CBS and Time Warner Cable have been embroiled in a heated contractual battle over the past week that has resulted in viewers in some major markets losing access to CBS programming. When disputes like these go nuclear and signal blackouts occur, it is inevitable that some folks will call for policy interventions since nobody likes it when the content they love goes dark.

While some policy responses are warranted in this matter, policymakers should proceed with caution. Heated contractual negotiations are a normal part of any capitalist marketplace. We shouldn’t expect lawmakers to intervene to speed up negotiations or set content prices because that would disrupt the normal allocation of programming by placing a regulatory thumb too heavily on one side of the scale. This is why I am somewhat sympathetic to CBS in this fight. In an age when content creators struggle to protect their copyrighted content and get compensation for it, the last thing we need is government intervention that undermines the few distribution schemes that actually work well.

On the other hand, Time Warner Cable deserves sympathy here, too, since CBS currently enjoys some preexisting regulatory benefits. As I noted in this 2012 Forbes oped, “Toward a True Free Market in Television Programming,” many layers of red tape still encumber America’s video marketplace and prevent a truly free market in video programming from developing. The battle here revolves around the “retransmission consent” rules that were put in place as part of the Cable Act of 1992 and govern how video distributors carry signals from TV broadcasters, which includes CBS.

But those “retrans” rules are not the only part of the regulatory mess here. There are many related federal rules that tip the scales toward broadcasters and content creators, such as the requirement that video distributors carry broadcast signals even if they don’t want to (“must carry”); rules that prohibit distributors from striking deals with broadcasters outside their local communities (“network non-duplication” and “syndicated exclusivity” rules); regs specifying where broadcast channels appear on the cable channel lineup; and prohibitions against carrying sporting events on cable when the local stadium doesn’t sell all its seats on game day (“sports blackout rule”).

As they say on TV.. ” But Wait, There’s More!” Working in the favor of video distributors are the compulsory licensing requirements of the Copyright Act of 1976, which essentially forced a “duty to deal” upon broadcasters. Broadcasters have to let cable operators and other video distributors retransmit local stations, though the system at least ensures they get compensated for it. As I noted in my old Forbes essay, along with must carry rules, “Compulsory licensing is the original sin of video marketplace regulation. We could have avoided most of the regulatory mess of the past quarter century if Congress had simply left these rights and contractual negotiations alone. Once Congress forced broadcasters to share their programming, however, marketplace manipulation was off and rolling.”

Of course, the more primal and problematic intervention came decades before in the 1920s and ’30s when the government decided to nationalize spectrum management. Once mandates instead of markets where chosen as the primary allocation agent, America was off and running with a grand experiment in spectrum central planning. We’re still living with the results today. The very fact that spectrum is licensed and can only be used and sold for very narrow purposes as detailed in meticulous FCC regulations is a sign of just how far-removed we are from a pure free market here.

The question now is, what are we going to do about this fine mess? And is there any chance we can get it done?

The problem in this debate is that there are multiple layers of interventions that have built up over the years and created constituencies that are wedded to their preservation. Broadcasters, networks, independent content creators, big cable companies, small cable companies, satellite companies, sports leagues, and viewing consumers themselves — they all have conflicting interests and a stake in how this debate turns out. In his 2012 Mercatus Center working paper, “Consumer Welfare and TV Program Regulation,” media economist Bruce M. Owen noted that “What distinguishes TV programs from other mass media content, including both traditional print and new online media, is the extreme eagerness of Washington to engage in efforts to prevent markets from working freely, often in response to interest group pressures and opportunities for political advantage and with almost complete indifference to the welfare of consumers.”

As a result, if you talk to almost anyone involved in this debate, they will all insist that only their very specific reforms are the ones that can or should be implemented. Consequently, comprehensive reform will be challenging precisely because of all the conflicting interests and layers of law and regulation that must be eradicated.

But at least there is a blueprint for how to get the job done right. Many times here before I have written about “The Next Generation Television Marketplace Act,” which was floated last session by Rep. Steve Scalise (R-LA) and then-Senator Jim DeMint (R-SC). It proposed wiping off the books all the archaic rules outlined above. Alas, the bill never went anywhere in the last Congress and now that Sen. DeMint has left to lead the Heritage Foundation, there is no supporter in the Senate this session. Instead, we have some lawmakers floating bad ideas like S.912, the “Television Consumer Freedom Act of 2013,” which just proposes more regulatory gaming of an already over-gamed system.

We instead need policy reforms like the old DeMint-Scalise bill that clean up the regulatory mess of the past. But there just isn’t much appetite for such a house-cleaning. Most parties affected by these rules want very specific outcomes and deregulation won’t give them any such guarantees. After all, there will still be blackouts after deregulation. And the cost of some content may continue to go up in response to demand. And there will still be fights over sports programming. And there’s no certainty that all local broadcasters or small video distributors will survive. And so on, and so on.

But it is also true that a deregulatory environment is more likely to lead to even more experimentation and innovation with new business models, technologies, and methods of content creation and delivery. We already see much innovation in this marketplace despite all the red tape that exists. Just look at what’s been going on recent years with alternative video delivery platforms, including: Netflix, Hulu, XBox Live, Vudu, Roku, Redbox, Boxee, Amazon, Apple TV, Aereo, Google Chromecast, and so on. And don’t forget the strides that the old broadcast and cable giants have made here, too. CBS is actually a pretty good model for how content can be re-purposed online in creative ways on a firm’s own digital platform. Likewise, cable companies like Time Warner Cable are slowly but surely adapting to consumers’ demand for video to be delivered to multiple devices.

