Don’t Start Copyright Battles You Don’t Understand

gavel smashing lightbulb

Every once in a while, a copyright litigation story makes a fine cautionary tale for users of social platforms, and this is true partly because the conflict tends to spawn misleading headlines or comments that add fuel to an outrage already borne of ignorance.  In this case, I am referring to Prince’s estate easily prevailing on summary judgment in a copyright dispute with a YouTuber named Kian Habib. 

For instance, in 2017, The Blast posted the headline Prince Sues Random Guy for Posting Concert Videos on YouTube, and the very short article that followed naturally made references to Prince’s famously litigious nature still presiding over the management of his estate since his untimely passing in April of 2016.  In a post several years ago, I commented on the nature of Prince’s desire to control the use of his music, opining that it was a natural extension of the passion he put into everything he did, noting that he tolerated neither corporate labels nor web platforms nor even fans making decisions about what he thought best for his music.  Nevertheless, the most famous litigation that bears his name Lenz v. UMG (a.k.a. “The Dancing Baby Case”) still lives in the zeitgeist as an archetype of Prince’s assumed belligerence, despite the fact that Lenz is a boondoggle initiated by the Electronic Frontier Foundation, and not by Prince or the label.

And that brings us to the facts in the matter of Comerica v. Habib, in which Habib, while operating his channel PersianCeltic, uploaded five videos featuring substantial amounts of six songs performed by Prince during one of two concerts Habib had attended.  I know people upload smartphone camera clips from live concerts all the time; and in most cases, when short clips are uploaded to, say, a Facebook page, it will not be the target of a takedown by the artist(s) or their agents.  This does not mean said uploads are necessarily non-infringing, only that the rightsholders do not see them as problematic.

In Habib’s case, however, there are two major distinctions that make him someone other than a “random guy,” as The Blast described him.  First, a YouTube channel seeking subscribers will be seen as legally distinct (i.e. as a commercial enterprise) from a personal Facebook page; and second, Habib took the very unwise step in this case of filing a counter-notice in response to Comerica’s valid takedown request directed at the five videos.  

Do Not File Counter Notices Unless You Know What You Are Doing

As explained in detail in an older post, the DMCA was designed as a mechanism for rightsholders to remove infringing content from platforms without suing anybody.  The premise was that innocent users will inevitably upload material that isn’t theirs; the rightsholders will send a takedown requests; the platform will comply and remove the infringing material; and that would be the end of the matter in most cases.  BUT, if a user files a counter-notice asserting that the takedown was made in error, the user is well-advised to know what he’s talking about because the only option left to the rightsholder at that point is to take legal action against the allegedly infringing user.  

As discussed in the past, when the rightsholder is a small creator with limited resources, the counter-notice procedure can serve as a disadvantage because litigation is very costly and not all counter-notices are valid.  But when the rightsholder has resources—and especially if that rightsholder happens to representing the Estate of Prince!!—a lawsuit will be forthcoming unless the counter-notice is truly on solid ground.  Habib’s ground was not merely squishy but was a swampy marsh filled with half-baked notions about copyright law—a classic example in the Don’t Column for YouTubers and other users of creative works.  

Your Opinion About What Copyright Law Should Be Won’t Help

I don’t know if Habib was represented by counsel, be he ought to have advised to shut up and apologize.  Still, the reason I thought this case worth mentioning is that the defenses argued do resemble the kind of assumptions about copyright that one sees in the digital ether all the time.  For instance, Habib apparently noted that Prince’s copyrights do not cover the live performances at the concerts, which is true, except that his capturing and uploading said performances is called bootlegging. He likewise offered his own legal theory that he is the only copyright owner of the videos—as if that ownership somehow extends to Prince’s music and performances as captured in his recordings.  

