Category: Culture

Google v. Oracle XII : SCOTUS Should Not Remand on Fair Use Review

As mentioned in my last Google v. Oracle post, the Supreme Court devoted considerable attention during oral argument to addressing the standard applied by the Federal Circuit when it determined as a matter of law that Google’s copying of Oracle’s code was not fair use. Google maintains that the Federal Circuit failed to show proper deference to a jury decision, and I discussed the constitutional and historical aspects of this argument in an earlier post. Oracle’s response argues that the Federal Circuit performed essentially the same function on appeal that courts perform all the time at summary judgment, where the vast majority of fair use cases are decided.

The reason why so much fair use jurisprudence occurs at summary judgment is simply a practical reality of litigation. When a party moves for summary judgment—for instance, a defendant who presents a fair use defense to an infringement claim—the court must assume that the facts favor the non-moving party and then consider whether there is any genuine dispute as to a material fact and whether the moving party is entitled to judgment as a matter of law. Once a court rules as to whether (or not) a fair use defense will survive, that decision is so important to the legal positions of the two sides it is often the end of the case.

Google asserts that the Federal Circuit erred when it decided the fair use question. Indeed, several amici in support of Google argued that overturning the jury in this instance was a misstep under the rules of civil procedure and a violation of the Seventh Amendment. Counsel for Oracle, Joshua Rosenkranz, noted at oral argument that Google went so far as to assert that “only a jury can balance the [fair use] factors.” Assuming Oracle’s characterization of Google’s argument is accurate, Google is simply incorrect. Obviously, fair use is a matter that may be considered exclusively by the courts, since most of the time, it is. As the Federal Circuit opinion in this case states:

“The fair use question entails … a primarily legal exercise. It requires a court to assess the inferences to be drawn from the historical facts found in light of the legal standards outlined in the statute and relevant case law and to determine what conclusion those inferences dictate….the exercise of assessing whether a use is fair in one case will help guide resolution in all future cases.”

The Supreme Court may consider whether remanding to the Federal Circuit for review “under a more deferential standard [of review],” as Justice Gorsuch put it, would have a deleterious effect on future summary judgment proceedings. And I may be over-speculating here, but remand seems unlikely. If the Court finds that the Federal Circuit correctly applied its fair use analysis and solely weighed questions of law, then any lingering matters regarding deference—if they are found to exist at all—do not seem compelling enough to delay the Court from ruling on both the review standard and the fair use finding. After all, this case is already more than ten years old.

No Reasonable Jury…

According to Oracle, the Federal Circuit correctly applied the “no reasonable jury” standard in deciding fair use as a matter of law. Does this mean the jury was unreasonable? No. It means fair use, to put it in technical terms, is a pain in the butt. Professional creators struggle with it; attorneys struggle with it; and courts struggle with it. And the trickiest aspect of fair use is acquiring a sensitivity to the interdependence of the four factors, which, unsurprisingly, a jury is unlikely to possess.  

What the Federal Circuit determined was that the jury resolved disputes of historical fact in favor of the verdict (and this was reviewed with deference), but that the jury arrived at incorrect legal inferences drawn from those facts (and this was reviewed de novo). Thus, the appellate court found that, even deferring to the fact finding, Google’s copying was not fair use.

I suspect the Supreme Court will not find that the Federal Circuit applied the wrong standard, unless there is some arcane bit of civ pro flaw in the mix that eludes me and the litigants. The appellate court followed Ninth Circuit precedent (because that is where the parties would have filed had there not originally been a patent claim in the suit), and it seems to have very clearly articulated how it separated questions of fact from questions of law before proceeding with an in-depth fair use analysis. And the review considered the same questions of law judges consider on summary judgment, where fair use is so often decided. For these reasons, I imagine the Supreme Court will not remand but will instead rule on the fair use analysis itself and either agree or disagree with the Federal Circuit’s findings.  

