Author: David Newhoff

David is an author, communications professional, and copyright advocate. After more than 20 years providing creative services and consulting in corporate communications, he shifted his attention to law and policy, beginning with advocacy of copyright and the value of creative professionals to America’s economy, core principles, and culture.

Does Google Claim Some Invalid Copyrights?

Photo by Harrisr

I assume it’s well understood by now that the biggest, corporate antagonist to intellectual property rights is Google. The company has backed an impressive array of academia, press, lobbying, and activism, all generally evangelizing the message worldwide that IP is fundamentally anachronistic in the digital age.  In response to this juggernaut, many a pro-IP advocate likes to underscore the hypocrisy that, despite all their PR on this issue, Google is no less a vigilant steward of its own intellectual property.  A favorite refrain, for instance, is the observation that the company isn’t about to “share” its proprietary, patented search algorithm even while its spokespeople continue to promote “openness” and other crunchy values.

I don’t personally begrudge Google protecting its intellectual property; I think they should.  But it’s hard not to get a bit heated when the assorted pundits, who either directly or indirectly help promote Google’s interests, take so much pleasure in displaying anecdotal evidence of alleged copyright abuse and overreach as though this problem is so rampant that we’re all just one litigation away from losing our right to use the internet.  But what if Google itself is making some dubious claims of copyright in some of its most widely-used works?

The next time you’re using Google Maps, Street View, or Google Earth, take a look in the lower right hand corner.  You will see a declaration of copyright, either for Google, for one of its partners, or both.  While these parties may absolutely claim copyright in the software, it’s not entirely clear that they can claim a copyright—at least in the US and Europe—in much of the imagery produced by these applications.  This is because the photo and satellite images appear to lack the modicum of “originality” required for protection.  In fairness, it must be noted that Google’s terms of use for these apps are quite liberal, mostly mandating attribution.

Maps & Charts

Maps and charts were two of three types of works (books being the other) protected by the first copyright act of 1790.  Near as I can tell, this is indicative of two things:  1) that American copyright doctrine had yet to evolve; and 2) that maps and charts were badly needed and very hard to make in the 18th century.   This utilitarian/incentive predicate to get cartographers and surveyors out into the water-moccasin-and-mosquito-filled wilderness does, with the hindsight of history, create a bit of a dichotomy with respect to the way copyright doctrine evolved by the end of America’s first century. In other words, until technology really began to shape the contours of the law.

For roughly the first half of the 19th century, it took a few cases for the courts to begin to draw lines separating copyright from its twin, patent law; and over time, jurisprudence on copyright increasingly coalesced around the principle of “originality of expression” rather than “sweat of the brow” to qualify for protection. Put simply, a work may take substantial labor and/or capital investment, but if it lacks at least some measure of human, creative expression, then it doesn’t generally qualify for copyright.  This principle was most recently solidified in the 1991 case Feist Publications v. Rural Telephone, which held that the compilation of a phone book, though laborious, did not meet the minimum standard of “originality” to be eligible for a copyright.

The question of how much creativity is required met its first major challenge when copyright confronted photography in the case of Sarony v. Burrow-Giles (1884) involving a portrait of Oscar Wilde taken by New York photographer Napoleon Sarony in 1882. In a time when the prevailing sentiment considered photos to be merely a mechanical means to record facts, the Supreme Court ultimately had to consider what made Sarony’s image the expressive work of its author.

In that case, the Court held that Sarony’s choices of background, arrangement, pose, etc. to achieve a look that was purposely designed (i.e. not capturing a fleeting moment of independent reality) was sufficiently “creative” to sustain copyright in at least some photographs. The issue of copyright in photographs that do capture fleeting moments of reality (e.g. street photography or photojournalism) recognizes choices like position, focal length, timing, and framing as representing the minimum amount of human creativity required.

Fast-forward to the present, and cameras are everywhere, from satellites miles above the Earth to cellphones in the hands billions of people on the Earth, to specially-designed Google cars roaming the streets and taking 360˚ views of nearly every traversable corner of every town, city, and hamlet.  The app is impressive and extremely useful. I’m sure many of us have planned trips to places we’ve never been by using Street View.  But are the images copyrightable?  Probably not. At least not in the United States or any country where copyright doctrine evolved on the principle of “originality” to make a work eligible.

