Shifting Paradigms in Copyright: How Far Will Consent Matter?

Shifting Paradigms in Copyright: How Far Will Consent Matter?

Each year, 26th April is celebrated as World Intellectual Property Day. The website of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) elaborates that ‘World IP Day is an opportunity to highlight the role that IP rights, such as, patentstrademarksindustrial designscopyright, play in encouraging innovation and creativity’. It goes on to say that a ‘balanced IP system’ rewards innovation by inventors and creators while also benefitting society.

The first two decades of the twenty-first century have been an interesting exercise in the balancing of these two objectives – rewarding individuals for innovation and ensuring benefit to society – of a desirable IP system. The globalising economy and the inexorable rise of digital technology at the end of the twentieth century called for new ways of thinking about Intellectual Property Rights (IPR). Writing in 1997, in Harvard Business Review, Lester C. Thurow identified an important new development of the global economic landscape; he wrote that ‘for more than a century … the world’s wealthiest human being has been associated with oil. Now he’s a knowledge worker’.

In light of this change, Thurow went on to call for a re-balancing of the world’s IP systems in order to improve the socio-economic environment for innovative individuals. One of the solutions he offered was to say that ‘tighter or longer-term patents or copyrights would seem to be warranted’.

Evidently, Thurow was not the only thinker to back this solution. Over the next decade the world saw a remarkable expansion of Intellectual Property laws and the institution of a World Intellectual Property Day in 2000 was part of that worldwide movement.

More than a decade later, in 2012, Keith E. Maskus noted that since the conclusion of the TRIPS agreement at the end of the 20th century, ‘…IPRs have become the major coin of the realm in trading goods and technologies across borders’ (p.xii). However, at the same time, Maskus also recorded the growth of ‘copyright piracy and trademark counterfeiting’ (p. xii) that had become endemic in digital trade.

Thinkers on IPRs were, once again, becoming cognisant of the complex interfaces between IPRs, new technologies and a variety of cultural and developmental nodes in society. Several have turned to the meditations of the Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant for a richer insight into the subject, particularly as it affects the administration of copyright.

Copyright and Social Change

The term ‘intellectual property’ is wider than ‘copyright’, which encompasses the rights of the creators of literary, dramatic, artistic and musical works to economically exploit their creations exclusively for a delineated period of time. In addition to copyright, Intellectual property laws and regulations also deal with patents, trademarks and registered and unregistered design rights.

Although all elements of intellectual property have been affected by the growth of digital technologies, their impact on the administration of copyright is particularly significant. Copyright governance holds the potential to affect far-reaching social change due to the nature of its subject matter.

The quote below, often attributed on the internet to Joseph Conrad, captures succinctly the three modalities by which an astute author can revolutionise the impressions of reality that exist in their readers’ minds:

‘My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel – it is, before all, to make you see.’

Thought and words dictate action. When a writer is able to move a ‘whole world of readers’ (to quote Kant), by making them hear, feel or see the world in a different way, the possibility of change begins to grow.

To take an example, Helena Rosenblatt has charted the growth of the modern meaning of the term ‘liberalism’ in its political sense as it shifted, by the time of the French Revolution, from a class-based social use, applying mostly to the nobility, to a more political ‘sentiment’ that could be felt by individuals belonging to any class in society. She argues that tracing the ‘word history’ of the term alone will help us untangle how the concept has been implicated in actions to support both the bloody French Revolution as well as the prolonged opposition to communism that constituted the Cold War.

Similarly, words written by Karl Marx, when read by Vladimir Lenin and Mao Tse Tung, created revolutions in countries that Marx himself had not considered ready for revolution; both these revolutions had profound consequences for the entire world.

The administration of copyright, by impacting the dissemination of the written word, becomes deeply implicated in shaping the world around us – although the consequences may not always be as dramatic as the examples above. Immanuel Kant was a thinker who made explicit this intrinsic connection between an author’s ‘copyright’ to their writings and the circulation of ideas in society, in the context of the impact of another technology, viz. print publication.