Of course, there there will always be hiccups along the road to video nirvana. Some regulatory activists seemingly expect that all content can be delivered effortless and cheaply to consumers without giving a thought in the world to just how complicated it is to get that content financed and distributed in the first place. Great content and great delivery platforms don’t just happen by magic or the good intentions of activists or policymakers. Those platforms happen because new markets and monetization mechanisms develop to facilitate them. If we cut back the regulatory deadwood in our modern information marketplace, we’d likely get even more experimentation and innovation that would likely produce all new ways of financing, creating, and delivering content to consumers. But we’ll never know unless we are willing to embrace change and kill all those old regulatory weeds that continue to grow in our information garden.

Alas, if Congress can’t muster the courage to do that, then lawmakers ought to at least consider asking the broadcasters to return all that juicy spectrum they are sitting on. After all, the current retrans racket gives the broadcasters an increasingly lucrative revenue stream when they deliver content on cable and satellite systems (in addition to the advertising revenues they already receive). No good reason exists to give them preferential treatment relative to any other cable channel out there today. Don’t forget, there are all sorts of garden-variety cable carriage disputes that happen outside the regulated retrans system today. (Remember last year’s big spats between AMC vs. Dish and Viacom vs. DirecTV?) There are no special rules that either side can rely on in those instances. So why should special rules be applied to other content companies simply because some of their properties are broadcast channels? Answer: they shouldn’t.

But if no other reforms occur and if companies like CBS still want to be more like a cable mega-channel — albeit, a very handsomely compensated cable channel — then by all means go for it. In the meantime, however, they can return all that spectrum for re-auction for some better purpose. In fact, back early 2009, CBS Corp. President and CEO Les Moonves told an investor conference that moving all CBS network programming to cable and satellite platforms would be “a very interesting proposition.” I agree! But, absent other reforms, it might be time to make that “interesting proposition” a mandatory one.

This is the third installment in a series of essays about Tim Wu’s new book, The Master Switch: The Rise and Fall of Information Empires.  As I noted in my first essay, Wu’s book promises to make waves in Internet policy circles, so I’m devoting some space here to debunking what I regard as some of the myths that drive his hyper-pessimistic worldview regarding the supposed death of openness.  In my second essay, I challenged Wu’s view of technological “cycles” and “market failure” and noted that he paints an overly simplistic portrait of both. In a similar vein, in this installment I will address Wu’s mistaken claim that purely free markets and “laissez-faire” have guided America’s communications and media sectors over the past century.

Wu’s narrative in The Master Switch is heavily dependent upon his retelling of the histories of several major sectors: telephony, film, broadcast radio, and cable television.  After surveying the history of those sectors throughout the past century, Wu concludes that “the purely economic laissez-faire approach… is no longer feasible” (p. 303) and that a fairly sweeping new regulatory regime – which I will address in a forthcoming post – is necessary to address the imperfections of the free market.

As any serious historian of the past century of information industries knows, however, we’ve never had anything remotely resembling a “purely economic laissez-faire approach” to communications, media or information policy in this country.  We’ve had a mixed system that allowed a certain degree of market activity accompanied by very heavy doses of “public interest” regulation.  Indeed, the story of 20 ^th century communications and media markets is one of artificial barriers to entry, government (mis-)allocation of key resources (like spectrum), price controls, rate-of-return regulations, speech controls and mandates, regulatory capture, and good ‘ol boy corporatism.

History Grade: Incomplete

Sadly, Wu ignores much of that history in The Master Switch or fails to properly diagnose the root causes of “market failure.”  Consequently, as a work of industrial history, his grade is: Incomplete.

Part of the problem here is that, far too often in the book, Wu dwells on intentions. Like so many other so-called progressive scholars who view most corporate leaders like the satanic spawn of Gordon Gecko or Mr. Burns from “The Simpsons,” Wu often wants to base his indictment of markets on a moralizing view of corporate bad intentions.  He gives us selective juicy bits of boardroom shenanigans and corporate scheming that would make for a good John Grisham novel.  If one’s indictment of free-market capitalism is based on the desires of corporate leaders, however, then it is hardly unsurprising they would conclude that it is a failure.  After all, Adam Smith taught us long ago that every businessman longs for a monopoly over trade in their field.

But intentions are largely meaningless in the larger scheme of things.  It’s the nature of the process and outcomes that give us our real gauge of the worth of a market-based approach. We need answers to questions like:

• Have markets given us more or less choice, competition, diversity, etc.?
• To the extent there was an excessive concentration of private “power” in a given sector, was it fleeting or lasting?
• If it was lasting, were markets to blame, or did government tip the balance in favor or certain actors our outcomes?  In other words, how “free” was this “free market”?
• Finally, did markets and new technologies evolve to solve whatever “problems” were ailing certain sectors? If not, what held back that progress?

Sadly, Wu often gives us little more than superficial answers to these questions because, again, he’s often too busy attempting to peer inside the minds of corporate leaders to discern what motivated their supposedly wicked ways. In the process, he leaves out plenty of pertinent facts. In particular, despite his insistence to the contrary, he significantly underestimates the importance of regulatory capture or unnatural resource allocation / mismanagement as the key causes of the technological “closings” he cites.  He also downplays or occasionally ignores the trade-offs at work associated with regulatory solutions to the supposed problems he cites.  Finally, he largely fails to appreciate the sweeping nature of technological change that has revolutionized so many of these markets for the better in recent years.

In my post yesterday, I noted how Wu ignored many of these variables when discussing the AOL case study.  Today, I’ll jump back 100 years in history and Wu’s treatment of the early development in America’s communications sector and the rise of the AT&T monopoly.  As we’ll see, he makes some crucial oversights and, ultimately, makes an unconvincing case against “the purely economic laissez-faire approach” since no such thing ever existed in this field or the others he surveys.

