Want to hear the latest thinking on copyright reform?  Come to the 2013 Public Knowledge Policy Forum tomorrow, February 26, at 1 pm, at the US Capitol Visitor Center, where I will discuss and debate the issue with these fellow copyright wonks:

• Erik Martin, General Manager, Reddit
• Pamela Samuelson, professor of law at Berkeley Law, University of California; Faculty Director, Berkeley Center for Law & Technology
• Michael McGeary, Co-Founder, Engine Advocacy

Gigi B. Sohn, President & CEO, Public Knowledge, will moderate.

To catch the full roster, which includes some great panels, come at 10.  Registration–and lunch!–is free.  Details here.

Can’t make it?  Here’s my presentation:  PK_(C)_Reform.

Would you pay good money for accurate predictions about important events, such as election results or military campaigns? Not if the U.S. Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) has its way. It recently took enforcement action against overseas prediction markets run by InTrade and TEN. The alleged offense? Allowing Americans to trade on claims about future events.

The blunt version: If you want to put your money where your mouth is, the CFTC wants to shut you up.

A prediction market allows its participants to buy and sell claims payable upon the occurrence of some future event, such as an election or Supreme Court opinion. Because they align incentives with accuracy and tap the wisdom of crowds, prediction markets offer useful information about future events. InTrade, for instance, accurately called the recent U.S. presidential vote in all but one state.

As far as the CFTC is concerned, people buying and selling claims about political futures deserve the same treatment as people buying and selling claims about pork futures: Heavy regulations, enforcement actions, and bans. Co-authors Josh Blackman, Miriam A. Cherry, and I described in this recent op-ed why the CFTC’s animosity to prediction markets threatens the First Amendment.

The CFTC has already managed to scare would-be entrepreneurs away from trying to run real-money prediction markets in the U.S. Now it threatens overseas markets. With luck, the Internet will render the CFTC’s censorship futile, saving the marketplace in ideas from the politics of ignorance.

Why take chances, though? I suggest two policies to protect prediction markets and the honest talk they host. First, the CFTC should implement the policies described in the jointly authored Comment on CFTC Concept Release on the Appropriate Regulatory Treatment of Event Contracts, July 6, 2008. (Aside to CFTC: Your web-based copy appears to have disappeared. Ask me for a copy.)

Second, real-money public prediction markets should make clear that they fall outside the CFTC’s jurisdiction by deploying notices, setting up independent contractor relations with traders, and dealing in negotiable conditional notes. For details, see these papers starting with this one.

[Aside to Jerry and Adam: per my promise.]

[Crossposted at Technology Liberation Front, and Agoraphilia.]

Copyrights and patents differ from tangible property in fundamental ways. Economically speaking, copyrights and patents are not rivalrous in consumption; whereas all the world can sing the same beautiful song, for instance, only one person can swallow a cool gulp of iced tea. Legally speaking, copyrights and patents exist only thanks to the express terms of the U.S. Constitution and various statutory enactments. In contrast, we enjoy tangible property thanks to common law, customary practices, and nature itself. Even birds recognize property rights in nests. They do not, however, copyright their songs.

Those represent but some of the reasons I have argued that we should call copyright an intellectual privilege, reserving property for things that deserve the label. Another, related reason: Calling copyright property risks eroding that valuable service mark.

Property as a service mark, like FedEx or Hooters? Yes. Thanks to long use, property has come to represent a distinct set of legal relations, including hard and fast rules relating to exclusion, use, alienation, and so forth. Copyright embodies those characteristics imperfectly, if at all. To call it intellectual property risks confusing consumers of legal services—citizens, attorneys, academics, judges, and lawmakers—about the nature of copyright. Worse yet, it confuses them about the nature of property. The property service mark suffers not merely dilution from copyright’s infringing use, but tarnishment, too.