Loyola Law School Professor Justin Hughes, whose paper The Photographer’s Copyright I’ve cited before, discusses the legal distinctions that many of us intuitively assume—namely that functional imagery like surveillance and security photos, police crime-scene pictures, and satellite imaging are inherently different from the kind of works captured by photojournalists, art photographers, and even many amateur photographers with an eye for distinctive compositions.  Hughes opines, for instance, that most of the photographs museums take of their public-domain paintings to sell as postcards and posters are not legitimately protected by copyright because they are precise representations (copies) of the original that do not contain—indeed are not meant to contain—any original expression of the photographer. Hughes writes …

“With all these photographs — photographs of museum paintings, images captured at ATMs and by immigration officials stamping your passport, Google Maps Street View, aerial reconnaissance photographs—there is no originality to give rise to copyright. These images may have copyright in the few countries that still base copyright protection on ‘sweat of the brow,’ but not in the United States or most countries in the European Union.”

With regard to Google Maps, Hughes suggests that when we use the tool in map view, Google at least has some statutory/historical claim to protection of maps, and there is precedent for human choices—colors, line thickness, shading, etc.—in the rendering of maps to qualify for copyright.  But when we use the application in Satellite view with all the markings turned off, Hughes is somewhat doubtful about the claim of copyright made by Google and partner TerraMetrics.

In his analysis, he describes the amount of human and computational labor required to composite various photo assets and data in order to present the satellite images we see in the app, but the question of copyrightability would turn on the extent to which any of that labor constitutes original, human expression rather than “garden-variety choices” made for the purpose of rendering the best possible representation of a factual image. Or as Hughes puts it, “what a perfect satellite would see on a perfect day with absolute fidelity.”

At the same time, Arizona State University Professor Dennis S. Karjala, in his 1995 paper Copyright in Electronic Maps suggests that the rejection of the “sweat of the brow” theory after Feist could, as he puts it, “deny copyright protection to a variety of works whose optimal production, as a matter of social policy, may require some form of intellectual property right as an incentive.”  In other words, perhaps Google’s claim of copyright in some, or all, of these apps rests on the more utilitarian rationale we can assume was present in 1790 when maps and charts were first given protection.

Of course, the chance that anyone will challenge Google on any of these copyright claims seems about as as likely as a camel passing through the eye of a needle, but that’s about corporate power, not tested theory of copyright law.  Suffice to say, that considering what a daunting adversary to the copyright interests of millions of creators Google remains, it’s at least interesting to consider that its own copyright claims in this case might prove very weak if they were in a legal dispute with an entity that treated their IP exactly as they have treated the IP of others.

Khloe Kardashian’s Instagram Copyright Mistake

Lens photo by mrbrainous

For all the attention paid to music and motion picture piracy, the most chronically infringed works via the internet has got to be photographs.  The speed and volume with which photos are uploaded and redistributed by both commercial and non-commercial users is so constant that it occasionally results in some amusing—if not infuriating—mistakes.  Like the time in February of 2013 when the Fox News site posted a photo of newlyweds kissing atop the Empire State Building above a headline that read:  To be happy, we must admit that men and women aren’t ‘equal.’ In response, the forces of the internet had a blast letting Fox know that the pair depicted in the image are both women—the first same-sex couple to wed after New York State legalized these unions.

Such gaffes are not limited to people espousing uptight social values, of course; but this kind of mistake says a lot about the use of images today because such a dumb error, presumably made in haste, implies that nobody involved with the Fox story bothered to seek—or probably even consider—permission to use the image.  It was taken by photographer Richard Drew and is registered with AP along with a standard description on its web page, so it would be pretty hard to legally license the photo without realizing that it depicts a same-sex couple.

It is an understatement and a half to say that social media platforms have fuzzed-up general understanding of permission to use photographs today, even for certain professionals who should know better.  When photography collides with celebrity and social media, though, I guess we should not be surprised that Khloe Kardashian (or someone who works for her) didn’t know that she needed to obtain a license from the rights holder, even to display an photo of herself on Instagram.

The photo, taken by Manual Muñoz, is a fairly typical, professional-quality paparazzo’s capture of Kardashian walking toward camera in 1/4 profile, reportedly heading into a trendy Miami restaurant.  The copyright in the image is owned by Xposure Photos UK LTD, which had sold a limited license to the Daily Mail, whence it is alleged that Kardashian copied the photo to her Instagram account without permission and, in the process, removed the rights management information from the image. Thus, Kardashian is potentially on the hook for violating three sections of the U.S. Copyright Act—the right of reproduction (§106(1)), the right to publicly display a pictorial work (§106(5)), and removal of copyright management information (§1202(b)).

The complaint filed by Xposure specifically notes the commercial nature of Kardashian’s use, alleging that “…every one of Kardashian’s Instagram posts is fundamentally promoting something to her 67 million followers.”  While commercial vs non-commercial use is not dispositive in determining whether or not an infringement exists, it can factor considerably in the kind of relief a plaintiff may be granted by the court.