Wu’s Incomplete AT&T Case Study

Wu spends a great deal of time in The Master Switch focusing on the old AT&T / Bell System and its leader Theodore Vail as the paradigmatic example of “the Cycle” in action.  To reiterate, “the Cycle” refers to the closing and eventual monopolization of a sector after a period of openness and competition. That Vail and AT&T were hell-bent on monopolizing the American communications systems is beyond question.  What is in question, however, is to what degree any of this process was the result of Wu’s much-lamented “purely economic laissez-faire approach.”  The answer: Not much.

Sixteen years ago I penned a short history of how this sad tale unfolded and called it, “Unnatural Monopoly: Critical Moments in the Development of the Bell System Monopoly.”   What an accurate reading of that history reveals is that this monopolization was anything but the product of “market forces.”  Instead, America’s early communications history – as was the case in so many other countries – was very much shaped by political forces.

During the early years of the past century, when competition among independents was still quite vibrant, AT&T’s extensive campaign for “One Policy, One System, Universal Service” was a thinly veiled front for complete control of the telephone system under one corporate roof.  But was that goal really achievable absent government assistance?  Most industry historians don’t think so.

In his 1994 book, Contrived Competition: Regulation and Deregulation in America, Richard H.K. Vietor of Harvard University noted “Vail chose at this time to put AT&T squarely behind government regulation, as the quid pro quo for avoiding competition. This was the only politically acceptable way for AT&T to monopolize telephony…  It seemed a necessary trade-off for the attainment of universal service.” (p. 167, 172, 185) And AT&T’s own 1917 Annual Report noted, “A combination of like activities under proper control and regulation, the service to the public would be better, more progressive, efficient, and economical than competitive systems.”

Industry historian Robert W. Garnet, author of The Telephone Enterprise: The Evolution of the Bell’s Horizontal Structure, 1876-1909, provides further support for Vietor’s finding that regulation was the crucial driver of monopolization:

Regulation played a crucial role in Vail’s plans. Astute enough to realize that the kind of system he proposed — universal integrated monopoly — would stand little chance of gaining public approval without some form of public control, he embraced state regulation. In doing so, he broke with the company’s long-standing opposition to what [AT&T] management had traditionally regarded as an unwarranted intrusion on its prerogatives. But after years of unfettered competition, during which the firm’s financial strengths had been sapped and its efforts to build an integrated system had been dangerously undermined, regulation became a much-preferred alternative. Thus, Vail obviously saw government regulation as the way to eliminate competitors: the one-way ticket, not only to universal service, but also to monopoly profits. (p. 130, emphasis added)

The Kingsbury Commitment as Classic Corporatism

With the courtship of state regulators and legislators grew more widespread and successful, the stage was then set for the complete monopolization of the industry by AT&T.  Two crucial decisions at the federal level sealed that result.  First came the “Kingsbury Commitment” of 1913. Named after AT&T Vice President Nathan C. Kingsbury, who helped negotiate its terms, the agreement outlined a plan whereby AT&T would sell off its $30 million in Western Union stock, agree not to acquire any other independent companies, and allow other competitors to interconnect with the Bell System.

At the time, the Kingsbury Commitment was thought to be pro-competitive. Yet, this was hardly an altruistic action on AT&T’s part. The agreement was not interpreted by regulators so as to restrict AT&T from acquiring any new telephone systems, but only to require that an equal number be sold to an independent buyer for each system AT&T purchased. Hence, the Kingsbury Commitment contained a built-in incentive for regional monopoly-swapping rather than continued competition. Gerald Brock, author of The Telecommunications Industry: The Dynamics of Market Structure found that, “This provision allowed Bell and the independents to exchange telephones in order to give each other geographical monopolies. So long as only one company served a given geographical area there was little reason to expect price competition to take place.” (1981, p. 156)

In their 1992 treatise on Federal Telecommunications Law, Kellogg, Thorne, and Huber summarized the result of the Kingsbury Commitment as follows:

The government solution, in short, was not the steamy, unsettling cohabitation that marks competition but rather a sort of competitive apartheid, characterized by segregation and quarantine. Markets were carefully carved up: one for the monopoly telegraph company; one for each of the established monopoly local telephone exchanges; one for the Bell’s monopoly long-distance operations. Bell might not own everything, but some monopolist or other would dominate each discrete market. The Kingsbury Commitment could be viewed as a solution only by a government bookkeeper, who counted several separate monopolies as an advance over a single monopoly, even absent any trace of competition among them. (1992, p. 16-17)

The lesson here is clear: the move toward market-carving and mandated interconnection, while appearing in the independents’ favor at first, actually allowed AT&T to gain greater control over the industry. Brock found that “interconnection reduced the Bell’s ability to drive the independents out of business but also eliminated the independents’ incentive to establish a competitive long-distance system.” That is a crucial point, and one that Wu overlooks in his book and that many regulatory activists ignore till this day: Although well-intentioned, interconnection mandates can disincentivize more direct forms of head-to-head competition and disruptive forms of technological innovation.

To his credit, Tim Wu does acknowledge how the Kingsbury Commitment ended up being a disaster in practice. “Superficially a victory for openness and competition, in time the Kingsbury Commitment would prove the insidious death knell of both,” he notes. (p. 56)  But Wu doesn’t dwell on the gravity of this fatal regulatory decision very long.  Instead, he quickly switches gears and suggests that the problem was that regulators just didn’t go far enough. He suggests a preemptive breakup might have been the better way to go and implies that monopolization was inevitable.