Separating the Factual from the Legal in Fair Use

Under factor one (the purpose and character of the use), the Federal Circuit correctly separates the factual question of a use with a commercial purpose from the legal implication of a use with a commercial purpose. The opinion notes that Google’s commercial intent here is undisputed (how could it be when Android is worth billions?) and that the jury was instructed that commerciality generally weighs against fair use as a matter of law. The court then correctly identifies transformativeness as a legal question and spends nearly six pages explaining why Google’s use of the Java code superseded the purpose of Oracle’s original work and was, therefore, “not transformative as a matter of law.”

Under factor two (the nature of the work), the analysis is generally dominated by separating factual works, which are more often subject to fair use, from expressive works, which are less often subject to fair use. Acknowledging that computer code can be complicated because it is an expressive work of a highly functional nature, the Federal Circuit sensibly held that the jury could have decided that the functionality favored fair use under factor two, but that the factor itself did not weigh heavily overall. This opinion should be little surprise to Google and several of its amici, as they have made precisely the same argument in cases involving the use of expressive books and photographs.

The more that a single factor teeters on the centerline, the more determinative the other factors become. But to reiterate the broader point, there appears to be nothing novel about the Federal Circuit’s approach to separating the factual from the legal and opining solely on the legal under factor two.

Factor three (the amount and substantiality of the portion used) tricks a lot of people. A user might copy a fraction of a work and be justly found guilty of infringement because the third factor is a qualitative analysis that asks whether a user has copied the “heart” of the work. Alternatively, a user might copy a whole work and have the use fall within the fair use exception.  This is not to say that the fair use analysis is capricious—rather, this is one case where we really see the interdependence of the four factors.

Google argued that it only copied the bare minimum of what it needed to achieve its purpose, and it further adds that it used only a fraction of all Java code. But this ignores the Federal Circuit’s finding that the parties did not dispute that only 170 lines of code were necessary to “write in the Java language.” Thus, the appeals court found it significant that Google copied 11,330 more lines of code than it needed. Further, the Federal Circuit opined that “no reasonable jury could conclude what was copied was qualitatively insignificant, particularly when the material copied was important to the creation of the Android platform.”

Related to this consideration, note that although the word “purpose” is not stated in the third factor, Google’s defense and the Federal Circuit’s reference to how much code Google “needed to” copy demonstrates how the third prong consideration is influenced by the first factor finding. Purpose is highly determinative of fair use.  For example, in Campbell v. Acuff-Rose, the Supreme Court made clear that 2 Live Crew’s intent to parody “Oh, Pretty Woman” allowed a very liberal taking of the “heart” of the original material.

Every user has a purpose, and juries can be tripped up when that purpose results in something new and significant like a mobile operating system that attains Android’s market share. But it is important not to be distracted by the fact that Android is a big deal because this market reality does not tell us whether Google made a transformative use of Oracle’s code as a matter of law. And if transformativeness does not exist under factor one, then copying what may seem like a small portion of a work is more likely to tilt away from a finding of fair use under factor three. Ultimately, the Federal Circuit found that the third factor was either a tie or weighed against fair use.

Under the fourth factor (effect on the actual or potential market for the original work), if factor one weighs against fair use—especially with a commercial use—then odds are that the effect upon the potential market for the original author will be considered harmful. Further, under the fourth prong, the courts assume that upon a finding of fair use that the use in question will be repeated by other users. Thus, courts take an expansive view of “potential” market harm in the factor four analysis.

Here, the Federal Circuit held that the jury drew incorrect inferences about potential market harm and held that no reasonable jury could have imagined that no actual or potential market harm would fall upon Oracle’s protected work. It rejected Google’s arguments that Oracle 1) is not a device maker; and 2) had not yet built its own smartphone platform. To the untrained juror, these two points seek to emphasize Google as innovator using a work to exploit a market the original author never intended to enter, but the appellate court rightly observes that these facts are irrelevant as a matter of law under factor four.  

The problem with Google’s arguments here is that they both clearly ignore that a copyright owner has a right to the potential market for lawful derivative works. One does not say to an illustrator that because she has never been a comic book producer, she is denied the exclusive right to license her imagery for a graphic novel. One also does not say to the sculptor that if another party makes tea cozies out of her designs, she’s out of luck because she did not think of doing so first. These would be errors of law, both with regard to fair use factor four and Section 106(2) of the Copyright Act, which provides the exclusive right to prepare derivative works.

