[Paleopsych] Bookforum: Editorial on Copyright
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Who owns the words you're reading right now? if you're holding a copy
of Bookforum in your hands, the law permits you to lend or sell it to
whomever you like. If you're reading this article on the Internet, you
are allowed to link to it, but are prohibited from duplicating it on
your web site or chat room without permission. You are free to make
copies of it for teaching purposes, but aren't allowed to sell those
copies to your students without permission. A critic who misrepresents
my ideas or uses some of my words to attack me in an article of his
own is well within his rights to do so. But were I to fashion these
pages into a work of collage art and sell it, my customer would be
breaking the law if he altered it. Furthermore, were I to set these
words to music, I'd receive royalties when it was played on the radio;
the band performing it, however, would get nothing. In the end, the
copyright to these words belongs to me, and I've given Bookforum the
right to publish them. But even my ownership is limited. Unlike a
house, which I may pass on to my heirs (and they to theirs), my
copyright will expire seventy years after my death, and these words
will enter the public domain, where anyone is free to use them. But
those doodles you're drawing in the margins of this page? Have no
fear: They belong entirely to you.
While it was once believed that Marxism would overhaul notions of
ownership, the combination of capitalism and the Internet has
transformed our ideas of property to an extent far beyond the dreams
of even the most fervent revolutionary. Which is not to say that
anything resembling a collectivist utopia has come to pass. Quite the
opposite. In fact, the laws regulating property--and intellectual
property, in particular--have never before been so complex, onerous,
and rigid.
Copyright protection has been growing in fits and starts since the
early days of the Republic. In 1790, a copyright lasted for fourteen
years and could be renewed once before the work entered the public
domain. Between 1831 and 1909, the maximum term was increased from
twenty-eight to fifty-six years. It was extended several more times
during the twentieth century until 1998, when the Sonny Bono Copyright
Term Extension Act added twenty additional years (to both existing and
future intellectual property), increasing copyright protection to
seventy years after the death of an author.
Some of the most significant changes in intellectual property law took
place in the Copyright Act of 1976, after which it was no longer
required to register one's work in order to protect it. Anything
"fixed in a tangible medium"--e-mail messages, those doodles in the
margins of this magazine--automatically became copyrighted. Recent
laws--like the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which increased
protection of copyrighted material on the Internet, and the Sonny Bono
Act--have elevated intellectual property's status to such a degree
that many courts and corporations often treat it in virtually the same
way as they do physical property.
This is a category mistake, and one explicitly forbidden according to
Article 1, Section 8 of the Constitution, which gives Congress the
authority to "promote the progress of science and useful arts, by
securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive
right to their respective writings and discoveries.'' Unlike Europe,
whose laws center on the "moral rights" of the author to control his
creation, American copyright law has always had the strictly
utilitarian goal of providing just enough incentive for someone to
create. Copyright is a bargain: The government grants a limited right
to profit from your intellectual property in exchange for your
agreement to give the public limited access to it during that period
(such as the "fair use" right of a teacher to make class copies of an
essay), and, eventually, for it to lapse into the public domain.
But as copyright terms lengthened and intellectual property became a
larger part of American industry, the logic of incentive has been
overshadowed by the logic of reward, the thinking being that if my
work continues to have value, why shouldn't I profit from it for as
long as I want? "In our tradition, intellectual property is an
instrument. It sets the groundwork for a richly creative society but
remains subservient to the value of creativity," writes Stanford law
professor Lawrence Lessig in his most recent book, Free Culture: How
Big Media Uses Technology and the Law to Lock Down Culture and Control
Creativity. "Yet the current debate has this turned around. We have
become so concerned with protecting the instrument that we are losing
sight of the value."
But if we have fallen into what New York University communications
professor Siva Vaidhyanathan calls "the property-talk trap," it has
had the unintended effect of mobilizing citizens by demonstrating the
stake we all have in the debate over how intellectual property should
be considered. Once an arcane part of the American legal system,
intellectual property law is now at the center of major disputes in
the arts, sciences, and politics. People are increasingly aware of the
role intellectual property plays in their everyday lives; they bump up
against it every time they discover they can't print a passage from an
e-book or transfer a song from their computer to their iPod. These
days, it is not uncommon to hear people casually conversing about
legal concepts like "fair use" and the "first sale doctrine."
