Spam, silence, and broken promises: the reality about Patreon and Mailgun

There are times when a personal annoyance turns into something larger, something that reveals how companies operate behind the glossy façade of professionalism. What started for me as a simple decision, unsubscribing from a Patreon creator who never delivered content, has grown into a case study in how platforms abuse their users’ trust and how their partners, like Mailgun, fail to resolve the problems they help create.

I stopped sponsoring that creator long ago. Yet Patreon never stopped sending me emails. At first it was the occasional announcement, then it became unwanted advertising, and now it has crossed the line into outright spam. Twice a week, like clockwork, a message arrives in my inbox. Each time, I hit unsubscribe. Each time, I mark it as spam. And each time, the emails return, as if nothing I do makes any difference.

Frustrated, I turned to the companies themselves. I contacted Patreon and received no answer. I contacted Mailgun, the email provider Patreon uses, and for a moment I thought progress was possible. A support agent responded, a ticket was opened, and follow-up messages arrived to let me know they were “looking into it”. But then came the twist: the ticket was closed because I hadn’t replied, even though it was them who owed me an answer, not the other way around. The absurdity of this would be comical if it weren’t so revealing.

This is the face of what many call modern customer support: a conveyor belt designed to process queues, not to solve problems. Tickets are shuffled, messages are sent automatically, and the responsibility to keep the issue alive is subtly pushed back onto the customer. If you fail to chase them, the case simply disappears into a closed file. The company looks efficient in its metrics, tickets closed, queues cleared, but the problem remains unresolved.

And this is not the first time I’ve faced such a situation. Readers may recall when I wrote about my dealings with Razer’s support system, where for days I received the same templated email signed by different names, each one assuring me that “we’re looking into your issue”. After enough cycles, the process returned to square one, repeating the same questions and ignoring the information I had already provided. It was a carousel of promises without resolution, a system where the appearance of follow-up replaced actual progress.

What connects these experiences is not just inconvenience but a fundamental breakdown in accountability. These companies employ dozens, sometimes hundreds, of support staff. Yet the structure of their systems makes those employees little more than extensions of an automated script. Messages are sent, boxes are ticked, but no one takes true ownership of the case. The user becomes trapped in an endless loop, repeating themselves to new agents who never bother to check the history of the complaint.

The irony is that while companies like Patreon and Mailgun can demonstrate technical sophistication in delivering millions of emails or scaling their platforms, they cannot demonstrate the basic competence of listening to their users. And when they fail, the impact is not small. It erodes trust, wastes time, and in the case of unsolicited email, crosses into the territory of legal violations.

So this post is not just about me receiving spam from Patreon, or about Mailgun’s evasive ticket handling. It is about a wider culture of neglect, where support systems are built for appearances rather than solutions. It is about companies that pretend to care while leaving users stranded. And it is about how, here in Europe, our laws to protect privacy and regulate communication are poorly enforced, leaving individuals unprotected against these recurring abuses.

The broken machinery of customer support

Behind the polished surfaces of websites and apps lies a machinery that claims to serve the customer but too often functions as little more than a ticket conveyor belt. It is built to give the illusion of order, responsiveness, and care, yet in practice it often grinds the user down into silence. My case with Patreon and Mailgun is only one among countless examples. The patterns repeat across industries, which suggests this is not an exception but a systemic flaw in how digital companies approach service.

The first element of this machinery is the ticketing system. A user submits a complaint or request, and the system assigns it a number, a category, and a spot in a queue. At first glance, this seems efficient, but the structure shifts the responsibility away from the company and onto the customer. If the company fails to respond, the burden falls on the user to keep the case alive, to keep replying, to keep insisting. Otherwise the ticket is closed automatically, logged as “resolved”, and buried under statistics that make the company look efficient.

The second element is the repetition of scripted responses. Instead of engaging with the substance of a complaint, agents are often required to follow predefined templates. These templates may sound polite, but they rarely address the actual problem. In my Razer case, I was caught in a cycle of identical replies, each one signed by a different employee, each one promising they were “looking into it”. What this revealed was not a team of dedicated staff but a rotating cast of names attached to the same empty template. The cycle eventually reset, and the case began again as though no history existed.