So, based on my rereading of the Federal Circuit fair use opinion, it appears to have properly and extensively separated the factual and legal considerations in Google v. Oracle, considered the legal questions de novo, and correctly found as a matter of law that under the historical facts, no reasonable jury could have found fair use. I will be very surprised if the Supreme Court does not agree with the appellate court’s analysis and, therefore, even more surprised if they find any complaint about the standard of review compelling enough to remand.

As DMCA Review Gets Real, Anti-Copyright Rhetoric Gets More Surreal

Among the reasons I defend copyright is that I firmly believe it is inadvertently one of the most profound expressions of democratic principles in the American Constitution. When the Framers essentially transposed English copyright into Article I of the Constitution, they could not possibly have imagined the full value—cultural, economic, and political—of vesting authors, with both the moral and pecuniary rights that would be embodied in copyright law. But as much as I will eagerly advocate those rights, I will not betray broader principles to achieve that goal. If the current precariousness of the Republic should remind us of one lesson above all, it is that, in America, means remain vastly more important than ends.

Sadly, too many Americans across the political spectrum have broken faith with that principle, including those who would weaken, or even destroy copyright. For instance, Techdirt founder Mike Masnick appears to be a Democrat (based on his tweets and other writings), and is certainly not a Trumpian. Nevertheless, the site he edits published a post on November 18 by Daniel Takash that begins as follows:

I’m certainly not the first person (especially on Techdirt) to point out that if conservatives are really concerned about online censorship, they should be putting copyright law under the microscope, rather than, or at least in addition to, Section 230.

This is what happens when someone cares more about a specific agenda than they do about the broader, moral implications of how they advocate that agenda. Here, Techdirt is so determined to blast copyright law that it publishes a post in which Takash gives credence to the false narrative that social platforms have been censoring conservative views. As I have argued in several posts, this accusation only has merit if one’s definition of “conservative” is an ideology of lies and wild conspiracy allegations that undermine the rule of law, basic decency, and public safety. That is a stigma the GOP is going to have to resolve as the Trump effect (we can only hope) begins to wane, but at the moment, it is a dangerous narrative that should not be given air in the service of any policy goal. Period.

Noting that the discussion about Section 230 emanating from the White House, and oozing into congressional hearings, can best be described as incoherent and futile, Takash is effectively asking that the same kind of inarticulate vitriol be slung at copyright law in the name of “conservatism.” His post alludes generally to “Trump’s troubles” with the use of copyrighted works in campaign videos and rallies, as if to imply first, that rightsholders have no interest in how their works are used; and second, that the use of works in political statements is not a complex issue. Instead, Takash simply invites “conservatives” to adopt the view that copyrights are tantamount to censorship.

Maintaining sound copyright laws has enjoyed bipartisan support throughout the history of the country, and many of its strongest advocates have been Republicans. One of my favorite colleagues with whom I regularly discuss copyright is a lifelong Republican, and the fact that we approach policy from different ideologies only adds to the richness of the conversation. That’s the way Congress used to work (at least more than it does now), and in the tiny, obscure world of copyright law, it still works that way—a bipartisan conversation in which nearly every Member agrees with the premise that American creators are essential and that copyright law is a constitutional principle that has capably stood the test of time.

Section 230 should be reviewed soberly and rationally—not because it shields platform “censorship,” but because it shields criminal conduct that destroys, or nearly destroys, people’s lives. But that has nothing to do with copyright law, which is being reviewed appropriately and apolitically. In contrast to the Section 230 noise that has lately rumbled on Capitol Hill, the review of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), led by Chairman Tillis of the Senate Judiciary Committee has been orderly, rational, and not in any way subsumed by the political circus that has distorted a wide range of other policy matters.

Last week, Chariman Tillis published an open letter asking stakeholders to provide input for potential revision to the DMCA. Comments are due on December 1, and after review of that input, the committee is expected to present draft legislation on December 18. The Tillis letter poses fifteen questions spanning many topics for consideration. These points summarize the findings by the committee after its yearlong process hosting hearings and conducting internal review into whether the DMCA has fulfilled its purposes as Congress intended 22 years ago. The topics in the letter also echo the Copyright Office report on Section 512 of the DMCA, which recommends the law should be updated.