Much of this awareness results from the well-publicized lawsuits the
Recording Industry Association of America has brought against music
downloaders. This is unfortunate, because it has created the
impression that those in favor of liberalizing copyright law condone
the theft of intellectual property. Leaving aside questions about the
appropriate legal remedies for, and the economic implications of,
downloading, taking copyrighted material for which one has not paid is
simply illegal. The fact that illegal downloading is a mass phenomenon
indicates that our intellectual property laws aren't working in much
the same way that the speakeasies of the '20s and '30s pointed out the
irrationality of Prohibition. Neither downloading nor drinking,
however, made the activities more legal.
It is in more common--and only marginally illegal--pursuits that
ordinary citizens are realizing they have a legitimate stake in the
debate over the scope of copyright law. As the price of digital video
cameras and editing software plummets, the number of people who sync
home movies to music, splice together clips from favorite television
shows, and even produce documentaries has soared. TiVo and other
digital video recorders have made it possible to trade programs over
the broadband Internet connections that are finding their way into
homes across the country. Young fathers are practically required to
transplant images of their newborns into great works of art by way of
Photoshop.
In December 2004, Google announced "Google Print," a project to bring
millions of easily searchable, digitized books to the Internet. The
project, which has already begun and may take a decade to complete,
will further heighten awareness of our vexed relationship to
intellectual property. After digitizing the entire holdings of
Stanford and the University of Michigan libraries (as well as sections
of the libraries of Harvard, Oxford and the New York Public Library),
Google Print will search the texts of these books--although one will
only be able to read the entire text of those works whose copyright
has lapsed and are therefore in the public domain. As for copyrighted
titles, one will be able to search their text for names and key
phrases but won't be allowed to read the books themselves (a function
like Amazon's helpful, but similarly limited, "Search inside this
book" service). Instead, one will be directed to a library or
bookstore where the book can be located.
As amazing an effort as Google Print is (creating nothing less than a
virtual "universal library of knowledge"), its logical goal--giving
readers full access to the entire contents of that library--will be
undercut by our intellectual property laws. It is an inherently
unstable situation, and it is only a matter of time before someone
(Amazon? Random House?) develops software to link this vast cache of
literature to a convenient print-on-demand service (for which the
hardware already exists). When it becomes possible to hold an
inexpensive, physical copy of one of Google's digitized titles in
one's hands--but only if it was first published prior to 1923 and is
therefore in the public domain--people will begin to understand the
implications of having something so obviously beneficial (universal
access to universal knowledge) tethered to laws from another era.
Google Print may be the Trojan Horse of the copyright wars.
* * *
While a range of copyright-infringing technologies has been changing
the way we interact with our culture, critics of excessive copyright
protection have been forging a coalition to demand that the law be
brought more in line with the capabilities of these technologies. The
challenge is considerable. Individual intellectual property rights are
often in conflict with one another, and the only groups with a common
interest in the direction of such laws are those corporations who want
to lock up culture in perpetuity (or "forever minus a day," as former
Motion Picture Association of America head Jack Valenti once
suggested). Even following the twists and turns of the debate is
difficult, since negotiations are seldom held in public. "This
cultural war is almost invisible," writes David Bollier in Brand Name
Bullies: The Quest to Own and Control Culture. "It is happening
quietly and incrementally--in rulings by distant courts, in hearing
rooms on Capital Hill and obscure federal agencies, in the digital
code that Hollywood and record labels surreptitiously implant into
DVDs and CDs."
One of the most suggestive responses to this dilemma has come from
Duke University law professor James Boyle, who, in his landmark book
Shamans, Software and Spleens: Law and the Construction of the
Information Society (1996), diagnosed the problem succinctly. "What we
have right now is an exponentially expanding intellectual land grab, a
land grab that is not only bad but dumb, about which the progressive
community is largely silent, the center overly sanguine, and the right
wing short-sighted." Boyle's subsequent work is an extended plea that
we value the public domain. "Our art, our culture, our science depend
on this public domain every bit as much as they depend on intellectual
property,'' he writes.
Boyle is one of the founders of "digital environmentalism," the
movement that is fashioning a new understanding of what the public
domain--the "commons," as Boyle and others have called it--might be.