The third element is the illusion of escalation. Companies often promise that a case is being “escalated to the relevant department”. To the user, this suggests progress, yet in reality it often means the opposite: the ticket is placed into a new queue, perhaps with higher priority, but still with no one taking ownership. Escalation becomes a synonym for delay, not resolution. The case continues to move, but not forward.

The fourth element is fragmentation of responsibility. In the Patreon–Mailgun situation, each company could point to the other. Patreon could say, “We use Mailgun to send emails, so the delivery system is theirs”. Mailgun could say, “We only deliver emails, the content and lists come from Patreon”. This back-and-forth leaves the user stranded in the middle, with no clear path to accountability. The companies maintain their image, while the user shoulders the frustration.

These elements combine into a structure that is not designed to solve problems but to manage appearances. Companies measure success by the number of closed tickets, not by the number of satisfied users. They optimize for speed of response, not depth of solution. They prioritize the appearance of busyness, not the outcome of genuine care. The system is efficient only in hiding inefficiency.

For users, the effect is exhausting. Instead of being heard, you are made to repeat yourself. Instead of being guided toward a solution, you are looped back to the start. Instead of accountability, you are given a maze of automated reassurances. This is not support, it is theater, a performance of care that masks a reality of indifference.

The broken machinery of customer support reflects a deeper truth about modern platforms. These companies invest heavily in scalability, automation, and marketing, but they neglect the part of their business that deals directly with the individual. Support is treated as a cost center, not a core function, and the result is a system that values efficiency over empathy, metrics over meaning, and closure over resolution.

The question is no longer whether a single ticket is handled poorly. The question is whether we are willing to accept a model where systemic neglect is baked into design, where the very structures of support make resolution unlikely. If Patreon and Mailgun operate this way, and if Razer did too, how many others are quietly doing the same?

The Patreon-Mailgun case study

To understand how this machinery of neglect plays out in practice, it is useful to examine one case in detail: the ongoing emails I have received from Patreon, delivered through Mailgun, despite multiple unsubscribe attempts. It is a small story in the grand scheme of things, but precisely because it is small and clear, it exposes the larger failures of accountability in the digital ecosystem.

The story began simply. I had supported a designer on Patreon for several months, but when it became clear that no content was forthcoming, I decided to end the sponsorship. I expected the relationship with the platform to end there. Instead, my inbox became a channel for Patreon’s announcements, promotions, and later, full-fledged advertising. These were not messages I had opted into, nor content I wanted. They were intrusions.

Like any reasonable user, I clicked the unsubscribe link provided in those emails. Once, then again, then again. Each time, the same pattern followed: confirmation that my preferences had been updated, followed by more emails arriving a week later. Unsubscribing became a ritual of futility. What was presented as a user choice was revealed to be a simulation of choice, a design meant to reassure but not to function.

Frustrated, I reported the messages as spam. This step was not just about personal inconvenience but about principle. Spam is not defined solely by irrelevance; it is also defined by consent. Emails that continue after unsubscribing cross a legal boundary as well as an ethical one. Yet the reports did nothing to stop the flow. The messages continued, immune to individual protest.

At this point, I decided to escalate the issue. I contacted Patreon directly, explaining the problem and asking why my requests were being ignored. The silence was complete. No acknowledgement, no reply, no explanation. This absence of response said more than words could: the company was either unwilling or unable to address the issue. In either case, the message was clear, my complaint did not matter.

So I turned to Mailgun, the provider handling Patreon’s emails. Here, at first, there was a glimmer of professionalism. A support agent responded promptly, opening a ticket and assuring me that the matter would be investigated. Follow-up messages arrived, offering updates that the issue was being looked at. For a moment, I believed resolution might be possible.

But then the pattern emerged again. Days later, I received notice that the ticket was being closed, not because the problem had been solved, but because I had not replied. The burden had shifted back onto me, as if it were my responsibility to keep chasing them for progress. This is the perverse logic of support systems: the user becomes responsible for ensuring the company does its job. The case was logged as “closed”, but the spam continued.