As most readers know, copyright owners, especially small and independent owners, have told both House and Senate Judiciary Committees that DMCA Section 512 does not come anywhere close to working as intended. The statute, which provides conditional immunity for online service providers that unintentionally host copyright infringing material, has been a complete failure for the independent creator, and extraordinarily burdensome for the institutional copyright owner.

The day-to-day reality of implementing Section 512 betrays Congress’s expressly stated anticipation that OSPs and rightsholders would collaborate to keep infringement down to a manageable scale. Instead, the immunity provided by the statute has functioned as a disincentive for OSPs to mitigate infringement, thereby allowing some of the biggest companies in the world to profit from infringement at a scale worth billions of dollars over the past two decades.

Because Section 512 shares a core principle with Section 230 (i.e. the premise that the OSP should not be liable for the conduct of its users), the two statutes are often conflated in the blogosphere, and occasionally confused by the press, which might carelessly refer to 230 and copyright in the same sentence. But because the two provisions grant different types of legal immunity to some of the most powerful companies on Earth, another attribute they share is that Big Tech will spare no expense defending the status quo of both laws. And in that endeavor, they can be counted upon to exploit all the confusion they can muster. This is the simplest explanation for Takash’s illogical (and frankly immoral) appeal to “conservatives” to embrace a copyright is censorship ideology.

As legislative proposals become available, I will follow up with commentary on the nuts-and-bolts in that process. But as a preliminary observation, it is hard to imagine that at least some revision to 512 will not be proposed, and creators should be prepared for Silicon Valley’s network of anti-copyright proxies to launch a well-funded assault to defend the territory it has so effectively usurped.

About That McCloskey Photo

There are a lot of posts going around lately about that photo. You know the one. It depicts St. Louis attorneys Mark and Patricia McCloskey standing locked and loaded—he with an AR15, she with a Bryco Model 38 handgun—in front of their large house on the afternoon of June 28th. That was the day when approximately 500 protestors, in response to the murder of George Floyd, entered a private, gated neighborhood and passed the McCloskeys’ house on their way to protest outside the home of St. Louis Mayor Lyda Krewson. According to one ABC News report, the couple grabbed their weapons “when two or three protesters — who were white — violently threatened the couple, and their property and that of their neighbors.”

While that factual allegation begs many questions, I shall avoid litigating the McCloskeys’ decision to brandish firearms in this instance other than to say that they made a conscious choice to do so with a very reasonable expectation that their actions would be recorded by a multitude of cameras. One of these was the camera of professional photographer William Greenblatt, who captured the image that truly made the McCloskeys famous, or infamous depending on one’s point of view.

The reason I’m writing about it on this blog is that headlines and comments report that the McCloskeys are suing Greenblatt for, among other things, the “copyright in the photograph.” Their complaint appears to be a counter-suit in response to the fact that Mr. Greenblatt sent the couple an invoice for $1,500 after they made unlicensed reproductions of the photo for this year’s McCloskey Christmas card (jolly, no?).

The named defendants in the suit include Greenblatt, United Press International (UPI), and a company called Redbubble, which apparently licensed Greenblatt’s image to reprint on merchandise that, as one might imagine, lampoons the couple. So, now we have a ballgame. But if we separate the volatile, emotional issues surrounding these events, what are the legal aspects in this little pissing match on the Mississippi? And before I go there, let me stipulate that despite my own impression of the McCloskeys as ridiculous figures, I acknowledge that photographs can be very deceptive storytellers, even images that appear to say precisely what Greenblatt’s photo appears to say in this instance.  

The McCloskeys filed a litany of right of publicity (ROP) complaints in Missouri State Court. Missouri recognizes common law rights of publicity as intertwined with the right of privacy, and the McCloskeys are suing the co-defendants for reputational harm and emotional distress stemming from the exploitation of the photo and the associated public ridicule. Among the forms of relief they ask for is “an order transferring ownership of the Photo and any other media captured while trespassing ….”