As proof of how copyright threatens to erode property, consider Ben Depooter, Fair Trespass, 111 Col. L. Rev. 1090 (2011). From the abstract:

Trespass law is commonly presented as a relatively straightforward doctrine that protects landowners against intrusions by opportunistic trespassers. . . . This Essay . . . develops a new doctrinal framework for determining the limits of a property owner’s right to exclude. Adopting the doctrine of fair use from copyright law, the Essay introduces the concept of “fair trespass” to property law doctrine. When deciding trespass disputes, courts should evaluate the following factors: (1) the nature and character of the trespass; (2) the nature of the protected property; (3) the amount and substantiality of the trespass; and (4) the impact of the trespass on the owner’s property interest. . . . [T]his novel doctrine more carefully weighs the interests of society in access against the interests of property owners in exclusion.

Although I do not agree with every aspect of Prof. Depooter’s doctrinal analysis, he correctly observes that trespass law includes some fuzzy bits. Nor do I complain about his overall form of argument. It is not a tack I would take, but it was near-inevitable that some legal scholar would eventually argue back from copyright to claim that real property, too, should fall prey to a multi-factor, fact-intensive “fair use” defense. I merely take this opportunity to remind fellow friends of liberty that they can expect more of the same—and more erosion of the property service mark—if they fail to recognize copyrights and patents as no more than intellectual privileges.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia, Technology Liberation Front, and Intellectual Privilege.]

Toy Story 3 offers many pleasures and not a little wisdom. I absorbed them with a shocking output of tears, both the laughing kind and otherwise. At one point, too, I raised my fist in solidarity, moved by the political philosophy voiced by Barbie (brilliantly played by Barbie). I liked Barbie’s quote so much that I put it on a t-shirt:

Fellow Bluebook geeks will notice that, despite its graphic fripperies, the shirt sports a proper legal citation. Scholars might take comfort in the fact that I crosschecked the quote against the junior novel version of Toy Story 3. Lawyers for Disney/Pixar must admit that my usage falls within the traditional bounds of the fair use defense to copyright infringement, and Hasbro cannot justly complain that the shirt’s use of “Barbie” violates that trademark.

Tyrants might not like the shirt, granted. But Barbie showed us what happens to tyrants. I won’t say more about that, here; just go see the movie!

UPDATE: Notwithstanding law and logic, Zazzle.com pulled the shirt almost immediately after I posted it for sale. I’m currently trying to correct the matter. Sorry for the inconvenience.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia and The Technology Liberation Front.]

The grandly-named Public Domain Archive, evidently a production of Osaka-based Digirock, Inc., offers a few MP3s of classical music and historical speeches. Thanks to a suggestion from Tyler Cowen, I’m enjoying a 1942 recording of Beethoven’s 9th even as I type. Am I breaking the law in so doing? The copyright notice posted on the Public Domain Archive, while quite charming, hardly reassures:

To the People In japan, All files open to the public on this site are certainly lawful. But, if you do not live in Japan, You might do not have to use files. You should check the law of your country.

As proves too often true for works, like this 1942 recording, that fall under the aegis of the 1909 Copyright Act, it is not easy to figure out if the underylying work enjoys any claim to protection under U.S. law. Perhaps, after all, it was not published with the proper formalities, here, and thus fell into the public domain.

In this case, though, it looks like we can dodge those complications. U.S. copyright law affords exclusive rights only to copying, creation of derivative works, public distribution, public performance, and public display.
See 17 USC § 106. So long as I listen to a MP3 solely via streaming, without saving a copy, it is hard to see how I’ve violated any of those rights. Perhaps Digirock, Inc. has violated U.S. law by offering me the MP3, but that is no concern of mine (and probably not much of a concern to Digirock, Inc.).

That legal scenario suggests an interesting conclusion: an offshore copyright-free zone—one set up by intellectual pirates or in a stubbornly independent country—might give U.S. residents ample, free, and legal access to all sorts of copyrighted works—even ones protected under U.S. law.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia and The Technology Liberation Front.]

Professor Crim Pro I ain’t, but it seems to me that anybody who has used a computer can pretty easily grasp the holding of Berghuis v. Thompkins, 560 U.S. __, No. 08-1470 (June 1, 2010) [PDF]. In that opinion, handed down just yesterday, the U.S. Supreme Court toggled the default on the Miranda warning. A five-justice majority held that silence will not suffice for citizens who want to invoke Miranda’s protections against self-incrimination; we now must ask for our Constitutional rights. Think of it like a computer program that annoyingly assumes you want unsolicited advice from a chirpy paper clip–except this paper clip throws you in cuffs and tazes you if you talk back.