Little surprise of course that Habib also attempted a fair use defense without a net, positing that his videos are “transformative in nature because [he] specifically chose the vantage point to record from and alternated between shots of the performance and reactions from the crowd.”  He also argued that capturing banter from the crowd and adding commentary on his channel like “AMAZING” rendered his use “transformative.”  Both crazy and far from the mark on fair use, these amateur theories are typical of the kind of post-Lessig “remix culture” confusion that still gets users into unnecessary trouble.  

I think my favorite among Habib’s fair use defenses (under the third factor considering amount of the work used) is described in the Court opinion thus:  “Habib argues that the third factor weighs in his favor because his videos, in aggregate, add up to ‘approximately 17 minutes” of run-time, which he contrasts with the “approximately 6 hours’ total of the two Prince concerts he attended.”  By that logic, why stop with a mere 6 hours of concert time?  Why not contrast those 17 minutes against Prince’s entire career until Habib’s videos represent some fraction of a percent of Prince’s oeuvre?

Because that’s not how copyright law works, and it is certainly not how the third fair use factor works.  This prong of the defense looks at the amount and substantiality of the use of a single work and weighs that use in context to the purpose of the use assessed under the first factor. How large the author’s catalog, how long his career, or how much money he has earned to date has no bearing on these considerations.  Habib should have been restrained for his own good from making such an off-the-mark defense; nevertheless, his meanderings are typical of the general assumption that copyright enforcement is somehow not implicated (or is automatically mitigated) by the fact that the infringer is apparently “small potatoes” in the scheme of things.

Don’t be like Habib.  Do not invent legal theories based on a smattering of blogs (not even this one), and do not file DMCA counter-notices without a very solid argument that your right to use the work is covered by the exceptions in copyright.  And those cautions go double if the claimant happens to be the Estate of Prince!

Google v. Oracle Part I: Or Why You Really Don’t Have to Know WTF an API Is

I freely admit that one reason I procrastinated when it came to digging into Oracle v. Google (now Google v. Oracle) is the fact that this nine-year litigation, now headed to the Supreme Court, deals with software.  Unlike most creative arts in which I have some background and knowledge, software might as well be magic spells that make our devices run (or not); and although this form of authorship is generally invisible or incomprehensible to most of us users, the code-writers say it entails creative expression, and so does the copyright law since 1980.  

This clash-of-titans lawsuit, which currently stands with two rulings (in 2014 and 2017) in Oracle’s favor at the Federal Circuit Court of Appeals, will now ask the Supreme Court to settle two main legal questions:  1) whether the specific code (part of Oracle’s Java API) used by Google without a license in the development of Android is copyrightable in the first place; and 2) if that code is protected by copyright, whether Google’s use is protected by the fair use doctrine.  I will actually address the legal narrative and issues in subsequent posts because on top of the triable matters and doctrinal debates, is a business and PR story that should probably be addressed first. 

From Google’s perspective—and that of its defenders, who include many prominent copyright critics—the future of software innovation itself hinges on Google ultimately prevailing in this case.  These parties allege that developers everywhere depend on using programs like Java API (originally developed by Sun Microsystems) without license; and if they cannot do so, software evolution as we know it will be in jeopardy.  But without even getting into what an API is, and whether it can be copyrighted, let us keep in mind that this is Google we’re talking about—a market-killing, competitor-squashing, policy-manipulating, rights-infringing monopsonist that lacks any street cred to be speaking on behalf of the start-up entrepreneurs out there. 

Copyright history is replete with this recurring theme:  one business or industry would prefer to circumvent or deny copyright protection to a particular class of work and declares that, if their argument does not prevail accordingly, the death of [insert industry here] will ensue, and the public will suffer for the loss.  In this sense, note Google’s very broad statement in its petition asking the Supreme Court to grant certiorari …

“Given the ubiquity of smartphones today, it is easy to forget the challenges that developers initially faced in building the operating systems that allow modern smartphones to perform their myriad functions. Among other things, developers had to account for smaller processors, limited memory and battery life, and the need to support mobile communications and interactive applications.”

