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.

Activists Promote Revisionist History of DMCA

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Photo by eyevision Pond5

Earlier this month, Rolling Stone published an article by Steve Knopper called Inside YouTube’s War With the Music Industry.  I would characterize the article as more of a glimpse than an inside view; but setting that aside, the article contained a quote about the DMCA that caught my attention.

Knopper focuses on the fact that several major stars like Taylor Swift, Paul McCartney, and Beck recently signed an open letter to Congress demanding revision to Section 512 of the DMCA.  The article is actually too short and broad to really get into the nitty-gritty, but anyone who follows the issue knows that the crux of all artists’ complaints with the DMCA is that it has unintentionally enabled platforms like YouTube to distribute works without a negotiated license and to monetize mass infringement of works without providing rights holders an effective means of control—as the law was meant to do.

Toward the end of the article is a quote from Corynne McSherry, legal director of the Electronic Frontier Foundation.  Keeping in mind that her statement is brief and can be taken out of context, McSherry said, “I don’t think copyright owners appreciate what they got [with the DMCA]. In 1997, if you wanted to get music taken offline, you had to go to court.”

I don’t know if McSherry added any nuance to that statement, but as presented, it connotes a revisionist history that feeds a general misunderstanding of DMCA and how it got here.  Both tech-industry advocates and mainstream reporters are apt to continue the narrative that Section 512 is principally a takedown provision that happens to have a liability shield (safe harbor). In fact, it’s the other way around, and the difference is actually rather important.

Why the DMCA is seen as flawed for rights holders.

Drafting of Title I of the DMCA began in December of 1996 in order to implement the WIPO Copyright Treaty adopted that same month.  The treaty was a special agreement under the Berne Convention to which the US has been a signatory since 1989.  Title I is primarily known for Section 1201, which prohibits circumvention of technical protection measures (TPM) used to protect copyrighted digital goods. In the late 1990s, this would largely have applied to products like DVDs and CDs, but the DMCA was intended to anticipate copyright enforcement on the internet.  (1201 has its own criticisms, as noted in a recent post.)

While Title I was being debated, major ISPs, which at that time were telecoms led by Verizon and AT&T, petitioned Congress for a shield from monetary liability for copyright infringement—the shield we now call the “safe harbor.”  These service providers knew that users would continue to upload infringing content but argued that only the rights holders could know what was infringing and that the rights holders were in the better position to identify infringements than the ISPs were.  These service providers further argued that, if they were constantly vulnerable to litigation for contributory infringement, this would stifle the development of the still-fledgling internet.

It is worth noting that when the ISPs initially argued that the responsibility of “ferreting out” online copyright infringement should fall to the rights holders, Roy Neel of the United States Telephone Association highlighted the availability of “spiders” (now called “bots”) that owners could use to automate search for infringing files.  Today, this same automation, which has grown in scale in an effort to keep up with the scope and frequency of infringement, is regularly characterized by the internet industry and “digital rights” activists as an overreach that cannot help but chill speech online. The history that this automation was a key component of what the ISPs initially lobbied for is rewritten almost daily with statements like the one by McSherry.

In response to the ISPs’ request for the liability shield, major rights holders, including the MPAA and RIAA, negotiated conditions the service providers would have to meet in order maintain the “safe harbor” status—most prominently that the ISPs had to adopt systems for removing infringing material upon request (i.e. takedown). The result of these negotiations are the provisions in Title II of the DMCA, particularly Section 512, which is the part of the law the aforementioned music stars are asking Congress to amend.

So the request for safe harbor came first, and the takedown provisions were one part of the conditional compromise.  Rights holders had not petitioned Congress for a takedown provision in order to avoid the burden of litigation, which is what McSherry’s statement can imply to the casual reader.

Meanwhile, in 1996, we were all still dialing into AOL; Napster was three years away from changing everything; YouTube would not launch until 2005; and users could only rather slowly view a single photograph online, let alone stream HD video. At the time Title II of the DMCA was drafted, neither Congress nor the rights holders—nor perhaps some of the online service providers—quite anticipated the massive growth in online infringement that was to come.  Plus, the parties were—perhaps naively—sanguine about the prospect that new technological protection measures would be adopted through collaboration between the ISPs and the rights holders—which happens to be exactly what Congress had instructed both parties to do. That collaboration never quite happened.

Meanwhile, many rights holders would argue today that subsequent court interpretations of DMCA have undermined the intent of Congress, giving ISPs so much latitude in the manner in which they conformed to its conditions that the law inadvertently creates an incentive to enable user infringement at the volume we see today. As Robert Levine points out in his book Free Ride, the DMCA’s lead architect, former commissioner of the USPTO Bruce Lehman, admitted at a conference in 2007 that the law had been a great disservice to the creative industries.