Author’s Consent to ‘Speak’ and the Administration of Copyright

Scholars working on Kant’s essay ‘On the Wrongfulness of Unauthorized Publication of Books’, with reference to copyright, have resurrected the Kantian notion of a book as a ‘communicative act’. For Kant, a book is not merely a ‘thing’ in the sense that a painting might be a ‘thing’, but is rather the author ‘speaking’ to the public. Originating in their person, the author’s words are unique to them, hence, they are the author’s property. Rachel Maguire points out thatpersonality-based justifications’ for strong IP regimes are still more common in European countries compared to the utilitarian norms more often cited in Anglo-American policy debates. 

Anne Barron quotes from Kant’s essay to suggest that, for Kant, the unauthorised publication of an author’s work was equivalent to ‘compelling’ him/her to speak to the public ‘against his will‘; it was a violation of the author’s right to speak with their consent only. Such a violation of the author’s consent was injurious not only to the individual but to the wider society too because the author’s ‘freedom to publish‘ allows them to invite ‘the public to engage in a dialogue through new communicative acts‘. This business that the author ‘transacts’ with the reading public is the engine of the creative process in society, which brings forth new ideas and authors over and over again. Authorial ‘copyright’, therefore, has a larger ‘cultural and political aspect’.

Mirroring our debates on copyright law’s relationship with digital media, Kant was also asserting authorial rights in the context of a new technology for disseminating literary works. The printing press, introduced in Europe in the mid-fifteenth century, had not only sped up the process of getting a writer’s messages to eager audiences but also made it possible for them to lose control over their works through unauthorised printing at scale. While the author could authorise one publisher ‘exclusively’ to publish their works, and to share in the profits therefrom, the law alone could ensure that their words were not communicated to the public by publishers not authorised by them.

Consent of the Law and Shifting Paradigms of Copyright Administration

Since the very first copyright Act, passed in 1709–1710 in the U.K., the law’s consent has been a crucial determiner of the balance between the individual author’s rights and the society’s right to knowledge as a ‘common good’. The first Act deliberately shifted the balance away from the heavily monopolistic rights of authors, proposed by publishers and their sponsors, to one that allowed ample benefits for the larger society from the intellectual labour of individuals. The bill as finally passed was titled ‘An act for the encouragement of learning’, and granted the author and the publisher of a work a monopoly over reproduction and use for 14 years only.

What the Act recognised, and Kant elucidated, was that the speech act constituted by a book (or digital communications in our times) is received by other potential authors/speakers. To restrict copyright too tightly is to constrict the flow of ideas in society. A copyright system that impedes ‘the social practices and orientations conducive to intellectual/communicative autonomy‘ would have been for Kant ‘an obstacle to cultural progress’ (p. 30).

The expansion of IPR in the first decade of the twenty-first century seemed to many to have reached this state of affairs. Even within WIPO there was pushback because ‘…the system seem[ed] heavily imbalanced in favor of rights holders, who remain[ed] located overwhelmingly in a small number of advanced economies’. (p. 133) There was a general belief that the impact of stringent IPRs was giving rise to a ‘permission culture‘ that privileged rightsholders at the expense of global public goods provisions.

In the second decade of the twenty-first century, however, the law – in the Western world, at least – seems to have shifted the balance again. The 2014 changes to the copyright law in the UK, and similar movements in the EU law, have widened the ‘exceptions’ to copyright, reducing the need for express permissions in a lot of cases.

Perhaps most momentous has been the court verdict in the United States in the case of Authors Guild vs Google, Inc. in 2015. In this landmark case Google had digitised entire scholarly libraries, with the consent of the libraries, but without the consent of the authors or their publishers, for making available ‘snippet-views’ on the internet (but not allow the reading of entire books until they had been purchased). The courts decided that this use fell within the purview of the exception of ‘fair use’ and was, therefore, acceptable.