Notice how the narrative thrust here positions Google as just another developer doing good works for society, almost as though the company had no interest whatsoever in becoming one of two—count them, two—smartphone platforms now being used in several major markets.  But Google is, of course, not just another developer.  According to Oracle’s brief in opposition to granting cert …

“Google faced an existential threat.  People with mobile devices were not using Google’s search engine, causing Google to lose significant advertising revenue.  It needed to quickly develop a platform tailored to mobile devices that would promote Google search.”

Perhaps Google would dispute this fact pattern, but it sounds substantially more realistic—and is wholly consistent with the company’s market behavior to date—than the tech giant’s alleged, post hoc concern for “developers everywhere.”  In order to move as quickly as possible into the mobile market, and encourage developers to create apps for what would become Android, Google describes …

“In 2005, Google and Sun began discussing a partnership that would have allowed Google to adapt the entire Java SE platform for smartphones. Google and Sun conducted negotiations but were unable to reach an agreement. In the absence of such an agreement, Google used the freely available Java language (and its declarations) to develop its own libraries of methods that enabled developers to build smartphone applications for use on Android devices.” (Emphasis added)

Note that I highlighted a couple of terms in order to draw your attention to what reads like a contradiction.  If indeed a software is “freely available,” why was a party like Google “negotiating” with Oracle for its use in the first place?  It seems almost as though some piece of that story is missing, which, not surprisingly, Oracle fills in with its brief, stating, “Google rejected the condition Oracle demanded of all commercial licensees: make Android ‘compatible with the Java’ platform and ‘interoperable with other Java programs.’” (Emphasis added)

Again, I will leave the matter of copyrightability of the specific code Google appropriated to a future post; but even without understanding what Java or an API is, the whole existential-threat-to-software-development narrative starts to look a little squishy.  Instead, this story begins to read like a typical scenario in which a commercial user (one of the biggest commercial users in the world) did not like the licensing terms to which several other commercial users had subscribed and, so, opted to go permissionless and sort it out later.  With regard to its licensing regime, Oracle states that app programmers (e.g. those folks who make games and guitar tuners etc.) can obtain a free Java platform license for development.  But …

“Oracle recoups its investment in the Java platform mainly by licensing it to (1) hardware manufacturers who copy the platform onto their devices…and (2) competing platform developers who want to use Oracle’s programs to commercialize their own platforms.  Any platform developer that does not want to take a license is free to develop its own platform with identical functions without copying the Java platform.  Apple and Microsoft did it.”

Assuming these statements are undisputed facts—and we need not understand the technology here—what exactly was Google’s problem with agreeing to the “interoperability” term of the license agreement, which other platform developers like Blackberry, Nokia, et al had signed?  Could it possibly have been that the “interoperability” condition was a barrier to Google’s ambition to have something proprietary and, thereby, own as much of the mobile market as they could acquire?  Sounds pretty Googley to me.

So, for all the chatter surrounding this litigation about the importance of “innovation, competition, and future software development,” it must at least be plausibly entertained that Google sought to leverage Oracle’s IP in order to expedite time-to-market while also insulate itself from any liabilities that might obstruct its eventual market dominance.  That would certainly be consistent with the kind of conduct many rights holders in other media have witnessed (see YouTube), and so would Google’s couching its own interests in broad statements like this one: 

“If allowed to stand, the Federal Circuit’s approach will upend the longstanding expectation of software developers that they are free to use existing software interfaces to build new computer programs. Developers who have invested in learning free and open programming languages such as Java will be unable to use those skills to create programs for new platforms—a result that will undermine both competition and innovation.”

Given the different tiers of licensing available for the Java platform, including the free license for app developers, that doomsday prediction does not ring entirely true and, therefore, belies the broad narrative that the future of all software development is under siege by Oracle’s claim.  This is, of course, a familiar pattern among Silicon Valley corporations—especially Google—whereby they emphasize the general value of a system (e.g. a smartphone, a search engine, a social platform) while understating their own interests in the market itself.  And they often achieve this sleight-of-hand by misdirecting public attention to hypothetical “competitors” in the abstract, while in reality, these tech giants have a habit of killing potential rivals before they get out of the lab.  