The cycle repeated itself recently. New emails from Patreon appeared in my inbox. Once again, I contacted Mailgun. Once again, a ticket was opened. Once again, I found myself trapped in a loop where the company’s systems were designed not to solve but to reset, to erase history, to pretend each incident was new. It is Kafkaesque, but it is also ordinary, this is how many platforms now operate.

The Patreon–Mailgun case study illustrates the three key failures of modern customer service: unresponsive platforms, ineffective providers, and systems that offload responsibility onto the user. Together, these create an environment where problems are not solved, but managed, where tickets are not answered, but closed, and where spam can continue unchecked despite both ethical standards and legal requirements.

When support becomes theater instead of help

The experience with Patreon and Mailgun reveals one kind of failure, but it connects to a broader pattern visible across many companies: support as performance rather than resolution. The mechanics are familiar to anyone who has opened a ticket or written to a help desk. A polite reply arrives, often quickly, thanking you for your patience. Another message follows, reassuring you that “the team is looking into it”. Days later, another update comes, signed by a different name, repeating the same lines. It is not help, it is theater, a script designed to simulate progress without delivering it.

The clearest example of this in my own experience came not from Patreon or Mailgun but from Razer, the hardware manufacturer. When I reported a problem with one of their products, I entered a cycle of replies that all looked identical except for the signatures. Each message promised that the issue was being investigated, each one reassured me that resolution was on the way. Yet the case never advanced. After enough exchanges, the process reset itself, as though everything I had written before had vanished into a void. The support loop became a carousel of empty promises, turning endlessly without ever moving forward.

This system is not the result of individual negligence but of deliberate design. Companies create support structures that prioritize throughput over depth, speed over accuracy, and appearance over substance. The agents who respond to tickets are rarely empowered to investigate or solve problems; their role is to follow scripts, close tickets, and maintain the metrics that management tracks. In this environment, the actual issue at the core of the complaint can remain untouched indefinitely.

From the user’s perspective, the psychological effect is corrosive. Each reply raises hope, only for that hope to collapse under the weight of repetition. The pattern trains users to expect nothing, to assume that behind the politeness there is no intention to act. Over time, this erodes trust not just in the company but in the very concept of customer support. The system teaches us that to complain is to waste time.

There is also a deeper cost: the loss of accountability. When messages are signed by different names, when cases are passed from one agent to another, when tickets are closed automatically after a period of silence, the responsibility for the case dissolves. No one owns the problem, so the problem persists. The company protects itself with layers of polite language, while the user is left to circle endlessly without resolution.

This turns support into something closer to a public relations exercise than a genuine service. The goal is not to fix the problem but to maintain the image that the company is attentive and responsive. As long as messages are sent and tickets are logged, the metrics look good. But metrics are not solutions, and the gap between appearance and reality widens with every unanswered complaint.

What is most striking is how normalized this theater has become. Users no longer expect to receive meaningful help when they contact support. We expect to be passed around, to repeat ourselves, to be told our issue is being escalated. We expect the polite tone, the automatic follow-ups, and eventually the quiet closure of the case. The abnormal has become ordinary, and companies rely on this resignation to keep operating without accountability.

Seen this way, my cases with Razer, Patreon, and Mailgun are not separate events but variations on the same script. They show how companies across industries have transformed support into a defensive shield, a system that manages complaints without ever resolving them. It is a theater that protects the company’s image while leaving the user trapped in frustration. And unless challenged, this model will continue to spread, because it is cheaper to simulate help than to provide it.

What the law says about spam in Europe

If customer support systems are designed to deflect responsibility, then the question becomes: what tools do users actually have when companies ignore them? In Europe, the answer lies in the legal framework governing electronic communications, which is surprisingly strict on paper. Unwanted emails are not just an annoyance; in many cases they are a violation of data protection and privacy laws.

The backbone of this framework is the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), which came into effect in 2018. GDPR sets clear rules about consent: companies cannot process personal data, including email addresses, without a lawful basis. Marketing emails require explicit, informed consent, and users must be able to withdraw that consent at any time. If you click an unsubscribe link and the emails continue, the company is not just ignoring your preference, it is potentially committing a GDPR breach.