Khloe Kardashian is a business, what marketing professionals call an influencer—someone whose social media following is so large that they earn fashion shoots, paid appearances, and endorsement opportunities worth millions of dollars.  As such, Xposure would seem to be on solid ground in pursuing the upper limits of relief for damages. Their argument that “every photo promotes something,” should carry considerable weight, even if that something is Khloe Kardashian herself.

The distinction between personal and professional use of a platform like Instagram is something any user, not just celebrities, should more carefully consider.  I suspect it’s become so habitual at this point to share images as rapidly as they’re made that even public figures with professional management teams forget that they have the same legal considerations to make before publishing on social media as if they were proposing to publish an old-school print campaign.

Additionally, because platforms like Instagram provide the opportunity for people to create their own celebrity by blurring the line between “private” and “public” moments—for instance, displaying provocative selfies alongside professional fashion photos—mistakes like Kardashian’s are almost inevitable.  According to the Wikipedia entry for Kendall Jenner, Vogue dubbed the crossover between social media self-promotion and the world of professional fashion modeling as the “instagirl era.” And as Vanessa Friedman recently noted in The New York Times, being this kind of influencer can come with unanticipated liabilities, like the possibility that the models who helped promote the disastrous Frye Festival may be named in the class-action lawsuit against event organizers.

All prospective instagirls and instaboys, especially those who don’t have Kardashian resources, should remember to consider the rights and implications of a photo before publishing.  Anyone using, or hoping to use, social media to grow their own brand as influencers or creators, should be wary of the anti-copyright messages suggesting that these legal considerations are obviated by the relative ease of distribution via digital platforms.  The authors of those opinions will not be defending you in a litigation.

Don’t Confuse Copyright With Publicity, News, & Commentary

I caught a piece of a conversation on The Talk about this story, with the celebrity panel largely focusing on the lack of rights enjoyed by public figures.  The discussion segued rather quickly from copyright to privacy, commenting on the fact that Kardashian is not allowed to use this image without permission, but then contrasting this fact with the apparent contradiction that she also would have a hard time removing invasive or embarrassing images captured by the types of paparazzi who trade in wardrobe malfunctions and other salacious forms of “news.”

While I personally sympathize with public figures when they’re the targets of cheap, gimmicky invasions that serve only puerile social interest, the fact remains that one price of celebrity is an abandonment of privacy because public figures are—in a first amendment context—always news. Just about any image of a public figure that is legally obtained counts as reportage, protected by the first amendment—even wardrobe malfunctions and other moments of human folly.  One may also lampoon or otherwise comment upon a public figure by altering their images, as long as that alteration doesn’t implicate libel.  Such alteration could violate a copyright, but it will not have anything to do with the publicity right of the person in the image.

The right of publicity is protected at the state level, hence varying statutes, but the general principle is that no individual or entity may use the likeness of either a private person or a public figure for the purposes of endorsement of a business, a political message, a social agenda, etc. without that individual’s permission.  Even users of stock photos should note that there are often separate model releases requiring that licensees get permission from the models for any use that would be considered endorsement.

When it comes to violating the publicity right, the same factor that makes Kardashian’s alleged copyright infringement (i.e. that she’s a famous brand) potentially more expensive would also give her claim more heft if she were to seek damages for unauthorized use of her likeness for the purposes of endorsement.  In short, the fact that she is news gives the paparazzo’s photo a market value that she has no right to control or infringe; but at the same time, her likeness is also valuable to advertisers, which she has every right to control and protect.   General discussion of theses stories occasionally conflates these principles.

Solicitor General Says No Cert for “Dancing Baby” Case

 SCOTUS Photo by jgroup

After ten years and what must be thousands of attorney hours, the “Dancing Baby” case may have to do an about-face at the steps of the Supreme Court and, get this, actually go to trial. On May 5, the Solicitor General filed its brief recommending that SOCTUS deny a writ of certiorari in Lenz v. UMG, finding no basis for this Court to address the following question:

Whether a copyright owner may be held liable under Section 512(f) [of the DMCA] for sending a notification of claimed infringement based on a sincere but unreasonable belief that the challenged material is infringing.

At this point, the artist whose work was at the center of this case has been lost to the world (about this time last year); the baby is now a tween; and the case remains a hypocrisy-rich boondoggle, from its overall justification, to the particulars of the argument that the EFF has pursued, to the unavoidable misperception by some of the public that Prince personally bullied a fan.

Regarding the underlying rationale for Lenz, in the decade since it began (and not as a DMCA case by the way), no party has presented any solid evidence that rampant abuse of the DMCA takedown provision even exists. Yet, this has been the rationale and lead talking point riding on Prince’s purple coattails, trading on his fame to spotlight an incident that makes a poor example of actual abuse. Of course, the better examples don’t involve pop stars, cute babies, or major music labels.