As stated, I will do my best to dig into some of the specific copyright matters in Google v. Oracle in future posts; but as these stories tend to seep into public dialogue in layman’s terms and PR messaging, this seemed like the right place to start.  The general premise that Google’s needs are inherently society’s needs has worn very thin.  And it’s about time.  

In Suit With Publishers, Audible’s Defenses Raise Questions

Last Monday, the world’s largest distributor of audiobooks, Audible, had intended to launch a new service called Caption, a feature that uses voice-to-text transcription technology to display the text of an audiobook on a user’s screen in synch with the narration.  In late August, seven major publishers* filed suit against Audible, alleging that the unlicensed Caption feature amounts to copyright infringement of the underlying literary works.  The Publishers requested a preliminary injunction to prevent Audible from launching Caption pending further proceedings.  

According to Audible, the customer who wants to use Caption would request a transcription of the audiobook, which is then made available about thirty minutes after the request.  The customer is then able to read the book in caption form (no more than 15-20 words at a time) while listening to the narration, and he can also tap on selected words to link to dictionary or Wikipedia references.  The captions generated are imperfect (94% accurate), not unlike the syntactical or spelling flaws one sees in closed captioning on television.  

Audible states that it intends to store a requested transcript for a period of 90 days on its servers, and if no other requests for the same transcript are made in that timeframe, the file will be deleted.  All this transcribing, deleting, and re-transcribing looks a lot like a wasted effort designed primarily to circumvent a claim of direct copyright infringement, but perhaps more on that detail in a future post.  

For now, if Caption sounds generally like a useful “enhancement” to the audiobook experience, this is more or less the perception Audible is counting on in its response to the lawsuit filed on September 12.  The company’s brief states that Caption “was created to encourage deeper and better understanding of audiobooks for users who have chosen to have an audio-first experience.”  More particularly, Audible places considerable emphasis on  “struggling readers;” and although the potential educational value of Caption is not entirely dismissible, Audible has no intention of restricting its roll-out to students, or any identifiable “struggling” class of readers.  It hopes to offer Caption with nearly every book in its library, except those works the transcription software would be unable to render with 90+% accuracy.  Finnegan’s Wake?

Because Audible is a subsidiary of Amazon, and Amazon is one of the world’s most predatory companies on Earth, the courts, book authors, and the public should take a jaundiced—if not outright skeptical—view of Audible’s implication that its primary motive is to improve reading and literacy.  That ambition may be central to Audible’s founding, but Papa Amazon has a rather dismal track record for supporting the interests or rights of any individuals in its relentless pursuit of global distribution dominance.  

The Lawsuit

Simply put, the Publishers’ make clear that they licensed their audiobooks to Audible for distribution only and, therefore, the Caption feature amounts to an unlicensed, distributed-text version of a book.  Not only do the Publishers predict Caption may become a substitute for an eBook, they further note that Caption may quickly displace existing, legal technologies like Immersion Reading and Whispersynch, both of which enable users to link eBooks to audiobooks so that the words in the former are highlighted for reading along with the narration in the latter. 

In its defense brief, Audible responds that the Publishers exaggerate the potential harm of Caption, which Audible claims is too limited in both form and function to be perceived by users as a viable substitute for any kind of book-reading experience.  Audible also asserts that, at most, the Publishers have a breach-of-contract claim that does not implicate copyright law.  But just in case the court disagrees with that argument, Audible asserts that Caption is a “quintessential fair use,” a claim that rests primarily on the implication that Caption is “transformative” in its ability to help reverse downward trends in American reading.

