Once you buy something, it should be yours.
As the video game industry accelerates its retreat from physical media, a French presidential candidate has raised a question older than the digital age itself: what does it mean to truly own something? Jean-Luc Mélenchon's campaign against Sony and Rockstar Games' shift to digital-only releases is, at its core, a confrontation between the logic of corporate control and the ancient human expectation that a purchase is a possession. The European Union, caught between the rights of creators and the rights of buyers, has chosen not to choose — leaving citizens to navigate a marketplace where ownership is increasingly a courtesy rather than a guarantee.
- Sony's plan to end physical disc production by 2028, combined with Rockstar's digital-only release of the most anticipated game in history, has brought the industry's long march away from physical media to a decisive threshold.
- Mélenchon's warning cuts to the nerve: digital purchases are licenses, not ownership, and publishers can revoke them at will — a power that has already erased entire games from existence when servers went dark.
- His petition to preserve physical copies drew significant public support, revealing a deep and widespread anxiety among European gamers about losing sovereignty over their own cultural lives.
- The European Union declined to intervene, citing the property rights of creators and publishers, leaving the conflict between consumer ownership and corporate control without a referee or a resolution.
On July 3rd, Jean-Luc Mélenchon — France's hard-left presidential candidate — entered an unlikely arena, coming out forcefully against the video game industry's abandonment of physical media. The immediate catalyst was Sony's announcement that it would cease producing PlayStation discs by 2028, moving entirely to digital downloads. Rockstar Games had already made the same declaration for Grand Theft Auto VI, a title widely expected to become the largest-selling cultural product ever made. For Mélenchon, the shift represented something more than a business pivot: the quiet erosion of what people actually own.
His argument was pointed and accessible. A digital game is not a possession — it is a license, and licenses can be revoked. Publishers can withdraw access at any moment, whether for profit, bankruptcy, or simple indifference. Mélenchon called this confiscation, framing it as a seizure of cultural heritage from the public. He launched a petition demanding the preservation of physical copies, which gathered considerable support and reflected a genuine anxiety spreading across European gaming communities. Physical media, after all, can be resold, lent, and kept on a shelf indefinitely — it does not disappear when a company decides a title is no longer worth maintaining.
What made his intervention striking was its political origin. The left is not typically associated with defending property rights, but Mélenchon's case was not a defense of capitalism — it was a defense of people against it. The distinction mattered. He was not protecting markets; he was insisting that a purchase should mean something.
The European Union, however, chose not to act. Officials cautioned that intervening on behalf of consumers could infringe on the intellectual property rights of creators and publishers. It was a familiar deadlock — the rights of those who make things against the rights of those who buy them — and the EU declined to resolve it. The industry's digital transition continues unchecked, and the window for owning games in any traditional sense grows narrower with each passing announcement.
On July 3rd, Jean-Luc Melenchon, France's hard-left presidential candidate, took an unexpected stand: he came out swinging against the video game industry's shift away from physical media. The trigger was Sony's announcement that it would stop pressing PlayStation games onto discs starting in 2028, moving entirely to digital downloads. Rockstar Games, the publisher behind Grand Theft Auto VI—predicted to become the largest-selling cultural product ever made—had already declared its next release would be digital only. For Melenchon, a politician known for advocating the nationalization of essential services, this represented something more fundamental: the erosion of what people actually own.
His concern was straightforward and worth taking seriously. Once games exist only as digital files, publishers gain the power to revoke access whenever they choose. A person who buys a digital game doesn't own it in any traditional sense; they license it, and that license can be terminated. "Buyers' rights will be denied," Melenchon warned. He framed the shift not as a business decision but as a form of confiscation—a seizure of cultural property that belongs to the public. "Don't allow them to confiscate our cultural heritage. Retake control!" he wrote, launching a petition to preserve physical copies.
The gaming industry has been moving toward digital distribution for years. It's more profitable: no manufacturing costs, no shipping, no used game market to compete with. But a substantial portion of gamers still prefer owning physical copies. The reasons are practical and emotional. Physical games can be traded, sold secondhand, lent to friends. They don't vanish if a company goes bankrupt or decides a title is no longer profitable. They sit on a shelf as proof of ownership. More broadly, the disappearance of older online games—titles people paid for but can no longer access because servers were shut down—has created a genuine cultural crisis. Entire works are vanishing from existence, not because they were destroyed but because corporations decided they were no longer worth maintaining.
Melenchon's intervention was notable partly because it came from the left, a political tradition not typically associated with defending property rights. But his argument wasn't about defending capitalism; it was about defending people against it. He was saying that once you buy something, it should be yours. The petition he circulated gathered significant support, reflecting a real anxiety among European gamers about losing control over their digital lives.
The European Union, however, declined to act. Officials warned that intervening on behalf of consumers risked violating the property rights of game creators and publishers themselves. It was a familiar impasse: the rights of creators to control their work versus the rights of buyers to own what they've purchased. The EU chose not to referee that conflict, leaving the tension unresolved. For now, the industry's march toward digital-only continues, and gamers who want to own their games physically have a shrinking window to do so.
Notable Quotes
Buyers' rights will be denied— Jean-Luc Melenchon, warning about digital-only game distribution
Don't allow them to confiscate our cultural heritage. Retake control!— Jean-Luc Melenchon, in his petition to save physical video games
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a left-wing politician care about property rights? Isn't that usually a conservative argument?
It is, but Melenchon's point isn't about defending capitalism. He's saying that once you hand over money for something, you should own it—not license it. That's actually a consumer protection argument, not a property rights argument in the traditional sense.
So the real issue is that digital games can be taken away?
Exactly. With a physical disc, you own it forever. With digital, the publisher can revoke your access anytime. They could shut down servers, delist the game, or simply decide you no longer have permission to play what you paid for.
But don't game creators have a right to control their own work?
They do, and that's why the EU hesitated. But there's a difference between controlling your work and controlling what people own after they've bought it. That's where the tension lives.
Is this actually a big deal, or is Melenchon just grandstanding?
It's real. Entire games have already disappeared from digital storefronts. People paid for them and can no longer access them. It's not hypothetical—it's happening now. The petition gathered over a million signatures across Europe.
What happens next?
Nothing, probably, unless the EU changes its mind. The industry keeps moving toward digital-only, and the window for owning games physically keeps closing.