Alongside GDPR, there is the ePrivacy Directive, often called the “Cookie Law”, which also regulates direct marketing by email. It reinforces the principle that unsolicited communications require prior consent. While GDPR focuses on the broader issue of data processing, ePrivacy hones in specifically on electronic communications, creating a double layer of protection for users.

Violations of these laws can carry serious consequences. Under GDPR, fines can reach up to 20 million euros or 4 percent of global annual turnover, whichever is higher. National Data Protection Authorities (DPAs), such as the AEPD in Spain or the CNIL in France, have the power to investigate complaints, order companies to stop unlawful practices, and impose penalties. On paper, this should make companies think twice before sending unwanted emails.

Yet the reality is more complicated. Enforcement depends on users filing complaints and authorities having the resources to act. While some DPAs have been active, the CNIL in France, for example, has fined companies for spam-related GDPR breaches, many users experience a gap between the rules and their application. Companies rely on this gap, betting that few individuals will go through the effort of filing formal complaints.

This gap highlights an important distinction: the law is strong, but compliance is uneven. Large platforms like Patreon often operate across jurisdictions, which complicates enforcement. They may argue that they have obtained consent, that unsubscribes take time to process, or that messages are “transactional” rather than promotional. These arguments muddy the waters, allowing companies to delay accountability.

Nevertheless, the framework is there, and users do have rights. If you unsubscribe and continue to receive emails, you can file a complaint with your national DPA, providing evidence such as screenshots of emails, unsubscribe confirmations, and headers showing the sending server (for example, Mailgun). The DPA is obliged to investigate, and if the violation is clear, they can act.

The law, then, gives users leverage. The problem is not the absence of rules but the lack of consistent enforcement and the willingness of companies to push boundaries until they are caught. This is why spam persists even in regions with some of the world’s strongest privacy laws. Companies calculate that the risk of penalties is low compared to the convenience of ignoring user requests.

The gap between regulation and enforcement

On paper, Europe has some of the strictest privacy and spam regulations in the world. In practice, users still find themselves bombarded by unwanted emails, ignored by companies, and left frustrated when the promised protections fail to materialize. The problem is not the absence of law but the absence of consistent enforcement. Between the letter of GDPR and the daily reality of the inbox lies a gulf that companies exploit.

One reason for this gap is bureaucratic overload. National Data Protection Authorities (DPAs) are tasked with enforcing GDPR and the ePrivacy Directive, but their resources are limited. Each complaint requires investigation, correspondence with the company, and often legal analysis. With thousands of complaints filed each year, authorities face a backlog that slows action. This delay creates an environment where violations can persist unchecked for months or even years.

Another reason is jurisdictional complexity. Large platforms like Patreon operate across multiple countries. GDPR requires coordination between the lead authority (based in the country of the company’s European headquarters) and other national authorities. This system of “one-stop shop” enforcement was meant to streamline oversight but has instead created bottlenecks. Cases can bounce between agencies, with no single authority eager to take ownership.

Companies exploit these weaknesses. They know that unless a complaint escalates to a high-profile case, the risk of serious penalties is low. They may offer partial compliance, adding unsubscribe links, for instance, while quietly failing to honor them. They may categorize promotional emails as “transactional updates” to escape scrutiny. They may respond slowly to regulators, buying time while continuing the same practices. The cost-benefit calculation favors inaction.

For users, this means the process of asserting rights often feels futile. Filing a complaint takes time and effort, gathering evidence, drafting explanations, and sending documents to the DPA. The outcome is uncertain, and the wait can be long. Many users simply give up, resigning themselves to spam rather than navigating a bureaucratic labyrinth. This resignation, in turn, emboldens companies to keep testing the limits.

Politicians also bear responsibility. While privacy laws are heavily promoted as victories for citizens, the focus of enforcement often shifts toward control of information rather than protection of individuals. As seen with initiatives like Chat Control, governments invest energy in surveillance measures while underfunding the enforcement of consumer rights. This imbalance reveals where priorities lie: not with shielding citizens from corporate abuse, but with extending institutional control.