Of course, we can never know how differently things might have turned out if that course of action had been pursued. But the problem for Wu is that most of the examples he uses in his book depend on this ‘why-didn’t-the-government-see-it-coming-and-intervene-earlier’ sort of thinking, even though (a) we don’t know how much of a difference it would have made in practice, and (b) such interventions could have backfired and had profoundly deleterious unintended consequences, just as the Kingsbury Commitment did.  Such interventions would have just necessitated additional forms of prophylactic regulation to keep the market as atomistic as Wu preferred.  As the Austrian economist Ludwig von Mises taught us six decades ago:

All varieties of interference with the market phenomena not only fail to achieve the ends aimed at by their authors and supporters, but bring about a state of affairs which—from the point of view of their authors’ and advocates’ valuations—is less desirable than the previous state affairs which they were designed to alter. If one wants to correct their manifest unsuitableness and preposterousness by supplementing the first acts of intervention with more and more of such acts, one must go farther and farther until the market economy has been entirely destroyed and socialism has been substituted for it.  (Human Action, at 858, 3rd ed. 1963, 1949).

(In a moment, we’ll see how the market economy was entirely destroyed and socialism substituted for it in this field.)

Again to his credit, Wu is willing to admit that, “it should also be obvious to anyone – one need by no means to be a raving libertarian – that there are some substantial dangers implicit in aligning the immense power of the state with the greatest of information monopolists.” (p. 59) Well, I am a raving libertarian, so you can imagine how sympathetic I am to this argument!  More impressively, in a footnote to that line, Wu properly labels this system what it is. “The technical term for such a system is ‘corporatism’: in its extreme manifestation it is called ‘fascism,’” he notes. Quite right!  What the Kingsbury Commitment represented was the essence of corporatism or what used to be called fascism before the Nazis essentially made the term impossible to use as a descriptor in economic histories or political philosophy.

A final problem with Wu’s interpretation of the Kingsbury Commitment: He praises Vail and AT&T for at least agreeing to common carriage obligations as part of the deal. “[I]f we regard the Kingsbury Commitment as having sanctioned the most lucrative monopoly in history, it also made good on the essential goals of common carriage,” Wu says. (p. 59) Here he utterly fails to fully appreciate the linkage between common carriage obligations and the corporatist model of industrial organization.  The imposition of common carriage obligations on a particular company or sector is tantamount to a “Game Over” moment for truly free markets.  Once you make that plunge, you’ve essential raised the white flag and surrendered on the notion of facilities-based competition. It is the death knell for laissez-faire.  Yet, Wu never makes that connection clear.

World War I and Communications Nationalization

More surprising, however, is the fact that Wu completely ignores the second major federal intervention that sealed AT&T’s lock on the communications marketplace. It was World War I, the nation’s first major global crisis, that would provide the United States government with a convenient excuse to forcefully gain control over communications and forever change the structure of the telephone industry.  On August 1, 1918, in the midst of World War I, the federal government nationalized the entire telecommunications industry for national security reasons. If, as Wu correctly suggests, the Kingsbury Commitment represented a dose of “fascism,” then this was surely a bit of good ol’ fashion socialism!  How it escaped Wu’s attention is perplexing because its significance cannot be underestimated.

As I noted in my history of the rise of the Bell System monopoly, AT&T executives were initially quite nervous when it was announced that Postmaster General Albert S. Burleson, a long-time advocate of nationalizing the telegraph and telephone industries, would assume control of the telephone system. But, once the benefits of nationalization where made evident to Theodore Vail, his anxieties disappeared. Industry historian George P. Oslin notes when Vail expressed concern over the plan to Western Union President and close personal friend Newcom Carlton, Carlton reassured Vail that the plan was in his interest: “It’s your salvation. The government will be able to raise your rates and get you new money.” As Oslin argues, “That was what happened. Burleson appointed Vail, rated by Carlton as a genius, to manage the telephone, and Carlton to operate the telegraph.”

In his 1939 book AT&T: The Story of Industrial Conquest, Noobar R. Danielian concurred: “There is evidence that Vail appreciated the advantages of Federal control… he was not in much of a hurry in the early part of 1919 to have his System back from nominal government control.” (p. 248) This attitude should not be at all surprising since shortly after the industry was nationalized, AT&T’s proposed contract establishing the terms of government ownership and compensation was accepted by the postmaster general. Danielian summarizes the deal as follows:

The federal government…  agreed to pay to AT&T 4 1/2 percent of the gross operating revenues of the telephone companies as a service fee; to make provisions for depreciation and obsolescence at the high rate of 5.72 percent per plant; to make provision for the amortization of intangible capital; to disburse all interest and dividend requirements; and in addition, to keep the properties in as good a condition as before. Finally, AT&T was given the power to keep a constant watch on the government’s performance, to see that all went well with government operation, by providing that the books of the Postmaster General would be at all times open for inspection. One might well wonder where the real control was lodged. Needless to say, the contract was eminently satisfactory to the Bell System. (p. 252)

In addition, once the nationalized system was in place, AT&T wasted no time applying for immediate and sizable rate increases. High service connection charges were put into place for the first time. AT&T also began to realize it could use the backing of the federal government to coax state commissions into raising rates. Vail personally sent Postmaster General Burleson studies that displayed the need to raise rates. By January 21, 1919, just 5 1/2 months after nationalization, long-distance rates had increased by 20 percent. In addition to being much greater than returns earned during more competitive years, the rates established by the postmaster during the year of nationalization remained in force many years after privatization. Consequently, AT&T’s generous long distance returns continued to average near or above 20 percent during the 1920s.

By the time the industry was returned to private control on August 1, 1919, the regulatory route to competition elimination had paid off handsomely for Vail and AT&T.  Of the estimated $50 million in rate increases approved by the postmaster general during nationalization, approximately $42 million, or 84 percent went to AT&T.  Additionally, the government cut AT&T a $13 million dollar check at the end of the period to cover any losses they may have incurred, despite the fact that none were evident.