Though Google then worked with authors and publishers anyway to take its plans forward, the law seems to have consented to a shift towards prioritising a freer circulation of ideas in society above the earlier interpretation of author’s right to expressly consent to each and every re-use of their words and ideas. Whither, then, authorial consent in the days of the digitized word?

Digital Technology, Transnational Public Sphere and the Future of Authorial Consent

Even though Google was only making available ‘snippet-views’ of books in copyright, authors and publishers were concerned about entire libraries being digitized and placed in Google’s database without their permission. Siva Vaidhyanathan of New York University asserted that Google’s project ‘struck at the very heart of the copyright system‘.

Those who celebrated the ‘democratisation’ of books via Google were, however, ecstatic. The futurist K. Kelly gave voice to their visions. He suggested that once millions of books are available to billions of people worldwide (with relatively greater freedom to legally quote, transform, ‘mash up’, link and tag), ‘Books, including fiction, will become a web of names and a community of ideas.’ Once this process crosses a certain threshold, a user-generated world of ‘Books: The liquid version’ will come into existence on the internet. In this version, it was supposed, there will be ‘playlists’ of quotations, snippets, pages and paragraphs from books put together by readers all over the world, creating one giant stream of words or one universal book.

Author John Updike considered such dissolution of boundaries between books as a loss of ‘communication from one person to another – … in short, accountability and intimacy‘ and of ‘an encounter’ between two minds in which one invites the other ‘to imagine, to argue, to concur‘ – words that are reminiscent of Kant’s views of the author ‘speaking’ to the public through their books.

Since the decision in Google Books, Inc case, stronger digital rights management systems have been created and visions such as Kelly’s do not seem plausible in the imminent future. At the same time, the Open Access movement and the shifting paradigms in copyright provisions, allowing greater use of an author’s works without permission but with acknowledgement of source – unless ‘impossible for reasons of practicality – are likely to aid a less predictable democratisation of the ‘marketplace of ideas’.

In this Enlightenment 2.0, in the transnational, ‘multiperspectival public sphere‘ on the digital commons, there will certainly be instances of words quoted, tagged, linked and mashed up (perfectly legally) beyond what their original authors might imagine, as their speaking to their public is mediated not only by publishers, authorised or unauthorised, but also by any of the billions of users of the internet.

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

Can the Brahmin principle be reconciled with the profit motive in Open Access publishing?

Balancing the ‘Brahmin principle’ with the profit motive in scholarly publishing

Growing up in India in the 1970s and 80s, in a culturally eclectic family, finding ‘overlaps and resemblances’ (p.46) among different cultures was a regular part of our minute family ecology. I was strongly reminded of these resemblance-finding exercises by a recent debate at Oxford’s Bodleian  on the topic of Open Access in publishing.

The passionate advocacy of Open Access by Professor John Willinsky was grounded in a deep regard for scholarly knowledge as a ‘public good’. The concept may be aligned to what might be called the ‘Brahmin principle’ in Indian culture. Shearing it of the weight, controversies and complexities of different perspectives, the respect for Brahmins, people belonging to the highest caste in Hinduism, is rooted in two unspoken expectations – that Brahmins devote their lives to the pursuit of knowledge, and that they eschew the pursuit of material things.

Knowledge, thus generated, is supposed to enrich the whole of society,

which explains the high status of Brahmins. Anyone familiar with Indian history will know that this is very much a theoretical and cultural assumption; it does not reflect reality. However, the intuitive links made in these assumptions that applaud the separation of knowledge as a ‘public good’ from an unalloyed pursuit of wealth are important.

It is these same links that often underlie the current dissatisfaction in many quarters with the profits made by some big publishers, who control much of the publication of scholarly research. For a large number of people around the world, access to research publications is only possible through high paywalls and they decry what they think is the adoption of a business culture of ‘more, more, more’ in an area that should be more focused on serving public interest.