The result is a paradox. Europe has laws that should make practices like Patreon’s unsubscribable spam impossible. Yet the daily experience of users shows that these laws are more theoretical than practical. The framework exists, the rights exist, but the enforcement is inconsistent, underfunded, and often slow. Companies know this, and they behave accordingly.

Closing this gap requires more than just stricter rules. It requires political will, sufficient funding for DPAs, cross-border coordination that actually works, and penalties applied quickly enough to deter misconduct. Until then, the inbox will remain a battlefield where users fight spam one message at a time while companies exploit the space between regulation and reality.

What users can actually do

Faced with a system where companies ignore unsubscribe requests and authorities struggle to enforce the law, the natural question becomes: what options remain for ordinary users? The answer is that while the system is imperfect, there are still practical steps individuals can take to defend themselves against persistent spam and broken support systems. These steps may not always deliver immediate results, but they create a trail of evidence and apply pressure in ways that can make a difference.

The first step is to document everything. Every unwanted email, every unsubscribe attempt, every support interaction should be saved. Screenshots of the unsubscribe confirmation page, copies of the recurring emails, and headers showing the sending server (for example, Mailgun) are essential. Without documentation, it is easy for companies to dismiss a complaint as anecdotal. With documentation, you create a body of evidence that is harder to ignore.

The second step is to exercise your data rights directly. Under GDPR, you can submit a data subject access request (DSAR) or a request for erasure. These are formal legal requests that companies are obliged to answer within a set time frame, usually 30 days. A DSAR compels the company to reveal what personal data they hold about you and how it is used. An erasure request (the “right to be forgotten”) demands that they delete your information entirely. These tools carry legal weight and often provoke more serious responses than ordinary support tickets.

The third step is to file a complaint with your national Data Protection Authority (DPA). While enforcement may be slow, a formal complaint puts the issue into the regulatory system. Authorities may contact the company directly, and if patterns of abuse emerge across multiple complaints, they are more likely to act. Even if your case does not result in an immediate fine, it contributes to the larger body of evidence regulators use to justify enforcement.

The fourth step is to escalate through consumer protection agencies. In many European countries, agencies exist to defend consumers against unfair practices. Spam, particularly when unsubscribe requests are ignored, can be framed as such a practice. These agencies may not always have the power to fine, but they can issue warnings, publish findings, or coordinate with data protection regulators.

The fifth step is to use public accountability. Writing about your experience, as I am doing here, is one way to create pressure. Companies that ignore individual complaints often respond when reputational risk is involved. Public posts, social media, or coverage in forums where others share similar experiences can expose systemic issues and make it harder for companies to dismiss them as isolated incidents.

The sixth step, if all else fails, is to consider legal escalation. Consulting a lawyer or filing a case in small claims court can be effective if the harm is significant enough. GDPR allows individuals to seek compensation for damages caused by unlawful data processing, including emotional distress. While not every case reaches this threshold, the legal possibility exists, and the mere act of preparing such a case can prompt companies to settle.

None of these steps guarantee a quick resolution. Each requires time, patience, and persistence. Yet together, they shift the balance slightly back toward the user. They show that even in a system tilted against the individual, there are ways to assert rights, to create pressure, and to remind companies that ignoring their obligations has consequences.

The larger point is not that every user must become a lawyer or a campaigner, but that awareness of these tools prevents resignation. Spam and neglect thrive on silence. By documenting, requesting, complaining, and, when necessary, escalating, users can at least ensure that their voices are not erased in the same way their tickets are.

Why companies choose neglect over solutions

When we see companies repeatedly mishandle complaints, ignore unsubscribe requests, or cycle users through endless support loops, it is tempting to attribute the problem to incompetence. But incompetence alone cannot explain why these patterns are so widespread across industries. The truth is harsher: many companies choose neglect because it serves their interests. The structures of modern platforms are built not to solve problems but to minimize cost, maximize data retention, and protect appearances.

The first incentive is financial. Customer support is considered a cost center, not a value generator. Every minute an employee spends resolving a ticket is money that does not directly contribute to profit. For this reason, companies invest heavily in automation, scripts, and ticket-closing metrics, which reduce the appearance of backlog while avoiding the expense of meaningful engagement. In this logic, a complaint resolved poorly but cheaply is preferable to one resolved well but expensively.