You cannot get a better deal than that!  The year of government nationalization was the final nail in the coffin of communications competition, and it was a nail struck with the hammer of Big Government. The lesson: There was absolutely nothing “natural” about this monopoly.   Congress basically blessed the entire farce in 1921 with the passage of the Graham Act, which Wu does cite in his history. As he notes, it “recognized AT&T’s monopoly and remov[ed] any remaining obstacles to integration.” (p. 59)   But, again, this is Wu implying that there had been something natural about that monopoly, which there most certainly wasn’t.

This sad tale of corporatism only grew worse in subsequent years with the initiation of extensive rate regulation and direct barriers to entry and innovation. Rate regulation guaranteed AT&T stable returns and ensured that regulators suddenly had a vested interest in keeping the company healthy and protected from competition so that it could achieve the industrial policy vision of “One Policy, One System, Universal Service.”  AT&T had so utterly captured legislators and regulators that its motto became the prime directive and modus operandi for all communications regulation over the next half century.

And this is a pattern – dare I call it “the real cycle” – that we have seen play out in many other sectors that Wu discusses in the book.  Yet, he doesn’t seem to fully appreciate just how profoundly public policy makers to have distorted markets in the quest to achieve various social policy goals.  In many regulated sectors, history shows that policymakers often ended up depending upon one firm, or a small handful of firms, to provide all industry output/service. Those favored actors, like AT&T and Vail, became partners with the State.  Consequently, competition was made more difficult, if not impossible, by force of law.  As the dean of regulatory economists Alfred E. Kahn noted in his seminal 1971 treatise The Economics of Regulation:

When a commission is responsible for the performance of an industry, it is under never completely escapable pressure to protect the health of the companies it regulates, to assure a desirable performance by relying on those monopolistic chosen instruments and its own controls rather than on the unplanned and unplannable forces of competition. (p. 12)

Conclusion

In sum, Wu serves up an incomplete history of Theodore Vail and the rise of the Bell System by downplaying the role that governments played in spawning, and then sheltering, the resulting monopoly.  In the case of Vail and AT&T, we can definitively conclude that there was no such thing as a “purely economic laissez-faire approach” allowed after World War I.  It basically became a crime to compete against the company or even attempt to innovate around it.

Thus, the lesson we should take from this case study is not, as Wu suggests, that markets failed but that they were never allowed to function naturally. Interventions pursued in the name of protecting consumers and serving “the public interest” often backfire and become the death knell of competition and innovation. Consequently, they undermine consumer welfare — which should be regarded as the ultimate “public interest” — in the process.

A more cautious historian would have acknowledged that and then questioned whether expanded regulatory inventions would — then or now — improve matters, or instead simply lead to even more deleterious forms of regulatory capture and corporatism.

[Jump to Part 4 in the series.]

Adam Thierer noted in mid-December that the FCC was considering allowing the experimental use of cellphone jammers in prison.  The FCC just issued (PDF) a Special Temporary Authorization to allow the DC Department of Corrections to test a cell phone jamming technology.

This technology sounds like an excellent solution to a serious problem:  The illicit use of cell phones inside correctional facilities by prisoners across the country.  In particular, the technology appears to be “directional,” meaning that unlike traditional jammers, which simply block signals within a certain radius around the jammer, this technology appears to be capable of blocking signals inside the confines of a particular room or building.  In fact, I’m sure millions of Americans would love to see such technologies implemented in cinemas, theatres, and other performing arts venues across the country.  I, for one, am tired of having the exquisite acoustic delicacies of Bach interrupted by annoying ring tones, such as  the (painfully) immortal “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

So Much for The Rule of Law

But there’s one important problem: The FCC isn’t waiving a rule here against cell phone jammer. unless I’m missing some subtle statutory quirk, they’re essentially “waiving” a statute—specifically 47 U.S.C. 333:

No person shall willfully or maliciously interfere with or cause interference to any radio communications of any station licensed or authorized by or under this chapter or operated by the United States Government.

You don’t need to be an administrative lawyer to know that agencies can’t just ignore acts of Congress—no matter how good the policy reason for the waiver is. That’s a big part of what the “rule of law” means.  Period.  Do not pass ‘Go’.  Do not collect $3,101.09 (today’s equivalent of $200 in 1935, when Monopoly debuted).

Fortunately, as noted in the WSJ article Adam cited, at least one legislator realizes this and thinks it’s worth fixing:  U.S. Rep. Kevin Brady (R., Texas) told the Journal that his office is “drafting the necessary legislation to remove this outdated FCC roadblock.”  The FCC, of course, sped right past that particular roadblock.  But then, what should we expect from an agency that has, under its outgoing (and none-too-soon!) chairman Kevin Martin, simply disregarded statutory limits on its authority when it found Comcast in violation of the agency’s non-binding net neutrality principles this summer?  (My PFF colleague Barbara Esbin has eloquently condemned this violation of the rule of law in, “The Law is Whatever the Nobles Do: Undue Process at the FCC” (PDF).)

Now, when Congress considers this question, let us hope that they draw the right lesson from this episode:   Whatever the wisdom of outright bans on particular technologies, writing such bans into statutes is a really bad idea.  At least if such decisions were left up to regulatory agencies, they would have the flexibility to decide when to depart from a general ban.  Thus, the best approach would be to repeal the ban altogether.  The FCC probably already has the authority to ban jammers under Section 302a, which provides that:

The Commission may, consistent with the public interest, convenience, and necessity, make reasonable regulations:

(1) governing the interference potential of devices which in their operation are capable of emitting radio frequency energy by radiation, conduction, or other means in sufficient degree to cause harmful interference to radio communications…

A Legislative Solution

Now, if Rep. Brady wanted to establish an orderly procedure for replacing Section 333’s outright ban on cell phone jammers with a more reasonable, and flexible, rule, the bill repealing Section 333 might also simply give the FCC the authority to issue Special Temporary Authorizations like the one the FCC just issued to the DC Department of Corrections—but also require that the agency complete a rule-making proceeding within, say, a year to establish new regulations specifying precisely which jammers would be banned.  At a minimum, the new regulations could achieve legally what the FCC is trying to achieve illegally:   banning cell phone jammers except for use in correctional facilities and only subject to certain technical requirements intended to ensure that the jamming was sufficiently “directional” not to obstruct cell phone reception nearby such facilities.