The central hypocrisy in Lenz, other than the decade-long fishing expedition, which I tried to summarize in this post, is that the EFF has gone to great lengths to argue that a rights holder should be held to a very high standard of “knowledge” while the organization conversely advocates that no platform owner or ISP can ever know about infringement, or much of anything else, that occurs via their services. In simple terms, the EFF asserts that if defendant UMG did not conduct a fair use analysis of the “dancing baby” video, that this fault alone meets the statutory definition of “knowing misrepresentation,” which is a much stricter standard than general error.

The EFF has shouted repeatedly—and no doubt it will continue to shout—that no ISP or platform service provider can “police all the activity” on the web. This premise is generally accepted by rights holders, both large and small, and it is of course a foundation on which the compromises of the DMCA were born in 1998. Yet, this same organization has now leveraged a decade’s worth of litigation to evangelize the message that rights holders ought to be able to monitor, without error, DMCA filings that number in the tens of millions. And if an error is made, even after it is corrected according to statutory process (i.e. by counter-notice), the fault still rises to the standard of “misrepresentation,” which carries a burden of damages. The fact that damages, in this case, would mean that UMG would have to pay the EFF for the cost of its expedition is an absurdity that is hard to overlook.

In the brief filed by the Solicitor General recommending that SCOTUS deny cert in Lenz, the opinion specifically cites what it calls a “significant legal error” in the way in which the statute has thus far been interpreted. Section 512(c) of the DMCA lays out the manner in which a takedown notice must be filed, including a statement of “good faith belief” that the use in question is infringing. Section 512(f) provides for the types of relief for damages that either a rights holder or a user may seek if a wrongly-filed notice or counter-notice meets the standard of “knowing misrepresentation.”

The EFF has sought to argue that because UMG failed to do a fair-use analysis of the “dancing baby” video, this amounted to “knowing misrepresentation.” I and others have already commented on the inherent subjectivity of fair use that makes this argument problematic whether a rights holder does the analysis or not; but here’s what the SG brief says with regard to the statute itself:

“Petitioner … assumes that the phrase ‘misrepresents under this section’ in Section 512(f) ‘includes a misrepresentation that one has formed a good-faith belief required under Section 512(c). But that is not what the statute says. Although Section 512(c) specifies a number of representations that a takedown notice must contain, the only representation that (if knowingly false) can give rise to liability under Section 512(f) is the representation that the challenged material ‘is infringing.” If petitioner’s video did not actually constitute a fair use, respondents’ statement that the video was infringing was not a ‘misrepresentation,’ whether or not respondents conducted any fair-use inquiry before sending their takedown notice. [Emphasis added]

The court of appeals’ analysis thus contains a significant legal error, and one that could give rise to unwarranted Section 512(f) liability in case where the challenged material actually was infringing. This case does not provide a suitable vehicle for correcting that mistake, however, because the error potentially benefits petitioner and respondents have not sought review of that aspect of the court of appeals’ decision.”

In reference to the words emphasized above, this is an important distinction. If a rights holder specifically instructs employee(s) filing notices to avoid all fair-use analyses in an act of “willful blindness,” this is typically held to be equivalent to “knowing misrepresentation” under the law. Merely screwing up, missing, forgetting, overlooking, etc. does not rise to that level. Moreover, common sense says that the DMCA was designed to be an extra-judicial, compromise solution to the inevitable reality that users of ISPs would infringe copyrights. Such a solution could not have assumed that rights holders would never make a mistake or that a mistake would be tantamount to “knowing misrepresentation” implicating damages.

Meanwhile, wherever courts do seem to find acts of “willful blindness” among platforms and ISPs (e.g. Backpage and Cox), the EFF is consistently on the service provider’s side, unwaveringly defending safe harbor shields as though they are inalienable rights rather than conditional provisions. And by the same token, we are not likely to hear the EFF argue that a user who files a counter-notice to restore a file—a party more likely to err than a rights holder like UMG—ought to be held to the same “knowledge” standard they’re seeking in this case. Because, as the SG brief observes, Section 512(f) applies to “misrepresentation” by a filer of either a notice or a counter-notice. So, users might want to be careful what the EFF wishes for on their behalf.

This misread of the statute, in the opinion of the brief’s authors, is a key reason why the Solicitor General recommends denying cert—because the Supreme Court is a “court of review, not a court of first view.” In theory Lenz v. UMG could keep dancing for quite some time—right through Holden Lenz’s college years, annual tributes to the late Prince, legislative revision of the Copyright Act itself, and who knows what kind of changes among various web platforms and ISPs.