But are rights holders better off?

Is Corynne McSherry correct to say that copyright owners are fortunate to have the DMCA because its takedown provisions obviate the need for costly litigation?  It’s hard to imagine this is actually the case.  If we’re talking about major rights holders, like big studios or labels, consider the options …

Option 1 – Without DMCA

Several years of expensive litigation against a single provider for multiple infringements in which the rights holder would stand a decent chance of winning the case, where the rights holder may be afforded some injunctive relief, and whereby the case may act as a deterrent to other providers regarding infringement on their platforms.

Option 2 – With DMCA

A round-the-clock, expensive process of requesting individual files be removed one at a time from multiple platforms only to have the same files reappear while some service providers monetize these uses, become too big to sue, and remain free from liability forever.

I’m not in a position to speak for the major rights holders here, but I don’t know if McSherry really wants to ask them if they wouldn’t choose Option 1.  When Viacom sued YouTube in 2007 for a billion dollars’ worth of infringements and the case was finally decided in YouTube’s favor in 2013, it is not unreasonable to imagine a different outcome absent the DMCA safe harbor provision.  (Keep in mind that this particular post isn’t about anyone’s opinion of how things should be, only a consideration of McSherry’s assertion that rights holders are better off under Section 512 of the DMCA.)

For smaller, independent rights holders, they’re kind of hosed either way but maybe a bit better off with Option 1.  Absent the DMCA, they could not afford to sue the likes of Google anyway; but with the DMCA, the takedown provisions are useless as a means of enforcement because of the Whack-a-Mole problem. If, on the other hand, the majors had successfully sued a big provider like YouTube (i.e. had Viacom gone the other way) independents may have benefitted by proxy.

For one thing, if Viacom had won its case, it’s a pretty good bet YouTube would suddenly discover a remarkable capacity for mitigating infringement on its platform.  Secondarily, had Viacom set the opposite precedent, this would have empowered independent rights holders to either litigate or threaten to litigate as a means of enforcing their rights across the web.  So, McSherry’s note that if you wanted to get music offline in 1997, you had to go to court is only partly true and not necessarily the lesser alternative for rights holders, as she implies.

Yes, YouTube itself would have evolved differently—and a few billionaires might only be multi-millionaires today—but do the social benefits of web platforms have to come at the expense of permission and compensation-free exploitation of other people’s work?

Over the weekend, I watched a 1912 film on YouTube called Falling Leaves by Alice Guy Blaché—a file that silent film accompanist and historian Ben Model uploaded along with his own piano composition.  To me, this is a great example of the information-age ideal.  I can research an important work in film history, which has long been in the public domain, and discover a contemporary artist/historian at the same time. Great. Love it.

But was the progress of YouTube—whose growth was substantially subsidized by copyright infringement—the only history that could possibly have resulted in my seeing Guy-Blaché’s film and finding Model’s work in 2016? Not necessarily. So, I don’t know if McSherry really meant to play the alternate histories game here, because it is certainly possible to imagine the benefits of the internet evolving since 1997 without the hundreds of millions of infringements that occur every month. And that was certainly what Congress expected when Title II of the DMCA was being negotiated. So, now that it’s clear the intended consequences did not come to pass, maybe amending the law isn’t such a crazy idea.

To support revision to the DMCA, click the link in the sidebar to sign the Take Down/Stay Down petition.

Ad Hominem

First of all, I hate Twitter.  Not so much as a forum for sharing links to stories or the occasional witticism.  But as a platform for “arguing” a point of view, let’s be honest, it’s total crap.  140 characters to express a thought is nothing but a means to see which idea is the most popular, not which is the most valuable or well-reasoned.  Being a cynic, I’ll go out on a limb and say that it’s rare those two columns are aligned, and even less so since the dawn of social media.

The shorthand of Twitter leads even thoughtful, intelligent people to say really stupid things.  It’s where someone will complain about being the target of an ad hominem attack while committing an ad hominem attack without any hint of self-awareness or even a clear indication that the tweeter knows what an ad hominem attack is in the first place.  So, let’s clear that up.

An ad hominem attack is one that seeks to disqualify the position of a speaker or author based solely on a criticism of his or her character.  This can be as nasty as saying something like “What does she know, she’s gay?” while debating, say, education policy.  But it can also be as benign as criticizing the speaker based on his or her affiliations with work or political party, etc.  This is a major dysfunction in our politics today—the assumption that valid positions never come from sources we’ve decided are bad or that everything the “good guys” say should be accepted without question.