But if such directional jamming is really possible, why not allow the use of jammers in performance venues?  Of course, some consumers might not actually prefer to suffer through a few stray ring-tones during a movie if it means being able to receive calls on vibrate or text messages or email in case of emergency.  But I’d rather leave that decision to private property owners and consumers.  These are not questions Congress should attempt to answer:  Those answers would necessarily be enshrined in statute, and therefore very difficult to change.  Instead, these decisions should be left up to the FCC and resolved through the normal rule-making process.  If the initial rule-making bans private uses of jammers, at least there would be an established procedure whereby the rule could be more easily changed in the future, as technology develops.

A Future Without a Jammer Ban

With all such technologies banned today, there is probably little incentive to develop better jamming technology that can be more carefully tailored.  But if at least some uses of jamming technology were allowed, there would be a market that could drive the development of better jamming technologies in the future.  So if the FCC’s concern were that today’s jammers caused unacceptable levels of unintentional interference to cell phone networks, that problem might yet be solved through technological innovation.

Lest anyone argue that once any use of jammers was allowed, the “cat” would be “out of the bag”—resulting in the disruption of cell phone networks by pranksters, criminals or even terrorists—let me simply suggest Googling “cell phone jammer.” It may not be legal, but Americans can already buy cell phone jammers.  The reality is that, without a global totalitarian state, or at least completely sealed borders (an impossibility), completely banning any technology is impossible.

Since today’s ban—and harsh penalties—seems to work well enough to protect cell networks from widespread disruption—or even occasional disruption sufficient to attract attention—it’s not unreasonable to think we might get by just fine if we kept those same penalties in place under a new rule that carefully circumscribed which private users would be allowed to use which technologies.  Perhaps then we might all be able to enjoy a movie, concert or other performance in peace—if we chose to.

The Alternative

Many people would probably prefer that solution over the alternative:  incorporating into cell phones the kind of  “digital manners policy” (DMP) technology recently patented by Microsoft that would allow a DMP transmitter to order all devices within range that have a DMP receiver to turn off their ring tones, etc.  There’s something to be said for Microsoft’s solution from a technical perspective:  The DMP could be set to allow me to continue to receive text messages, use the vibrate setting for calls, or use the wireless data network.  So a DMP transmitter would certainly be a less blunt instrument than a cell phone jammer.  But it wouldn’t be entirely effective unless every cell phone had a DMP chip, which means that the only way to “make the ringing stop!” would be to mandate the adoption of such technology by cell phone managers, banning the sale of non-compliant cell phones, and—if we really wanted to be thorough—sending out the cell-phone Gestapo to round up all the old, non-compliant cell phones out there.

I’m not suggesting any nefarious intent on Microsoft’s part.  Like Hamlet (” There is nothing either good or bad, but  thinking makes it so“), I don’t believe a technology can be inherently evil.  Indeed, even partial adoption of DMP technologies in cell phones would certainly help solve our “crisis of digital manners.”  But I’m more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of creating this kind of architecture of control, by which a third party (not me or the carrier) could manipulate the settings of my cell phone.  The potential for abuse of that technology seems even scarier than the potential for abuse of jammers.  Even if Microsoft limited the DMP chip’s interface with the cell phone to controlling, say, ring volume or vibrate settings, I’d have to wonder what a good hacker could do with that kind of technology.  So while I wouldn’t suggest banning DMPs either, I would hate to see DMP technologies become industry standard merely because the FCC refused to reconsider its decades-old outright ban on radio jammers.

Rep. Brady, our nation turns its lonely eyes (and even more annoyed ears) to you.

My Romanian space lawyer (and improbably-named) friend Virgiliu Pop has made the front page of Space.com today in a great interview with leading space journalist Leonard David about his new book Who Owns the Moon?: Extraterrestrial Aspects of Land and Mineral Resources Ownership.  Virgil slams the “Common Heritage of Mankind” socialism behind the 1979 Moon Treaty, which was killed in the U.S. Senate by the free-market space movement, which later gave birth to the Space Frontier Foundation (which I chair).

Virgil once famously claimed ownership of the sun to demonstrate the absurdity of serious assertions made by a number of charlatans to ownership of lunar territory (Dennis Hope) or the entire Eros asteroid (Greg Nemitz).  Virgil’s point was “to show how ridiculous a property rights system in outer space would be if it were to be based solely on claim unsubstantiated by any actual possession.”

I’m looking forward to reading Virgil’s book–and to writing a proper review.  For now, I’ll just say that I think Virgil and I see eye-to-eye on three key premises (something of a rarity among space lawyers on the ultra-contentious issue of property rights):

1. The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 prohibits nations from appropriating territory in space and also prohibits individuals from asserting any territorial claims (generally accepted) except to a narrowly-limited area under actual use (not accepted by all space lawyers).
2. The Outer Space Treaty, properly understood, does not bar claims to ownership of movable objects such as extracted resources or even (if they can be moved in a meaningful way) entire asteroids or comets.
3. Securing such property rights is essential to the economic development of space.