The Berghuis decision inspires me to offer a new piece of legal armor—this time in the form of a t-shirt:

Today’s decision turns Miranda upside down. Criminal suspects must now unambiguously invoke their right to remain silent—which, counterintuitively, requires them to speak. At the same time, suspects will be legally presumed to have waived their rights even if they have given no clear expression of their intent to do so. Those results, in my view, find no basis in Miranda or our subsequent cases and are inconsistent with the fair-trial principles on which those precedents are grounded.

I guess that you could say the Berghuis majority took a cue from the (so-called) libertarian paternalists and engaged in some legal nudging. In this case, however, the Court nudged our defaults away from individual liberty and toward prosecutorial power. Call it statist paternalism.

Thanks, Supremes, for giving us worse than nothing. Ah, well. As I read Berghuis, even the justices in the majority would not deny us the opportunity to answer their new default with a firm “No!” Thus might we recover our Constitutional rights with a t-shirt.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia and The Technology Liberation Front.]

While police and prosecutors have encouraged the growth of a surveillance state, they don’t seem so enthusiastic about the growth of a surveillance citizenry. Maryland and other states have recently seen privacy laws invoked to squelch the unauthorized recording of public officers performing public duties in public areas. Until courts put an end to those bogus claims, we should make sure that police officers know that we may monitor traffic stops to protect our rights; I below offer a bumper sticker and magnetic door sign that ought to help on that front.

Radley Balko recently reported on the latest attempt to use privacy laws to punish citizens for recording police misconduct. In this case, Anthony Graber was arrested for posting on YouTube a video he’d captured on an un-uniformed Maryland state trooper, driving an unmarked car, pulling over and rushing at Graber with a drawn handgun. Soon after Graber posted the video, he was charged for violating the Maryland Wiretapping and Electronic Surveillance Act, Md. Code Ann., Cts. & Jud. Proc. § 10-401 et seq. (2010), which basically outlaws secretly recording a private conversation.

Maryland’s police must be feeling a bit testy, these days, about getting recorded on-the-job by uppity citizens. Earlier this spring, an inconvenient video of the beating of Jack McKenna put the lie to the claims of Maryland police that McKenna had provoked the incident by attacking the officers and their horses. State and federal officials have since launched “excessive force” inquiries.

Did that video violate the privacy of the three officers, clad in riot gear and swinging batons, who surrounded and beat the unarmed McKenna? No. Neither did the video that Graber shot of the Maryland trooper strutting towards him with a drawn handgun. Courts have already explained that wrongs under the Maryland Wiretapping and Electronic Surveillance Act require a showing that someone’s reasonable expectation of privacy has suffered violation ( see Fearnow v. C & P Tel. Co., 104 Md. App. 1, 655 A.2d 1 (1995), rev’d on other grounds, 342 Md. 363, 676 A.2d 65 (1996)), and no officer can have a reasonable expectation of privacy while on a public street, performing public duties.

The Maryland ACLU has stepped forward to help defend Graber, and with any luck will soon educate local prosecutors about the proper scope of the Maryland Wiretapping and Electronic Surveillance Act. In the meantime, and in other jurisdictions where police threaten to deploy privacy laws against whistle-blowers, we citizens would do well to remind public servants that we can and will record their on-the-job performance. I’ve worked up a couple of notices to help.

This bumper sticker should help to put police on notice that you may record them during traffic stops, thus negating any claim to a reasonable expectation of privacy:

Make sure that you place it where video taken from the officer’s vehicle will record it! That proof might end up helping your case if, like Graber, you want to publicize police abuse.

To make doubly sure that you give adequate notice to an officer who subjects you to a traffic stop, you might also want to carry this handy magnetic sign:

Once you have been pulled over, just roll down your window and slap the sign outside your door, where a police officer cannot fail to see it.

Click on either image to buy a copy for yourself or a friend. All proceeds will go to aid the defense of Anthony Graber. Perhaps his case would have turned out differently if he had had that bumper sticker on his helmet, or that magnetic sign on his gas tank. (I thank Prof. Orin Kerr for inspiring the wording of these notices, though he of course bears no blame for my legal hijinks.)