Breach-of-Contract Defense Misrepresents Copyright Law

“Each Plaintiff granted Audible a license to its copyrighted works, and yet now alleges that Audible Captions infringes those licensed works. But the law is clear: by agreeing to those licenses, Plaintiffs waived their right to sue for copyright infringement as a result of licensed conduct. Thus, this Court need not reach the copyright issues presented here.“

Notice how words to the effect of “to distribute plaintiff’s sound recordings” are missing from that first sentence?  Audible is probably not being careless in this statement so much as it is being a bit too clever by half—using language that is too broad to accurately describe the nature of its agreement with the Publishers. As stated, Audible licensed the right to distribute sound recordings belonging to the Publishers and nothing more.  Consequently, its claim that the Publishers’ only remedy is to be found in contract law hinges on a misreading of copyright practice.

Copyright is not a single right, but a “bundle of rights,” which the author/owner may exploit or not as she chooses under a variety of license agreements.  For instance, the author may choose to license the translation of her novel to a specific publisher she trusts; or she may separately refuse to allow sequels to a story she feels should not be serialized.  These are two distinct examples of licensing options, both protected by the same statutory right to “prepare derivative works.”

In Audible’s claim, it seems that by omission and obfuscation, they hope to convince the court, at this preliminary stage, that their license to distribute sound recordings extends to a right to transcribe those recordings into captions simply because the contracts do not specifically prohibit this conduct.  This unusual claim reads to me like a strategy to get the court to deny the Publishers’ request for a preliminary injunction, which the court would certainly do, if it agreed that the complaint is limited to a contract dispute.  This would then allow Audible to enjoy the PR benefits of launching and promoting Caption while, presumably, negotiating with the Publishers in the matter.  But it is frankly hard to imagine how the court will find this argument tenable, let alone persuasive.

Defendant asks the court to reject out of hand the plaintiff’s assertion that the Caption feature constitutes unlicensed reproduction, display, and distribution of a book’s text—three rights enumerated in the copyright statute.  So, unless the court can find a rationale that Caption does not cause reproduction, display, and distribution of these works, it seems unlikely it will concur with Audible’s view that their conduct does not implicate a copyright complaint that warrants further proceeding.  

While it is possible to breach a license agreement in a manner that does not result in copyright infringement, such an interpretation in Audible would seem anathema to the way licensing usually works.  When a contract is written to grant a limited license, the copyright owner does not need to add a clause itemizing all other possible uses of the underlying work as being specifically prohibited.  More typically, the contract will clearly describe what is being granted followed by a concluding statement to the effect that “all other rights are reserved.”  

On that subject, the Caption feature demonstrates the fact that technological innovations can yield potential uses of copyrighted works that will not be anticipated at the time a contract is executed.  Despite this, the author does not abandon his right a priori to license a potential use that has not yet been invented or introduced to the market; and his rights cannot be abrogated wholesale in the name of “innovation.”  

This is one reason authors should hope the court proceeds with tremendous caution in this case—if not in response to what Caption appears to be at present, then with an awareness of what Audible/Amazon could have in store in the near future.  With that in mind, it is worth examining the underpinning of Audible’s fair use defense—namely that Caption can be a valuable tool for “struggling readers.”   

Is Caption Fair Use?

Contrary to the “not copyright” defense, the court could find Audible’s fair use claim somewhat more persuasive insofar as Caption does appear to share certain qualities with Google Books—at least in its present form.  The fair use claim rests principally on the grounds that Caption is “transformative” (under the first factor analysis) as an educational enhancement to audiobook listening; and that it is not a market substitute (under the fourth factor analysis) for either electronic or printed books.

Kevin Madigan at CPIP writes that Caption is not at all transformative because there is nothing particularly innovative about “turning” a book into readable text.  “Audible is reproducing the text of a literary work for the purpose of reading—whether for education or for entertainment—and that is the exact purpose of the underlying works of authorship,” he writes. This point is beyond dispute.  

Nevertheless, the court may be somewhat persuaded by a comparison to Google Books, which was held to be both transformative and non-substitutive in a finding this same court called “pushing the boundaries of fair use.”  There are reasons to find that Caption crosses those boundaries.  