The great achievement of the environmental movement, from which Boyle
draws inspiration, was its ability to convince a swath of the
population--consumers and industrialists alike--that they all had a
stake in this thing called "the environment," rather than just the
small patch of land where they lived. Similarly, digital
environmentalists are raising our awareness of the intellectual "land"
to which people ought to feel entitled.
Digital environmentalism is a two-pronged movement, with one group
raising the awareness of the cultural stakes of intellectual property
among everyday citizens, and the other pressing for legislative and
legal change. The difference between the two is one of emphasis, with
each participating in the battles of the other. Neither are anarchists
or utopians; rather, both perceive of themselves as conservatives in
the traditional sense of the term. "The point is not that copyright
and trademark law needs to be overthrown," writes Bollier. "It is that
its original goals need to be restored. Individual creators need to be
empowered more than ever. The volume and free flow of information and
creativity need to be protected. The public's rights of access and use
must be honored. We must strike a new balance of private and public
interests that takes account of the special dynamics of the Internet
and digital technology."
For those in the legal camp, the central event of recent years was
Eldred v. Ashcroft, the 2002 Supreme Court case that challenged the
constitutionality of the 1998 Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act.
Appearing before the court, Lessig argued that perpetually extending
the term of copyright violated the Constitution's stipulation that
copyright exist for only "a limited time.'' The court rejected
Lessig's position by a vote of seven to two, holding that while the
extension was perhaps unwise on policy grounds, it was still within
Congress's constitutional authority. A second legal challenge, which
Lessig brought in 2004, went nowhere.
Developments on the legislative front have been, if anything, more
discouraging. Laws that strengthen copyright and increase penalties
for infringement are introduced, and reintroduced, in Congress every
year. In 2004, the Induce Act, a bill so broadly drawn that it would
have held manufacturers of TiVo and iPods legally responsible if their
customers used them for infringing copyright, died in committee, but
it is only a matter of time before a similar piece of legislation
passes.
The cultural prong of digital environmentalism has had somewhat more
success. Represented by writers like Bollier, Vaidhyanathan
(Copyrights and Copywrongs: The Rise of Intellectual Property and How
It Threatens Creativity and The Anarchist in the Library: How the
Clash Between Freedom and Control is Hacking the Real World and
Crashing the System), Kembrew McLeod (Freedom of Expression:
Overzealous Copyright Bozos and Other Enemies of Creativity), and
others, they all advocate the path of activism and resistance. Working
within existing law, they propose that artists and authors
aggressively exercise their intellectual property rights in the face
of threats and legal challenges from overbearing copyright holders.
Bollier, for one, perceives the work of digital environmentalists as
benefiting from the momentum generated by legal challenges like
Lessig's. "Acts of civil disobedience against the antisocial,
personally intrusive claims of copyright law have only grown since the
Eldred ruling, in part because of it," he writes.
Their premise is that, like a muscle, intellectual rights grow
stronger only when exercised. "For the most part, we don't need any
new legislation. Fair use is a great solution, but for it to have any
real impact on our culture we need to vigorously and confidently
(though not carelessly) employ this legal doctrine in daily life,"
writes McLeod. The problem, they contend, is less the laws than the
lawyers. Lawyers representing copyright holders encourage their
clients to limit access to their intellectual property as much as
possible. "The lawyers tell us 'You may gaze upon and buy the products
of American culture,'" Bollier writes in Brand Name Bullies. "'But
don't be so naïve as to think that you can actually use them for your
own purposes. We own them.'" And the lawyers representing creators
(artists, writers, and filmmakers, for example) who want access to
copyrighted material for their work have decided that the transaction
cost of boldly exercising fair-use rights is simply too high. Their
primary goal is to avoid confrontation, even when they know that the
outcome--should the case come to court--would favor their clients. The
strategy of the cultural digital environmentalists is twofold. First,
they challenge the lawyers at cultural institutions, whether they are
book publishers, Internet providers, or movie distributors. Second,
they spread the word about how poorly the current intellectual
property system balances the rights of individuals and society.
This tactic has given birth to the genre of the "copyright horror
story." These are tales of intellectual property laws run amok: The
artist who receives a cease-and-desist letter from the Vatican for
using an image from the Sistine Chapel in a collage titled "The
Sistine Bowl-Off." The company that was sued for devising software to
teach tricks to a robot dog. McDonald's claim to own phrases like
"Play and fun for everyone" and "Hey, it could happen." An Adobe
e-book of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland that bears a warning
forbidding one to read it aloud.