Nevertheless, the first copyright law, The Statute of Anne in the UK, recognised as far back as 1709-10 that ‘the reprinting of books’ without the consent of authors and their authorised publishers could lead to ‘their utter Ruin, [resulting in] … the Discouragement of all Writers in any useful Part of Learning’. This was the birth of copyright. Authors and their authorised publishers were granted the legal right to control the ‘copying’ or reproduction of a ‘book’ for their economic benefit.

More recently, the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) has linked greater protection of intellectual property to a ‘country’s ability to generate economically valuable … assets’ enabling it to achieve a whole host of developmental goals. Most countries have responded by strengthening or lengthening – or both – their copyright laws to guarantee economic benefits to knowledge creators.

However, what the Statute of Anne also reflected, and what remains true of many difficult negotiations at WIPO today, is that Intellectual Property laws must deal with a constant tension between rewarding intellectual work and securing the widest dissemination of it to spark yet more ideas. The parliamentarians debating and passing the old statute started out with a Bill ‘for Securing the Property of Copies in Books’, but ultimately passed ‘An act for the encouragement of learning’, which restricted the term of copyright monopoly and, rather remarkably, empowered listed authorities to ‘limit and settle the price of … printed book …[or] books’ if they were put on sale at ‘too high and unreasonable’ a price after the end of the copyright period (clause IV).

Much water has flowed under the bridge since the passing of the Statute of Anne. The global trade ties, often created coercively under colonial regimes, have morphed into a more open, though not necessarily more level, playing field during the current phase of globalisation. At the same time, growth of digital technologies, coupled with the seeming entropy in political and ecological fields, has highlighted both opportunities and challenges that cry out for fresh ideas for solving intractable global problems.

In the past two decades the Open Access movement has tried to meet this need by encouraging scholars and researchers to make their works freely available using the internet. Notably, this is not a rescinding of their copyright but only a bypassing of pay-based restrictions upon reading of research for personal and, mostly, non-commercial uses – allowing the seeds of ideas to fall where they will, so to speak. Despite initial hesitation from publishers, we seem to have reached a moment when almost everyone is agreed that universal Open Access to research must decide the direction of travel in this field.

Yet research and its dissemination are expensive business even in the digital era and new research-and-publication models, which strike a balance between fair remuneration for the publisher and wider public access to research, are sorely needed. At the Bodleian debate and in his recent book Copyright’s Broken Promise, Professor Willinsky has offered a radical solution. He proposes that the copyright law should be changed to recognise a special category of ‘scholarly’ works (full definition to be worked out) that will have ‘Open Access’ copyright status, rather than the ‘all rights reserved’ version currently in force, upon first publication; this will mean that authors will no longer have to find ‘workarounds’ like Creative Commons licences to make their research more widely available. A fair price for the publishers will be worked out through a mechanism for negotiation among publishers, research funders and prime users like libraries.

This recommendation encapsulates the sentiment of knowledge-creation as a public service that is the first tenet of the Brahmin principle. Without going so far as the complete austerity idealised by the Brahmin principle’s second tenet, it also reflects a universal belief that the profit motive in this sector should be limited by other considerations. There is no attempt to deny the value added by publishers in taking research to its target audience, adding value through editing and peer reviews and helping to create a global idiom that allows a marketplace of ideas to flourish across national borders; yet scholars aim for both remuneration and recognition  – not necessarily always in that order.

A less radical step to achieve this end may be the strengthening and widening of co-publishing arrangements between universities and publishers, which already exist in many places. Both as the main producers and consumers of research, universities are major drivers of the Open Access movement. Digital technologies like freeware mean that they are less dependent on, though not independent of, the need to publish all research output through publishers only. With a levelling of balance between the two stakeholders, it may be possible to institute self-regulatory mechanisms of the kind found in the advertising industry, with a regulatory body formed from amongst its various stakeholders; its own code of practice; complaints procedure; consultation methods and international-cooperation procedures. This may allow for academic values and the profit motive to balance each other out.