Fair Use Factor One – Can Caption “Transform” Reading?

By alluding in its brief to broad trends in American reading habits, Audible seems to imply that Caption is an antidote to some rather dismaying data.  For instance, the brief notes, “36% of 8thgraders are reading at a ‘proficient’  or ‘advanced’ level while 24% are below ‘basic’ level …” Further, Audible observes, “One third of teens reported not reading any books for pleasure in 2016; yet they reported spending on average four to six hours per day online, texting, and on social media.”   

These statistics are sobering to be sure; and as the parent of a high-schooler and middle-schooler trying to encourage his kids to enjoy reading despite all those electronic distractions, I can relate. But with that said, it is hardly conclusive that more technological gadgets are a solution to the problem—a problem that, according to Audible’s own citation, is partly fostered by the omnipresence of tech toys in the first place.  So, it is conceivable that Audible is overstating Caption’s general value in order to seem a bit more “transformative” than it is.

It is certainly plausible that readers who struggle—either because of physical barriers, cultural-economic barriers, or plain bad habits—could achieve reading comprehension benefits from using Caption. But this possibility, for which there is not enough data, does not inherently support Audible’s “transformative” argument as a rationale to make nearly every book in its library available in Caption form to every customer worldwide.  That is a lot of market to cede to one company without license.

Morevoer, Audible’s implication that Caption might reverse reading trends at scale actually supports the Publishers’ position that the feature is not a “transformative” use so much as it is potentially a new way of reading.  If this became true, it would only underscore the fact that authors and publishers have a vested interest in that future; and at the same time, Audible’s implication that it might bring reading back actually undermines its non-substitutive claim under the fourth prong of the fair use analysis.

Fair Use Factor Four — Caption Is Not a Substitute?

Unlike Google Books, Caption makes the full text of a book available, so the court should be wary and cognizant of the likelihood that, with minor technological improvements and/or shifts in market dynamics, Caption could conceivably become an unlicensed market substitute for eBooks. So, authors should be very concerned about a fair use precedent in this case—if not for Caption in its nascent form—then for the next iteration of a Caption-like service that could become the new reading for many consumers.

Again, we ignore at our peril that Audible is a subsidiary of Amazon; and it is not the least bit unfair to imagine how a seemingly innocuous feature like Caption can be a springboard for expanding Amazon’s already outsized influence in publishing and elsewhere.  If the court finds that Caption is fair use today, and Audible actually did grow the reading market—as it implies that it can—we begin to see very familiar territory as yet another tech giant positions itself as a monopsony. Does anyone really believe that Amazon would not become to book writers what Spotify is to songwriters?  Really?

In light of Big Tech’s track record so far, this is hardly an alarmist point of view, and anyone who actually cares about writing or reading books can be forgiven a healthy dollop of skepticism about the professed good deeds of any of these companies.  As the New York Times recently reported, Amazon sells foreign-made books that are so poorly produced that they do not even contain accurate reproductions of the text.  Citing George Orwell’s works, David Stretfield notes that the books he acquired include  “… straightforward counterfeits, like the edition of his memoir ‘Down and Out in Paris and London’ that was edited for high school students. The author’s estate said it did not give permission for the book, printed by Amazon’s self-publishing subsidiary.”  So forgive me a raised eyebrow when a subsidiary of this company says it wants to save literature.

While it is certainly not in the authors’ or publishers’ interests to prevent changes in the way people might read in years to come—if indeed changes are on the horizon—these parties must remain the primary stakeholders in that future.  Consequently, if and when the court considers the fourth fair use factor in this case, authors, publishers, and readers should hope that it underlines the statutory mandate to consider potential market harm.  Because there is little evidence to-date that Amazon will not exploit any opportunity in its efforts to become the worldwide distributor of everything.


* Chronicle, Hachette, HarperCollins, MacMillan, Penguin Random House, Scholastic, Simon & Schuster.