In the long run, as Prof. Glenn Reynolds has observed, we in the surveillance citizenry have an edge over those trying to create a surveillance state. We have more eyes, more cameras, and a more sympathetic message. There remain, however, several legal wrinkles to iron out before we can safely say we’ve turned the tables. I’ll try to say more about those, and offer an all-purpose notice designed to cover a wide variety of citizen surveillance practices, in a subsequent post.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia and The Technology Liberation Front.]

From our bulletin board at home:

Thanks to comments on my earlier post, Copyright Duration and the Mickey Mouse Curve, I’ve been encouraged to reflect on what would happen if, in fact, Steamboat Willie had fallen into the public domain. Could we then reuse Mickey Mouse, the star of that show, without facing any liability to the Walt Disney Company? I drafted this answer for my book, Intellectual Privilege (here edited for blogging):

Scholars have made surprisingly strong arguments that Steamboat Willie, a cartoon that the Walt Disney Company cites as establishing its copyright rights in Mickey Mouse, has fallen into the public domain. As a thought experiment, let us assume the truth of that claim. What would happen if Walt Disney Company—if, indeed, nobody—held a copyright in Steamboat Willie? Certainly, each of use would by default enjoy complete freedom to copy, distribute, display, or perform the cartoon, because the expiration of the work’s copyright would also end the exclusive rights of the Walt Disney Company and its assigns the exercise those statutory privileges. So, too, would we escape copyright’s limitations on making derivative versions of Steamboat Willie—versions that might show Mickey standing at a lectern rather than at a pilot’s wheel, for instance, or have him expounding on copyright law.

The Walt Disney Company would retain its copyrights in later, plumper versions of the Mickey Mouse, of course. Contemporary artists wanting to reinterpret the character free from the company’s veto would thus have to draw inspiration primarily from the earlier, skinnier, version. Given that the characters would share a common ancestor, however, even mice derived solely from Steamboat Willie would often strongly resemble the modern-day Mickey Mouse.

Would Walt Disney Company object to those unauthorized reuses of Steamboat Willie? It might, indeed. Some such uses might substitute for sales of the company’s wares, after all, or cast its most prominent spokes-mouse in an unsavory light. But copyright law would, per the assumption behind our thought experiment, offer the company no solace. The Walt Disney Company could not plausibly claim that patent or trade secret law gives it the power to limit free use of Steamboat Willie, either. Nor could it invoke the right of publicity, which though sometimes shockingly effective in limiting speech about celebrities, has thus far not stretched to cover cartoon characters.

Trademark and unfair competition law would probably offer the Walt Disney Company its most potent weapon against any movement to emancipate Steamboat Willie. Generally speaking, that area of law allows the holder of a name, symbol, or other mark to prevent latecomers from using in commerce marks likely to confuse consumers about the source or affiliation of a particular good or service. Thus, for instance, can Nike bar someone from putting its famous “swoop” on non-Nike clothes. The Walt Disney Company uses Mickey Mouse as a mark designating its goods and services. If a consumer did not know (ex hypothesis) that the image and voice of Mickey Mouse, qua the character Willie, had fallen into the public domain, and that consumer saw a cartoon of a substantially similar Mickey Mouse in a new context, the consumer might naturally, yet wrongly, assume that the newer Mickey Mouse had issued from the same source as so many other cartoons featuring the character: The Walt Disney Company. On that argument, consumer ignorance would give the company cause to censor derivative versions of the copyright-free Mickey Mouse.

Perhaps the addition of disclaimers, such as noting, “Not a Walt Disney Company production!” in a cartoon’s margin, would suffice to dispel consumer confusion. That would ward off only a “passing off” claim—one where a mark’s holder accuses another of selling bogus wares under that mark—however. The same disclaimer would set the defendant up for a ” reverse passing off” claim—one where Disney would charge that cartoonist wrongly sold Disney’s product (intellectual creations about Mickey Mouse) under another’s name. Disney could thereby damn those who use Steamboat Willie both if they do use disclaimers and if they do not. Happily for anyone who wants to free Willie, however, the Supreme Court has cut through that Gordian knot of liability.

