundred.

How It Could Look

Picture this:
– Step 1: Start Tiny
A handful of developers, artists, and writers in a region (say, a county or online fandom) form a mini-marketplace. They sell direct—$20 apps, $5 albums, $10 e-books—no licensing, no middlemen. They use a simple platform (maybe a co-op site with a 5% fee) and promote it at local meetups, forums, or farmers’ markets.
– Step 2: Build Loyalty
Users join because they know the creators—think “I bought this game from Sarah at the coffee shop” or “This e-book funded my buddy’s rent.” The lack of DRM feels like a perk, not a risk, because the community’s tight-knit. Creators share revenue splits publicly, so buyers feel good about every dollar.
– Step 3: Scale Horizontally
Once it works, nearby communities replicate it. A “Local Digital Fair Trade Network” emerges—each node independent but linked by shared principles. One group might focus on software, another on art. They swap tips, not mandates, growing organically like political precincts flipping one by one.

Why It Beats a “Big Bang” Approach

Going national—or global—right away means battling mega-corps head-on, and they’ve got deep pockets and deeper influence. Think of it like an election: you don’t win the presidency without first securing city halls and statehouses. Small communities can fly under the radar, perfect the model, and build a base of believers. By the time the big players notice, you’ve got a coalition too rooted to squash.

Real-World Parallel

It’s already kinda happening—look at Bandcamp for music. It’s not fully DRM-free or licensing-free across the board, but it’s a platform where artists set terms, keep most of the cash, and connect directly with fans, often locally at first. Or consider indie game jams where devs sell straight to players on itch.io, skipping the Steam tax. These are seeds; a fair trade certification or local co-op could supercharge them.

The Ripple Effect

If a dozen towns or online niches pull this off—say, each with $50,000 in annual sales—that’s $600,000 flowing to creators without corporate skimming. Users get hooked on the freedom of no DRM, and creators see they don’t need licensing to survive. It’s not utopia overnight, but it’s momentum. Like local elections tipping a state, these pockets could pressure bigger markets to adapt or lose relevance.

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