A Polemic against Planned Obsolescence

Note: This column was originally published in the Winter 2007 edition of The SAWPer, the Newsletter of the Southern Arizona Writing Project.

Recently, my cell phone contract came up for renewal. I reluctantly conceded that I “need” my cell phone to coordinate events in my role of divorced co-parent of two preschool children, gypsy scholar, and freelancer who is hardly ever in one predictable place with a real phone where I can be reached. So I renewed the contract. My phone promptly malfunctioned--I’m not kidding--the same week! When I went to the Unnamed Wireless Store to describe and solve my problem, the salesman joked that they had a “button” to push at the reactivation of each contract so customers have to “upgrade” their phones after they’re already committed. “Just kidding,” he said. Ha, ha, I said, muttering under my breath about seeing the design and marketing principle of planned obsolescence in action.

When informed that no, my cell phone could NOT be fixed, I insisted that I be pointed to the cheapest replacement model they had. The sales staff got my message and stopped trying to describe in delectable terms the lusciously necessary features of the shiny phones attached by wires to the displays in the center of the store, and led me to the back, to a nondescript grey shelf with two options. The one I selected (as if it mattered) wasn’t in stock.

I assumed that this new phone would fit right into my lifestyle, presto chango. To some extent, it did; for a “small fee” I had them transfer over all the stored telephone numbers and other information I’d fumbled to enter into my phone over the two years I owned it. But none of the “accessories” fit the new phone: not the battery rechargers (for home or auto) nor the handy belt clip/carrying case, or any of the other glamorous cell phone add-ons that lined the shelves, but that I’d rejected the first time, and certainly wasn’t going for now.

“What am I supposed to do with all this old stuff?” I asked. An apologetic shrug was the only answer I received. Now it’s all in a bag on a shelf in my office closet, waiting for its new home—along with an old computer hard drive, an old laptop, and various computer accessories that have started to pile up as I’ve upgraded over the years. Once I took my old Apple Macintosh—the one with the four inch monitor that I’d purchased upon graduation from college—to a local computer store because I heard they “donated” old equipment to some worthy cause. I handed over a box of bulky machinery and attachments, and watched as it was haphazardly piled into a storage shed in the back of the shopping center to join a tiny representative sample of all the abandoned plastic, metal, rubber, and whatever mysterious ingredients make up these technological tools we are learning to make use of every day. What really happens to all that stuff?

“Donate your old phone to the Brewster Center,” a friend advised me when I began to formulate my rant. “They distribute the phones to victims of domestic violence to use in case of emergency.” That would be a great idea if my phone worked, but in that case, I’d still be using it myself. I’ve also been advised by well-meaning friends to “donate” my old computer to a school. Sounds great, do something to support education! I’m all for that!

But here’s what I don’t know: if I don’t want the crummy old thing and my needs have outgrown its capacities, or if it doesn’t even work anymore (which is really the only reason I tend to replace something like that), why would I want to burden someone else with it? Does an average school system have a process for the intake, repair, distribution, installation and maintenance of these antique machines? I somehow doubt it; feel free, readers, to correct me if I’m wrong.

I can’t in good conscience pass on my pain in the neck to someone else. I need more viable, conscionable alternatives, and I need to know more about the path my junk will take when it leaves my care: not just where it goes next, but where it ultimately ends up. If it is dumped in a landfill now or after it’s been driven around town a few times, it’s still “my bad,” to use a bit of current vernacular. My karmically-motivated, individually accountable self is still winning out over the part of me that wants to clear my clutter in a nice clean sweep for the new year.

Ultimately, I want to do something to put a stop to the practice of planned obsolescence. Tweaking the circuitry for every new model is certainly commercially feasible--what a way to make a buck on newer and shinier gadgets--but it creates a gigantic mess in a very short amount of time, if a cell phone or computer has an active lifespan of only a few years, and so many of us are clamoring for the newer, faster (or simply functional) model. What can I do as a semi-conscious consumer and ordinary citizen to make a whit of difference, aside from ranting about the problem?

I’ve posed a lot of questions without providing a single solution. At the moment I don’t have enough of the tenacity required to serve as investigative reporter, so all I can do is show where I have started in my own search for solutions. I hope some of this information can help others battle the growing mound of technical detritus that is backing up in homes and/or workplaces (I know I’m not the only one).

As a parent, educator and common citizen of our planet, I charge myself and others to think carefully and critically about the solutions we choose to implement as we deal with this issue. Please, let us learn ways to defeat the monster of consumerism and clean up its defecation while responsibly sustaining the convenience and quality of our lives.

Places to start:
• McDonough, William and Michael Braungart. 2002. Cradle to Cradle: Remaking the Way We Make Things. New York: North Point Press.
If the issues that I touch on in this column disturb you even a little bit, PLEASE read this book. Then join the Cradle to Cradle Community.
• A web resource by Earth911: Making Every Day Earth Day. This site answers some of my questions with its various informative links, and even provides a search function (by zip code for precision) to find reuse and recycling centers in our own communities.