In telling such stories, digital-environmentalist writers are trying
to do for intellectual property what muckrakers like Lincoln Steffens
did for corrupt governments and Eric Schlosser did for fast food: Go
behind the curtain to reveal how something we take for granted--in
this case, the cultural commons--really works. "We, as citizens, own
these commons. They include resources that we have paid for as
taxpayers and resources that we have inherited from previous
generations," Bollier writes in his previous book, Silent Theft: The
Private Plunder of Our Common Wealth. "They are not just an inventory
of marketable assets, but social institutions and cultural traditions
that define us as Americans and enliven us as human beings."
Some copyright horror stories read like science fiction, depicting
life in an anticommons in which everything is owned: letters of the
alphabet, familiar phrases, and popular songs like "God Bless America"
and "Happy Birthday" (which won't enter the public domain until 2030).
And like the best science fiction, these stories pose a serious
question: To what extent do we already live in such a place? Is our
world an intellectual property version of The Matrix where, despite
the illusion of freedom, we are little more than digital
sharecroppers, licensers of a culture we mistakenly assume is ours?
The science-fiction metaphor helps explain a tension central to the
intellectual property wars. We do, in a sense, live in the space
between two competing realities: According to the letter of the law,
intellectual property is well protected, but legitimate access to it
(by artists, parodists, critics) is guaranteed. In practice, however,
our rights to access are ambiguously drawn and, as a result,
prohibitively expensive to exercise. The difference in views between
the commons and the anticommons is one of perspective. Can an artist
who spends a fortune in legal fees successfully defending his
legitimate fair use of a copyrighted image really be said to have won?
"Fuck fair use," Lessig is fond of saying. "Fair use in America simply
means the right to hire a lawyer to defend your right to create."
* * *
The line between science fiction and reality is often difficult to
discern, as exhibited by the case of the college student who received
trademark #2,127,381 for the phrase "freedom of expression."
Fortunately, the student was Kembrew McLeod, who applied for it in
order to make a point. McLeod, now professor of communication studies
at the University of Iowa, is no stranger to using media pranks to
exploit the absurdities of the system. In fact, he even once sold his
soul in a glass jar on eBay.
McLeod may be the most optimistic of the digital environmentalists.
"We can fight back and win, especially because many recent court
decisions have upheld free-speech rights in the age of intellectual
property," he writes. Getting people to exercise those rights is
another issue. "The problem is that many individuals and companies
either don't know this or don't want to take a risk." McLeod's and
Bollier's books are full of inspirational stories of those who have
taken such risks and successfully faced down the corporations who have
improperly used their copyrights, such as artist Tom Forsythe (creator
of "Food Chain Barbie"), who was awarded $1.8 million in legal fees
after Mattel pursued an "unreasonable and frivolous" suit against him.
In September 2003, a group of Swarthmore College students posted on
the Internet damning copies of internal memos written by employees of
Diebold, the largest producer of electronic voting machines. The memos
detailed various security flaws in Diebold's machines, and it wasn't
long before the students received cease-and-desist letters demanding
that they remove the memos from their websites. Although Diebold
withdrew its legal threats in the wake of bad publicity, the students
sued the company for falsely accusing them of copyright infringement.
On September 30, 2004, a judge agreed that Diebold had deliberately
misrepresented its copyright claims and awarded the students legal
fees and damages. This past summer, director Robert Greenwald made
"fair use" of a substantial amount of Fox News footage in order to
document its conservative bias in his documentary Outfoxed: Rupert
Murdoch's War on Journalism. Fox grumbled about the movie but never
sued Greenwald for copyright infringement. In 2004, underground
hip-hop artist DJ Danger Mouse edited together the vocals from Jay-Z's
Black Album with selections of the Beatles' White Album to produce The
Grey Album. Despite a flurry of cease-and-desist letters from
EMI/Capitol (which owns the copyright to The White Album), over 170
websites continued to host The Grey Album in support of DJ Danger
Mouse's right to create. It went on to become one of the most
frequently downloaded independent albums of all time. The Boston Globe
called it "the most creatively captivating" album of the year.