Here are a few choice excerpts from Virgil’s new book on the big picture of property rights in space:

Outer space needs to be spared the painful experience of the former Eastern Block. Despite the noble ideals of equity and care for the have-nots, the CHM paradigm has more faults than merits. A refutation of the Common Heritage principle does not mean, however, that the developing world will, or should, be left behind in the space era. China, India and Brazil are living proofs that a developing country can, through its own effort, join the spacefaring club. Instead of freeloading on the efforts of the older spacefarers, the have-nots should pool their meagre financial resources into a common space agency or into regional ones, and proceed at exploiting the riches of outer space for themselves. The rallying cry of Marxism – “Proletarians of all countries, unite; you have nothing to lose but your chains” should evolve into “Countries of the world unite – you have nothing to lose but the chains of gravity”. The skies are open. “

…

The frontier paradigm has proven its worth on our planet, and it most likely will do so in the extraterrestrial realms. Homesteading is likely to transform the lunar desert in the same manner as it transformed the 19th Century United States. Space is indeed a new frontier calling for individualism rather than collectivism, and its challenges need to be addressed with a legal regime favourable to property rights. Such a regime is seen by many authors as not only useful, but also as the only means of opening the extraterrestrial realms to settlement, given the reluctance of most industrialists to invest money in an endeavour without having the security that they will enjoy the benefits. It may also occur that a minority of investors, with a bigger tolerance to risk, would adopt an anarcho-capitalist approach and “cross the Alleghenies” without backing from a sovereign State.

Given the abundance of extraterrestrial resources, it would be nonsensical to forbid their private appropriation. Securing property rights would be a small price to pay, and more beneficial to humankind, compared to the alternative of keeping the extraterrestrial realms undeveloped. The practical arguments against the Frontier paradigm may have merit, but the issues raised can be tackled. The ideological arguments, nonetheless, are emotional rather than rational.

Whereas the frontier paradigm is outlawed in the current incarnation of the international law of outer space, law is a dynamic phenomenon and it may evolve towards a regime supportive of property rights in outer space. A shift from the res publica approach may be in the cards, given the official support of the Aldridge commission for property rights. Until this shift happens, the non-appropriation principle remains nonetheless the lex lata in the extraterrestrial realms.

As TLF readers may know, I took over in July as Chairman of the Board of the Space Frontier Foundation.  As I explained in my recent interview on The Space Show, SFF has been the leading citizens’ advocacy group for space commercialization since 1988.  Dedicated to promoting Princeton physicist Gerard O’Neill‘s vision of space settlement, as described in his 1976 masterpiece The High Frontier, the Foundation has always argued that “space is a place, not a program.”

We sent out the following press release on October 28, calling for a major transformation of the U.S. government’s space program by which the U.S. government would buy commercial transportation to the International Space Station.  We’ll have more to say about this in the coming weeks.

Space Frontier Foundation Finds Funding Source for COTS-D

The Space Frontier Foundation today called upon Presidential candidates Barack Obama and John McCain to invest the $2 billion in new funds they have promised to NASA for reducing the “Gap” in U.S. human spaceflight (after the Space Shuttle is retired in 2010) to spur innovation and competition in America.

Foundation Chairman Berin Szoka said “It’s time that our national leaders give American entrepreneurs a shot at closing this gap. Let’s take the two billion dollars in the candidates’ plans and fund up to five winners of COTS-D.”

The NASA Authorization Act of 2008, recently signed into law by the President, directs NASA to “issue a notice of intent [by mid-April 2009] … to enter into a funded, competitively awarded Space Act Agreement with two or more commercial entities’ for transporting humans to the ISS”-the “Capability D” of NASA’s Commercial Orbital Transportation Services program (or COTS-D for short). But that directive is not yet funded.

Szoka continued, “Let’s have an American competition in space – to create good jobs, fuel innovation, and close the gap more quickly. With private funds matching government’s investment, we can dramatically leverage the $2 billion to produce breakthroughs in a new American industry – commercial orbital human spaceflight.”

By investing in several different approaches, the government will win no matter who wins this new race, and also benefit from the resulting price competition.

Many American companies, including Boeing, PlanetSpace, SpaceDev, SpaceX, and t/Space have each previously submitted credible COTS-D proposals to NASA. Each of these firms has reached the semi-finals of one of the previous NASA COTS competitions. Increasing funding for COTS by $2 billion would allow NASA to fund all five of these promising companies’ proposals with COTS agreements, and in so doing, build redundancy into the human spaceflight capability available to NASA and other customers.

“It’s popular in Washington to use ‘The Gap’ to cynically justify continued funding of an expensive jobs program,” concluded the Foundation’s co-founder, Bob Werb. “We’re using ‘The Gap’ to advocate a policy that will bridge a gap that matters much more: the chasm between a dying government Human spaceflight monopoly and an emerging, free and competitive marketplace that can open the space frontier to everyone.”

The Federal Circuit significantly limited the patentability of software and business methods today.  Mike Masnick at TechDirt summarizes the holding of the case as follows:

the court has said that there’s a two-pronged test to determine whether a software of business method process patent is valid: (1) it is tied to a particular machine or apparatus, or (2) it transforms a particular article into a different state or thing. In other words, pure software or business method patents that are neither tied to a specific machine nor change something into a different state are not patentable.

I’m sure several of my TLF colleagues will have a great deal to say about this.   Tim Lee has already written about this on Ars Technica:

The Bilski decision, then, is a clear signal that the pendulum has begun to swing back toward tighter limits on software and business patents. However, it remains to be seen how far the court will go in this direction. Bilski was a relatively easy case. The applicant made little effort to hide the fact that he was seeking to patent a mental process, something the Supreme Court has clearly said is not allowed. Therefore, the Federal Circuit’s rejection of this patent doesn’t tell us how it will rule when confronted with software or business method patents that are tied more directly to a physical machine or a transformation of matter. And indeed, the Federal Circuit reiterated that some software and business method patents are valid, so we are unlikely to return to the near-prohibition on such patents that prevailed until the early 1980s.