The second incentive is data. Platforms like Patreon thrive on keeping user information active for as long as possible. Every email address, every interaction, every data point can be used for targeting, advertising, or analytics. Allowing unsubscribes to function smoothly means reducing the dataset, and that reduction is seen as a loss. By making it difficult to escape, companies extend the life of their data assets, even at the cost of user frustration.

The third incentive is risk management. Paradoxically, companies may believe that ignoring certain complaints is safer than addressing them. Acknowledging a systemic failure, such as an unsubscribe mechanism that does not work, can create legal exposure. By treating each ticket as an isolated case, they avoid admitting to patterns of violation. This transforms support into a shield against accountability, ensuring that the problem remains fragmented and hidden.

The fourth incentive is reputational optics. Metrics like “average ticket resolution time” or “tickets closed per agent” look impressive on internal dashboards and quarterly reports. They allow managers to show progress to executives while concealing the fact that actual user satisfaction may be declining. The result is a culture where appearance outweighs substance, where the measure of success is not whether the user’s problem was solved but whether the system looks efficient on paper.

The fifth incentive is strategic inertia. Once companies grow to a certain scale, their internal processes become rigid. Changing support structures, retraining staff, or redesigning unsubscribe systems requires investment and coordination. Unless there is significant external pressure, lawsuits, regulatory fines, or reputational crises, it is easier for companies to maintain broken systems than to reform them. Users pay the price for this inertia.

These incentives explain why neglect persists despite legal frameworks, public complaints, and reputational risk. For the company, the calculus is simple: the cost of maintaining the status quo is lower than the cost of meaningful change. Even fines, when they occur, are often seen as acceptable business expenses, absorbed as part of the cost of doing business.

What emerges is a portrait of support not as a service but as a strategy. By designing systems that exhaust users, companies reduce the number of people who persist long enough to demand real solutions. By blurring responsibility between platforms and providers, they shield themselves from accountability. By prioritizing metrics over outcomes, they maintain the illusion of efficiency. Neglect is not accidental, it is profitable by design.

This is why stories like mine, and like many others, keep repeating. It is not that companies cannot fix their systems. It is that they choose not to, because neglect serves their interests better than responsibility ever would.

The larger threat to privacy and accountability

When companies ignore unsubscribe requests, mishandle support, and treat users as disposable, the issue goes beyond annoyance. It becomes a threat to privacy and accountability at a systemic level. Each ignored complaint and each broken process chips away at the trust between individuals and the digital infrastructure that governs so much of daily life. What looks like a personal frustration is part of a much larger erosion of rights.

The most immediate threat is to privacy itself. Email addresses, once given, become permanent entries in databases that are rarely erased. Even when users withdraw consent, companies find ways to keep those addresses active, either by technical negligence or deliberate design. Over time, this normalizes the idea that consent is optional, that user control over data is symbolic rather than real. The longer this persists, the more companies are emboldened to test the limits of what they can get away with.

The second threat is to accountability. When companies like Patreon and providers like Mailgun can point fingers at each other, responsibility disappears into the gaps between them. The user is left stranded, unable to hold anyone directly responsible. This diffusion of accountability is not accidental; it is built into the structure of modern digital ecosystems, where partnerships and outsourcing create convenient shields against liability.

The third threat is political complacency. European regulators are quick to promote privacy laws as triumphs, yet slow to enforce them where it matters most. Worse, political priorities often drift toward surveillance measures, such as proposals for Chat Control, rather than protecting citizens from the everyday abuses of corporate neglect. This mismatch reveals where power truly lies: in maintaining control, not in safeguarding individuals.

The fourth threat is user disempowerment. As people grow accustomed to spam that never stops, support systems that never resolve, and complaints that never go anywhere, resignation sets in. Users begin to accept abuse as normal, believing that nothing can be done. This resignation is dangerous, because it gives companies exactly what they want: a compliant population that stops asking questions.