If anything, Bollier's "bullies" and McLeod's "bozos" are their own
worst enemies. "As we look back twenty years from now, Mattel and
other businesses like Fox News may ironically be remembered as some of
the greatest promoters of fair use," writes McLeod. "Virtually every
time these companies try to step on freedom of expression® in court
they end up expanding the parameters of fair use in case law, and they
also intensify the backlash against this kind of behavior."
Recent stirrings in legal theory may give some comfort to the activist
wing of digital environmentalism. Taking for granted the fact that the
problem is less the letter of intellectual property law than the
spirit in which it is interpreted, Richard Posner, a federal appeals
judge and prolific legal theorist, and others have suggested some ways
to remedy this problem.
Foremost among them is the doctrine of "copyright misuse." In his
California Law Review article "Fair Use and Statutory Reform in the
Wake of Eldred," Posner argues that it is more valuable, and feasible,
to strengthen fair-use practices than to lobby for new copyright laws.
The problem with the current system, according to Posner, is that
copyright owners systematically make improperly broad claims to their
rights. The book, DVD, or baseball-game broadcast that comes with a
notice stating that no part of the work may be copied without
permission is, in fact, in violation of the doctrine of fair use (for
which one doesn't need permission). Posner argues that when a
copyright holder affixes a warning on copies of his work that "grossly
and intentionally exaggerates the copyright holder's substantive or
remedial rights, to the prejudice of publishers of public-domain
works, the case for invoking the doctrine of copyright misuse" has
been made.
The copyright misuse doctrine is attractive for a number of reasons.
It is a flexible approach to protecting the public-policy goals
underlying copyright law (promoting "the progress of science and
useful arts") without having to pass new laws every time a technical
innovation--radio, movies, television, copy machines, VCR, the
Internet--creates a new set of challenges for copyright holders. And
it is especially valuable to users of copyright because it is "one of
the only copyright-limiting doctrines that arise from actions taken by
the copyright holder," writes Kathryn Judge in her Stanford Law Review
article "Rethinking Copyright Misuse." Aside from the possibility of
being sued, the primary problem for those who want to make fair use of
copyrighted material is the uncertainty of their position; while the
law seems to support them, their backers and/or insurers may deem the
cost of exercising their rights excessive. The doctrine of copyright
misuse might provide a mechanism for a creator to address that
uncertainty. For example, employing the principle of copyright misuse,
an artist who believes he has a legitimate right to make fair use of a
copyrighted work can proactively challenge a copyright holder who he
believes is protecting his work more broadly than required by
copyright law. While such a maneuver wouldn't necessarily guarantee
that the artist will prevail (he might of course be wrong), copyright
misuse is one way the claims of the copyright holder might be tested
without enduring an expensive lawsuit.
Copyright misuse isn't as satisfying as a Supreme Court victory or the
passing of a new set of intellectual property laws. And it isn't clear
that it is robust enough to protect fair use in the way that Posner
and others want it to. But perhaps by bolstering the practices of
everyday people it will help reclaim a familiar cultural landscape.
Because in the end, the goal of digital environmentalism is quite
modest: a world in which, as McLeod writes, the digital future looks
"a lot like the analog past."
Robert S. Boynton is director of New York University's magazine
journalism program. His new book, The New New Journalism:
Conversations with America's Best Nonfiction Writers on Their Craft,
is being published this month by Vintage.
FREE CULTURE: HOW BIG MEDIA USES TECHNOLOGY AND THE LAW TO LOCK DOWN
CULTURE AND CONTROL CREATIVITY BY LAWRENCE LESSIG. NEW YORK: PENGUIN.
345 PAGES. $25. [17]BUY NOW
BRAND NAME BULLIES: THE QUEST TO OWN AND CONTROL CULTURE BY DAVID
BOLLIER. HOBOKEN, NJ: WILEY. 320 PAGES. $25. [18]BUY NOW
SHAMANS, SOFTWARE, AND SPLEENS: LAW AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE
INFORMATION SOCIETY BY JAMES BOYLE. CAMBRIDGE, MA: HARVARD UNIVERSITY
PRESS. 288 PAGES. $20. [19]BUY NOW
FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION®: OVERZEALOUS COPYRIGHT BOZOS AND OTHER ENEMIES
OF CREATIVITY BY KEMBREW MCLEOD. NEW YORK: DOUBLEDAY. 384 PAGES. $25.
References
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11. http://bookforum.com/boynton.html#top
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