Thoughts?

Debates about online privacy often seem to assume relatively homogeneous privacy preferences among Internet users.  But the reality is that users vary widely, with many people demonstrating that they just don’t care who sees what they do, post or say online.   Attitudes vary from application to application, of course, but that’s precisely the point:  While many reflexively talk about the “importance of privacy” as if a monolith of users held a single opinion, no clear consensus exists for all users, all applications and all situations.  

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this picture makes the point brilliantly—showing:

locations where [Flickr] users are more likely to post their photos as “public,” which is the default setting, in green. Places where Flickr users are more likely to put privacy controls on their photos show up in red.

Of course, geography is just one dimension across which users may vary in their attitudes about privacy, but the map makes the basic point about variation very well.  Seeing what users actually do in real life says a lot more about their preferences than merely polling them about what they think they care about in the abstract—as my colleagues Solveig Singleton and Jim Harper argued brilliantly in their 2001 paper With A Grain of Salt: What Consumer Privacy Surveys Don’t Tell Us (SSRN).

Google has just announced that it is now accepting applications from undergraduate, graduate and professional students for its summer 2009 Google Policy Fellowship.  Three think tanks employing TLFers are among the host organizations participating in the program: The Progress & Freedom Foundation, the Cato Institute and the Competitive Enterprise Institute. 

Applications are due by December 12, 2008.  The program will run for ten weeks during the summer of 2009 (June-August). Apply today!

The Progress & Freedom Foundation has just launched the new Center for Internet Freedom.  CIF offers an alternative to the proliferation of advocacy groups calling for government intervention online by offering timely analyses and critiques of proposals that diminish the vital role of free markets, free speech and property rights.  We aim to drive the Internet policy debate in new directions by emphasizing a layered approach of technological innovation, user education, user self-help, industry self-regulation, and the enforcement of existing laws consistent with the First Amendment.  Such an approach is a less restrictive—and generally more effective—alternative to increased regulation.  

Here are some of the issues I’ll be working on as CIF’s Director in conjunction with my esteemed colleagues Adam Thierer, Adam Marcus, and adjunct fellows: 

• Defending online advertising as the lifeblood of online content & services, especially in the “Long Tail”;
• Emphasizing market solutions to problems of privacy protection, especially regarding the use of cookies and packet inspection data;
• Protecting online speech and expression both in the U.S. and abroad;
• Defending Section 230 immunity for Internet intermediaries;
• Opposing online taxation and legal barriers to e-commerce and digital payments, especially at the state and local levels; and
• Ensuring that Internet governance remains transparent and accountable without hampering the evolution of the Internet.

Congress has very wisely cancelled the National Reconnaissance Office’s proposed Broad Area Space-Based Imagery Collection (BASIC) satellite system. The proposal to build two new imaging satellites at a cost to taxpayers of $1.7 billion would have represented a major break from what is possibly the U.S. government’s most successful effort to promote space commercialization to date: buying the imagery it needs from commercial providers, who can also sell imagery to other buyers.

Five years ago, the idea that Internet users could pull up a satellite image of just about any location on the planet at a whim would have seemed ludicrous. Yet that’s precisely what websites like Google Maps and Microsoft’s Live Search offer today—for free! Desktop applications like Microsoft’s Virtual Earth and Google Earth offer even more advanced geospatial tools—again, for free. But of course this library of incredibly rich imagery didn’t just “fall out of the sky,” as they say. It was collected by a handful of expensive commercial remote sensing satellites whose construction was made possible by the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency‘s (Wikipedia) extraordinarily successful “Nextview” program implemented under the Commercial Remote Sensing Policy of 2003.  Rather than having the Federal government build its own satellites—and pay for the entire cost of the satatellites—the NGA very wisely chose to buy imagery from commercial providers in two ~$500 million, 4-year contracts with U.S. satellite imagery companies:  DigitalGlobe in 2003 and OrbImage (now GeoEye) in 2004.  

These long-term purchase agreements essentially made the U.S. Government the “anchor tenant” in a new class of remote sensing satellites, providing the initial funding for both companies to build and operate their satellites. But because the companies sell roughly half of imagery to foreign governments and commercial buyers like Google and Microsoft, these deals have saved U.S taxpayers money for the purchase of imagery for a wide variety of needs, ranging from agricultural monitoring to military intelligence. At the same time, the Nextview contracts have given birth to a vibrant geospatial industry whose immediate benefits should be obvious to anyone who’s ever pulled up a satellite map online and whose macroeconomic impact is potentially enormous. 

So why mess with success?  If the U.S. Government thinks it needs more satellite imagery, why not simply award another long-term purchase agreement to a commercial provider? Besides reducing the burden on the taxpayers, continuing the NextView approach would support the construction of a new generation of commercial satellites like GeoEye-1, which was launched just last month, and DigitalGlobe’s WorldView-1, launched last year.  Rather than rolling back NextView in favor of building its own systems, the U.S. Government should be looking for other space services it can buy on a commercial basis as a way of building industries rather than programs, ranging from sending crew & cargo to the International Space Station to communications and navigation services for NASA’s planned Return to the Moon.

Rather than giving up on the NextView approach in the area where it has already produced spectacular results, the U.S. government should be looking for other areas in which to apply the NextView model by buying space services from commercial providers.

Full disclosure: I was proud to handle FCC matters for GeoEye while practicing law at Latham & Watkins LLP. I currently have no greater personal interest in their success than should any American who wants to see the private sector succeed where the government has failed in opening up the space frontier to all mankind.