It is not ad hominem to criticize aspects of the way in which a speaker or author presents his or her position while also rebutting the substance of that position.  For instance, if an author writes something with which you disagree and writes it in an arrogant, offensive, or sarcastic tone, it is fair game to criticize both the style and the substance because the style is part of what’s being communicated. I give you Mr. Trump, who is usually saying something false and almost always in a manner specifically designed to offend.  Technically, criticizing Trump’s hair in context to his candidacy is an ad hominem attack, but that may be about it.

Recently, Steven Tepp, CEO of Sentinel Worldwide posted an article on Medium accusing the organization Public Knowledge of exceeding the bounds of discourse by leveling ad hominem and factually selective attacks on the US Copyright Office.  In reference to various topics, Tepp states that PK has characterized the Copyright Office as either unqualified to comment or that it has overstepped its purview.  His observation of PK would be consistent with recent posts I’ve written noting, for instance, how the EFF seeks to dismiss or misrepresent the role of the Copyright Office with regard to the FCC “set-top box” proposals or its mission to have Section 1201 struck down as unconstitutional.  Just as a matter of basic logic, if any party is stating that the Copyright Office has no business weighing in on copyright issues, this ought to trigger at least a mildly skeptical response.  If an organization funded by the pharmaceutical industry stated that the FDA was out of bounds, would you take it on face value?

But how did Public Knowledge and Mike Masnick, and no doubt many of the usual suspects, respond to Tepp’s criticism on Twitter?  By calling him a former Copyright Office employee turned MPAA lobbyist.  In other words, an ad hominem attack.  No rebuttal to the substance of what Tepp said—which is limited to statements of fact about process and the law—just a dismissal out of hand because he’s on “the wrong side.”  It doesn’t really matter what the subject is, by the way, this is how we’re steadily destroying political discourse 140 characters at a time.

In this particular case, with just a couple of tweets, non-experts declare the experts dismissible (see climate change deniers) and also reinforce the bias that Hollywood is running Washington despite the mountain of evidence that the most influential corporation throughout the entire administration is Google.  Compare the number of Google lobbyist visits (128) to the White House to the number of MPAA visits (0) and then decide if Steven Tepp’s criticism of Public Knowledge is invalid because MPAA.  Unfortunately, on social media, this form of debate is sufficient for many people.

Over the last four years, my delving into specific issues related to copyright and the digital age has made me pay closer attention to how generalized many of my own biases have been as a liberal and a Democrat.  Nearly all of the legal experts I have met—and Tepp is one of them—have been extremely thoughtful and balanced in their views, and at least half of them are political conservatives. In fact, this recent post by a new young blogger Rebecca Cusey caught my attention because she’s making what she calls a “conservative” case for copyright, but what’s interesting is that part of her argument invokes labor rights, which is a traditional Democratic party plank.

Not surprisingly, whether the issue is copyright or trade or the economy or the environment or police reform, there are still people in the center, trying to work from a qualified understanding of facts and seeking the best ideas no matter whence they come. Social media rejects this by its very nature.  It feeds on and reinforces careless, associative logic that insists everyone remain in his camp and carry the standard of whatever label has been assigned.  It’s mostly ad hominem.  That’s why I hate Twitter.

The DOJ & Songwriters Simplified (mostly)

The performing rights organization (PRO) called ASCAP was formed on February 13, 1914 when a group of about 100 American composers met at the Hotel Claridge in New York City to create a mechanism for collecting “public performance” royalties.  The 1909 Copyright Act had extended the performance right to this class of copyright holders, but it did not define exactly what “public performance” actually meant.  Part of that definition came with the Supreme Court case Herbert v Shanley Co. (1917), in which Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes offered the opinion that music played in a venue like a restaurant constitutes a “public performance” even if the customers are not charged a fee for the music itself.  The premise was, and continues to be, that the venue relies on music just like other products it needs to run the establishment, and so the music plays a key role in the profit interest of the venue.

In a 1923 case, radio broadcasts were determined also to be “public performances,” but the National Association of Broadcasters (NAB) was critical of ASCAP’s monopoly control over the music and its ability to set licensing rates at will.  In response, NAB formed the competitor BMI, and when this failed to have a mitigating effect on ASCAP’s rates, the broadcasters banned ASCAP music from the airwaves.  That’s when the DOJ showed up and told everybody to get out of the pool.  Justice sued ASCAP and BMI, and both national radio networks at the time, for violation of the Sherman Anti Trust Act.  The result of this action was a rate-setting system known as consent decrees—compulsory licenses the two PROs must grant for “public performances” of their music according to rates set by a “rate court” established at the federal court for the Southern District of New York.