The Supreme Court held in Dastar Corp. v. Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation that, once a work has fallen into the public domain, its former copyright holder cannot use federal unfair competition law to demand credit from those who reuse the work. Still more broadly, the Court flatly excluded copyrighted works from the scope of section § 43(a)(1)(A) of the Lanham Act, the federal law barring passing off, whether direct or reverse. The Court explained the policy reasons for thus limiting unfair competition law:

Assuming for the sake of argument that [defendant] Dastar’s representation of itself as the “Producer” of its videos amounted to a representation that it originated the creative work conveyed by the videos, allowing a cause of action under § 43(a) for that representation would create a species of mutant copyright law that limits the public’s “federal right to ‘copy and to use,'” expired copyrights.

Dastar voiced broad concerns, and lower courts have read it accordingly. They have extended it to bar state law claims of unfair competition, a result the U.S. Constitution’s Supremacy Clause would apparently mandate. Lower courts have also extended Dastar to bar unfair competition claims arising out of the use of uncopyrighted and uncopyrightable works. Plainly, the case has done a great deal to ensure that copyright’s privileges go no farther than copyright itself.

The exact scope of Dastar‘s preemptive effect remains as yet uncertain, granted. Even if it suffered the uncopyrighting of Steamboat Willie we’ve hypothecated here, for instance, the Walt Disney Company would perhaps still have the right to bring suit under § 43(a)(1)(B) of the Lanham Act against those using liberated versions of Mickey Mouse to deceptively market their wares, such as by falsely advertising a new Spaceship Willie as a Disney original. The Dastar Court left that question open. Lower courts have, however, read the case to bar § 43(a)(1)(B) claims alleging no more than false marketing about whether permission was granted for an uncopyrighted work. Under that reasoning, the Walt Disney Company could not even stop the authors of Spaceship Willie from selling it as, “A wholly original take on Mickey Mouse,” or, conversely, as “Mickey Mouse in the finest tradition of Walt Disney.” Thus might Dastar and its progeny help Mickey Mouse, when and if he escapes copyright, from achieving the status of a great cultural icon, akin to Santa Claus or Uncle Sam.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia, TechLiberation Front.]

Herewith another recent addition to my draft book, Intellectual Privilege: A Libertarian View of Copyright, (inspired, in part, by Berin Szoka’s recent claim, “I just don’t know what the right balance [for copyright] is! I’m glad there are others patient enough to try to figure it out. This is why we have economists and… yes, even lawyers!”):

As an illustration of the public choice pressures that drive copyright policy, consider the fate of the copyright in Steamboat Willie, a 1928 cartoon that the Walt Disney Company cites as establishing its copyright claim in Mickey Mouse. Scholars have made a surprisingly strong case that, because the requisite formalities of the 1909 Copyright Act were not satisfied, Steamboat Willie has fallen into the public domain. The Walt Disney Company has responded to such claims by threatening to bring suit for “slander of title,” demonstrating how seriously it takes its copyright in Steamboat Willie. Let us take that copyright seriously, too, then, so that we might better understand the public choice effects of the Walt Disney Company’s interests.

As part of a revise-and-resubmit process, I’ve been spending much of my summer upgrading my draft book, Intellectual Privilege: A Libertarian View of Copyright. That effort has led me to revisit copyright’s constitutional foundations. I find them very shaky, indeed. This passage (with footnotes excerpted) explains why modern copyright law often fails “to promote the Progress of Science and the useful Arts”:

What would copyright look like if we took the Constitution at its word, requiring that copyright promote the progress of both science and the useful arts? We would then have to look askance at the current practice of affording copyright protection to such purely artistic creations as songs, plays, novels, paintings, and sculptures. Even supposing that “science” reaches broadly enough to cover all of the humane sciences—a reading that Malla Pollack documents as an original meaning of the term—copyright law today focuses far more on the expressive arts than on the “useful” ones.