The fifth threat is erosion of trust. Platforms depend on trust to survive. Users must believe that their data will be respected, that their choices will be honored, that their complaints will be heard. When that trust collapses, so does the legitimacy of the system. If unsubscribing becomes meaningless, then every privacy promise made by companies begins to look hollow. Once skepticism hardens, it is difficult to rebuild.

At its core, the larger threat is that we drift into a future where rights exist only on paper. The GDPR may remain one of the strongest data protection laws in the world, but if companies can ignore it with minimal consequence, it becomes little more than a banner for politicians to wave. The letter of the law survives, but its spirit dies in the inboxes of frustrated users.

This is why individual cases matter. My spam from Patreon is not unique. My loop with Mailgun is not special. My carousel of emails with Razer is not an anomaly. They are all symptoms of a system that is moving toward normalized neglect, where accountability is dissolved, privacy is undermined, and enforcement is deprioritized. The personal story is a window into the structural failure.

If left unchallenged, this trajectory will not stop at email. It will spread into every corner of digital life: data collection without consent, surveillance disguised as innovation, and rights written in law but absent in practice. That is the larger threat, not the inconvenience of spam, but the systemic hollowing of accountability in the digital age.

A call for real responsibility in the digital age

Every personal frustration, from unwanted emails to broken support tickets, adds up to a picture of a digital economy that values efficiency over empathy and appearance over accountability. My experience with Patreon, Mailgun, and even Razer is not unique, and that is precisely why it matters. These stories repeat across industries, affecting thousands of users every day, and each repetition signals a deeper structural problem that demands attention.

What we see is not a series of isolated mistakes but a pattern of neglect. Platforms build systems that simulate consent, simulate support, and simulate resolution, all while leaving users trapped in cycles of repetition and resignation. The systems work for the companies because they minimize cost and shield them from liability. They fail for the users because they reduce rights to gestures, promises to scripts, and accountability to an illusion.

The answer cannot be resignation. It cannot be accepting that spam will always arrive, that support will never listen, that privacy will always be conditional. To accept this is to allow companies to define the rules of engagement, rules that strip users of agency. The first step is to refuse silence, to keep documenting, complaining, and exposing, even when the process feels exhausting. Silence is the soil in which neglect grows.

But individual persistence is not enough. Regulators must act with the authority they already possess. GDPR and the ePrivacy Directive give Europe the tools to enforce user rights, but without resources, political will, and consistent action, these tools remain blunt. Enforcement must be faster, penalties must be visible, and companies must feel that ignoring consent is more costly than respecting it. Without this, laws become decorations, not protections.

Companies themselves must also accept that support is not a cost to be minimized but a core part of trust. A platform that cannot resolve complaints is a platform that erodes its own legitimacy. Accountability should not require a public outcry, legal threats, or regulatory intervention. It should be the default posture of any service that asks for user data, time, and money.

At the same time, users need to reframe their expectations. Good support should not be a luxury; it should be the norm. Consent should not be optional; it should be absolute. Privacy should not exist only in principle; it should exist in practice. These are not unrealistic demands, they are the foundation of a sustainable digital society.

The alternative is a slow decay of trust, where every inbox becomes a battleground, every ticket a loop, every law a hollow promise. If that happens, the damage will extend beyond inconvenience. It will corrode the legitimacy of digital platforms, the credibility of regulators, and the very notion that individuals can have rights in the digital space.

The call, then, is simple but urgent: real responsibility in the digital age. Responsibility from companies to respect user choices. Responsibility from regulators to enforce the laws already written. Responsibility from users to refuse silence and keep pressing for accountability. Without this shared responsibility, the future will belong not to those who protect rights but to those who exploit their absence.

A final reflection lingers: the digital world is not separate from the human world. Spam, broken support, and privacy violations are not technical glitches, they are ethical failures. To correct them, we must demand more than better systems. We must demand integrity, transparency, and accountability as non-negotiable standards. Anything less leaves us where we are today, fighting unwanted emails one by one, while the machinery of neglect continues unchecked.

Wouldn't it be ironic if, in the end, Patreon had to resort to patronage to pay the multi-million-euro fine it could face for spamming?