The complaint rests substantially on the allegation of trespassing, which is an invasion of privacy; and, as a technical matter, Greenblatt and the protestors were supposedly doing just that. The protestors reportedly broke down a gate and entered a private community—an accusation* that has given many gun rights advocates grounds to argue that the McCloskeys acted properly.

But regardless of the presumption that all 500 protestors were, strictly speaking, trespassing on a private road, Greenblatt was there as a photographer, documenting events as they happened. He has the right to follow a story almost anywhere it leads. And whether more Americans applaud or scorn the McCloskeys’ decision to bring out their guns, even if Greenblatt was standing on private property, doesn’t necessarily matter. What the McCloskeys did constituted a newsworthy event that Greenblatt captured, as did hundreds of other amateur photographers.

So, to the extent that an invasion of privacy could undermine the photographer’s right to capture the image in the first place, it strikes me that the trespassing would only be relevant if the protestors intentionally drew the McCloskeys from their home with the purpose of making them feel threatened and ridiculed, and that Greenblatt capitalized on that intent, as the complaint almost seems to imply. I am speculating here, as I am hardly versed in Missouri ROP case law, but I suspect that Greenblatt’s press right to capture a newsworthy moment will ultimately prevail (if this case even proceeds) over the allegation that he intentionally trespassed with the purpose of exploiting the McCloskeys for his own financial gain.

The facts as we know them support the narrative that the McCloskeys reacted to the protestors (a subgroup in a nationwide protest), who were walking past their home, and Greenblatt merely photographed the couple once they engaged in voluntary conduct in plain view of several hundred people. The McCloskeys’ decision, right or wrong, was no longer private. On the contrary, it was destined to be national and international news the moment they stepped outside, unless one can reasonably believe that they were somehow unaware that nearly every protestor would be carrying a camera.

That Greenblatt’s newsworthy photograph, among many others, went viral online—and inspired a whirlwind of ridicule—should not be a matter of Mr. Greenblatt’s liability or anybody else’s. Further, it strains reason to believe that the McCloskeys consider the image wholly damming if they really did use it to make a Christmas card. At best, this implies that they do not really mind the image itself, as long as they can try to control its interpretation in a flattering light. If that is their intent, this would be one reason why the couple would seek transfer of the copyrights in the image.

But aside from the fact that there is no controlling how the public will interpret any image, the negative perception of the McCloskeys was likely formed within minutes after their gun-toting images appeared online. Regardless, what the McCloskeys did was significant news. And even in most cases where the invasion of privacy is more aggressive, and the photograph taken is less newsworthy (e.g. paparazzi hounding certain celebrities), courts tend to favor the photographer’s right to capture and distribute the image. 

Overall, I suspect the St. Louis couple is about to learn that the subjects of photographs very rarely have any right to control the use of those photos, and that the prospect of obtaining the rights to Greenblatt’s photo as a remedy to their ROP complaints is quite low. That said, there may be a legal path forward on the merchandise aspect vis-à-vis Redbubble because the merch in this case implies extended public ridicule for commercial gain, a subject that may deserve deeper consideration in principle.

After all, if instead of ridiculing the McCloskeys for engaging in conduct that many people find absurd, we were talking about selling merchandise with an embarrassing Emma Watson photo to consumers who hate her for her outspoken feminism, we begin to see how this kind of image exploitation can be rather disquieting.

It was inevitable, living in an age of self-surveillance with a networked camera in every hand, that we would increasingly see stories that convoke the common law rights of publicity and privacy with the federal rights of press freedom and copyright. And while the McCloskey lawsuit may prove fairly straightforward for the reasons stated—and it barely has anything to do with copyright—some of this story’s themes are reprised in a much more complex narrative unfolding with regard to celebrities and photographers whose pursuit of their image push the boundaries of stalking. I will try to make that the subject of a post in the near future.

*Originally published as “a fact that has given…” Thanks to reader David Carson, photographer at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch for sharing this video link showing the manner in which the protestors entered the community.