After all, whether we use Professor Willinsky’s Enlightenment phrase of ‘the Progress of Science’ for the good of society, or the ‘Brahmin principle’, digital technologies have asked the question: what price knowledge circulation? And scholars are increasingly answering by inclining towards the idealised Brahmanical austerity way.

Image 1 from Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash; Image 2 from https://www.copyrighthistory.com/anne.html

How do you use orphan works after Brexit? Here’s how

How Do You Use Orphan Works After Brexit? Here’s How

What Are Orphan Works?

It is not unusual for authors and editors to quote from a literary work or find an image that fits their use perfectly, only to discover that they cannot identify the copyright holder to grant them required permission. Under copyright law, if a work is still in copyright (copyright term is different for different types of works), permission is needed to use the work, even partially, in a new work. It is possible that the quote or image can be used under one of the exceptions to the copyright law’s expansive provisions but more often than not permission will be needed.

In some cases, the work may fall in the Orphan Work category. ‘Orphan works’ are works in which copyright still subsists, but where the rightholder, whether it be the creator of the work or successor in title, cannot be located.’

Using Orphan Works

Early in the second decade of the 21st century, there was a movement towards assessing the untapped value represented by orphan works, held largely in cultural institutions like libraries and archives . The Hargreaves Review of Intellectual Property & Growth (2011) in the U.K. recommended that there should be a regime to enable limited exploitation of such works. However, until 2013 it was not possible to copy orphan works legally. This made it impossible not only for individuals but also for institutions, such as libraries, to copy such works even for the works’ own preservation (p.68).

Since 2014, an orphan works’ licensing scheme has been in existence in the U.K. Under it, the Intellectual Property Office (IPO) can licence an orphan work for use by charging a fee that is reserved for the copyright holder to claim over the next 7 years. The process of licensing, however, can be long and expensive, so it should be carefully considered whether a substitute work can serve the purpose instead.

Prior to applying for a licence for an orphan work, a ‘diligent search’ needs to be undertaken to locate the copyright holder or all the copyright holders, if there is more than one. A diligent search can be a waste of time and resources in some situations, but a sleuthing adventure piecing together disparate clues in others. This usually depends on the time, budget, manpower and inclination involved. For further insight on the way that this is done, see a detailed example from Kerry Patterson, Ronan Deazley and Victoria Stobo of the process involved when they tried to clear rights for the digitization of Edwin Morgan Scrapbooks. For the end result, including identification of source and assessment of risk, which still remains an important part of rights clearance, see a page from the scrapbook as displayed on the internet.

Records need to be kept of the diligent search for presenting at the time of applying for the licence. There are long, but not exhaustive, checklists of sources to search, broken down into different categories of works, available from the IPO. These can prove very useful as guides.

The licence granted by the IPO will last for up to 7 years and will be non-exclusive. It will also require an acknowledgement of the missing copyright holder. The IPO licence can be granted for the use of one or more orphan works in a commercial or non-commercial work. The fees set are fairly reasonable but they do vary depending on the type of work being licenced.

Changes Due to Brexit

Brexit has impacted the using of orphan works by individuals and institutions in the U.K. Since 1 January 2021, it is no longer legal for cultural institutions to make orphan works available under the Orphan Works exception of the earlier EU law that governed this area. They need to apply for a licence from the IPO for such use. Even works made available prior to this change fall under the new provision and licensing needs to be carried out afresh for their continued placement online. Limiting access to U.K. users can mean avoiding infringement of copyright laws in EEA countries. It is, however, still possible to rely on other copyright exceptions for making works available online beyond the U.K. borders and the matter should be considered on a case-by-case basis.

Disclaimer: The advice on this page is based on my long experience in the publishing industry; it does not substitute for legal advice.

Image courtesy 愚木混株 cdd20 on Unsplash