Taking “Science and useful Arts” seriously would thus radically narrow the proper scope of copyright. The first Copyright Act, enacted in 1790 by some of the same people who wrote and ratified the Constitution, covered only maps, charts, and books. Permitting copyrights in first two types of works plainly promoted both science and the useful arts. Lawmakers in 1790 probably regarded books, too, primarily as tools rather than diversions. Novels had yet to rise to prominence, after all; the first American one, William Hill Brown’s THE POWER OF SYMPATHY, had appeared only the year before, and even it aimed at practical ends, promising “to Expose the fatal consequences of SEDUCTION.” Judging from the titles in libraries and on sale, fiction made up only a small portion of the books available in late eighteenth century America. The 1790 Copyright Acts moreover excluded such purely artistic expressions as songs, plays, paintings, and sculptures—even though its drafters undoubtedly knew of and appreciated those sorts of works.

It appears, then, that “[t]o promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts” originally meant that that copyrights had to serve practical ends, rather than merely expressive ones. But originalists should not alone embrace that constitutional limitation on copyright’s scope. Given that “Science” now connotes a more technical and specialized endeavor than it did in the eighteenth century, the plain, present, public meaning of the Constitution likewise counsels against extending copyright protection to purely artistic works. Whether we give the Constitution’s text its original meaning or its current one, therefore, copyright should cover little more than maps, charts, non-fiction books, illustrations, documentaries, computer programs, and architecture. Most songs, plays, fictional books, paintings, sculptures, dances, movies, and other artistic works, because they fail to promote the progress of science and the useful arts, would on that reasoning not qualify for copyright protection.

However rigorously logical, that argument against the constitutionality of almost all modern copyright law will, I grant, probably generate more grins than agreement. Courts and commentators have hitherto hardly bothered to distinguish between “Science and useful Arts”; still less have they taken those words to impose real limitations on federal power. Here as elsewhere, acquiescence to long-accepted practices has dulled us to the Constitution’s bracingly straightforward words. We should read them anew and reflect that the Founding generation did not evidently think that granting statutory privileges to such purely artistic creations as romantic operas or pretty pictures would promote the progress of both science and the useful arts. Furthermore, most citizens today would, if presented with the Constitution’s plain language rather than the convoluted arguments of professional jurisprudes, probably say the same thing about pop songs, blockbuster movies, and the like. That is certainly not to say that purely expressive works lack value. They may very well promote such important goals as beauty, truth, and simple amusement. The Constitution requires that copyright promote something else, however—”the Progress of Science and useful Arts”—and a great many works now covered by copyright cannot plausibly claim to do both.

[[Crossposted at Agoraphilia, TechLiberation Front.]

Theories constitute the technology of academia. They give us eggheads the tools we need to get our work done, just as computers serve programmers and DNA sequencing serves bioengineers. I trust that TLF’s readers won’t think me too far off-topic, then, if I cite a new approach to consent theory, something that should interest anyone who cares about the fundamental reasons for valuing of liberty. Here’s a snapshot of the theory:

“Damn their lies and trust your eyes. Dig every kind of fox!” I here sing one for the freedom to mix it up as you and your honey alone see fit:

“Hapa” means “mixed race” in Hawaiian. Skin-tone mash ups have profoundly enriched my life, first with the Honolulu Hapa herself and then with our own little hapas. Honolulu Hapa celebrates coloring across the lines, knocks racism, and gives a shout-out to Loving v. Virginia, 88 U.S. 1 (1967)—the case where the U.S. Supreme Court struck down anti-miscegenation laws as unconstitutional restraints on personal liberty.

As with the prior four songs I’ve posted in this recent series (Take Up the Flame, Sensible Khakis, Nice to Be Wanted, and Hello, Jonah,), Honolulu Hapa comes with a Creative Commons license that allows pretty liberal use by all but commercial licensees, who have to pay a tithe to one of my favorite causes. Honolulu Hapa aims to help Creative Commons, an organization that helps all of us to mix—and remix—it up. Unlike those other songs, however, Honolulu Hapa adds a special ‘unrestricted use” term effective on June 12, Loving Day.

With Honolulu Hapa, I conclude my recent series of freedom-loving music videos. Like it or not, though, I’ve got more music-making plans. Next, I’ll record some good studio versions of those (and perhaps some other) songs. Eventually, I’d like to release a fundraising CD, one that might help out some good causes. Silly? Yeah, I guess so. But it does add another data point in support of my hypothesis: Freedom has more fun.

[Crossposted at Agoraphilia and Technology Liberation Front.]