Cathedral RadioFor the next 70 years, the PRO licensing system under the consent decrees generally served all parties—the composer/songwriters, venues and broadcasters, and the general public.  Yes, there are anecdotes describing various ways in which the system has failed or overreached to the detriment of a venue or even a member songwriter; and these stories naturally provide grist for the anti-copyright mill that loves to portray all rights-enforcement regimes as universally extortionist.  But many of these stories cited by critics like Mike Masnick pertain to collecting organizations outside the US, and even those associated with ASCAP and BMI are either old enough or nuanced enough to require deeper consideration in context to the overall cost/benefit of the organizations over many decades.

Fast-forward to the digital-age, when “public performance” is a whole new animal.  Streaming services, which are unquestionably a benefit to consumers, simultaneously reduce demand for sales of physical media and digital downloads, and they reduce demand for traditional broadcast radio, which was the distribution format that led to the consent decrees in the first place.  Plus, streaming affects the worldwide music market almost overnight. Unfortunately, for the songwriters and composers, the rates set for a pre-streaming market were suddenly worth doodley-squat in a streaming market.  This is why you hear about a songwriter making about $30 for a million plays of a song.

So, the songwriters and composers campaigned the DOJ to amend the consent decrees in order to allow more flexibility and more efficiency in licensing—a regime that would better reflect the dramatically changed, digital market. In response, the internet industry and its network of pundits complained that the PROs would then be free to capriciously raise rates, which would “stifle innovation” and harm consumers. For copyright watchers, this is a funny one because this same crowd usually argues that existing laws are doing all the stifling, but in this special case, it’s the WWII-era regime that is actually fostering innovation. Gotta hand it to the DOJ of 1941 for anticipating Spotify like that!

By now, consumers should understand that innovation often means money—money in the pockets of OSP shareholders made on the backs of rights holders who are getting hosed.  But last month, DOJ Deputy Director Renata Hesse not only affirmed the consent decrees, but she went a step further by rejecting the practice of “fractional licensing” for works made through collaborations.  When songwriters or composers represented by different PROs collaborate on a musical work, a user has had to obtain licenses from both organizations.  Hesse ruled that either PRO may license 100% of any work in either catalogue—a decision so deaf and blind to understanding the nature of music licensing that observers like music attorney Chris Castle can only conclude that Hesse’s former role as a Google attorney provides the only rational explanation.

Meanwhile, in an August 8th post on Techdirt, Mike Masnick ‘splains how the DOJ decision was not only the right decision, but one that will be “good for songwriters,” even if the songwriters are too naive to realize it yet.  I’ll let that hubris hang there for a moment, and then quote this refrain of one of Mike’s favorite saws:

“It’s kind of insane that we have to point this out over and over again, but the legacy industry always fights against new innovations in the false belief that it will harm revenue — yet when they learn how to embrace the opportunities, it turns out that a larger audience has been created and there are even more ways to make money.” 

I can’t decide which is more arrogant, the unwavering faith that he knows better than all the songwriters what’s best for them, the feigned exasperation at having to explain it again to these dumb songwriters, or the use of the royal we in this statement.  Or was that a revealing slip?  Which we is he speaking for here?

Of course, it may not matter what the pundits think because the DOJ may have opened up Pandora’s Box to let the music fly away.

As David Lowery explains—and David has written like way more songs than Mike Masnick—the DOJ may have spawned an unenforceable clusterfuck, the result of which could be tracks disappearing from streaming and other services.  In a recent blog post, Lowery states that it could cost him thousands of dollars in legal fees to revise the contracts between him and collaborators on a portion of his catalog.  In fact, some of those collaborators have passed away, so he would have to negotiate with their estates, making the process even more complicated. Can the DOJ constitutionally compel Lowery and thousands of other songwriters and composers to incur these legal fees to rewrite these contracts? We should hope not.

So, what will songwriters in this circumstance do?  The most cost-effective thing for them to do would be to pull the tracks from ASCAP & BMI that are more trouble than they’re worth.  That will reduce the music available on streaming services and also create a thorny problem for venues currently paying PRO licenses.  Right now, the coffee house where I’m sitting has all three licenses—ASCAP, BMI, & SESAC—and can play any song without worrying about it.  What happens if portions of the ASCAP and BMI catalogs are no longer covered by their licenses?  This is just a glimpse of the “chaos” the Copyright Office and others warned the DOJ would ensue as a result of their ruling this way on consent decrees.

The entire history of American copyright is one in which the contours of the law have been reshaped to conform to changing market conditions in order to protect artists and maintain the incentive to create and distribute.  As is so often the case today, the DOJ seems to be taking the narrow, Googley-eyed view that artists will continue to create and distribute no matter what happens.  Consumers are free to decide whether the songwriters know what they’re talking about or the copyright antagonists are correct.  But if they choose to ignore the former, I really hope they like the musical stylings of the latter.